Wayne winked at Dumbledore presiding at the high bench. The old wizard noticed, his lips moving silently in response.
The young man deciphered the message easily.
That lip movement spelt "Fawkes."
With an imperceptible nod from Wayne, Dumbledore seemed satisfied. Clearing his throat, he addressed the chamber in solemn tones while consulting the parchment before him:
"Trial convened this first day of July!"
"Concerning former Head of the Auror Office, Rufus Scrimgeour, charged with violations of the Ministry Official Conduct Regulations and the Magical Security Act."
Dumbledore's eyebrows twitched.
Harsh charges indeed.
The first statute was relatively minor – standard anti-corruption measures for Ministry officials. But the second? That was emergency legislation. Any breach carried severe consequences.
"Presiding: Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Representing the Department of Magical Law Enforcement: Amelia Susan Bones. Court Scribe: O'Brien Huggins Selwyn."
"Defence witnesses: None."
"Plaintiff: Wayne Northumberland Lawrence. Witness: Minister for Magic Cornelius Oswald Fudge."
Fudge patted Harry's shoulder before rising with a smile to join Wayne at the plaintiff's table. Daily Prophet reporters scrambled to photograph the pair.
"The plaintiff may proceed with his statement," Dumbledore intoned. "Please outline the basis for these charges against the defendant."
Wayne did not speak immediately. He first glanced at Scrimgeour, whose expression remained calm yet who had seemingly aged decades in an instant, before leisurely rising to his feet.
"The matter is quite simple. I invented an alchemical device capable of storing multiple Shield Charms and several offensive spells. I wished to collaborate with the Ministry of Magic to enhance the Aurors' capabilities and ensure their safety."
"However, Mr Scrimgeour here deemed my asking price too high and obstructed the deal, leveraging the Ministry's authority to pressure me into lowering it."
"Upon discovering that other countries' Ministries possessed my alchemical devices, he even pinned the charge of treason upon me."
"I am merely a Hogwarts student with no power or influence—just a modicum of talent. How could I withstand the oppression of the Head of the Auror Office? My only recourse was to seek justice through the Ministry."
Harry sucked in a sharp breath, unable to fathom how Wayne could utter such words with a straight face.
Behind him, Grace was nearly doubled over, her chest heaving as she exerted tremendous willpower to suppress her laughter.
The little fellow was truly too amusing.
Among the Wizengamot members, Mrs Greengrass and Crouch twitched at the corners of their mouths.
Given Wayne's status... playing the victim really didn't suit him.
It was mortifying to listen to.
Wayne elaborated further, prompting hushed whispers among the Wizengamot.
Some were puzzled, others indifferent, but most... were outraged.
An elderly man trembled as he rose, pointing an accusatory finger at Scrimgeour and bellowing:
"People like you are the reason the Ministry's reputation is in tatters!"
"Exactly!" croaked an ancient witch, looking as though she might expire any moment. "Scrimgeour, Mr Lawrence sought to provide security for the Aurors, yet you sought to squeeze every last Knut from him!"
"Heartless wretch! How did you ever end up in Gryffindor?"
A chorus of voices berated Scrimgeour, leaving the already resigned man utterly bewildered.
What... what unspeakable atrocity had he committed to warrant such fervent condemnation?
Dumbledore called for order several times before the elderly assembly finally settled back into their seats.
Even he was somewhat taken aback.
Since when had the Wizengamot become so vehemently righteous?
"Mr Fudge, can you corroborate Mr Lawrence's accusations?" Dumbledore inquired.
Fudge stood solemnly. "As Minister for Magic and member of the Wizengamot, I attest that everything Mr Lawrence has described is factual."
Dumbledore nodded, then turned to Scrimgeour. "Scrimgeour, do you dispute the plaintiff's charges?"
"No."
Scrimgeour's voice was hoarse as he calmly admitted to all accusations. "I did indeed interfere with Celia Store's collaboration with the Ministry and attempted to fabricate charges against Wayne Lawrence."
A flicker of surprise crossed Dumbledore's eyes.
He had expected Scrimgeour to angrily refute the claims—why was he confessing so readily?
What Dumbledore didn't know was that Fudge had already spoken with Scrimgeour.
Resistance was futile.
Fudge would never risk an actual conflict with the Muggle government to protect Scrimgeour.
Firstly, the stakes were too high. Secondly... Scrimgeour wasn't one of his men.
Scrimgeour understood Fudge's intentions perfectly. The two had reached an agreement that this trial would be severe in appearance but lenient in reality, with past mistakes forgiven after resignation.
That's why Scrimgeour had been so cooperative.
With all charges fully admitted, the rest became much simpler.
Dumbledore consulted Amelia Bones. As Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Bones was thoroughly versed in all legal statutes and quickly determined a sentence.
A three-year Azkaban sentence.
Hearing this verdict, Scrimgeour's face changed dramatically, frantically making eye contact with Fudge.
This is what you call lenient?
At his age, three years in Azkaban might be a death sentence!
Scrimgeour looked at Fudge, who in turn glanced at Wayne, growing anxious. They'd previously agreed that if Wayne showed mercy, Fudge would help secure him a First Class Order of Merlin.
Fortunately, Wayne showed no signs of reneging. He finally spoke:
"I find the punishment excessively harsh, given Mr Scrimgeour's voluntary admission of guilt. If he were to offer me a sincere apology, might the sentence be reduced?"
Dumbledore lowered his head. "If he obtains your forgiveness, a reduction would indeed be appropriate."
Scrimgeour immediately bowed deeply. "Mr Lawrence, I beg your forgiveness for my previous rudeness and offence."
"Very well, you're forgiven," Wayne magnanimously waved his hand.
The Wizengamot erupted in another round of sycophantic praise.
Thus, the three-year Azkaban sentence was reduced to one year. Scrimgeour exhaled heavily in relief as he was led away.
With that, the first session concluded smoothly.
In the gallery, Harry's heart clenched with tension.
"Now we proceed to the second hearing," Dumbledore announced before returning to his seat, with Fudge taking his place.
The side door opened again as four Aurors escorted Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew to the defendants' dock.
Gasps rippled through the chamber as many recognised them immediately.
"How can this be?"
"Isn't he dead?"
"Am I seeing things? Someone pinch me."
"Ouch! Who's got such itchy fingers, pinching me so hard!"
A gaunt witch stood up in shock, muttering to herself:
"Impossible, this can't be... it absolutely can't be him."
The one who stood was Millicent Bagnold.
Former Minister for Magic before Fudge, who famously declared after Voldemort's fall that she 'firmly upheld wizards' right to free celebration'.
The death of Peter Pettigrew had caused a tremendous stir back then. It was she who personally presented the Order of Merlin, First Class and that severed finger bone to Pettigrew's mother.
That repulsive appearance was rare even among wizards, so Millicent Bagnold recognised Pettigrew instantly.
While everyone was stunned by Pettigrew's appearance, Wayne glanced towards the side door.
Snape stood in the shadows like a bat, his eyes fixed on Pettigrew with an unsettling reluctance.
Bloody hell, had he developed some twisted affection through torture? Reluctant to see Pettigrew sent to Azkaban?
Wayne felt a full-body shudder of disgust.
"Order!"
Fudge banged his gavel, silencing the murmurs.
"Ladies and gentlemen! This isn't the time for discussion. Allow me to present the case details."
The room fell silent instantly, witches and wizards watching Fudge on the podium with rapt attention.
Pleased with his control over the assembly, Fudge puffed out his chest slightly:
"This case concerns a procedural violation twelve years ago, when Sirius Black was sent to Azkaban without trial."
"Now, we should hear the account from the person involved and deliver a proper judgement!"
Fudge looked solemnly at Sirius. "Black, please recount the entire sequence of events without omission."
Sirius glared hatefully at Pettigrew, teeth clenched as he began his testimony.
The audience became immersed in his story. When they heard Peter Pettigrew had actually been the Secret Keeper for the Fidelius Charm, gasps erupted.
Learning that Pettigrew had spent twelve years hiding as a rat in the Weasley household inspired grudging admiration for his endurance.
Now that's commitment.
Twelve years as a rat without arousing suspicion – that torment couldn't be much lighter than Azkaban.
Even Harry and Dumbledore, who'd heard the story multiple times, found their emotions stirred by Sirius's bitter, regretful narration.
Harry clenched his fists so tightly he longed to punch Pettigrew then and there.
Finally, Sirius finished. After allowing a sufficient pause, Fudge tapped his gavel.
"This was the Ministry's error – condemning an innocent man while letting the true murderer roam free for twelve years."
"Mr Crouch, as then Head of Magical Law Enforcement, do you have any explanation?"
Had Fudge sprung this attack suddenly, Crouch might have been thrown into disarray, giving his opponent an advantage.
But having been forewarned by Wayne, he remained perfectly composed.
Crouch rose calmly. "Minister, I acknowledge Sirius Black didn't receive standard trial procedures."
"But according to Article 8, Clause 17 of the Wartime Regulations, wizards causing severe public impact should be expedited through processing. Though there was no trial at the time, Black never defended himself either. Am I mistaken, Mr Black?"
"No," Sirius replied bluntly. "At the time, I thought Peter Pettigrew was dead. I only wanted to go to Azkaban to atone for James. I didn't care what charges were brought against me."
Fudge hadn't expected Crouch to counter so logically. He stammered, "I... I don't recall such a law existing."
A rare smile appeared on Crouch's stern face. "You were merely the Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time. It's understandable you wouldn't know. This was an ordinance enacted by Minister Bagnold."
The implicit jab at Fudge's former lowly status wasn't lost on him. His face flushed with alternating shades of green and white before he angrily redirected his frustration towards Bagnold.
"Madam Bagnold, do you have anything to say?"
Unwilling to face complete disgrace, Bagnold pointed at Sirius.
"That was merely Black's one-sided account. Who can verify the truth about switching Secret Keepers?"
Fudge brightened considerably.
Now this was a normal reaction.
He immediately ordered the Aurors to pull up the sleeve of Pettigrew's left arm. When the Dark Mark was revealed, Bagnold's last hope died.
Yet she still struggled.
"I demand Black be examined as well."
Fudge looked to Sirius for consent.
Before the Aurors could move, Sirius stripped off his own shirt, baring his torso without hesitation.
All remaining doubts vanished. Even without Pettigrew's verbal confession, his silence throughout spoke volumes – it might as well have been an admission.
Finally, someone couldn't hold back...
"Tell me, Black, are you mentally deficient? Since when can Secret Keepers be swapped on a whim?"
"And you thought rotting in Azkaban counted as atonement?"
"Do you realise your silence let a murderer play hero for over a decade? Is that how you honour the Potters?"
Many nodded unconsciously, agreeing wholeheartedly.
They pitied the Potters for their poor judgment in friends.
But Sirius... people could only gape at his stupidity.
To complicate simple matters and waste over ten years of his life – no sane person would do such things.
Someone muttered under their breath: "Typical Gryffindor."
Sirius wished the ground would swallow him whole from shame. Dumbledore and Harry shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
As murmurs and accusations swelled, Fudge had no choice but to bang his gavel and proceed formally.
"Peter Pettigrew, do you plead guilty to these charges?"
Pettigrew, whose gaze had been vacant since entering, gradually focused. He turned his head and met Snape's icy stare. Trembling violently, he suddenly screamed at Fudge:
"Enough bloody questions! I did it! All of it!"
"Just throw me in Azkaban already! Why drag this out when you knew all along!"
"Just how the fuck did a son of a bitch like you become Minister for Magic? Why don't you drop dead!"
"Go fuck your mother!"
Both Fudge and the other jury members were stunned by Peter Pettigrew's sudden outburst.
What had they just heard?
A criminal actually dared to point at the Minister for Magic and curse him to his face—was he insane?
But what no one knew was that Pettigrew now hated Fudge more than anyone.
If Fudge had just tried him earlier and thrown him into Azkaban, would he have had to endure Snape's torture for an entire month?
"What the hell are you all standing around for? Hurry the fuck up and sentence me already!"
"You... you..."
Fudge's trembling finger pointed at Pettigrew as his vision darkened. He collapsed backward.
"Emergency! The Minister's fainted!"