Harry Potter: The art of divination

*narrator pov* 

The chamber's atmosphere was heavy with anticipation as Albus Dumbledore called the session to order, his voice carrying across the rows of seated witches and wizards. "Let us begin," he said, his tone grave yet measured. "The defendant stands accused of using the Cruciatus Curse, aiding in the abduction of innocents, and conspiring with the Dark Lord's forces. These charges carry the utmost severity, and we must approach them with clarity."

The defendant sat in the enchanted chair at the center of the room, his wiry frame tense but his expression still defiant. His legal representative, a shrewd-looking wizard in fine black robes, stood beside him. The representative, a man named Atticus Howl, was well-known in legal circles—brilliant, cunning, and unflinching, even when defending the indefensible.

Howl began his opening statement with a confident flourish. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Wizengamot," he said, his voice smooth as polished silver, "while the charges against my client are grave, I urge you to remember that even in the darkest times, the law must remain a beacon of fairness. My client, Errol Thorne, deserves to be judged not on fear or prejudice but on evidence alone."

The proceedings moved forward as the prosecution laid out its case, led by Rufus Scrimgeour. He began by presenting a series of damning testimonies from witnesses—survivors of the attacks where Thorne had been seen wielding his wand alongside other Death Eaters. Each account painted a vivid picture of terror, cruelty, and unwavering allegiance to Voldemort.

"We have more than witness accounts," Scrimgeour said, his voice clear and deliberate. With a flick of his wand, he summoned a shimmering Pensieve to the center of the room. "We have memories—unfiltered, unaltered, and undeniable."

The chamber leaned forward as the memory played out in silvery mist. It showed a young woman crying out in agony as the Cruciatus Curse was cast on her. The caster's face, unmistakably Thorne's, twisted in sadistic delight. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the audience.

Howl stepped forward, his expression composed. "Objection, Chief Warlock," he said. "The context of this memory is unclear. My client maintains that he was acting under the imperious curse, manipulated by more powerful forces within the Dark Lord's circle. To condemn him without considering this would be a miscarriage of justice."

Dumbledore regarded howl with a level stare. "Your objection is noted. You may question the relevance during your cross-examination."

Howl wasted no time, seizing the moment to weave doubt into the Wizengamot's minds. "You saw the memory," he said to the witness under examination, a shopkeeper whose family had been attacked. "But were you aware of the threats made against my client's life how he was bound to his body as it was controlled should he have somehow broken the spell? Or are you simply assuming his actions were voluntary?"

The shopkeeper faltered, glancing at Rufus Scrimgeour for reassurance. Howl pressed on, his words slicing like a scalpel. "Is it not possible, even probable, that my client was a victim of this war as much as anyone else?"

For a moment, the chamber seemed to waver. Then Rufus rose again, his voice steely. "The evidence is overwhelming, Chief Warlock. This man was not coerced—he acted willingly and with intent, as proven by multiple witnesses and corroborating magical evidence. The law does not bend for those who choose darkness over decency."

The trial continued for hours, the arguments volleying back and forth. Greaves spun his web of technicalities and insinuations, but the prosecution's evidence was a fortress. Testimonies piled up, memories were scrutinized, and finally, the wand records were produced—unarguable proof that Thorne had cast multiple Unforgivable Curses.

As the evidence mounted, Thorne's cocky facade began to crack. His legal representative grew more desperate, his arguments sharper but less convincing. The tide had turned.

When Dumbledore called for the final vote, the chamber was silent save for the shuffling of robes and the hum of drawn wands. One by one, the members of the Wizengamot raised their wands, their magical light filling the room with a unanimous glow.

Minister Bagnold who was silent up until now turned his gaze to Thorne. "Errol Thorne, you have been found guilty on all charges. For your crimes against wizardkind and your allegiance to Voldemort, you are hereby sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban."

The minister then looked up toward Morpheus subconsciously he didn't meet him in the eye but the sentiment was there. With a small nod he stood. 

The chamber erupted into murmurs as the sentence was delivered. Thorne's legal representative stood frozen, his carefully crafted defenses shattered. Thorne himself stared at the floor, his defiance finally extinguished.

Two Aurors approached the defendant, their wands drawn, their expressions grim. The chains binding Thorne's wrists glowed brighter as they tightened, preparing him for transport to the infamous prison.

As they led him away, he managed one last outburst, his voice rising above the noise. "You think this is over? He'll come for you! You'll all kneel before him!"

The heavy doors slammed shut, leaving the chamber in silence.

Bagnold, seated once more, surveyed the room with a somber expression.

"I hope with this everyone will understand we are not hesitating to deal with matters swiftly." 

*Morpheus pov* 

A minion, a grunt that's who Bagnold decided to throw up there as a lamb to the slaughter. I didn't even need to get Arcturus to swing the votes it was almost laughable. 

I didn't want this to get some type of petty revenge. No, it is important to set a president in these types of situations, now that a death eater no matter how unimportant has been sentenced while using the imperious defense the important ones can follow. 

Some times public opinion is more important than killing off a person. Swaying the public moves many, killing only moves those close. 

Standing from my seat I prepared to exit when I caught Albus staring at me from across the room. He had that look that screamed meet him at his office. 

I nodded and left. 

***

Stepping from the floo I was greeted by Albus brewing a pot of tea, "Can't you just get elves to do it? They make the best tea." I quipped while plopping down

He shook his head with a small smile while producing a bottle of wine and a glass, "You know me well. Good choice" 

"I thought you would like it," he replied, "Sometimes it isn't about practicality but instead experience and the soothing feeling of brewing a cup." he lifted his cup slightly 

"I see." I murmured pouring myself a glass, "I suppose I see your point. Now what did you want to discuss." 

He smiled, "First I want to commend you on whatever spell you are using to be here and somewhere else at the same time. I must ask if it is safe?" 

I shrugged, "As safe as it can be, I won't divulge the details but you shouldn't worry about any mishaps or life-threatening accidents. How could you tell?" I wondered 

He shrugged back at me, "I wont divulge the details." he threw my words back at record speed, "I am glad you aren't doing anything life-threatening. Though I doubt someone your age needs that reminder." he jested his eyes narrowing a fraction 

I took a small sip of my wine, "Congrats Albus, you figured out I'm old." I rolled my eyes, "Children always find the need to poke at the elderly." 

He frowned, "Why do you play this game of cat and mouse with information? We are supposed to be allies but it doesn't feel like we truly are."

I sighed, "Because I know you, Albus. You are the type of person that needs to figure it out on your own to believe, to see it with your own eyes. Telling you will not serve our alliance well."

Albus reluctantly nodded, "Very well then. Show me."

I leaned back into my seat and thought about it.

Finally a smile graced my lips, "Very well."