For all that Quentin Trimble was, technically, a Dark wizard, trust in him had never been much of a question for Charlie. Charlie's trust was imperfect, but then again so was he.
Going to the Wizengamot was about trusting himself again.
There were a lot of other questions that needed to be dealt with--Baddock and Snape, for two--but they would wait. The most important decision, the one he'd come to work out, had been made. The rest was a matter of implementation. And there was no point in pushing either himself or Trimble further; if he'd spent most of the Mathwall crisis inside the Ministry, in his own way Trimble had had it as bad as he and Baddock.
Charlie nodded. "Consider it done."
There were no guarantees that it would solve their problems, but Trimble didn't like it when he stated the obvious, so he let it go.
When the door closed behind Trimble, Charlie set the rest of the targets off to join the three that had been floating about during the discussion. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then began to move too, blasting each of them as they bobbed and weaved.
When he was done, some long time later, there was not a single blast mark out of place.