Chapter 16: The Backlash
The sun's harsh glare pierced Iago Tower's frost-etched windows, casting stark shadows across the dormitory's worn floorboards, where a chipped goblet of stale pumpkin juice sat on a scarred table, its tart scent lingering from the Great Hall's rally . The air was heavy with cedar smoke and the faint musk of old parchment, grounding Leo's fading triumph from their coalition's spark. We shook the Ministry, and now they're hitting back. A grim owl landed on the windowsill, its storm-cloud feathers ruffling in the chill breeze, talons clutching a parchment sealed with crimson wax, the Wizengamot's seal glinting like a drawn blade. Trouble's knocking. Leo's heart sank, his fingers trembling as he snapped the wax, its sharp crack slicing through the dorm's quiet like a warning shot. The summons was blunt: "Leo of Ravenclaw house, you are hereby summoned for a hearing before the Wizengamot on charges of theft of Ministry secrets and inciting unrest." They're scared of the ledger, Lila's rescue. A bitter, hysterical laugh bubbled up, tying to the Nevermore ruins' hum and the rally's roar. A frayed curtain fluttered in a draft, anchoring his fear. They want to crush us, make us an example. Hermione snatched the parchment, tearing it in half with a fierce rip, her robes dusted with Floo ash , her voice blazing with intensity.
"They're desperate to stop us! They know we're winning!"
She's our fire, like in the Chamber. The air shimmered, a script pulsing in his vision, bold and ominous.
[THEY'RE NOT THRILLED WITH YOUR HEROICS.]
A storm animation swirled, dark clouds churning. Leo muttered, his voice a low, hard rumble, his wand sparking faintly in his grip.
"Thrilled? They'll learn."
We're not bowing. Pansy Parkinson's cold sneer cut through from the doorway, her Slytherin robes pristine, her smirk sharp as a blade.
"Trouble follows you freaks, doesn't it?"
Leo's eyes narrowed, his voice flat, sarcasm biting.
"Trouble? We're the solution."
Pansy's just noise, like Zacharias in the ruins. Enid's hand brushed his, her scarf snagging on a splintered chair, her voice soft but resolute.
"We'll face them, right?"
She's my anchor, like in the forest. Leo nodded, defiance sparking like a flame against the chill. We'll show them what Outcasts can do. A chipped quill rolled on the table, its feather bent, urging action as the owl's harsh screech faded into the sinking sun's stormy haze. Time's running out. Ron's nervous glance darted to the window, his voice low.
"They're not playing, mate."
He's scared, but here. Leo's lips twitched, a grim smile. We're all in.
The Ministry courtroom was a vast, oppressive cavern, its towering marble columns gleaming coldly under flickering chandeliers, their light casting long, judgmental shadows across the polished floor. The air was sterile, thick with the scent of wax and polished stone, the aurors lining the walls grim and impassive, their wands glinting like drawn swords. This is their arena, but we're not their prey. Leo stood with Hermione, Wednesday, Enid, and Agnes, their robes dusted with ash , . The judges loomed on a high platform, their faces etched with disdain and barely veiled fury, their heavy robes a symbol of suffocating authority. They think they've trapped us. The head judge's voice boomed, echoing off the marble like a thunderclap, his eyes cold and hateful.
"Leo of Ravenclaw house, you are accused of stealing classified Ministry documents, inciting unrest, and using illegal magic. How do you plead?"
They're pinning their lies on us—Pixel's cure, Lila's freedom. Fear coiled in Leo's chest, a cold knot tightening, but defiance surged, a fire burning through the courtroom's chill. "We exposed their truth, saved lives." He straightened, his voice steady, unwavering, cutting through the sterile air.
"Not guilty. We didn't steal. We exposed the truth."
He whispered to Ron, trying to ease the tension, his breath misting in the cold.
"Trial for saving lives? Ironic."
Ron's eyes widened, his voice a nervous mutter, his Gryffindor scarf askew.
"Ironic? Mental."
He's terrified, but loyal, like in the alley. Wednesday's eyes glinted like chips of ice, her voice a low, cutting whisper, her dagger hidden but ready in her sleeve.
"They fear our truth."
She's right—they're scared of the ledger, the ruins' secrets. A judge leaned forward, his bushy mustache twitching, his whisper echoing faintly in the vast space.
"The accident cover-up… they know everything. Silence them."
They orchestrated the shutdown, like the hydra's curse. Leo's blood ran cold . This is bigger than us. A chipped marble tile underfoot ground against his boot, anchoring his resolve as the aurors' murmurs rose like a gathering storm. We're not backing down. Hermione's hand clenched her wand, her voice a fierce hiss.
"We've got the evidence."
She's our rock, like in the war room. The courtroom's chandeliers flickered, urging confrontation, the air heavy with anticipation.
Leo presented the evidence, his beast-speaking amplifying his voice, the courtroom's walls humming as if stirred by his words, echoing the bat swarm , Pixel's rescue . The ledger and forest documents lay bare the Black Thorn's conspiracy, their pages heavy as the Basilisk venom vial , each word a blow against the Ministry's lies. This is for the Outcasts, for justice. The judges shifted uncomfortably, their confidence crumbling like cracked marble, their murmurs a low buzz of panic. Hermione's quill scratched furiously, her voice a fierce whisper, ink smudging her fingers.
"We've got them cornered."
She's relentless. The gavel slammed, its bang echoing like a thunderclap, the head judge glaring, his voice tight with impotent rage.
"Charges… dropped. But be warned. Any further disruption will not be tolerated."
We won, but it's not over. Defiance burned in Leo's chest, the group standing tall, their breaths a collective sigh of relief, their unity forged in the ruins and the Great Hall. Leo smirked, easing the tension, his voice light but sharp.
"Courtroom drama? Nailed it."
Enid chuckled, her scarf brushing his arm, her eyes bright.
"Oscar-worthy."
She's our heart. The air shimmered, a triumphant script pulsing in his vision, bold and vibrant.
[YOU TURNED THEIR TRIAL UPSIDE DOWN!]
A scales animation tipped in their favor, glinting with triumph. "Upside down? Perfect." A chipped goblet on a nearby table caught the chandelier's light, anchoring their hard-won victory as the aurors' glares followed them out, their boots echoing on the marble. We faced their worst and walked away. But the System's warning pulsed, chilling the triumph, its words a grim reminder of the escalating war.
[VICTORY'S SWEET, BUT THE WAR'S HEATING UP.]
They'll hit back harder. A loose chandelier crystal swayed, clinking softly, urging them toward rebellion, the courtroom's oppressive echo fading into the rumble of an approaching storm. We're ready.
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