The rarely used Memorial Chamber of the Wizengamot, silent since the fall of Voldemort, was now packed to the brim. Representatives from the British Ministry of Magic, the French magical government, and Russian emissaries stood shoulder to shoulder, visibly tense. The elevated judges' bench, carved with ancient symbols of magical justice, loomed over the room, where a single figure stood at the center, hands clasped, his gaze calm: Albus Dumbledore. 9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeq7THexkAn
Facing him, a gaunt and rigid old man, straight as a wand and dressed in a severe black robe trimmed with silver, let his voice echo through the chamber:
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— Albus Dumbledore, for establishing an illegal contract in an illegal tournament, you are in serious trouble."
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A murmur rippled through the room. Even the portraits lining the walls seemed to hold their breath.
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The man continued, unfurling a long parchment stamped with the seal of the International Magical Authority:
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— *"The Triwizard Tournament remains illegal. It was never officially reinstated by the proper authorities since 1792. In 1994, without authorization from the British government and with forged documents sent to the French and Russian ministries, you falsely claimed its reopening had been approved. You deliberately concealed the archives proving the tournament’s illegality and deceived the participating schools. For this, Albus Dumbledore, you are sentenced to magical stripping."
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Absolute silence fell.
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Even Harry, seated beside Hermione and Ron in the witness gallery, felt the air freeze around him. He stared at Dumbledore, uncomprehending. The old man remained silent, his eyes fixed on the Wizengamot’s crest adorning the ceiling.
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The judge pressed on, unmoved:
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— "And for the forced entry of Harry Potter into this illegal tournament—violating every magical protection safeguarding underage wizards—you forfeit all your possessions. By magical decree, as reparation for moral and physical damages, your estate now belongs to Harry James Potter."
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Golden flames erupted from the Goblet of Fire, placed at the room’s center. The magical fire spiraled upward, and then the deep, ethereal voice of magic itself resonated, irrevocable:
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— "And so, the magic of the Goblet sealed the verdict, rendering it unbreakable."
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A flash of white light burst from the Goblet. Dumbledore staggered slightly. Harry felt a strange tingling in his arms, as if an invisible energy were flowing from someone… to him. It was the magical transfer of ownership. Dumbledore had just lost everything—his manuscripts, his wand, his home, his magical artifacts.
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But Harry didn’t want it. He had never wanted this.
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— "No… this isn’t right," he whispered.
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Hermione gripped his arm.
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— "It’s not your fault, Harry. He put you in that tournament against your will. It’s magical law judging him, not you."
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But Harry suddenly stood. He descended the steps, crossed the room, and approached Dumbledore, who still stood tall.
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— "Why?" Harry asked, his voice breaking. "Why restart the tournament when it was forbidden? Why let me compete?"
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Dumbledore looked at him, and for the first time in years, his eyes held no twinkle of wisdom or mischief. They were empty. Tired.
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— "Because I thought I could manipulate fate… And I was wrong."
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He turned to the judges.
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— "I do not contest your verdict." He placed his wand on the ground. "I acted believing it was for the greater good. But I betrayed my principles by hiding the truth. Let magic leave me, if this is just."
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The golden light swirled around him, then seeped into his body like mist. His hand trembled. His beard seemed to lose some of its radiant whiteness. His frame appeared smaller, diminished.
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And then, it was over. Albus Dumbledore was no longer a wizard.
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The judge rose:
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— "The sentence is carried out. Albus Dumbledore is stripped of his powers. His possessions are transferred to Harry Potter. This matter is closed."*
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The magical gavel struck the podium. A dull shockwave reverberated through the chamber.
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But the echoes of this trial would resonate far beyond these walls.
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