Sirius Black's trial had been scheduled for May, giving both the prosecution and defense roughly a month to prepare. Hermione hadn't seen or spoken to Sirius in all that time, but they'd sketched out the plan to follow together during Easter. Nothing would have changed in the overall strategy – prove Sirius was innocent, get him cleared and reestablished on the Wizengamot, get Peter locked away – but she still felt anxious as she put on her Wizengamot robes. Sirius was brash and unpredictable. Who knew what he might do today?

When she met Dumbledore, his blue eyes were very bright. They didn't have their usual sparkle to them, but more of a wet sheen, and to her astonishment, Hermione found herself wondering if Dumbledore had been crying.

It was mad, to think of a powerful wizard and adult like Dumbledore crying. But he was only human, Hermione supposed. Everyone cried from time to time.

"Are you ready, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked. "We have quite the day ahead of us, and we best get started."

He led her through the Floo into a busy Ministry Atrium. As soon as they emerged, there were shouts, and Hermione suddenly found herself crushed by reporters swarming around her.

"Dumbledore, what have you got to say about Sirius Black's trial today?"

"Hermione Granger, how are you going to vote?"

"—coven feel about the trial today?"

"—respond to the allegations that Sirius Black is actually Narcissa Malfoy's brother?"

"—Dark magic defeat the Truth Circle?"

Dumbledore steered Hermione through the madness with a bland smile, though there was a steely glint to his eyes. Hermione hurried through, ignoring the reporters as best she could. Wouldn't it make more sense to them ask questions after the trial? She wondered just how the Daily Prophet expected to get scoops and how reporters were scheduled. It seemed to make little sense.

They were able to escape into the Ministry lift, which took them down to the Department of Mysteries. Hermione kept her wand in her hand, alert, as Dumbledore led her down the staircase to the trial rooms.

"Your little encounter with the Department of Mysteries seems to have shaken you," Dumbledore commented. "Do you think your wand would help you if their magic went awry again?"

"I—err, I have no idea," Hermione admitted. "But it helps me feel more in control and less scared."

Dumbledore smiled.

"There are very few things in life we can actually control," he told her. "There is an inner peace that comes from finally accepting that."

"A wand helps," Hermione shot back. "It helps me control a lot more things."

"That, I cannot deny." Dumbledore's smile was wry. "Still. My years have given me the serenity to accept the things I cannot control, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." He glanced over at her. "You will find a greater peace if you learn to do the same, Miss Granger."

Hermione didn't quite know what to do with that advice. Dumbledore seemed to accept a lot of things he thought he couldn't control – he ignored the plight of the hedgewitches, he didn't help the werewolves beyond trying to make sure they could still go to school – and if his wisdom was what told him he couldn't do anything to change it, so he never bothered to try—

"I've still got time left to be young and foolish, sir," Hermione said, shrugging. "Let me tilt at windmills a while."

Dumbledore laughed.

"Tilt at windmills indeed," he said, eyes sparkling. "Well. Better windmills than sleeping dragons."

The courtroom was crowded with Wizengamot members already there. Hermione glanced at Narcissa, who was deep in conversation with Phaedra Lestrange, and then Lucius Malfoy, who was on the entirely opposite side of the room talking to Thoros Nott. Neither Malfoy seemed concerned or worried at all, both projecting an air of cool disinterest.

Hermione shrugged and went up to her seat. It was too late to affect anything now, anyway. She might as well just sit back and watch.

"Did you get everything sorted with the New Zealand Ministry?" Royce Fiddlewood demanded as soon as Hermione took her seat. "I fully intended on helping, but now that I've got this catastrophe with the goblins on my hands—"

"Wait – what catastrophe with the goblins?" Hermione interrupted, alarmed.

"On the sales slips we've been getting, someone listed 'staghorn' as one thing the goblins were buying," Royce said, fuming. "Staghorn's a fungus, a mushroom, perfectly sensible thing for goblins to be buying and cultivating. Only they weren't selling them staghorn, they were selling them 'stags' horns'—"

"That still doesn't sound that bad," Hermione said, frowning. "Antlers aren't particularly sharp or dangerous to humans."

"A male erumpent is called a 'stag'," Royce said. He heaved a large, frustrated sigh. "I'm not sure what you've covered in Magical Creatures so far, but Erumpents are dangerous creatures. Their horns are incredibly explosive. And the Exploding Fluid inside the horn can be extracted."

Hermione blinked. "…what, for potions?"

"Generally, yes, but we're talking goblins here." Royce groaned. "And now I've got to figure out how to hide the fact that someone was selling the goblins explosives under what was supposed to be my department's supervision—"

"Why would anyone ever know?" Hermione asked. "Is the Ministry likely to do an audit?"

"They're goblins, and they've been buying explosives. It's not going to stay quiet, Hermione – it's going to blow up in our face—"

"What about the goblins?" Era snapped, taking her seat. "You had better be talking about how to make them go back in their Hold and never come out, Fiddlewood."

"What now?" Royce whined, turning to look at Era. "Most devastating cabbage accidents?"

"Entirely different magical catastrophe – a goblin was seen in the muggle countryside, and muggle authorities mistook it for a rabid dog in a trash bag," she told him. "My team and I spent yesterday playing the most absurd game of hide-and-go-seek with the muggle animal police, trying to find the goblin first to sneak him back to safety."

"Why was the goblin in the muggle countryside?" Royce wanted to know. "They're restricted to magical areas only—"

"He said he was shopping at the market and took a wrong turn, I don't know—"

Hermione wondered just how the goblins got up from their Hold. As far as she knew, there was only one elevator, and it led up directly into the Gringotts bank. It was possible there were dozens of tunnels all over the countryside, though, with hidden entrances and the like from the old burrows. Would anyone ever know if there were?

"If everyone would take their seats, please," Dumbledore's voice echoed loudly in the courtroom. "Everyone, please take your seats so we can get started."

Hermione looked around as everyone settled down. The witness stand was there, inside of the Truth Circle, and Hermione recognized Alexandra Jones, Wand of the Realm. There was another woman on the other side of the courtroom with jet-black hair. Sirius was nowhere to be seen.

"We are assembled for the trial of Sirius Black," Dumbledore announced formally. "Who here will preside for this trial?"

"Alexandra Jones, as Wand of the Realm," Alexandra said, bowing slightly to the assembled Wizengamot.

"Beryl Fawley, for the accused's defense," the black-haired woman said, managing an awkward curtsy.

Dumbledore nodded. "Miss Fawley, if you would produce the defendant."

Beryl nodded and looked toward the wall at the side of the room. There was a sudden, tense moment of silence as everyone held their breath, craning their necks to see, and a moment later, Sirius Black walked in, materializing through the wall, his head held high and proud despite the shackles on his hands.

Murmurs broke out in the crowd, but Sirius didn't falter one step.

He looked good, Hermione thought, looking at him with a critical eye. He was still scarily thin, but his hair looked well-groomed. His facial hair had been trimmed neatly, and his eyes weren't quite so sunken. He had on black silk robes, plain save for the Black family crest embroidered over the heart. He looked poised, arrogant, and confident as he took his seat in the defense box, arranging his shackles as if he were rearranging his robes. He raised an eyebrow at Dumbledore, as if to say, well? I'm here, and a moment later, Dumbledore nodded.

"We will proceed with opening arguments," he said. "Wand of the Realm, you many proceed."

Alexandra Jones stood. "Thank you, Chief Warlock."

Alexandra began speaking about the crimes of Sirius Black, about how he had murdered twenty muggles in broad daylight with a single curse. She was vivid with the violent imagery, and she detailed the unhinged cruelty and the Dark magic he must have used to break out of Azkaban. To Hermione's astonishment, Alexandra didn't address any of Black's accusations regarding Peter Pettigrew, completely ignoring them in favor of telling the tale about Black the papers had been telling for months.

Well. It was his trial, wasn't it? The one he'd never gotten. If Black was truly being tried for his alleged crimes, it made sense that they'd go after him for said crimes – even if he'd already seemed to prove himself innocent.

Beryl Fawley's opening statement was a thorough denunciation of all of Alexandra Jones' claims, followed by what seemed like a slightly revised version of Black's original petition to the Wizengamot. Beryl's manner was very direct and open, unflinching from the truth to the point of being unprofessional. Alexandra didn't seem bothered by her statement being called 'Ministry propaganda' or 'so vacuously false a troll could do better'. Beryl was brash and rude, and as Hermione watched Sirius' smirk grow as he watched his barrister, she suspected she understood why Sirius had chosen this woman to mount his defense.

"The Wand of the Realm may call the first witness," Dumbledore announced.

Alexandra stood. "The Wand calls Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, to the stand."

Loud murmurs and exclamations broke out, but Cornelius Fudge climbed down from his seat, making his way to the witness stand. He looked shaken and anxious, but he didn't look surprised.

"Will you please state your full name for the court?" Alexandra asked.

Fudge glanced at the Truth Circle around him.

"Cornelius Oswald Fudge," he said.

"And when did you first encounter the defendant, Sirius Black?"

Under Alexandra's questioning, Fudge's story about helping catch Sirius Black unfolded. He detailed his assignment in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and how he'd been one of the first on the scene to the attack. His verbal depiction of the scene was vivid – of watching Sirius laughing maniacally, with the giant crater in the street, pieces of muggles scattered about as people screamed around him – and Hermione remembered that though Fudge wasn't good at very much, one thing he did seem to be good at was oration.

After Alexandra finished questioning the Minister, Beryl Fawley stood.

"Minister Fudge," she said. "Did you, or any other person on the scene, cast Priori Incantantem on Sirius Black's wand?"

Fudge considered.

"I don't know if anyone thought to do it," he said. "We were all more concerned about apprehending him, about how to handle the situation until the Aurors arrived."

"Did Black ever confess guilt on the scene?" she prompted.

"No. He just laughed. He seemed crazy."

"Did his crazed laughter seem typical of a mental breakdown a man might have after seeing one of his best friends blow up a street and twenty people after the same said best friend had betrayed another best friend and had him brutally murdered?"

"Objection!" Alexandra slammed her hands onto the desk. "Calls for speculation! Minister Fudge is not a psychologist."

Beryl paused. "…what's a psychologist?"

Alexandra groaned, and Dumbledore banged the gavel.

"Objection sustained," he said. "Defense, you may continue."

Beryl asked if Fudge was aware of what had happened to Sirius Black after he had been captured, and Fudge admitted no, he had no idea – he had been thoroughly preoccupied with trying to repair the crater in the street and smooth over the disaster with the panicked muggle authorities.

"—gas explosion only goes so far," Fudge was explaining. "Witnesses still needed their memories modified, the sewer pipe needed magically repaired, and it all needed to happen as quickly as possible before witnesses started leaving the area."

"Was a magical trace ever cast on the explosion site?" Beryl asked.

Fudge frowned. "I'm sorry?"

"Did anyone try to trace the magical signature of the explosion?" Beryl rephrased. "To tell who had cast the spell?"

Now Fudge was scowling.

"That's not a thing that can be done," he snapped.

"There are reports of the Department of Mysteries being able to trace curses back to their original casters," Beryl said calmly.

"That's for cursed objects only, and it's extraordinarily difficult," Fudge snapped. "When they uncurse an object, they have to unravel the magic, and sometimes the way it was cursed will lead them back to the person who cursed it. It's not tracking magical signatures. That's impossible."

"There is clear evidence that the Ministry can trace magic," Beryl protested. "Magic children use outside of schools—"

"Oh good heavens, you're a conspiracy theorist nut job, aren't you?" Cornelius Fudge snapped.

Dumbledore banged his gavel sharply. "Minister!"

Fudge scowled.

"We can't detect the magic of individual witches and wizards," he said. "The Trace works by finding immature magic cast in muggle-marked places. It's not all-powerful, it's not all-encompassing, and it's not possible for the Ministry to know who cast what spell."

"How does the Trace work, then?" Beryl pushed.

"Objection! Irrelevance!" Alexandra Jones stood up. "The Trace is a secret of the Department of Mysteries and has no bearing on this trial."

"Sustained," Dumbledore said. He gave Beryl Fawley a look, who looked sheepish.

"No further questions," she muttered, sitting back down.

Fudge got up and stormed back to his seat in the Wizengamot, fuming, while Alexandra Jones watched on, poorly hiding her amusement.

"The Wand calls Bartemius Crouch Senior to the stand."

Barty Crouch did not look pleased to be summoned to the stand. His short gray hair was well-groomed with an almost unnaturally straight part, and he had a narrow toothbrush mustache. Despite his professional appearance, anger and frustration seemed to practically emanate off him, and Hermione wondered how this would go.

"Ooh," Era murmured from next to Hermione, leaning forward. "This will be a treat…"

"Please state your name for the court."

"Bartemius Crouch Senior," Barty snapped. "I was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement when Black was arrested."

Alexandra's questions covered Black's arrest, and Crouch detailed how Black continued to laugh maniacally throughout his arrest, before falling into a near catatonic state inside of the holding cell.

"He stared into space for hours, just vacant," Crouch detailed. "Not sleeping. Not moving. Just… there. The only times he roused out of it was to snarl at the attendants when they brought him food and threaten them."

From Crouch's testimony, it sounded like Sirius had had a psychotic break during his interaction with Peter Pettigrew on the street, and then that break had continued during his arrest. He at no point demanded a trial, claimed he was innocent, or gave any helpful indication one way or another.

"There were eyewitness accounts of what he'd done, and he'd been found with blood and body parts all over him," Crouch snapped. "When he was in holding, he'd gone empty and vacant. How was I supposed to hold a trial for someone who wouldn't respond? No one claimed he was innocent, including himself. There was a lot of chaos and confusion after You-Know-Who fell. It saved time to skip the trial and just put Black in Azkaban."

"And afterward?" Alexandra Jones prompted. "When the chaos had settled?"

Crouch scowled. "No one petitioned for a trial. Including him. It seemed a settled matter."

When it was Beryl's turn, the questions were decidedly odd.

"At what point did you learn of the attacks on Alice and Frank Longbottom?"

Crouch scowled. "What does that matter?"

"It was another event requiring your attention at the time," Beryl argued. She looked to Dumbledore, who nodded.

"The witness will answer the question," he directly.

Crouch scowled. "The day it occurred."

As Beryl's questioning unfolded, Hermione could see the narrative Beryl was going for begin to emerge. Barty Crouch's son had been arrested and tried around the same time Sirius had been apprehended. Barty Crouch had sent his son to Azkaban, despite his protests of innocence; the implication being that Barty had been too preoccupied with his own son's trial and attempting to salvage his reputation to pay attention to the truth of Sirius' matter.

Barty's lips grew thinner and thinner, his expression tighter and more pinched the more Beryl questioned him. All her questions were related just enough to the matter at hand that they were allowed, but it was tenuous at best. Barty kept glaring at Alexandra, attempting to provoke her into an objection, but Alexandra just smiled at him blandly, apparently perfectly content to let the painful interrogation into his family drama go on.

Hermione watched Sirius' reactions as the questioning continued. He looked perfectly relaxed and blasé, with a mischievous, mean glint to his eyes. Hermione wondered if he'd told his defender to follow this line of questioning as a sort of subtle, social revenge for never getting a trial, just to humiliate Crouch in front of the Wizengamot.

The questioning was largely boring, but something odd occurred toward the end of it.

"—departed from your visit with your son, you did not visit or inquire after Sirius Black, whom you had imprisoned without a trial?"

"I went to see my dying son, not someone I thought was a psychopathic Dark wizard!" Barty snarled. "Why would I? I did what I came to do, and then I left—"

He choked for a moment, and the Truth Circle glowed while he continued.

"—them all there. Dark wizards should be left in Azkaban, regardless of who they are."

Beryl was obviously startled by the Truth Circle suddenly glowing. She looked at Dumbledore helplessly.

"Barty," Dumbledore said. "What had you been about to say when the Truth Circle censured you?"

Barty glowered.

"I had been about to say 'my son'," he snarled. "I was going to say 'I left my son in Azkaban'." He glared at Beryl, defiant. "And the Truth Circle would not let me. Given we've already gone over how I declared 'I have no son' at his trial, is this scrutiny really necessary?"

There was a murmur and exchanged glances at this. The fact Barty held disowning his son so true that the Truth Circle had recognized it… how could someone be so heartless? Even Hermione was taken aback.

"No further questions."

Barty stormed back to his seat, and Dumbledore called for a recess for lunch.