The dozens of torches lining the walls of the Hall of Justice could not entirely dispel the shadows lurking in the recesses of the high, arched ceiling. Glimpsed occasionally in the darkness overhead were dim, silvery outlines of ghosts -- shades of witches and wizards whose final destinies had been wrought by the pronouncements issued from this solemn chamber. It was their custom to gather at such times as this, eager to see if their number were to be increased by the judgment rendered below.
The Minister of Magic sat in an ancient, high-backed chair that was chased with gold and carved with symbols and images representing an age lost to history books, surviving only in tales and legends told in furtive whispers behind locked doors. The Minister's black velvet robes were now surmounted by a cape of deep purple. The long, tapering fingers of his right hand were folded around the shaft of a silver scepter, its head set with rubies that gleamed in the torchlight like droplets of frozen blood. The flickering light likewise reflected from the Minister's noble features, which were somber, almost funereal. His long, silver beard and hair were tinged with amber, and the dancing flames were reflected in the lenses of his half-moon spectacles like tiny, flickering stars.
In all the great hall, none save the Minister was seated. Hundreds of faces looked to him expectantly. Only at the Minister's direction was any permitted to sit. The Minister was reading a scroll of parchment spread upon his bench, held at the top by his left hand and anchored at the bottom by the crown of his scepter. The Minister read every word on the parchment carefully before his head bobbed once, as if in acknowledgment of the pronouncement written thereon. He released the parchment, which snapped back into a roll. He placed it to his left before rising to his full height atop the raised dais. With a quick, practiced eye, he surveyed the assembly of witches and wizards who filled the hall to the farthest corner.
To the left of his bench stood the Council of Peers -- an amalgam of a Muggle jury and the British Parliament's House of Commons. It was comprised of ordinary wizarding folk who had been summoned at random to serve as an impartial body to render judgment from a perspective roughly equal to that of the accused.
Their counterpart stood on the Minister's right: The Council of Ministers. This was made up of officials from the Ministry of Magic, serving in a capacity as to represent the higher aspects of the wizarding world.
The walls of the hall proper were lined with polished wooden benches, each filled to bursting with spectators. The first two rows on either side were designated for those who bore some personal stake in the proceedings. From her place in the first row on the left, a severe-looking woman with silver-blond hair tugged a black silk cape around her predatory shoulders, looking poisoned daggers alternately at the Minister's bench and at a long table standing just before the high dais upon which the former sat. On the other side of the chamber, the first row was a sea of blazing red hair from near end to far. Their eyes were likewise upon either the long table or the Minister's bench; but whereas Narcissa Malfoy's eyes were chips of soul-chilling ice, the eyes of every member of the Weasley family were soft and compassionate, though tinged with the unmistakable glaze of fear and dread.
Two rows of short tables, divided by a central aisle, sat behind the longer one. Here were gathered representatives from wizarding publications across the world, foreign counterparts of the Daily Prophet, each eager to bring its readers first-hand news of the biggest story since the final defeat of the Dark Lord. The reporter for the Daily Prophet stood at the first table on the right, a Quick-Quotes Quill poised quiveringly atop a sheet of parchment that was held in place by two-inch fingernails painted a lurid crimson.
Minister Dumbledore extended his arms, the silver scepter still held in his right hand, and bowed ceremonially. The spectators all sat. Only the figures at the long table remained standing. The Minister, himself still erect, turned his eyes upon the pair unwinkingly.
"Are you ready to hear the judgment of the Tribunal?" Dumbledore said auspiciously. "Mr. Potter? Mr. Weasley?"
Arthur nodded and said, "Yes, Minister." Harry's eyes remained fixed on the surface of the table. Another Minister might have taken this as an affront to his dignity and authority -- certainly Cornelius Fudge would have, to judge from the sour look of disapproval he flashed from his place in the front row of the Council of Ministers. But Dumbledore merely nodded, accepting Arthur Weasley's words as representing the accused as well as himself.
Ordinarily, Arthur would have been seated alongside Fudge and the other Ministers. But he had excused himself on grounds of partiality, freeing him to assume his present role as Harry's counsel. As Arthur looked on, Dumbledore retrieved the scroll of parchment from his bench, setting aside his ritual scepter. He unrolled the parchment and read in a voice that carried to the farthest corner of the hall.
"In the case of the peoples of the magical community of Great Britain versus Harry Potter," Dumbledore said slowly, "the Tribunal has rendered judgment on the two charges levelled against the accused.
"The first charge: Murder."
A low rumble of murmurs swept the gallery, punctuated by occasional gasps and sobs from those assembled in support of Harry, and offset by hisses and other derisive noises from those surrounding Narcissa Malfoy.
"Wizarding law," Dumbledore stated, "is steeped in ancient tradition. One of the oldest of these, upheld in countless thousands of cases, is the Right of Vengeance. Any witch or wizard who has been wronged by another is recognized to have the right to exact toll in direct proportion to the degree of the original offense. A governing body may not infringe upon this right. The Ministry of Magic, and this Tribunal which is its appointed agent, shall render verdict only insofar as the act of vengeance may exceed the scope of the offense.
"Given the heinous nature of the crime perpetrated upon the wife of the accused, this body has ruled that the degree of vengeance imposed by the accused was, and is, within the parameters of equanimity. Therefore, in response to the charge of murder, we the Tribunal find the accused, Mr. Harry Potter -- not guilty."
Screams of outrage reverberated from the left side of the chamber, smothering the sobs and prayerful thanks coming from the other side, primarily from the Weasleys.
Throwing her silk cloak down savagely, her face a mask of volcanic fury, Narcissa shrieked, "That piece of filth murdered my son! Is this what you call JUSTICE, you damned Mudblood-loving -- "
But Narcissa Malfoy's words were cut off as three security wizards immediately pointed their wands at her. Though her own wand was presently locked in a storage area adjoining the main chamber, confiscated along with everyone else's for reasons of security, she made an instinctive move to draw it that was nearly her undoing. The ranking security wizard, acting on reflex, shot red sparks across her right shoulder. Her hand froze, her pale eyes simmering like white-hot ash. Had her hand gone so far as to disappear inside her robes, she would no doubt be Stupefied at this very moment. She opened her mouth, no doubt to hurl some rebuke, but the wizards all pointed their wands at her head. Did she but utter one sound, she harbored no doubt that one or more of the guards would use a Silencing Charm on her without hesitation. She closed her mouth with as much dignity as she could salvage and lifted her eyes in a gesture of regal dismissal. The security wizards pocketed their wands and returned to their stations without a word.
Dumbledore, having waited patiently for the restoration of calm, returned his attention to the scroll in his hands.
"The second charge," he resumed in a noticably heavier voice than before, "may, in fact, be viewed as the greater of the two: Willful use of Dark Magic and/or inhuman employment of magic upon the person of a human being."
The elation Arthur Weasley had evidenced at the reading of the first verdict melted away, to be replaced with a cold, nameless dread. Swallowing dryly, he stood resolutely beside Harry, whose face was set in stone.
"Vengeance," Dumbledore said meaningfully, " Must not and shall not become a license for good witches and wizards to descend into the Abyss. For how can we in all good conscience oppose the forces of Darkness if we can abase ourselves by employing those same vile forces when it suits our purpose?
"It is true that the Ministry has, in times past, granted Special Dispensation to the Aurors to employ Dark Magic against our enemies, most recently in the war against Lord Voldemort." More than a few gasps of horror followed Dumbledore's voicing of the name. "This must not, however, be seen as a wedge to be used to prop open the door to Hell. For as long as I may be priveleged to sit upon this bench, the employment of magic for inhuman purposes will not be sanctioned upon British soil.
"Therefore, as regards the second charge, this Tribunal has no recourse but to find Mr. Potter -- guilty as charged."
The renewed sobbing from the right side was now become wails of torment. Ginny and Molly wept openly, as did many of Harry's schoolmates (of either gender) who sat in the row above the Weasleys. On the other side of the chamber, Narcissa Malfoy made no sound. But her cold, grey eyes were triumphant as they regarded her son's killer with a savage satisfaction.
The scroll of parchment returned once more to the surface of his bench, Dumbledore asked, "Has the defendant anything to say for the record before this Tribunal is adjourned?"
At last Harry raised his head, lifting his eyes until they met those of his teacher, mentor and friend. They spoke clearly, without benefit of words. Dumbledore nodded, smiling wanly from beneath his silver moustaches.
"Court will reconvene one week from today, at which time sentence will be pronounced. This Tribunal is adjourned."
Black-robed wizards appeared on either side of Harry, pointing their wands. Manacles materialized out of thin air, binding his wrists and ankles.
"Is that necessary, Minister?" Arthur asked respectfully.
"Now that judgment has been passed," Dumbledore said, "procedure must be followed. Not even the Minister of Magic can supercede the law. I am truly sorry, Harry."
To everyone's surprise, Harry's face shone with a smile reflecting a tranquility of spirit that was inconceivable to any save the old wizard before whom he stood.
"You've been a good friend, Albus," Harry said. "The dementors permitting, I'll never forget you.
"Nor you, Arthur," he added with a glance over his shoulder as the guards escorted him from the chamber. "If I don't see you again, thank you -- for everything."
Doing his best to block out Ginny Weasley's heart-wrenching sobs, Harry exited the Hall of Judgment, flanked by his guards. Looking straight ahead, he did not see the silent tears streaking the faces of Albus Dumbledore and Arthur Weasley. And it was, perhaps, better that way.
Author's Note: I'm accelerating the posting schedule a bit to accomodate some prearranged madness next month. Following a brief pause, more stories will be forthcoming after this one is completed. I'd prefer more time to proof each chapter, but I hope I can limp along without too many overlooked potholes going unfilled.
I continue to be amazed at the response this story is generating. Even the negative feedback is flattering in its way; I suppose it's better than being ignored altogether.
The next chapter, five of nine, is the keystone, both in number and in plot. I hope those of you who are still suffering from the previous chapters' slings and arrows will bind up your wounds and have another go. Until then, thanks for reading.