aircannonsinc Chapter 255 A true man should take the place of the ruler
Chapter 255 A true man should take the place of the ruler
Chapter 255 A true man should take the place of the ruler
Picking up where we left off, Black glanced at Hogsmeade Square, and his expression changed instantly. Without a word, he grabbed Harry's wrist and pulled away.
Harry taught him to stumble, and was puzzled. He asked, "Why are you so panicked today, Godfather? Even when you ran into Voldemort, you didn't look this way."
Blake stopped, turned around, pointed at Fudge's head, and said, "Look at the top of his head."
Harry stared intently, seeing Fudge chatting and laughing with someone, his official hat billowing and his sash gleaming. He observed for a while, but couldn't see anything amiss. Just as he was about to give up, his pupils constricted, his mind jolted, and he exclaimed in surprise, "Oh dear! Where has that sword that Professor Dumbledore hung over that scoundrel's head gone?"
"Clearly, the curse has been lifted." Black quickly glanced around cautiously and said, "Voldemort, Grindelwald, or some old fellow from Wizengamor."
"The one who breaks the curse must be among them."
"But no matter which one it is, it's not good news for us."
Blake's words were heavy, but Harry was not afraid at all. He just laughed and said, "Even if he sets up a trap, I am not Liu Ji of Pei County."
"If things really come to a head, all we need to do is summon the Boxers and the Phoenix Society heroes to fight it out. Who will win and who will lose is still uncertain."
Having said that, he didn't say anything more. Feeling relieved, he revealed himself and headed straight for the square.
When the onlookers suddenly saw the scarred man's true face, they immediately parted to make way for him, creating a great uproar. Truly, a single stone stirred up a thousand waves.
"It's Harry Potter, he's here!"
"I believe you, Mr. Potter! You are the true savior!"
"You must reform yourself properly in New Azkaban!"
Harry weaved through the crowd like a dragon parting the waves. When he reached the center of the square, he saw a lone stone bench on the ground. Three-foot-long iron chains hung from the left and right armrests, gleaming darkly and exuding a chilling aura.
Just as he was about to sit down, a wizard suddenly appeared from the side and blocked his way, bowing slightly and saying, "Hello, Mr. Potter, please hand over all your personal weapons."
Harry looked closely and saw:
His robes were not the black official attire, nor his crown adorned with any imposing insignia; his entire body was embroidered with peacock eyes in brocade, and a silk sash was tied in a bow at his waist; his speech carried a hint of vulgarity and slickness, and his eyes revealed a hint of frivolity and frivolity; he was not like the tiger in the Aoluo Hall, but rather like the fox in front of a brothel. Truly: he wore a theatrical robe instead of an official robe, and his uprightness was completely devoid of vulgarity.
Harry didn't move, but instead scrubbed the wizard from head to toe. His brow furrowed deeply, and he said, "Whom do you belong to? Judging from your appearance, you don't seem to be a servant of the Aurors, nor an official of the Ministry of Magic. What brings you here on this escort mission?"
Upon hearing this question, the wizard puffed out his chest proudly and said arrogantly, "I am from the Burstrode family. Minister Fudge said that he was short-handed, so he asked me to help."
Harry's eyes widened in disbelief. "What nonsense! I asked you who you are, and you're just spouting off about your sect!"
"Could he be some nobody, a nobody with no connections or background?"
These words were sharp; the wizard's face turned red and then pale, and his voice rose in a shrill tone, "Bulstrode is one of the Twenty-Eight Holy Races—"
"And I am the younger brother of the heir of the Bulstrode family, and also an apprentice of the Sage of Wizengamo!"
Upon hearing the mention of "Wizengamot," Harry's face lit up with joy, and he immediately understood where the key to breaking the curse lay.
He immediately took off his magic wand and several personal weapons from his waist, threw them into the wizard's arms, turned around, lifted his robe, and sat down on the stone chair.
Once seated, he coldly surveyed the surroundings and saw that the wizards standing in rows of halberds, separated by a wall of people, were all clad in bright armor, but very few wore Auror silver badges.
Looking at the officials of the Ministry of Magic, Scrimgeour was nowhere to be seen.
He thought to himself: I had heard Professor Dumbledore say that Wissengamo was hindering the Ministry of Magic, but I never imagined it would come to this.
There were already four or five hundred private soldiers openly around the square, and countless spies and informants were hidden in the shadows of the village lanes. If these private soldiers were indeed summoned by Wizengamo, they should not be underestimated.
I just don't know why these old fogies insist on supporting this bastard Fuji. Is it like a rotten mud clinging to a stinking ditch, or a turtle eyeing a green bean, that they just happen to be attracted to each other?
He glanced sideways and saw a group of people sitting in thirty or fifty silver chairs behind Fudge.
Most of them were old men with graying temples and wrinkled faces, with a few women mixed in among them. Everyone wore a purple robe with a large "W" emblem embroidered in silver thread on the chest, which was the symbol of Wizengamot.
He thought to himself: If things really come to a head, I will make sure these bastards pay the price.
With the plan settled, he crossed his arms and closed his eyes, waiting for the opening gong to sound.
As the saying goes: Sorrowful clouds drift by, resentment hangs heavy. The sun shines not overhead, and mournful winds howl all around. Magic wands clash, and the sound of drums shatters three souls.
His robes were billowing, and the sound of gongs seemed to rouse his spirit. Stacks of indictments were piled high, and people wondered when he would return. The onlookers shook their heads, all saying he was sure to go to jail.
At 9:45 AM, Fudge suddenly stood up, drew his magic wand, pointed it at his own cheek, and shouted.
"I hereby declare the court in full swing!"
After that shout, the previously quiet area instantly erupted into chaos. The massive crowd surged forward like a flood, pushing and shoving their way toward the execution ground.
On the east side of the execution ground, a group of vendors selling fresh dragon meat insisted on entering the execution ground to watch, and the private soldiers chased them away but could not drive them off.
Just as the commotion was starting, a group of Quidditch vendors selling brooms from the west side of the execution ground also forced their way in.
The two charged at each other, and the scene erupted into chaos.
A private soldier was jostled in the crowd, his robe splattered with a large patch of bloody dragon blood. He instantly flew into a rage, yelling, "You bunch of bastards, get out of here! Where do you think you are? What are you doing, pushing your way in like this?!"
The Quidditch equipment vendors, upon hearing the insults, all raised their eyebrows and glared.
A round-faced man slammed his broom on the ground and shouted, "Our Lesway Quidditch Supplies Shop has branches all over the wizarding world. What kind of scene haven't we seen?"
"The International Federation of Wizards will elect a new president and announce it to wizards worldwide using a live video spell."
"You're just interrogating some savior, what's wrong with us looking at it!"
These words drew cheers from the onlookers, who pushed and shoved each other, creating a noisy scene reminiscent of boiling water being poured on an anthill.
Just as the argument was reaching its climax, Fudge, whose head was already throbbing from the noise, couldn't contain himself any longer and immediately roared, "Don't let them in!"
Before the commotion had subsided, a group of carriage drivers approached from the south side of the execution ground. The private soldiers shouted, "Hey! Can't you see there's a trial here? What are you doing?"
The porters, their faces covered in dust, craned their necks to look around. "We're delivering goods to Bee Duke, is there a problem?"
The private soldier felt the sun throbbing erratically. He turned around and blocked the group of broom sellers at the west end, shouting at the top of his lungs, "The square has been requisitioned by the Ministry of Magic! Harry Potter is going to be tried next. You'd better take a detour!"
When the porters heard that Harry was to be interrogated, they pulled on the reins, jumped off the carriage, and stood in the crowd to watch.
North of the execution ground, another group of owl sellers pushed two carts over, their carts laden with owl cages, from which came the constant rustling and flapping of feathers. They were determined to enter the execution ground.
The private soldiers, enraged, their wands trembling wildly, roared, "And what are you doing here?!"
The customer replied, "We sell owls; the post office has ordered a new batch."
"Then let's go somewhere else! Didn't you see the square has been temporarily requisitioned by the Ministry of Magic?"
This shout angered the customer. "We do business globally, and we've never been to Hogsmeade before. How would we know where the other paths are?"
"We'll just follow the map!"
The private soldiers wouldn't let them go, and the group of guests stood still, making a ruckus all around. Fouché couldn't stop them, and then he saw the porters all sitting cross-legged on the cart, watching.
The place was filled with the noise of people from all directions. People were shouting and yelling, yelling in front and clamoring behind, making Fudge's head throb and his temples throb.
Seeing that the private soldiers Wizengamo had brought in were out of control, he gritted his teeth, grabbed a roll of paper, and shouted, "July 27th, trial! Trial of Harry James Potter, who lives at No. 4 Privet Drive, Little Huigkin, Surrey!"
As soon as the shout fell, the two iron chains on the stone chair armrests suddenly rose like venomous snakes, "whoosh," and stepped up in mid-air, locking Harry's wrists and binding him firmly to the chair.
Fudge felt a surge of relief when he saw Harry chained up. Just as he was about to speak again, he heard a voice coming from the crowd.
"Defendant's witness: Albus Percival Woolflick Bryan Dumbledore."
The crowd parted like a tide, and Dumbledore slowly emerged.
Walking to Harry's side, he tapped his wand, and a dozen stones "crackled" up from the cracks in the bluestone slabs, instantly forming a rock chair.
Dumbledore took his seat, placed his fingers interlaced on his lap, and calmly said, "Now, please continue."
Upon seeing the White Demon King, a chorus of shouts erupted from the crowd. One person removed their pointed hat and held it to their chest, another yelled a greeting, creating quite a lively scene.
However, a buzzing sound suddenly arose from the thirty or fifty silver chairs. The wise men's faces were frosty, they whispered among themselves like mosquitoes, and glanced at Dumbledore with sidelong glances as if they were spying on a fox.
Harry took in the scene and turned to smile, saying, "What did you do in the past, Professor? Why does everyone in Wizengamot see you as a jinx?"
"Who knows—" Dumbledore said without turning his head, his eyes fixed on the platform. "I'll find out after your interrogation is over."
As they were talking, Fudge glared at Dumbledore a few times, then suddenly twisted his neck, his two fierce eyes fixed on Harry, and said, "Alright! Defendant Harry James Potter! You were warned by the Ministry of Magic three years ago for illegally using magic, weren't you?"
Just as they were about to get to the point, the chaotic din from all around suddenly fell silent. The entire audience held their breath, and countless pairs of eyes were fixed intently on the square; it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
The question came as abruptly as Harry hesitated for a moment before recalling how, when he first met Dobby, he had used magic to receive a warning letter from the Ministry of Magic.
He nodded and replied, "That's right, it's me!"
Fudge was secretly pleased that he admitted it, but pressed on, "And on June 27th of this year, you used magic outside of school again!"
"And they used dozens!"
"Hundreds of Muggles witnessed it firsthand, and you even destroyed a Muggle dwelling!"
"Am I right or not!"
Fudge's words were righteous and awe-inspiring, and the onlookers around him whispered among themselves and nodded in agreement.
Dumbledore was about to speak when Harry sneered, "Shut the hell up! I'll put a knife to your throat, and you'd better chant a spell for me!"
"Ha! You admit you illegally used dozens of spells?!"
"Minister," Dumbledore interrupted, "I think you should look up the 'Law on the Reasonable Restraint of Underage Wizards'."
Article 7.
Fudge, who was feeling quite pleased with himself, was taken aback upon hearing this. "What?"
Upon hearing this, Percy hurriedly flipped through a law book on his desk. Finding the entry, he whispered urgently, "Minister, it means that wizards can use magic as an exception when their lives are in danger—"
Before he could finish speaking, Fudge shouted, "But who can prove he was in mortal danger, and not lying?"
"I."
Dumbledore said calmly, "A powerful dark wizard pulled me into another dimension."
"If you have any objections, I wouldn't mind showing you my memories."
At this point, the truth has come to light.
But if Legilimency were to examine Dumbledore's memories, their authenticity would be immediately determined, and this case could be closed.
However, Fudge was not about to let go of his anger. Just as he was scratching his head, looking for a reason, he suddenly saw an old sage stand up behind him.
"Article 8, point 23 of the Wizengamo Charter of Rights clearly affirms the legitimacy and rationality of self-defense, therefore I believe Mr. Porter is innocent on this point."
These words caused an uproar in the room.
Fudge felt as if someone had grabbed him by the neck, and he suddenly turned around to look back.
The sage paused briefly, then raised his voice again: "However, point twenty-three also clearly states that self-defense does not include the use of black magic."
"That's right!"
Fu Ji slammed his hand on the table, then pulled out another piece of paper and read aloud: "Life-Taking Curse, Soul-Snatching Curse, Heart-Piercing Curse, Torture Curse, Disembowelment Curse, Fiery Curse—"
"We detected a total of twenty-eight types of dark magic used by you, in addition to nineteen previously unrecorded types!"
"Mr. Potter! You intentionally murdered or tortured someone, which carries a life sentence!"
Harry flew into a rage upon hearing this. "What utter nonsense! It's allowed for others to kill me, but I'm not allowed to kill them! Is there any logic to this?!"
"This is the law."
"Wheaton, these are extraordinary times," Dumbledore declared. "I proposed restoring wizards' right to use Dark Magic two months ago."
"Yes, Dumbledore, you did say that—" The sage nodded, then suddenly grinned, "But Wizengamor hasn't agreed yet, has he?"
Having said that, he glanced down at Harry and said coldly, "The Charter of Rights of Wizengamor was jointly drafted by the patriarchs of Wizengamor and the Twenty-Eight Holy Clans."
"Mr. Potter, who are you questioning?"
Upon hearing this, a chorus of sighs erupted from the audience, all saying that Harry was doomed.
Harry laughed in exasperation. "What? You think your lousy words are holy decrees?"
"That's right."
The sage, without any hesitation, nodded and said, "You should know the meaning of a sage; one whose moral character and magical abilities far surpass those of others."
"
"I don't think anyone would agree to a Squib making the laws of the wizarding world."
After he finished speaking, everyone in the audience nodded in agreement.
"The Holy Race laid the foundation for the prosperity and development of the magical world. They paid with money and even their lives, and they deserve honor."
"I don't think anyone would disagree with that."
The audience members either nodded or remained silent in silence.
The sage was pleased and then asked, "Mr. Potter, is there anything else you wish to say?"
Harry met his gaze and sneered, "He can be replaced."
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