The slippery cobblestone pavement glistened under the light that shone from the single lantern standing on the corner of Rue de Besson and Rue du Lièvre. The soft drizzle warranted carrying an umbrella, which the lone man next to the lantern held raised mindlessly.  Headlights in the distance prompted him to look on his watch. Even at three in the morning on a Tuesday, it seemed like traffic still occupied the streets of Paris. 

Two minutes before three o'clock, actually. But it was best to be on time when you had a portkey to catch. Especially when said portkey was approved by the French ministry for international travel. Still, two minutes was an awfully long time when you had nothing better to do than wait. The man with the umbrella thought so. 

One minutes before three o'clock, and he pushed up his watch again to study the second-hand. Magical travel was a precise matter. The kind that had made him hold his breath when the second-hand had almost gone full circle. 

Gently, he placed the palm of his hand against the lantern pole. 

Three o'clock, and light vanished from the crossing between Rue de Besson and Rue de Lièvre.

The wind howled. The full spectrum of colours swirled around him like a whirlpool. There was no telling what was up and what was down, until his shoes found solid ground again. He staggered back, furiously blinking to make sense of the blurry world around him. 

He stood in the center of what struck him as a large dungeon. The walls were made of smooth dark stone and the place was dimly lit by torches. Wooden benches rose on either side of him, occupied with a handful of people. Ahead of him, in the highest benches of all, sat a collection of shadowy figures. The Wizengamot, or so he presumed. 

He was glancing at the lantern pole, absently wondering why it still emitted a beam of light, when a level female voice rang across the room. [color=coral]"Are you Jean-Claude Perceval Dumas?"[/color] 

Idly he closed his umbrella and shook it twice, forming a small puddle of water on the floor. [color=wheat]"That would be me, yes."[/color] He never liked it when his full name was used. Perceval - or Percy as his few friends called him - was more than enough. 

Confirming his identity sent another round of muttering through the fifty-or-so members of the Wizengamot. Some looked cautious and on-guard, others seemed to have relief wash over them. He could make out some of the whispers that came from the benches on either side of him too. Briefly he heard of 'The duel at the Notre Dame-' and 'The vampires of Marseilles'. Both rumours that had turned into overexaggerated tales. The former he had simply survived through a stroke of luck, but the stories had made him out to be the victor. The latter, had been more deception than actual magical prowess - vampires didn't bother to look at mirrors, which made the Hungarian Mirror Trap all the more effective.

[color=coral]"Good. We thank you for coming, mister Dumas. Please take a seat."[/color] Percy looked at the empty chair that stood right before the high benches, positioned toward the center of the courtroom. Of course that was where they wanted him - firmly in between them and whomever was summoned next. With a deep sigh he strode toward it, his footsteps echoing loudly as he walked across the stone floor. He placed his umbrella against the side of it and fished his wand out of his pocket before he sat down. It was best to be prepared, even if an unwarranted spell cast in a foreign country could cause serious trouble. 

[color=coral]"Now then. Let us begin."[/color] All members rose from their high benches. The speaker clapped her hands together, and a large cage came whirling into existence at the center of the courtroom. Six aurors, wands drawn, held on to the sides of the it.  The cage itself was just big enough to allow someone to stand inside of it, with spikes facing inward to make movement even more torturous. Percy recognized the thing for what it was immediately, another - much less humane - portkey. 

Then, a shrill voice piped up from beside the woman. [color=fdc68a]"The convict summoned before you is Nerissa Wyrmstone."[/color] Percy moved to the edge of his seat to study the woman standing inside of it. She herself looked dreadful, with hollow cheeks and her black-and-white striped uniform torn and besmudged. [color=fdc68a]"Two years ago, on the 14th of June in the year 2000, convict ᚨᛟ521 was found guilty of--"[/color] the long pause made him look up. [color=fdc68a]"--well, a lot."[/color] the man coughed. [color=fdc68a]"The crimes include, but are not limited to theft, destruction of government property, torture of the most heinous sort, murder, and unauthorized casting of the Imperius, Cruciatus, and killing curses." The courtroom was utterly silent. "Convict ᚨᛟ521 is currently serving a life-long sentence to the prison of Azkaban."[/color] 

[color=coral]"Mister Dumas."[/color] Percy snapped out of his thoughts when he heard his name. [color=coral]"As we have informed you per owl, the American, French, and British ministries request your assistance in this… delicate matter."[/color] A pause. [color=coral]"As you've decided to join us here tonight, can we count on your cooperation?"[/color]

He leaned forward on his chair, hands clasped together, to study the dark witch in the cage once more. [i]Colette… what have you gotten me in this time?[/i] He thought to himself. Then he rose, strode forward, and turned to face the Wizengamot. [COLOR=WHEAT]"I will assist you to the best of my ability."[/COLOR] 

[COLOR=CORAL]"Then we hereby place Nerissa Wyrmstone in the custody of Jean-Claude Perceval Dumas. An unbreakable vow will be made to bind Miss Wyrmstone to Mister Dumas. Miss Wyrmstone's belongings will be returned to her, and her wand shall be provided to Mister Dumas."[/COLOR] A paper independently floated from member to member, gathering the signatures of the Wizengamot. [COLOR=CORAL]"Your transport to the United States will be arranged as soon as possible."[/color]

[@Algarus] [@Posh Raven]