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HRHL# CHAPTER 254
🕑 Added 2025-07-28 14:03:49 +0000 UTCHarry, of course, had no knowledge of Sirius Black’s plight, nor was he aware that Veratia was plotting against his godfather.
He was currently following Professor Dumbledore and Mr. Weasley, making their way toward the courtroom.
The courtroom had an ancient air, at least in Harry’s opinion. Its walls were constructed of dark, somber stone, and the flickering light of the torches cast a dim, eerie glow. Harry couldn’t quite fathom why they still used torches for illumination—because, in truth, the courtroom wasn’t lit by them at all. Instead, a radiant orb on the ceiling emitted a silvery-white glow.
Following Mr. Weasley, Harry approached a series of tiered benches, finding two empty seats to settle into. Dumbledore, meanwhile, ascended to the highest row of chairs, joining a group of shadowy figures already seated there.
Even before they had entered the courtroom, the occupants of the high chairs had been whispering amongst themselves. As the heavy doors swung shut, a solemn and dignified atmosphere descended upon the room.
This, Harry thought, was precisely the ambiance one would expect from a courtroom.
But soon, someone called Harry away, directing him to take a seat among the highest chairs. He was, after all, a key figure in the proceedings, a central party to the case.
On those elevated seats sat roughly fifty people—Harry didn’t bother counting precisely. They wore plum-colored robes, each adorned with an intricately embroidered silver “W” on the left breast, signifying their membership in the Wizengamot. Their eyes were fixed on him, some with kindly expressions, others with undisguised concern.
At the very center of the row sat Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic. Fudge, wearing his usual olive-green bowler hat, gazed at Harry with an almost paternal warmth, as though he were looking at his own son.
Dumbledore sat beside Fudge, though Harry couldn’t discern any logic behind the seating arrangement. Given Dumbledore’s status as President of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, one might have expected him to occupy Fudge’s central position. Yet, for reasons unknown, the seating was as it was.
“Very well,” Fudge said, clearing his throat. “The full Wizengamot is now present. Let us begin—are you ready?”
He called out toward the benches.
“Yes, sir,” replied a young man nearby, clutching a quill as though poised to take notes.
“The trial of October 13th,” Fudge declared in a booming voice, prompting the young man to scribble furiously. “A rehearing of the events from twelve years ago—the murder of James and Lily Potter, and the explosion caused by Sirius Black, resulting in the deaths of several Muggle bystanders and Peter Pettigrew.”
“Presiding: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”
Fudge cleared his throat again before continuing. “Bring forth the defendant, Peter Pettigrew—”
As Fudge’s voice rang out, the heavy doors swung open with a resounding thud. Several Aurors escorted Peter Pettigrew into the courtroom, gripping his arms tightly.
At the sight of Pettigrew, the members of the Wizengamot began murmuring among themselves. Their eyes fixed on him—some in shock, unable to believe it was truly him, others in dismay, lamenting that the supposed hero, once honored with the Order of Merlin, First Class, had orchestrated such a tragedy.
Pettigrew was led to a chair at the center of the room and seated. Immediately, the air was filled with the rapid clicking of cameras.
Some wizards in the Wizengamot frowned but said nothing. Allowing reporters into the courtroom was a privilege granted by Minister Fudge himself, and protesting would be futile. Silence, they decided, was the better course.
This was all part of Fudge’s plan—to craft an image of himself as a steadfast seeker of truth.
“The defendant, Peter Pettigrew,” Fudge announced loudly. “Indeed, the Ministry was once deceived by this so-called ‘hero,’ leading to the wrongful imprisonment of another. But now, the opportunity to set things right has arrived. We shall uncover the truth and deliver justice to the innocent—”
The sound of cameras clicking filled the air once more.
“First, we shall verify the identities of the parties involved. The plaintiff—”
Fudge turned to Harry.
“Introduce yourself,” a wizard beside him whispered.
Harry nodded, rising to his feet. “Harry Potter, born July 31, 1980. Residing at Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, London. Currently a third-year student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Gryffindor House.”
Fudge nodded and continued, “The defendant.”
“Peter Pettigrew,” Pettigrew said weakly. “Formerly a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Currently… without a fixed address.”
Fudge asked. “Do either party have any objections to the identity or qualifications of the opposing party?”
“No objections,” both replied.
“Do either party request the recusal of any members of the court, the court recorder, or other relevant personnel?” Fudge inquired.
“No recusal requested,” both answered.
“I will now inform both parties of their rights and obligations in this proceeding,” Fudge said, picking up a document from the table and reading it carefully to them.
When he finished, Fudge looked up. “Have both parties understood?”
“Yes,” they replied in unison.
“Now, I shall present the plaintiff’s claims, facts, and reasoning on their behalf,” Fudge said, setting the document down.
“The plaintiff, Harry Potter,” he continued, “accuses the defendant, Peter Pettigrew, of betraying his role as Secret-Keeper for the Fidelius Charm. Despite being entrusted with the safety of his friends, James and Lily Potter, he revealed their hiding place to Voldemort…”
At the mention of Voldemort’s name, Fudge gave a barely perceptible shudder but quickly concealed it. As Minister for Magic, he could not afford to show fear, even if others referred to the Dark Lord as “You-Know-Who.” To shy away from the name in public would be an unforgivable disgrace.
“Afterward,” Fudge continued, his pause expertly masked as a natural break in speech—a skill honed by years as a seasoned politician—“Sirius Black, upon learning of Pettigrew’s betrayal, pursued him to a Muggle street. There, Pettigrew used a spell to cause an explosion, killing twelve Muggle bystanders and framing Sirius Black for the crime, allowing himself to escape. Defendant Peter Pettigrew, do you have any objections to the plaintiff’s accusations?”
Pettigrew opened his mouth, his small, beady eyes darting toward Harry, but his words dissolved into a sigh.
“No,” he said.
He knew full well that even if he escaped the Wizengamot’s judgment, Harry would have a hundred ways to make his life a living hell. Better to face Azkaban—after all, as an Animagus, he had ways to slip away.
With that thought, Pettigrew felt a flicker of reassurance.
“I have a question,” Madam Bones interjected suddenly. “Regarding the Secret-Keeper. I recall it was originally said that Sirius Black was the Potters’ Secret-Keeper. Why was it changed to Peter Pettigrew?”
“Defendant, can you clarify?” Fudge asked.
“Yes,” Pettigrew said, trembling. “It’s—it’s all Sirius’s fault.”
Even now, he tried to shift the blame. “He and James suggested it. Sirius had angered the Death Eaters and You-Know-Who, and he was being hunted. So they decided to entrust the secret to me instead. In their eyes, I was insignificant, a coward—no one would suspect James would choose me as Secret-Keeper. After all, I was… so unremarkable.”
A glint flashed in Pettigrew’s eyes as he spoke.
“But they didn’t know I’d already pledged myself to the Dark Lord,” he said. “You see, I was terrified of dying. So I joined him. I just wanted to live—how is that a crime?”
“Plaintiff,” Fudge said, turning to Harry. “Do you have anything to say to him?”
“Pettigrew,” Harry said, his gaze steady and calm. “He trusted you. You say you feared death, yet you managed to live as a rat, unnoticed, in the Weasley household for twelve years. You lived under Dumbledore’s nose for nearly seven, ever since you became Percy Ignatius Weasley’s pet and entered Hogwarts. That proves you had the ability to survive, to hide. Yet you still betrayed my father. Was it truly fear of death that drove you?”
Harry’s words were irrefutable.
Everyone knew of Dumbledore’s prowess. To live as a rat without being detected by him demonstrated Pettigrew’s ability to evade even Voldemort’s scrutiny. If he feared death, couldn’t he have simply hidden as a rat?
No one believed Voldemort could have found him.
“I—I…” Pettigrew stammered, at a loss for words.
No defense he could muster held weight in that moment. Indeed, James had trusted him so completely, and his Animagus form was a rat. If he had hidden, he would have been safe.
So why?
Madam Bones’s thick eyebrows arched high. She had little patience for this cowardly man, whose Animagus form was, fittingly, a rat.
“Since the defendant offers no further defense,” Fudge declared, “by the authority of the law, I sentence Peter Pettigrew to life imprisonment in Azkaban! Furthermore, his Order of Merlin, First Class, shall be revoked!”
“And,” Fudge added, “I declare Sirius Black… not guilty!”
With Fudge’s final pronouncement, Pettigrew seemed to collapse, as though his spine had given way. He had known this day would come, yet its arrival was no less crushing.
The Aurors promptly escorted Pettigrew out of the courtroom.
“I hereby declare this trial concluded,” Fudge announced, visibly pleased.
His only regret was that Sirius Black wasn’t present to make the moment even more poignant for the reporters to capture.
Harry rose immediately, extending his hand to Fudge.
Fudge, catching the gesture, shot a meaningful glance at the reporters from The Daily Prophet.
The reporters swarmed forward, understanding his cue.
As they approached, Fudge clasped Harry’s hand with both of his own.
“Thank you, Minister,” Harry said, his voice thick with emotion, a single tear rolling down his cheek. “Thank you for upholding justice, for clearing my godfather’s name, and for bringing the true betrayer of my parents to account. You’ve shown me that within the Ministry, there beats a heart of kindness and justice.”
The Daily Prophet reporters’ eyes gleamed, their quills scratching furiously, capturing every word.
“Well,” Fudge said, patting Harry’s hand with a relaxed air, “I must tell you, Harry, I cannot fully accept your praise. This was a miscarriage of justice by the Ministry twelve years ago. Had we thoroughly investigated the truth then, your godfather might not have suffered in Azkaban, and you would not have endured such hardship in the Muggle world.”
Fudge shook his head, sighing, and continued to pat Harry’s hand.
“This was the Ministry’s failure, Harry,” he said. “Our incompetence led to this tragedy.”
“But, Minister,” Harry countered, “I believe making a mistake isn’t the worst thing. What’s worse is refusing to acknowledge it. Today, you’ve taught me, a mere student, a profound lesson. You’ve shown me how to uphold an honest heart, to seek justice even at the cost of personal pride. I believe, with you as an example, the students of Hogwarts will strive to follow your path.”
Fudge beamed, his face glowing with pride.
Harry’s reputation in the wizarding world needed no elaboration. The boy who defeated the Dark Lord at the age of one was known from Ireland to Britain. Having him endorse Fudge was… invaluable.
The reporters snapped photos frantically, capturing the harmonious moment.
“I sincerely suggest, Minister,” Harry continued, “that you visit Hogwarts to speak to the students. As you’ve said, young witches and wizards need a role model to guide them.”
Fudge’s smile was irrepressible, and he nodded enthusiastically, clearly pleased. Yet, maintaining a semblance of modesty, he demurred, “A speech? Oh, I’m afraid I’ll be quite busy with the matters of Pettigrew and Black for some time. I hope you understand, Harry.”
“That’s truly a pity,” Harry said with a long sigh, as though genuinely disappointed.
“But we’ll find time in the future, Harry,” Fudge said cheerfully. “I’m glad you see things this way.”
They continued shaking hands, turning in unison toward The Daily Prophet’s photographers.
With a final click of the camera, the trial of Peter Pettigrew came to a close.
Outside the courtroom, Dumbledore stood by a window, gazing at the magically conjured scenery beyond. He turned to Harry with a knowing smile. “I must say, Harry, I didn’t expect you to handle such occasions with such finesse.”
“One learns to adapt,” Harry said with a shrug. “It’s a necessary part of life, isn’t it?”
“Indeed,” Dumbledore said, stroking his beard. “Even the most powerful wizard must master the art of human interaction.”
Harry tapped the wall lightly, offering no objection to Dumbledore’s words.
“Well, I think it’s time we returned to Hogwarts,” Dumbledore said with a chuckle. “Our next task is to find Sirius Black, wherever he’s hiding.”
Dumbledore tilted his head, his gaze lingering on the window frame.
“He’s suffered enough, Harry. We must find him quickly, lest something else befalls him.”
“I understand, Professor,” Harry said with a nod.
They didn’t return to Hogwarts immediately. Instead, they made their way to Diagon Alley.
T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
