Rulings and Wanderers Between the Layers
The entire courtroom sat in utter silence. Alice Longbottom came to stand beside her husband, her eyes focused, her skin clear and vibrant. The sight of the two together caused many a tear to drop within the benches of the Wizengamot.
Fudge collected himself, no longer truly knowing what to say. He let out a breath, and Dolores Umbridge spoke up first.
"These two witnesses are clearly under the influence of untested and dangerous magic. I move to hold the prisoner until we can investigate all four charges more fully."
Her quill continued scratching upon her parchment even as the benches once again burst into an uproar.
"All four of the charges?! I would like to ask more about the monocle, but that doesn't even seem to involve Ms. McGonagall," a tall, middle-aged wizard grumbled, his mustache twirling at the ends in time with his speech.
A middle-aged witch sat forward in her seat and spoke over thick, circular eyeglasses. "The young woman has proven herself innocent. It is time to end the proceedings. Let's vote."
Voices of agreement rang through the courtroom, and Fudge
lifted his wand. All quieted with the loud gavel-crash, and Fudge passed a stern eye over the room and everyone in it.
"We will have a vote. First, we will determine if more investigation is needed. Those in favor of further investigation and the continued detention of the prisoner?"
Hazel held her breath, her eyes darting to the tiers of plum-colored robes. Beside the Minister, Dolores Umbridge's hand shot up, joined by a scattered group of fourteen others—mostly those sitting closest to Fudge, their faces set in hard, bureaucratic masks.
"And those in favor of clearing the accused of all charges?"
A forest of hands rose. It wasn't just a majority; it was a landslide. Thirty-five hands reached for the shadowed ceiling. The message was clear.
Fudge's face paled. He looked at the sea of hands, then down at the girl in the center of the floor. He opened his mouth to speak, perhaps to add a final "condition" or a lingering restriction, but the heavy oak doors at the back of the chamber groaned open.
Minerva McGonagall stepped into the light.
She did not look like the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. She looked like a woman who had crossed worlds and survived a storm of ghosts. Her traveling cloak was dusted with a strange, silvery silt, and her face was a mask of exhausted granite. She didn't look at the Wizengamot. She didn't look at Dumbledore. Her eyes went straight to Hazel, lingering for a fraction of a second on the blue chain of light.
She walked down the center aisle with a stride that brooked no interruption. When she reached the center of the floor, she stood beside Hazel and looked up at Fudge. Her voice was quiet—frighteningly so—but it carried to every corner of the amphitheater.
"The vote has been cast, Cornelius. My daughter has been cleared."
Fudge sputtered, his hand hovering over his wand. "Minerva, we were just—"
"You were finished," she interrupted, her tone flat and final. She reached out, her hand resting firmly on Hazel's shoulder. The contact was the first bit of warmth Hazel had felt in hours. "I am tired of these proceedings. My daughter came to you in good faith. She turned herself in because of our laws, and you decided to use her sense of honor against her. I will not allow my daughter to be abused. I am taking her home now."
The silence that followed was absolute. For a moment, the Minister of Magic and the distinguished witch locked eyes, but Fudge was the first to blink. With a reluctant wave of his wand, the blue chains of light flashed then dissolved away. Hazel leaned forward a bit as her shackled hands swung down.
Dolores Umbridge frowned and opened her mouth in protest. Minerva McGonagall looked to her. "Choose your words very carefully, Madame Umbridge. I would hate to have to explain myself or my actions."
The threat was clear, and Dolores Umbridge sat back, her quill suddenly scratching even harder than before.
Minerva didn't wait for a formal dismissal. She turned Hazel toward the exit, her grip tightening just enough to provide the strength Hazel's shaking legs lacked. The shackles fell from her wrists and ankles with a loud clatter onto the stones. They walked out of the Court of Shadows together, leaving the Ministry's bureaucracy behind in a deep, reflective silence.
The folds between the Dreamscape were darkness—not all-encompassing, but still complete. The air here was thin and filled with a sense of foreboding. It was like moving through a dark quiet when you knew there was light just out of reach.
The layers fluttered against each other like curtains before an open window, but the laws were stern here, and not a drop of light was allowed to enter.
This is where the Emotion Doll quietly moved. It still was not fully awake and moved like a thing lost in a dream, merely moving forward out of instinct. The layers were nothing to it, just another place to traverse. Its instincts were leading it to something it deemed precious and to someone it now deemed important.
Power gently swirled around the black doll, the stitches in its eyes and mouth becoming more and more loose as it moved forward. It was as if its being understood it was time to awaken and to speak. It had slept a long time—ignoring the world, forgetting about existence.
Now it moved forward to an action it innately knew would change everything. It didn't care about change; it just wanted, and it would not stop until it got what it wanted.