April 6, 1793. As an inmate at the Conciergerie, one of the main Muggle prisons of Paris, Vincent is awaiting trial, but his charges have nothing to do with breaches of the Statute of Secrecy, nor with any use of magic for criminal purposes. Speaking of which, he feels like the methods he could action to escape it would likely cause him to breach it.

  On top of that, it became so crowded after Louis XVI’s execution, over two months ago, that living conditions became atrocious. As the sole wizard inmate in the prison, he must share his cell with several Muggle inmates. With whom he must keep quiet about magic.

  Vincent is trembling when the guards approach his cell. Is it the end for me? Has trial time arrived for me?

  “Citoyen, l’heure de compara?tre devant le Tribunal Révolutionnaire est arrivé!” (Citizen, the time has come to testify in front of the Tribunal Révolutionnaire!) a Muggle prison guard takes him, while another one escorts him to the main audience room, the Salle de la Liberté, elsewhere in this prison.

  A Salle de la Liberté where the Duke’s accusers include one Fouquier-Tinville, a jury out to get him, along with other deposed nobles, and judges who appear willing to throw away the legal reforms of the Revolution to defend the Revolution itself.

  When Vincent’s audience begins, the accusation act is read, containing a litany of charges, all of which are Muggle political crimes. Once again, he trembles, this time in the box of the accused.

  “Vincent, duc de Trèfle-Picques, vous êtes accusé de feuillantisme, de faire partie d’un complot aristocratique…” (Vincent, Duke of Trefle-Picques, you stand accused of feuillantism, of being part of an aristocratic conspiracy…) Fouquier-Tinville starts reading Vincent’s indictment.

  How serious is feuillantism as a crime? Perhaps I lingered a little too long in the Muggle world for my own good, in my belief that I could have made the Muggle world cooperate with the wizarding one more. Like these Ottomans that I now envy, Vincent appears sleepy as the charges are read to him. So it would seem that my request to be judged by wizarding justice was denied, since the Muggle Convention likely knew that wizarding justice would clear me of all charges, which is an outcome they simply don’t want, and certainly not Robespierre. I once participated in the Estates-General on behalf of Breton nobility, in hopes of a better-integrated world, but the excesses of the Revolution are just too much! And yet, I feel like Robespierre and his Montagnards aren’t wizard hunters! Blood status is nothing to them!

  “Pour tous ces crimes, nous demandons la peine de mort!” (For all these crimes, we demand the death penalty!) Fouquier-Tinville makes his sentencing request, which causes Vincent to awaken.

  And the evidence, much of which is of dubious value, is presented to the jurors as well as the judges of the Tribunal Révolutionnaire, who seem to be out for blood. Especially given his former rank as a noble.

  But so many in the Salle de la Liberté seem to be bewildered by why Vincent remained in French territory for so long. In their minds, they feel like he could have fled much earlier, especially to either Austria or Prussia, which, to them, becomes an aggravating factor, at least to the charge of conspiracy.

  “Je suis s?r que je suis accusé de faire partie d’un complot aristocratique seulement à cause de mon rang nobiliaire passé! Et aussi j’ai quitté les Feuillants quand je sentais que le club ne représentait plus les intérêts de mes concitoyens!” (I’m sure I’m accused of being part of an aristocratic conspiracy only because of my past nobility rank! And also I left the Feuillants when I felt it no longer represented my fellow constituents’ interests!) Vincent tries to defend himself.

  Given the sheer number of accused people to try, held on remand elsewhere at the Conciergerie, the Tribunal Révolutionnaire is on a tight schedule, and everyone feels the clock ticking in on them. As a result, Vincent isn’t even given much of a chance to testify or to defend himself otherwise.

  In a sense, he’s lucky to have gotten only a few moments to defend his actions. However, his trial ends relatively quickly.

  “Ce tribunal déclare Vincent, duc de Trèfle-Picques, coupable de tous les chefs d’accusation et le condamne à mort. Son exécution est prévue pour le sept avril, place de la Révolution!” (This tribunal declares Vincent, Duke of Trefle-Picques, guilty of all charges, and is sentenced to death. His execution is scheduled for April 7, Place de la Révolution!) Jacques-Bernard-Marie, the chief judge of the Tribunal Révolutionnaire, hands down his verdict.

  “Ce tribunal ignore la procédure régulière!” (This tribunal disregards due process!) Vincent clamors while the guards take him away.

  The guards then bring him to another cell that’s specifically designated for those awaiting the guillotine.

  If I’m lucky, I might be buried with my wand, but if I’m not… Vincent starts getting cold shivers down his spine as he’s thrown into the cell, seemingly thinking only of his wand. But it’s in circumstances like these that I’m grateful for knowing wandless magic. Maybe, if I could make it look like my head is already severed, and then disapparate from the graveyard, when security around the graveyard is down…

  Yet he wasn’t caught armed since, to Muggle justice, a wand doesn’t constitute a weapon. Nevertheless, his wand is still held by the Conciergerie’s jailers.

  In the dead of night, after the other prisoners in his cell have fallen asleep, Vincent is seemingly awakened by some nightmare, points his fingers at his neck, and mumbles the incantation of a Concealment charm, with his fingers pointed on his neck.

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  His neck now looks like it has been cut off, and also with some magical traces of blood on the floor, but that could be cleaned off without magic in time.

  The incantation’s mumbling draws the attention of the guards, who are oblivious to magic. And don’t understand incantations either; then again, neither do the other inmates. When they get to Vincent’s cell, they only see what looks like a dead prisoner with a severed neck, and then handle his body accordingly.

  “Un des prisonniers est mort!” (One of the prisoners is dead!) a guard shouts in the open, while carrying Vincent’s body away from the Conciergerie.

  “Sans doute par un couteau jeté à travers la fenêtre de sa cellule!” (Without a doubt by a knife thrown through his cell’s window!) the guard holding Vincent’s head examines his wounds as he’s carried off to a cart used by the guards to carry dead inmates to their final repose.

  We must find out who killed him by throwing knives through the windows… one of the two guards hauling Vincent off thinks before putting him in the cart.

  At the same time, Vincent feels like he must play dead, until the cart is some distance way from the patrols, as well as from the Conciergerie.

  When the cart leaves the ?le de la Cité via the Pont au Change, to the northeast of the Conciergerie, and the Palace of Justice, the former duke, still playing dead by virtue of his charm still being in effect, seems to remain some semblance of vigilance.

  As the cart is driven across the streets of Muggle Paris, he starts finding this game of plying dead tiresome, if not stifling. Especially since staying still actually seems to take some effort, even when half-asleep.

  This Concealment charm on my neck won’t last forever. So what I’m going to do after I apparate in Place Cachée is to escape to my half-brother in East Pomerania (i.e. to Prussia). But I will need to do a stopover in Berlin first, Vincent starts thinking of what to do next, struggling to stay still, and keeping up the appearance of death, while the cart is closing in on the Madeleine Cemetery. Which is where the Tribunal Révolutionnaire sends the bodies of the people it condemns to the guillotine, and also where Louis XVI’s body was buried. Patience, Didier, I will be away from you and be in Prussia as soon as I can get off the claws of Muggle Revolutionary justice. Just need to play dead until the moment comes…

  So when Vincent arrives at the cemetery, he can feel his concealment charm is about to wear off, he can also feel echoes of the people whose bodies are buried here. Including but not limited to Louis XVI, whose court he didn’t attend much in life.

  When the cart comes to a stop, its driver throws his body into a pile of fresh bodies to be buried later.

  But maybe I can use the cemetery to my advantage. If I mumble a wandless apparition, any witness might believe that a madman is on the loose, or that vandalism is taking place, Vincent thinks while he visualizes the city’s Métro-Floo station as the concealment charm is about to give out. With the people living nearby being fast asleep, and no one watching him. I hoped that I would flee in better circumstances that doesn’t require getting innocent Muggles in trouble, but what’s done is done: the Muggle government wants me dead, even though the Feuillants wanted nothing to do with the excesses of the Revolution I’m now a victim of.

  And yet, he knows that he has no room for error in apparating, since a failed apparition could compromise him, as well as get him into trouble.

  However, Vincent disapparating from the Madeleine Cemetery to get to the Métro-Floo station, using wandless magic, causes a loud noise that’s akin to a window breaking. Which causes the residents to be on edge, while Vincent apparates at some point underneath the Mur de la Ferme Générale.

  Phew, time to withdraw some money, enough to buy myself a new wand since Muggle justice seized my old wand, and discarded it. As well as to cover my living expenses for a few days until I can get to Pomerania, buy new clothes at Capenoir, and, of course, write to Didier once in Berlin, Vincent now thinks of what to do next, while, to the eyes of the Muggles, he died tonight. No use alerting the wizarding world about the dangers of the Muggle one, though: they already want to stay out of it.

  After having withdrawn money by dawn, enough to start anew in Prussia, and hopefully get to his half-brother, which he believes is safety, he passes by Magillard, which carries a new book in stock. The French version of A Revolutionary at the Triwizard Tournament, which Vincent plans to gift to his half-brother, whom he didn’t see in years.

  “Pas le temps pour ?a maintenant. Une baguette, et de nouveaux habits en premier!” (No time for this now. A new wand a new clothes first!) Vincent struggles with the temptation of trying to buy that book this early.

  But it’s after buying a wand and new robes that he starts crying, as he’s about to return to Magillard to buy these robes:

  “Quand les états généraux étaient convoqués, il y a quatre ans, tout le monde avait bon espoir que le roi allait mettre en place les réformes que la population désirait. Ou, du moins, les Moldus; les sorciers n’avaient clairement pas le même intérêt envers ceux-ci. Maintenant, la Révolution est devenue aussi intolérante que les pires intégristes du sang pur!” (When the Estates-General were convened, four years ago, everyone hoped that the king would implement the reforms the population desired. Or, at least, Muggles; wizards clearly didn’t have the same interest towards them. Now, the Revolution became as intolerant as the worst pure-blood supremacists!) Vincent laments in full view of other Métro-Floo users.

  I struggle to think of Revolutionary wizards that I actually know as such, and that’s saying something. Most of them, and Royalists as well, would at best reluctantly admit their allegiance. Ask anyone to name a Revolutionary wizard and most people will think of Nurcan, he muses about how Nurcan stacks up to the radicals who believe ideological purity is key to the survival of the Muggle Republic. I wonder where she is now… I really hope she fled France before it was too late; her positions would paint a target on her back. From what I knew of her way back at the Estates-General, she just wouldn’t agree on the need to resort to such extreme measures that led me to endure a near-death experience in a Conciergerie cell before I faked my own death using magic.

  But, as he steps into the fireplace for Berlin, he realizes that, while the most radical measures taken by the Convention are the ones that make its residents fear for their safety, and the ones targeting people for their political opinions, other policies might have made them beloved, especially by the lower classes.

  When he arrives in Berlin, he goes straight to the headquarters of the Preuβisch Ministerium für Magie, to register his arrival to the Prussian wizarding authorities. The intake officer realizes that he doesn’t speak German, so he hands him off to another one who speaks French.

  Luckily, the French-speaking intake officer knows all too well the plight of the émigrés, not only those Royalists of the early stages of the Revolution, but also those who recently arrived in Prussia, fleeing the consequences of Revolutionary radicalization after the death of Louis XVI.

  “J’ai un demi-frère en Poméranie, je veux juste lui écrire pour l’informer de mon arrivée en sol prussien!” (I have a half-brother in Pomerania, I just wan to write to inform him of my arrival on Prussian soil!)