Albus Potter and the Pureblood's Secret

21. Dawlish’s Plan

Albus spent most of Care of Magical Creatures thinking about Matt’s deposition. It was scheduled for eleven, although Matt had abruptly left Defense Against the Dark Arts half an hour early, despite the fact that he didn’t need to leave for the Ministry until after class. Albus hadn’t questioned it and neither had his father, although he did get some funny looks from their fellow classmates. One minute he’d been practicing nonverbal shield charms and the next he ran out of the room, leaving his bag behind. Albus didn’t seek him out after class, knowing he was worried about the deposition.

Matt didn’t return until after lunch and he looked as tired as if the full moon was that night. Albus wanted to skip Transfiguration to discuss what had happened, but Rose wouldn’t let him. Matt went to class despite Rose assuring him Professor Patil would understand if he skipped. When class ended, Albus had no idea what Patil had lectured about.

“Mauraders’ Den?” Albus asked once they were far enough away from their classmates in the corridor.

“I’ll meet you there,” Matt muttered. “I need to stop by the hospital wing.”

Albus and Rose exchanged glances. Neither of them said anything on the way to the Marauders’ Den, although John kept up a steady commentary about Gemma’s detention of polishing all the doorknobs in the school.

Matt showed up half an hour after the rest of them and collapsed onto the couch, looking slightly better than he had during Transfiguration.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Madam Pomfrey didn’t want to let me leave.”

“Was it that bad?” Rose asked quietly. “The deposition?”

Matt sighed. “The thing is, it wasn’t. Or it wouldn’t have been if I didn’t have a panic attack while I was waiting. I psyched myself out.”

“Is that why you left Defense early?” John asked.

Matt nodded. “When Dad saw me after I got to the Ministry he wanted to postpone the whole thing, but I told him no.”

“Why?” Amanda asked.

“It just would’ve happened again.”

“What did they ask you?” Albus asked.

“Nothing too bad. They just wanted to know what I saw that night and what Boone told us. The attorney seemed really happy. He kept smiling. Dad thinks they’re going to call me to testify.”

“Of course they are,” Rose said. “You and Al saw the exact same thing. If the prosecutor didn’t like the testimony it makes sense the defense would.”

“I don’t know if I can do it, though,” Matt said quietly. “It was bad enough doing this, with only a few people there. I can’t imagine doing it in front of the wizengamot and whoever else shows up.”

“Can your dad still submit that paperwork and try to get you out of it?” Albus asked.

Matt sighed. “No. It’s too late. I already did the deposition, so if I get called, I have to go.”

“When will they tell you?” Amanda asked.

“A week before the trial,” Matt said. “I’ll get an official summons if they want me.”

“How long do you think the trial will last?” Amanda asked. “In the Muggle world, trials like this drag on for weeks.”

“It’s the same in the wizarding world,” Rose said. “You’ll have to go to the Ministry every day until you testify, and then you don’t have to go anymore. And they won’t let you watch the trial until you’re called as a witness. They’ll have you sequestered in another room so the trail doesn’t influence your testimony.”

“Do you think a lot of people will show up?” Matt asked nervously.

Rose nodded. “Unless they close it to the public, which I doubt they will. There will be random people off the street, Ministry employees, and…the media.”

Matt paled. “The media?”

“You are not going to be asked if you have lycanthropy,” Rose said adamantly. “It won’t come up, and if for whatever reason the prosecution asks, the defense attorney will object because it’s not relevant. If you’re asked why you were in the Shrieking Shack, just tell them you saw someone in there on the map, which is the truth.”

Matt nodded and stood up. “I think I’m going to take a nap.” Without waiting for a response, he walked to his bed and disappeared behind the hangings.

“This is not going to go well,” Rose whispered.

No one said a word. Silently, Albus agreed with Rose, and he suspected John and Amanda did as well.

***

The first Quidditch match of the season was on Saturday, and the when Saturday arrived, the torrential rains Gryffindor had been practicing in all week finally let up. Gryffindor was playing Hufflepuff, which was unusual. Gryffindor rarely played Hufflepuff this early in the season, as Professor Kendrick liked having the most high stakes match (Gryffindor versus Slytherin) to kick everything off.

Half an hour before the match, Albus sat in the changing room in between John and Janie, watching James pace in front of them. He’d been pacing for five minutes, and showed no intention of stopping in order to give a speech. Albus could tell he was nervous, but knew saying something would only make it worse.

After another five minutes, James abruptly stopped and stared at the team. “There’s a scout here,” he said bluntly. “From Tutshill.”

Albus exchanged a glance with John. Albus knew this, as John had overheard a few of the Puddlemere players talking about it.

“They don’t usually come to matches this early on in the season,” James continued. “But everyone knows by now that Tutshill’s Seeker is getting recruited by a national team at the end of their season. They’re going to need a new reserve Seeker. Lisa Galivant, Hufflepuff’s Seeker, and I are the only graduating Seekers. If they take anyone, it’s going to be one of us. This is the only match we’ll play against each other, but I’m guessing they’ll send scouts to all of the matches the two of us play in.”

“You’re better than Galivant,” John said.

“Thanks,” James said, “but I still need everyone playing their best. Lisa’s captain, too, so they won’t only be looking at our Seeking skills. They’ll be looking to see how well we bring our players together.”

“We’re going to cream Hufflepuff,” John said. “Stop worrying.”

James nodded. “I’m going to change,” he muttered. He picked up his pile of robes and disappeared into one of the changing stalls.

“It’s strange to see him nervous,” Albus whispered to John.

“Well, he keeps telling everyone he can get recruited, so imagine if he doesn’t,” John said.

James remained in the changing stall until five minutes before the match began. When he emerged, he said nothing. Albus didn’t mention to him that it was strange for him not to give a speech and no one else did either. Instead, they all lined up wordlessly and remained quiet when they walked out onto the pitch.

The noise in the stands was thunderous. The decent weather had brought everyone outside, even those who normally skipped Quidditch matches. Albus followed James’s gaze to the professors’ box, where an unfamiliar man sat with a clipboard. He must be the scout.

James and Lisa shook hands. Professor Oteski released the balls and blew the whistle. All fourteen players kicked off and the Quaffle was immediately captured by Teryn Penfield of Hufflepuff. Albus flew after her and caught it as she threw it to her brother, Maverick. Albus flew straight up and then arced back down to the Hufflepuff goals. He threw it into the middle goal and Amy Smith, the Keeper, made a grab for it and missed.

“First goal scored by Albus Potter of Gryffindor!”

Albus grinned as Niamh caught Amy Smith’s throw. Hufflepuff sent a Bludger at her and she dropped the Quaffle, which was caught by Maverick. Maverick took it to the Gryffindor goal posts, but Janie managed to save it.

The Quaffle exchanged hands frequently after that, never making it to either goal post. Albus managed to steal a few glances at James, who was flying above the rest of the players. It looked like he was showing off for the scout as he executed a few unnecessary maneuvers while searching for the Snitch. Lisa Galivant remained stationary a few yards away, her eyes scanning the pitch.

It was not a high scoring match. After the initial goal it took a half an hour for Gryffindor to score another goal and then another twenty minutes for Hufflepuff to score their first goal. The two teams were very evenly matched.

The match was nearly into its third hour (Gryffindor was up by 20 points) when Lisa and James shot toward the bottom of the Hufflepuff goal posts at the exact same time. Albus paused to watch and saw James pull ahead by mere inches. Seconds later, the crowd erupted in cheers as James flew back up with the Snitch clutched in his left hand.

Albus flew to the ground and ran over to James, who already had a crowd around him. Albus pushed his way through and gave James a high-five.

“See? Nothing to be nervous about,” Albus said.

“We’ve still got two more matches. Three if we make the final. We’ll need to keep practicing three or four times a week,” James said.

“But for now, we party,” John said, stepping up behind Albus. “Al and I will get the Butterbeer.”

“Sounds good,” James agreed.

Albus set off for Hogsmeade with John, thinking that maybe, just maybe, James would be able to pull this plan of becoming a professional Quidditch player off.

***

It took until the following Thursday for Albus to have a real opportunity to look for Elsie’s statement at Auror Headquarters. The place was by no means empty, and it there was still significant risk, but Johnson had been called away on an emergency that day and wasn’t expected to be back until well after Albus had left for the afternoon. Even better, he’d left his study door slightly ajar.

That particular day Albus had been set the task of organizing his uncle Ron’s files. The bad thing about this was that it was dead boring and frustrating, due to his uncle Ron’s atrocious handwriting. The good thing was that he wasn’t supervised. One of the senior Aurors had directed him to Uncle Ron’s cubicle, left him there, and hadn’t been back since. It was the perfect opportunity.

After a little over an hour of organizing, Albus left Headquarters under the guise of going to the loo. Once in the loo, he covered himself in his Invisibility Cloak and, heart thumping fast, he walked back and slipped into Johnson’s study, completely unnoticed. It was almost too easy. He half-expected alarms to start going off, but the room remained silent.

Albus kept the Cloak on as he crept around the study. He knew his father had kept all his current cases in the file drawer on the left side of his desk, so that was the first place Albus checked. However, all that was in the drawer was a bottle of hot sauce and an empty flask. Albus wondered if the Minister knew Johnson kept alcohol at work.

Albus checked the right side next and found it crammed with files. Each one was neatly labeled and they were in alphabetical order. There it was, the Boone file. Albus’s hand shook as he extricated it from the drawer. He set it on top of the desk and flipped it open, his heart pounding.

Then his stomach dropped. The top page was blank. He flipped through the rest of the pages and they were all blank as well. He checked the backs, but they, too, were void of any ink. What the hell? Why would Johnson keep blank files?

Albus pulled out his wand and pointed it at the top page. He muttered a revealing charm, but it did nothing. Sighing, Albus closed the file. Perhaps Johnson had another Boone file kept in another filing cabinet.

The door creaked open and Albus startled, falling back onto Johnson’s chair and sending both the chair and himself crashing into the floor. The Invisibility Cloak slipped off as Albus fell and Albus knew this was it. He’d be kicked out of the intern program and he’d have no hope of ever becoming an Auror.

A voice laughed, but the voice didn’t belong to Johnson. The door clicked shut and Albus slowly stood up. The lights went on and Albus saw John Dawlish standing in front of Johnson’s many bookcases.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Albus said hurriedly. It was the first thing that popped into his mind.

Dawlish laughed again. “Of course it’s what it looks like. You snuck into Johnson’s study while he’s gone. What I’d love to know is why.”

Albus swallowed hard, trying to think of some excuse as to why he’d be in there. He couldn’t tell Dawlish why he was actually in there. Or could he? Supposedly, Dawlish was working on his own theory as to who committed the previous year’s murders.

Dawlish walked over to the desk and looked at the file. He flicked it open and smiled to himself. “I should’ve known. The Boone case.”

“Er…” Albus began, realizing he sounded stupid.

Dawlish picked up the file and took a seat in one of Johnson’s armchairs. He gestured to the other one and Albus picked up his Cloak and sat down.

“You were one of the kids who discovered Boone,” Dawlish said. “And now you want to know what’s in this file because you know Boone could not have murdered either man.”

“Yes,” Albus muttered. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. And I swear I’ll never do it again, but please don’t-“

Dawlish laughed. “I am not going to tell Johnson. I prefer to minimize the amount of conversations I have with the man and if I have to go and tell him I caught you snooping about in his study it will mean an additional twenty minutes of time I have to spend with him. But, in return, I want to know why you wanted this.”

“Like you said, it’s because I found Boone,” Albus said quickly, amazed that Dawlish wasn’t going to turn him in.

“You, Albus Potter, are a terrible liar.”

“I thought you said you didn’t like talking to Johnson,” Albus muttered. Johnson had told him just how bad of a liar he was at least ten times since the internship began.

“I don’t, and he didn’t tell me that. I can tell from your face that you’re lying. Now tell me the real reason.”

Albus sighed. He didn’t have a choice. At least it was Dawlish who caught him and not Johnson. “Will you tell Johnson why I was in here?”

“No,” Dawlish said. “I have a feeling what you’re going to tell me will be much more useful to myself than to Johnson.”

Albus nodded. “I wanted to see Elsie Willinson’s statement. But it’s not in there. The whole thing is blank.”

“It’s protected by spells. You didn’t think it odd that the files aren’t kept in a locked drawer?”

“I did, but I figured Johnson forgot to lock it in his hurry to leave.”

“And that’s exactly why we protect our files with spells, rather than locks. There is a countercharm, which only Aurors know, that will reveal the pages. It expires after ten minutes. Bit annoying, if you’re working for longer than ten minutes, but useful if you have to leave quickly. Now, why did you need to read the Willinson girl’s statement?”

“Because it’s false,” Albus explained.

Dawlish did not look at all surprised. Instead, he smiled and folded his hands on top of the file. “Explain.”

“I overheard her talking to her brother during the October Hogsmeade visit,” Albus said. “She said she didn’t tell the Aurors the truth. You don’t seem surprised.”

“I am not. This only confirms what I’ve suspected since I first took her statement.”

“You took her statement?”

“Oh, yes. And it was very suspicious. Only to me, not to Johnson, who assured me her nervousness was just due to being caught in Hogsmeade. I told him that was ridiculous because the Ministry does not punish students who are out of bounds. The worst she would’ve gotten was a few detentions from her head of house. No, she was hiding something. When you’ve been an Auror for as long as I have, you start to notice patterns in people who are hiding things. Johnson, in my opinion, is too caught up in his hunt for power to notice these small details.”

“But what did she say?” Albus asked.

Dawlish laughed. “I could be sacked if I told you that, Albus.”

He could probably also be sacked if Johnson knew he neglected to report Albus, but Albus didn’t mention that.

“Did she say anything else?” Dawlish asked.

“She showed her brother a letter from someone who’s no longer in the country, and they both agreed it’s good that person is no longer in the country.”

Dawlish nodded. “Thank you, Albus. That is very useful. Very useful, indeed.”

“What does it mean?” Albus asked, curiouser than ever.

“I imagine you’ll find out soon enough,” Dawlish said. “You always do.”

“So you’re still investigating it, then?”

“Of course I am. The general public might believe it’s solved, but I don’t.”

“What happens if Boone gets convicted-“

“I wouldn’t put money on him being found innocent,” Dawlish said darkly. “The trial is a mere formality. The Minister wants another person to frame this on.”

Albus thought of Matt, so determined to help Boone no matter what it might do to his own nerves. “If he’s convicted, and you find out who really did it, Johnson and Laurentis would have to listen, right? They had to set Young free after we found Boone.”

Dawlish nodded. “They would. It would work exactly like it did with Young.”

“Can I help you, with the investigation?” Albus asked.

Dawlish smiled. “You already are. I needed eyes and ears at Hogwarts this year. There is your father, of course, but I wanted a student. This internship program is, of course, very useful for students, as it would have to be for it to be approved. But think about who is working against Laurentis and against Johnson.”

Albus said nothing as he thought. The memory of the conversation between his parents and Balladanis popped into his brain. “Balladanis. And…my mum and dad….”

“And…,” Dawlish prompted.

“Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione,” Albus said, realization suddenly dawning on him. “Aunt Hermione. She’s on the Board of Governors and she’s-“

“In charge of the internship program,” Dawlish finished for him. “Exactly.”

“So, you picked me as the Auror Department intern because…” Albus’s voice trailed off. He couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed. He wasn’t picked solely on skill.

“Because you’ll make a damn fine Auror,” Dawlish said adamantly. “But also, because you always discover things that even the Aurors can’t. You’re too curious for your own good, but that’s going to help us in the end.”

“Wait, I thought Johnson picked the intern.”

“He did, but even Johnson wouldn’t turn down Harry Potter’s kid if he applied. Plus, as Johnson told you, you were the only one who showed any interest in actually becoming an Auror. Johnson doesn’t like to waste his time. He wants this to result in you actually applying to be an Auror.”

“It will,” Albus assured him.

“Of course it will.”

“So Johnson,” Albus began, “he doesn’t know about this?”

“No, he does not. And if he did you’d be kicked out, I’d be sacked, and who knows what would happen to your aunt and Balladanis. You can’t tell anyone, especially your brother. I don’t like that he’s dating Johnson’s daughter.”

Albus suspected his parents weren’t too keen on it, either.

“Now, put that Cloak back on and walk out of here in front of me. No one will ever know.”

“Won’t people wonder what you were doing in there?” Albus asked.

Dawlish smirked. “The thing about being the oldest Auror is that no one asks me why I do anything. Age has its benefits. Now, put that Cloak on.”

Albus did as he was told, his mind reeling. He returned to the loo, where he removed the Cloak and then walked back to his uncle’s cubicle, where he organized files for the next hour. He could not believe that the entire internship program was essentially a front for Albus to be a spy for Dawlish, Balladanis, his parents, Aunt Hermione, and Uncle Ron. It was baffling. He wanted nothing more than to return to Hogwarts and tell his friends everything, but he couldn’t. Too much was at stake.

22. The Trial

Exactly a week before Boone’s trail was scheduled to begin, Matt received an official summons to testify via owl post. Albus did not, although he wasn’t expecting to; Albus testifying would only hurt the prosecution. After reading it, Matt shoved the summons into his bag and left the Great Hall, muttering something about wanting to get to Defense early. Albus made to follow him, but Rose stopped him.

“He just needs to let it sink in,” Rose said. “Give him space.”

“At least he can tell himself he’s helping Boone,” John pointed out. “That’s got to help.”

Albus nodded, but didn’t say anything. So far he’d kept his mouth shut about everything Dawlish had told him the previous week, including the Auror’s opinions on the Boone trial. Albus knew in order for Matt to make himself testify, he had to believe there was a tiny chance Boone could be acquitted.

“Is there anything in the Prophet about it yet?” Amanda asked Rose, who was flipping through the paper.

Rose shook her head. “Nothing good. Two editorials, but neither bloke has a clue what he’s talking about. Just wait until next week. The entire paper will be filled with articles about the case.”

“Do you really think they’ll find him guilty?” Kaden asked. “I mean, if they throw him in Azkaban for this and then find the actual murderer, the Minister is going to look so stupid. That’d be two people wrongfully imprisoned.”

“I think she’s given up on finding who actually did it,” Rose said. “Johnson, too. And I don’t know how much freedom the other Aurors have.”

Albus wished he could tell them about his talk with Dawlish. Dawlish and Balladanis would find the real murderer, but probably not soon enough to put a stop to the trial.

“We’d better get to Defense,” Amanda said.

Albus scoured the Prophet every day that week looking for articles about the Boone trial, but the first real article didn’t appear until Friday morning. It was on the front page and featured a large photograph of Boone in prison garb. Albus was already running late due to dragging Matt out of bed (the full moon was that night) and shoved the article in his bag to read later.

Matt seemed to go through classes in a daze. Despite the fact that they were practicing more nonverbal Defensive spells in Defense, Matt sat in silence, rather than performing every spell flawlessly in plain view of Malfoy. In Care of Magical Creatures he sat on a tree stump while the rest of the class assisted Hagrid with an injured Hippogriff. Professor Patil lectured in Transfiguration, so Matt’s catatonic state didn’t look out of the ordinary and Albus noticed a few Slytherins who paid even less attention.

After Transfiguration all five of them headed up to the Marauders’ Den, eager to relax for the rest of the afternoon. Albus and John had Quidditch practice that evening and Albus planned on avoiding James until then so as not to have to discuss strategy for hours.

“I’m impressed you went to class,” John said to Matt once they were in the Den. “I didn’t think I was going to make it through that Transfiguration lesson.”

“It’s a good distraction,” Matt mumbled as he lay down on the couch, “from the trial. And I’m going to miss loads of class next week.”

“How does that work?” Rose asked.

“I have to be at the Ministry every day at eight forty-five because court starts at nine. Then there’s an hour recess for lunch around noon, plus whatever other recesses the Wizengamot calls. And then it adjourns at four at the latest. I have to be there until after I give my testimony. Then I can stop going, even if the trial hasn’t ended. But I can’t watch the trial, so I have to sit in a room with the other defense witnesses. All the professors have given me the work I’ll miss so I’ll do it while I sit around.”

“I wonder who the other defense witnesses are,” John said. “I hope they’re not irritating, if you have to sit with them for days.”

Matt smirked. “My dad’s one and so is Healer Sterling, so I’ll at least have them. Dad said there will probably be a character witness of some sort.”

“What’s a character witness?” John asked.

“Someone who testifies that the person on trial couldn’t have committed the murder because they’re too good of a person,” Rose explained. “A son or daughter or a boss. Someone like that.”

“Boone’s parents are dead,” Albus pointed out. “So it won’t be either of them.”

“And any of his bosses would’ve known him as Young,” John said wryly. “You’ll have to tell us who it is.”

“I will,” Matt said. “I wish you lot could go watch. I won’t get to see anything.”

“Johnson wants me to see it,” Albus confessed. He hadn’t had a chance to tell his friends this yet, since Johnson only told him yesterday and Albus had dueling practice that night.

“Seriously?” Rose exclaimed. “Are you going to skip class to do it?”

“I’ll have to, and yeah, I’m going. Not everyday. Johnson wants me to go the first day to see it get started and then he wants me to go the first day of defense. He said the Wizengamot usually adjourns court as soon as the prosecution finishes and lets the defense start the following day. But Matt, I won’t go until after you testify if you don’t want me to see it.”

“It’s fine,” Matt said. “I’d rather have you there.”

“I wish I could go,” Rose muttered.

“I wish you could go instead of me,” Matt said.

“I think it’s ridiculous the wizarding world doesn’t have trial by jury yet,” Amanda said as she unloaded all her homework onto the table. “It’s been that way in the Muggle world for ages. Is it really fair that Boone’s fate is in the hands of a bunch of old, white men? That everyone who’s on trail’s fate ins the hands of a bunch of old, white men? It’s supposed to be a jury of one’s peers.”

“Well, Boone is a white man,” John pointed out. “He’s not old, but two out of three is better than nothing.”

Amanda laughed. “But honestly, none of the wizengamot could be considered Boone’s peer. They’re all rich and privileged and Boone is not. His circumstances have resulted in him being very underprivileged ever since he was bitten. I’d be shocked if any of the wizengamot were able to look past his lycanthropy.”

Anytime anyone mentioned how Boone’s lycanthropy drastically reduced his quality of life, Albus couldn’t help but think of Matt and how his circumstances were so different. While getting bitten had changed Matt’s life forever, no one could argue that he wasn’t somewhat privileged. His parents had the drive as well as the means to give Matt the highest quality of life possible despite his disease. That wasn’t the case with Boone.

Albus wondered whether the outcome of the trial would be different if Boone had money. Although, if he did have money, he wouldn’t have been living in the Shrieking Shack and been at the wrong place at the wrong time.

***

On Monday morning, the first day of the trial, Albus was unsurprised to find the Prophet full of articles about Boone. The front page article featured an overview of the case and the details about the trial. A picture of Boone was displayed under it, different from the picture from the other day. In later pages, there was a short biography of Boone, details about both murders, and an overview of the prosecutor and defense attorney. There was also a short interview with Laurentis, which made Albus feel vaguely sick to his stomach. She never said explicitly that she thought Boone was guilty, but anyone over the age of ten could read between the lines.

Most of Albus’s schoolmates were uninterested in the trial. A few of the sixth and seventh years were reading the paper, but everyone else was chattering happily, as if the fate of an innocent man was not about to be decided. There had been significant interest in the Young trial due to Young’s former employment as a Hogwarts professor, but Boone had no connection to the castle, and thus, the students did not pay attention.

Rose, John, Amanda, and Kaden each had their faces hidden behind separate copies of the Prophet. They’d managed to scrounge enough copies for everyone to have their own. Matt, however, refused to read any of the articles. He’d been instructed by both the defense attorney and his psychiatrist not to pay any attention to any form of media until after he testified. Albus considered this wise advice, especially given the fact that Matt didn’t look completely recovered from Friday’s full moon.

The full moon had been a bad one, most likely due to Matt’s anxiety over the trial. He spent all of Saturday and half of Sunday in the hospital wing, and Madam Pomfrey wanted to keep him Sunday night but he persuaded her to let him go early.

”If this whole working for Puddlemere United thing doesn’t work out,” John began as he set down his copy of the paper, “I can work for the Prophet rewriting old articles to be republished months later. There’s nothing new in here.”

“That’s because there isn’t anything new,” Rose said. “They’re trying to keep the trial in the front of people’s minds. Trials serve two purposes. One, the obvious, they’re used to find out if someone is innocent or guilty. But two, they’re also practically entertainment. The media gets everyone amped up and people get hooked. For the average person, the outcome of this trial is not going to change their lives. But the media’s goal is to make people feel as if it will.”

“The only person it will really affect is Boone,” Matt said quietly. “And it’s completely wrong that he could go to Azkaban for this. So completely wrong. My parents moved me here because things were supposed to be better. This isn’t better. Come on, Al, we should go.”

Albus nodded as he set down his paper and got up. He said goodbye to everyone else, and they wished Matt good luck. Albus and Matt walked in silence up to Albus’s father’s study, where they were to Floo to the Ministry.

A few minutes later Albus stepped out of a fireplace at the Ministry, where he found Matt’s dad waiting. Matt followed a minute later, stumbling and coughing as he stepped into the Atrium.

“How are you doing?” Mr. Eckerton asked just loud enough so only Albus and Matt could hear.

“Not good,” Matt said. He looked on edge, as if he was seconds away from having a panic attack.

Mr. Eckerton had a pained look on his face, like he wanted nothing more than to tell Matt he didn’t have to do this. “Do you need to take-“

“I already did,” Matt mumbled. “Before breakfast.”

Mr. Eckerton nodded. “I’d be shocked if you had to testify today. If I were to guess, I’d say Thursday at the earliest. We’d better go. Albus, Johnson got called away and isn’t sure when he’ll be back. I’ll walk you to the courtroom.”

Albus hadn’t ever been to the courtrooms, but he knew where they were. Still, he followed Mr. Eckerton, letting him lead. They waited a full five minutes for an empty lift so that Matt wouldn’t have to ride a crowded one, but they’d gotten there early so it didn’t matter.

When they exited the lift Albus could hear voices and they grew louder as they walked down the corridor. The three passed empty courtroom after empty courtroom and after rounding a corner, they arrived at a mass of people. Flashbulbs were going off and at least ten people had clipboards and quills poised and ready to go. Matt stopped short when he saw the crowd.

Mr. Eckerton sighed and checked his watch. “They must not be letting people in yet.”

“Are they waiting for Boone?” Albus asked.

“No, Boone will be transported directly from Azkaban into the courtroom. They all want to be the first one in the room so they can get a good seat.”

“Do we have to go through there?” Matt asked. He looked like he was about to be sick.

“No, we have to go back the other way. There is a small room where we’ll wait.”

“Can we leave, then? Now?” Matt replied, stepping back as he did so.

“Go,” Albus said. “I’ll wait here until they open the door.”

“Are you sure, Albus?” Mr. Eckerton asked. “I can find somewhere else for you to wait.”

“No, it’s fine. Just go.”

Matt took off down the corridor without another word. Mr. Eckerton made to follow him, but turned to look at Albus before leaving, and Albus knew he was hesitant about leaving when all the reporters were around. Albus nodded and Mr. Eckerton strode down the corridor after his son.

The courtroom doors opened a minute later and Albus waited until all the press had gone inside before going in himself. While he did not have the fear Matt did of a huge crowd of reporters, Albus had no desire to be pressed for an interview.

The press were crowded at the front of the courtroom, quite a few of them pressed up against the bars that separated the spectators from the accused, the prosecution, and the defense. The Wizengamot sat opposite, on the other side of where the accused would sit. They were dressed in black robes and all wore identical serious looks. Despite Rose and Amanda’s claim that the Wizengamot was all “old, white men,” Albus spotted three women and a few men of color. Still, it wasn’t exactly a diverse bunch.

Albus chose a seat toward the back, where the crowd was more sparse. He watched as more and more people flooded in, recognizing quite a few of them as Ministry workers due to their robes. Albus was by far the youngest person in the room, but nobody gave him a second glance.

At precisely nine o’clock, the courtroom door slammed shut. It was opened again with a loud creak thirty seconds later and Dawlish came strolling in, unaware of the fact that every single person had turned to look at him. He slipped into Albus’s row and sat down next to him.

“Morning,” he said.

“Er, good morning, sir,” Albus replied.

“There’s no need to call me ‘sir,’” Dawlish said. “Although I do appreciate the respect. Don’t see that much anymore.”

The Head of the Wizengamot, a man who embodied everything of the “old, white man” cliche, banged a gavel on the podium in front of him and shouted, “Order! This court is now in session. Bring in the accused.”

Seconds later Boone appeared, surprisingly put together in what looked like a Muggle suit, and sat down on an empty chair next to his attorney. Albus could tell even from a distance that Boone was trembling. His mangled hands lay in his lap.

“I hereby call to order the case of The Ministry of Magic of the United Kingdom versus Stuart Claudius Boone on the 22nd of November, 2021. Prosecution, you may begin with your opening statement.”

The same lawyer who interviewed Albus during his deposition rose from the table to the left of the Defense. Today, Jackson Santiago was dressed in pristine navy blue robes that were most likely ironed by either his mother or his wife that morning. He clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace in front of the Wizengamot.

“On a cold December day nearly a year ago Michael Sheldon decided to take a trip to Hogsmeade. I spoke with his wife; he was there to buy a Christmas present for his mother. Little did he know he would never make it to his mother’s for Christmas, or ever again. The evidence in this case was always complicated, only to be made more so by the man sitting in front of you today. Because of him, an innocent man spent months in Azkaban for a crime he didn’t commit-”

“And now he himself will,” Dawlish muttered.

“-I, like much of the public, only wish to see the guilty party behind bars. In this trial, I will give you the evidence necessary to find Stuart Boone guilty of murder, but that is not what I want to stay in your minds when you go home tonight. Instead, I wish you to think of Michael Sheldon’s wife and mother, who spent last Christmas without him, and are steeling themselves to do the same in a little over a month.”

“Laying it on thick, isn’t he?” Dawlish said.

Albus smirked. He was glad Dawlish was there instead of Johnson.

“Defense? Your opening statement,” the head of the Wizengamot said.

Santiago resumed his seat and the defense attorney, Elroy Watkins, rose. His robes were just as nice as Santiago’s, although slightly wrinkled.

“Michael Sheldon’s murder was an awful, unfortunate occurrence. No one, not even myself, will tell you otherwise. The grief of his mother and wife are not on trial here. This man, Stuart Boone, is. Mr. Santiago spoke of wanting to see the guilty party behind bars and I, too, share that wish. Stuart Boone, however, is not that man. Mr. Santiago will parade an array of witnesses and evidence in front of you, all of which are circumstantial. I will give evidence that Stuart Boone is a victim of his own unfortunate events and was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. More than that, I will prove that it is not only unlikely that Boone committed this murder, but impossible.”

“Better,” Dawlish said. “Less emotion.”

Watkins sat back down and Santiago stood up. “I’d like to call my first witness.”

The prosecution’s first witness was, predictably, a wizard from the crime lab who walked the Wizengamot through the DNA evidence found at the crime scene. He was very dry and Albus paid little attention.

“And none of that proves why the DNA was there. It only proves it was there,” Dawlish said.

“It was there because he dropped Young’s hair in the snow,” Albus said.

“Exactly,” Dawlish agreed. “Pay attention now. The defense is about to cross-examine.”

Elroy Watkins stood up and walked to the man from the crime lab, stopping when he was only a couple feet away. The man shifted, visibly uncomfortable.

“Mr. Harvey,” Watkins began, “I am not going to attempt to discredit you or your work. You already listed your credentials and I am sure you are very accomplished in your field. Nor do I or my client deny that the DNA found at the scene of the crime belonged to Elliott Young.”

“Usually they try to discredit the witness,” Dawlish whispered to Albus.

“Mr. Harvey,” Watkins continued, “with the current technology, is there any way of proving the hair was deposited at the crime scene during the crime? Or is it possible the hair was there prior to the murder?”

“No, not at the moment,” Harvey answered. “And yes, that is possible.”

“Mr. Boone had been living in the Shrieking Shack for quite some time, as he readily admitted at his previous trial. During which time, he was impersonating Elliott Young. Therefore, isn’t it possible that he dropped some of Young’s hair in the snow prior to the murder?”

“Yes, it’s possible,” Harvey said.

“Furthermore, is it true that the hair was found buried beneath no less than three inches of snow?” Watkins prompted.

“Yes, that is true, but-“

“It wasn’t snowing the day of the murder,” Watkins stated. “And, according to the Auror reports, the body was found between six and ten hours after the murder took place. During those six to ten hours, no more than a few flurries fell in Hogsmeade. Certainly not enough to cover a few hairs with three inches of snow. If, in fact, the hair was dropped during the murder, shouldn’t it stand to reason that it wouldn’t be buried in snow?”

“I suppose, yes-“

“Then how,” Watkins said as he turned to the Wizengamot, “can this put my client at the scene of the crime? It merely places him there prior to the murder, something for which he is already willingly serving time in Azkaban.”

Harvey opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something more, but thought better of it and slumped back in his seat instead. Watkins resumed his seat at the defense table.

Dawlish turned to Albus and smiled. Albus relaxed. Maybe, just maybe, Boone stood a chance after all.

23. The Recipe

Johnson never showed up to the trial that first day. Albus was curious as to what emergency had kept him away, but not curious enough to seek Johnson out after court let out for the day. Normally he would’ve had his internship that afternoon, but Johnson had previously told him he wouldn’t have it that day so that he could go back to Hogwarts and catch up on the work he missed. Matt wasn’t going to his internship either. Albus assumed it was because he had been so worked up about the trial.

After court let out, Mr. Eckerton never came to collect Albus. Albus waited near the door while everyone else filed out, but once the last member of the Wizengamot left and locked the courtroom door, Albus decided to walk back upstairs by himself. If he was caught lurking near the courtroom door, no matter the reason, it wouldn’t look good. He knew his way around the Ministry well enough and decided to see if he could find the room where the defense witnesses were sequestered.

It took half an hour of trying to open random doors, but eventually Albus came upon defense witness room. It looked like a generic conference room, furnished with a large oak table surrounded by high-back leather office chairs. Only Matt and his father remained inside. They sat in the two chairs farthest from the door, Matt with his head down on the table while his father whispered something in his ear. Neither noticed Albus walk in.

“It’s over for the day,” Albus announced.

Both Matt and his dad lifted their heads. Matt looked terrible, as if the full moon was that night. Mr. Eckerton stood up and nodded. “We were waiting for everyone to clear out,” he said.

“They’re all gone,” Albus said.

Mr. Eckerton turned to his son. “Matt, are you sure you don’t want to come home tonight? You can stay until the trial is over since you aren’t going to class anyway. Professor Kendrick would be fine with it.”

“No,” Matt said quietly. “I should go back to the castle.”

Albus had a feeling Matt didn’t want to be the newest subject of Hogwarts gossip by disappearing for a week or however long it took for his time to testify to arrive.

No one spoke on their way to the fireplaces in the atrium. Albus went first and waited a full five minutes in his father’s study for Matt to arrive. Matt left the study without a word. Albus followed at a distance, unsure of whether his friend wanted to be alone or not.

Albus glanced at his watch and saw it was just past four-thirty. Afternoon classes were over, but dinner was still half an hour away. Rose and Amanda were most likely in the library studying, and John and Kaden were either wandering the grounds or planning pranks in the Marauders’ Den. Albus had a prefect patrol later that evening and knew he ought to go to the library and get work done before dinner, but instead he kept following Matt. He wouldn’t be able to study until he knew Matt was okay.

Predictably, Matt went directly to the Marauders’ Den, where they found John and Kaden in the midst of a heated battle of Exploding Snap. Both boys were covered in ash and a small circle of ash surrounded them on the floor where they were seated. Ignoring them, Matt strode to his bed, climbed in, and rammed the curtains shut so hard the fasteners broke and they fell to the floor. Without a word, Matt shakily drew his wand, did a nonverbal repairing charm, and disappeared from sight.

John turned from Matt to Albus, who was still standing in the doorway. “Court went well, then?”

Albus sighed and sat down on the couch. “I’ve no idea. He was sequestered all day. The prosecution is still presenting.” Albus wasn’t sure whether Matt wanted anyone to know he had another panic attack, so he kept that to himself.

“If it was that bad when he wasn’t testifying, what will it be like when he does testify?” Kaden wondered aloud.

Albus wondered the same thing. It certainly wouldn’t be good, whatever happened. Knowing Matt could hear them, Albus changed the subject to the testimony he heard that day as well as Dawlish’s presence.

“So, really, all they’ve got is that DNA evidence?” John asked.

Albus nodded. “Dawlish said they’re relying on people’s prejudices and all the publicity. Trial by media, he said.”

“That’s awful,” Kaden said.

“Boone also doesn’t have an alibi. The prosecutor brought that up. Plus they’ve got Elsie, the little liar. They’ll call her to the stand tomorrow or Wednesday and she’ll lie through her teeth about whatever it is she saw that day.” Albus wished he could tell his friends about Dawlish and Balladanis’s plan. Not only did he have to keep it a secret, but he was going to have to investigate Elsie in secret.

“That shouldn’t matter if he’s physically incapable of killing someone,” John said.

“If he wasn’t a werewolf, it wouldn’t,” Matt said, just barely loud enough for anyone to hear.

None of the boys had a reply for that, because they all knew it was true.

***

The following day Albus had to stay at Hogwarts instead of going to the trial. Matt left for the Ministry just after breakfast, looking just as anxious as he had the previous day. He skipped dinner last night and remained in the Marauders’ Den until after Albus’s prefect patrol, when he walked back to the dormitory and went to bed without speaking a word to anyone.

Elsie left the Great Hall a couple minutes after Matt and Albus followed her, under the guise of needing the loo before Charms. She went to Albus’s father’s study, confirming the fact that she was a witness for the trial. Albus wished he could go to the trial instead of to class. He wanted to see Elsie lie on the stand. Maybe Dawlish would tell him about it.

Albus paid no attention in Charms, which would probably come back to haunt him since they were doing appearance changing nonverbal charms, surely something that would come up on an exam. He was tempted to sneak off to the Ministry during his break and lunch, but figured someone would catch him and that might cost him his permission to go to the defense’s first day of presentation.

Potions had become more and more of a joke as term wore on and Burke grew more and more ill. The previous week Kaden had confessed Burke now did none of his own brewing and merely barked instructions at Kaden from his chair. Albus couldn’t recall him actually getting up out of his chair during the past couple of classes. Nor had Albus seen him for any meal in the recent weeks.

“Matt told me Amy’s been pressing him for the recipe,” Rose said as they collected their ingredients at the beginning of double Potions that afternoon. “He’s ignoring her letters.”

“Is there anything Amy can do?” Albus asked. “Besides send letters?”

“I’m not sure,” Rose said. “Matt never mentioned whether they signed a contract. If they did, and the contract stated Burke was required to give Amy the recipe, he’ll need to do it before he gets too ill to do so. Matt’s parents could hire a solicitor to work that out if needed. But if they didn’t sign a contract, there’s not much anyone can do.”

“Matt’s parents don’t strike me as the types to do something like that without a contract,” Amanda said.

“Burke’s reluctant to let it go because then Kendrick will have no incentive to keep him on as a teacher, and he’s not doing much teaching lately, is he?” Albus pointed out.

“Kendrick can’t sack him just for being ill,” Rose said. “There would have to be an inquiry to assess his teaching skills first. Unless someone winds up really injured due to his neglect, which to be honest, will probably happen soon.”

Albus squinted through the smoke at Burke. He was sitting in a squashy armchair that had appeared behind his desk a few weeks ago. His hands shook as he gestured to the day’s instructions on the board. Throughout class, he would shout at various students from his desk, never getting up, never offering much advice. He winced often and took a large gulp of his steaming potion every time he did so.

“James and his friends started taking bets on how much longer he’ll last,” Albus said.

“That’s awful,” Rose said, furrowing her brow.

“How long he’ll last here,” Albus clarified, “not how much longer he’ll live.”

Rose groaned. “Still, it’s not a whole lot better.”

“I didn’t bet anything, but I’m guessing he doesn’t come back after Christmas,” Albus said.

“I have to agree,” Amanda said quietly. “But where would he go?”

“Hopefully he has family,” Rose said. “If not, he’ll be in St. Mungo’s before long.”

Albus, Rose, and Amanda finished brewing their potions in silence, each lost in their own thoughts about Burke. Albus thought it was incredibly sad the way Burke was clinging to his job and his brewing all while his body was failing him. He was declining fast, and it seemed as if the deadline for him curing his own disease had long passed.

Burke didn’t even seem to notice when the bell rang at the end of class. His eyes were closed as Albus passed his desk on the way out the door, although Albus couldn’t tell whether he was asleep or simply trying to ignore the pain. Either way, it was quite sad.

Matt was waiting in the Marauder’ Den when Albus, Rose, and Amanda returned after Potions. He looked marginally better than he had the previous day and was reading his Astronomy book on the couch.

“Court let out early?” Albus asked as he set his bag down on the floor and sat down next to Matt.

Matt nodded and closed his book. “The head of the Wizengamot had a four o’clock appointment at St. Mungo’s. With all the recesses they took, Dad figures they were only in court for a few hours. He thinks it’s ridiculous how little work the courts actually do. That’s why everything is so backed up. But Dad talked to someone in his department who’s been watching the trial and he’s guessing the defense will start day after tomorrow.”

“That’s good,” Albus said. “Maybe the whole thing will be over by next week.”

“Who are the other defense witnesses?” Rose asked.

“My dad, Healer Sterling, some bloke who owns a pub in Knockturn Alley, and Boone’s ex-girlfriend,” Matt answered.

“His ex-girlfriend?” Rose said, raising her eyebrows.

“She broke up with him before he was bitten,” Matt said. “Said he was too much of a workaholic, but she still liked him. She’s really quiet and looks kind of surprised to be there.”

“Clearly they had trouble finding a character witness,” Rose said. “His parents are dead and he hasn’t got any kids, so they probably didn’t have anyone else.”

“What do you do while you’re sequestered?” Amanda asked. “Isn’t it boring?”

Matt exchanged a glance with Albus. Albus knew yesterday Matt probably spent the whole day trying to keep his panic attacks at bay. “Homework,” Matt said. “It is pretty boring. My dad does paperwork. The bloke who owns the pub does his accounting. The ex-girlfriend reads romance novels.”

“Do you know what order you’re going in?” Rose asked.

Matt paled. “Yeah…I’m first.” He picked up his Astronomy book and abruptly stood up. He walked to his bed and disappeared behind the curtains.

“I don’t think he should’ve done this,” Rose whispered. “I get why he’s doing it, but it’s killing him.”

Albus nodded in agreement. “And if Boone is convicted, it’s going to kill him even more.”

“He’s never going to be like Boone,” Amanda said quietly.

“I think he’s always going to have that fear,” Rose said. “Unless someone cures lycanthropy.”

Albus agreed with Rose. With any luck, Amy would manage to cure lycanthropy in their lifetime. But until that happened, Albus knew the thought of Boone would haunt Matt every day of his life.

***

“Kaden, what are you doing with all those books?” John asked.

Albus looked up from his Transfiguration essay. Kaden had just walked into the Marauders’ Den with no fewer than five old, dusty tomes. Albus had only ever seen Rose with that many books at once. Kaden walked to the table and dropped the books on the table next to John’s Transfiguration book. John was staring at him like had grown an extra head. Rose and Matt were both sitting on the couch and wore identical smirks.

“They’re medical books,” Kaden answered as he opened the one on top. “Found them in the library. I don’t think anyone’s opened them in ages. “I think I figured out what’s wrong with Burke.”

Rose stood up and walked over to the table. “Really?”

Kaden nodded. He looked very somber. “It isn’t good.” He pointed at the book.

Rose peered down at the yellowing page. She furrowed her brow and moved her lips as she read. By the time she finished, she looked as sad as Kaden.

“What do you think?” Kaden asked quietly.

Rose nodded. “It fits. It’s awful, but it fits.”

“What is it?” Matt asked. He got up from the couch and peered over Rose’s shoulder. “Oh. I’ve heard of that.”

“ALS,” Rose said. “Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. It affects nerve cells in the brain and spinal cord. It starts out with slight muscle weakness and then progresses until a person is totally paralyzed. Most people don’t live more than four years.”

“Burke has had it at least a year and a half,” Kaden said.

“Longer, I’d say,” Rose replied. “He must be nearly paralyzed since he doesn’t get out of his chair much.”

“But it’s a Muggle disease,” Amanda pointed out. “I had a friend in primary school whose uncle had it. Can’t magic heal it?”

“Usually magic can heal most illnesses, unless they’re brought on by magic or magical creatures,” Rose explained. “But there are always exceptions to the rule. With disease, there are no hard and fast rules. There are exceptions to everything.”

“Yeah, look at me,” Matt pointed out.

“This means he won’t get better,” Kaden said quietly.

“No,” Rose said. “He won’t. He’ll just get worse until….”

Kaden nodded. “I have to go help him brew.”

“Are you going to say anything?” Rose asked.

“No. He clearly doesn’t want anyone to know what he has.” Kaden slammed the book shut. “I’ll be back later.”

“I wonder how long he’s been sick,” Albus said once Kaden left.

“He withdrew from the public eye about two and a half years ago,” Matt said quietly. “I bet that’s when he found out. Amy told me.”

“Did your parents know he was sick when they hired him to make your potion?” Rose asked.

Matt nodded. “They hired him anyway, because he was the best. Is the best.”

Albus stared at his essay, but didn’t write anything. He’d known Burke was going downhill fast, but somehow knowing the name of his disease and knowing for sure there was no cure made it seem even more depressing. The door opened, jolting Albus out of his thoughts. Kaden stood in the doorway, his eyes wide.

“I thought you were-“ Albus began.

“Matt, your sister is in Burke’s study,” Kaden interrupted.

“What?!” Matt exclaimed, jumping back off the couch.

“They’re arguing about your potion,” Kaden added.

Matt hurried out of the room and Albus ran after him. He caught up at the end of the corridor. Rose must’ve told Kaden not to go back down to the dungeons, because he no longer stood in the doorway of the Marauders’ Den.

“She must be trying to get the recipe,” Matt said as they hurried down flight after flight of stairs.

The corridors were mostly empty and no one stopped Albus and Matt as they ran to the dungeons. Albus was pleased with Amy’s timing because this was distracting Matt from his impending testimony, which would take place the following day.

The door to Burke’s living quarters was slightly ajar. Albus and Matt slowed down as they neared it and then stood flat against the wall. Albus dug an Extendable Ear out of his pocket, happy that he’d started carrying one around with him at all times. He shoved one end in his left ear and let the other end creep along the wall above Matt’s head toward the door.

“It’s just not done yet, Amy!” Burke said. “I can’t let it go until it’s done. I never let recipes go until they’re perfect. You know that. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“To be frank, Burke, you don’t have time to make it perfect,” Amy said. “I’m sorry if that’s rude, but it’s the truth.”

“You don’t know that,” Burke snapped. “I’m working on a cure.”

“I know what you have,” Amy said quietly. “I know the stages and I know you’re near the end. When was the last time you went to St. Mungo’s?”

“That’s none of your business,” Burke muttered.

“You made it my business,” Amy said. “I’m sorry if this is harsh, but I’ve tried every other way. So have my parents.”

“Your parents paid me to create a potion for your brother’s anxiety,” Burke said, with surprising calm. “The deal was that I’d give you the recipe once I’d perfected it-“

“You know as well as I do that potions are not always perfect,” Amy interrupted. “I am begging you. Please give me that recipe before it’s too late.”

“I have time, Amy-“

“How do you know that? You could wake up completely paralyzed tomorrow and be unable to breathe on your own by dinner!”

“I seriously doubt that, Amy,” Burke said.

There was a pause, and Albus almost thought Amy had given up. But then she spoke again, her voice much quieter and much calmer.

“How does it feel to not be able to function the way you once could?” Amy asked. “For the past two and a half years you have watched your body respond less and less to your own thoughts, watched as your own body has been out of your control. It’s gotten worse by the day, until now, you can hardly function. You are paralyzed, literally, and unable to do the things you once did.”

“What’s your point?” Burke snapped. “You think I don’t know that?”

“Of course not. I know you know it,” Amy said. “And the fact that you know what it’s like to be unable to function as you once did is all the more reason why you should give me that recipe. You understand.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Burke asked.

“The anxiety disorder that my brother has is just as debilitating as your illness,” Amy said quietly. “Without that potion he would be unable to function. He’d be unable to go to class, unable to do his homework, unable to hang out with his friends. The fear would overtake him, paralyzing him in a similar way your disease has paralyzed you. Think about it. You have the ability to take away that fear, that pain. You, and only you.

“By all means keep working on the potion. Keep perfecting it the way you want. But give me the current recipe, just in case the unthinkable happens. So that my brother will be able to live a normal life. Or as normal a life as society will let him. I don’t know how else I can make you understand what is at stake here, short of you personally witnessing one of his panic attacks.”

Albus watched Matt as he listened. His face was pink and his hands were shaking slightly. Albus knew he didn’t like that Amy was revealing just what the anxiety did to him, but Amy was at her wit’s end. She had no other choice.

“That’s all I have to say,” Amy said. “I’ll go. But Burke? Please go see your healer.”

Albus and Matt scrambled out of the doorway and into the broom closet across the hall. Albus hoped Amy didn’t hear the pair of brooms clatter to the floor after Matt knocked them over. They kept the door open a crack and Albus held his Extendable up to the opening.

“Amy, wait,” Burke shouted.

“Yes?” Amy said, pausing in the hall.

“I’ll owl the recipe in the morning,” Burke said quietly.

“Thank you,” Amy said. She headed down the hall, her footsteps growing quieter with each step, until she disappeared up the stairs.

Matt slid down the wall until he was on the floor, between a mop bucket and a bin of sponges. His hands were still shaking and his breathing was hitched.

“Are you okay?” Albus asked.

Matt nodded. “I can’t believe she did it. She got him to give up the recipe.”

“If anyone could, it’d be Amy,” Albus said.

Matt smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, it’d be Amy.”

24. Panic

Albus woke up an hour before his alarm on Thursday and was unable to get back to sleep, his mind racing with the conversation between Burke and Amy he and Matt overheard the previous night. Then, with a jolt, he remembered the trial and that it was the first day of defense, meaning Matt would testify and Albus would once again attend the trial. He opened the hangings and saw that Matt’s bed was empty. Albus changed quickly and then tiptoed out of the dormitory and went down to the common room.

Matt was curled up in one of the squashy armchairs, under a blanket, staring at the empty fire. Albus walked quietly over to him. “Matt?” he said once he was a few feet away.

Matt startled, sending the blanket to the floor, and jumping nearly three feet in the air. He turned to Albus, his eyes wide. “Shit. Albus. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Sorry,” Albus said as he sat down in the chair next to Matt’s. “How long have you been up?”

“An hour or so,” Matt said. His face was glistening with sweat and his hands were shaking, reminding Albus of Burke.

“Are you okay?” Albus asked, knowing full well the answer was ‘no.’

Matt stood up and began to pace in front of the fireplace. “I-I can’t do this, Albus. I really can’t. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was stupid. Do you know how many people are there? And all the media? And the Wizengamot? They hate werewolves. All of them. That’s why Boone is going to be convicted. No matter what I say. No matter what my dad says. I ca-can’t do it.”

Albus knew this was coming. Considering Matt had a panic attack before giving a deposition in front of a few people, Albus knew it would be ten times worse during the actual trial.

“There has to be some way out of it,” Matt continued. “I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

“You have to,” Albus said quietly. “And it’s going to help Boone. Remember, you wanted to help him?”

“I can’t help him!” Matt shouted. His face was as red as Rose’s hair and his eyes were brimming with tears. “Don’t you get it? No one can help him!”

“You can,” Albus said as he stood up. “That’s why his attorney picked you to testify.”

“But I can’t do it!” Matt exclaimed. He started wringing his hands. “I can’t do it, Albus. Everyone will find out about my lycanthropy and then- and then- I c-can’t d-do it. I just-“

“You can do it,” Albus said. “And you have to do it because you already committed to it and you can’t just back out or they’ll hold you in contempt of court.”

Matt’s eyes grew even wider. He collapsed into the nearest chair and put his head in his hands. “They-they can’t.” He looked up at Albus, his eyes filled with more panic than Albus had ever seen in his life.

Albus swallowed hard, wishing Rose was there. Clearly he’d said the wrong thing. Matt stood up again and continued pacing, wringing his hands and breathing hard as he went. Albus had no idea what to do. He wanted to get Madam Pomfrey, but didn’t want to leave Matt alone. He wished he could get into the girls’ dormitories and find Rose.

Suddenly, Matt froze. He stared at the dormitory doors. Albus turned around and groaned inwardly when he saw Lily standing there, staring back at Matt.

“What-“ Lily began.

“Lily, go get Rose,” Albus said.

“But-“

“Go get Rose!” Albus shouted.

And because Albus never shouted, Lily turned and ran back up the dormitory steps. As soon as she left, Matt sank back into the chair, with his head in his hands.

“Al, I c-can’t breathe,” he wheezed. “I feel like I’m going to pass out. I can’t…breathe…can’t…breathe.”

Albus hurried over to the armchair and sat down in front of it. “You can breathe. Take deep, slow breaths. In and out. In and out.”

By now his whole body was shaking and Albus was worried. What he had said about Matt having to testify was true. He would be found in contempt of court if he refused to comply. But how could he testify in this condition?

“Can’t…breathe…” Matt whispered. “I’m…so…dizzy…”

Albus heard footsteps and looked up to see Rose hurrying over to them. Lily was right behind her, but she continued past them and left through the portrait hole. Albus didn’t have enough brain power to contemplate where Lily would be going at six in morning on a Thursday. He could only think about Matt right now. He breathed a huge sigh of relief as he stood up. Rose sat down on the arm of the chair and put her arms around Matt.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“He has to testify today,” Albus reminded her.

“I…can’t…breathe,” Matt wheezed. “My…chest…it hurts…”

“Okay,” Rose said quietly. “Let’s go to the hospital wing.”

Rose and Albus helped Matt to his feet. Rose put her arm around his shoulders and carefully guided him to the portrait hole, Albus following.

“I’m so dizzy,” Matt muttered.

“It’s okay,” Rose said quietly. “We’re going to the hospital wing.”

It took them twenty minutes to get to the hospital wing. They had to stop twice because Matt was shaking so hard. Albus watched the Map the entire time, hoping they wouldn’t encounter anyone on the way. They narrowly avoided Filch, who was sweeping broken pieces of chalk off the sixth floor corridor floor. Albus wondered if the man ever slept.

The hospital wing was dark and silent when they arrived. Rose deposited Matt on the nearest bed while Albus ran to get Madam Pomfrey. The nurse appeared in her tartan dressing gown shortly after Albus banged on her door, her hair sticking up all over the place.

“What happened?” she demanded.

“It’s Matt,” Albus began as they hurried to the beds. “He has to testify in Boone’s trial today and-“

“Oh dear God,” Madam Pomfrey muttered, shaking her head, as they reached Matt’s bed.

Matt and Rose sat side by side on the bed, Matt resting his head on Rose’s shoulder, shaking violently. He was wringing his hands again and his eyes were glazed over. Even Rose looked worried and Rose always kept her composure.

“Stupid idea,” Madam Pomfrey muttered as she strode over to her potion cupboard. She yanked a bottle out and slammed a goblet onto her work table. “Stupid, stupid! If I ever get my hands on that solicitor I swear I’ll be the one on trial for murder!”

She poured an orange substance from the bottle into the goblet and then added a few drops of something clear. Then she pulled out another bottle and poured a second goblet full of grey liquid. She picked them up with such force that grey and orange potion sloshed over their tops and onto her hands, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Matt, dear,” she said quietly as she sat down on the bed. “Matt, you need to take these.”

Matt lifted his head off Rose’s shoulder and allowed Madam Pomfrey to tip the contents of both goblets into his mouth, but he continued to stare off into the distance.

“Miss Weasley, you can get up,” Madam Pomfrey said once Matt finished the potions.

Rose nodded and got up. Matt slowly stopped shaking and lay down on the bed, curled up in a ball. Madam Pomfrey pulled the covers over him and then drew the curtains.

She walked over to the fireplace, threw in a handful of Floo powder, and stuck her head into the green flames. A few minutes later she yanked her head out. She went back to Matt’s bed, disappeared behind the curtains briefly, and then returned.

“What’s going on?” Albus asked.

“He had a panic attack,” Madam Pomfrey said. “A worse one than normal. The stress of the trial isn’t helping.”

“But he has to testify,” Albus said. “Doesn’t he?”

“That is up to the Ministry,” Madam Pomfrey said shortly. “But any judge who makes someone testify in that condition is cruel. It doesn’t take a psychiatrist to figure out what this is doing to him.”

The hospital wing doors banged open and Matt’s parents walked in. Mr. Eckerton was already in a pair of Ministry robes and Mrs. Eckerton was in nurse’s scrubs, but her hair was a mess. They seemed to be in the midst of an argument.

“I don’t care if it was his decision!” Mrs. Eckerton said. “He’s still 16 and I should’ve put my foot down.”

“He’ll be of age in two and a half months,” Mr. Eckerton pointed out. “And most likely the judge would’ve turned it down.”

“Would he turn it down now?” she snapped. “After this? This is why we shouldn’t have let him do it.”

“It was his decision, Julie,” he said quietly. “He’s old enough to make these decisions for himself.”

“I’m not sure he is. Look at what happened.” Without waiting for a response, she walked over to Matt’s bed and disappeared behind the curtains.

Madam Pomfrey joined Mr. Eckerton outside of the curtains. She turned to Albus and Rose. “You two should go back to your common room.”

“But what about the trial?” Albus asked.

“I will go speak with the Wizengamot,” Mr. Eckerton said quietly.

“Can we come back later?” Rose asked. “After breakfast?”

Madam Pomfrey sighed. “Yes, you may stop in briefly after breakfast.”

Albus and Rose quietly left the hospital wing. Albus had a bad feeling in his stomach. The way the Ministry had been lately, he’d be surprised if they didn’t force Matt to testify.

***

Albus and Rose spent the remaining hour until breakfast in the common room, neither of them saying a word. At five minutes until eight, they went to the Great Hall, determined to eat their meal fast, because Madam Pomfrey had told them they could return ‘after breakfast,’ but hadn’t given a specific time. Additionally, Albus was still supposed to be at the trial at nine

After fifteen minutes of mostly pushing their eggs and bacon around on their plates, Albus and Rose went back to the hospital wing.

“I thought he was getting better, not worse,” Albus said as they climbed the stairs to the third floor.

“He is,” Rose said. “But it’s not something he’ll eventually get over. He’ll be dealing with it his whole life. And he’ll have setbacks, like this.”

“It’s not fair,” Albus muttered.

“Life’s not fair, Al,” Rose said.

When they got to the hospital wing Matt’s parents were arguing again. Madam Pomfrey was nowhere in sight, and the curtains were drawn around Matt’s bed. Neither of his parents seemed to notice Albus and Rose, who loitered near the door.

“So what you’re telling me is there is nothing that can be done?” Mrs. Eckerton said. Her face was bright red and she looked ready to hex anyone who crossed her path. “There isn’t anything that can get him out of this?”

“No,” Mr. Eckerton said quietly. “The judge said so long as the defense attorney wants him to testify, he is obligated by law to testify.”

“And you spoke with this defense attorney?”

Mr. Eckerton nodded. “He pushed Matt’s testimony to after mine and Healer Sterling’s, and is allowing him to remain here until after court breaks for lunch. He said he needs eyewitness testimony for the case.”

“I have half a mind to go speak with him myself,” Mrs. Eckerton seethed.

“Don’t. It won’t help anything.”

“What if you tell the attorney about Matt’s lycanthropy?” Mrs. Eckerton said hesitantly. “Didn’t you say he wouldn’t have Matt testify if he knew?”

“He wouldn’t, but it would look very odd to the prosecution for Matt to be removed at the last minute. They would nose around and who knows what they would find? Not to mention how angry the defense attorney would be with me for not telling him earlier…. It’s not a road I want to go down, Julie.”

“And the defense attorney knows how difficult this is going to be for Matt?”

“He does.”

“Awful man,” Mrs. Eckerton muttered. “This just isn’t right.”

“I know it isn’t. But we haven’t got much of a choice here. If he refuses to testify, he’ll be up in front of the Wizengamot next, and well…we’ve seen how the judicial system treats werewolves.”

Albus tiptoed over to Matt’s bed and slowly pulled the curtains back, Rose standing right behind him.

“He’s asleep,” Madam Pomfrey said.

Albus startled. He turned and saw the nurse right behind them. He hadn’t even heard her approach. “Oh, sorry,” Albus muttered.

“How is he?” Rose asked.

“He’s been asleep since you left,” Madam Pomfrey said. “He needs rest.”

“Which he won’t get in front of the Wizengamot,” Mrs. Eckerton said.

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Eckerton said quietly. “I thought it would be good for him to make this decision on his own.”

Mrs. Eckerton sighed. “It was. I just wish it hadn’t turned out like this.”

“I need to get back to the Ministry,” Mr. Eckerton said. “Albus? You’re watching today, right?”

Albus nodded.

“You can come with me,” Mr. Eckerton said.

Mrs. Eckerton announced she would stay with Matt and then bring him to the Ministry later so that she could be there during his testimony. She said goodbye to her husband and then disappeared behind the curtains of Matt’s bed. Madam Pomfrey didn’t snap at her like she had at Albus and Rose for doing the same thing.

Albus took Floo Powder from Madam Pomfrey and followed Mr. Eckerton into the fire. He reappeared in the atrium of the Ministry and walked in silence toward the courtrooms with Mr. Eckerton. Once there, Mr. Eckerton left for the witness room and Albus headed into the courtroom.

The crowd was larger than it had been on the first day. There was so much media, they couldn’t all fit in their designated seats and were spilling outside into the corridor. Inside, most of the seats were full. Albus was surprised to see Dawlish in the back row and went to sit next to him.

“Potter,” Dawlish greeted him.

“Sir,” Albus replied. “Have you been here all week?”

Dawlish nodded. “It’s quite a good show. The prosecution was all over the place, but I still predict they’ll win.”

“I hope not,” Albus said, as much because he didn’t want Matt’s testimony to be for nothing as for wanting Boone to go free.

“Ever the optimist,” Dawlish said.

“Is Johnson coming today?”

“No. He’s busy.” Dawlish leaned over and lowered his voice. “The whole crowd is here, however. None of us are sitting together, of course. Don’t want to appear suspicious. Balladanis is up front. Your aunt and Uncle are a few seats away from them. Only one not here is your dad since he’s teaching.”

“Order! Order!” the judge shouted. The room quieted. “We will now hear from the defense. Defense, you may call your first witness.”

Elroy Watkins rose from his chair and stood in front of the Wizengamot. “I call Walter Eckerton to the stand.”

Albus watched as Matt’s dad walked down the aisle to stand. He sat down and was sworn in by the judge. The Wizengamot watched with curious stares.

“I’ve always liked him,” Dawlish said. “Bit of a mystery why he came here from Australia, but I’m not questioning it.”

“Please state your name for the court,” Watkins said.

“Walter Eckerton.”

“And what is your job title, Mr. Eckerton?” Watkins said as he walked over to the stand.

“I am the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures here at the Ministry.”

Watkins nodded. “Is it safe to say that you work with werewolves on a regular basis?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever encountered the defendant during your time as Head of Department?”

“Yes.”

“And what was the nature of those encounters? Can you explain to the court what transpired during your meetings?”

“Boone came to me on a few occasions looking for support.”

“What kind of support?”

“Assistance with housing and employment,” Mr. Eckerton explained.

“Does your department usually provide assistance like that for lycanthropes?” Watkins asked.

“Yes. Specifically, Werewolf Support Services offers that assistance, but I often push into the smaller departments to keep an eye on how things are going. I believe Boone came in on a day Werewolf Support Services was understaffed and I was in there helping.”

“Were you able to secure employment and housing for Boone?”

“It isn’t our job to secure the housing and employment. We are a resource lycanthropes can use. For example, we provide a list of landlords who have been known in the past to be open to renting to lycanthropes. It is up to the individual person to initiate contact.”

“Let me rephrase. Did you provide Boone with adequate assistance?”

“Yes. He left with a list of landlords and possible employers.”

“And over the course of your meetings, did he seem at all…unstable?”

“Objection!” the prosecutor shouted. “Mr. Eckerton is not a psychologist and therefore unable to speculate on the defendant’s mental health.”

“Sustained,” the head of the Wizengamot said.

“Did Boone seem aggressive?” Watkins said, unfazed by the objection.

“No. He was quite calm and logical,” Mr. Eckerton said.

“Interesting,” Watkins said. “Yesterday, the prosecution claimed lycanthropy makes a person more aggressive.You published a paper two years ago on this subject, am I correct?”

“Yes.”

“What were your findings?”

“I found no evidence that lycanthropes are anymore aggressive than non-lycanthropes when the moon is not full,” Mr. Eckerton said.

“Is the prosecution claiming that Boone murdered that bloke because his lycanthropy makes him more aggressive?” Albus asked Dawlish.

“Essentially, yes,” Dawlish said.

How could the Wizengamot possibly buy that?

“Let me remind the court that there was no full moon when the murder took place,” Watkins said. “Mr. Eckerton, is it safe to say that Mr. Boone’s lycanthropy has no bearing on this case?”

“Yes,” Mr. Eckerton said. “Mr. Boone’s lycanthropy does not make him anymore likely to murder than my own seasonal allergies make me likely to murder.”

“No further questions,” Watkins said. He resumed his seat.

The prosecutor, Jackson Santiago, stood up. He took his time walking to the stand, pausing to smile at the Wizengamot as he went.

“Slimy arse,” Dawlish muttered.

“Mr. Eckerton,” Santiago began, “how long have you worked for the British Ministry?”

“Eight and a half years,” Mr. Eckerton answered.

“And where did you work prior to that?”

“The Australian Ministry of Magic. I was Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures there.”

Albus’s heart sped up. He could see where this was going. Mr. Eckerton, however, looked unfazed.

“Please correct me if I am wrong, Mr. Eckerton, but were you not sacked by the Australian Ministry?”

“Objection!” Watkins shouted.

The crowd erupted in whispers, including the Wizengamot. Surprisingly, Matt’s father still seemed calm.

“Can he do that?” Albus asked. “Santiago?”

Dawlish nodded. “He’s trying to discredit him. By the looks of it, he knew it was coming.”

“Order!” the judge shouted. “Mr. Eckerton, answer the question.”

“Yes, I was sacked. I should have quit long before that. The Minister and I did not see eye to eye on a number of things.”

“One of those things was werewolf restrictions. Is it true you wanted to ease up on restrictions despite an increase in werewolf attacks?”

“Yes. It seems counter-productive, but attacks happen when lycanthropes feel oppressed and when there is a lack of education. I wanted to put our resources in education rather than in developing restrictive laws.”

“You feel very strongly about werewolf rights,” Watkins said. “Is it possible you are slightly biased toward werewolf rights?”

“Yes, but only because I am in favor of human rights.”

Dawlish laughed. “I like him.”

“Is it possible that your bias came out in your research?” Santiago asked.

“No research is unflawed, so yes,” Mr. Eckerton answered.

“No further questions,” Santiago said.

“You are dismissed, Mr. Eckerton,” the judge said.

Albus watched Mr. Eckerton return to his seat. There was now only one person left to testify before Matt. He wished Matt wouldn’t be cross-examined. Santiago was vicious and he would only use Matt’s anxieties to his advantage.

25. Breaking Point

Healer Sterling was called to the stand next. Albus had only ever seen Healer Sterling in passing and the man always looked harried and was always dressed in lime green healer robes. But not today. Today he had the calm presence of a man who owned every room he walked into and was dressed in pristine black robes with silver fastenings. He looked comfortable with being on the stand. Albus imagined as the head of the creature-induced injury ward, Sterling probably gave testimony quite often. Healer Sterling was exactly the type of man Boone needed on his side.

“Please state your name and profession for the court,” Watkins began. Even Watkins looked relaxed with Healer Sterling on the stand.

“Morris Sterling, Head healer of the creature-induced injury ward at St. Mungo’s,” Healer Sterling stated.

“How long have you been head of department?” Watkins asked. “And what did you do before that?”

“Nineteen years this January,” Sterling answered. “Before that I was a healer in the creature-induced injury ward at the Philippe A. Benoit Memorial hospital in Paris.”

“I understand you conduct research as well as see patients? Could you please tell the court what you research?”

“I’d be glad to. I research the effects of lycanthropy on the human body, essentially what happens to a person when they have to transform into a werewolf and then back to a human every month. The physical effects, not the mental effects.”

“Interesting,” Watkins said. “Overall, do you find the effects to be positive or negative?”

“Negative,” Sterling said immediately. “The human body is not meant to go through such a transformation every month and it is not evolutionarily accustomed to doing so. One must only look at the average lifespan of lycanthropes to realize there must be a negative effect.”

“What is the average lifespan of someone infected with lycanthropy?”

“Average is 35, but it is skewed by the number of children who never survive their first transformation. Without those outliers, the average goes up to 45, which is still awfully young considering the average lifespan of a witch is 149 and a wizard is 136. It also greatly depends on when a person is first bitten. Obviously a wizard bitten at the age of 76 is going to surpass the 45 average, whereas someone bitten at the age of five might not make it to 45.”

Albus swallowed hard. Matt was bitten at five.

“Isn’t it also skewed by the number of lycanthropes killed by their own kind?” Watkins asked.

“Of course. The average for lycanthropes who die of natural causes is 56. Still quite young.”

“Would you say that others in your field agree with you on the overall effects of lycanthropy to be negative?”

“Objection!” Santiago shouted. “Speculation.”

“Given Healer Sterling is well-informed and well-respected in his field, he is qualified to give an overview of the findings of his peers,” Watkins said.

“I’ll allow it,” the judge said. “Answer the question.”

“Yes,” Healer Sterling said. “Overall findings across the board are negative. Every paper written on the positive effects of lycanthropy on the human body have been disputed and proven wrong by further findings.”

Watkins nodded. He walked over to his table and picked up an envelope. He then went to a large screen opposite the judge and Healer Sterling, pulled an X-ray out of the envelope, and stuck it on the screen. With a tap of his wand, the screen and X-ray lit up.

“I’d like to direct your attention to Artifact 10,” Watkins said as he gestured to the X-ray. “Healer Sterling, can you please tell the court what you see in this X-ray?”

“Yes,” Healer Sterling said as he peered at the X-ray. “That is the hand of a lycanthrope with a condition called manus contracta.”

“Could you explain manus contracta for those of us who are not healers?” Watkins asked, smiling slightly.

“Of course. It is a condition that causes the hands to contract, so that it is very difficult, or even impossible to extend the fingers.” Healer Sterling held up his right hand, his fingers curled into his palm. “It looks something like this, with varying degrees of contraction. The condition develops in some lycanthropes after years of transformations, in which the bones do not transform properly in the werewolf to human transformation after a full moon.”

“Is there a cure for this?” Watkins asked.

“Not at the moment. It gets worse over time. Future transformations exacerbate it. Seeing as we have yet to cure lycanthropy, we have no way of knowing whether that would allow the condition to heal on its own.”

“What degree of the condition would you say the person who this X-rays belongs to has?” Watkins asked.

“A high degree,” Sterling said. “I doubt he or she would even be able to open their hand, let alone hold a wand securely.”

“Healer Sterling, I assume you read the Prophet articles that stated Michael Sheldon was murdered by a knife slicing open his throat?”

“I did read the articles,” Healer Sterling said quietly.

“That was, in fact, confirmed by St. Mungo’s coroners. Michael Sheldon had his throat sliced open with a knife. It was his cause of death.” Watkins paused to put another X-ray onto the screen. It looked almost identical to the first one, except this was of a left hand instead of a right. “Healer Sterling, could someone with this degree of manus contracta be able to slice someone’s throat?”

“It would be physically impossible for anyone with that degree of manus contracta to even hold a knife, let alone slice a healthy man like Michael Sheldon’s neck.”

“These are Stuart Boone’s X-rays,” Watkins said, turning to face the Wizengamot. “They were taken two months before Michael Sheldon’s murder. Thank you, Healer Sterling.”

Watkins returned to his seat, looking much smugger than he had after Mr. Eckerton’s testimony.

“Mr. Santiago?” the judge prompted.

Santiago looked unsettled. “I have no further questions.”

“Smart man,” Dawlish said. “And a good sign for us. Means he couldn’t find anyway to discredit Healer Sterling.”

“We’ll break for lunch for an hour,” the judge announced. “Then we will pick up with the defense’s next witness.”

Albus’s stomach jumped. Matt was the next witness.

***

Albus spent most of the lunch break wandering around the Ministry. Another fringe benefit of being Harry Potter’s son was that no one gave him odd looks or questioned why he was there, even though his father no longer worked as an Auror. He was hoping to see Matt before court resumed, but he wasn’t allowed in the sequestered witness room.

There were just as many people in the courtroom when Albus returned as there had been before lunch. Albus had been hoping a few people would have to return to work for the afternoon, but if they had, others had replaced them. Dawlish was back, so Albus sat next to him again. Albus saw Matt’s mother sitting in the front row, directly behind Watkins and Boone.

“Order!” the judge shouted as he banged his gavel. “Court is now in session. Mr. Watkins, you may call your next witness.”

Watkins stood up and walked to the center. “I call Matthew Eckerton to the stand.”

Albus turned and saw Matt standing with his dad by the door. He looked petrified. His face was five shades paler than normal and he was visibly shaking again. He walked slowly, looking down at the ground and not making eye contact with anyone. Mr. Eckerton followed him closely until they reached the first row, where he joined his wife. Matt paused at the gate, then walked through. He climbed onto the stand and stared at his lap, shaking. The entire gallery was whispering.

“He does not look good,” Dawlish muttered. “He found Boone in the Shrieking Shack with you, didn’t he?”

Albus nodded. “Yeah.”

“Order!” the head of the wizengamot said, and the whispering stopped.

Watkins walked up to Matt and said something to him. Matt nodded, but didn’t look any less nervous.

“Please state your name for the court,” Watkins began.

Matt mumbled something, but Albus couldn’t hear it. The spectators began whispering again.

“Order!” the judge shouted. He turned to Matt. “I need you to speak up.”

“M-Matthew Eckerton,” Matt said.

“Matt,” Watkins said, using a much softer voice than he had with Healer Sterling. “Can you please tell the court how you know the defendant?”

“I…” Matt began. He was gripping the edge of the witness box with both his hands and was now looking up, his eyes seemingly fixed on the exit behind Albus.

Albus wished the judge would just dismiss him. Albus knew Matt wanted nothing more than to run out of the room as fast as he could, as he did when he felt a panic attack coming on during class. Watching him was making Albus nervous. What would happen if he had a full blown panic attack on the stand, with everyone watching?

“Matt,” Watkins repeated, “can you please tell the court how you know the defendant?”

“C-can I- I-“ Matt began.

Mrs. Eckerton was half out of her seat. Albus knew the only thing holding her back from rushing up to Matt was the fact that the judge would probably have her arrested.

“Your Honor, can we have a quick recess?” Watkins said. “I need to confer with my witness.”

The judge looked at Matt and then at Watkins. He banged his gavel. “Ten minute recess.”

Matt shot off the witness stand so fast the judge seemed to do a double-take. He pushed past Santiago, who looked annoyed and satisfied at the same time. Ten seconds later, he was out the door. Albus rose from his seat and hurried to follow.

Albus found Matt in the nearest loo, getting sick in the farthest stall. Albus waited outside the stall until he was finished.

“I c-can’t do this, Al,” Matt said as he emerged, shaky and pale as ever.

“The faster you answer their questions, the sooner it will be done,” Albus said.

“B-but I c-can’t do it,” Matt whispered. “I literally c-can’t. It f-felt like the w-walls were c-closing in. And I c-couldn’t breathe.”

“Just pretend they aren’t there. Pretend it’s just your parents and me,” Albus suggested.

“I c-can’t d-do that, Al!” Matt shouted. “You d-don’t get it! If I c-could, d-don’t you think I would’ve d-done that?” He turned and punched the wall behind him, dislodging the paper towel rack in the process. It crashed to the floor with a clang. Matt winced at the sound and clutched his now bleeding hand to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Albus said, rushing forward to assess the damage to Matt’s hand. Matt shied away, shaking even harder. “Can I see-“

“Shit! I th-think I b-broke my hand,” Matt said as he sunk down against the wall. He put his head between his knees and rested his good hand on top of his head. “Dammit. I c-can’t. M-my h-head is g-going to explode. I c-can’t breathe…they c-can’t m-make me d-do it.”

There was a knock on the door. “Matt? Are you in there?”

“Come in!” Albus shouted.

Matt’s parents walked in, followed by Watkins, who froze as soon as he saw Matt shaking on the floor. Mrs. Eckerton rushed forward, crouched down in front of Matt, and wrapped her arms around him while whispering in his ear. Despite the fact that he would be of age in three months, he was still so much smaller than his mother.

“Holy shit,” Watkins muttered.

Mrs. Eckerton whipped her head around. “This is why you should’ve let him off!”

“I- I didn’t know,” Watkins muttered.

“I did explain it to you,” Mr. Eckerton pointed out.

“But I didn’t think it was this bad!” Watkins shouted.

“Your shouting is not helping!” Mrs. Eckerton seethed.

“We have to be back in court in six minutes,” Watkins said.

“I c-can’t!” Matt wailed.

“Go speak to the judge,” Mrs. Eckerton snapped. “Both of you!”

Mr. Eckerton and Watkins didn’t need telling twice. Both of them hurried out the door, Watkins muttering something about getting out of the public defender business as he went.

“Albus, you can go back to the courtroom,” Mrs. Eckerton said shortly. She had drawn her wand and it was poised on Matt’s broken hand.

Albus practically tripped over his own feet as he left. The whole situation made him feel uneasy and he’d rather not have to stay in the bathroom while Mrs. Eckerton calmed Matt down. This was far worse than any panic attack Matt had ever had at Hogwarts.

The audience was in full speculation mode when Albus returned. Everyone was whispering about Matt and why he’d freaked out on the witness stand. Thankfully no one seemed to know the real reason. Albus avoided everyone’s gaze as he went back to his seat next to Dawlish.

“Your friend has a serious anxiety problem,” Dawlish said as soon as Albus sat down.

Albus stared at him, his heart speeding up.

“It’s obvious,” Dawlish said. “Especially to someone who saw a lot of PTSD after the war. Had a touch of it myself. Now I have no idea why he’s got problems, but I do know how awful it is. I hope they let him off.”

“Me, too,” Albus agreed.

The ten minute mark came and passed, without the judge, either attorney, or Matt returning. At the twenty minute mark, the judge and both attorneys walked back into the room. Watkins looked resigned. Santiago looked annoyed. The judge’s face was unreadable. Albus supposed that was the mark of a good judge.

“The testimony of Matthew Eckerton will be stricken from the record,” the judge said. “Instead, his deposition will be entered into evidence, to be perused by the Wizengamot prior to deliberation. Mr. Watkins will continue with his next witness.”

Albus breathed a sigh of relief. He only hoped Matt’s deposition would help Boone.

***

Without Matt’s testimony, the defense was able to wrap by the end of the day. The remaining two witnesses (a barkeep from Knockturn Alley and Boone’s ex-girlfriend) gave brief testimony, to which Albus paid no attention. After both attorneys gave their closing remarks, everyone filed out so the Wizengamot could begin their deliberation. The media loitered near the entrance, but everyone else left, whispering amongst themselves about what the decision would be.

“They’re in for a long night,” Dawlish said, nodding to the clump of media. “Decision won’t be made quickly.”

“They’re going to stay there until the decision is made?” Albus asked.

Dawlish nodded. “None of them will want to risk missing it. I imagine the decision will be announced tomorrow afternoon. The Wizengamot won’t want to drag it out over the weekend.”

“And the Ministry will let them stay overnight?”

“They’ll put guards up on either end of the corridor and escort them to the exits if they wish to leave,” Dawlish explained. “I need to get back upstairs. I’d offer to walk you to the Floo, but I know you’re going run up to Walter Eckerton’s office to see if he’s there.”

“I-“ Albus began.

Dawlish smirked. “I won’t say a word. Good luck, Albus Potter. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you sooner rather than later.”

With one last nod, Dawlish slipped into the crowd as if he wasn’t quite solid. Albus watched him leave, then hurried through the crowd himself, before any Prophet reporters found him. Dawlish had been right about him wanting to find Mr. Eckerton.

Once again taking advantage of his last name, Albus strolled through the Ministry as if he belonged there, and nobody questioned him. He rode the elevator to the fourth level with a handful of Ministry officials and half a dozen memos.

Compared to the tenth level, where the courtrooms were located, level four was quiet. Only a few witches and wizards dressed in blue Ministry robes walked through the corridor, none of whom even seemed to notice Albus.

Albus wasn’t as familiar with the fourth level as he was the second, where the Auror Headquarters was located, but he did remember where Mr. Eckerton’s study was. When he got there, he was relieved to see it was open a crack. He knocked once, and then pushed the door open.

Mr. Eckerton was sitting at his desk, hunched over something Albus couldn’t see. He looked up when Albus walked in, his face stony. It softened slightly as Albus shut the door behind himself.

“Albus,” he said quietly. “Did court adjourn for the day?”

“Yes,” Albus said. “The Wizengamot is deliberating.”

Mr. Eckerton sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t even want to know what is going to happen when they announce that decision. I don’t like where this government is headed. Some days I think your father had the right idea…but I don’t want to think about what would happen if I left.”

Albus nodded. He wondered if Mr. Eckerton was involved with what his father, Balladanis, and Dawlish were doing. No one had mentioned it.

“Where’s Matt?” Albus asked.

Mr. Eckerton gestured to one of the leather chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat, Albus.”

It was never a good sign when someone asked you to sit down. Albus sat, his heart pounding. What had happened after he left?

“Matt is at home,” Mr. Eckerton explained. “I just got back from there about ten minutes ago. He’s okay. Healer Norlam visited and gave him a few stronger potions. He’s been asleep since.”

“I guess he shouldn’t have said he’d testify,” Albus said.

“Probably not. But I think this was coming on for a long time. The trial was only a part of it. He signed up for too many N.E.W.T.s and Julie and I shouldn’t have signed off on it. Plus he’s starting to think about what will happen after he leaves Hogwarts. Healer Norlam doesn’t think he’s gotten a full night’s sleep in weeks. The occlumency isn’t working, as much as your aunt wants it to.”

“I hadn’t even realized,” Albus said. Since he was such a light sleeper, Albus usually woke up when Matt woke up from a nightmare. The silencing charms. “I think he puts silencing charms around his bed at night.”

Mr. Eckerton sighed and rubbed his left hand through his remaining hair. “Albus, I really appreciate that you’re always there for him. I honestly don’t know what would’ve happened if he hadn’t met you and Rose.”

“Of course,” Albus said. “He’s my friend.”

“Anyway, the stress got to him. The trial was just the last straw, and when he woke up this morning it all hit him and something snapped. We’re keeping him home for at least a week. Then we’ll readdress and see what can be done to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

Albus nodded. “Can I visit while he’s home?”

“We’ll see,” Mr. Eckerton said. “I’ll owl you if Julie and I decide it will be okay. For now, I think it best you get back to the castle. You can Floo from here.”

“Thanks,” Albus said as he stood up.

“Thank you, Albus,” Mr. Eckerton said as he held up a pot of Floo powder.

“Tell Matt I hope he’s feeling better soon.”

“I will.”

Albus took the Floo powder, threw it into the flames in Mr. Eckerton’s fireplace, and stepped inside. He spun back to Hogwarts, his mind racing as fast as his body was traveling.