2 August 1995.
The harsh sound of metal grinding against metal tore Harry from whatever fragment of sleep he'd managed to cling to.
He jerked upright.
Or tried to.
The clank of thick, iron-bound chains snapped taut against his wrists. These ones were anchored above his head, while his ankles were shackled to opposite ends of the crude, rectangular slab he was forced to call a bed.
Since his capture by the Auror, Harry has been kept inside this cell in the Ministry of Magic.
Occasionally, some Wizard would come and look at Harry through the viewing hatch on the metal door. Nothing more. Just... stare. No questions. No accusations. Just watching.
Among them, Harry did recognize a few through their voices. The Ministry of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, and a few Aurors who had captured him the other day.
The heavy door groaned open, revealing a gaunt-faced wizard in dark robes. The man's eyes bore into Harry's, void of any warmth or empathy. In his hands, the wizard clutched an iron key, ominous in its simplicity.
"Get up, Potter. Your trial is beginning."
Without waiting for Harry to process the information, the wizard approached and unlocked the chains binding him to the bed.
The metallic clink echoed through the cell as Harry's limbs were freed. Only his hands were now chained to one another.
The wizard, showing no concern for Harry's well-being, gripped his arm firmly and propelled him toward the open door. The corridor beyond was narrow and dimly lit, with cold, stone walls closing in on either side. The wizard guiding him showed no intention of engaging in conversation.
Finally, they reached the end of the corridor where an ominous iron cage stood. The wizard produced another iron key, unlocking the cage door with a creaking sound.
"Get in, Potter," the wizard ordered, his tone leaving no room for defiance.
Harry hesitated for a moment. He looked at the cage.
It was filled with iron spikes from all directions. Once inside, his ability to move would be completely voided.
Nevertheless, with a resigned determination, he stepped inside the cage, mindful of the pointy edge. The wizard closed the door, locking it.
"Make any foolish attempt to escape or use magic, and you'll find yourself with these lovely iron spikes." For the first time, the wizard showed some emotion. He glared at Harry with disdain and gave him a last menacing look before leaving him.
The space within the cage was claustrophobic, the iron spikes protruding from all sides, leaving Harry little room to maneuver.
As the minutes ticked by, Harry remembered the talk he had previously had with Voldemort.
One of the outcomes Voldemort had told Harry was that he would get captured by the Aurors. Voldemort even told him that the Ministry of Magic would surely hold a trial and judge him.
One of the promises that Voldemort made to him was that Voldemort would have someone help him in his trial.
After a few minutes, the cage began to rise, the sound of creaking iron filling the air.
Harry steadied himself, his senses on high alert.
The cramped space and the threat of the iron spikes made the ascent unnerving.
He glanced up, trying to discern any clues about their destination, but the darkness above offered no answers.
The cage moved backward and then up, the only sound being the ominous groaning of metal. The cold, black walls of the Ministry of Magic cell disappeared from view, replaced by an abyss of darkness. After what felt like an eternity, a dim light emerged from above, gradually illuminating the surroundings. Harry squinted, adjusting his eyes to the sudden change in brightness.
The cage was passing through an opening in the ceiling, and as it emerged into the light, Harry realized he was in a vast, circular chamber.
The large chamber he had entered was horribly familiar. He had not only seen it before, but he had been here before. This was the place he had visited inside Dumbledore's Pensieve, the place where he had watched Igor Karkaroff naming the Death Eaters that worked under Voldemort.
The walls were made of dark stone, lit by torches.
Rows of witches and wizards filled the chamber, their faces a mix of curiosity, disdain, and judgment. There were around two hundred of them.
Among them, Harry spotted familiar figures. Members of the Ministry, reporters from the Daily Prophet, and even a few faces he recognized from the wizarding world. But the one that Harry continued to look at was Albus Dumbledore. He was sitting there in the first row, looking directly at him. Harry met Dumbledore's eyes and stared for a few seconds before looking away.
Fifty of the wizards, all, as far as Harry could see, were wearing plum-colored robes with an elaborately worked silver W on the left-hand side of the chest, and all staring down their noses at him.
In the very middle of the front row sat Cornelius Fudge.
"Criminal hearing of the second of August," said Fudge in a ringing voice, and Percy Weasley began taking notes at once, "into offenses committed under The International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy and the Illegal Use of Magic.
The accuser, Harry James Potter, fifteen years old.
Interrogators:
Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic;
Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement;
Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister.
Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley."
Cornelius took a piece of parchment from the pile before him, took a deep breath, and read, "The charges against the accused are as follows: the use of Unforgivable Curse and the murder of Muggles Petunia Dursley and Vernon Dursley and the torture of Dudley Dursley."