The chamber filled by degrees. Robes brushed stone. Rings ticked once against rails and fell still. The clerk squared his parchments and lifted his quill. On the high bench Frank Longbottom took the Warlock's seat for this case, jaw set, eyes watchful. Albus Dumbledore kept to the benches with the Progressives, hands folded with a smile that never warmed his gaze. Arcturus Black sat at the Minister's place, amusement tucked at the corner of his mouth. He looked like a butcher weighing where to start cutting.
Pettigrew had been enervated, questioned, then stunned again for the recess. He blinked under the orbs of light and flinched when his gaze passed Corvus on the gallery steps. Corvus did not return the look. His mind was elsewhere, counting shards. With the memories he got from the horcrux embedded on that scar, he came to understand Nagini was not yet a vessel. The cup gone. The locket gone. The ring gone. The scar purged. Two left. The diadem in the castle. The diary with the Malfoy. Lastly, the leech riding an idiot's skull. He can finish Tommy boy's daddy issues before they began. Better still, he would make the Ministry pay for the clean up in coin, deeds, and parchment. Such a selfless wizard he was. He was quite sure the Minister would support his endeavours, his trust in the that office risen recentrly. Soon Atropos would cut. Clotho could rest. Lachesis might measure again in Wizarding Britain.
Amelia Bones rose. The room steadied; every ear turned. She placed a thin folder on the lectern and lifted the first sheet. "Peter Pettigrew," her voice carried, even and cold, "you stand charged with treason, the murder of twelve Muggles, conspiracy with a proscribed cult, unregistered Animagus practice, fraud, fugitive evasion, and obstruction." She tapped the folder. "Veritaserum testimony has been recorded and signed by the attesting Healer, the Department Potioneer, and me. An investigation should begin. The wand you recovered at Godric's Hollow must be found and identified; it is highly likely to be the wand of He Who Must Not Be Named." Her gaze went to Corvus, who gave her a pleasant, unhelpful smile. She turned to Arcturus. "Minister, perhaps the Ministry can put a reward for the wand."
Arcturus smirked. By now everyone in the chamber understood a simple truth. Corvus Black would not surrender the Dark Lord's wand for free. Arcturus glanced back at Amelia. "Please name the reward, Director Bones."
Amelia sighed and faced Corvus. "Five hundred."
A small shake.
'One thousand.'
Another.
'Two.'
Same result. The offers climbed. Traditionalists and Neutrals began to chuckle silently. On the Progressive bench the murmur turned dark by the time ten thousand was spoken.
Dumbledore leaned toward Elphias Doge. A nod. Lord Doge pushed to his feet with an offended huff. Frank Longbottom lifted a hand. "The floor recognizes Lord Doge. Let his voice be heard."
"Interim Minister Black. Director Bones. It is clear to everyone here that Lord Rosier has the wand. I suggest the Ministry exercise its authority and confiscate it."
Silence broke like glass. The Neutrals snapped first. "Without writ?" Greengrass's voice cut from the middle rows. "Law forbids seizure from a Lord's person without sufficient evidence and agreeable reason." Abbott added, face tight. The Traditionalists rumbled a beat later, approval low and dangerous.
Corvus stood. "Minister. Chief Warlock Longbottom." He inclined his head to each. "First, I protest a lawless request. I wonder, would Lord Doge consent to the same? The traitor hid with the House of Weasley, a close ally of Albus Dumbledore. Shall we vote to empower the DMLE to search the close allies of Albus Dumbledore for more Death Eaters, or whatever else the Progressive bench prefers to keep under its masks?"
"Seconded!" came at once from Yaxley, Avery, Nott, Travers, Greengrass, and Abbott.
Corvus turned a gentle smile on Doge.
The jab landed clean. Benches scraped. Several on the Progressive side lurched to their feet, voices rising in tight, angry knots. The Neutrals held fast and cold, eyes on Frank. Traditionalists settled back with shark like patience, content to let the law bite before they did. A low laughter rose from two thirds of the benches.
--
Corvus let the laughter roll and did not join it. A satisfied curve at the mouth was enough. Across the floor Arcturus cleared his throat once. The chamber stilled. Robes went quiet.
Elphias Doge rose again, colour high, jaw tight. He lifted one palm toward the dais. The chamber braced.
"This blame is ridiculous," he began, voice thin with strain. "My proposal was for the sake of the trial and the realm. Confiscation through proper authority."
A ripple moved through two thirds of the room. Not words. A shared chuckle that did not quite reach the lips. Everyone present could read the leash at Doge's collar.
He turned for one more swing. "As for baseless slander about hiding Death Eaters, Lord Rosier may check the forearms of the lords so snug at his side."
Corvus did not bother to turn a sleeve. Only the eyes answered. Calm. Amused. The marks were gone and no one, not Doge nor the mastermind behind him would learn how or when.
Arcturus ended the sport with a look. "Lord Rosier, the wand. What would part you from it?"
Corvus faced the dais, then let his gaze pass to Doge and back. "Lord Doge says he speaks for the realm." He let the words breathe. "I am as convinced as a dementor that a hot bath would have healed its skin."
A few snorts broke loose. Even Amelia's mouth fought a line.
Corvus continued, voice even, pleasant. "The wand of a wizard with a made up name. A wizard who bent Britain with a handful of masks. Stopped not by the Ministry, which answered unforgivables with stunners. Not by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Not by those who claim the moral peak. Stopped by a baby and a fluke. It has value as a reminder. What follows when incompetence sits the high chair. Still, I am a practical soul. I will lend it for due process if I receive a guided tour of the Department of Mysteries. Every hall. Every door. I will take one small object, within reason, as a keepsake."
Greengrass barked a laugh before he caught himself. Quills scratched. The Progressives hissed about precedent. The Neutrals leaned in, scenting a bargain.
Amelia lifted a hand. 'Minister, the Department sits under your remit but stands apart by charter. Neither I nor you may order them to teach, share research, or surrender lore. Access is at their discretion."
Arcturus inclined his head once. "Summon an Unspeakable."
A clerk jogged for the side door. Minutes later a tall figure in plain black crossed the threshold without ceremony. No badge, no flourish. Not even a face. A simple nod to the dais.
"Unspeakable Croaker," the figure supplied for the record. The name was a mask, and everyone knew it.
The Unspeakables were the Ministry within the Ministry. They answered to the law and to the minister for budget and walls, but once a door shut in that place, even the minister did not command the next step. They studied time, death, thought, prophecy, and the bonds between things. They recorded little and wrote less. The whole of their power was quiet.
Croaker's head turned to Corvus. "Your purpose."
"Knowledge." No ornament. "A guided walk. One small object taken, within reason."
A brief silence. Croaker weighed the room rather than the request. "Granted under Department protocol," he answered at last. "Escort only. No written notes. Your choice of object will be reviewed by three Unspeakables. If it risks breach or harm it will be denied."
Arcturus gave the faintest nod. Amelia let out the breath she had held for the charter line. The chamber murmured. A Progressive or two sputtered yet did not have the courage to speak their minds.
Corvus dipped a fraction. "Agreed."
He drew a slender wand from within his robe. Yew. A quiet thing in the hand, yet every eye found it. No flourish. He crossed the floor and placed it on Amelia's desk. "Ten thousand was a generous offer, Director. Keep your gold. Return the wand when the record is complete. I trust you can keep it safe while it is under your care."
Amelia did not touch it bare. She nodded to Rufus. The Auror lifted his wand and connected its tip to the one on her desk. Prior Incantato.
The sound came at once, cold and clean in the hush. "Avada Kedavra." The echo hung like frost. A few members flinched despite themselves. The dicta quill scratched on with a dry hiss.
Amelia covered the wand and set it in a warded case. Eyes tracked the movement as if it might leap. Dumbledore's gaze lingered. Lucius Malfoy's as well, flat and calculating.
Doge rallied for one more thrust. "This spectacle cheapens the law. We do not barter with access to state secrets."
Croaker turned his head a fraction. "The Department does not barter, Lord Doge. It decides. On this, it has decided." No heat. Only fact.
Frank Longbottom rapped the rail once. "The chamber will proceed. Director Bones, continue with Pettigrew."
Amelia resumed, ledger steady. "The wand evidence is logged. The Department of Mysteries access is recorded as a ministerial arrangement under charter. We return to the charges."
She raised her eyes to the prisoner. Pettigrew had watched the wand work with a sort of dull terror, as if the echo might call another green light into the room. Sweat stood at his hairline. Chains tightened when he tried to shift.
On the benches the mood split clean. Progressives sat rigid, lips pressed white. They had pushed for seizure and lost the point on the law. Neutrals pinched at their chins, impressed in spite of themselves at the neatness of the bargain. Traditionalists smiled without showing teeth. A Minister who could pull Unspeakables to the floor and an Heir who could make them talk was a weather sign.
Arcturus glanced once at Corvus. A small glint. Score one. Then he fixed on the prisoner. "On with it."
The clerk's quill scratched on, tireless. High above, the orbs burned steadily. The realm watched itself work.
--
Amelia closed the folder and glanced to Frank on the high bench. A small nod. She turned back to the floor. "The wand recovered from Lord Rosier will go to Garrick Ollivander for material and core. His statement will be entered into the record."
Corvus leaned on the rail, voice mild. "Yew. Thirteen and a half inches. Phoenix feather." He let it hang. "Mr. Ollivander remembers every wand he ever matched. I expect his note will be precise."
A breath caught on the Progressive benches. Dumbledore's hands tightened once on his robes, then smoothed. No twinkle, only calculation. Garrick's memory would name a buyer. Names had weight.
Frank lifted the gavel a finger's height. "The record notes the Director's intent and the observation from Lord Rosier." He faced the chamber. "Sentencing remains."
Amelia turned a page. "Under treason, mass murder, and proscribed service, the law provides two outcomes. Life in Azkaban without parole, or the Kiss. The chamber chooses by wand."
Quiet fell like frost. Arcturus did not rise. He simply raised red. Corvus followed, the same hard red. Lines of scarlet grew along the Traditionalists and bled into the Neutrals. White light held the Progressive curve, clustered but thin.
The clerk counted. Frank listened, then set the gavel down. "By vote of this chamber, sentence is death by Kiss."
A low stir rolled the tiers. No cheers. No protests. Only the scrape of quills and the soft rasp of robes. Amelia wrote the warrant in a firm hand and passed it to the clerk. "Transfer at dawn. He will remain stunned and bound in a runic array to bar Animagus shift. No contact."
Pettigrew stared at nothing. For a heartbeat his eyes slid to the Progressive benches. Dumbledore did not move. Corvus watched the glance and filed it with all the rest.
Frank straightened. "Next item."
Amelia did not sit. "The Director moves to proceed on a completed investigation." She looked to the Minister and to Frank. Arcturus lifted two fingers in assent. Frank gave the formal nod.
She faced the benches. "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore." Her tone carried clean and cold. "By authority of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, you are hereby taken into Ministry custody pending trial on the following charges." She read from a new folio, each count crisp. "First, willful obstruction of probate, to wit, preventing the reading and execution of a magical testament." Another turning of the page. "Second, interference with bloodline guardianship and placement, to wit, unlawful diversion of a minor heir from his proper magical kin to nonmagical custodians without consent of the Wizengamot oversight panel or the related departments of the Ministry."
A murmur climbed the stone and died under Frank's lifted hand.
"Third, reckless endangerment of a magical minor under ward, to wit, placing the child in conditions demonstrated to be cruel and harmful for over a decade." She did not look away. "Fourth, falsification and tampering with Ministry records, including school registers and residency filings." The next count landed like a weight. "Fifth, abuse of the office of Chief Warlock for private policy ends, in derogation of the chamber's sovereignty." One more page. "Sixth, unlawful withdrawals from and interference with the family assets of House Potter."