Chapter Twenty-Three

Impacts

Sirius Black was confused, worried, and more than a little bit scared along with the exhaustion. He'd seen for himself what an upset dragon could do, but he'd never thought that he would be protected by a dragon! If anything, he thought he'd be eaten or flamed by a dragon instead, and he didn't count some of the matrons in the Wizengamot chambers he had seen from time to time as a younger man just out of Hogwarts.

Although that was a close comparison considering three or four of them, he snickered to himself despite the fatigue shrouding his mind. It was one of the few funny things he'd considered in many years and it made him wonder if everything was getting to him. It wouldn't surprise him if that were the case. Although it stood to reason that even if it did, those same Matrons would still be here and would never die.

He still sat in the Great Hall, staring at the large windows over the Staff Table's usual location as his mind tried to make sense of what he'd been through just that day. It flailed around as it feebly attempted to come to terms with it even a little. Madam Bones had left a short while ago. She still had work to do and parchments to file before she could go home. There had been a few moments where she had visited with her niece, who had come up to say hello after the school had been released from lockout from the attack. The younger Bones had fixed an assessing stare at him that had to have been taught at her aunt's knee. It just looked so familiar.

Frankly, it was very unsettling, and he pitied the poor bastard that crossed the young woman later in life. It was bad enough now. In fact, it was almost enough to make him want to confess his sins and pranks going back years before Azkaban. The uneasy thought flitted through his mind that even if she wasn't old enough or practiced enough with that look meant little when she was tapping her toe at him, too. The truly unsettling thought was the mental image of Madam Bones doing the same thing at the same time from the other side.

Thankfully for his recovering mental state, it didn't happen. Madam Bones had been too distracted with the events happening in the last hours that she didn't think of it. There had been too many details needing to be chased down and hurried assignments to be dealt out that prevented it from being put into practice.

Thank Merlin for small favors, he thought. He still shivered at bit at the thought and did his best to banish it. Sirius tried not the think about the disappointment on Susan's face when her distracted aunt didn't follow through. If he didn't know better (and he wasn't too sure about it to start with) he would have thought that the younger Bones was looking to give him a hard time.

Sirius wasn't sure to feel relieved at the foiled look or not.

He didn't know where he was going to sleep tonight, and the Master Auror that Madam Bones had left with him didn't seem too concerned about that. He simply mentioned that arrangements had been made. Sirius Black didn't think he was going to sleep much anyway, but stranger things had been known to happen. A deep sigh escaped him and he leaned back a bit on the bench.

"Auror Grint, if you're allowed to talk to me, can you tell me if you were told of my circumstances?"

The man regarded him for a moment. That in itself was a bit worrisome and made Sirius wonder if there had been a curriculum change in the Auror Academy. He didn't remember 'Intimidation 101' on the syllabus anywhere. If it was now, then Susan Bones was going have a jump on it when she finally followed in her aunt's footsteps.

The wicked-looking scar on the older man's face added to the effect, and a moment's wonder about how exactly the man had gotten it crossed Sirius' mind. It started somewhere close to the man's right temple, traversed under his right eye and across the bridge of his nose, and angled down by the left corner of his mouth to disappear under the Auror robes. It was stark white and stood out against his swarthy skin. It gleamed in its ravaged path the same way that the bright silver stud did in his left earlobe.

"Mr. Black, there are a few of us that have been brought into the Director's confidence and have been given the evidence she received. I am one of them."

"Okay." He didn't know what else precisely had been given to Madam Bones, other than the memory of that night in the Shrieking Shack. That was a good place to start, he thought. "You've seen my memory of that night with Peter, Remus, and the kids?"

"Peter Pettigrew, I'm assuming? In the Shrieking Shack? Yes. I don't want to speak too much of it here," he waved around him, subtly referring to the Hogwarts Rumor Mill and Sirius grimaced. It wasn't as if he'd recently had cause to make use of it, after all. The Marauders had concluded long ago that the ghosts were as bad as the students, which only made sense. They had to have something different to talk about other than ways they died or who was the spookiest.

Putting aside the thought that the Fat Friar probably had the most dirt on everyone he asked the Master Auror, "Where am I sleeping, and is my godson safe?"

"You'll be sleeping in the dungeons," Sirius grimaced, "sorry, but that's the best we can do for tonight, under the circumstances."

The Auror stressed the word with a raised eyebrow, and Sirius sighed. It was picked up on with a tilt of the man's head. Regardless of what was going on with the escorting Madam Bones had done today and his accompaniment with an Auror now, he was still a prisoner. Therefore, he had to be housed in a like manner. He didn't like it one bit, but he accepted it for now.

"And just to ease your mind, Professor Snape will not be anywhere near. We are aware of the tensions between the two of you."

There was a look leveled at the Auror, who ignored it.

"Some of us remember attending here at the same time you and he did. Don't look at me like that. Your godson is safely ensconced in his bed – or should be – considering that he's supposed to be a night-time roamer of the halls. It seems that he's following some of the Marauder traditions."

This heartened Sirius, and he smiled even as the Auror sighed in resignation.

"That's my boy. Go, Harry!"

Grint raised his voice a bit, speaking to the side of his charge.

"I said that to say this: if he's here right now, he needs to be in bed and not jeopardizing his godfather's chances before the court with collusion charges."

Sirius' jaw dropped open and he stared at the man with a suddenness of motion that surprised him. They both heard a slight rustle a few heartbeats later before a door somewhere clicked shut. There was a moment of silence as the pair listened hard.

"Harry?" Sirius asked the Auror quietly after a moment.

"Possibly."

"How? I mean, what made you think that?"

"I sniffed something that smelled a lot like the big mama dragon outside. Since he's supposed to be in tight with her now, it more or less stands to reason that he'd pick up some of her scent. I wasn't here for the First Task, but I heard that she was all over him checking him out and stomping around bitching about whatever she found. Angry as all get out, too."

"Oh. I kind of wish I'd seen that."

"Me, too. Although he had to have an invisibility cloak in here. I didn't see the effect of Disillusionment being used. Where would he have gotten one?"

Sirius grinned.

"He would have inherited it from James. He and I set up many a prank here with that very cloak in and out of Hogwarts over the years."

Grint grimaced.

"Is that how you rogues did it?"

"Among things," Sirius chuckled, tiredly.

They set to talking, and Sirius was too exhausted from the day's events and worried about Harry to realize that the Auror was gently interrogating him. Their conversation wandered from Marauder pranks to Auror pranks and comparing the two, to Harry and the things he did, plus some of the concerns that Sirius had about his oblique observations of Harry. Somewhere in between, Sirius dropped the confirmation that he wasn't the Potters' Secret-Keeper. The Auror didn't react, since Sirius was dog-tired and nearly completely entered into an awake dream state that mimicked many of the effects of Veritaserum. The DMLE calming brew in his mug helped in that respect. He forgot about the infamous rumor mill and talked for a long time. He never noticed several ghosts poking their heads up through the floor and hiding under the nearby empty tables, and neither did the Master Auror.

Soon Sirius found himself in a bunk that was a lot more comfortable than the stone shelves in Azkaban. Somebody, possibly the Hogwarts elves, had placed several extra thick blankets on it. The sound of the cell door clanging shut didn't even register as he stumbled to it and lay down after kicking his boots off. It never occurred to him that he was asleep almost before he was completely flat.

|:-:|

Jonah Whitelock hadn't been nearly as comfortable and had realized it long before the next morning. The DMLE healers had done their job on his injuries as well as they could, but there was no way to save his arm. The dragonfire had cooked the nerves, tendons, ligaments and so on far past any hope of saving, much less any meaningful repair past stretching a debrided skin flap over the hole at his shoulder and sealing it shut with rough physical stitches. The magical component of Annika's fire barrage had done wonders in the sense that there was absolutely nothing to be done even as the healers could marvel at the precision of the whole thing. They cursed at the fact that the same magical component resisted any use of healing magic to seal the wound, which would have been simpler for their purposes. They did the best they could, under the circumstances. As it were, the situation meant that the healers had a good bit of information to put into five or six new papers that would soon be released for other healers to pore over later.

To make matters worse for Jonah Whitelock, none of the pain potions they had administered even touched the aggrieved nerves in that area that reacted to the trauma of dragonfire ripping them apart. He spent the night either flat on his back or on his other side with tears running down his face at the burning sensation. He couldn't get comfortable enough to sleep, and every time he shifted it yanked at the huge amount of stitches. The healer with the most experience doing it tried her best, but she used twice as many stitches than really needed and in her rush it wasn't completely neat. To try to distract himself, he thought back over his motivations for doing what he had.

He was a Pureblood's Pureblood. He could trace his family's history almost thirty generations back, and but for some misguided fools, everyone had been bound to other families that could trace their histories back either as far back or more. That was something that he had never failed to drop into casual conversation at least once or twice a day with whomever he spoke to. If he could find a way to make it relevant to whatever topic it happened to be, he did.

Magical construction?

There were several Whitelocks that had done that and indeed had founded practices that were still in use today. In fact, many of those practices were taught to apprentices as the first things they learned and for good reason.

Healers?

A good many. There was a woman working at Saint Mungo's that was married into the Whitelocks, in fact. Unfortunately for him, she wasn't on duty. She'd taken maternity leave recently, and besides, she wasn't a trauma specialist. Her specialty was pediatrics.

Bankers?

Before the Goblins had firmed up their monopoly on Wizarding Britain's financial dealings, there had been more than a few Whitelocks (and associated names) that had added to the family coffers with their skill.

Law?

Again, more than a few. Either as barristers or as solicitors. There had been the view that a Whitelock meant quality. It had also meant 'quite expensive,' but the results meant that the means was unimportant. He, himself, had followed this path.

Politics?

Plenty. Many of the Whitelocks in the law track took this track as well. He did, too, but not as fervently as had others in his family. He didn't really like politics, but he dealt with it the best as he could so he could escape back to his office. It was needed to fulfill some of his goals, but if it hadn't been, he would have been happy to shove the whole lot into the deepest hole he could find.

Education?

There weren't quite as many Whitelocks in this field as in law, but many of them had used the knowledge gained in this to further their chosen professions. Still, several Whitelocks had distinguished themselves here, if not as widely known as the others in different fields but within the academic circles they traveled in.

Regardless of where 'in the family' they were, Whitelocks knew without doubt that they were top-tier and had been for decades, if not centuries. Their opinions held sway over those of others that they could easily destroy with a word in the right (family) ear. This was something that had been done many a time, and thanks to the collective knowledge of the various family professions, they had the opportunities to cover up the squalid ways that they accomplished their dealings. If they didn't have those opportunities, they made them or pulled strings to encourage them into appearing.

A few of the younger ones had become Death Eaters, although Jonah himself wasn't. There was a drunkenly-made magical oath as a younger man than prevented him from becoming one, himself. To this day, he refused to mention the wording or consequences of the oath, other than suddenly becoming bereft of life and magic. Thirty years on, he didn't wake up from the nightmares of that oath activating but maybe once a month.

There were others above him, of course. A Whitelock knew that to be the top wizard merely invited others to take repeated shots at said top wizard. Instead, they stayed behind the top wizards a few rows back and let them take the hits. Manipulations of those below them to jump ahead of themselves and get in line meant that a Whitelock wasn't in the way of a Killing Curse when the time came.

So, over the years, Jonah had taken the lessons taught as a young child to heart. Use the family knowledge. Evaluate the way the field ran. Use patsies as necessary, since they weren't important, and kill the ones that got too close. If there was someone with similar goals, form an alliance to get what you wanted before that someone was eliminated.

The mudbloods had presented an awfully unique problem, though. He did business outside the Wizarding world and saw some of the things that went on. Some of it was amazing, but pointless to his way of thinking. Some of it, he fit right in with, and that was usually before he had his jollies and Obliviated his erstwhile partners right before he scarpered.

He didn't understand some of the things that they did, although he did find a few bits of knowledge to pass along to others in the family every time he went out on an 'excursion.' Whitelocks knew to make use of anything they could get their hands on and remove the obstacles if they couldn't.

The problem was using some of the things that he learned. There was often no correlation or counterpart to anything in the magical world and so he couldn't use the information in the way it was intended – to further his means.

The Potter boy was one obstacle. He was from a family with plenty of Pureblood standing. However, everything that Jonah Whitelock could get about him said that he was failing that admittedly high standard. It seemed to Whitelock and the other Purebloods that he associated with that Harry Potter dragged their beloved Status into the mud with his very presence and shamed them with his actions. So, Potter was useless, even before this dragon malarkey. There were several others that had agreed with this assessment. He had money, of course, but not as much as they'd thought. Still, there were ways that they could take over the small fortune for their own use.

Many Whitelock family working in law had made sure of that over generations, just for an eventuality like this.

So, he'd 'taken advice' from others – or pretended to – and used this twaddle about dragons to take the boy out. He was patently insane. There was no other explanation for this. There was plenty of things just in the Daily Prophet to point to, plus testimony from affiliates that merely confirmed it all. The ones that had given advice that he'd promptly ignored had provided him with a goodly number of wands and their wizards and witches to do the work he'd set out to do.

His plan had been to kill the boy, or at least cause major lasting damage, kill the dragons with the Dark Dwarven thaumaturgic foci – which had looked like the ugliest crooked clubs he'd ever seen, but they mostly worked – and then activate the multitude of hair-thin reeds that he'd hardened with a Duro charm.

Those reeds had borne a deadly curse that stopped hearts and had been embedded in the seats that each of the fools had sat in when he previously interviewed them for the positions that he had in mind for this caper. The seat cushion had been soaked in a nerve-deadening agent that prevented anyone from feeling the reeds penetrate every part that would normally rest upon it. He'd spoken softly to get them to lean forward and listen even as he'd cast looks around to make them think he was being wary of their surroundings, therefore allowing more reeds to stab into more places. They easily passed through clothing and attacked the flesh beneath.

Those same reeds had burrowed into the skin as each person stood up to shake Whitelock's hand in agreement. The skin contact primed the intended charge, so to speak. Had anyone failed to agree with the things that were spoken of in that meeting and didn't shake his hand, then some time after they would have dropped dead from another charge in the reeds.

Dead men (and women) told no tales, after all.

Jonah Whitelock thought about those tales even as he moaned with the pain he could still feel in the missing arm. The fact that his arm and the wand that he used with that arm had been destroyed meant that he hadn't been able to activate the poison reeds. They had been armed with a handshake, but that hand didn't exist anymore. Therefore, those people could still conceivably tell the tales that he didn't want put out there.

He started to sweat a bit, and not from the pain as his mind explored what he'd told those others. Had he known about some of the visiting dragons and their intent, he would have sweat much more.

|:-:|

Albus Dumbledore decided that he could stand to ignore his desk for a little while and walked out the front doors of the Castle, which had magically unlocked for him as he approached and would any time of the day or night. It was one of the privileges of being the Headmaster, since everyone else would have to be let out after curfew. He wanted to check up on the dragons and see how they were. It had taken him a little time to adjust his thinking about them but he'd managed, and now the Headmaster found many of them to be academic equals.

The apology for the research into dragon's blood went a long way. Some still wouldn't have anything to do with him, but most took the apology at face value.

The older he got – and he was considerably older than a lot of people in the castle – he found that he couldn't sleep. Last night hadn't been an exception. Sadly, he couldn't blame it on a bladder that took forever to empty, at least this time. Dumbledore was concerned about his dragon guests and the recent events that had harmed them. That concern had disturbed his sleep.

He was careful as the sight of the Dragons' Quarters came into view as he approached. A hurt dragon was not a happy dragon. The old wizard didn't entertain any misconceptions that he could easily handle an injured dragon, and Dumbledore didn't want to startle one and have to find out.

"Fawkes."

The phoenix flamed into being just ahead and about twenty feet up. The light cast around from the arrival of the firebird flickered around and the rush of air made leaves on the trees dance as Fawkes soared in the early-morning air. The singing soothed him, since he was admittedly a bit concerned.

From inside the Quarters, he could hear some grumbles and a hissing moan. Both Headmaster and phoenix could see a silvery dragon head poke out for a moment and squint at them, before it withdrew. They looked at each other just before she slowly came out.

"My dear, I am so sorry to disturb you. I was hoping to talk to one of the handlers – perhaps Mister Weasley."

The pain was still in her blue eyes, but she answered.

"No, don't worry about it. I can't sleep anyway," nodding slowly toward her damaged wing. The motion was enough to jostle it, and she hissed again. Dumbledore saw a large teardrop fall to the ground. It was roughly the size of Fawkes' body.

"My dear, you must rest, if even but a bit. Has anyone been able to see to your injuries yet?"

"Charlie has, but had to gather some supplies and may be back here in a bit. He's seeing to the Mother Eminence, too. Malcolm was going to check with him to see if he had any ideas to fix my ripped up wing. I won't be able to fly if they can't. They're all so busy."

He could see that she was trying to be brave, but the quiver in her facial muscles gave her away. Dumbledore could hear the repressed sob in her translated voice, too. Fawkes could see this as well and decided to land on a rock some distance from the Short-Snout to sing again. It was a song of healing. Not so much of physical healing but of support and encouragement for the struggle ahead.

Deep in his mind, Dumbledore hoped that she wouldn't decide to sing along. This was something that he didn't speak, of course.

Annika eased herself down to the ground and managed to get her damaged wing down without more pain. The Headmaster noticed that she was avoiding a rather generously padded part of her physique which appeared to his untrained eye that looked pretty pained, judging from the way she was jerking around in small and quick movements, but he didn't get to his advanced age by asking stupid questions.

"You suffered a broken wing as well, Annika? Not just the ripped area?"

"Yes," she moaned.

Dumbledore thought for a moment. Dragon's blood carried components that humans didn't, of course. It was one reason that their blood was of a different color. He harrumped to himself in thought before stepping over to her wing to look at it. Some species of dragon also had some blood vessels that circulated though the wing spans as well, but he couldn't remember at the moment if her breed was one of those. He hoped not, since that ripped sail looked bad.

"I have an idea, but the wing would have to straightened out first and that'll hurt."

Annika sighed in resignation. The shuddering sound made Dumbledore wince in sympathy. She looked so unhappy and he could tell she was in pain. That, of course, didn't help in her mood, the Headmaster knew.

"What's your idea?" she finally asked.

"Sailing ships had a type of stitchery that mends sails and holds against the pressure of the winds that propel them. I propose that the same method be used to stitch your wing sail back together. It won't be the same, most likely, but you'd be able to fly after a recovery period."

She was quiet for a bit and Dumbledore let her think. The mention he'd given her made him think about a simply interesting voyage he'd taken as a young man. A part of his mind decided to see if this summer he could do it again. He wasn't as vigorous as he was as a young man, but that was not a problem.

Annika was thinking about the injuries she had sustained. If this could fix those very painful problems, she would give up the lemon cakes!

|:-:|

Charlie wasn't any more happy than the injured dragons. He didn't have 'office hours' when it came to caring for dragons and never had, so he was used to dealing with injuries and things like that at night. He just didn't like it any more than anyone else. Thankfully, the alert that the Castle apparently sent out to her dragon friends had turned up several dragons ready to help.

Help they had, and had been helping throughout the night.

Domir turning up and starting to help was unexpected. He remembered Domir as a mischievous drake that like to pull pranks on the others. The news that he'd become a draconic Healer after he left the reserve was a surprise to him. Trying to imagine Fred or George as Healers made his brain hurt.

He was in with his mother with Charlie standing in and checking over her injuries. There was a younger female Horntail taking notes of whatever he said, and wasn't that another surprise! It was the first time that he'd ever seen a dragon use a clipboard. It was scratched on with talons and not a quill, but it sure looked like a clipboard to him.

Well, it wasn't so much a clipboard so much as it was a bit of manifested draconic magic that gave the 'medi-dragon' something to take notes on without any kind of visible parchment. Charlie wondered if Malcolm had seen it yet. It was an amusing thought to think about what the man would say in his befuddlement.

In the meantime, Domir was examining Tessaies' scales, the damaged wing and shoulder, and taking vital signs in the same way Charlie would do for first-aid of a human patient before the Healer team arrived. There were several hmmms and huhs and other such indistinct vocalizations that the dragon wrangler wondered if all Healers of any species learned that in some class somewhere.

After all, there was the Dragon's Lectern here, so why not have a dragon classroom somewhere else?

Tessaies was getting impatient, he could tell. He was trying to decide if he felt brave enough to address that when Domir spoke with calm amusement.

"Now, Mother, don't get impatient. I'm just as stubborn as you are."

"What do you mean?" She sounded confused, and Charlie thought to himself that he was, too, on top of everything else. The larger Horntail answered after muttering something else to his assistant as he found something else and making Tessaies wince.

"I have to be. You taught me well with an excellent example growing up. Now be silent and let me work. It'll get done quicker that way."

He went on with his examination as both Tessaies and Charlie stared at him. Tessaies couldn't think of anything to say to that and Charlie was trying not to choke on his spit when he heard that rejoinder. The medi-dragon just grinned as she made another note, but said nothing.

Charlie was wondering why draconic Healers didn't have the same rules about treating family as humans did, but none of the Horntails seemed to find this odd in any way.

The examination was quickly finished, and they all watched as the assistant scratched her talon in some kind of pattern. Domir nodded, apparently hearing something that was in his range of hearing that wasn't in Charlie's. He mumbled something else to the assistant, and she tapped her talon on the notes before holding it out to him to review. He did so and tapped it with his own talon before turning to Charlie.

"Lángoló haj, there will be lists of items that I will require to begin my treatment plans on your desk in about an hour after I complete my rounds." Charlie didn't ask how Domir knew that he even had a desk or where, but listened as the huge dragon continued. "I understand that some of the items will have to wait until tomorrow, when the British Ministry Departments open for business for the weekday, but after that you should have no issue procuring them. Do not worry about payment, as that has been arranged and I have too much to do today and tonight to go over all of them right now. If you can liaise with Madame Pomfrey, she may be able to arrange for some of those items."

Charlie nodded.

"For now, I will dispense from the small stocks that I was able to bring with me, but that will only last for today, tomorrow, and perhaps the next day, but I don't have hopes for the next day. So, work fast."

"Of course, Domir."

Charlie watched as Domir strolled over to a large black bag the same exact color of his scales. The ground shook in little thuds with each step. The large dragon reached in with a talon and withdrew something that he offered to his mother. She stared at it and grimaced.

Domir chuckled and ignored the look she was giving him.

"I could say turnabout is fair play, but I won't. You've had to give it to me more than once and for some of the same reasons. You know it works."

As hard as he looked, Charlie didn't see anything that suggested payback in the expression on the draconic healer's face. Tessaies sighed as she rolled her eyes and took whatever it was from her son. Charlie didn't see what it was, other than something glowing, but he could see the grimace on Tessaies' face. Domir watched with the expression on his face that said he expected her to follow Healer's Orders or he was going to find something less palatable.

"I'm quite well aware it tastes terrible, but it will help you. What with the things that I have to do today and tomorrow, I need to make some treatment room – so to speak. For now, you and the others need rest. So get comfortable and sleep! I'll come by tomorrow afternoon after I finish my other consultations."

Tessaies was already looking sleepy, and Charlie wondered what exactly that stuff was and what it did. They watched as she curled up around her eggs the best that she could and started snoring. Domir lead the way out after slinging his bag around his neck and headed for the next dragon on his list. His assistant and Charlie followed, chatting with each other as the dragon handler tried to figure out the new dragon social dynamics on display.

Whatever it was, it was just as confusing as it had been since this all started. Maybe Hagrid would have some idea what to say about it.

|:-:|

Some distance away, there was a trio of dragons discussing something. One was a Welsh Green and looked to have many years on his frame, if the graying scales around his muzzle was any indication. The other two were younger, with one being a Horntail and the other an Ironbelly.

"So we are agreed that the subject of our presence here is present in the castle?"

The Horntail nodded.

"Yes, and Your Lordship has been granted jurisdiction to hear the case, thanks to diplomatic maneuvers that take into account the relationship forged by the young Speaker and the Mother Eminence."

The Ironbelly grinned, obviously finding humor in this.

"She's spanked me a few times, so it would be amusing to see what kind of discipline she would use for him. A human?"

The Welsh Green Lord Justice rolled his eyes.

"Now, Perreh, Lady Tessaies has done this before, you know."

"Of course, My Lord, but we all know that humans have different ways of doing things. I want to get to know this Wildness of Mane girl, myself. I understand that she has a sharp mind. Maybe we can encourage her to enter our profession, hmmm?"

The Horntail grunted.

"From what I see of what the humans have, they need some better-looking ones. Most of the ones I see are old, creaky, pale, and look like they'll fall apart any moment."

"Like most of your conquests, Dahne?"

The Welsh Green rolled his eyes at the younger dragons.

"One of you decide who's defending and who's prosecuting. Then when you decide that, then go find Sirius Black and tell him what's going to happen."

"Of course, My Lord," came the chorus from the younger pair.

"By your leave?" came the question from the Ironbelly.

The two were waved on and they left to argue between themselves. The older dragon watched them go and sighed to himself.

"Whopnehr, if you didn't own Tessaies a favor, you wouldn't be here."

There was a rush of air as Quiangya settled down next to him. She had heard what he muttered and snorted as she folded her wings back.

"You old wyrm. You can't stand for injustice whenever you hear about it and you know it?"

"But this? The humans have their own legal system."

"True, but in this case, they aren't using it. They're ignoring it out of greed."

"Greed?"

The Fireball shrugged.

"That's what I think, but that's beside the point. You have to make the judgment for yourself, after all. The point being, he's been denied a trial for several turns of turnings and it's a miracle he's survived this long."

This offended the judge and he started to say something, but Quiangya went on.

"I won't say any more other than we wouldn't do that for anyone in our system, and to be frank if one is denied justice in one place, then going elsewhere for asylum and justice would only make sense, right?"

He nodded and sighed again.

"This is going to be rough, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid so. I wouldn't mind flaming a few of the idiots I've seen, and that was before the other idiots came after us yesterday."

Whopnehr grimaced, but didn't say anything.

"So since you're the only one without injury, and I'm assuming everything is quiet for the moment or you wouldn't be here, tell me about this Speaker. How is it that he's under Tessaies' care? Where is his nest-mother?"

He could see hot steam billowing from her nostrils and realized that the answer was something that he wasn't going to like one bit.