Chapter 259. Wizengamot
Two days later.
The Ministry of Magic.
The Wizengamot trial was held as scheduled, and Adrian Wesson was invited to attend as an observer.
After all, strictly speaking, he was the one who had found and captured both Black and Pettigrew; he needed to provide some information at the judgment.
The courtroom was dimly lit. Pettigrew sat shivering in a chair swathed in chains at the very centre. Black stood not far in front of him, staring with a vicious look—the effects of Veritaserum had only just worn off.
All around were tiered seats for the jury.
The jury was composed of more than fifty members of the Wizengamot, all wearing plum-coloured robes with a silver "W" embroidered over the left breast.
Albus Dumbledore was currently the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot.
"Based on the confession under Veritaserum, the testimony of Sirius Black, and certain true particulars provided by Adrian Wesson,"
Dumbledore announced, "Peter Pettigrew has indeed committed unforgivable crimes—turning to the Dark Lord, which led to the murder of the Potters; framing the innocent, causing Sirius Black to suffer twelve years of wrongful imprisonment; blowing up a street and killing twelve Muggles."
Bound by iron chains in the chair, Pettigrew listened to Dumbledore's judgment, his face as white as a sheet.
He knew that once these charges were established, nothing awaited him but a cruel punishment—perhaps even the loss of his life.
Wesson stood to one side and shook his head slightly.
He wasn't dissatisfied with the judgment on Pettigrew; he was dissatisfied with the Ministry of Magic. When the jury spoke moments ago, the Ministry hadn't mentioned its own failures at all.
Of course, that was entirely normal for the Ministry.
"In view of the gravity of Peter Pettigrew's crimes," Dumbledore's voice echoed in the courtroom, "I propose the maximum penalty—the Dementor's Kiss."
The courtroom fell deathly silent at once; even breathing could be heard clearly.
Pettigrew jerked his head up, terror filling his eyes.
The Dementor's Kiss was scarcely different from a death sentence—a government-sanctioned extreme punishment carried out by Dementors.
The Dementor's Kiss would suck out the prisoner's soul.
All who had suffered the Dementor's Kiss in the past, without exception, had become "living corpses," retaining only vital signs,
stripped of all consciousness, memory, and personality.
In such a state, one would almost be better off dead.
"Peter Pettigrew," Dumbledore's voice sounded again, "by regulation, you have the right to make a final statement."
Every gaze in the courtroom focused on the short, fat, balding man.
Pettigrew's lips quivered non-stop. His eyes skittered in panic over the jurors' benches, his mind nearly unable to function.
"I…I…" his frail voice sounded, "I was so frightened then…the Dark Lord threatened to kill my whole family…I had no choice…"
Sirius Black clenched his fists suddenly, his knuckles whitening.
"Please…" Pettigrew blubbered, snot and tears running down his face, "give me a chance to mend my ways, I'm willing to spend the rest of my life atoning…"
In that moment, the weakness in Pettigrew's bones was laid bare.
Cold laughter sounded in the courtroom; even Fudge frowned in disgust, and Bones's eyes were like ice.
A truly failed self-defence.
Such words would win him no hope at all.
Next, the Wizengamot members began to vote by raising hands.
As expected, almost all the members raised their hands, with only a few abstentions.
Dumbledore immediately announced, "The judgment is passed."
Pettigrew went limp in the chair, eyes vacant, as if the Dementors had already drained his soul.
After the judgment ended, Pettigrew was led away, and the rest of the people gradually began to leave.
To be honest, it was a very hasty judgment—only a few days had been spent on preparations.
Wesson was in good spirits—Sirius's case had been resolved ahead of time, and his life would return to peace.
He wasn't someone who liked adventure and excitement; he'd had enough of those things in days gone by. Now, he preferred a quiet life.
Teaching children at Hogwarts, and in his spare time tending plants—that was his favourite way to live at present.
Besides, Voldemort's later resurrection had much to do with Pettigrew.
Now that Pettigrew had been arrested early, although he wasn't sure it could stop Voldemort's return, it would at least delay it somewhat.
Just then, a familiar voice reached Wesson's ears.
"Professor Wesson."
Fudge approached with a short, fat witch at his side.
By now they had taken off the plum-coloured robes that marked members of the Wizengamot jury.
The witch wore a pink wool suit; a lace headband was tied over her fluffy curls, and a syrupy smile hung on her face.
From these alone, Wesson all but immediately confirmed her identity.
Dolores Umbridge—she should be the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister at the Ministry of Magic now.
Wesson muttered inwardly, but outwardly kept a polite smile. "Minister, Madam Umbridge."
"I've heard, Mr Wesson," Umbridge drawled, "thanks to your help, this matter was resolved at last—why, that cunning criminal deceived everyone."
"I only did my duty," Wesson replied evenly.
"Oh, Professor Wesson, you are far too modest," Fudge said lightly.
Although the result wasn't quite what he had expected, Black's affair had, to some extent, come to a close.
"When will Pettigrew's sentence be carried out?" Wesson asked.
"It isn't a death sentence… It will be in two weeks," Fudge said in a low voice. "It's an appropriate time frame. Although the matter is settled, the Ministry will still investigate certain things—due rigour is necessary."
"Rigour," Wesson murmured under his breath.
"You're not worried he'll escape, are you?" Fudge gave a soothing smile. "He'll be confined in Azkaban's most secure cell. Azkaban has strengthened its defences, and the Dementors have received special orders. We'll monitor his movements twenty-four hours a day."
Wesson said nothing. Perhaps because Black had only just escaped Azkaban, he had the impression Fudge's confidence was a little thin.
After all, if Pettigrew were to escape as well, both the Ministry and Azkaban would lose all face.
After Fudge and Umbridge left, people kept passing by Wesson; they all nodded to him, and a few tried to strike up conversation.
Seeing this, Wesson slipped away at once.
As Dumbledore had temporarily opened the Headmaster's Office Floo privileges, Wesson borrowed the Ministry's fireplace and, with a flash of green flame, returned to Hogwarts.
He had barely stepped out of the fireplace when the scene before him made him start.
The Headmaster's office was packed with people. With a quick sweep of his eyes, he realised that almost all the professors in the school had gathered here.
Clearly, they were all waiting for the result of the judgment.
Truly, no matter the era, people do love a bit of gossip.
"Wesson!"
Lupin strode over at once, asking urgently, "Is the trial over? How are Sirius and Pettigrew?"
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