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Chapter 197: Let the Victims Be Judged
As Darren pondered, the time for the trial gradually arrived.
What had been empty seats was now filled with people. Darren estimated at least fifty attendees.
All were dressed in fuchsia colored robes, with a delicate silver "W" embroidered on the left chest. In the middle of the front row sat Cornelius Fudge.
Beside him was a chubby witch with a wide chin. Darren suspected she was the later-infamous "Pink Toad," though she wasn't wearing pink now, making it hard to be certain.
"Very well, everyone is present. Let's begin," Fudge said with a smile—only to be interrupted.
Dumbledore entered from outside, accompanied by six students.
"I see we still have six protagonists missing. How can we interrogate only Darren? That doesn't make sense!" he said firmly.
"But they've already been interrogated, Mr. Dumbledore. Surely you haven't forgotten?" the witch beside Fudge interjected in a sticky voice full of contempt.
Darren's suspicion that she was the "Pink Toad" grew stronger.
Dumbledore ignored her, shaking his head solemnly. "Since you wish to conduct the interrogation, we shall do so together.
Many are interrogating a single victim—perhaps the first time in the history of the Ministry of Magic."
His words carried a subtle irony, prompting several chuckles.
Fudge's expression darkened, though he forced a laugh. "Very well. Sit down. If Dumbledore believes multiple interrogations are necessary, then let us begin."
"No, no, no!" Dumbledore interrupted.
"Dumbledore, are you deliberately opposing me?" Fudge asked, feigning offense.
"I'm not opposing you. I am also a member of Wizengamot. Have you forgotten? But… why is there no seat for me?" Dumbledore said, a puzzled expression on his face.
Sweat appeared on Fudge's brow. He opened his mouth, but Dumbledore waved a hand and conjured a velvet chair next to Darren—a chair that looked far more comfortable than the one Darren was using.
Darren cast a glance at the chair, envious. Dumbledore misread his expression, thinking the boy was intimidated. He placed a hand gently on Darren's head.
"No one can intimidate you," Dumbledore said, his voice imbued with power.
Darren felt a strange mix of security and unease.
If Harry were here, he would feel safer and happier, but for now, as the young "Holy Father," he could only sit obediently, forcing a smile that was more self-abandonment than comfort.
Dumbledore shivered slightly at the sight.
He recalled Arthur Weasley's anxious expression earlier, when he had sought Darren.
In his hurry, he had barely listened. But now he understood: Darren was a true victim. As long as he controlled himself, didn't harm others, and endured, the process would continue.
Fudge, at best, sought only to irritate him, and the case lacked suspense. Yet he hadn't considered Darren's fragile psyche.
This child had always been kind. Facing so many dead students, it was natural for him to blame himself.
Dumbledore remembered the Slytherin student's account of Darren kneeling before the Death Eaters to save others.
His heart ached. Darren must have been deeply tormented at that time.
Still, the boy faced death calmly—a testament to his strength and character. Many would falter; Darren's kindness set him apart.
But this was no ordinary trial—it was Fudge's mess, an injustice Dumbledore could not ignore. He frowned, pondering the cruelty of the situation.
Fudge, meanwhile, did not know what Dumbledore was thinking. Seeing the frown, he assumed Dumbledore was angry at him.
He tried to maintain his dignity, but hearing whispers about Dumbledore's expression only made him more irritable.
Still, it was too late to back down; this was a trial. No evidence suggested harassment of Dumbledore, and he gradually regained composure.
Producing a piece of paper from a pile, Fudge said, "Interrogation—yes. We need to know what happened at that time. Darren will tell you first."
His voice was laced with ill will, though a trace of sympathy lingered. ("Kind boy… let's see how you challenge Dumbledore.")
"No, I object!" Fudge's words were quickly countered by Dumbledore.
"Dumbledore, you…" Fudge started, but Dumbledore's calm interruption stopped him.
"Since this is an interrogation, perhaps we can proceed… with honesty," Dumbledore said, reclining in his chair. Darren looked at him with confusion, but no irritation—only concern.
It wasn't concern for Dumbledore himself, but for the students.
Dumbledore's mind raced with darker possibilities: had the students done anything beyond cooperating with the Death Eaters?
Human nature could reveal itself in even the smallest actions, and Dumbledore knew this group's true colors might emerge today.
The system was quietly recording everything. Darren could use it later to create memory orbs, forged with subtle manipulations, to expose those truly responsible.
Today, the victims themselves—his classmates—would be judged, and justice would be served.
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