Chapter Text
Amelia’s POV
The trial was today, it had taken a lot of behind the scenes maneuvering from her this last week to convince Fudge for this trial, as well as keeping it quiet unless something happened on the day of trial. There were many people who would earn a lot of profit out of Sirius’s death. The plus thing for her had been that Dumbledore had left the British Isles for the ICW meetings regarding the coming Triwizard Tournament, and before that the Quidditch World Cup.
As she was walking towards the Court Room No. 10, she was going through the things again inside her head. On how to proceed with the trial, the security of Sirius and Harry, who will be present under a disguise, sitting with Andromeda. After her meeting with Harry, they had gotten together in another meeting, but this time with Sirius, and also Andromeda and her family, and since. She could also see that Nymphadora Tonks, the new Auror Trainee under Mad-Eye, was also there. They had met in Gringotts as this was a neutral ground for everyone.
“Well, not something to think about right now, I have to focus on the hearing.” Amelia murmured under her breath.
As she came close to the entrance, she encountered Ted, as Sirius had been under her security now, he would be brought back out later when she announces who would be under trial today.
“Are you ready Madam Bones?” asked Ted, then continued saying. “This trial will fully open the eyes of the British Magical World.”
“That it will Advocate Tonks, will see you inside.” Amelia said that and went inside. Ted followed after her.
The courtroom was already half full when Amelia entered. Members of the Wizengamot were filtering in steadily, their robes marking rank and allegiance. The benches curved in a semicircle around the central floor, tiered so that every seated member had a clear view of whoever stood below. Quiet conversations filled the chamber, controlled but tense.
Amelia walked forward without acknowledging the whispers. She moved toward the front section reserved for senior Ministry officials, including herself and the Minister. Other Ministry employees were permitted to observe from designated rows, but they held no voting authority. That distinction mattered. Optics and power were rarely the same.
She took her seat and allowed her gaze to sweep the chamber once.
The Wizengamot remained divided into its usual three factions: Light, Dark, and Grey. The division was not officially declared, but it was well understood. Voting patterns rarely strayed far from those alignments.
The Dark faction would not support Sirius without incentive. Some might prefer him imprisoned or eliminated entirely. Others would calculate whether supporting him weakened Dumbledore’s influence. That angle could be exploited, but it required precision.
The Light faction presented a different complication. Those firmly aligned with Albus Dumbledore would hesitate. Without his presence, they lacked clear instruction. Some might delay, abstain, or attempt to stall proceedings. Others—particularly those loyal to Dowager Longbottom—would follow her lead if she stood openly in support of a retrial.
The Grey faction would determine the outcome. They rarely acted out of ideology. They voted based on leverage, alliances, and advantage. If convinced that supporting a fair trial strengthened their standing or weakened a rival bloc, they would shift.
Harry had done his part. Owls had been sent to Lord Greengrass and to Dowager Longbottom. Amelia herself had spoken privately with Augusta Longbottom to ensure coordination. That secured several votes within the Light and Grey factions. However, the conversation between Harry and Lord Greengrass had been the more critical move. If Greengrass committed publicly, others would follow. He was respected for pragmatism, not sentiment.
Amelia folded her hands in front of her and exhaled once.
Security was in place. Evidence was prepared. The Minister had agreed—reluctantly—to allow proceedings under procedural review rather than political debate. Dumbledore was absent. The stage was as stable as it would ever be.
“Well,” she muttered quietly, her expression neutral and composed, “nothing will go wrong.”
Her face revealed nothing. Inside, she calculated every possible deviation.
Slowly, the courtroom reached capacity. The murmurs lowered as more seats were filled and the last of the Wizengamot members took their designated positions. The official scribe sat at the lower desk, quill hovering over parchment, prepared to record every statement and objection word for word. Nothing said today would go undocumented.
Each Lord and Lady representing their respective Houses was present. Robes embroidered with ancient crests marked legacy and authority. Some sat rigid and formal. Others leaned back, watching with guarded interest. A few Ministry officials without voting rights had also taken their seats in the upper tiers. They were not essential to the decision, but their positions within the Ministry hierarchy made their presence unavoidable.
Amelia noted them without reaction. Observers could not influence the vote directly, but they would influence perception afterward. That mattered.
The absence of Albus Dumbledore shifted the atmosphere significantly. Without him occupying the central seat of authority, the Wizengamot required an interim Chief Warlock or Witch to preside over proceedings. Protocol demanded seniority and experience.
That narrowed the selection.
Madam Griselda Marchbanks was the most likely candidate. Long-serving, measured, and not easily swayed. More importantly, she was not blindly loyal to any single faction. Amelia considered her reliable enough. Marchbanks valued procedure and legality above politics. That worked in their favor.
If Marchbanks took the central seat, the framework of the trial would remain disciplined. No grandstanding. No emotional manipulation. Evidence would matter.
The chamber doors closed with a firm echo.
Amelia straightened slightly in her chair, posture controlled, expression neutral. The configuration was aligning as anticipated. Allies were present. Opponents were calculating. The Greys were watching.
The stage was set.
Now it would depend on execution.
Harry’s POV
A sharp knock of a staff against stone echoed through Courtroom Ten.
“Order,” came the firm voice of the senior clerk.
The low conversations stopped almost immediately. Robes shifted. Chairs scraped lightly as members straightened in their seats. The scribe dipped her quill into ink and adjusted the parchment stack in front of her.
From the side entrance reserved for the presiding authority, Madam Griselda Marchbanks entered without ceremony. She did not look toward the galleries or acknowledge the whispers that followed her arrival. Her posture was upright, movements deliberate, eyes sharp behind thin spectacles.
She carried no unnecessary papers. Only a slim leather folder tucked under one arm.
Amelia observed carefully as Marchbanks approached the central dais. Two junior attendants pulled back the high-backed chair traditionally occupied by the Chief Warlock. There was no hesitation as Marchbanks took the seat.
She placed the leather folder on the desk before her and folded her hands calmly.
“In the temporary absence of Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore,” she began, her voice carrying clearly across the chamber, “I will preside over today’s proceedings as interim Chief Witch of the Wizengamot.”
There was no applause. Only attentive silence.
Marchbanks scanned the chamber once, her gaze methodical. She paused slightly at the Light faction benches, then the Dark, and finally the Greys.
“This session has been called under emergency authority,” she continued. “The matter before us concerns the incarceration of Sirius Orion Black and the legality of the actions taken thirteen years ago.”
A subtle shift passed through the chamber at the full name being spoken aloud.
Marchbanks lifted a single parchment from her folder.
“This hearing will proceed in accordance with established Wizengamot law. Evidence will be presented. Statements will be recorded. Order will be maintained.”
Her eyes hardened slightly.
“Disruption will not be tolerated.”
She set the parchment down.
“Advocate Tonks, you may prepare your client for presentation. Director Bones, you will introduce the matter formally.”
Marchbanks leaned back slightly in the Chief Witch’s chair, authority settled around her without display.
The proceedings had begun.