Zabini IV
Gregory Parsons had sat relatively quietly in the viewing gallery, murmuring comments to the wizards either side of him, noting the faces of the crowd members who had stood up in protest. Mentally filing it away to later warn his friends and families of the Death Eater sympathisers still loose on their streets of their country, he had held his tongue at the preposterousness of the claims of the two wizards on trial. At least the first one had been ashamed enough of his actions to submit to a guilty plea.
But this second one was making his heart beat in his ears. So blase about his charges. He glared down at the solicitor that stepped forward, sharply dressed, obviously a Slytherin. She was ruffling the Wizengamot's feathers, that much was clear and he loudly joined in the complaints when they took a recess.
When she continued her suggestion that the Ministry, where he worked and who he supported with his whole heart, were even capable of falsifying evidence or being unjustly cruel to clear criminals, Gregory burst from his seat, consequences for being in contempt of court be damned. "THEY DON'T DESERVE VERITASERUM! It takes ages to brew anyway, and we don't have time when there are murdering criminals on the streets that THEY BROKE OUT!"
"Bruises and 'fresh wounds' is the least they fucking deserve!" he spat, pointing at the scum that was Blaise Zabini. "And you, Miss, should be careful," he threatened with dangerous eyes. "Defending these bastards? You're just as evil as they are!"