Chapter 89: Can’t Handle The Truth.

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Ministry Of Magic - Courtroom

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

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Dumbledore sighed in his seat, disappointed. He had never thought he would feel any form of joy watching a former student of his be subjected to what was essentially torture. But he did some sort of joy. And worse, he was able to justify it.

His talk with his old friend had allowed him to understand that there was nothing he could do to change the course of the boy's life now. Not unless he had a spell to change his brain chemistry, removing all psychopathic tendencies and replacing them with empathy. While he had taken some time studying the Muggle advances in the field, his abilities in spell creation and Arithmancy, unfortunately, did not bear fruit.

The idea of using ancient magic to solve his problem had also crossed his mind, but even so, he came to the same conclusion. There was nothing he could do but let the Dragon Lord Seer do his work and rid the world of the monstrosity that was to destroy and enslave it.

The high, echoing chamber of the Wizengamot thrummed with unease as the last of the lords and ladies took their seats. Lit Candles floated above, leaking wax that seemed to seep in a manner that reminded Dumbledore of the tears of the accused himself. Yet the man in the chair was not the nightmare figure most remembered. Bound in heavy silver chains that glowed with runes, his head slumped beneath a black hood.

He looked small.

At the head of the chamber, Dumbledore remained in his seat as Chief Warlock, folding his hands over one another with a grave expression. Behind the half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes carried no triumph, only a weary sorrow as he thought of the many crossroads and choices which led to Tom Riddle choosing the path he did.

The heavy doors boomed shut just as Fudge walked in, tugging at the robes he wore over his suit. His voice carried the usual oily pomp of a man who thought he could bluff through anything. “What – what is the meaning of this spectacle?” he demanded, his eyes darting nervously to the chained figure. “Dragging prisoners in without due process, convening the Wizengamot on no notice. This is highly improper, I daresay even unlawful! I must insist this trial be postponed until – until we have more information! We wouldn’t want another situation like Lord Black now, would we?!”

Lord Black, who was sitting in his own family seat, barely raised an eyebrow, but merely shook his head at the bowler hat-wearing imbecile. Even his quippy nature took a back seat in the situation, knowing that those present in the room would be putting the waste of a Minister in his place. 

“Sit down, Cornelius.” Madam Bones snapped as she turned toward Fudge. “The Auror Office apprehended the individuals responsible for the Azkaban break-in. An emergency trial is not only lawful but required to prevent further escapes and other plans that may be in place. You’ll not shield them with procedural games.”

Fudge flushed crimson as he sputtered, looking desperately around the benches of the Wizengamot for support. But one by one, lords and ladies either avoided his gaze with grim faces or smirked at his failed attempt. None moved to aid or add to his chastisement, wanting to get the trial over with.

“By law, Cornelius,” Dumbledore’s voice firmly cut through the chamber. “Any act deemed terrorism may be elevated to emergency trial status with Veritaserum as per the precedents set during the last war. You know this as well as I do.”

Fudge’s mouth opened, then shut with an audible snap. His jaw clenched as he moved to his seat and sank heavily into the chair, grumbling under his breath. The only thought that gave him some solace was the fleeting, bitter knowledge that Dolores would have kept his hands clean enough of the situation and that no one would touch him.

The murmurs in the courtroom faded as Dumbledore rose to his full height, tapping his wand once against the stone lectern to activate the newly installed runes of the chamber, courtesy of House Grey. The runes on the walls shimmered to life, activating the protection Wards of the court and preventing harmful wand-based magic use. It would not do to have the accused killed before information can be obtained, after all.

“The court is now in session.” Dumbledore paused before continuing after seeing he had all the attendees’ attention. “We convene for the trial of Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort.” He gestured toward the prisoner’s chair, ignoring the flinching, confusion and stupor emanating from each Witch and Wizard present. “Remove the hood.”

Madam Bones flicked her wand, and the black hood dissolved into smoke, eliciting gasps that rippled across the chamber once they laid eyes on the pale-skinned man.

Where once had stood a terror made myth, the serpentine, crimson-eyed Dark Lord, now sat a broken man. Or rather, even more broken since his beating from Lord Grey. He somehow received several more bruises courtesy of blunt force trauma during transport from Azkaban to the courtroom. Unfortunately, Madam Bones had been too busy to investigate the causes of the bruise, nor did she care or get paid enough for that shit.

His face was even more pale and drawn, and his eyes were swollen and ringed with bruises. No doubt there were more bruises under his robes. Luckily, ‘someone’ healed his mouth just enough for him to speak.

With the removal of the hood, the cloak shielding most of his magical signature went with it, and Dumbledore could hear hardened Wizengamot lords who had fought in the war whisper in disbelief at the sight of the man. 

There was a long pause before the silence in the chamber shattered like glass, with the Lords and Ladies’ raised voices.

“That’s him?”

“Merlin save us, it’s true–”

“He looks – he looks like a common wretch!”

“This is a mockery! That thing cannot be the Dark Lord –”

“The Dark Lord is dead, Dumbledore! You cannot expect us to believe –”

The chamber buzzed with Witches and Wizards going back and forth with what they thought should be done, yelling over each other. Some demanded explanations, others wanted proof of identity, and a few muttered about how this trial itself was a dangerous precedent.

There were only a few who didn't overreact. Those being Lord Grey, who now sat in the newly added seat of House Grey with a large caged snake in hand, Lord Black, who had already concluded how things would end in his mind, and those who remembered the procedure and were simply waiting for the truth serum to be administered before solidifying their position.

Dumbledore lifted his hand, wandlessly amplifying his voice to carry across the room as some of the noise subsided. “You see before you Tom Marvolo Riddle. The man who named himself Lord Voldemort.” Once again, some flinched. “His crimes, at least those we know of, have been discussed in the very court years ago and are known to most of us sitting in this very chamber. Tonight, we confirm them, and hear his own words under Veritaserum.”

Madam Bones strode forward, flicking her wand to tighten the enchanted chains around the prisoner as she gestured toward an Auror carrying forth a small crystal vial. Voldemort’s head snapped up, even as he tried one last time to defy his fate by struggling. His attempt with wandless magic was easily subdued by the Chief Warlock, much to his charging.

Bones’ voice rang clear as she tilted the vial in the light. “As stated previously, by law, those tried under emergency measures will answer to Veritaserum. Three drops are sufficient. No more, no less.” 

She uncorked the vial with a sharp twist. Then, with clinical precision to prevent any attempts at considering it a mistrial, she tipped the potion past his lips, dropping exactly three drops. He gagged once again to try for an impossible escape, jerking his body against the chains, but there was no escape. The potion slid down his throat, and its magic settled into his veins as Madam Bones stepped back, turning to the Chief Warlock. “The prisoner is ready for questioning.”

Much like the Wards around the room, the potion had been improved significantly to work on even the best of Occlumens. Provided their will had been recently broken, which young Grey had successfully accomplished.

All eyes in the Wizengamot turned as one to Dumbledore, who stood over his seat with an expression bordering on impassive and grave as he looked around. “Then let us begin with the standard questions to ensure the potion’s effect.” He paused before turning to the accused. “State your true name and the name and title you are more commonly known.”

Voldemort twitched as the potion seized his tongue, forcing the words out. “Tom Marvolo Riddle.” He droned out on autopilot with a blank expression. “I am more commonly known as Lord Voldenort.”

Ignoring the newly emerging mutters and far few flinching than earlier at the mere mention of the name, Dumbledore nodded once and continued. “When were you born?”

“31 December 1926.”

“What is your mother and father's name?”

“Merope Gaunt and Thomas Riddle.”

Those words caused several frowns in the room as they made the connection as to how he was able to speak Parseltongue, along with some derisive sneers in regard to the House's decline into madness.

With a nod, Dumbledore turned to the attendees. “Let it be known on record that all the relevant questions and answers have been asked and received as per mandate.” His gaze settles on the Matriarch of House Bone. “Madam, you may begin your questioning as chief Auror.”

Rewarding the procedural words with a nod, Amelia didn’t hesitate to jump straight in. “Mr Riddle, do you claim responsibility for acts of murder, torture, and terrorism committed in Britain between 1970 and 1981 under the name Lord Voldemort, not under duress of any kind?”

Riddle’s lips twisted, but the Veritaserum did its work. “Yes.”

The chamber erupted, forcing Dumbledore to bang his gavel a few times and raise a hand to restore order. “The record shall show the accused admits his identity and responsibility. Madam Bones, proceed.”

She did just that with a triumphant smirk, knowing her next words would garner some outrage from some ‘pillars of society’. “Name those who served you, either by oath, choice, or action. And if you can’t name them, state where they work and where we are likely to find them.”

There were several jaws that clenched as they glanced toward their co-conspirators, hoping they had a way out of the mess they had just walked into.

The name easily spilt from the scarlet-eyed man’s lips. “Lord Lucius Malfoy. Lady Bellatrix Lestrange.” Narcissa Malfoy didn’t so much as flinch at the mention of their names. “Lord Tiberius Nott. Lord Gaspar Avery. Lord Wulfric Mulciber. Lord Thorfinn Rowle. Lord Walden Macnair. Lord Vincent Crabbe. Lord Gregory Goyle. Lord…”

The more the Dark Lord spoke, the more the ‘ex’ Death Eaters who weren’t invited to the attack on Azkaban became uneasy, until they couldn’t hold it any more. The chamber broke into chaos, with outrage thundering from the benches. Some lords leapt to their feet as they started shouting.

“Lies! He names our houses to disgrace us!”

“Many were forced! Under duress! They have already had their trials!”

“You cannot let this poison stain the innocent!”

Others shouted back, exhilarated by the exposure. “At last! At last, the truth is dragged into the light!”

“You heard him! Every word is bound by the court! You hear that?”

“Enough.” Dumbledore’s voice cut through the pointless yammering. The benches quieted, though mutters lingered as his eyes swept the chamber. “The court will hear all names. Whether taken by oath or by fear, these acts were committed. The record must reflect the truth, regardless of duress. Their guilt or innocence will be judged in their own trials, provided one is necessary. No action shall be taken tonight against those named.”

A part of him knew letting Voldemort speak was a death sentence to many of those he named. Grindelwald had been rather efficient in cleaning up most of the magical underworld after all, and his new master would never allow them to continue with their infestation. 

“Mr Riddle,” Amelia continued when the court had quietened. “Continue with those names for our records.”

“Doloris Umbridge, Lord Amycus Carrow…” The list went on, punctuated by clenching of jaws, mutters, and dark glares from the benches.

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The naming of Voldemort’s accomplices lasted a ridiculous amount of time. But luckily, the altered Veritaserum was of the highest quality. Some attendees even looked confused as to why he was even able to remember so many names, only to be somewhat satisfied when Madam Bones asked just that and was told he had a photographic memory, which was what allowed him to do so well.

Amelia made her way to her feet and casually walked around the platform of the accused, needing to stretch her legs after having to sit for so long just to hear a ‘few’ names. “Tell us, Riddle… why? What was your true purpose?”

For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then, slowly, the words spilt out and the truth was laid bare. “To bring order,” he hissed, not even fighting the Veritaserum and adding barely restrained venom to his tone. “Wizards… witches… are superior. Magic is the truth of power. Muggles stumble in filth, clawing at the world with their toys, their bombs, their science. But they are weak. Weakness breeds chaos. Only strength can rule. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it.”

A ripple of unease passed through the chamber as he continued to add more passion to his words. Something that was only possible with the drinker of the serum being willing to divulge the truth of their own free will. For he had long since stopped trying to force lies.

“The Statute of Secrecy shackles us. We bow to fools who cannot comprehend what we are or what we can truly do. I would have ended it. I would have raised wizards as kings above the cattle, to rule as destiny demanded.”

He leaned forward as much as the chains allowed, almost as if he was trying to recruit the court with the fervent edge in his voice. “Blood matters. Blood carries strength. Magic carries strength. Muggle filth pollutes magic. Half-bloods and Mudbloods dilute what should be divine. I sought to cleanse. To purify. To give magic its rightful heirs.” He smiles as much as his bruised face would allow. “And I would have rules well.”

“You would slaughter children, whole families, for a fantasy of blood purity?” Amelia asked incredulously. “Even though you yourself are a half-blood?”

Voldemort’s lips twisted into a smirk. “Yes. If the world is weak, you cut away its rot. Sacrifice makes strength. Fear makes obedience. Obedience makes order. And I would have been the new world order.”

Outrage rippled across the benches once more. Lords stood half out of chairs, shaking with fury as they voiced the fact that their dead relatives were due to Riddle's monstrous acts. A witch across the chamber let out a horrified sob. Others murmured furiously, fists slamming against armrests. But still, some sat stiffly silent, waiting for the inevitable sentencing to arrive.

Voldemort looked around at the outraged Lords and Ladies as if they were the ones in the wrong. “You call me a monster. But I would have saved you from your weakness. I would have given Magicals dominion eternal. I am the only one willing to do what must be done.”

The vile words echoed in the chamber as Riddle's eyes panned over to the snake being caressed by his new arch nemesis. While he couldn’t hear it due to an anti-eavesdropping ward, it looked like he was speaking to the serpent, and it looked like the serpent was listening, which only angered the child of House Gaunt.

The serum compelled him only to answer the question he was asked though, so he could only narrow his eyes. “I sought immortality to ensure their subjugation was permanent. Anchors. Pieces of self tethered against the weakness of mortality. Where others fade, I would endure.”

A ripple of unease ran through the benches at the mention of his method of surviving the night a decade ago at the Potter home in Godric's Hollow. Some leaned forward, straining to catch or truly understand every word.

“Anchors?” Amelia asked, pressing for more information for the record, knowing the man would be no more after the trial was over and done with. “Clarify, Riddle. What anchors?”

“Fragments of soul, all sealed into vessels.” Riddle clarified. “They ward against death.”

The chamber erupted in gasps and horrified exclamations. The desecration of the soul was considered the most vile act in the Wizarding world after all. Even Dark Lords of old understood that, regardless of whether they themselves partook in such acts.

“Tell us how many such anchors you made.” Amelia continued with a frown.

“Seven.” Riddle’s eyes darted to Lord Grey yet again. “I split myself into seven pieces.”

“Seven?! Even the Dark Lords I read about only ever did it once! But he did it seven times?!”

“An abomination!”

“Not even surprised any more. He’s a depraved bastard through and through –”

“What an absolute cunt! Probably all that cocaine he’s been smokin’ from some pureblood supremacist’s arse!” An Auror yelled near the door where he was standing guard, only for those standing with him to turn to him slowly with confused expressions. When they saw it was the same man who had the rather odd insult during the battle at Azkaban, they just slowly shook their heads in exasperation before turning back to the proceedings.

Amelia’s jaw was tight, but her voice was as steady as steel. “You mutilated your own soul seven times. And you call it strength.”

Voldemort sneered, granting her statement, which the serum seemed to consider a question, with conviction. “It is strength. The greatest strength that matters. To command life and to deny death.” 

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“You can’t handle the truth!”

— Col. Jessep.

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Hello There

The trial of Tom Marvolo Riddle is done, and with it, his reign of terror. Soon to be permanently.

My experience with a courtroom amounts to a total of a few episodes of Suits. So I think I’m going to skip the real court bits and just start with the sentence in the next chapter.

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Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing except my original character and ideas. All credit goes to their respective owners.

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Thank you for reading.

As always, stay awesome.

Until next time, Light's out.