Chapter 2: The Supreme Judgement! My Heart and Deeds Are as Clear as a Polished Mirror

Roger’s case, due to its special nature, was never made public in detail, but for those at the upper echelons of the wizarding society, it was no secret at all.

The core members of many resourceful pureblood families, powerful wizards, discussed it at leisure over tea and dinner. The lawyer, though not part of that circle himself, had a friend who was—a necessity in his profession, for without connections, how could one rise and prosper as a solicitor? It’s always been said: the key to a verdict lies outside the courtroom.

The rumors he heard were far from reassuring.

“At ten years old, he raised a proper band in the chaos and terror of the Muggle hot weapons war, led his group to kill so many, and emerged unscathed from brutal conflict. His temperament, leadership, and decision-making are nothing short of astonishing.”

“Those who brush close to death come to cherish life all the more.”

“So, if one day, seeking the power to protect himself, or for some other reason, he turns to studying dark magic, what then?”

“His will is strong; magic is closely tied to the mind, and he is... a seer!”

“This world does not need a second Grindelwald, nor another Dark Lord!”

—These were the words the lawyer heard from his friend. The shadow of the Dark Lord has only recently lifted from British wizarding society; survivors of that terrifying era are still alive. Such a brief time is not enough to smooth the scars or restore the courage that was so badly shaken.

Could Roger Virgil become another mysterious slaughterer of wizards? No one knows. But even a ten percent chance is too much for many to accept.

In their eyes, Roger is certainly talented, but the wizarding world is not lacking in talent. In fact, they somewhat resent such exceptional individuals.

Voldemort, Grindelwald, Dumbledore, Nicholas Flamel, Merlin, Salazar Slytherin among the four founders of Hogwarts... New power always wants a seat at the table, new masters wish the age to bend to their will, new alchemical techniques and magic seek to transform the world.

The changes they brought were both good and bad, but without doubt, each time such a person appeared, the wizarding society was thrown into turmoil.

Many despise turmoil; they wish for everything to remain unchanged for eternity.

Would Dumbledore risk incurring the resentment of so many wizards and pureblood families, and use his influence to “pardon” Roger?

The lawyer thought it highly unlikely.

Knock, knock, knock!

A heavy, careless knock sounded on the door.

Then came the voice of the prison guard: “Mr. Roger Virgil, Mr. Wick, the trial begins in five minutes. Are you done talking? If so, let’s go up.”

The lawyer gazed at Roger.

Roger said nothing more, but calmly rose and walked toward the door.

“Roger!” the lawyer called after him.

“Hm?”

“You must have heard how dreadful Azkaban is while in custody—aren’t you afraid?” After a moment’s hesitation, Wick asked the question that had been troubling him.

That eleven-year-old’s slight figure was reflected in his eyes; he could not comprehend how Roger remained so calm.

Did he have some hidden card?

Or, as a seer, had he foreseen something?

Yes, one of Roger’s charges was impersonating a religious prophet, but in truth, he possessed prophetic ability, as noted in his file.

It was by constantly foretelling the future that Roger Virgil led those who believed in him through the war.

Roger smiled and answered in a way Wick never expected: “I am very afraid. My heart races, my muscles tremble.”

“I have never encountered Dementors. I do not know what torment they will inflict upon me, but there are people who survive Azkaban, aren’t there?”

“When I returned twice from the depths of hell, I resolved never to give up hope of life, no matter the circumstances.”

“I will fight always, until the moment of my death.”

“Before that, nothing will break my will.” There was nothing grandiose in Roger’s words; he spoke in a quiet, natural tone.

In that moment, the lawyer understood.

The young seer had no hidden card.

He simply possessed the courage to face hell, even as terror filled his heart.

And at the same time, the lawyer felt... fear.

He understood now why some in the wizarding elite, despite knowing that Roger becoming another Dark Lord was unlikely, still did not wish for him to be acquitted.

Such unwavering resolve—if he ever deemed wizards or Muggles his enemy...

Creak—

The door opened, Roger stepped out, and the four wizard prison guards stationed outside formed the same tightly clustered escort formation as before.

They left the legal enforcement office on the second floor of the British Ministry of Magic’s main building.

Ordinary cases were judged there, but not Roger’s. He was to be tried elsewhere.

Descending from the seventh floor’s second level, they reached the eighth floor on the Ministry’s first tier.

The numbering of the Ministry’s floors was peculiar—the topmost was the first, the first tier was the eighth, the lower ground was the Department of Mysteries on the ninth, and Roger’s destination lay even deeper.

There, at one of the pinnacles of British wizarding society, holding legislative and supreme judicial authority, was the Wizengamot!

...

File after file was laid before the assembly.

Question after question from the interrogators allowed the Wizengamot members to gain a deeper understanding of Roger, and the details not recorded in the case files.

As Roger answered, he watched everyone around him.

The Wizengamot’s proceedings were very different from those of a normal court.

The process was: the interrogator asks, the accused answers, and the fifty Wizengamot members raise their hands to vote on guilt according to their own judgement.

Majority rules; if a tie of twenty-five to twenty-five occurs, the Chief Wizard decides—the Chief Wizard being roughly equivalent to the Speaker of this parliament.

Wick, the lawyer, played no part in any of this.

Ordinarily, if the interrogator lacked eloquence, he could authorize his lawyer or another specialist to speak in his defense.

But after consulting with Wick for some time, Roger decided it would be best to face the questioning himself.

Not that he doubted Wick’s professional ability—he had other reasons.

Firstly, from their previous conversation, Roger keenly sensed that Wick had not shown absolute support for his case... which was understandable; defense was simply a job, not an endorsement of his actions. Like an employee cursing under his breath yet working overtime and raising a toast.

For ordinary cases, this mattered little, but here, in the Wizengamot, the voting method meant the defendant’s attitude would heavily influence the outcome. If Wick showed hesitation on a crucial point, it could be fatal.

Secondly, Roger did not wish to entrust his fate to another.

Since whoever argued, the chance of a happy ending was negligible, he might as well speak for himself.

“Yes, after awakening my abilities—that is, the prophetic magic born from a magical surge—I believed that only by adopting the name of a local, influential religion could I hope to survive.”

After Roger’s answer, the Wizengamot’s Chief Wizard, Albus Dumbledore, asked with a grave expression, “According to our investigation, by the end of 1990, the intensity of the war had subsided. With your resources and power then, you had every opportunity to escape the conflict and return to Britain. Why did you not return, but remained in Kuwait as a religious prophet until the spring of 1991, only after the Gulf War ended?”

At this moment, Dumbledore was not the kindly, gentle headmaster of Hogwarts, but carried the solemnity and authority befitting the Wizengamot’s Chief Wizard.

His question was crucial.

Many of Roger’s charges were upheld not only because some magical factions in the Middle East sought trouble, but also because he did not return when he had the means to escape the war—this exceeded the bounds of “necessity defense.”

Necessity defense means that, when one’s life is in grave danger, certain illegal acts are not prosecuted, such as killing a burglar in self-defense, or eating a protected animal to avoid starvation.

After Dumbledore spoke, the Wizengamot’s wizards fixed their gaze on the accused—a frail, golden-haired youth, handsome and slight, his height barely reaching most wizards’ waists, looking weak, helpless, and pitiable.

But Roger’s answer was anything but weak: “In Kuwait, many followed me because I adopted the title of religious prophet. They believed I was a seer, certain I could lead them to survival, and their survival was indeed linked to my prophetic abilities.”

“Mines, bombs, bullets, missile strikes—I sense approaching threats. I am always a step ahead of death, evading its pursuit.”

“Midway through the conflict, I had accumulated enough resources to escape, but what would happen if I left? Without the ‘prophet’ as their spiritual anchor, many would break down. Those whose ambitions were suppressed by my presence would seize the chance to tear the group apart for power, wealth, and survival. People might even turn on each other.”

“Moreover, for their protection, we clashed with various armies. Without my foresight, how would they avoid missile attacks and military pursuit?”

“Many would die.”

Roger paused.

“I hate lies. I hate death.”

“When I was weak, I had to use lies to gain power, protecting myself by bringing death to others.”

“But at that time, thousands believed in me. I had weapons, manpower. I became strong.”

“When weak, I had to do what I despised; when strong, I still had to do what I despised—watching those who believed in me die... What is the point of becoming strong? What is the meaning of struggling to survive, if only to endlessly do what I abhor, forever?”

“People shouldn’t live only to disgust themselves; that's not the life I want.”

“I dislike separation and death, so I refuse their presence. I do not allow them to appear before me or descend upon those beside me.”

“I dislike lies. I promised to lead them through this calamity, so I would not leave until the war was over.”

That was Roger’s answer, spoken from the heart.

A true man bows when weak not to submit, but to gather strength for retaliation; when strong, he shapes the world to his will, not remaining a coward or a failure!

“Mm.” Dumbledore responded noncommittally and moved to the next question.

“During the Gulf War, you personally killed ninety-eight people. What is your view of this?”

At this question, Roger felt the air in the chamber grow heavier.

Clearly, the wizards cared more about this than why Roger impersonated a prophet.

Roger’s case was mired in controversy, but legal points could eventually be sorted out. The reason it had come before the Wizengamot, the ‘supreme court,’ besides international disputes, was their wish to meet Roger face-to-face and discover what kind of person he truly was.

Many wizards acquainted with the case believed Roger was talented. Some, scarred by the Dark Lord, feared the rise of powerful wizards. Others hoped for more strong wizards and wanted to cultivate talent.

If Roger’s essence was not ‘evil,’ some did not wish to see him sent to Azkaban.

For the Wizengamot, holders of legislative power, their judgement was not merely about legality, but morality—they had much more to consider.

Magic and wizardry, from ancient bloody spells to today’s refined era, needed one strong wizard after another to build the foundations.

Controversy was ever-present; though one faction dominated, the other’s voice could not be ignored, hence the strange, tense atmosphere of this trial.

Amid the weight of the chamber, Roger replied, “Madmen whose families were destroyed by war, scum hoping to commit crimes amid chaos, invading forces from Iraq, Americans who would stop at nothing for their strategic aims—of those I killed, fifty-four were trying to kill me.”

“The other forty-four were targeting those beside me.”

“Do you believe it is a crime to attack someone wielding a knife to save a person about to be murdered?” Roger calmly turned the question back.

“If you think that is a crime, then I have little else to say.” He knew after questioning him about those he killed, they would soon ask about those who died because of him.

Roger chose to answer with a question, preempting what was coming.

After his words, a rustle of whispers swept the Wizengamot; members discussed quietly, but Dumbledore, the Chief Wizard, pressed on without giving them more time.

“Roger Virgil, you killed so many. Do you feel guilt for ending their lives?”

This, too, Roger had anticipated; he answered as he had pondered on the battlefield: “No.”

His voice was unwavering, adamant, without the slightest hesitation.

“Those who kill are themselves killed; when they picked up the blade, they should have been prepared for this. I know they may be sons, husbands, fathers, sisters, brothers—some will mourn them. They may not see themselves as evil, fighting for their country and loved ones, but that does not excuse slaughter without consequence.”

“I will not feel the slightest guilt for killing them.”

“Life is priceless. One life should not be nobler than another; a hundred lives no more precious than ten, nor vice versa. Life cannot be weighed on a scale.”

“If someone hates me for killing their kin and comes for me, let them come. The same principle applies to me; I do not use double standards. From the moment I entered battle, I was prepared to face death.”

“But no matter their hatred, however their reason, I will never show mercy to anyone who raises a weapon against me.”

As Roger finished, he noticed some wizards on the bench had uneasy expressions.

Clearly, some could not accept Roger’s views.

He paid them no mind.

Dumbledore, as Chief Wizard, also noticed their reactions; behind his stern facade flashed a hint of something else.

He then asked a question seemingly unrelated to the case: “Mr. Roger, you must have spoken with your lawyer before coming to court. If you are found guilty, it will be a serious crime, and the Ministry of Magic usually imprisons felons in Azkaban.”

It sounded random, but Roger understood Dumbledore’s subtext.

Roger’s calm gaze wavered, but he quickly suppressed it.

“I know—I am a child, far weaker than any wizard present. You don’t even need magic; your strong bodies could pin me with a single hand. If I said something softer, even shed a few tears, cried aloud, it might help my situation.”

Dumbledore’s question told Roger that the white-haired elder was not the villainous schemer of conspiracy theories; he was subtly warning him that his attitude could harm his case.

He... actually wanted to help Roger escape conviction?

Roger felt Dumbledore’s goodwill, but chose to follow his own path.

“But I don’t want to do that.”

“This is the Wizengamot. You are the powerful wizards who hold all legislative and supreme judicial authority in Britain. I know, to sit here, each of you must be extraordinary.”

“Vast knowledge, ancient lineage, exceptional wisdom, mighty power, broad networks... I don’t believe you are easily deceived, and I detest lies.”

“You’ve asked me many questions, but my answer has always been the same. In the Gulf War, all my actions and their consequences were to save myself, to save those who believed in me, to fulfill my promise to lead them through, and I regret nothing. Even if you convict me, even if you gave me a chance to turn back time to that battlefield, I would still choose to fight.”

“All my answers are from the heart, without a single lie. If you have any means of reading minds or testing truth, so long as it won’t harm me, you may use them freely.” Roger spoke with utter candor.

At his words, silence fell over the Wizengamot.

Every wizard fixed their gaze on the calm, unflinching child before them.

Though he was so frail, all could sense it.

Within that small body was a soul forged in fire, returning from the dead, unbreakable.

Such resolve, even if thrown into Azkaban, might not be destroyed by Dementors.

By procedure, Dumbledore should have had more questions.

But now, Dumbledore felt that, ask or not, the outcome would be the same.

As Roger said, he had already answered everything.

“Well then…”

Dumbledore, seated at the center as Chief Wizard, hesitated briefly, then spoke: “All those who agree the charges are proven, please raise your hand.”

Some hands went up; others stayed still.

Anyone familiar with the Wizengamot members would notice something very curious.

Those who, before the trial, were most opposed to Roger, determined to convict him, many did not raise their hands.

Those who, before the trial, thought Roger an innocent child and wished to acquit him—quite a few now raised their hands for conviction.

Of course, most did not immediately express their view, but looked to the center of the bench, to Albus Dumbledore.

Dumbledore himself...

Sat motionless.