Clang—Clang
Clang-clang!
Accompanied by heavy, echoing impacts—cages of golden fla erged from thin air.
One by one, they imprisoned their targets: Fudge, Umbridge, Dawlish, and the rest of the Aurors who had been stationed throughout the courtroom as guards.
Bryan Watson was going to—
The thought froze incomplete in nurous minds simultaneously, unable to finish.
Even the mbers of the Wizengamot panel were struck utterly dumb by the display. The Order of the Phoenix mbers who had burst in through the shattered entrance monts before were no different, every one of them staring at Bryan with expressions caught between stunned alarm and uncertainty, waiting for him to explain himself.
"Well, well—well!"
Fudge let out a shriek like a startled hen, his composure was shattered beyond any hope of recovery. He curled his body in on itself, pressing against the center of his cage, not daring to co anywhere near the bars of living fire that held him captive.
His face had gone an unhealthy purple-red, his eyes were bulging with rage and terror.
"Showing your true colors at last, are you? Finally revealing what you've been planning all along?" His voice cracked and rose to hysterical pitch. "Watson—you've been plotting to overthrow the Ministry from the very beginning, haven't you? And now—huh—huh!"
He spun within his restricted space to face Dumbledore, spittle flying from his lips as he roared with all the fury:
"I told you, didn't I, Dumbledore—I told you this young man had dangerous ambitions! I warned you he couldn't be trusted! Look at what he's doing now! Look at this madness! This is—"
"Cornelius—"
The single word spoken with profound weariness cut through Fudge's tirade.
In the end, Bryan had not chosen to slaughter anyone. He had not unleashed the terrible violence that had been trembling on the edge of possibility just monts before.
On the steps below the judges' platform, Dumbledore exhaled a long, shuddering breath—a release of tension so deep that he felt it in every fiber of his body. It was a relief unlike any he had felt in years, perhaps decades.
The nightmare scenario he'd been preparing to counter had not co to pass.
He turned slowly to face the Minister of Magic through the bars of golden fire, and his expression showed sorrow.
"I warned you as well, Cornelius," Dumbledore said softly, his voice carrying clearly despite its lack of volu.
"I warned you repeatedly not to beco too enamored of power—not to let it consu you, not to let it warp your judgnt. Power has a way of making n lose themselves, lose sight of everything that once mattered to them. The situation you find yourself in today is the direct and inevitable consequence of a mind enslaved by ambition and fear."
"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about, Dumbledore!" Fudge's face contorted with furious denial. "But if you have any conscience left!"
Fudge seed not yet to have grasped the full gravity of his position. Or perhaps he simply refused to accept it.
He raged at Dumbledore with furious desperation,
"Then subdue Watson for the Ministry's sake! I know you're capable of it, Dumbledore—you're the only one who can match him! You are standing by idly while a dark wizard—more dangerous than You-Know-Who himself, mark my words—tears apart the entire order we have spent years carefully building! Do sothing!"
Dumbledore only shook his head in response in a slow and gentle motion. Those gathered around him from the Order of the Phoenix could feel that deep weary exhaustion radiating off him.
Sirius reached Harry's side almost before the cages had fully appeared. While Dumbledore and Fudge faced each other across the courtroom, he had dropped to one knee beside Harry's chair, asking what had happened—but Harry's green eyes had gone glassy and unfocused as though he had been frightened out of speech.
Taking in the shaken expressions on all three young faces—Remus understood imdiately that sothing extraordinary and traumatic must have occurred in this courtroom during the last hour. Sothing that had shaken these children to their very cores.
"Bryan…"
He hesitated for a long mont, torn between concern for the students and unease about Bryan's actions. Then he looked toward Bryan and said softly,
"I fully understand your desire to give Harry and the others so asure of satisfaction—so justice after what they've been put through. But… imprisoning—actually imprisoning—"
Remus's face was deeply creased with unease and worry, his brow furrowed with the effort of finding the right words.
"—the Minister of Magic himself and an entire corps of Aurors… this hardly seems like a prudent course of action, Bryan—"
Whoosh!
Bryan swept his wand in a single motion, and the courtroom's broken doors which had been blasted in and buried in the far wall flew back across the chamber, reassembled themselves with precision, and settled back into their fra.
The damaged stone wall repaired itself seamlessly, as though the destruction had never occurred.
Then, with an almost leisurely air, Bryan pointed his wand directly at Fudge and Umbridge. Both of them were still cursing without stopping inside their respective cages.
And both instantly found they could produce no sound at all. Their mouths continued to move, their faces were distorting with rage, but not even the faintest whisper erged.
"Bryan…"
Witnessing all of this, Alia too felt a distinct and growing unease settle in her chest. She glanced toward Dumbledore, who appeared to be maintaining a posture of silent acquiescence, neither approving nor disapproving, simply… watching.
After a brief silence where she wrestled with her own conscience and duty, she spoke carefully.
"I know that Cornelius's order to set the Dentors and Aurors upon you was totally without justification. And I fully understand your anger in response to that. But…"
"Alia—"
Bryan interrupted her gently before she could press further for the prisoners' release.
"What I would ask of you next is that you take the forr Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge's place on the presiding bench and resu the proceedings we ca here to conduct—"
'Forr Minister?!'
Inside his cage of golden fire, Fudge's eyes nearly burst from their sockets with the force of his shock and outrage. His face twisted into sothing barely recognizable as human.
'Resu the proceedings?!'
In the chaos of the last few minutes—the Wizengamot mbers who had scattered in panic into every corner and crevice of the courtroom now held their tongues utterly.
They stood frozen where they'd taken shelter, uncertain whether it was safe to move, to speak, to do anything that might draw attention to themselves.
Compared to the monuntal situation unfolding before them now—a possible coup, the overthrow of the established governnt, the imprisonnt of the Minister himself—even if Harry Potter had genuinely caused the deaths of a handful of Muggles through carelessness or malice, it would hardly seem to matter.
"Resu the trial…"
Even Alia usually so decisive and confident wavered.
"Of course—"
Bryan turned in a slow circle, taking in the entirety of the room. His gaze moved across the gathered witches and wizards, most of whom found themselves unable to maintain eye contact.
The sharp, dangerous edge that had radiated from him just monts before had vanished completely, as though it had never existed. His expression was composed once more, even serene.
"Whether Muggle or wizard, the peaceful lives enjoyed by both communities are built upon a foundation of stable, impartial justice," Bryan said, his voice carrying to every corner. "I want everyone here to understand: I have no desire to use force to place myself above the law."
The panel mbers exchanged careful glances among themselves, listening to Bryan's words with cautious skepticism.
Alia's brow was still furrowed with deep lines of concern and uncertainty but the complete candor in Bryan's gaze made her decision for her.
"Very well," she said finally adjusting her monocle. "I will resu as presiding judge. Before the… disruption… you had begun to speak of evidence relating to the charge that Harry Jas Potter caused the death of a Muggle postman."
"Caused the death of a Muggle postman?"
Sirius's head whipped around to stare at Harry showing complete astonishnt mixed with disbelief.
"Is that true? That's actually the charge the Ministry brought against you?!"
"Sirius—"
Bryan called his na once.
Sirius's mouth snapped shut imdiately, though his eyes remained wide with questions.
"If you're interested in understanding what happened here, you're more than welco to remain and observe the proceedings,"
Bryan continued, addressing not just Sirius but all the Order mbers who had rushed in. "All mbers of the Wizengamot panel, please return to your designated seats. Aurors not currently imprisoned, and all other witnesses—you may remain in the chamber to observe."
Circumstances had a way of being persuasive.
Even those most desperate to remove themselves from this storm's center—to flee the courtroom and pretend they'd never witnessed any of this lacked the courage to voice any objection or make any move toward the doors.
After all, Bryan Watson still held his wand firmly in hand, and everyone had just witnessed exactly what he was capable of doing with it.
Whoosh—
With another casual wave of his wand, Bryan moved the cages holding Fudge and Umbridge through the air.
They floated smoothly across the chamber and were positioned behind the three judges' chairs.
The Aurors who had pledged their loyalty to Fudge and participated in the attempted arrest were arranged with similar precision in a neat row along the side wall, each in their own smaller cage of golden fla.
"Bryan," Alia said, settling into Fudge's recently vacated seat and speaking with the formal seriousness befitting her new role. "You may present your evidence now."
"A mont ago, the senior officer from the Auror Office described to this assembly the specific circumstances of Harry Jas Potter's alleged cri: the death of a Muggle postman, killed when a Chocolate Frog lodged in his throat and caused fatal asphyxiation."
Bryan turned and looked at Fudge and Umbridge, both of whom were glaring back at him through the bars of their cages with venom.
"As it happens," Bryan continued, "we are remarkably fortunate in one crucial respect: there was another Muggle present at the scene who personally witnessed that postman's death."
A silence fell across the courtroom, overwhelming all sound. Those present worked frantically to absorb and process what Bryan had just revealed.
The expressions on Fudge's and Umbridge's faces which just a mont ago had been blazing with hatred and fury went suddenly, eerily blank. All color drained away, leaving them ashen. Their eyes went wide and vacant, like people experiencing catastrophic shock.
After several long seconds of frozen stillness, like statues caught mid-motion, they both moved simultaneously. Their heads turned with precision toward Dawlish, who stood rooted to the spot among the imprisoned Aurors like a scarecrow forgotten in a field.
The gazes they fixed upon him were so ferocious, so filled with murderous intent, that it seed they might tear him apart with their bare hands given the slightest opportunity.
"Soone witnessed it?"
Alia's voice cracked slightly with surprise, her composure was briefly fractured. She was no less startled than anyone else by this revelation. She shook off the brief mont of disorientation and pressed him imdiately,
"This Muggle witness—this person who saw what actually happened—they are your evidence?"
Bryan inclined his head in confirmation.
He raised his arm and his ebony wand traced a graceful arc through the air.
The figure of Lawrence began to appear gradually out of nothing.
He looked distinctly worse for wear compared to the last ti anyone had seen him.
His silver-streaked hair lay damp and heavy against his head, faced down with sweat. His clothes were soaked completely through with sweat despite the underground chamber's coolness. His wrinkled face was marked with deep, unmistakable shock.
Lawrence had walked into the Ministry alongside Bryan and Dumbledore hours ago. He had been present, invisible but watching, for everything that had unfolded since.
There was no longer any question in his mind about what he'd just witnessed: Bryan had staged what could only be described as a coup within the wizarding world.
"You're…"
Harry's voice erged as weak and confused. His green eyes blinked rapidly as though clearing away fog. Then he lurched forward in his chair.
"You're Lawrence—Mr. Lawrence from Watson Manor?!"
"Ah—yes, yes that's right. You rember ."
Lawrence gave Harry a pained smile.
"You're Vernon Dursley's nephew, aren't you? Harry, was it?"
"Of course I rember you!" Harry said at once, his voice gaining strength.
"You really are desperately unlucky, child…"
Lawrence pressed his fingers to his temple where sweat continued to bead despite his best efforts to maintain composure. He managed a sad, sympathetic laugh.
A Muggle standing openly in the Ministry of Magic's most secure and sacred courtroom.
Several of the more traditional judges were secretly frowning, their faces showing clear disapproval. Bringing a Muggle here without the proper applications, clearances, and mory modification protocols was deeply irregular—a violation of nurous regulations and procedures.
But no one at this particular mont had the courage to point that out to Bryan Watson. Not with the Ex-Minister still caged behind them.
"This Mr. Lawrence serves as the personal butler and household manager for the Muggle company director who employs Harry Potter's Muggle guardian,"
Bryan explained in a calm, straightforward tone, providing context. "Which explains why they are already acquainted."
Alia nodded slowly, the deep lines in her brow easing sowhat as she processed this information and found it satisfactory.
"Indeed—a fortunate coincidence that such a witness exists. Very well then, Lawrence—"
She addressed the Muggle directly.
"As Bryan Watson has stated, you witnessed sothing relevant to these proceedings. Is that correct? And are you prepared to testify truthfully about what you saw?"
"Yes, ma'am—and honored mbers of the panel—"
Lawrence drew himself up imdiately. He turned to face Alia on the high bench and executed a perfectly proper bow.
"I rember the incident quite clearly. It was the twenty-eighth of January. A heavy rain had fallen throughout that day. I had been invited to attend a charitable reception at the Hurst Orphanage in London—on account of a donation I had made to the institution so months prior…"
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