Estate of Sirius Black v Minister of Magic

TRIAL TRANSCRIPT
ESTATE OF SIRIUS BLACK v MINISTER OF MAGIC
DAY 6 - AFTERNOON SESSION

BEFORE HER HONOUR, LADY JUSTICE MARCHBANKS
COUNSEL FOR THE PLAINTIFF: MS McGONAGALL
COUNSEL FOR THE DEFENDANT: MR TROMEDLOV

MARCHBANKS: When we adjourned for lunch I believe we were part way through examination-in-chief. You may resume your examination, Mr ... are you sure we haven't met? There's something very familiar about you, Mr Tromedlov.

TROMEDLOV: It must the balaclava, your honour. Perhaps you knew someone else who wore one. We all look the same in suspiciously concealing headwear.

MARCHBANKS: No doubt. But your eyes, Mr Tromedlov. I'll be blunt with you. Red eyeballs give me the willies.

TROMEDLOV: Ignorant cretin! Cruci-

MARCHBANKS: I beg your pardon!

TROMEDLOV: Croquet, your honour. Bad for the eyes. Makes them red.

MARCHBANKS: I'll be keeping a close eye on *you* Mr Tromedlov. Do you have any further questions for this witness?

TROMEDLOV: Let me at 'em!

MARCHBANKS: Very well. Recall Cornelius Oswald Fudge. Oh dear. Mr Fudge, we discussed this yesterday. Kindly cover up that T-shirt. There is only one 'o' in Dumbledore and I believe you are mistaken about the Professor's dietary habits. That cap will have to go too. And the badges - yes, all of them. Apart from the insult to Albus, I doubt you'd make that accusation if you'd ever smelled a Mooncalf up close. That's better. Mr Tromedlov, please proceed.

TROMEDLOV: Minister. As you are aware, this is a claim by the estate of the late Sirius Black arising out of an incident involving a portal into the afterlife. Are you following so far?

FUDGE: Albus Dumbledore has twelve kinds of venereal disease.

TROMEDLOV: You don't say. In view of the seriousness of this action and its repercussions for Magical Health and Safely, I am compelled to ask you ... Minister, do I have your full attention?

FUDGE: Possibly thirteen.

TROMEDLOV: Minister, how do you feel about Muggles?

FUDGE: Er ...

TROMEDLOV: Do you like them?

FUDGE: Well ...

TROMEDLOV: Have you ever tried one simmered in garlic and white wine until it's *just so*, the flesh simply melting in your mouth, the flavour balanced with just a nip of chilli and -

McGONAGALL: Your Honour, I must object!

MARCHBANKS: That question will be struck out. Mr Tromedlov, do try to keep to the point. Ugh. And either put on some sunglasses or try not to look at me.

TROMEDLOV: As you wish, your honour. Minister, how would you describe the Ministry offices?

FUDGE: They're very practical. Imposing, if I do say so myself.

TROMEDLOV: Exactly! Not exactly inspiring, are they? You know what you need?

FUDGE: More abstract sculpture?

TROMEDLOV: A steakhouse. A big chargrill with eight kinds of fries and one kind of salad and really really big skewers! Muggle grills, Minister, that's what I'm talking about. Crispy on the outside, bloody on the inside, absolutely deee-licious -

MARCHBANKS: Counsel for the defence will desist from -

TROMEDLOV: - now *that's* what I call a drumstick! -

MARCHBANKS: Mr Tromedlov! Silence! You are hereby -

TROMEDLOV: Avada kedav- oops.

MARCHBANKS: Did you just say what I think you said?

TROMEDLOV: No. Yes. Tourette's. I have a rare form of Tourette's. Unforgivables just pop out every now and again. Can't help it at all. Sorry. Imperio! There I go again.

MARCHBANKS: Don't think you can put one over on me, Mr Tromedlov. I'm onto you. One more question about cooking Muggles and you'll be dangling your balls in a steel trap called contempt. Am I clear?

TROMEDLOV: Oh yes. Now, Minister. Do you know any recipes for Muggle tartare?

MARCHBANKS: Enough! I will allow no more questions for the defendant. Ms McGonagall, do you wish to cross-examine?

McGONAGALL: Thank you, your honour. Mr Fudge, I believe you are the Minister of Magic.

FUDGE: Well that depends.

McGONAGALL: On what?

FUDGE: ...

McGONAGALL: Don't look at Mr Malfoy. With a little effort you should be able to answer this one yourself. Are you the Minister of Magic?

FUDGE: Look! A Quintaped is eating the jury!

McGONAGALL: Mr Fudge, I can still see your hat poking up. Please step back into the witness box and answer the question. Are you the Minister of Magic?

FUDGE: Sometimes.

McGONAGALL: Never mind. Turning now to the events of Thursday 20th of June in the Department of Mysteries. How would you describe the security in the Ministry of Magic?

FUDGE: Industry best practice.

McGONAGALL: Really?

FUDGE: Oh yes. Top of the range, state of the art, ticketty-boo.

McGONAGALL: And yet twelve Death Eaters, seven of them recent escapees from Azkaban, managed to enter the building undetected.

FUDGE: Well they used a pretty underhanded strategy.

McGONAGALL: Are you saying they used unforgivable curses?

FUDGE: Fake beards.

McGONAGALL: Your ticketty-boo security system was foiled by artificial facial hair?

FUDGE: They were good beards! You could hardly see the elastic at all.

McGONAGALL: Minister -

FUDGE: I'm not kidding. These guys were serious. For example, Antonin Dolohov already has a beard, so he wore spirally glasses. This was a sophisticated operation.

McGONAGALL: Minister, if you would kindly turn to paragraph 11.4 of the defence, in which the Ministry pleads "The Ministry denies the allegation that its security wards were non-existent, risible or in any way less than kick-arse." Do you maintain that denial?

FUDGE: Yes. Only a criminal mastermind could have got past our wards.

McGONAGALL: Is Harry Potter a criminal mastermind?

FUDGE: He could be.

McGONAGALL: Was he wearing a false beard when he entered the Ministry building?

FUDGE: ...

McGONAGALL: Minister?

FUDGE: Albus Dumbledore smells like poo.

McGONAGALL: Mr Fudge, is it true that Harry Potter and five teenage friends gained entry to the Ministry complex without even the subterfuge of false facial hair?

FUDGE: [inaudible]

MARCHBANKS: Let the record show that the witness made an obscene gesture. We shall take that as an affirmative. Ms McGonagall, please continue.

McGONAGALL: I ask that the witness be shown exhibit P2, a picture of the room in the Department of Mysteries where the events in question took place. Minister, what are the contents of this room?

FUDGE: I don't know. It's a mystery.

McGONAGALL: Is it an archway to the afterlife?

FUDGE: No.

McGONAGALL: This arch-shaped structure, what is it?

FUDGE: An archway.

McGONAGALL: And where does it lead?

FUDGE: The afterlife

McGONAGALL: So what would you call it?

FUDGE: Albus Dumbledore has only one buttock.

McGONAGALL: Would you say that a gateway to the afterlife is a public hazard under Decree Eleven for Public Safety?

FUDGE: Well a potato can be hazardous in the wrong hands.

McGONAGALL: Can a potato transport a person irrevocably into the realm of the dead?

FUDGE: I'm no scientist. You'll have to ask the Minister for Vegomancy.

MARCHBANKS: Mr Fudge, you are treading a fine line between impertinence and having your testicles transfigured into live Fire Crabs. I have no time for your quibbling.

FUDGE: Oh, all right then. Maybe the archway was dangerous.

McGONAGALL: And under the Eleventh Decree, what is the prescribed procedure for dealing with hazardous objects.

FUDGE: Put them in an unlocked room behind an innocent looking curtain?

McGONAGALL: No.

FUDGE: Was I close?

McGONAGALL: Not even lukewarm. Have another look at the picture. Are there any protective barriers around the archway?

FUDGE: No exactly, no.

McGONAGALL: Is there a sign saying "WARNING; one-way portal to the underworld?"

FUDGE: Not in those exact words.

McGONAGALL: Is there any signage at all?

FUDGE: There's a little one in the corner there.

McGONAGALL: What does it say?

FUDGE: "These steps were proudly constructed by Ollerton Industries Limited".

McGONAGALL: And what is the floor made of?

FUDGE: Stone.

McGONAGALL: More specifically?

FUDGE: Polished marble with three coats of extra smooth wax.

McGONAGALL: So would you admit that the Ministry breached its duty of care to Mr Black by failing to take adequate steps to minimise the danger posed by the archway?

FUDGE: ...

McGONAGALL: Look at *me*, Mr Fudge. I assure you that Mr Malfoy does not have the answers. Mr Malfoy has nothing but a lumpy bed in the high security section of Azkaban and a newfound aversion to the expression "Who's your Daddy?" He will be returning to his cell at the end of this hearing. Now, Minister, in answer to my question -

FUDGE: Albus Dumbledore frottages with chickens.

McGONAGALL: Do you deny -

FUDGE: Barbequed chickens.

McGONAGALL: Your honour, I have no further questions.

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