Wizengamot
As summer slipped through their fingers like sand, Matthew found solace in the letters he exchanged with Ron and Hermione. He poured his heart into each message, detailing the shocking revelations he had learned about James Potter—how the man had stolen him from his father, Remus, after the death of his own son in the hospital. With each word, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders, the truth empowering him. But alongside this newfound strength came a resolute declaration: he no longer wanted to be called Harry. The name that had once signified hope and destiny now felt tainted, forever linked to the man who had inadvertently brought ruin to his life.
When the responses from his friends arrived, they were filled with a mix of fury and heartbreak. Ron’s letters were often punctuated with angry scribbles, filled with exclamations of disbelief.
“What kind of a monster would do that?” he had written, his outrage palpable through the ink. “We’ll call you Matthew, mate. No one gets to decide your name but you.”
Hermione’s letters were laced with sympathy, each word carefully chosen to convey her understanding. “It’s always you, isn’t it?” she wrote gently. “I can’t believe you have to deal with this on top of everything else. But I promise, we’re here for you. You’re Matthew now, and that’s how it will always be.”
Meanwhile Matthew prepared for the trial that loomed ahead. He and Remus met with lawyers at Gringotts several times. Each session was a mix of tense discussions and strategizing, and Remus’s steady presence gave Matthew the strength he needed.
Matthew’s birthday came in a whirlwind of excitement and warmth. The Weasleys, along with Hermione and her family, gathered at the cozy cottage to celebrate. Laughter filled the air, and the scent of freshly baked treats wafted from the kitchen. For the first time in a long while, Matthew felt the joy of being surrounded by friends and family, the darkness of the past momentarily forgotten. They played games, shared stories, and savored every moment, creating new memories that shimmered brightly against the backdrop of old wounds. But the day couldn’t last forever.
The day of the trial dawned bright yet somber, the sun casting long shadows over the cottage as Matthew and Remus prepared. Both dressed in their best robes—Matthew in deep blue that complemented his eyes, and Remus in a tailored charcoal gray—each step they took felt heavier with the weight of the day ahead.
“Are you ready, Matthew?” Remus asked, smoothing down his own robes as he studied Matthew’s face for any hint of uncertainty.
Remus smiled encouragingly, but his eyes held a hint of anxiety. “I’ll floo to the Ministry first. You wait a moment, and then follow me.”
“Okay Dad,” Matthew replied, his voice steady despite the butterflies in his stomach.
With a final nod, Remus stepped into the fireplace, the flames engulfing him in a swirl of green. Matthew watched as his father disappeared, a bittersweet feeling settling in his chest. After a moment of silence, he stepped into the fireplace, inhaled deeply, gathering his courage before throwing down the floo powder shouting, “Ministry of Magic!”
As the flames danced around him, Matthew felt a rush of exhilaration and fear, the world blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors. As Matthew tumbled out of the fireplace, he found himself in Remus’s waiting arms. His father instinctively steadied him, hands firm yet gentle on his shoulders.
“Careful there, Matthew,” Remus said, a hint of relief in his voice. “I’ve got you.”
Matthew blinked, the vibrant surroundings of the Ministry coming into focus. The towering marble columns and the hustle of witches and wizards moving about felt overwhelming for a moment, but the warmth of his father’s presence anchored him.
As Matthew steadied himself, he felt Remus’s hands moving to brush the soot out of his hair and off his robes. “You’ve got a bit of ash here,” Remus murmured, his tone tinged with nervous energy. “And a smudge on your collar—just a moment.”
Matthew chuckled lightly at his father’s instinctive fussing. It was almost comforting, despite the circumstances. “Dad, it’s just a little soot,” he said, half-amused.
“I know, I know,” Remus replied, his voice quickening as he smoothed down Matthew's collar. “But you want to look your best for today. I mean, everything will be okay, Mattie.”
Matthew’s heart skipped at the unexpected nickname, a warm rush of affection flooding through him. He didn’t want to ruin the moment by pointing it out, so he simply smiled, allowing himself to enjoy the small comfort it brought.
“We’ve prepared as best as we can,” Remus continued, oblivious to Matthew's reaction. “And I’ll be right there with you. It’s just a formality, really. They know what happened, and they—” He trailed off, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “I’m here for you, okay?”
Matthew could hear the tremor in his father’s voice, the underlying current of anxiety that Remus was trying to mask. It made his own nervousness seem lighter in comparison. “I know, Dad,” he said softly, reaching out to give Remus’s hand a reassuring squeeze.
Matthew and Remus made their way to the elevator, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the bustling atrium. As they stepped inside, Remus pressed the button for the fourth floor, the doors sliding shut with a soft thud.
Inside the cramped space, the tension was deafening. Matthew glanced up at his father, who was watching the numbers light up above them, his jaw set in concentration. The elevator jolted slightly as it began its ascent, causing Matthew to instinctively lean a bit closer to Remus, seeking solace in his father’s presence.
As they reached the fourth floor, the elevator doors opened with a soft chime, revealing a long dark corridor filled with closed doors. Matthew took a deep breath, stepping out into the hallway. He felt a mixture of fear and determination coursing through him.
At the end of the hall, he spotted the lawyer they had met with several times, her bright red hair contrasting against the muted tones of the corridor. Remus glanced down at Matthew, his expression softening.
“Ready?” he asked quietly.
Matthew nodded, swallowing hard, and together they made their way toward the lawyer. As they approached, she turned to face them, her professional demeanor a comfort amidst the uncertainty.
“Good morning, Remus! Matthew!” she greeted them with a warm smile. “How are you both feeling today?”
Matthew opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. Remus stepped in smoothly, his voice steady. “We’re doing as well as can be expected, thank you. Just a bit nervous.”
The lawyer nodded, her expression turning serious as she observed Matthew. “That’s completely understandable. It’s a significant day for both of you. Remember, you’ve prepared well for this, and you have each other’s support. Just focus on telling the truth; that’s what matters most.”
Matthew appreciated her reassurance, but it didn’t quell the unease bubbling within him. He managed a small smile, grateful for the support from both his father and the lawyer. “Thank you,” he said, his voice a touch shaky.
The lawyer offered a reassuring smile, her gaze shifting between Remus and Matthew. “I’ll be taking you into the Wizengamot courtroom now. You and the other witnesses will be seated off to the side until you’re called to the center. Just remember what we discussed.”
With that, she gestured for them to follow her down the corridor. Matthew’s heart raced as they walked, each step echoing in his mind, amplifying the anticipation and fear swirling within him.
As they approached the large, imposing doors of the courtroom, Matthew felt his stomach clench. The lawyer pushed the doors open, and the sight that greeted him took his breath away.
The courtroom was vast, the high ceilings adorned with intricate carvings that depicted scenes from magical history. Flickering candles floated above, casting a warm glow over the polished wooden benches that lined the walls. At the far end of the room, the raised dais housed the Wizengamot members, their robes a sea of dark colors, each one an emblem of power and authority.
Matthew’s gaze darted around the room, taking in the details: the heavy stone walls, the ornate tapestries that told stories of old, and the long table where the prosecuting team sat, whispering among themselves. As more members began to file in, taking their seats and exchanging hushed words, the atmosphere became charged with tension.
Suddenly, a wave of nausea washed over him. The realization of what was about to happen—standing before all those people and recounting the painful truths of his life—made his palms sweat. His breath quickened, and he instinctively moved closer to Remus, seeking the comfort of his father’s presence.
The lawyer led Remus and Matthew toward a bench positioned off to the side of the courtroom. The moment they settled onto the polished wood, Matthew felt a wave of uncertainty wash over him, as if the bench itself could sense his anxiety.
Around them, the room began to fill with more people. Witnesses were being ushered in, some familiar faces and others strangers. Matthew recognized a few of the Aurors who had been working on the case, their expressions a mix of seriousness and determination. They nodded at him in acknowledgment, and he managed a weak smile in return.
As the seconds stretched into what felt like minutes, the tension in the room became palpable. Matthew sat rigidly beside Remus, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his robe. He glanced up at his father, who seemed to be scanning the room, his brow furrowed in concentration. The older man’s presence was a comfort, a steady anchor in the swirling sea of emotions that threatened to engulf him.
Matthew’s gaze drifted to the Wizengamot members, their faces now a blur of authority. Some were whispering to one another, while others perused documents in front of them. A few glanced toward him and Remus, their expressions inscrutable. Each gaze felt like a weight pressing down on him, adding to the knot of anxiety tightening in his stomach.
“Mattie,” Remus whispered, breaking the silence that hung heavily between them. “Just breathe.”
Matthew nodded, drawing in a deep breath as he focused on his father’s reassuring presence. He could feel Remus’s hand resting lightly on his back, a gentle reminder that he was not alone. As they waited, the murmur of conversations filled the air, interspersed with the occasional clatter of papers and the rustle of robes.
After a while, the lawyer returned, her expression serious but not unkind. “We will be starting shortly,” she said softly. “Just remember to take your time, and if you need a moment, that’s perfectly alright. You’re doing great.”
Time seemed to stretch indefinitely as they waited. Matthew’s heart raced with each passing second, a relentless drumbeat of nerves. He could hear the sound of his pulse in his ears, a reminder of what lay ahead. He stole another glance at Remus, who was now watching him closely.
The atmosphere in the room shifted as a tall man at the center of the Wizengamot table raised a gavel, its sound echoing sharply throughout the chamber.
“Order! Order!” he called, his voice authoritative. “I am Cornelius Fudge, current Minister of Magic, and I will preside over these proceedings today.”
Matthew’s breath caught in his throat as he watched Fudge motion for the scribe to begin writing. The man’s presence was both intimidating and oddly reassuring; it signaled that they were officially beginning.
“Today’s case is number 4721, also known as the Matthew Lupin case,” Fudge continued, his tone serious. “I understand that several members of this esteemed Wizengamot have been following the developments closely, but for the records, I will grant the floor to Ms. Claire Winters, representing the interests of the Lupin family.”
The lawyer, who had been waiting off to the side, stood and approached the front of the courtroom. Matthew felt a surge of anxiety mixed with determination as he watched her. She straightened her robes, her demeanor professional yet compassionate.
“Thank you, Minister Fudge,” she began, addressing the assembly of Wizengamot members with a calm yet firm voice. “As mentioned, this is case number 4721, the Matthew Lupin case. I understand that many of you are familiar with the context, but I will provide a brief summary for the records.”
Matthew’s heart pounded as he focused on her words.
“Matthew Remus Lupin, son of Remus John Lupin and the deceased Sophie Marie née Anderson, was declared dead on July 31, 1980. However, recent evidence has come to light that renders that statement impossible. The specifics of this evidence will be discussed later in the trial.”
“The investigation into the circumstances surrounding Matthew Lupin’s supposed death was conducted thoroughly,” Claire continued. “It concluded that Matthew Remus Lupin was stolen from Remus John Lupin by James Potter after Harry Potter died in the hospital. We have confirmed that James Potter placed a glamour on Matthew to make him appear as Harry, and he glamoured Harry to appear as Matthew, effectively swapping the babies so that he could keep the living child.”
A collective gasp rippled through the chamber. Matthew could feel the weight of the room’s shock enveloping him like a heavy cloak.
“This court proceeding will be the presentation of the investigation materials,” Claire continued, her voice steady despite the murmurs that had erupted, “as well as providing what punishment we are able to to the deceesed James Potter as per wizarding law.”
Matthew’s heart raced as he took in the stunned faces of the Wizengamot members. The gravity of Claire’s words hung in the air.
“Your attention to this matter is crucial,” she added, her tone resolute. “The truth must be acknowledged, and justice must be served.”
Claire stepped forward once more, her voice clear and commanding. "Members of the Wizengamot, beneath your chairs, you will find a file containing a paper copy of the case. I encourage you to refer to it as we proceed with the presentation of evidence."
There was a shuffle of movement as the members reached under their seats, pulling out thick files, the tension still palpable in the air. Matthew watched, feeling the weight of the moment intensify. This was happening—his father was about to speak for the first time in this trial. The truth was about to be revealed.
Claire took a deep breath and turned her attention toward Remus, who sat beside Matthew. "I would like to call Remus John Lupin as my first witness."
Remus stiffened slightly beside him before rising from his seat.
Matthew watched his father’s back as Remus crossed the floor to the chair in the center of the room. The sound of Remus’s shoes against the stone floor echoed in the large chamber as he took his seat, facing the sea of Wizengamot members now leafing through their case files.
“Please state your name for the court,” Claire said, her voice echoing softly in the vast room.
Remus cleared his throat, his voice low and steady. "My name is Remus John Lupin."
Claire nodded, stepping closer to him. "Mr. Lupin, before we proceed, I will need you to swear upon your magic that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth during this trial."
Remus swallowed, and Matthew could see the tension in his father’s shoulders as he raised his hand, palm outstretched. Claire stepped back slightly, watching as Remus spoke the binding words.
"I swear upon my magic to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."
As the final word left Remus's lips, a shimmer of golden light surrounded his raised hand, a visible sign that the oath had taken hold, binding him to honesty. A hushed murmur passed through the Wizengamot members, some nodding in acknowledgment. The magic shimmered briefly, then faded, but the weight of its presence remained heavy in the air.
Claire took a step back and turned to face the Wizengamot. "The witness is sworn in. We will now proceed with the questioning."
And so, the trial truly began.
Claire tuned to Remus before asking, “Can you tell the court how you came to believe your son had passed? What happened, before during, and after?”
Remus took a deep breath, visibly steadying himself before speaking. His voice, though calm, trembled with the weight of the memories he was about to share.
"It was the evening of July 31st, 1980," he began, his eyes briefly meeting Matthew's before returning to Claire. "I received a Patronus from James Potter earlier that day. He told me Lily had gone into labor."
He paused, swallowing hard as the memories rushed back. "I wanted to be there for my friends, to celebrate the birth of their son. But Matthew… Matthew was fussing that day. He was just two weeks old and going through a phase where he refused to be put down. I didn’t want to leave him with anyone else. I wanted to be with him. He was my world."
Remus's hands gripped the arms of the chair as he spoke, his voice soft but laced with emotion. "I spent hours pacing around the living room and the kitchen, rocking him back and forth, waiting for him to fall asleep. He eventually did, and I remember feeling so relieved. I put him down in his cot, and I went to bed right after."
His breath hitched slightly as he continued, his gaze now fixed on some distant point in the past. "I woke up in the middle of the night. It was around five in the morning. I remember because Matthew usually woke me every hour or two with his cries, hungry and needing comfort. But that night… he hadn’t woken me up."
The room seemed to grow quieter, the Wizengamot members listening intently to each word. Remus's eyes grew glassy, his voice wavering with the rawness of his next words.
"I knew something was wrong," he said quietly. "I rushed to his room. And when I got there…"
He faltered, his voice breaking slightly. Matthew’s heart clenched in his chest as he watched his father struggle to continue.
"He wasn’t breathing," Remus finally managed, his voice choked with emotion. "I tried everything—everything I knew. I Apparated straight to St. Mungo's with him in my arms, praying, hoping they could help him."
The silence in the courtroom was deafening. Matthew could feel his own throat tightening as he watched his father tear up, the pain of that night still raw after all these years.
Remus wiped at his eyes, composing himself just enough to go on. "The Healers… they tried. But it was too late. They told me he was gone. They said it must have been sudden. A quiet passing in the night."
His voice cracked again, and he paused to take a shaky breath. "I arranged for a funeral. I buried my son next to his mother, Sophie who passed away during childbirth.”
A murmur rippled through the Wizengamot members, their eyes sympathetic. Matthew felt a pang of guilt, knowing that the events his father recounted had all been based on a lie, a stolen truth manipulated by James Potter.
Remus’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. "I lived every day believing my son was dead."
Remus took a deep breath, gathering himself after recounting the most painful chapter of his life. Claire stood patiently, waiting for him to continue. She offered him a nod of encouragement before asking her next question.
"Mr. Lupin," she began, her tone soft but clear, "can you tell the court how you came to believe that your son, Matthew Lupin, was not, in fact, dead?"
Remus blinked, the shift in the questioning pulling him back to the present. He swallowed hard before responding. "It all started when I took a position at Hogwarts last year as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
His voice was steadier now, but a lingering sadness still clung to his words. "During the school year, I encountered Harry Potter wandering around the castle after dark, something students are obviously not allowed to do. But what concerned me more was the magical artifact he had in his possession. It was… a map, one that I recognized immediately because I helped create it."
The Wizengamot members exchanged curious glances, intrigued by this new development.
"This map," Remus continued, "was enchanted to show the location and name of every person within Hogwarts. It was something my friends and I made during our time as students, a way to navigate the castle without being detected."
Claire nodded, prompting him to go on.
"I brought Harry to my office that night to have a conversation with him," Remus explained. "I scolded him for wandering around after hours and confiscated the map. But before I could dismiss him, Harry made a comment that stopped me in my tracks."
Remus glanced around the room, his expression tense as he recalled that moment. "He said he thought the map was broken."
"Broken?" Claire echoed for the court's benefit, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes," Remus confirmed. "I knew it wasn’t, of course. I had made the map myself, and I knew the spells used to create it. But I humored Harry and asked him what he meant."
Remus paused, his voice lowering slightly. "He told me that his name—Harry Potter—didn't appear on the map. Instead, the name Matthew Lupin showed up in its place."
The murmurs that rippled through the court were louder now, the revelation causing a stir among the Wizengamot members.
"I was shocked," Remus admitted, his voice thick with emotion. "I insisted on seeing it with my own eyes. When I did… there it was. Matthew Lupin, written clearly on the map, walking the halls of Hogwarts."
The court was silent, the weight of Remus's discovery settling heavily over them.
"After that, things moved quickly," Remus continued, his eyes darkening as he remembered the whirlwind of events. "Harry wanted to go to Gringotts to get a blood ancestry test. He didn’t understand what was happening, but I accompanied him. When the results came back…"
Remus hesitated, his voice catching. "It confirmed everything. Harry Potter wasn’t Harry at all. He was my son, Matthew Lupin."
Gasps erupted from the gathered witches and wizards, shock and disbelief palpable in the room.
Claire offered Remus a small, reassuring smile. “Thank you, Mr. Lupin, for your time and your honesty,” she said, her voice soft but clear. “I have no further questions for you at this moment.”
Remus nodded, relief visibly washing over him as he slowly rose from the chair. His hands trembled slightly, but he managed to keep his composure. He glanced toward Matthew, and their eyes met for a brief moment. Matthew could see the raw emotion lingering in his father’s gaze, but also a glimmer of relief, as if sharing the truth had lifted a weight from his shoulders.
“Please return to your seat,” Claire instructed gently.
Remus made his way back toward Matthew, his steps a little unsteady. When he reached the bench where Matthew sat, he lowered himself beside his son, exhaling softly. Matthew immediately reached over, giving his father’s hand a small, reassuring squeeze. Remus returned the gesture, offering a tight, grateful smile before leaning back, his gaze fixed on the proceedings.
Claire turned back to the Wizengamot, her expression serious once more. “At this time, I would like to call another witness to the stand,” she announced, her voice strong and unwavering, the room now completely still, hanging on her every word.
Claire turned her attention to the gathered crowd once more. "At this time, I would like to call Healer Plath to the stand."
A familliar witch with sharp features and a composed demeanor rose from her seat. She walked with confidence, her dark green healer's robes billowing slightly as she made her way to the center of the courtroom. There was a quiet authority about her, and even though Matthew hadn’t seen her since the day at Gringotts, he recognized the steady calm that she carried.
Healer Plath took her seat, her face expressionless as she folded her hands neatly in her lap. Claire approached her with the same measured respect as before.
"Healer Plath, before we begin, I must ask you to swear on your magic to tell the truth."
The healer raised her right hand without hesitation. "I swear upon my magic to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."
Just like with Remus, a shimmer of golden light briefly encircled her hand, sealing her oath. The court was silent, waiting for Claire to proceed, the atmosphere thick with anticipation.
Claire took a step forward, her gaze steady on Healer Plath. "Healer Plath, for the court’s understanding, could you explain your role as an employee of Gringotts?"
Healer Plath nodded, her voice clear and composed. "As a healer at Gringotts, my primary responsibilities include attending to injuries sustained by Gringotts curse breakers, who often face dangerous magical artifacts and traps during their expeditions. Additionally, I administer blood ancestry and inheritance tests upon request. These tests are used to confirm a wizard or witch's lineage, which is often vital for legal or inheritance purposes."
Claire took a moment before continuing. "And were you, in fact, the healer who administered the blood ancestry test on Harry Potter?"
"Yes," Healer Plath answered, her tone even.
"Could you please recount the events of that appointment?" Claire asked, her voice calm but laced with an undertone of gravity.
Healer Plath’s gaze swept over the Wizengamot, her posture steady, though the weight of the testimony she was about to give was clear. "When Mr. Lupin and the boy believed to be Harry Potter arrived for the blood ancestry test, I began the procedure as usual. I explained the process, and after collecting a small blood sample, I cast the necessary incantations."
She paused, her brow furrowing slightly as she recalled the details. "The first test... failed. The results did not come through as expected, and that concerned me. Blood ancestry tests are highly reliable, so I suspected something was interfering. At that point, I chose to cast a diagnostic spell to ensure that my patient was healthy. Sometimes sicknesses of the blood can cause anomalies in ancestry tests, and I wanted to be certain."
The court listened with rapt attention, every word hanging in the thick, charged air.
"What did the diagnostic spell reveal?" Claire asked, prompting her.
Healer Plath’s voice remained calm, though the importance of what she was saying was clear. "The spell revealed that the boy was under a powerful glamour—an illusion spell designed to change his appearance. Upon discovering this, I immediately informed my patient. At his request, I removed the glamour."
Murmurs rippled through the room, but Healer Plath pressed on. "Once the glamour was removed, I administered the blood ancestry test again. This time, the results were conclusive. The boy standing before me was not Harry James Potter. His true, legal name was Matthew Remus Lupin."
Gasps filled the chamber, louder this time, as the court members exchanged shocked glances, absorbing the gravity of the healer’s words.
Just then, a loud creak echoed through the courtroom as the double doors at the back swung open. All heads turned in unison, and to everyone’s surprise, in walked none other than Albus Dumbledore. His long, silvery beard swayed as he entered the room, his blue eyes twinkling with an intensity that suggested he knew more than he let on.
Fudge's frown deepened as he watched Dumbledore stride confidently down the aisle toward the front. "What are you doing here, Albus?" he demanded, his voice sharp and irritated. "You weren’t invited."
Dumbledore, unfazed by the growing tension in the room, met Fudge’s gaze calmly. "As Chief Head of the Wizengamot, I am permitted to preside over any court proceeding that I deem of particular importance. I believe this qualifies."
Fudge’s lips pressed into a thin line, clearly displeased. "That may be true, Dumbledore, but it is in poor fashion to interrupt a court proceeding unannounced."
Dumbledore gave a small nod, acknowledging the criticism, though it was clear he wasn’t backing down. "My apologies, Cornelius. However, I believe that my presence here will prove useful as this case unfolds. There is much at stake, and I intend to see justice done."
The tension in the room spiked, with Wizengamot members shifting uncomfortably in their seats. All eyes were now on Fudge, awaiting his response. After a tense pause, Fudge gave a curt nod. "Very well. Take your seat."
Instead of taking his seat, Dumbledore continued his slow, measured walk toward the center of the courtroom. His gaze swept across the gathered assembly, his expression calm yet resolute. "Before we proceed further," he began, his voice carrying effortlessly through the tense air, "I must ask the court—and Healer Plath—what evidence they have that the parchment which pronounced Harry Potter’s supposed ancestry has not been tampered with?"
The question sent a ripple of shock through the Wizengamot. A few members exchanged nervous glances, while others stiffened in their seats. Fudge's face turned a deeper shade of red, his lips twitching in barely concealed fury. "Albus, you are not permitted to question witnesses or partake in an active role in this trial!" Fudge barked, his voice echoing sharply off the stone walls.
Several of the Wizengamot members nodded in agreement, their eyes wide at Dumbledore's audacity to challenge the proceedings in such a manner.
At the bench, Matthew felt his father's grip on his hand tighten. He glanced up at Remus, who was now glaring at Dumbledore, his jaw set. There was a flash of anger in Remus's eyes, one that Matthew had rarely seen, and it sent a chill down his spine.
Claire stepped forward, her eyes flashing, challenging Dumbledore. "I understand the gravity of your concern, Professor Dumbledore," she said smoothly, her voice steady, "but I assure you, there is no cause for suspicion here."
The room quieted instantly as she turned toward Fudge, who looked ready to erupt at any moment, and then back to Dumbledore, her gaze firm. "The test results were not tampered with. I can provide the physical copy of the blood ancestry test and submit it as evidence to the court."
Claire paused, letting her words sink in. "Furthermore," she continued, "I have three Aurors prepared to testify who extensively examined the parchment containing the results. They confirmed, beyond a doubt, that it is genuine and untampered. Their testimony will establish the authenticity of this critical evidence."
The tension in the room eased slightly as murmurs of agreement passed through the ranks of the Wizengamot. Fudge, though still bristling, slowly leaned back in his chair, his hands gripping the arms of his seat.
Dumbledore’s sharp blue eyes narrowed slightly, a brief flash of displeasure crossing his features. He glanced at Claire, his expression hardening just for a moment before he turned on his heel and made his way toward his seat. The soft rustle of his robes was the only sound as the tension in the courtroom thickened once again.
As Dumbledore took his seat, Cornelius Fudge leaned forward, his voice low and clipped. "Professor Dumbledore," he began, his eyes gleaming with barely contained frustration, "if you interrupt these proceedings again, I will have no choice but to remove you from this courtroom. Chief Head or not, you will abide by the rules of this trial." His words, though calm, carried a clear warning.
Dumbledore gave a small, acknowledging nod but said nothing, his face betraying nothing of the emotions stirring beneath his composed exterior.
Satisfied for the moment, Fudge turned his gaze back to Claire. "You may proceed with your questioning, Madam Winters."
Claire inclined her head in response. "Thank you, Minister." She returned her attention to the center of the room, where Healer Plath still sat, her hands folded neatly in her lap, waiting patiently.
Claire shifted her gaze toward Healer Plath, her expression thoughtful as she prepared to continue her line of questioning. “Healer Plath,” she began, her voice calm but precise, “after the blood ancestry test was completed, did you contact the Aurors?”
Healer Plath nodded firmly. “Yes, I did.”
“And why did you feel the need to involve them?” Claire’s tone was gentle but probing, guiding the healer to provide the court with a clear understanding of her actions.
Healer Plath took a slow breath before answering. “Mr. Lupin raised some very valid concerns during our conversation after the test. Naturally, I had some questions of my own. Chief among them was the issue of who Mr. Lupin had buried if his son was indeed still alive, and, perhaps even more troubling, how his son had ended up with another family. The circumstances surrounding the entire situation were… highly irregular.”
The courtroom fell silent as her words lingered in the air, the weight of her suspicions now clear to all.
Healer Plath’s expression became more resolute. “Given the nature of the discovery, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. I suspected foul play. And in my position, I knew it was far better to bring these suspicions to the attention of the Aurors and have nothing be wrong than to ignore it and potentially miss something extremely important. The well-being and safety of Mr. Lupin, as well as the ethical implications of the situation, demanded further investigation.”
A ripple of uneasy murmurs spread through the Wizengamot, many now fully grasping the depth of the revelation. The idea that such a significant act of deception could have gone unnoticed for so long stirred discomfort, and everyone in the room seemed to be processing the consequences of what Healer Plath had uncovered.
Claire let the murmurs die down before stepping forward again. "Thank you, Healer Plath. Your actions were not only prudent but necessary given the gravity of the situation." She turned toward Fudge. "I have no further questions for this witness at the moment."
Fudge, his face drawn into a deep frown, nodded stiffly. “Very well, you may return to your seat, Healer Plath.” As the healer walked back to her place in the courtroom, the tension remained high. It was becoming clear that this trial was revealing more than anyone had anticipated, and the answers that followed would likely unearth even more troubling truths.
Claire took a moment to collect herself before speaking again. "At this time, I would like to call our next witness to the stand—Auror Daniel Ashford."
A quiet stir ran through the courtroom as a young man with sharp features and a determined expression stood up from his place and made his way toward the center of the room. Harry's heart skipped a beat—he recognized the name immediately. Daniel Ashford had been present at the Gringotts meeting, the same Auror who had revealed the shocking details of James Potter's will. His presence here now only deepened the sense of urgency surrounding the case.
Auror Ashford reached the center of the courtroom and sat in the same chair that both Remus and Healer Plath had occupied before him. Claire stepped forward, her voice steady as she addressed him.
"Auror Ashford, please raise your right hand."
Ashford complied without hesitation, his eyes unwavering as he faced the court.
"Do you swear upon your magic to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"
"I swear upon my magic," Ashford said, his voice strong and clear. Just like the others before him, a shimmer of golden light surrounded his hand for a brief moment before fading. The oath was sealed, and now all eyes were on him, waiting for what would come next.
Claire stepped forward again, her voice steady as she addressed Auror Ashford. “Could you explain your role in the Matthew Lupin case for the court?”
Ashford looked nervous under the scrutiny of the courtroom, clearing his throat as he prepared to speak. “Of course, Madam Winters. I had several responsibilities in this case. It was my suggestion to investigate Harry Potter’s birth and medical records. I also used my connections to gather information about the Potter wills.”
As soon as Ashford mentioned the wills, Matthew couldn’t help but glance at Dumbledore, who had turned a shade paler, his eyes widening in disbelief. The sight sent a jolt of adrenaline through Matthew; something about this was clearly shaking the foundations of the case.
Claire noticed the shift in Dumbledore’s demeanor but kept her focus on Ashford. “Can you first discuss how you approached the case by looking into Harry Potter?” she prompted, urging him to elaborate.
Ashford nodded, gathering his thoughts. “Initially, I tried to look into Remus's situation, questioning why someone would want to take his son. However, given his high profile during the war, there were simply too many directions to investigate. It became evident that pursuing that angle could take years with little to show for it.”
He hesitated, as if reliving the moment. “So, grasping at straws, I suggested we look into the birth records of both Matthew and Harry Potter. I thought perhaps we could find some critical information there.”
Claire leaned in, clearly intrigued. “And what did you discover in Harry Potter’s newborn medical records?”
Ashford's face turned serious. “What I found was quite strange. For the first three hours after his birth, Harry Potter was a very sickly baby. He was born slightly premature, and his vitals were concerning—he wasn’t doing well at all.”
“And then?” Claire prompted, her eyes keen and focused.
“Around the fourth hour,” Ashford continued, “there was a drastic change. It was like night and day in terms of his health. His condition improved remarkably, almost as if something had shifted overnight.”
Claire nodded, clearly absorbing the gravity of Ashford’s findings. “What else did you uncover during your investigation?”
“I also had a friend who works in the Wills Department,” Ashford explained. “He was cataloging old wills when he noticed something odd—specifically, that the Potter wills had been opened and then closed again, which is very unusual in our line of work.”
“Because we were already investigating how Matthew Lupin ended up with the Potters,” Ashford concluded, “and given the strange circumstances surrounding Harry Potter’s medical records, we sought and were granted permission to unseal the Potter wills.”
The courtroom buzzed with murmurs as the implications of Ashford’s words settled in. Claire looked around, gauging the reactions of the Wizengamot members, before returning her gaze to the Auror. “Thank you, Auror Ashford. Your insights are invaluable. I have no further questions for you at this moment.”
Fudge nodded stiffly, his frown deepening as he regarded the Auror. “You may step down, Ashford.”
As Auror Ashford stepped down, Claire gathered herself, her expression resolute. She turned to Fudge, her voice steady. “Minister, may I present James Potter’s will to the court as evidence?”
Fudge paused, his brow furrowed as he considered her request. The air in the courtroom thickened with anticipation, each member of the Wizengamot leaning slightly forward, their curiosity piqued. Matthew sat stiffly in his seat, heart racing as he processed the gravity of the moment. This was it—the moment that could determine if James Potter would be held accountable for his actions, or if the truth would be buried once more.
After a tense silence, Fudge nodded slowly, his expression grave. “Very well, Madam Winters. You may proceed.”
Claire smiled tightly, her determination shining through as she waved her wand. An orb materialized in front of her, shimmering with an ethereal light. As she focused her magic, the orb began to twist and swirl, filling the room with a soft glow.
Matthew’s stomach churned as he realized what was about to happen. He had seen the will before, felt the weight of his father’s words and the crushing truth they carried. But now, the stakes felt even higher. Would the court recognize James Potter’s deception as a crime, or would they absolve him of blame, allowing the lies to fester in silence?
As the spectral figure of James Potter appeared before the court, a hushed tension settled over the room, the air thick with anticipation.
“This is my final will and testimony,” he began, the words hanging heavily in the air. He hesitated, swallowing hard, the weight of his confession pressing down on him like a physical burden. “If you are hearing this, it means I am dead, and I took this secret to my grave.”
Matthew’s heart raced as he listened, feeling the familiar sting of anger and heartbreak rise within him. The moments stretched on, the courtroom holding its breath as they awaited the inevitable conclusion.
After what felt like an eternity, James’s voice broke through again, his tone filled with sorrow. “I don’t expect forgiveness,” he said, his voice shaking as he fought back tears. “I only hope that you can find a way to make sense of this… and that you can somehow find peace.”
As his final words echoed in the air, the light around his image flickered and then vanished, plunging the room into a brief, stunned silence. That moment of quiet was shattered almost instantly by chaos.
The courtroom erupted into a cacophony of voices. Shocked gasps and outraged shouts reverberated off the stone walls, the furious disbelief palpable. “He did what?!” a voice boomed from somewhere in the crowd. “This is disgraceful!” another person cried out.
“How could he steal a child?” one witch demanded, while others gestured wildly, their faces flushed with emotion. The reactions ranged from horror to disbelief, a storm of confusion and anger sweeping through the room.
Matthew sat frozen, his pulse pounding in his ears as he watched the courtroom descend into turmoil. The anger swirling around him mirrored his own. To think that this was what had been hidden for so long—that James Potter had not just lied but had stolen him, had stolen everything. His mind raced, but the weight of it all felt impossible to grasp.
Fudge pounded his gavel, but his attempts to restore order were drowned out in the chaos.
“Enough!” he roared, his face red with frustration as he slammed the gavel down again, the sound cracking like a whip through the room. The noise subsided slightly, though the tension still hung in the air like a brewing storm.
Fudge straightened his robes, his chest rising and falling as he took a steadying breath. “This is a court of law,” he said, his voice hard, trying to regain control, “not a circus. We will maintain decorum.” His words, though stern, seemed to tremble slightly under the weight of the situation.
After a few moments, the shouting died down to murmurs, leaving behind a silence filled with unease. The Wizengamot members exchanged uncertain glances, the weight of James Potter’s confession pressing down on them all.
Fudge swept his gaze across the chamber, a mix of tension and resignation in his eyes. “We will address this matter with the seriousness it demands. We need time to reflect on what has been revealed here today. I propose a recess,” he said, his voice calmer now, though the strain was still present. “When we reconvene, we will render our decision.”
The members of the Wizengamot rose from their seats, murmuring quietly to each other as they filed out of the chamber. Matthew’s eyes followed them, his stomach churning. The weight of the court’s decision felt suffocating. He could sense the judgment in their faces, feel the anger in their words. This wasn’t just about him—it was about everything James had stolen, everything that had been hidden for years. He clenched his fists in his lap, his mind racing with the consequences of what came next.
Beside him, Remus shifted slightly, his gaze lingering on Matthew. After a pause, he leaned closer, his voice low and gentle. “How are you holding up?”
Matthew didn’t answer right away. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the ground beneath him to crumble. “I’m... nervous about what they’ll decide Dad,” he admitted, his voice quieter than he intended, as if the words themselves might crack under the pressure.
Remus nodded, the worry in his eyes softened by his steady presence. “I am too,” he said quietly, his hand briefly brushing against Matthew’s arm. “But no matter what happens, we’ll face it together. And after we’ll still go home to relax.”
There was a warmth in his voice that made Matthew’s chest ache—a reminder that, despite everything, he wasn’t alone in this. The uncertainty was still there, but in that moment, it felt a little easier to bear.
Matthew glanced at him, managing a small, grateful smile, the comfort of his father’s words settling over him. Together, they sat in the heavy silence of the nearly empty courtroom, bracing themselves for the decision that would come soon enough, for the path that lay ahead—whatever it might be.
As the doors closed behind the last member of the Wizengamot, leaving them alone in the dim light of the chamber, Matthew took a deep breath, letting the quiet stretch between them, a fragile peace before the storm resumed.