"How exactly did that Muggle postman choke to death on a Chocolate Frog?"
Bryan's voice rang out like iron striking stone—cold, unyielding, merciless reverberating through the icy chamber with such force that it seemed to make the very walls tremble.
The Minister's "indispensable" advisor, Dolores Umbridge could no longer hold her mask in place. That syrupy smile that had been plastered across her face like cheap paint crumbled and fell away in an instant.
She stared at Bryan Watson with eyes gone wide and wild. The corner of her face began to twitch uncontrollably in a convulsion of agitation that she couldn't suppress no matter how hard she tried.
'A Chocolate Frog with a safety mechanism?'
Who on earth could have anticipated that?
The architects of this conspiracy were among the most formidable figures in British wizarding society. Men and women of their stature, accustomed to moving the levers of power from comfortable offices, could hardly be expected to concern themselves with such mundane trifles as the safety enchantments on children's sweets.
And yet that oversight had just become catastrophic.
"This—this—"
Fear finally surfaced in Fudge's eyes.
"I've never… I've never heard of such a—"
He fumbled over his own words, his hands making vague, helpless gestures in the air as though trying to grasp some explanation that made sense.
"I can substantiate that claim, Minister Fudge."
From somewhere in the tiers of the Wizengamot bench, a wizard rose to his feet. He was bookish in bearing, with spectacles perched on his nose and a full, curly brown beard that gave him the appearance of an academic rather than a politician.
He gave Fudge a composed, respectful bow—maintaining all the proper protocols even as he prepared to demolish the prosecution's case then turned calmly to address his colleagues.
"At present, over forty licensed workshops across Britain produce Chocolate Frogs. Their production standards are entirely uniform, governed—"
"Enough!"
Umbridge's sudden eruption of fury was so violent, that it stunned the bookish wizard into immediate silence.
She could not allow Watson to keep speaking freely.
A flash of cold malice crossed her bulging eyes, transforming her face into something almost inhuman in its vindictive fury. She spun on the chamber below and snapped with all the authority she could muster:
"Even if—even if Chocolate Frogs do have certain safety configurations built into their enchantments, what does that prove, Watson? Perhaps the specific one Potter purchased was defective! That is what caused this tragedy!"
The bearded wizard on the bench parted his lips to respond, clearly preparing to explain just how impossibly unlikely such a scenario would be—
But Bryan Watson was already turning toward him with a pleasant smile, pressing one hand down in a quiet gesture of restraint.
The wizard subsided without another word, settling back into his seat with a slight nod of understanding.
"Are you suggesting," Bryan said, his tone slow and thoughtful, as though he were genuinely considering the possibility rather than exposing its absurdity,
"that among the hundreds of thousands—perhaps millions—of perfectly manufactured Chocolate Frogs sold every single year in the wizarding world, across dozens of shops and vendors, precisely one defective specimen somehow found its way into the hands of Harry James Potter on that particular day in January?
And that this same fatally flawed chocolate frog then, by the most extraordinary coincidence imaginable, went on to kill a Muggle postman?"
He paused, letting the improbability sink in.
Harry blinked his bright green eyes, a faint spark of hope kindling in their depths for the first time since this nightmare had begun. 'Surely my luck couldn't be that catastrophic.'
Umbridge shot a withering glance toward the speechless Minister. Her chest was tightening with urgency.
Under Bryan's questioning, the ground was shifting dangerously beneath their feet. The Ministry needed to project confidence—absolute, unshakeable authority or everything would unravel before the entire Wizengamot.
"Every single charge the Ministry has brought against Harry James Potter rests on solid evidence, Watson!"
Umbridge's voice cut like a blade. "Your objections are nothing but speculation! If you cannot produce concrete proof of Potter's innocence then I move that this body proceed immediately to a vote!"
Her voice rose to fill the chamber.
"Wizengamot members—I call for an immediate vote on the charges! Harry James Potter is to be sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban for his crimes against wizarding law and the Statute of Secrecy. All in favour, raise your hands now!"
'Life imprisonment in Azkaban.'
Every hair on Harry's body stood on end. He stared at Professor Watson's back with desperation.
'Say something more. Please, Professor. Say something.'
He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached, his fingernails were biting deep into his palms.
Ron and Hermione had almost forgotten they were defendants themselves. Both sat with lips slightly parted, barely breathing, eyes fixed on the side profile of Professor Watson—whose expression, remarkably, had not wavered by a single degree.
Dumbledore finally lifted his head from its contemplative bow. The deep wrinkles carved into his face seemed to ease somehow, smoothing slightly as though some terrible weight had been lifted. His pale blue eyes blazed with quiet fire as they found Bryan across the chamber.
"You want proof… do you?"
Amid the restless murmuring of the Wizengamot members, Bryan at last allowed himself to smile.
It was the smile of a hunter watching his prey step directly into a trap that had been waiting all along.
"You—you have evidence?"
Fudge gaped at Bryan, his face showing naked alarm.
'Fool. Why would you ask that now?'
Umbridge's fury was past words.
She had no time to worry about what evidence Watson might actually produceShe had no time to worry that technically the Minister—not her—was supposed to be presiding over this trial and that she had been overstepping her authority at every single turn.
All that mattered in this critical moment was that if Watson was permitted to continue speaking, they were finished.
"The Wizengamot has indulged your long enough, Watson! We will not waste another precious moment listening to you fabricate stories and—"
"Shall I recite the exact text of the Wizengamot Rights Charter for you?!"
Bryan's voice cracked through the chamber like thunder splitting the sky.
Decisive. She had to be decisive now.
This was the pivotal moment.
Umbridge's breath came ragged and harsh, her chest were heaving with the effort. Her toad-like eyes were threaded with red veins, bulging slightly from their sockets with the intensity of her emotion.
She knew their scheme had never been airtight. But she had never imagined that in so short a time, Watson could have found so many gaps, Potter's formal charges had only been announced after the trial actually began, leaving Dumbledore and Watson with almost no time or direction to investigate.
"Wizengamot members—" Umbridge's voice rose to a near-shriek. "Watson is actively obstructing due process! I move that he be forcibly removed from this chamber! Cornelius!"
The situation had collapsed so rapidly that Fudge was standing there looking utterly dazed. Then he heard Dolores call his name.
"Wh—what? Oh. Yes. Quite right. Removed! Yes, remove him!"
His voice gained false confidence as he repeated the order.
"Oh, I think this… this …"
A new voice rose from the benches—Ludo Bagman, his face flushed with extreme unease, shifting from foot to foot like a schoolboy called before the headmaster.
Despite his discomfort with confrontation, he forced himself to speak.
"…is indeed rather unreasonable. I mean—removing the defense counsel before he's even presented his evidence? Shouldn't we hear what Bryan has to say first? After all, we are here to conduct a trial of Harry Potter—"
"So that's why you suddenly demanded to attend this trial, Ludo."
Umbridge's head whipped around to fix him with a look that could have drawn blood, her face contorted with apparent betrayal and rage.
"And here I thought you'd defected from the Ministry!"
The venomous look on Umbridge's face nearly sent Bagman fleeing from the chamber entirely.
"What—defected?" Bagman broke into an immediate cold sweat, stammering badly. "I—I haven't defected from anyone! I only meant that Bryan's questioning is entirely consistent with… with the Charter…"
His voice trailed off weakly under Umbridge's withering glare.
'What on earth was happening?'
'An internal power struggle within the Ministry?'
The Wizengamot members looked on in complete bewilderment as the four high-ranking Ministry officials became locked in increasingly heated argument.
"Cornelius!"
Umbridge called his name again, her composure was tattering and shredding with every passing second.
"Yes—quite right! Absolutely right!" Cornelius Fudge finally found his footing, drew himself up to his full height and puffed himself up like an angry toad.
He glared down at Bryan, who stood watching the entire spectacle with cold detachment. "Bryan Watson is obstructing these legal proceedings! He must be removed immediately! Remove him!"
"Cornelius."
Dumbledore rose to his feet. He turned toward the presiding platform where Fudge sat, and the twin flames that had kindled in his pale blue eyes were now burning without mercy.
The sheer force of Dumbledore's presence made Fudge physically flinch. For just a moment, genuine fear flickered across the Minister's face.
The force of Dumbledore's presence made Fudge flinch—only for a moment—before the Minister puffed out his chest and wheezed.
"Dementors—escort Bryan Watson from this chamber!"
The command hung in the air for one frozen moment.
Then reality shattered.
CRACK
The dim membrane of pale light that stretched across the high ceiling shattered like glass struck by a hammer.
And through the breach poured cold.
Clank—Clank—Clank.
The sound of chains rattling, metal scraping against stone.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were still staring up in disbelief, their minds struggling to process what was happening, when they heard it. Someone's teeth were chattering, though none of them could tell whose.
Then Harry felt it—the change in the metal binding his wrists.
The manacles at his wrists, which had been merely cold before, turned to ice in an instant. The temperature dropped so quickly that Harry gasped aloud in pain, whipping his head around to see white frost crawling rapidly up the chains on both side of his chair's armrests like living things.
The torchlight in the chamber already dim and struggling was being devoured by encroaching darkness. The world drained of color before Harry's horrified eyes, every last shade was bleeding away into varying tones of grey.
On the tiered gallery above, chaos erupted. Wizengamot members stumbled back in their seats, some falling as ghostly shadows plunged from the shattered ceiling in a rushing mass. They fell like nightmare rain, like harbingers of death, converging from all directions upon a single target:
Bryan Watson who stood before the three young defendants like an immovable wall.
In this colorless, dying world, only two figures retained their own light:
Bryan Watson and Albus Dumbledore.
Around them both, the fierce warmth they radiated made them look like twin torches burning in the heart of a frozen wasteland.
At last, Bryan moved.
He had stood perfectly still through Umbridge's tirade, through Fudge's order, through the shattering of the ceiling and the initial descent of the Dementors. But now, under Dumbledore's steady gaze, in this suspended moment where time seemed to have slowed to a crawl—
He slowly lifted his head.
No fewer than thirty Dementors were closing in from every direction.
He could see their faces now—if "faces" was even the right word for what existed beneath those hoods. Rotting flesh stretched over bone. Empty eye sockets that nonetheless seemed to see directly into a person's soul.
'Souls hollowed of everything,'
The thought passed through him like a sigh.
And then—
In the next instant—
His eyes blazed. Something moved in those depths—something vast and terrible and beautiful all at once.
For just a fraction of a second, those watching could have sworn they saw a great serpent bearing black and white wings flash through his gaze like lightning before vanishing back.
His voice struck like a thunderclap, sovereign and inviolable.
"Get back."
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