Ambrosius Flume and his plump, cheerful wife had operated their candy shop in Hogsmeade Village for nearly two decades, building a reputation that extended far beyond the quaint wizarding settlement.
Their shop had become something of a legend in the magical community, particularly cherished by young witches and wizards who pressed their noses against the shop's frosted windows, mesmerized by the revolving displays of Fizzing Whizzbees and pineapple chunks.
Harry and his two closest friends knew the proprietor well.
Their familiarity stemmed not merely from the countless hours they'd spent browsing the shop's cramped aisles, debating between Pepper Imps and Jelly Slugs, their pockets jingling with precious Galleons.
No, their connection ran deeper than simple business. Hidden in the storeroom at the back of the establishment, concealed behind towers of Cauldron Cakes and beneath a trapdoor worn smooth by countless feet, lay a secret passage.
This particular tunnel wound its way through rock and earth before emerging on the castle's fourth floor, a passage that Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the mischievous Weasley twins had all traversed more times than they could count.
"Now then, Mr. Flume—"
Fudge's voice cut through the oppressive silence of the courtroom, his tone dripping with a carefully practiced blend of kindness and warmth.
He gazed at the candy shop owner with an expression of benevolent interest.
"Please tell the assembled members of the Wizengamot jury whether you recognize the three defendants seated behind you."
Flume turned slowly, his movements reluctant, as though the simple act of looking required tremendous courage. His eyes fell upon Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The expression that crossed his wrinkled face was one of profound reluctance.
After a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, he gave a barely perceptible nod.
"Yes, Minister," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "They are Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger. They're students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Like many, many others their age, they often visit my shop during Hogsmeade weekends."
A heavy silence blanketed the courtroom. No one dared voice an opinion yet, though the air practically vibrated with suppressed whispers and speculation.
Madam Bones in her plum-colored robes, the monocle over her eye glinting in the torchlight, fixed Flume with a stern, piercing look.
"Flume," Fudge continued, his questioning smooth and orderly, like a serpent coiling around its prey, "do you recall whether the three defendants visited your shop on January twenty-seventh of this year?"
"Yes, I remember," Flume replied, bowing slightly toward the Minister, his hands clasped tightly before him as though in prayer. "I remember it clearly."
"Flume—"
Madam Bones's voice cut through suspiciously. Her eyes narrowed behind her monocle.
"To my knowledge, your candy shop is beloved by young wizards throughout Britain. Dozens—perhaps hundreds—of students visit your establishment on every Hogsmeade weekend. The foot traffic alone must be staggering. How, precisely, do you remember these three particular defendants visiting your shop half a year ago?"
Harry's mouth fell open, a small gasp escaping his lips.
Memories he'd almost entirely forgotten suddenly surfaced with clarity. Beside him, fear bloomed in Hermione's brown eyes. She stared blankly at the proprietor of Honeydukes, her face draining of all color, as if she'd already recalled every detail of what they'd done.
"Because Mr. Potter was quite... quite generous that day—"
Flume gasped between words, his voice strained with emotion and what seemed like regret.
"In all my years running that shop, no student has spent that much gold galleons in a single visit all year. The total came to thirty Galleons, five Sickles, and twelve Knuts. It was a truly substantial transaction. I was so pleased by the business that I gave him a discount—only charged him an even thirty Galleons."
CRASH!
The thunder of realization struck with devastating force.
The members of the Wizengamot jury leaned forward in their seats straining to hear every word of Flume's testimony.
But inside Harry, Ron, and Hermione's minds, an entirely different storm raged—a tempest of memory and emerging horror that drowned out everything else. Thunder roared in their ears reverberating through their skulls.
They finally remembered. Oh Merlin, they remembered what they'd done that day!
The strength drained from Harry's body like water through a sieve. He sagged against the cold stone chair, its chill seeping through his robes and into his very bones. His green eyes flooded with despair.
So this was it. The Ministry's accusations weren't merely a calculated frame-up, some political machination designed to discredit him and Dumbledore. No—he really had done something monumentally foolish. He really had broken wizarding law. The truth hit him with the force of a Bludger to the chest.
"How do you substantiate this claim, Flume?"
Amelia shot a quick glance toward Bryan, who sat silent and statue-like in his seat, his expression utterly unreadable.
A bad feeling was rising in her chest. But she couldn't stop now. She had to keep searching for weaknesses in the prosecution's case.
"Oh, I have a detailed sales record, Madam Bones," Flume replied, his voice gaining a tone of hope, as though this mundane documentation might somehow absolve him of his role in these proceedings. "I keep meticulous accounts for tax reporting purposes. The Ministry requires it, you understand."
He looked hopefully toward Dawlish standing rigid near the evidence table.
"The record is here, Minister, and available for all esteemed members of the Wizengamot jury to examine."
Dawlish announced in a voice pitched unnaturally high, strained to the point of near-hoarseness, as though excitement or perhaps vindictiveness had tightened his vocal cords.
Under the attentive eyes of over two hundred assembled witches and wizards, he reached into his coat with deliberate slowness, building the tension, and withdrew a thick, worn ledger. Its leather cover was cracked with age, its pages yellowed and worn from years of daily use.
Dawlish opened the heavy tome, his fingers moving to the precise page he needed without hesitation—clear evidence of prior preparation. He helpfully turned to January twenty-seventh, revealing a page densely filled with that day's sales records.
He presented the book to Fudge with a flourish, but Fudge didn't accept it. Instead, he merely waved his hand airily, indicating that the ledger should go directly to Madam Bones for her inspection.
The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement took the ledger in her strong hands, her expression grim as she examined the entries. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she studied the page.
There was nothing to dispute.
The ledger bore date-stamped magical seals. Every jury member who craned their necks to see acknowledged this evidence with solemn nods. The authenticity was beyond question.
"Very good, Flume—"
Fudge looked smugly toward Bryan, his chest puffing out slightly with triumph, his eyes glittering with satisfaction.
"You may step down now."
"I'm... I'm sorry," Flume said softly, his words directed at the three young defendants, his face mournful and etched with distress.
His eyes met Harry's for just a moment before he turned and fled the grim courtroom as if escaping from imminent disaster.
"Defendants," Fudge declared, his gaze sweeping over the three pale young wizards like a searchlight, "do you now dispute the established fact that on January twenty-seventh of this year, you visited the Honeydukes candy shop in Hogsmeade Village?"
With such ironclad evidence laid before them, there was absolutely no room for argument or denial.
Harry opened his mouth, desperately wanting to speak, to explain, but his throat was terribly hoarse—constricted by fear and shame—and he couldn't make a sound. The words died before they could form.
"Perhaps you're all wondering—"
Fudge suddenly raised his voice, ensuring every person in the courtroom could hear his next words clearly.
"The three defendants visiting Honeydukes is perfectly normal, entirely unremarkable behavior that violates no wizarding law. So why, you must be asking yourselves, has the Ministry of Magic brought formal charges against them?"
A buzzing rose through the crowd like tides beneath the full moon, gradually swelling in volume. Whispers became murmurs, murmurs became speculation, speculation became demands for answers.
"I certainly expect—and demand—a reasonable explanation, Cornelius," Madam Bones said coldly, her voice cutting through the noise.
And so another witness was brought forth by Dawlish
This time, the witness was a wizard of approximately fifty years, terribly thin to the point of appearing malnourished, his robes hanging loose on his bony frame.
Like Flume before him, this man too clearly feared this courtroom that upheld the ancient dignity of magical law. His hands trembled slightly as he stood before the assembled Wizengamot.
"I am Zadley Kern—"
Facing the entire Wizengamot—that intimidating semicircle of purple-robed witches and wizards who held the power to destroy lives with a single verdict, the weathered, thin wizard introduced himself with the utmost respect.
"I'm employed by the Ministry of Magic, under the Department of Magical Transportation, specifically in the Wizard Post Office division. I serve as a records clerk at the Hogsmeade post office branch, where I've—"
"Now then, Kern—"
Fudge's voice grew increasingly cheerful.
"What can you tell us about the three defendants?"
"On January twenty-seventh of this year," Kern began, his voice growing more steady as he fell into the rhythm of his testimony,
"the young wizards Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger each brought a large parcel into the post office where I work. The parcels were substantial—bulky and irregularly shaped. They paid the required postal fees in full, and requested that we send those three parcels to an address in London."
Bryan glanced at this well-rehearsed postal worker, his sharp eyes missing nothing. The man's testimony flowed too smoothly. It was crystal clear—this entire scene had been practiced multiple times.
"Be specific, Mr. Kern," Madam Bones commanded, her voice hard.
By this point, understanding what was happening, Amelia sighed privately.
"Where, exactly, did they request the parcels be sent? What was the destination address?"
Dawlish pulled out another ledger from his seemingly bottomless coat pockets. He opened it with a dramatic flourish, finding the relevant page with suspicious ease. A cruel smile appeared on his face, twisting it into something gleeful as he announced loudly:
"According to thorough Auror investigation, Harry James Potter, Ronald Bilius Weasley, and Hermione Jean Granger sent their parcels to a Muggle orphanage in London!"
CRASH!
The loudest uproar since the trial began erupted like a volcano.
The sound was deafening—gasps of shock, cries of disbelief, shouts of outrage all were blending into a noise of chaos.
Many wizards stared at the three young defendants in utter disbelief, their faces contorted with confusion and horror. Others looked toward Albus Dumbledore seated prominently in the front row, their faces full of bewilderment as if silently asking: 'How could you let this happen? How could students under your care commit such a basic violation?'
Donating wizarding items—magical products—to a Muggle orphanage?
Had Hogwarts provided absolutely no education in legal basics?! Did these children not understand the most fundamental principle of magical society—the absolute necessity of maintaining the Statute of Secrecy?!
Bryan, who had been the focus of everyone's attention throughout this trial, sat like a statue saying nothing.
And Dumbledore sat quietly as well, though a barely perceptible helplessness crossed his aged face.
"How did the Auror Office think to investigate the Wizard Post Office records, Dawlish?" Madam Bones said, looking coldly at her subordinate as he displayed the postal records to the jury with satisfaction.
"You should remember, Madam Bones—"
Dawlish met his superior's gaze without hesitation.
"At the time, the Auror Office was under orders to investigate the vicious attack on Miss Hermione Granger in Hogsmeade Village. We knew that the cursed package she received was sent through the official post office system.
When we were authorized to review postal records as part of that investigation, we discovered quite by chance that the three defendants had sent parcels to a Muggle orphanage in London on that very same day."
At this point, Dawlish's eyes flickered.
"We immediately realized this might pose a significant security risk. So naturally, we went to investigate the matter further, as was our sworn duty. But by the time we reached the Orphanage in London, we discovered it had never actually received the parcels in question."
'Never received them?!'
Harry, Ron, and Hermione all stared at Dawlish, wanting to know where their parcels had gone.
"After investigation," Dawlish continued, his voice taking on a grave tone, "we discovered that the defendants' parcels had ended up at a Muggle police station instead. Oh, allow me to explain to everyone present—a Muggle police station is essentially where Muggle Aurors are stationed. It's their equivalent of our Department of Magical Law Enforcement!"
'The parcels went to the police station instead of the orphanage?!'
Harry's eyes widened in terror as he stared at Dawlish, who had turned back to face him with an expression of grim satisfaction.
"Why?" Dawlish asked rhetorically, his voice rising with theatrical emphasis. "Why did three parcels sent from Hogsmeade post office end up confiscated by Muggle law enforcement? Oh, we conducted a most thorough investigation to answer that very question, I assure you. Mr. Potter, would you like to know what we discovered?"
Dawlish adopted an expression of pained righteousness, as though the burden of revealing such terrible truth weighed heavily upon his conscience.
"Tell everyone—what was the reason? What happened to those parcels?"
Fudge didn't look at Dawlish or Harry, but instead gazed directly at the silent figures of Dumbledore and Bryan, his lips curling into a sneer of pure vindication. His emotions ran high. His voice boomed tremendously resonant throughout the stone chamber.
"Tell the members of the Wizengamot jury the terrible, tragic consequences of Harry Potter's foolish, reckless actions!"
"It was because!"
Dawlish's shrill voice echoed and merged with Fudge's deeper tones in the shadowy courtroom, the two voices were creating a horrifying harmony.
Combined with Dolores Umbridge's sharp, impatient urging from her seat—that toad-like woman was practically bouncing with vindictive glee—everyone present seemed to see Hogwarts's defeat already sealed!
"An innocent Muggle postal worker—a completely ordinary man, father of two young children, husband to a devoted wife—had a fatal accident while delivering the parcels Harry Potter sent to the Muggle orphanage. Those parcels contained magical products!
A Chocolate Frog jumped into that poor postman's throat, causing him to suffocate to death. The Muggle authorities naturally believed those parcels were crucial evidence in a murder case, so they confiscated them. Harry Potter!"
Dawlish glared savagely at Harry, who had collapsed devastated against the chair back, and shouted furiously:
"You killed an innocent man!"
CRACK!
The statement landed like a thunderbolt flashing across a dark sky.
The jury members stared blankly at Harry, whose eyes were now brimming with tears. Shock registered on face after face throughout the courtroom. They hadn't expected this—hadn't imagined that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the hero of the wizarding world, could actually be guilty. That the Ministry's prosecution was actually based in truth!
"Oh, let's not rush to conclusions quite yet—"
A new voice cut through the oppressive atmosphere.
Bryan emerged from his statue-like state of silent observation with a smile at his face, his light voice was carrying perfectly to every corner of the solemn, quiet courtroom.
"Before we condemn three children to Azkaban, I have a few questions that require answers."
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