At this moment, the black walls of the Wizengamot Court seemed to be struck by this sudden twist...bending under its impact.
The dead silence was like a bottle of thick magic potion, instantly filling the entire courtroom of the Wizengamot.
Everyone was still reeling from the defendant's sudden confession, and Fudge's immediate follow-up with "Throw him into Azkaban" was like a bucket of ice-cold Sizzling Honey Candy syrup, sweet, sticky, yet chilling to the bone—
Karkaroff's face froze with excitement and a sense of justice. The man seemed petrified, his entire face motionless except for his eyes, which darted around in terror, his incredulous gaze fixated on Fudge's round face that usually sported a greasy smile but now appeared exceptionally cold—
The man gaped, his throat producing a strange "ho ho" sound, yet no words escaped.
Similarly, the air of the courtroom seemed completely drawn out.
Behind the trial bench, those high-ranking members of the Magic Realm in red robes, usually proud of their vast experience, were now showing expressions equally remarkable.
The journalists' Speedwriting Quills hovered in the air, seemingly jammed, with large ink stains spreading on the parchment unnoticed—
Merlin's heels! Did the Minister of Magic himself order the arrest of another school's headmaster? And right here in the Wizengamot courtroom? It's even more bizarre than the Prophet Daily reporting the end of the world tomorrow—
In the corner of the audience, Lupin held down Harry and Ron, who nearly jumped up in surprise, his breath heavy, and his whole body slightly trembling.
Lupin knew well that Fudge's move was more than spur-of-the-moment, instinctively glancing at the motionless back of William—he knew the power at William's command, and had even helped William hide things from Dumbledore, but now, Lupin was still frightened—because he considered a possibility.
Lupin's gaze turned to Fudge, this fat man, theoretically the most powerful person in the British Magic Realm—at this moment, invisible lines seemed to extend from above his head, disappearing into the black vault of the Wizengamot court.
"Minister?"
A voice shattered the silence akin to the Mariana Trench's depths, from a seasoned female senator of the Wizengamot, her face pale, a tremor almost indistinguishable in her voice, "Are you...sure? But, Igor Karkaroff is the headmaster of Durmstrang, this doesn't adhere to protocol..."
"I'm very sure, Senator Martha."
The soft flesh on Fudge's face seemed to tremble, his voice sharply escalated, carrying undeniable authority, deliberately overshadowing that bit of doubt, he didn't even spare Karkaroff a glance, as if he were utterly irrelevant—"Now, onto the second agenda."
"?"
Where did the second agenda come from?
Was there a second agenda today?
Which word in the script mentioned a second agenda for today?
The entire jury was frantically recalling everything, finally confirming after twenty seconds of mutual bewilderment—this was all Fudge's own decision.
And so, the next moment, every gaze converged on a person, not Karkaroff, not Fudge, nor William—they unanimously turned to the white-haired elder sitting at the forefront of the jury, in red robe.
Yet, Dumbledore still made no move, sitting there like a monk in meditation, not reacting to Fudge's mention of the "second agenda," the echo of the words hitting an invisible wall and falling despondently—
Thus, the entire Wizengamot's attention, whether in confusion, shock, or anger, now aligned with Dumbledore's light blue eyes' direction, finally fixated firmly on a particular "defendant."
And William, the defendant who calmly "confessed" to serious charges just minutes ago, now stood up under the scrutiny of dozens of eyes.
No exaggerated effects, no domineering aura, William merely adjusted his slightly wrinkled dark blue coat casually—
Then, he stepped forward.
The heavy heels clanked on the cold, black, hard floor of the Wizengamot, producing a clear, steady "thud, thud" sound.
William's every step seemed to stir invisible ripples across a calm water surface. For some reason, the wizards in the jury and audience instinctively held their breath and leaned back slightly, naturally making way for him like avoiding tidal rocks.
He walked through the crowd without anyone extending a hand this time—
William's destination was clear since Fudge had already stepped aside, his previously serious and stern expression becoming much more sycophantic, though he didn't show it much. Still, anyone with eyes could see it.
Thus, Ron stood firmly in front of the plaintiff's seat, ignoring the tall chair prepared specifically for the accuser.
His gaze calmly swept across the entire scene, passing over the faces filled with suspicion, finally meeting the deep gaze of Dumbledore in the front row of the jury. The old man remained silent, his silver-white hair appearing even paler under the dim light. There was no doubt in his eyes, only a heavy scrutiny.
Ron smiled, his young face extremely calm, "Since the Minister is so eager to push the storyline forward—" he finally spoke, his voice not loud, yet strangely penetrated every corner of the trial chamber, clear as if whispered in everyone's ear, "then perhaps we need to start from... Can we have someone come and help control Mr. Karkaroff?"
"If the Ministry of Magic still has any idle Aurors that haven't been reclaimed?"
"Incarcerous! (Swiftly Binding)"
In the next moment, two Aurors who had quietly appeared behind Karkaroff suddenly sprang into action, and thick ropes instantly bound Karkaroff, who was reaching for his magic wand, into a bundle.
"Very good, it seems the Ministry of Magic and (advertisement space for rent) haven't collaborated yet, so let's—"
Ron paused, "Now then, Headmaster Igor Karkaroff, oh, or should we now address you as? Follower of 'Voldemort'? Spy for 'The Dark Lord'? Or..." Ron's lips curved into a gentle, yet chilling arc, "Should we call you, despicable Helbo..."
"Buzz—!"
What?!
At that moment, the entire trial chamber exploded into chaos! The sound of discussions rose like a long-suppressed swarm of bees suddenly taking flight! Accusing a headmaster of being a Death Eater was shocking enough, but claiming he was a black wizard who had lived for two thousand years? This revelation was even more explosive than Fudge's chaotic orders from a moment ago!
It even sounded somewhat unbelievable—
"...currently the most loyal follower?"
"..."
Who taught you to speak with such suspenseful pauses?
Many who had already stood up silently sat back down with Ron's latter half of the sentence—until they were seated once more, they finally realized that, at some point, their backs had been thoroughly drenched in cold sweat.
Ron maliciously smiled—a simple and effective method to make others accept something outrageous is to try tearing off the roof before intending to open the window.
The roof removal tactic is straightforward and effective, especially with this group of "upright" wizards who are easily startled.
Didn't you see how many people's expressions have changed? They were originally pondering whether the Wizengamot Court of the British Magic Realm could trial a headmaster from Durmstrang, but at this moment, everyone's thoughts were—'Oh, he's just a follower? That's wonderful...' For some inexplicable reason, some even felt slightly disappointed.
Karkaroff's face turned from bright red to ashen white, and then to a liver-like purplish red. Although his mouth wasn't sealed, it simply wouldn't open at this moment—
"Quiet, please, all you esteemed gentlemen and ladies."
Ron's voice didn't raise at all, yet carried undeniable penetration, miraculously calming the surrounding commotion. He lifted his hand, with a slender magic wand pointing towards the massive Meditation Basin in the middle of the trial chamber—only then did everyone notice a huge Meditation Basin had appeared in the center of the venue, somehow unnoticed until now.
"I believe, the members of the Wizengamot, and the esteemed Headmaster Dumbledore."
He deliberately paused, his gaze once more meeting Dumbledore's briefly, the old man's brow slightly furrowed, "will not refuse to see with their own eyes how Mr. Karkaroff, for his selfish gains, collaborated with that venomous snake hiding beneath the Egyptian Desert for two thousand years, and his betrayal..."
Further, Ron flicked his wrist, casually pointing the wand tip, a weak deep blue light cast into the enormous Meditation Basin.
No complex spells, no complicated rituals.
But when that streak of blue light was incorporated into the Meditation Basin, a wisp of smoke-like silver-white matter—that was a memory, a fragment extracted from a terrified little wizard under Ron's secret protection—merged into the shimmering silver liquid within the basin.
"Everyone, you may put on your glasses—"
Ron's voice held a peculiar guidance, thus drawing the gazes of the wizards seated in the trial chamber, jury members, including Karkaroff, firmly towards it. Dumbledore also watched, a strange light passing over the crescent-shaped lenses as he fixed his intense gaze on the scene about to unfold in the basin.
Thus, silver light shimmered, rotated, and slowly stretched.
The following moment, a vivid scene unfolded within the basin—