The Muggle On Trial

There is a jail in London called the Sycorax, or, more properly, the Thames Jail. It lies beneath the ancient medieval prison, the Clink. It is the place for prisoners who are awaiting trials. This is where criminals go before Azkaban, before they are fined or set free, if they're lucky. It's a very large jail, but in the early days of the Second War it was very full, very frequently.

One wing, however (a wing of about three rooms) remained open: the Muggle Wing.

When Linus was admitted into the Sycorax and stated his purpose, he was told that "the Muggle" had taken advantage of the free period today and was dictating a letter. The warden who told this to Linus smirked, as though he doubted anyone that the Muggle knew could have the slightest chance of helping him.

"Dear Andrew," Mark started, his eyes fixed on the wall before him, "I admit, I've been kind of stupid. I'm right now in a jail – the Thames Jail – the Sycorax – the one answering to the Ministry of Magic in England – can we start over?"

The scribe glared at him with a frown, but tapped the paper with his wand and the ink flew back into the quill. "As you wish," he said flatly.

The Sycorax does not let inmates write their own letters – the idea being that a truly Dark wizard would be able to enchant the paper with a secret message, or a dangerous spell. However, it does allow them to dictate to a scribe, who approves the content of the letter, and keeps it confidential (usually) and mails it off. No one thought that perhaps the Muggle should be allowed to write his own letter.

"Sorry – okay… I swear I thought about this… okay. Starting over. Dear Andrew. It's Mark Printzen. As you know by now, I set out for the Fringe Festival last week, and Bridget probably told you I stayed behind to explore London. When I arrived in London, I thought that I would look for Calliope. All I had was an address in her purse to go off of, 'The Leaky Cauldron,' so I looked for that. I found the street it was on, but when I tried to look further I was arrested. I… well, the secret's out. (New paragraph, please.) Calliope is a witch. I'm only telling you this because I'm pretty sure you're a wizard. (New paragraph, please.)"

The scribe glared at him again.

"For dramatic effect."

"As you wish." The scribe gave a little sniff.

"Okay. New paragraph. How do I know? I was arrested by the Ministry of Magic, of England, and am now staying in the Thames Jail awaiting my second day of trial. I'm accused of having stolen a wand. I haven't told them whose it is yet because – because I'm waiting for representation from the state." He paused. "I know it's kind of stupid…"

"Yes, it is," the scribe agreed.

"But I insist on my right to representation. That's why I'm writing to you, Andy. Please, as soon as you get this letter, as soon as you can, come and help me. I know you're a wizard. I know Calliope's a witch. I'm going to be sending a letter off to her, too."

The scribe lifted his eyebrows but said nothing.

"Whatever qualms you have, I'm sure we can work it out. Please come and help me. I'm – they're not treating me very well here. I can't do this alone."

As Mark said the last sentence, the door opened and two people walked in. One was the warden of the Sycorax, the other was a man that Mark had never seen before.

"I hope this letter reaches you soon. I'll be waiting for you. Yours, Mark."

"Mark Printzen?" the scribe asked.

"Well, yeah, I guess, but he's known me long enough that… yes, Mark Printzen. And I sign it, right?"

"Here you are. Here's the quill."

From his side of the room Linus watched dispassionately. It was clear that the Muggle had never even held a quill before. He pressed too hard on the paper and almost tore it. "Umm…"

"Reparo," the scribe said, waving his wand, in a tone of very strained patience.

Mark bit his tongue and asked if he could use a ballpoint pen.

"We don't have any pens."

The Muggle sighed through his teeth. "Okay." He carefully refilled the quill and printed neatly on the paper this time. He handed the letter back to the scribe, who folded it up and slid it into an envelope.

"The address?"

"Andrew Dupont, 750 Harrow Dell, Somerville, Massachusetts, 02143, United States of America."

Linus raised his eyebrows. 'Massachusetts?' he thought. 'Could he know – no. Come on. That's impossible.'

"The United States? It'll be a while afore it reaches him."

"Well, I'll wait. Thank you."

"Mm."

"And my second letter…"

"You only get one letter."

"What?"

"That's policy."

"No it's not! You let the guy before me send two letters!"

"That was different."

"What, has he been here longer? Is his need somehow more urgent?"

"You only get one letter, Muggle, and yelling won't change that. Besides…" the scribe nodded to towards the door. "It looks like you've got a visitor."

Mark turned. The man in the grey cloak (Mark hadn't even noticed him until now) held out a hand.

"I'm L.O.," he said politely. "I've come to be your representation before the Wizengamot."

"Nice to meet you – L.O.?" Mark repeated, studying the other man's face. L.O. was very pale, with black hair and a black goatee, and sharp pale eyes behind oval spectacles. His long face was vaguely familiar to Mark…

"My department – the Obliviator's and Paramnesiac Department – uses initials exclusively, for anonymity's sake. I'm used to going by my initials in a professional setting. I'm sure you understand."

"Ah. Perfectly fine. I'm Mark Printzen."

"I know. Let's proceed to your cell, shall we?"

Mark took one last, rather sullen glare at the scribe, who had already laid out a fresh sheet of parchment for the next inmate. "All right."

The warden led them to the first cell in the tiny Muggle wing of the jail. Linus took stock at once of the tiny space. The fake window in the room looked out over a seascape, complete with a few sounds of crying gulls. It reminded Linus uneasily of Azkaban. "All right. Er, Warden, if you could provide us with…"

The door opened and two house-elves entered, each carrying a chair. They set them down and Linus said, "Thank you." A table floated in behind them and arranged itself, complete with a pitcher of water and two tumblers. The elves left without a word. When Linus turned he noticed that the Muggle—that Mr. Pritnzen had been watching the elves dedicatedly. Linus cleared his throat and Printzen looked up.

"Oh yes! Have a seat," he said, suddenly a host. Linus sat down and began speaking rather quickly.

"I am here to represent you in court and be your consul. As an employee of the Muggle Liaison Office and Magical Law Enforcement, I work with Muggles on a daily basis. I am here to answer all of your questions, inform you of your rights, and advise you on where the law stands in relation to you. In return, you shall answer honestly any and all questions which I ask pertinent to the case, with the utmost truth, to the best of your knowledge. I'm warning you now –" Linus put his tool kit in his fabric briefcase onto the table and opened it:

Two sets of clawed tongs, a silver-framed hand mirror, and a row of crystal phials, most filled with different potions, and a few narrow, empty ones, glittered in the fake sunlight.

"—I have the methods, tools, and legal authority to force the truth out of you if I suspect you are lying. I do not want to resort to these. I am your ally, so please tell me the truth. Any questions?"

Mark Printzen did not answer right away. "Well, yes, I have loads of questions… but I want to tell you what happened to me first, from the beginning. May I do that?"

"Yes. That's a great place to start. Just give me one second." Linus took out from his briefcase a new Querying Quill, specially designed for interviews (from the manufacturers of the Quick-Quotes Quill and the Quasher's Quill, among others). He set the dark blue feather on a fresh piece of parchment and said, "Testing, interview with Mark Emory Printzen by L.O., Obliviator…" The quill recorded in spiritless but legible writing exactly what he said. He nodded. "Good. Now, you were saying?"

Mark Printzen took a deep breath. "All right. I did not steal the wand."

"Then how did it come into your possession?"

"I didn't know what it was. It was left behind when its owner – disappeared. Vanished. With a crack like a gunshot. Maybe she teleported?"

"Apparation," L.O. replied automatically.

"I've been meaning to return it to her."

"That's good. You've probably noticed by now, but theft of a wizard or witch's wand is a very serious crime. A wand is not only a wizard's identifying marker, it is our greatest tool in everyday life. So the fact that you didn't mean to steal it will help you immensely."

"… Thanks. I'm going to tell you the name of the witch it belongs to."

"All right."

He took a deep breath. "The woman's name is Calliope Ollivander."

L.O. gave a small lurch, as though he'd hiccupped. His eyes widened, and he looked at Mark disbelievingly.

The quill wrote down the words and then paused, waiting for something else to be said. It waited for a very long time.

"… Is something wrong?" Mark ventured at last.

"Did you say Calliope Ollivander?"

"Yes."

"That's Calliope Ollivander's wand that you have?"

"Yes. Do you know her?"

"Calliope Blithe Ollivander?"

"I'm going to assume you know her."

"I don't want to assume, I want to be certain. Hold on a minute." L.O. stoodup and walked around the table to be right next to Mark. "Look me in the eye." Mark complied, but was hardly able to register their color when L.O. said, "Legilimens."

Mark gasped, but didn't even notice. He saw, suddenly, unbidden, Calliope's face as he'd seen her in ten, twenty different moments, days, lights, moods. His heart quickened – but as soon as it had started, it was over. He was looking into L.O.'s face again – and realized that L.O. had seen everything that Mark had.

Mark's face started to get red. "What was that?"

"So it is her…" L.O. didn't answer. Instead he turned away and uneasily started walking back to his chair. "You have her wand – we have to return it to her, then, as soon as possible…"

"Answer my question!" Mark demanded. "What was that a minute ago? Were you reading my mind?"

L.O. shot him a look. "No, we don't 'read minds' the way that Muggles think of it. I did, however, look into your memories, just to be sure that we know the same… lady."

Mark swallowed hard and tried to force himself to stop blushing. "You should have asked me – those are my thoughts, you don't have the right to see them."

"I told you I'm your consul, I told you I'll do what it takes to get the truth."

"You could have asked for biographical information on her! Like the fact that she's British? Or is allergic to nuts?"

"The point is," L.O. said sharply, "I know the identity of the person whose wand you st—took. I'll write to her immediately and summon her to the trial. Sheshould be reunited with her wand as soon as possible. Why didn't you name her before?"

"She said she was returning to England because of a family emergency. I – I didn't want to drag her into this. And I didn't want to admit anything before I had a representative."

"You really are keen on that idea, aren't you?"

Mark gave a short laugh. "I find it personally important to be 'keen' on one's Constitutional rights. But wait a minute. I hate to say it, but the fact that you know Calliope personally – does that make you –"

"Unfit to be your consul? Not at all. Besides, I'm not going to leave. No one else is going to come take your case."

"What?"

"The court itself didn't ask me. Someone who is not affiliated with the Wizengamot asked me."

Mark considered a moment. "Was it Mr. Gibbs? The wandmaker?"

"What? How – I'm not going to tell you."

"Suit yourself."

"Besides, I applied for special permission to take the time to represent you. My supervisor, T.R., was not overly pleased at my taking time off. My job is very demanding, so I'm going to make use of the time I have here."

"Okay, okay, I didn't – I didn't actually want you to go. I'm really glad to have you here. And the fact that you know Calliope is – wow. That helps out a lot too."

"How exactly did you come by her wand? She Disapparated in front of you and left her wand behind?"

Mark shifted guiltily. "Actually… I hit her with my car."

"What?"

"It was very dark and she just ran out into the street like she always does – I stood on the brakes immediately, so the car was almost stopped anyway – "

"God's sake, don't mention that in front of the Wizengamot – don't Muggles hit people with cars to kill them?"

"Only in the movies. I didn't even know who she was when she disappeared!"

"But you don't think you hit her hard enough to hurt her?"

"No. Not badly."

L.O. took a calming breath, clenching his hands together.

"I was driving over to see her before she left, to say good-bye."

L.O. looked at him. "To say good-bye?"

"Yes. She went back to England that night – or was planning on it."

"That can't be right."

"I'm pretty sure I'm right."

"But she's not in England, as far as I know."

"Maybe she changed her mind."

"She'd tell me if she'd changed her mind."

"Just how do you know her?"

"We agreed on anonymity, didn't we?"

"I don't think so. I believe you insisted on it."

"And I'm not going to change my mind. But whether she's in England or not, she's definitely going to come to your trial to speak on your behalf. I'm going to make sure of this. If she's in America, well, then it'll just take longer for the owl to reach her."

"The owl?"

"Enough. Okay. Your next trial is this afternoon, correct?"

"Yes."

"Then let's work on your defense. There's no time to waste. And we'll get a quick lunch on the way over."

"Thank you. Now, after I got her wand, the first person I ran into was my friend Andrew, who's a wizard, I think, but he grew up with me, and I'm not sure…"

"Muggle-born."

"He was born a Muggle?"

"No, his parents are probably Muggle. Go on. Is he the one you were sending a letter to?"

"Yes."

"Good idea. Go on."

Mark Printzen and his consul. L.O. entered the courtroom together to attend the second hearing of the accused. All the previous judges were there, plus four new: senior aides from the Embassy to the United States Senate, and the Muggle Relations Office, and a few who seemed to be there merely because Umbridge favored them.

The defense counsel, who, for the sake of his job security, could be addressed merely as "L.F.O.," handed a letter to the judges upon his arrival, explaining, "This is a note from my superior granting me permission and license to defend here."

All the judges, even Umbridge, looked impressed. "Omniamnist T.V.R. is a good reference if ever there were one," Thicknesse muttered.

"That's in order in every way," Umbridge said, passing the letter down to the court scribe. "You are acknowledged as defense counsel.'

Mark approached the chair with some reluctance. Eliezar Smith raised his hand.

"In recognition of Mark Printzen's request as of yesterday morning, of the appointment of legal counsel as specified by the Supreme Court of the United States under Gideon vs. Wainwright, we have adopted some of the rights given to the court and defendant in American Wizard courts, as we see fit. The court hopes Mark Printzen appreciates its generosity."

"Oh, I do, I really do," Mark assured the court. "Thank you very much, Mr. Smith." He nodded to the other judges and took the seat of the Accused. The chains clinked loudly and threateningly as he did.

"What – what does this mean?" He asked L.O.

"If we judge you to be a threat,"barked one of the new judges, a man with sideburns to put many an old U.S. President to shame, "Then the chair recognizes that and will start to bind you, a limb at a time. Second day, your trial isn't going so well, you're under more suspicion. Don't struggle, either, boy, the chair takes that as a sign of guilt."

Mark looked up at him when he said "boy" and his cheeks burned red with anger. However, L.O. said quickly, "Mr. Smith, would you please name some of the privileges that Mr. Printzen is now allowed?"

"Gladly," Eliezar Smith adjusted his lorgnette. "Mr. Printzen, as a Muggle with no understanding of Wizard law, is allowed to call three recesses of whatever length he may like in order to confer with his consul and learn more about his rights."

"Excellent," L.O. said quickly. "Thank you, Mr. Smith."

Mark looked up so that he wouldn't give the appearance of slouching. "L.O., who are those people in the stands?"

The wizard glanced up. "Don't appear too curious – I think they're aides and gophers, interns, probably from the Muggle Relations Office or Magical Law Enforcement. This is an unusual case, so it probably behooves them to watch on it. I don't think they're worth… worrying about…"

His voice trailed off. He glared at a man who was leaning back in a bench all to himself at the top of the courtroom. He had a writing pad and quill in his hands. A card tucked into the band of his Fedora designated him a Daily Prophet correspondent, though his inquisitive face and languid air told plenty. L.O. scowled.

"Bloody journalists," he muttered.

"Sorry?" Mark asked.

"Nothing."

At the bench, Umbridge whispered something fiercely to Thicknesse, who straightened up. "Ahem. The Court meets today on the second trial of Mark Emory Printzen, Muggle, who is accused of stealing a wand." He proceeded to list the rest of the judges and the court scribe (still Agatha Zabini.) "The defendant pleads…"

"Not guilty, your Honor," Mark supplied.

"Not guilty. The previous day's hearing was postponed on account of the accused refusing to testify unless he was given representation by the court. As representation has come forward – in the form of L.F.O., Obliviator, the accused should have no objection to interrogation."

"I have none, sir," Mark said quickly.

"Then," Thicknesse shifted a bit in his seat, attempting to look more important: "How did you come by that wand?"

"I was driving a car, trying to visit a friend of mine before she left to go home to England. It was night; the road was empty, so I was going a little faster than I normally would have. A figure ran out of a building and straight into the road. It was in violation of the Reasonable Person law, I'm sure. I stood on the brakes at once, stopping the car's motion, but I still hit the person. There was a crack like a gunshot –"

"Disapparition," L.O. supplied.

"And the person vanished. But when I got out of the car, I found the wand on the ground."

Umbrige's mouth turned downward. "That sounds very suspicious."

"It's the truth," Mark insisted.

"What was the name of the person that you were attempting to visit?" Smith asked.

Mark took a deep breath. "Her name is Calliope Ollivander."

Suddenly all the stands were ringing, echoing with the same word, the same one-word question: "Ollivander? Did he say Ollivander?"

Umbridge sniffed. "It certainly explained how he managed to acquire a wand of Ollivander make."

"Yes, it does," L.O. asserted. "Servaas Ollivander – the owner of the wand shop on Diagon Alley –"

"Former owner –" called someone from the stands.

"Owner," L.O. continued, his jaw clenched, "is the great-uncle of Calliope Ollivander. It was his practice on the tenth birthday of any of his grand-nieces or nephews to give them a wand as a present. It would not be listed in the sales records, which is why I suspect Hector Gibbs, himself a great-nephew of Servaas Ollivander, is unable to find the wand in the records." He checked the door as he said this, thinking, 'Why hasn't Hector arrived yet?'

"How," Umbridge asked, drawling her high-pitched voice to a maddening extent, "How is it possible that a witch such as Calliope Ollivander – who, I understand, comes from a very pure family – or mostly so –"

Nobody in the court noticed, but L.O. suddenly glared at Umbridge with undisguised anger.

"—could possibly be acquainted with a Muggle such as yourself?"

"Well," Mark started, or tried to start, "She was in America studying philosophy at Boston University…"

Someone in the stands – someone behind Mark, to his left – laughed outright at that statement. Several of the judges smirked. L.O. sighed.

"I am also acquainted with Calliope Ollivander," he said. "She traveled abroad to study magical theory and enchanted objects at Trimontaine University for Enhanced Magical Studies – but her Muggle friends, of course, would learn a different story."

"Why would a witch from such a good family even need Muggle friends?" Umbridge stroked her chin with a stubby hand, her eyes fixed on Mark.

"Do you want me to relate the story of how we got to know each other?" Mark asked, irritated.

"Why not. I'm sure you've spent a long time preparing it," Umbridge said generously.

Mark's face started to color again. He took a deep breath and said in a controlled voice, "I have a friend whose name is Andrew Bridges. He and I grew up together. I think he's a Muggle- a Muggle-born wizard. He met Calliope before I did. Andrew's always hosting parties and inviting all his friends – that's the sort of person he is – but his parties are always kind of in two parts. Probably wizard and Muggle halves. Calliope was always a member of the other half of one of those parties, but Andrew introduced us anyway. They met at the University. I liked Calliope right away, but she and I didn't talk much. Do you want me to go on?"

"Yes," Umbridge said at once, even as the other judges looked like they'd much rather move on.

"Okay – one day in November Andrew called me up. He said that he'd gotten a call from Scalia – Scalia's another friend of Andrew's, but he and I have never gotten along. A real arrogant guy – probably a wizard, now that I think about it…"

Laughter broke out all over the courtroom. L.O. winced.

"I don't mean to say that he's arrogant and superior because he's a wizard!" Mark said hurriedly, looking all over the stands, "I'm just saying that he's always treated me with contempt, and he would talk to Calliope and Andy but not to me."

"Probably a wizard," L.O. sighed to himself, rubbing his forehead with one hand.

"Yes! Thank you," Mark replied, causing L.O. to wince again. "Now, Andrew said that Scalia said that he was supposed to meet Calliope for dinner, but had bailed at the last minute. Andrew was busy at work, so he called me up because I was the closest to the restaurant. I packed up the things at my office as soon as I can –"

"What do you do for a living?" Eliezar Smith asked with sincere interest.

Mark smiled a bit for the first time since he entered the courtroom. "I'm an elementary school teacher. I've been a TA to a class of first-graders – that's six-year-olds – and my last job was teaching to fourth, fifth, and sixth graders, which are nine to eleven year olds, literature and social studies. Anyway, as soon as I couldI went to the restaurant and found Calliope. She wasn't in a very good mood and said she wasn't hungry. I felt real sorry for her – "

"You felt sorry for her?" Umbridge asked with palpable scorn.

"She'd been stood up! Stood up by a guy who wasn't worth the effort anyway – so I offered to take her to the movies as a compensation."

L.O. turned to look at Mark with a strange expression.

"You took her to the – the cinema?"

"Yes. I wanted to see this film called The Nightmare Before Christmas, so I took her there. She really liked it – she acted like she'd never seen a film before – probably hadn't – and a couple of weeks later asked me if we could see it again. After that, that's how we would hang out. I'd look up some old movie, like Gone With the Wind, that'd be playing somewhere in Boston – there's some theaters that just play old movies, the classics – and I'd invite her to see it, and then we'd talk about it afterwards. And then I started loaning books to her, and we… we just became friends."

Mark swallowed hard, aware that his face was very pink. The Daily Prophet reporter made a note.

"Were you ever aware," Eliezar Smith asked, "That Miss Ollivander is a witch?"

"No. I never dreamed of it. I thought – she'd told me she'd had a sheltered upbringing, so I accepted that she wouldn't have a wide knowledge of movies or pop culture. And I knew there was a lot going on between her and Andrew and Scalia – a lot that they didn't tell me – but that was okay. I mean, she's my friend. Enough that when I learned she was going, I wanted to say a proper good-bye to her."

"You heard that she was returning to the United Kingdom?"

"Yes. And that's when I accidentally ran into her – and she vanished, and left her wand behind."

"That story sounds quite ridiculous to –"

"Pardon me, your Honors." The door guard interrupted Umbridge. "There's a messenger at the door for Mr. Thicknesse."

"I'll see him right away." Thicknesse stood up. "I declare a five-minute recess for the court. Excuse me, Dolores… I really do wish we'd get this thing settled with, my time is very valuable…" He added in what he clearly thought was an undertone.

The Daily Prophet reporter made another note.

The spectators around the room began to converse amiably. Some of them didn't bother to be quiet on their opinions about "the Muggle." Mark got up from the chair and started to walk towards the door.

L.O. caught up with him. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm just taking a turn around the room. Stretching my legs. There's no law against that, is there?"

L.O. answered, evenly, "No, there isn't, that's a good idea. Mind if I join you?"

"Sure, go ahead. I really don't like that woman," he said in a whisper, indicating Umbridge.

"I don't either. Printzen, why did you have to bring up that Scria bloke?"

"You mean Scalia? I'm sorry about that. I didn't exactly think this through, all right? I happened to bring him up because he was important to the story at the time."

"But – 'arrogant attitude – must be a wizard' – are you trying to curse yourself in the foot?"

"Calliope used to say that," Mark mused.

"Look, he probably is a wizard who probably did look down on you, but you didn't have to say that and the comment about him being arrogant!"

"I told you, I didn't think this through, I didn't have time to think it through. You didn't ask me how I met Calliope, I didn't think the issue would come up."

"Well, you didn't have to go into an entire soap opera about it either."

"I was trying to be restrained. I thought it was relevant. Nobody stopped me."

"Was Scalia relevant?"

"Why are you fixating on one statement I made? I thought the rest of it was –"

"Gentlemen?" came a smooth male voice from behind L.O. Both men turned to look. It was the Daily Prophet reporter from the top row, wearing fashionably cut emerald robes and a hat tipped at a jaunty angle. "Lyman Heckinger, of the Daily Prophet. Mr. Printzen – am I pronouncing that right? Print-zen?"

"Ah, yes," Mark said uneasily. Lyman Heckinger had stepped right in front of him as though L.O. wasn't even there. The reporter went on, not missing a beat.

"I thought so, Mr. Printzen, while we have a few moments would you care to give me a brief interview? A sketch of your life, perhaps, growing up in Muggle America? Muggle Middle America?"

"I'm not sure you could call where I live Middle America…"

"Well, I'll hash out the headline later, the point is, Mr. Printzen, I'm lookingfor the side of you that won't be read in the court transcript. I'm looking for something to make the readers see you as more than just a name and a crime. One-dimensional. You're better than that, Mr. Printzen. I see a real story here."

Being called "Mister" again had a profound effect on Mark. He straightened up and asked, "Just what sort of scoop are you looking for?"

"Well," Lyman Heckinger tapped his writing pad with his quill, "I do admit that my readers will likely be very curious about the relationship between you and Miss Calliope Ollivander. Is it merely a piquant, pleasing friendship or is there something more?" He arched an eyebrow suggestively.

Mark spluttered, stumbled for words. "Excuse me –"

"Excuse me." Suddenly it was L.O. who was standing face-to-face with Lyman Heckinger, and not Mark. L.O. seemed to tower in his grey cloak. "I, as Mark Printzen's consul, request that you and any other members of the press stay away from my client. He has no comment to make at this time."

"But—"

"No comment."

Lyman Heckinger scowled. "Does it occur to you, L.O., that not all of the members of the press are mendacious as certain others?"

"I don't believe it and I don't care. I have no comment to make either."

Lyman Heckinger took one step backwards. "Or does it occur to you that nothing that I could quote could possibly be worse than my readers' imagination?"

"What part of no comment don't you understand?"

"Good day, Mr. Printzen," Lyman Heckinger nodded pointedly to Mark, and glared at the Obliviator. He swiveled on his heel and walked away.

"Do you know that guy?" Mark inquired.

"No, why?"

"You acted like you had some kind of personal grudge against him."

"Let's just say I don't hold with members of the press, all right? And I don't want you to be conducting any interviews, either. That's the last thing you need right now."

"Okay, okay, I get it. Say," he looked over L.O.'s shoulder, "Someone over that way is waving to us."

L.O. turned. "That's A.T.!" he said with some surprise. He headed towards her, turned, "Remember, no interviews!"

"I'll remember. Can I meet your friend?"

L.O. glared a bit. "Well, all right, I'll introduce you. But – no, it looks like Thicknesse is still busy – I'd appreciate it if you kept a watch out for Mr. Gibbs."

"Okay… Do you know why he hasn't shown up yet?"

"No, and that's worrying me." They crossed the courtroom together, to L.O.'s friend's evident pleasure. She was a petite young lady with wavy blonde hair and spectacles, wearing a cloak that matched L.O.'s. She greeted him with an enthusiastic "Linus! I'm glad I could make it before the hearing ended."

L.O. tried to make shushing noises with his hands. "A.T.! Please, I'm trying to maintain anonymity here! It's extremely important!"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," she said. "I won't do it again. L.O., will you please introduce me to the defendant?"

L.O. gave a sigh.

"I said I was sorry."

"I – all right, I forgive you."

"You can introduce me by my full name."

"Well…"

"Please. I'd like that." She caught Mark's eye and grinned.

"All right. If you insist." He turned to Mark. "Printzen, this is Amity Tweak… Also known as A.T. She's a friend of mine."

"We work in the same department."

"Yes. And Amity – A.T., this is Mark Emory Printzen, the defendant."

"Nice to meet ya." Amy offered her hand and Mark shook it, though he seemed a bit distracted.

"I'll, um, leave you to your conversation," Mark said, and then walked away. He took a glass of water and watched the door, but his eyes kept glancing back to L.O. and A.T.

"So how did you get time off today?" L.O. asked.

A.T. leaned her elbows on the bar. "T.R. practically chased me out of the lab after I fixed up another poor Muggle's memory." She went on in a more hushed voice, "I'd swear it was the same Death Eater who's been tampering with memoriesleft and right. Boy, I'd like to sock him in the jaw."

"Amity, don't talk like that…" L.O. said warningly. But he still leaned in and asked, "What was it this time?"

"A man – a Muggle who's the father of two Muggle-born wizard kids. The person responsible – a Death Eater who must know an awful lot about Memory Modification – had taken memories of his kids and placed them in the cerebral cortex. He or she specifically chose the area of the brain tied to fear and to anger. And hatred."

"No," L.O. breathed.

"We showed the man a picture of his kids. He had to be restrained with a Full Body-Bind from trying to tear the picture and attack the person showing it to him. It took me all this morning to remove the memories of his children from the cerebral cortex."

"Oh god. Did you replace them?"

"T.R. insisted that I do that tomorrow. He said he didn't want me to exert myself, nor to cause unnecessary trauma."

"That makes a lot of sense."

"It does, but – grr! I'm not as delicate as T.R. seems to think I am. And does he realize the human mind is a resilient tool? I'd swear he thinks Muggle minds are weaker. If I was allowed to work through one of these cases from beginning to end, without breaks, the whole way through – not handing it off to E.C. or to M.V. at the last minute, as seems to happen all the time, I could learn so much more. Already I'm starting to see a pattern, a sort of style. If I can trace that, maybe I can trace it to whoever's committing these acts…"

"That sounds kind of flimsy, A.T."

"It would be worth it, wouldn't it?"

L.O. didn't answer.

"You know it would be."

"Well… thank you for coming here. I appreciate the friendly face."

"Eh, it's nothing. You and the defendant need some solidarity is all."

"We don't need solidarity, what we need is…"

At that moment he was interrupted by something rather important.

Additionally, up to that point Mark had been thinking privately along the lines of, 'Linus? His first name is Linus? Who on earth names a child Linus? It sounds like the kid from Peanuts… But he knows Calliope. He must know her pretty well, from the way he talks about her. She must have mentioned a Linus at some point… Yes, when she was describing… her… family…'

He stared widely at nothing, then looked at L.O. again, realizing 'L.O. Linus Ollivander.' His mind wavered between, 'He's Calliope's brother?' and 'Why didn't I realize this before?'

'Easy, Printzen,' he reminded himself. 'You've only known him for a few hours. It's perfectly understandable – they really don't look that much alike – except for the hair, and maybe the – damn, I've got to get a good look at his face now – ' Suddenly his expression changed again. 'Wait a minute. Why didn't he tell me from the start that he's Calliope's brother?'

That's when the interruption came.

"Court will resume session," Agatha Zabini called from the bar, having finally shooed away Lyman Heckinger. "We are now joined by two new witnesses: Beynon Gladstone, security of the Leaky Cauldron, and Jesse Hamilton, security of the Thames Jail."

Jesse Hamilton had accompanied Mark to and from the courtroom and Sycorax the past three days. Beynon Gladstone and Mark glared at one another from across the courtroom – they remembered each other all too well from the Leaky Cauldron. There was a new piece of evidence accompanying them: a shiny, stiffly new copy of Diane Duane's So You Want To Be A Wizard.

The first new witness testified that this book had been found in Mark Printzen's bag, that it had his name written in it, that it looked very suspicious indeed.

Mark Printzen admitted to owning the book, he had bought it with a gift certificate that had been given to him as a present from his students. When asked to summarize it, Mark Printzen explained, with italics, that it was a fictional narrative of two children, young teenagers, who lived in a fictional New York City and were called to take part in a (probably fictional) intergalactic battle against evil, where the soldiers for good could be of any race, even aliens, and where they happened to be called wizards.

He was asked if the book offered any explanations of magic, and he described the book's depictions of magic wands, of the Wizard's Oath, of the Speech, and of the Wizard's Ordeal... that questioning wore on.

Jesse Hamilton's further testimony might not have been needed if Hector were there: he was questioned exclusively on the conversation that had ensued between Mr. Gibbs and 'the defendant' shortly before the first trial.

In a slight Cockney accent, the witness told the court that yes, one of the Muggle's first questions had been to ask if Mr. Gibbs was born a wizard. Yes, he seemed to be wondering if it were possible for a Muggle to become a wizard, and then he seemed most interested in knowing what a magic wand was made from… No cross-examination was allowed.

A recess was called for the judges to confer.

While they migrated into the next room, Mark looked warily at all the crowd now lining the walls, and turned to whisper, "Where's the wandmaker?"

L.O. glanced over Mark's shoulder, to Lyman Heckinger, who was rereading his notes, and then at his fellow Obliviator A.T., in the first row.

"The court may have decided that he had nothing more to offer, and so did not invite him back today."

Mark frowned. "I still think he would have come. I'm worried something may have happened to him."

"Don't worry. If it was an emergency we'd—"

"The judges have re-entered," Agatha Zabini called from her corner. L.O. spun around. "That did not take long at all."

Thicknesse excused himself to leave, scurrying through a side door, and Umbridge stepped up in his place, saying smoothly, "Pius Thicknesse regrettably has an urgent appointment, but he has made his will known and approves our decision."

In the chief judge's seat, she leaned over the bar to leer at Mark. A locket with an ornate letter 'S' on it fell from her neck and dangled a little. "The court finds Mark Emory Printzen, self-admitted Muggle, guilty of the crime of Presumption."

A gasp went through the courtroom. Mark turned to look at his consul, who stared at Umbridge as though made of stone. Even Agatha Zabini looked surprised.

Umbridge continued: "Presumption, for the benefit of the entire court, is the name of a crime as old as Wizardry itself: that of a Muggle or Squib stealing magical items such as wands, or information, or even identities of true Pure-blood wizards, with the malicious intent of harnessing their power. This is not only impossible, it is heretical. It's wrong."

Mark stuttered, "I – I don't—"

"Silence. You admitted to colliding with a witch with your car, a well-known Muggle attempt at murder or serious bodily harm, and then you promptly stole her wand from her. While she was thus incapacitated, you came to England to try and take her place in our society. You either tampered with Mr. Gibbs' evidence or bribed him into saying the wand did not exist in his records. You were obviously planning this for a long time, as evidenced by your possession of the book, 'So You Want To Be A Wizard.'" (No pen could describe the mockery and condescension that Umbridge put into that title.) "Your plan actually went very well, for a Muggle, until your inability to enter The Leaky Cauldron cost you your freedom."

"I object!" L.O. yelled, standing up. "This is a ridiculous charge! There hasn't been a verdict of Presumption in over –"

"200 years, yes, the court is well aware of that, L.O., now sit down."

L.O. slowly sat down.

"We know the name of the witch whose wand he stole, but the Muggle's refusal to testify has wasted too much of the court's time already. We can't waste any more in waiting for an owl to cross the Atlantic and for her to arrive at her own leisure. However, we know enough to convict him. Oh, yes, we know enough."

"What exactly do you know?" Mark demanded, somewhat louder than he had intended.

"You should control your temper," Umbridge said sweetly. The chains around Mark suddenly glowed gold and snaked to clamp at his ankle. Mark's eyes widened, but he didn't say anything else. He clutched the arms of the chair tightly.

"From what you've told us, it is clear that you imposed a relationship on Miss Ollivander. You say you pitied her; in reality you plied her with Muggle books and movies. You seduced her, in short. You lured into a false sense of security and bode your time. When you knew she was supposed to return home, you saw your chance. Disapparition, ha… I wouldn't be surprised if she's sitting now in a Muggle excuse for hospital, recovering from a car injury."

At this point even the court scribe was looking at Umbridge in outright disbelief. However, the other judges nodded in agreement – except for Eliezar Smith, who glared away in disapproval.

"Premeditated assault, attempt of manslaughter… The penalty for Presumption of this degree is five years in Azkaban, at least."

Mark looked to L.O., who seemed to be beyond words. He turned to face Umbridge. "Your verdict –"

"Yes?" she said, as if to a fly that continued to annoy her.

"It – it's a lie!" (gasp from the spectators) "I never presumed to be a wizard! I never knew wizards existed, how could I plan to be one? And as for wanting to know more about magic, who wouldn't leap at the chance?"

"My client is right," L.O. put in. "The court has ascribed motives and deeds to him for which there is no basis in fact!" (In the stands, Lyman Heckinger was scribbling on his pad for dear life: A.T. was on the edge of her seat.)

"Are you finished?" Umbridge asked.

In the pause that followed, she said, "The court's decision, as always, is final. Mark Emory Printzen will report to Azkaban at six p.m. tomorrow. Court dismissed."