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HP: Bloodraven Chapter 232 - The Trial and the Turmoil (V)
🕑 Added 2025-08-26 16:36:59 +0000 UTCThe Hall of the Wizengamot, or the official chamber where the laws of wizarding Britain were shaped, was a vast, circular room that sank in steep tiers like a giant bowl. There, rows of luxurious seats climbed sharply around the room, each angled so every member could see the floor below, making anyone standing in the center feel small and completely exposed.
There was also a continuous balcony directly above, wrapping around the chamber, reserved for guests who could watch the proceedings below with an unobstructed view.
Normally, the curtains here stayed drawn during regular assemblies, and the seats were only filled when a public audience was absolutely necessary—like when a major law was being passed or, in even rarer cases, during a public hearing.
On any other day, the Wizengamot councilors’ seats would be arranged in strict concentric rows following the curve of the chamber, with the most senior members—the patriarchs of the oldest and noblest houses—occupying the inner rings nearest the central floor, while the outer tiers were filled by everyone else. And at the same time, the very center would hold an open space, kept clear for debate and discussion, where any member could stand and be seen and heard by all.
Yet today, the chamber was not arranged for a typical assembly but for a formal hearing. The seats no longer formed a wide circle around the center of the room; even the middle of the hall was now filled with rows, all angled toward the head of the hall.
At the very front, an elevated platform had been set for the judges overseeing the case, with designated areas to their left and right for the defendants and witnesses. Coincidentally—or perhaps not—the hall of the Wizengamot today bore a striking resemblance to the general layout of a Muggle courtroom.
That is, if not for the second dais set even higher up, reserved for the most distinguished members of the gathering—figures whose rank and standing demanded they look down on the proceedings and the entire chamber below.
In the wizarding world, hierarchy carried great weight, especially when it came to a witch or wizard’s magical rank and achievements, and even in a judicial assembly, that unspoken order was built right into the very design of the chamber.
Today, nearly every Wizengamot seat was filled, and even the gallery for approved guests was packed, leaving barely an inch of space for anyone else to squeeze in.
Minister Cornelius Fudge had been among the first to arrive, taking a seat on the raised platform—not as a judge, of course, but as Minister of Magic, his importance clear from the seat set above the judges. Seeing the chamber filled with members and guests, he looked quite pleased with how things had turned out, getting exactly what he had asked for—though whether the day would end as he expected remained to be seen.
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Clang…
When the creaking iron-bound door swung shut behind Maverick with a resounding thud, an abrupt blanket of icy silence fell over the chamber that had been buzzing with noise. The murmurs and shuffling of the gathered council members and guests instantly ceased, silence pressing in as all eyes fixed on the lone figure entering the chamber.
Before coming inside, Kingsley had told Maverick where his seat would be, so without slowing his steps or sparing the weight of the hall’s attention a glance, he walked past the front row and made his way toward the single stairway in the center that led up to the elevated platform.
Honestly, the stage could have used a few more stairways, considering the width of the hall… though maybe that was the point, a way to puff up the nobles’ sense of grandeur.
The walk gave him enough time to take in the chamber. Its walls looked like rough-hewn stone, ancient, almost excessively so if he had to be honest.
As for the lighting, Maverick had half-expected torches to line the walls—but, surprisingly, a vast alchemical array cast a steady, bright glow. Uncommon, certainly, and it would take a master alchemist to design such a structure. Not a single lamp, torch, or gadget in sight—and yet the room shone perfectly, every corner illuminated, giving the entire space an almost impossible sense of grandeur. It was impressive, to say the least.
Around fifty seats filled the chamber, meant to hold the country’s representatives. Traditionally, this body was made up entirely of pure-blood wizarding families, but over time its composition had changed to include ministry officials and recognized experts as well.
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Meanwhile, the brief hush that followed Maverick’s entrance was suddenly broken by a soft, almost reluctant creak of a chair that echoed through the chamber. When Maverick was halfway to the central stairway, completely unfazed by the weight of every eye upon him, Lord Greengrass, seated at the front, rose and bowed his head slightly in his direction.
Then, as if sparked by an unspoken signal, one by one, more seats lifted, their occupants standing in deference. In moments, nearly half the chamber was on its feet, the shuffle of robes and murmurs swelling into a low roar that filled the vast space
Whispers rippled through the hall, rising from both the seats below and the balcony above, while cameras flashed and invited guests whispered among themselves, speculating on the meaning of the display.
This was clearly no simple gesture of respect, but a clear message.
One must know, even Dumbledore did not command such a reaction when he entered the chamber—though it was no secret that many councilors regarded the old wizard as their unofficial leader.
Yet here it was: a bold, unmistakable declaration. A clear message to everyone present that this young man, who had been making headlines without pause, had now stepped squarely into the political arena as well.
This was major news for the entire British magical political circle, and there was no doubt that countless headlines would follow this brief, unspoken declaration. Even the few who were already aware of Maverick’s unofficial actions and his connection to Jameson Greengrass were surprised, for even they hadn’t anticipated such numbers or the significant change in the council majority.
It was worth noting that Lord Greengrass had previously held only a small number of councilors under his faction. Now, however, it seemed that much had been happening behind the scenes.
Maverick showed no reaction of the stir around him, continuing his steps with casual ease, though a small smirk tugged at his lips. Of course, this was all part of the script, and Lord Greengrass, along with those under him, was merely playing his part.
As he reached the first set of stairs, his eyes landed on a face he didn’t know well—at least in person: Bartemius Crouch Sr., the former Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
It was this very man who had sentenced Sirius Black to Azkaban years ago, and whether he did it because of the circumstances at the time mattered little. He was known then for his ruthless severity in pursuing Death Eaters—even authorizing the use of the Unforgivable Curses by Aurors.
To his credit, though, the wizarding world had been in a state of panic at the time, and immense public and Ministry pressure demanded swift justice against Voldemort’s followers.
And Sirius Black, a scion of one of the oldest and noblest houses, had just so happened to be caught in the chaos at the wrong moment, and Crouch Senior’s swift, harsh sentence was, for lack of a better word, deemed necessary—hailed as a morale-boosting victory.
In the immediate aftermath of Voldemort’s first downfall, Crouch was promoted to Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation—a major step up and a position that put him in line to eventually become Minister for Magic.
Unfortunately, he never had the chance to relish that success. His rise came to an abrupt halt when his own son, Bartemius Crouch Jr., was exposed among a band of Death Eaters and tried for torturing Frank and Alice Longbottom into insanity.
To demonstrate his lack of favoritism and maintain a hard line against dark magic, Crouch Sr. then personally presided over the trial and sent his own son to Azkaban. Although the act upheld his public principles, it unfortunately, completely destroyed his political career.
So why was he presiding as a judge today, after so many years out of the public eye? The answer lay with the two figures who stood to gain the most from this hearing: Cornelius Fudge himself, and Lord Jameson Greengrass, who had personally requested Crouch to chair it.
While Fudge could have taken the role, his already tarnished reputation made him cautious—he was betting everything on restoring it after all, and he wanted the proceedings to appear completely above reproach.
Because it was Fudge who had instigated the trial in the first place, and presiding over it himself would only have fueled suspicion that the whole affair was for his own benefit.
He needed someone else to lead the hearing—someone with a reputation for unimpeachable integrity. And who better than Bartemius Crouch Senior, the man who had once sentenced his own son to Azkaban without hesitation?
But the veteran had refused the Minister’s request at first.
Fudge even tried to sway him on moral grounds, insisting the trial was about correcting a past wrong. Yet Crouch was no longer a man who could be moved by such appeals. His wife had withered away into despair, and his son—well, that goes without saying.
Righting an old wrong was not enough to drag him back into the public eye it seems. That was, at least, until Jameson Greengrass, having learned of Fudge’s approach, then decided to pay Crouch a “visit” of his own.
But what Lord Greengrass laid before him went far beyond righting a wrong that had lingered for over a decade. His request was far bolder. At first, Crouch had called Jameson a madman outright. Yet as Greengrass laid out, one by one, the catalogue of Fudge’s blunders—backed by proof, and then more proof still—and pointed out that the outcome of the hearing was already all but certain, Barty finally relented.
It was a simple task as chair, entirely within the rules. More importantly, it was enough to persuade the man to step back into the spotlight—if only for one last time—and perhaps even earn a place in the history books.
And so, with both Lord Greengrass and Fudge’s insistence, Barty agreed to preside over the trial—not as a favor to them or for personal gain, but simply to right a wrong from his past and to bring about some measure of change to their decadent magical government.
Barty Crouch, though he had made some questionable decisions before, was by no means a bad wizard. After all, not every father could send their own son to Azkaban, yet Barty Sr. did exactly that, remaining true to his principles.
Maverick gave the old wizard a nod of acknowledgment, then stepped forward, circling the high table set for the judge. He climbed another flight of stairs to his seat beside Albus Percival Brian Dumbledore, who held the center, with Cornelius Fudge on the other side.
From his new vantage, he cast a quick glance at the councilors below. Many returned friendly smiles, though a handful remained cold and indifferent. He didn’t dwell on it—just pulled out his chair and settled in.
“Take your seat, Maverick… and welcome to the Hall of the Wizengamot,” Dumbledore said softly, nodding toward the chair.
“This must be your first judicial hearing at a magical court, isn’t it, Master Caesar?” Fudge chimed in from the other side.
Maverick gave a small smile and replied, “Actually, this is my first time in any court, Minister. Though calling this an actual courtroom might be stretching it a bit.”
No matter how much Maverick disliked the pompous fool, this was a high-profile gathering, and cameras were everywhere—so he played nice.
“Indeed… it’s quite different from a Muggle courtroom, though the layout may seem somewhat familiar. Our governing and judicial systems are very different, so you can’t really compare the two directly,” Dumbledore, ever the wise, added.
After the brief exchange, Maverick’s gaze drifted upward to the gallery, sweeping the rows until it settled on a certain blonde. She stood with her crew, poised to capture every twist and turn of the trial for broadcast to homes, offices, and public stations across the country. He offered a faint, knowing smile.
The whispers in the hall had grown louder now—councilors pointing and murmuring among themselves, while the reporters above went into a frenzy, cameras flashing in rapid succession.
Maverick then turned back to Dumbledore, asking a few quiet questions about the hall, the councilors, and clearing up some lingering doubts.
Minutes passed in this quiet tension, and by then the last empty seats were also taken.
Finally, Fudge cleared his throat and called down to Barty below, “Barty, let us proceed…”
Comments
QuantumServer
Thanks for the chapter
Shugokage
Great job on this chapter!
Dark_pheonix
Thanks for the chapter!
