IT WAS a chocolate cake worth getting into trouble for.

Moist, rich icing, thickly sliced. And totally legal.

It was baked by magistrate Hilary Hannam and is about to be the centrepiece of a charming, offbeat little ceremony in the Children’s Court at Parramatta.

This is a good news story.

He has spent 88 days in rehab, 54 days in custody.

His height, build and demeanour are threatening enough so that when this big 15-year-old demanded $30 from the man on the train, the robbery victim handed over $50 and didn’t ask for his change.

Then the teenager started the Youth Drug and Alcohol Court’s six-month program.

Today he is graduating. Sober, ashamed and lesson learned.

There is a lot to feel good about in Court 4 of the Children’s Court at Parramatta right now - but there are a couple of things to get through first.

The way they do it here in the YDAC, Magistrate Hannam is sitting around the bar table with the prosecutor, a lawyer and a member of her Joint Assessment and Review Team. It’s informal.

They are trying to find a place in the court’s residential unit for the latest referral, a boy from the troubled fringe suburb of Claymore.

“We can’t let him go back to Claymore, to his mother,” says one.

He has a drug and alcohol problem and is facing a custodial sentence. All prerequisites for the program.

Except the most crucial. He’s not sure if he wants to be there.

He has to want to change his life before he is accepted into one of the 40 places. They will go back and have another talk to him.

“Jake, how are you? Good to see you, fantastic to see you,” Magistrate Hannam greets a 16-year-old walking into the court.

He takes a seat at the bar table, right opposite her. Face to face.

It’s not an easy program - you can be arrested if you stray - but Jake is working his way through it. He has just got his first job ever, as a tradesman.

He loves it but his girlfriend and mum aren’t so keen - the girlfriend because Jake won’t lie to Centrelink and she will lose her single-parent benefit, Mum because she is upholding a family tradition: being on benefits.

She is fourth generation and is afraid of losing her pension now that this son is working. The team has to keep Jake focused. Positive.

“It feels good to earn money, doesn’t it?” says the prosecutor.

“Yes, it does,” Jake is beaming back at all the smiling faces.

“We were all so impressed when we heard about your job.

“You should be so proud of yourself and I’m personally impressed,” says the magistrate.

Jake heads back to work. His care worker is trying to find him a double bed on eBay as he sets up home with his girlfriend. They’re sleeping on a saggy mattress on the floor.

Now it is Mark’s turn. They are all still at the table. He joins them.

“We act as a team and we expect you to speak for yourself, not through your lawyer,” the magistrate says. “We expect honesty from you.”

This is Mark’s first assessment after just two weeks on the program. Mum, Dad and his sister are all here.

“I have the report and what do you think it says?” says the magistrate.

“I reckon I went all right,” says Mark, 17.

He got 100 per cent. Polite, respectful, no behavioural problems.

He has been doing a course on reoffending, is genuinely amazed at how much he hurt his victims by violating their homes. Star pupil.

He will be back in two weeks. Keep up the good work.

Now Hilary Hannam puts on her black gown and morphs back into a magistrate proper as the latest graduate enters the courtroom.

The YDAC works because it can be informal but that is not to say there is no authority evident.

Before the chocolate cake, there is a bit of business.

Mr Big, the 15-year-old, has to be formally sentenced.

He has pleaded guilty to robbery in company, one of the most common offences in the Children’s Court. Mates egging each other on.

It would get them up to 20 years in prison in the adult court.

Then he has the $50 robbery on the train. And he had spat at the transit officer afterwards, which constitutes an assault.

“The reality is that if you did not do the drug and alcohol program you would be in custody,” says the magistrate.

She sentences him to a total of 18 months probation so that he can get some guidance. However, she records no convictions, “So you can get on with your adult life” she tells him. He now gets to go shopping with about $100 to spend and his Juvenile Justice counsellor to help him spend it.

More than a carrot and stick approach to justice, the money is designed to help the young people move on in life.

Most choose to buy their first suit for job interviews, some choose driving lessons, one got a guitar, another a surfboard.

Mr Big looks like his worst punishment is yet to come.

He has to make a speech to the court, a reminder that he is not as grown-up as he appears.

His mother died. His father has remarried and he doesn’t want his son. His grandparents make up for it. They have brought him up and are here today.

He shuffles.

“I would just like to thank everybody for helping me, my grandparents, and thank the magistrate for keeping me in line,” he says as he studies the floor.

Now to chocolate cake. Everyone in court is sentenced to have a slice.

The magistrate slices it, serves it up on plastic plates with white serviettes and Mr Big hands it around.

Proud as punch, his grandad gets up to make a speech. His eyes crinkle as his whole face grins.

“I want to thank the judge and all your staff for the great outcome,” he says. “He’s learned a lesson and thank you for making his life better. We have got him back.”

Just when it seems there is not much to celebrate in the Children’s Court, along comes a surprise.