(Gilderoy Lockhart)
I entered the Wizengamot chamber alone this time.
The doors loomed taller than usual, carved oak etched with centuries of magical law. The air inside felt heavier too, dense with expectation, politics, and the faint scent of old stone and older power.
At the entrance stood Tonks.
Auror robes. Hair a controlled shade of dark brown, professional and restrained. Her posture was rigid, expression neutral.
I shot her a wink, but she didn't react.
Not even a flicker.
She looked straight past me as if I were a particularly decorative pillar.
And I hated to admit it… but it hurt.
I was used to being snubbed. Used to being ignored by people who found me insufferable, arrogant, theatrical, all fair assessments, admittedly. But Tonks had laughed at my jokes. Rolled her eyes with affection. Threatened to hex me in ways that felt suspiciously playful.
This?
This felt deliberate.
And it landed somewhere uncomfortably close to my feels.
I said nothing. Simply adjusted my robes and walked inside.
I took my seat near the back with what I hoped looked like dignified composure rather than wounded pride.
The chamber slowly filled.
Members of ancient houses in plum robes trimmed with silver thread. Political figures whispering behind raised hands. A cluster of those who had openly supported harsher wartime measures sat together like carrion birds sensing blood.
I exchanged polite nods with a few acquaintances.
Lord Greengrass inclined his head. Lady Selwyn gave me a calculating look. Several members of what could generously be called the "Dark-leaning traditionalists" observed me with poorly concealed irritation.
Let them.
The doors boomed shut.
Silence rippled outward.
Then Albus Dumbledore stepped toward the central podium, robes flowing softly over the stone floor. His half-moon spectacles caught the enchanted torchlight as he surveyed the chamber.
"Welcome," he began calmly, voice amplified by subtle magic, "to this session of the Wizengamot."
A few murmurs answered him.
"I am aware," he continued, "that today's proceedings were intended to address the trial of Fenrir Greyback and what constitutes the greater part of his captured pack."
Several members nodded approvingly at that.
"However," Dumbledore said, folding his hands behind his back, "there has been an unexpected development."
The murmuring intensified.
"Instead," he said, "we shall first hold a trial concerning a man recently discovered to be an unregistered Animagus."
Chairs scraped.
"What is the meaning of this?" someone demanded.
Lord Nott rose halfway to his feet, face flushed. "Is this a jest, Dumbledore? Because I assure you, it is not amusing."
Dumbledore's expression remained serenely infuriating.
"I assure you, Lord Nott, this is no jest."
His gaze swept the room.
"This Animagus possesses a… significant identity. Until yesterday, he was believed dead. In truth, he has deceived the wizarding world for twelve years, a deception that directly resulted in the wrongful imprisonment of an innocent man in Azkaban."
The chamber erupted with gasps, outright denials, and even sharp whispers of "Impossible."
Dumbledore turned slightly.
"Madam Bones, if you would."
Amelia Bones stepped forward with crisp precision.
From her pocket, she withdrew a small snow globe.
Several members leaned forward.
With a controlled tap of her wand, the globe expanded until it was large enough for all to see. Inside, a rat scrambled frantically through artificial snow, squeaking in panic as dozens of cold eyes locked onto it.
Before anyone could interrupt, Amelia cast:
"Petrificus Totalus."
The rat froze mid-squeak.
And without ceremony, she dropped the globe, causing it to shatter against the stone floor in a burst of glass and melting snow.
Gasps echoed.
Amelia pointed her wand at the petrified rodent.
"Animagus Revelio."
The rat twitched violently.
Its body stretched, bones cracking audibly as fur receded and limbs elongated grotesquely. Within seconds, a short, balding man lay rigid on the stone floor where the rat had been.
Dirty clothes. Sallow skin. Rat-like incisors protruding slightly when his lip curled. A bald patch gleamed beneath the chamber lights.
Expressions of disgust spread like wildfire.
Several members leapt to their feet.
"Impossible!"
"He died a hero!"
"That's Pettigrew!"
A few particularly foolish voices shouted that he should be released, that the man had sacrificed himself confronting Sirius Black.
Amelia ignored them entirely.
With a sharp gesture, she summoned two Aurors.
They lifted Peter Pettigrew and strapped him into the interrogation chair at the center of the chamber, an ancient wood seat reinforced with glowing runes.
I rose slowly from my seat.
"I suggest," I said clearly, ensuring my voice carried, "that you check his pockets."
A ripple of attention shifted toward me.
Amelia gave a brief nod to the Aurors and they searched him.
One Auror stiffened.
"Two wands."
A second of silence.
Then the Auror holding the bone-like one recoiled as though burned.
"That's You-Know-Who's wand!"
The chamber exploded.
Several members turned visibly pale.
Those aligned with darker sympathies exchanged deeply complicated looks of fear, calculation, perhaps even grief.
"Silence!" Dumbledore's voice cracked like thunder as he struck the gavel.
The sound reverberated off the stone.
Gradually, the chaos subsided.
Dumbledore's eyes were sharp now.
"We shall now proceed with the trial of Peter Pettigrew for the illegal use of an unregistered Animagus transformation."
A deliberate pause.
"And for far more grievous crimes."
"Madam Bones."
Amelia stepped forward and lifted the Full Body-Bind.
Peter slumped forward against the restraints.
For a brief moment, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration as he attempted magic, but nothing happened.
Amelia's lips curved faintly.
"Mr. Pettigrew," she said coolly, "I suggest you desist. Those shackles suppress all magical abilities, including the Animagus transformation."
His shoulders sagged.
"Madam, please!" he whined. "You must release me! I'm innocent!"
Dumbledore's voice cut cleanly through the chamber.
"Mr. Pettigrew, the illegal use of an Animagus transformation carries a sentence of five years in Azkaban."
A murmur passed through the benches.
"But that is not the extent of your alleged crimes."
The air thickened.
"You stand accused of betraying James and Lily Potter. Of colluding with Lord Voldemort to orchestrate their assassination. Of personally murdering twelve Muggles. And of deliberately incriminating Sirius Black for these acts."
A stunned hush fell.
"Do you have anything to say?"
"Lies!" Pettigrew shrieked. "I would never! It was Sirius! I saw him with my own eyes!"
"Then why," Amelia asked evenly, "were you hiding for twelve years?"
"They would have killed me!" Peter cried. "The Dark Lord's followers would have killed me for getting Sirius caught! I was afraid! I only wanted to live!"
His voice trembled convincingly and pathetically.
"Are you willing to repeat that testimony under Veritaserum?" Amelia asked.
Peter froze.
His eyes widened.
"You can't," he breathed. "I'm a pureblood. The law forbids you from forcing me."
Amelia inclined her head.
"Regrettably, you are correct."
A faint stir of relief passed over the Dark-leaning benches.
"But fortunately for this court," she continued smoothly, "there is another individual prepared to testify under Veritaserum."
She glanced toward the entrance.
"Auror Tonks, open the doors, please."
The doors opened and a large black dog padded confidently into the chamber.
Low murmurs swept the room like wind through leaves.
While it walked, its fur receded, limbs lengthened, and bones restructured as it seamlessly transitioned into a human.
Sirius Black stood where the dog had been, gaunt yet proud.
Gasps echoed.
Some members recoiled.
Others leaned forward hungrily.
Sirius lifted his chin.
"For the record," he said evenly, voice carrying across the ancient chamber, "I request Veritaserum."
…