Subpoena

October 31st

10:00 am

“Trial of the accused on the thirty-first of October, for offences committed by the defendant, Sirius Orion Black: interim resident at Foreheart Place, Appleby, North Lincolnshire,” spoke a curly-red haired wizard from his bench at the head of the courtroom. He was reading from a parchment that could have easily been the same length as his legs.

Sirius cast his eyes around the chamber. The walls were a smooth black marble, the ceiling tall and vaulted. A towering white banner hung behind a row of jurors-Wizengamot members- the words ignorantia juris neminem excusat written in golden cursive around a massive charcoal M. Black was surrounded by a circle of fifty-some-odd witches and wizards, each wearing a deep plum robe with a distinguished silver W embroidered over the left breast. To his left sat his legal counsel. He snuck a glance to Hermione, whose spine could have been swapped with a rod. She wore a smart fitted pantsuit under formal black robes, hair slicked back in a neater-than-usual bun. If she felt Sirius’ grey eyes upon her she ignored them, setting her jaw and giving her full attention to the wizard prattling on before them.

“...Interrogators:  Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic; Spenser Cracknell, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Kallista Zabini, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister; Court Scribe, Tristan Robards; Clerk -myself- Percy Weasley.”

Percy paused for a moment to clear his throat and pushed up his rectangular glasses, leaning closer to the parchment.

“Lead counsel for the defendant, Draco Lucius Malfoy,” the ginger clerk ignored audible gasps and whispers around the room. Draco rolled his eyes at the commotion while Percy continued, “Assistant counsel for the defendant, Hermione Jean Granger.”

“Miss Granger has been...reassigned in her positioning, Mister Weasley,” Draco interrupted quickly, emerald eyes cutting into the redhead. “She’ll not be a representative of the defense for this case, but an assistant as well as a witness. You should have gotten my owl last evening.”

The back of Hermionie’s neck prickled as yet another wave of murmuring echoed through the chamber. Her face flushed slightly as she looked straight ahead, chin held high. Sirius couldn’t help but notice her leg trembling beneath their bench; it vibrated his own seat. 

Very well,” Percy said, faltering for only a moment to jot down the change on the parchment he was reading from. Hermione let out a small sigh. 

“It is 10:03 am. Court is now in session.”

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“What exactly is your game here, Mister Malfoy?”

The Minister’s deep voice rang throughout the hall. He was leaning back in his seat-apparently relaxed- yet his dark weathered hands were folded together so tightly his knuckles turned white. Draco walked slowly to meet the man, his own hands clenched behind his back. Just before reaching the bench Draco turned on his heel, deciding to address the congregation at large instead of just the minister. Hermione disguised a snort as an exhale; her department head was always dependable for theatratics. Sirius shot a glance her way at the sound. 

“We do not have a game, Minister. There has not been a game played in our world since the first war. Those gathered here today, every last witch or wizard in attendance, has been personally affected by the tragedy that unrepentant destruction brings.” He paused- letting his words settle over the crowd- and took a few steps forward.

“No, Minister, there is no game. There is only war, and then attempts to rectify and repair what war leaves behind. One such attempt is what we bring before you today, to right the wrongs done to a man in a way that will run through deeper veins than just his own.”

The court was silent now; even with nearly a hundred people in attendance Draco’s speech echoed off the marbled walls. It was a good set up for someone who enjoyed the sound of his own voice. It was an excellent set up for someone working to win the trust of fifty crucial players by his voice alone. This particular set up was spectacular for Mister Malfoy. He strummed his long fingers against the back of his hand twice before continuing.

“Your honor, Sirius Black was accused of crimes he simply did not commit. He was subsequently sentenced to life in Azkaban without access to a fair trial and was denied legal representation.”

“A process which, while the ministry is understanding of the defendant’s….dissent,” the silky voice of Kallista Zabini interjected, “is not entirely unjust. Legal representation in our world is certainly unusual, Mister Malfoy. Why has Mister Black elected to utilize it?” 

Sirius jerked his head to look at Hermione. If their plan worked the way they were hoping, the Wizengamot would certainly learn Sirius hadn’t chosen to have an attorney. In fact, he hadn’t even chosen to leave Azkaban. It had all simply happened to him; he hadn’t much of a choice outside of whether to have toast or eggs for breakfast in twenty years, and even that was recent. Free will was a very lucid concept for the wizard at the moment. Of all the questions he’d prepared for over the last several months, this was not one Sirius had been anticipating. He dug the nail of his right thumb into his opposite wrist, grinding his teeth as he tore his eyes away from Hermione to Draco.

“My client agrees that this is larger than he alone. The proceedings of this trial, no matter the verdict, will set the precedent for every similar case in magical Britain for a very long time.” Draco stopped in his tracks. He was the dead center of the court now; every set of eyes were glued to him. He lifted his chin and looked to the ceiling above at some invisible ideal. Nearly half of the Wizengamot followed his gaze. The whole of the congregation -apart from a well seasoned Hermione- was leaning forward, completely engaged with what was unfolding before them. Every member of the Wizengamot longed to be part of something historic, something monumental. Was that not, after all, the very reason each witch and wizard fought for their seat on the counsel? Draco Malfoy had laid the perfect feast at their feet. 

Hermione turned to look at Sirius for the first time in weeks. Her chocolate eyes shone fiercely and a slight smile danced to her lips. 

“He’s got them,” she whispered triumphantly.

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“And if this, as you call it, strategy fails?” Spenser Cracknell gruffed from his seat on the right of the Minister. Hermione studied the man's face before answering. He seemed, by all accounts, ill fitted for his post as the head of Magical Law Enforcement. His mousy brown hair stood in awkward tufts atop his head. He was a broad man, with a slightly squashed face and a neck that seemed to connect right to his chin in a straight line. Hermione couldn’t imagine he hunted down death eaters like his predecessor had. Still, there was something….familiar about the false smile etched on his lips. She frowned. 

“Then we will gladly pay whatever fines the Wizengamot deems necessary for causing a delay in the proceedings.” Hermione said, standing from her place beside Sirius and walking to Draco.

“Thank you, Miss Granger,” the Minister and Malfoy said in unison.  

 They stopped before the bench together, not daring to so much as breathe more than absolutely necessary. The muddy eyes of Spenser Cracknell and the caramel eyes of Kallista Zabini pierced their flesh, but it was the Minister’s approval that mattered. Shacklebolt sighed, leaning back into his chair, and lifted his drooping eyes to study Malfoy and Granger.

“It will be as though no time had passed inside of this courtroom, Sir. We can guarantee it.” Draco spoke earnestly

“How can you guarantee it will work?” The Minister hesitated

“Miss Granger invented the spell herself.”

Murmurs ran through the crowd as understanding ran through Sirius. He recalled one of the desks in Hermione’s study- the one he had once hidden under. It was covered in not only rune scrawled parchment, but with vials filled with gold and blue sand. The veritaserum would take a full month to brew; nobody so important as a Wizengamot member would give time like that to a man as guilty as Sirius Black. Sirius shook his head slightly and pulled himself from his musings. 

“Time will slow inside of this chamber,” Hermione explained, voice crisp and clear. “The lives of the people here today will be put on pause for the duration of the trial. The month will seem like an afternoon, really. It will allow time for the potion to brew,” there were more gasps from the jury but Hermione pressed on, “in front of more than fifty witnesses, so everyone can see it’s been made flawlessly.”

“Because of the years that have passed since Sir- Mister Black was sent to prison, our evidence would otherwise be circumstantial. Many of our key witnesses have left this world,” Draco continued his partner’s argument, “We are certain that this man is innocent. If you are not, the Ministry of Magic at least owes him what will seem to be an afternoon to make his case after nearly two decades in Azkaban.”

The chatter grew around the courtroom, drowning out whatever else Draco could have said. Minister Shacklebolt pounded a small gavel several times, an unsuccessful attempt to bring order to the crowd. The blonde wizard turned from the bench and lightly touched his hand between Hermione’s shoulders, guiding her back to their places beside Sirius. He dropped his arm before they were seated. Hermione crossed her ankles and folded her hands in her lap, ignoring Sirius’ attempts to catch her eye. The older wizard slumped back in his seat, looking behind the witch to speak with Draco.

“Now what?” He asked Malfoy as quietly as the volume of the chamber allowed for. 

The blond folded his arms coolly and tilted his head towards the Minister; Kingsley’s attempts to capture the court's attention were growing steadily more desperate. 

“Now? It’ll just take time.”

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