Wizengamot. Death Eater. If there hadn't been solid proof under his feet a moment ago, he'd have happily called this woman insane. The boring kind, too. But - and regardless of the truth of it - her reality seemed to be staring him in the face.
Even so. "Werewolves too, hmm? My my. I do hope you weren't bitten." That was how those things worked, wasn't it? Who knew? In her world, werewolves might be a name for a particularly nasty kind of criminal. Or motorcycles made of feathers and ennui.
"Fair trials don't sound particularly hit witchy, my dear. You're the magic police. Yes?" The light had gone out of Jim's eyes, though he looked thoughtfully at the pool of water still glowing pink.