— ...So, Mr. Potter, we're done here. — Mr. Potter nodded, a short, thin man who was leafing through papers and making notes, and there was a murmur in the hall. — I ask the clerk to make a separate note of the fact that the heir of a magical family is being sent to live with his muggle relatives, and that the will of the parents is being ignored in this matter.
— What will? — The teenager's voice elicited mixed reactions from those present, but if the spectators in the gallery were merely discussing the news that had just been revealed, the participants in the trial were more dissatisfied with the breach of protocol. However, for some reason, when all these arguments were organized in the past, it was the norm for everyone.
— Mr. Potter, were you unaware of the existence of your parents' will? — The prosecutor looked at the boy over his glasses with a look of playful surprise. — You didn't know about it, or you just weren't familiar with it?
— Objection! — A tall, thin woman with a long face, wearing extremely austere clothes and horn-rimmed glasses, rose from her seat. She looked at everything around her with a stare that few could withstand. — This question was not on the list of permitted questions for the witness. — She shook a parchment scroll to confirm her words.
— The question is important to reveal the full picture of events, not only concerning the Potter heir, but also other unlawful actions of those responsible. — The man froze, quill in one hand, parchment in the other, awaiting the Judge's decision.
— Objection overruled. — After a moment's thought, Chief Judge Jeremiah Rogersson replied, glancing at his colleagues, at the silent members of the ICW Special Commission, and then back at the prosecutor. — The court is interested in finding out all the facts about violations of protocol and abuse of power, or even fraud. Prosecution, you may continue.
— Thank you, Your Honor. — The man nodded, made a note, and turned to Harry Potter, who was sitting in a massive chair on a small dais, with our lawyer standing silently beside him. — Mr. Potter, how much did you spend the last time you bought the necessary items on your list to attend Hogwarts?
— I don't know, sir. — The teenager pouted and lowered his eyes to the ground.
— Please explain further, Mr. Potter. — The D.A.'s voice sounded dry, clerical.
— The thing is, as Hagrid said, and as Headmaster Dumbledore told him, giving an inexperienced child full access to the vault could lead to unnecessary waste, so I don't have the key. So the Headmaster is protecting my legacy. — The most amazing thing is that Harry still believes all this.
— Curious. — The accuser replied dryly, making another note, and the room froze in astonishment. — If His Honor will allow, I would like to express the real idea of creating such vaults. — The Chief Justice nodded in agreement. Many of them began to look at Dumbledore, who from the beginning of the session had maintained a look of impregnable confidence, like a rocky island in the middle of the ocean, triumphing time and again against the storms and tempests.
— Let it be known, Mr. Potter, that it is customary for all wealthy pureblood families to have such safes, and the purpose is to teach the child how to handle his money. Relatives and tutors are involved in the process, but it is always the right of the person in whose name the vault is opened to decide what and how to spend the money in a vault like yours, Mr. Potter.
— But it's… — Potter started to say, but was interrupted.
— Mr. Potter, — said the stern female lawyer for the defendants, which included Dumbledore, McGonagall, Fudge and many others. — How much money did you spend last year?
— Objection! Personal expenses are not the subject of this trial! — The prosecutor raised his voice.
— Objection overruled. Witness, answer the question.
— Well, about twenty galleons.
— Are you not sure of your expenses, Mr. Potter? You know how to count, so why is it so hard for you to remember how much money you spent last year? — Judging by the woman's tone, she was almost asking if Mr. Potter was an idiot. The teenager must have sensed the mockery and frowned, but he did not make a scene — he had been instructed not to.
— It was either twenty-one or twenty-two galleons, the remainder of the hundred taken from the safe to buy things for the school.
— Please note that the witness is unsure of his statement, confused by simple numbers. — The woman ignored the angry looks of the boy and many others.
— Mr. Potter.
The questions went on for over an hour, and though I tried to listen carefully, I became more and more convinced that I could not stand the courts, and if it were up to me, I would give everyone a potion of truth, put them in ritual circles, and just ask for the truth. Without these sly and shady lawyers, corrupt judges, and "Great Light" who are so fond of turning the facts on their heads.
It turns out that the life of the heir of a magical family, the last of the Muggles, is the norm for the heroes, so they felt the hardships, realized how not easy life is, did not become conceited, did not poison the Muggles, and a lot of other "not", how many — I did not count.
At some point, Dumbledore stupidly entered the hearing, ignoring the prosecutor and our lawyer, the judge remained silent, and the ICW representatives who were in the room acted only as observers, since the proceedings concerned only Britain. So the headmaster began to ask some strange questions, the essence of which I didn't even catch at first, ordinary trifles, but it turned out to be a great maneuver by which Dumbledore brought the conversation to the point where the people in the room began to agree with the correctness of the white-bearded wizard's decisions.
Those who had been indignant and angry ten minutes ago were now nodding their heads in agreement with the old man's words with a look of importance and understanding.
This is just amazing, really, it's not even experience, it's a talent! Slightly imperceptibly, the director caught everyone's attention, then smoothly and imperceptibly cut off the topic of the meeting, and then began a massive propaganda on the topic: We are all brothers and sisters, but among us there are some who have gone astray, who just need time to come to their senses... and in general, why hold grudges for the past? Let's stop this nonsense and get on with the really important things!
I noticed how the judges began to yawn and look at their watches, and then they began to talk quietly, squinting their eyes toward the exit. If it weren't for years of training, I'm sure my brain would have blacked out from that sermon, too.
— Your Honor, I'd like to ask my client a question! — came the loud voice of our lawyer, Gustav Klein.
The judge looked at the man with a tired, bored look, with a "well, why couldn't you keep quiet?" expression, and sighed heavily.
— I don't think... — the principal interjected again, his tone extremely benevolent and concerned, but the judge still said the cherished words.
— Continue. — and another tired, doomed sigh.
— Mr. Potter, can you tell us how you got that galleon-sized scar on your arm?
— What scar are we talking about, and how does it relate to today's meeting? — The judge inquired, albeit languidly, but the majority of the court did not care about anything after the wizard's speeches, except the desire to take a nap or have a drink or two.
— Your Honor, after Christmas, Mr. Potter underwent a full medical examination at St. Mungo's Hospital, and the full report is attached to the case file. The scar we are interested in was identified by the doctors as a wound from a very powerful magical creature, so it is impossible to completely remove the scar. Unfortunately, creatures of this level of danger have never been seen in the suburbs of London, or even in the areas where the Muggles, Mr. Potter's relatives, live. The scar is about two years old, and such a wound should have been treated at St. Mungo's Hospital, but it was not. So I repeat the question: Mr. Potter, where, when and under what circumstances did you receive this wound? — There was a moment of silence, but then the crowd began to whisper, shaking off their slumber and laziness and regaining their interest.
— Harry, you don't have to answer these questions if you have trouble remembering. — Dumbledore stepped in when the teenager had already gotten some air into his chest, snapping him out of his thoughts. The boy closed his mouth and frowned, clearly thinking.
— Witness, answer the question. — came the voice of the judge, who also began to come to life. — And you, Mr. Dumbledore, despite all your positions and regalia, are also obliged to follow court protocol. — I expected the old man to be intimidated, but no, nothing more was said.
— Sir, do I have to answer this question? — Potter's voice made me want to slap him hard, or better yet, hang him from a lantern so he wouldn't lose his mind and keep his head clear.
— Unless you have taken magical oaths or vows of silence, or if these events affect the code of your kind, you must not answer, Mr. Potter. Otherwise, yes, you must answer. — And I was beginning to think that this judge had been bought off by the Headmaster as well.
— That's not what happened, sir. — The boy shook his head, and I saw a slight twitch in Dumbledore's cheek.
— Then answer, Mr. Potter. — There was a slight irritation in the judge's voice.
— Very well, sir. — The teenager nodded, breathing in and out a few times, his gaze harder, more confident. — It was the end of the second year at Hogwarts... — The boy began his story, and the headmaster blinked, keeping his eyes closed a little longer than necessary.