Chapter One At the age of eleven, she was already a wizard war criminal.

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London, 1991.

“Mr. Roger Virgil, your trial is about to begin. Come with us.” The leading prison warden, a wizard, wore a cold expression and spoke with rigid formality, his words steeped in officialdom. Yet the trembling in his pupils betrayed nerves beneath the mask of composure.

…So the day has finally come.

Knowing that the pivotal moment of his fate was at hand, Roger found it impossible to keep calm. Nevertheless, he rose from his bed and strode steadily toward the cell door.

Whether what awaited him was hope or despair, there was nothing for it but to face it head-on. Any irrational action, anything short of meeting the challenge, would only worsen his predicament.

Surrounded on all sides, a wizard positioned at each direction, Roger was herded into the center. He was merely an eleven-year-old child, not yet even enrolled at Hogwarts, yet the wardens marched him out with the severity owed to an Azkaban-bound Death Eater.

Glancing at the four wizards around him, Roger Virgil could not help but recall the events of the past six months.

He had once been just an ordinary person, born under the red flag of a peaceful nation. But fate had played a cruel joke. An accident closed his eyes to one world, and when he opened them again, he found himself as a ten-year-old child.

If that were all, it might have been a blessing in disguise. Although now fair-haired and blue-eyed, to be young again and live a second life was, all things considered, a great fortune.

To return from the 21st century to 1990 offered even more: a chance to capitalize on World Cup upsets, Bitcoin, shorting the pound, early investment in real estate, and staking claims in future internet and gaming giants—a road to the pinnacle of life, to become super-rich in a new era.

But before Roger Virgil could ascend to those heights, there was a small matter to resolve.

The place in which he was reborn was problematic.

He had awoken to the sight of his parents lying in a pool of blood. Roger touched his left arm, feeling the wetness there—not water, but blood.

As memories of the body’s previous owner returned, Roger pieced together his situation.

He was a citizen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, but not on home soil.

In this life, Roger was the child of a well-off British family. His father was an engineer, his mother from a prosperous merchant background. After marrying, his father helped manage her family’s overseas trade business. They worked together in a foreign land, wanting Roger to grow up with both parents present, so they kept him close.

Then war broke out.

Ordinarily, even with war, Roger’s parents would not have been unduly worried. They lived in the nation’s capital and, should danger loom, could leave in time. Moreover, they were British! While the world had long called for equality, the citizens of the five major powers were always “more equal” than those of the third world, even if only civilians.

But man proposes, and fate disposes—their city was Kuwait City.

The year was 1990.

Everything happened too quickly for anyone to foresee.

At 1 a.m. on August 2, 1990, under the close support of air, naval, amphibious, and special forces, three divisions of Iraq’s Republican Guard crossed Kuwait’s border in a surprise assault.

By the end of that day, the Iraqi army had seized Kuwait’s capital. The invasion continued, fresh troops pouring in, until the entire country was occupied—200,000 soldiers, more than 2,000 tanks.

Kuwait vanished from the map almost overnight.

Iraq annexed it as its “nineteenth province.”

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Roger’s family, himself included, perished in the ensuing chaos.

Thus Roger Virgil came to possess this body.

Once he understood his circumstances, Roger knew he needed a plan. As a ten-year-old child, how could he survive at such a critical juncture—on the eve of America’s show of force and the dawn of a new world order—the Gulf War?

Roger had no desire to become one of the 500,000 children, as later counted by UNICEF, who perished in war and sanctions—he had no wish to be a statistic among the sacrificed.

Driven by a desperate will to survive, Roger took action. After several close brushes with death, he found his means of staying alive amid the war. That was—

…

“Impersonating a religious prophet.” The young wizard with pale golden hair paused, then continued listing Roger’s offenses. “Displaying and promoting magic before Muggles, using magic on Muggles, using magical power to indirectly kill Muggles, interfering in Muggle wars… Any one of these, weighed on the scales, is a grave crime.”

“Will I die?”

With the prison wardens just outside the door, Roger looked at the man who claimed to be his lawyer.

Roger had no way of hiring a wizard versed in Ministry law; this lawyer had been “assigned” to him.

“Most likely not. The charges are severe, but there’s much controversy. Even under normal circumstances, sentencing an eleven-year-old to death would cause a major uproar.”

“And now, it’s even less likely such a judgment will be made.”

“How so?” Roger looked at his defense attorney in confusion.

“It has to do with the Minister for Magic. Cornelius Fudge was only appointed last year and hasn’t even served a full year yet. His position is shaky, and for any significant decision, he consults with Headmaster Dumbledore, using Dumbledore’s name to lend authority to his actions and ensure compliance from subordinates.”

“Your case, though to be judged in the Wizengamot at the British Ministry of Magic, involves the American Magical Congress and Middle Eastern magical factions. Fudge will certainly seek Dumbledore’s advice. Given Dumbledore’s usual approach, he would never suggest the death penalty.”

“In this situation, the Ministry, as the prosecution, won’t deal a killing blow or provide the Wizengamot with too much evidence against you.”

The Wizengamot predates the Ministry itself—a body both court and parliament, holding both judicial and legislative power, and even able to impeach the Minister if necessary.

If the pure-blood families’ power is focused in the Ministry, the great wizards’ influence is concentrated in the Wizengamot.

Of course, there are those who hedge their bets on both sides.

“Then…”

Sensing Roger’s next question, the lawyer shook his head. “Don’t celebrate too soon.”

“Though it won’t be death, the result might be even more dreadful.”

Roger understood the implication. “…Azkaban?”

Azkaban is the British wizarding world’s most secure and terrifying prison.

Prisoners there are tormented daily by the guards—Dementors—forced to relive their most agonizing memories, unable to escape, while the Dementors drain away every happy emotion. Those without strong will often go mad within months, and even if released, are little more than the walking dead.

Azkaban’s existence has indeed deterred many criminals, but it is so dreadful that some, though guilty, deserve a lesser fate.

Before Azkaban was established, various local prisons housed minor offenders; Roger had been held in one such detention center.

“Most likely,” the lawyer said helplessly.

“Is there any chance of overturning it? I’m not asking for acquittal—just a lighter sentence, to be sent to a detention center instead.” Roger looked steadily into the lawyer’s eyes.

The lawyer gave a wry smile. “Not likely. Your charges are too complicated.”

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“Unless…”

Roger did not press, simply waited in silence for the lawyer to continue.

“Unless the headmaster of Hogwarts himself is willing to vouch for you—but that’s almost impossible, as I’m sure you understand.”

There’s a saying among wizarding lawyers in Britain: “The outcome of a trial is decided not in the courtroom, but outside it.”

While the statutes may be clear, society is not founded on the law—that is a jurist’s fantasy. In reality, law is grounded in society.

The Ministry’s laws are established or sanctioned by the Ministry, enforced by its power, and reflect the will of the ruling class as shaped by specific material conditions, defining rights and obligations, and serving to sustain, protect, and advance the social relations and order that benefit the ruling class.

Put simply, the Ministry’s laws serve the interests of the ruling class and the stability of the magical society.

The Ministry may sound supreme, the heart of wizarding authority in Britain, but in truth, it is not so.

In wizarding society, those who truly hold resources are the ancient and venerable pure-blood families, such as the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Those who truly wield influence are powerful wizards like Albus Dumbledore, Newt Scamander, or the great alchemist Nicolas Flamel.

They are the true ruling class.

The Ministry is the visible manager, a group of upper-middle-class “stewards” for wizarding society. Even the Minister’s decrees must be negotiated with the pure-blood representatives and powerful wizards in each department.

The Ministry draws its authority not from the Minister himself but from the families who underpin its every department.

When the Minister’s personal authority falls short, he must seek the endorsement of a revered wizard like Dumbledore to command his subordinates.

If Dumbledore chose to protect Roger, the case would become easy.

The great wizards are the uncrowned kings of wizarding society—they are respected by all.

They must be respected!

Even the law must respect them!

But the lawyer doubted that Dumbledore would intervene for Roger.

Because of one of Roger’s charges:

[Using magic to indirectly kill a large number of Muggles.]

Roger did it to save himself.

Strictly speaking, it was self-defense.

But the problem is—

“I killed too many people,” Roger murmured.

In the six months of war, Roger had personally killed nearly a hundred people.

And the number who died indirectly because of him was even higher…

Hearing Roger’s muttered confession, the lawyer recalled the figures in his file and shuddered involuntarily.

Come to think of it, how many people had the Death Eaters in Azkaban killed, on average?

Did even a tenth of them match this child’s tally?