“I do have a few questions I’d like answered.”

Bryan spoke the words with a smile.

The moment his voice cut through the air, the courtroom—which mere seconds before had been roaring like a bustling marketplace fell into sudden, absolute silence.

It was as though someone had cast a Silencing Charm over the entire chamber. Every member of the Wizengamot jury fixed their gaze on Bryan Watson’s face.

Watson is about to fight back.

The thought surfaced simultaneously in dozens of minds throughout the chamber. It was hardly surprising. Given the temperament Watson had consistently displayed in public—no one in their right mind would expect him to submit without a fierce struggle.

But how? What could he possibly do?

The questions dangled unspoken in the stale air of the underground courtroom.

The Ministry’s chain of evidence seemed airtight, forged link by link with testimonies and records that appeared impossible to refute. There was no obvious crack to exploit.

And judging by the speechless, utterly defeated expressions etched on the faces of the three young wizards from Hogwarts—the Ministry did not appear to have fabricated or exaggerated anything.

“What do you want to ask.”

Though Dawlish had been swaggering before Harry and the others just moments ago, a wave of profound unease swept over him now as Watson’s penetrating gaze passed his way.

The words had escaped Dawlish’s mouth before he could stop them, tumbling out in response to Watson’s unspoken challenge. The moment they left his lips—he realized his catastrophic mistake.

He should never have taken Watson’s bait so easily, should never have opened himself up to cross-examination. But it was too late now.

“Just now—”

Bryan withdrew his gaze from Dawlish’s increasingly pale face.

Before the eyes of every Wizengamot member, he began to pace calmly back and forth in front of Harry’s group.

“Dawlish explained to the jury the grounds on which Harry Potter has been formally charged with murder by the Ministry of Magic,” Bryan continued, his voice carrying effortlessly to every corner of the space. “That explanation has given me considerable cause to wonder about certain… inconsistencies.”

Bryan stopped abruptly, his robes settling around him. He pivoted sharply l to face Dawlish again.

“According to your account,” Bryan began, “the Auror Office visited the Hogsmeade post office beginning on the twenty-seventh of January this year, in connection with the investigation into the vicious attack on Miss Hermione Granger. It was during this investigation that your office incidentally discovered that on that very same day, Harry James Potter, Ronald Bilius Weasley, and Hermione Jean Granger had sent packages to a Muggle orphanage through the wizarding postal service.

Upon tracking those packages, your investigators found that a Chocolate Frog contained within Harry James Potter’s parcel had accidentally caused the death of an innocent Muggle postman by lodging itself in his throat and causing fatal asphyxiation. A terrible accident, to be sure. My question, then is this:”

Bryan’s expression went utterly blank, wiped clean of all emotion. But his eyes—his eyes sharpened like a blade being drawn from its sheath.

“When, precisely, did the Auror Office make contact with the Muggle police authorities and retrieve the package from Hogsmeade—the one containing this allegedly lethal Chocolate Frog—that had been held in Muggle police custody as evidence in what they believed to be a murder investigation?”

All the composure Dawlish had carried into the courtroom like armor drained from his face in an instant, as though someone had pulled a plug. The color fled from his cheeks, leaving him ashen.

His eyes flickered with concealed panic, darting first to Fudge, then to Umbridge, seeking rescue, finding none. He opened his mouth to formulate an answer—

But from her position on the bench above, Umbridge’s voice cut sharply across whatever response he might have given.

“Mr. Watson,” she began, her tone sickeningly sweet, dripping with false reasonableness like honey from a poisoned comb, “I believe the Ministry has already presented a complete and thoroughly comprehensive body of evidence establishing beyond any reasonable doubt that Harry James Potter committed this terrible act of manslaughter through criminal negligence—”

She fixed her trademark sugary smile firmly in place. Those eyes—cold, calculating, filled with malice fell on Bryan and brimmed with hatred.

“As for your question regarding the specific timeline of evidence recovery… well, how shall I put this… exactly when the Aurors obtained possession of the package is really rather a trivial matter, isn’t it? Your question seems rather like you’re attempting to—”

“Under the Wizengamot Rights Charter—”

Bryan’s resonant voice bulldozed right over Umbridge’s honeyed tone.

“The defending counsel has the absolute, inviolable right to demand that the prosecution clarify any point of uncertainty, ambiguity, or deliberate vagueness within the chain of evidence they have presented to this court!”

Several jury members nodded subtly, acknowledging the truth of his words.

“Answer the counsel’s question, Dawlish.”

Madam Bones’s command cut through the chamber.

“I… I…”

Dawlish’s mouth opened and closed like a fish drowning in air. He looked desperately to Fudge, his eyes pleading for intervention. What he received in return was a warning glare.

“Perhaps… er, I believe it was…” Dawlish stammered, sweat beginning to bead visibly on his forehead. “The… the twenty-first of June—”

“The twenty-first of June?”

Bryan’s smile was cold as winter frost, as he pressed forward like a predator sensing wounded prey.

“Let me ensure I understand the timeline you’re presenting to this court. The attack on Hermione Granger took place on the twenty-seventh of January. The Aurors intervened immediately, as you’ve testified. They launched a full investigation and examined the Hogsmeade post office records that very day. Yet the package sent by Harry James Potter—a package you claim resulted in a man’s death—was only recovered nearly five months later, at the end of June?”

A wave of murmuring swept through the chamber.

The dead, hopeless green in Harry’s eyes suddenly flickered back to life, like embers stirred by a breath of air.

Professor Watson was right. Of course he was right! If the Ministry had genuinely wanted to retrieve his parcel urgently, they could have accomplished it in half a day. Five months was impossible to justify.

Harry stared at Dawlish with intensity, his body unconsciously leaning forward, every nerve straining to catch what he would say next.

“I misremembered!”

Dawlish practically shouted the words. His forehead was now slicked with cold sweat. He raised his voice even louder.

“I confused the dates in my mind! The twenty-first of June is actually the key evidence recovery date for a different case. In fact, Harry James Potter’s package was retrieved rather… rather earlier than that…”

His voice faltered at the end, trailing off into uncertainty.

“Earlier?”

Bryan’s voice cracked through the courtroom like a whip.

“Honeydukes—a simple candy shop—can recall exactly how many sweets it sold on a given afternoon five months ago. I should think the Auror Office of the British Ministry of Magic would remember a date as critically important as this one with even greater precision. This isn’t asking you to recall what you had for breakfast three years ago, Dawlish. This is asking you to remember when you recovered evidence in an alleged murder case.”

Bryan’s eyes bored into the sweating Dawlish.

“Give the Wizengamot jury a precise answer.”

“It… it might have been… February…”

Dawlish’s voice had dropped to a whisper. He wasn’t foolish—he could see the trap buried inside what seemed like a simple question. No matter how he answered now, no matter what date he gave, he was cornered.

“February?”

Bryan’s smile transformed into something even colder.

“So let me summarize for the benefit of everyone present. The Ministry of Magic was in possession of a complete chain of evidence linking Harry James Potter to a supposed murder—evidence including postal records, witness testimony, physical evidence, and confirmation of a Muggle death—at least four months ago, possibly five. And yet, mysteriously, the Ministry only now—here, today, in this courtroom—sees fit to bring formal charges?”

The murmuring of the jury swelled intensely, voices were rising in confusion and suspicion. Some jury members were shaking their heads slowly.

Amid this growing storm of speculation, Bryan asked, his voice cutting through the noise, utterly flat.

“Why did the Ministry wait four months, Mr. Dawlish? Were you perhaps waiting for Mr. Potter to come home for summer holiday?”

Up in the gallery, Amelia turned her head slowly to look at Fudge, her expression one of profound disappointment mingled with fury.

She had seen through it all now. The case against Harry Potter was not an investigation that had naturally uncovered wrongdoing. It was a conspiracy, carefully orchestrated from start to finish.

“Perhaps the Ministry owes us a proper, thorough explanation, Cornelius!” she declared, her voice ringing with authority and suppressed anger.

“Order! ORDER!”

The Minister for Magic shot to his feet so rapidly his chair scraped loudly against the stone floor. He seized his gavel and slammed it down hard—once, twice, three times—the sharp cracks were echoing like gunshots.

He glared down at Bryan Watson with such undisguised fury that several jury members flinched at the expression.

“It is not your place—not your place, Mr. Watson—to lecture the Ministry of Magic on its efficiency or its case management procedures!”

Fudge’s face had gone slightly purple, his jowls were trembling with rage.

“Of course not.”

Bryan’s face had transformed into something carved from stone, utterly unmoved by Fudge’s display of authority.

“But I rather suspect that the members of this esteemed Wizengamot jury are asking themselves the very same question I just posed aloud. A straightforward matter of evidence retrieval, something that should take at most a few days even with proper documentation—and the Auror Office cannot give a clear, consistent answer? First it’s June, then it’s February? This is not a matter of faulty memory, Minister.”

“The Ministry’s… internal procedures…”

Fudge’s expression was murderous, as though he wished he could reach down from his position and physically silence Bryan, perhaps swallow him whole and be done with this humiliation. He forced the words through clenched teeth.

“…are rather involved. Complicated. There are protocols, chains of command—”

“Because this concerns the famous Harry Potter, the Ministry naturally felt compelled to proceed with extraordinary caution!”

Umbridge broke in suddenly, her voice bright and helpful, throwing Fudge a lifeline. “Is that not so, Minister? The Ministry wished to be absolutely certain before bringing such serious charges against someone of his stature!”

“Yes—precisely! Exactly right, Dolores!”

A lifeline, and Fudge seized it with both hands like a drowning man grasping floating debris. His eyes brightened at once, relief overflowing his face.

“The Ministry had no desire to see Harry Potter convicted of murder either! That is precisely why we… why we investigated exhaustively, time and again, reviewing every piece of evidence repeatedly until we were absolutely certain—certain beyond any shadow of doubt—that it was indeed Harry Potter whose actions resulted in this tragic death.”

It was a desperate argument, hastily constructed and poorly thought through. It held no basis under even casual scrutiny—if they’d been so careful, how could they not remember basic dates? The logic collapsed under its own weight.

A significant number of jury members exchanged glances with their neighbors—subtle, sidelong looks full of meaning and gave the faintest shake of their heads.

Some eyes drifted toward the seat positioned at the very front of the courtroom: Albus Dumbledore.

Curiously, unexpectedly, Dumbledore did not appear heartened or encouraged by the crack Watson had just driven through the Ministry’s case. He sat perfectly still, motionless as a statue, and something weary hung about him like a funeral shroud.

“Very well. Let’s accept that explanation for now, shall we?”

What followed was even more unexpected, catching everyone off guard.

Instead of seizing on the opening he’d created and driving the Ministry further into the corner, pressing his advantage until they had nowhere left to retreat, Bryan simply let out a quiet almost amused breath.

But in the next moment, his voice rang out again through the chamber, full and clear and sharp as a bell.

“I have a second question.”

Bryan stepped into the exact center of the courtroom, positioning himself where everyone could see him clearly. He turned the full force of his presence toward the jury, leaving the sweat-drenched, trembling Dawlish entirely behind.

“Dawlish mentioned a moment ago that the cause of the victim’s death was a Chocolate Frog that somehow lodged itself in the unfortunate Muggle’s throat and caused him to asphyxiate.”

“And what of it, Watson?!”

Fudge, barely holding himself together, barely maintaining even a pretense of composure, snapped the question with desperation.

“What of it, you ask?”

Bryan turned slowly to look at Dawlish, and the contempt burning in his eyes was so intense that the man visibly flinched and took a half-step back.

“As almost everyone knows—Chocolate Frogs are one of the most beloved and widely sold confectionery items in the Wizarding World. They’re available in virtually every sweet shop throughout the magical communities of Britain, Ireland, and continental Europe. They’ve been a staple of wizarding childhood for generations.”

Bryan’s voice dropped into a slower tempo.

“The product is designed primarily for consumption by children in wizarding households. And as anyone who has ever spent time around children knows, their imaginations tend toward the creative and the reckless. They do unpredictable things.”

Bryan began to pace again.

“Which is precisely why, this particular sweet was manufactured with certain mandatory safety features built into its very magical matrix.”

‘Safety features?’

The thought rippled through the courtroom. Fudge, Umbridge, and Dawlish all wore the same look of blank incomprehension.

They were not alone. Most members of the jury appeared equally mystified.

“For instance—to prevent choking—”

Bryan’s gaze settled on Fudge, cold and merciless.

“A Chocolate Frog will not leap of its own accord into anyone’s mouth or throat. And even if a child were to deliberately stuff an entire Chocolate Frog into their mouth, it would dissolve instantly into liquid chocolate to prevent tragedy from occurring. Which brings me to my question.”

His voice echoed through the dim chamber, unhurried and relentless.

“How, exactly, did a Muggle postman choke to death on a Chocolate Frog?”

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