Ivan Leopold, Head of Security for MACUSA, Babajide, President of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Robert Graves arrived in London together yesterday.
Bones briefed Tom on the situation: "Leopold is demanding that you be prosecuted before MACUSA, but Dumbledore refused outright. Babajide is trying to play peacemaker, and Graves hasn't said a word, though the way he looks at you would make anyone's skin crawl."
"Either way, this has reached a point where something has to be resolved. There will be a hearing in three days."
"Three days?" Tom frowned. "I've already made arrangements for three days from now. Tell them tomorrow. Tomorrow morning, I'll come to your office. If that doesn't suit them, they're welcome never to bother coming again, and if they're feeling bold, they can send someone to arrest me themselves."
"I'll, erm..." Bones hesitated, then rather than answering immediately, stepped aside to contact the Ministry.
Tom made no move to rush her. He finished breakfast at his leisure with Daphne and Astoria, and by the time the plates were cleared, Bones had sorted it out.
"They've agreed. Tomorrow morning, nine o'clock," she said. "Dumbledore will be present as well. He's currently in talks with Babajide, so it should be... manageable."
Tom gave an indifferent nod. If so many people were already descending on the Ministry, what was the harm in inviting a few more to fill out the audience?
After Bones left, Tom spent the rest of the day making calls. One day was more than enough.
The following morning.
The British Ministry of Magic found itself bewildered as it received over a dozen distinguished foreign visitors, none of whom had sent advance notice or accepted any invitation. Some were officials from foreign ministries. Others were representatives of old and prominent families. Every single one had shown up entirely on their own initiative.
Fudge was in the middle of hosting Babajide and Robert when Umbridge delivered the report, leaving him equally at a loss.
Robert's expression shifted. A bad feeling settled in his chest before he could name it.
Sure enough, once Fudge had seen to the uninvited guests and made his way back, his face was wearing an expression that was difficult to classify. "Gentlemen," he said, "it appears today's hearing will have rather more of an audience than anticipated."
At ten minutes to nine, Tom arrived at the Ministry. Lady Greengrass escorted him to Bones's office.
Bones rose to greet him with a rueful smile. "I didn't expect you to put on quite this scale of a production. My office can't hold them all. They've already moved everything to Courtroom Nine."
Tom raised an eyebrow. "Courtroom Nine? Are they planning to put me on trial?"
"Hardly." Bones shook her head. "They're using it as a conference room. The layout's been rearranged."
Rules were rules, and people were something else entirely. An ordinary underage wizard caught casting magic outside of school could expect either a formal warning on their record or an immediate trial with no real room to defend themselves. Tom had long since ceased to fall under the heading of "ordinary."
Courtroom Nine was a large room, and today it held two long rows of tables arranged with a wide aisle running between them. The division was clear the moment you walked in.
On one side, Robert Graves fixed Tom with a stare of undisguised hatred. On the other, Tom's "guests" rose to greet him with warm smiles.
The people Tom had summoned were either his current business contacts or families hoping to become them, buyers and would-be buyers, each with their own calculation. It was a nakedly transactional alliance, but that was precisely what made it durable. As long as no greater interest came along to displace it, there was no tighter bond than shared profit.
This particular mess was MACUSA's embarrassment to own, and Graves's humiliation personally. It had no bearing whatsoever on continental Europe. As for the International Confederation, they could take their jurisdiction and think carefully before using it. Any attempt to meddle in the domestic affairs of sovereign wizarding nations would earn them coordinated resistance from every quarter.
"Happy New Year, Mr. Graves." Tom settled into the lead seat at the front, gave Dumbledore a courteous nod from across the aisle, then turned to Robert with an easy smile. "Wonderful to see you. Where are the rest of the Graves family? I'd have thought they'd want to be here."
"Don't flatter yourself, Riddle."
Robert bit off each word like it cost him something. "You think having people to hide behind puts you above the law?"
His eyes drifted pointedly toward Dumbledore as he said it.
"Tom Riddle."
Ivan Leopold, Head of Security for MACUSA, spoke with the gravity of a man reading an indictment. "The North American Magical Congress formally charges you before the International Confederation of Wizards with violation of the Statute of Secrecy, unauthorized use of magic outside school during the holidays, and the murder of a No-Maj."
"Minister Fudge," he continued, "while Riddle is a British wizard, the offences in question were committed on our soil. We request that he be remanded to the International Confederation for arbitration."
"I'd ask you not to get ahead of yourself." Bones's voice was ice. "These are charges, not convictions. Who has established that Riddle violated any of the laws you've named?"
"Precisely." Fudge, for once, matched her in firmness. "A man isn't guilty because someone says so loudly enough. If Mr. Riddle has genuinely done something wrong, we will not turn a blind eye, but we are perfectly capable of handling our own. We don't require your assistance."
"Under the International Convention of 1763, the Confederation only acquires jurisdiction to pursue and arbitrate when our representative submits an international arrest warrant. Dumbledore, you hold that position. What is your view?"
Tom turned to look.
It was Barnabus Cuffe who spoke up for him first.