Harry clenches his jaw while looking over to his best friend. Ron's lower lip hangs as he anxiously readjusts the hoodie on his shoulders. After apprehensively peering across the crowd, he slips past Hermione and Harry and walks to the front of the spacious courtroom. He waltzes up to one of the elevated podiums and glances around the room while taking a seat.

"Please state your name."

Ron's eyes roll from side to side as he leans forward in his seat. "Ron. Ron Weasley."

"Mr. Weasley, please give us an overview of your relationship to Draco Malfoy."

Ron gulps while latching eyes with Draco for the first time that day. The blonde has narrowed, spiteful eyes that are ignited with sheer hatred.

A crooked smile crosses the redhead's lips, a sense of justification apparent on his face, as he neatly folds his hands before himself. "I formally met Malfoy in my first year at Hogwarts."

"What was your experience like, partaking in class activities with Mr. Malfoy while on campus?"

"Bloody miserable at times," Ron answers candidly. "Put me through loads of grief, if I'm being honest."

"Please elaborate."

"Well, look at him." Ron points a languid finger at Draco. "All dressed up in fancy suits and pinky rings. Can't say the same for myself." He tugs on the ragged sweatshirt on his shoulder with a smirk. "Malfoy made sure of it that it be known that I come from a poor.. well, not wealthy family."

"Objection," Draco's attorney interjects. "These allegations are nothing of significance to the case. The appearance of my client does not dictate the claim that brought us here today. The witness is blatantly attempting to paint my client in a light based off of stereotypes."

A light smirk traces Draco's lips as his threatening eyes remain locked on the Gryffindor.

"Sustained," the Minister obliges. "Where are you going with this, Ms. Prisley?"

The member of the Wizengamot slowly nods her head while summoning her notes. The floating piece of parchment vehemently skirts behind her and into her hand. She quickly reads through it before dismissing the piece of paper; it quickly making its way back to her podium.

"Mr. Weasley, does the evening of March 1st, 1997 hold any significance to you?"

"Well of course," Ron replies with a light smile. "My seventeenth birthday."

"And what took place that day?"

"Received loads of presents," he comments while looking to the ceiling in a dreamy state. "Pumpkin pasties, chocolate cauldrons, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans-"

"Chocolate cauldrons," the prosecutor interjects. "It is noted that you were enchanted by a heavy dose of love potion contained in one."

"The one that Romilda Vane tried to give you," Hermione comments in Harry's ear. He gives a concise nod while leaning forward in his seat.

"Oh, right.." Ron's voice trails off. "Nasty experience, that was."

"That evening you and Harry Potter visited Horace Slughorn's office in the hopes to take away the side effects, is that correct?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"And what transpired?" The witch retrieves a particular bottle of firewhisky from her podium. "Does this hold any significance to you, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron clears his throat with his fist held before his mouth. "Well, old Slughorn thought it'd be best if I take the edge off and gave me a drink of his firewhisky."

"Please present to the jury what took place afterwards."

"I was poisoned," he replies simply. Ron's face turns a bright shade of red as his pointed finger slowly falls upon Draco. "By him."

Draco slowly cocks his head to the side. He gives a glassy stare while curling his hands into fists.

"Mr. Weasley, can you please describe what transpired after you ingested the poisoned, oak matured mead?"

"I went into a fit," Ron replies. His face naturally washes of color at the memory. "My mouth was foaming, and my body went into shock. If it wasn't for Harry, I'd probably be dead."

The entirety of the room turns to Harry who feels his heart skip a beat. No matter how many years he had been in the spotlight, it never got any easier feeling the eyes of the entire room on him. He awkwardly raises a hand to dismiss their looks of thorough curiosity.

"Hello," he mutters above a whisper with a smile. The jury and audience share a short laugh; drinking in the site of the infamous Boy Who Lived.

"Mr. Weasley." The prosecutor brings the attention in the room back to the witness. "You mentioned earlier that you believed the poison was laced by the defendant. Can you elaborate?"

"Rosmerta was put under the Imperius Curse by Malfoy, of course." Ron says the statement with pristine confidence. "It was his way of getting the poison to Dumbledore. I was just the unfortunate bloke who fell victim first."

"Objection," Mr. Dorgard, Draco's attorney, speaks up. "There is no definitive proof that exemplifies such."

"Mr. Dorgard with all due respect, the defendants wand was traced with Dark Magic," Ms. Prisley shoots back. "The Imperius Curse, to be exact."

"But there is no certainty into knowing who, in fact, possessed Madam Rosmerta which the witness is exemplifying."

"That'll be enough," Shacklebolt elevates his voice.

"Mr. Slughorn was advised by Madam Rosmerta who was under the Imperius Curse, by Draco Malfoy, to gift the mead to Albus Dumbledore on Christmas," Ms. Prisley continues. "The witness was poisoned, by the defendant, as the mead had fallen into the wrong hands. Just because Mr. Potter saved this man's life does not negate the fact that Mr. Malfoy attempted murder on this witness. I ask of the jury to keep this information at the front of their mind as the interrogation continues. No further questions."

"Mr. Dorgard, you may take the stand," Shacklebolt instructs.

Draco's attorney leans back in his chair with his hands held behind his head. He stands to his feet and casually tilts his head back as he approaches the redhaired witness.

"Mr. Weasley, based off the description of my client that you presented earlier, would it be fair to assume that you have a resentment toward Mr. Malfoy?"

"Sure," Ron states with a shrug. "But that's only because he's a bloody git."

The jury begins to chatter among themselves. Shacklebolt lightly rolls his eyes while massaging his temple.

"Precisely," Mr. Dorgard comments. "Minister, the obvious tension between my client and his former classmate represents a distaste for Mr. Malfoy. This, of course, would lead to natural bias. And could, perhaps, muddle the witnesses memory of the events."

Ron places both palms against the surface while thrusting his body forward. "Are you calling me a liar?"

Draco's attorney raises a hand silencing him. "Not in the least," he replies calmly.

"I bloody know what happened," Ron insists. "We all do."

"All I'm asking, Mr. Weasley, is if you have a certain disdain for my client? It's a simple yes or no answer."

"Yes," he replies through gritted teeth. "But that doesn't muddle my memories of him, or anything that happened to me, under his doing. He got Katie possessed, for Merlin's sake! She knows!"

Harry slowly turns his head to Katie Bell who appears anxious in every sense of the word. A Hufflepuff that he identified as Katie's friend Leanne soothingly rubs her back. It was the same young woman who the trio had run into during their trip to Hogsmeade where Katie fell victim to the cursed opal necklace.

"She looks dreadful." Hermione comments the same thing that had been on Harry's mind. Even though it had been over a year since the event of Katie being possessed, it still visibly struck a deep chord.

"Anyone would, after going through that experience," Harry replies sympathetically.

"These outlandish accusations will be dealt with in a timely manner," Mr. Dorgard comments. "We will shortly be calling Ms. Bell to the stand and will be hearing her side of the story. Right now, we are attempting to hear your side to the story."

"Fine," Ron mutters, the frustration on his face still apparent.

Mr. Dorgard nonchalantly paces the room with his hands held behind his back. "Mr. Weasley, what hard evidence can you support that infers that my client poisoned the mead you ingested? From my standpoint, I believe it would be fair to infer that this matter is solely presumed."

"Objection," Ms. Prisley interjects. "He's accusing the witness of deliberately covering a lie. He has been simply answering the questions provided."

"Overruled," Shacklebolt replies simply. "Continue, Mr. Dorgard."

"It has been clearly stated that Mr. Slughorn was given the poisoned mead by none other than Madam Rosmerta of the Three Broomsticks in Diagon Alley," Mr. Dorgard protests. "Isn't that correct?"

"While under the Imperius Curse, of course!" Ron states in dismay of the defense's interrogation. "Through Malfoy."

"Did you directly see, with your eyes, that Mr. Malfoy poisoned the mead? Or, were you there to witness the accusation that my client put Ms. Rosmerta under the Imperius Curse?"

"No.. I didn't directly see it, but-"

"Mr. Weasley you accuse Draco Malfoy of deliberately poisoning you and committing an attempted murder, and yet, there is no definitive proof. But let me ask you, how is that so? You tied that to him, yet there is no certainty in your argument. No proof, no evidence, and no valid argument."

"Bloody hell!" Ron shouts louder than intended. He meekly sinks in his chair while adding, "There may not be any definitive proof on paper, but I know what happened."

Hermione cups a hand around Harry's ear. "He's not lying, Harry."

"I know he isn't." Harry's head hangs as he points a quick finger to the other side of the room. "Looks as though the jury may think different."

Hermione glances to the twelve witches and wizards seated behind a barrier; most of them having a raised skeptical brow.

"This is a court of law, Mr. Weasley," Mr. Dorgard adds. "Word of mouth is not enough to justify these accusations." He turns to the jury, most of them nodding their heads in light agreement. "I rest my case. No further questions."

Draco confidently readjusts his shoulders while turning to the prosecutor with a smug smirk on his face. She appears frustrated and visibly disheveled.

"Thank you Mr. Weasley." Shacklebolt stacks a grip of paper against his desk. "You may be seated."

Ms. Prisley removes her wand from her robes and flicks her wrist to a blank canvas hung above the Minister. A lifelike picture appears of Katie Bell, suspended in mid-air with her mouth slack jawed and her eyes paralyzed in fear. Her hair wildly flails in the wind and a necklace hangs from her grasp in her right hand.

A resounding gasp is heard from the jury as the prosecutor makes her way across the courtroom. "I now call for Katie Bell to take the stand."