Chapter 162: The Trial
It was 6:55 on another Sunday evening when Jon Hart once again appeared punctually at the Headmaster’s office door.
“Snore... snore...”
As soon as he arrived, a loud, peculiar sound reached his ears.
It was the heavy snoring coming from the mouth of the grotesque stone gargoyle.
“Hey... Mr. Stone...” Jon gently patted the gargoyle’s back. After thinking for ages, he still couldn’t come up with a better name for it. “Mind telling me the password?”
“Snore...”
The gargoyle rolled to the side, ignored him completely, and kept on sleeping.
“Such a lazy strike... hopeless. If I were Headmaster, I’d sack you on the spot!” Jon shook his head helplessly.
But since the snoring gargoyle wasn’t blocking the way, Jon slipped through easily, pushed open the door behind it, and stepped onto the moving staircase.
...
A minute later, Jon entered Dumbledore’s office—the spacious, beautiful circular chamber.
On the walls, portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses dozed softly within their frames. Headmistress Dilys Derwent cracked one eye open, gave Jon a quick wink, and immediately shut it again.
“I appreciate your punctuality, Jon!”
Albus Dumbledore reclined comfortably in his chair, a cup of tea in one hand, a newspaper in the other.
“Thank you, Professor!” Jon answered quickly.
“Take a look at this Daily Prophet article by Rita Skeeter!” Dumbledore tossed the paper across the room with a hearty laugh. “See how she describes me... a rigid old madman. Quite an amusing title!”
The paper sailed across the air and landed squarely in Jon’s hands.
“Sounds amusing indeed...” Jon forced a smile, glanced at it briefly, and replied awkwardly.
Dumbledore kept sipping his tea while Jon set the Prophet back on the desk, his expression suggesting he wanted to speak but held back.
“You look as though something’s on your mind,” Dumbledore said, his pale blue eyes blinking gently as they fixed on Jon’s.
“Yes... how did you do it?” Jon couldn’t help but ask, curiosity slipping through. “On Thursday afternoon... in Care of Magical Creatures!”
“So, you noticed after all.” Dumbledore let out a sigh, his expression tinged with regret.
“Unicorns don’t lose control so easily!” Jon said earnestly. “At least, not according to everything I’ve read.”
“Quite right!” Dumbledore gave him an approving nod. “Unicorns are gentle—very, very gentle. For them to go berserk is extraordinarily rare. But as Magical Creatures, they still carry certain instincts.”
As he spoke, the crimson phoenix Fawkes glided down to perch beside him, bowing its head affectionately. Dumbledore stroked it gently before continuing:
“For instance, when threatened or provoked by another creature, they can react violently. So, I asked Fawkes to provoke it. Naturally, you wouldn’t have been able to see.”
“Since it was a unicorn, the provocation enraged it...” Dumbledore added, pride edging his tone. “Any other creature would have been quaking in terror.”
“I see...” Jon nodded quietly.
“Alright, let’s begin.” Dumbledore set down his teacup and walked over to the Pensieve. A vial of memory was already waiting.
“My own memory,” Dumbledore explained, “from a trial more than ten years ago.”
...
Today’s memory wasn’t unfamiliar to Jon.
A high stone ceiling loomed above a dark, imposing chamber. Nearly two hundred witches and wizards sat sternly in tiered seats, with Albus Dumbledore near the very front.
Mad-Eye Moody sat a little further back—this was the genuine one, Jon was sure.
The walls were solid, dark stone, giving the place the feel of a prison. On the dais sat a wizard who looked over a decade younger: Barty Crouch. At that time, he had been Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
It was the very trial Harry Potter had seen during his first encounter with the Pensieve in the original story—the trials of Karkaroff, Ludo Bagman, and Barty Crouch Jr.
As Barty Crouch rapped the table, two Dementors entered, dragging in the weakened Igor Karkaroff to face judgment...
Truthfully, Jon already knew this memory well. But beside him, Dumbledore seemed to be savoring it.
So Jon forced himself to look surprised and patiently watched until the end.
When Barty Crouch finally sentenced his own son to life imprisonment in Azkaban, Jon and Dumbledore rose back to the present, the sudden brightness around them making Jon squint.
“You don’t seem particularly entertained,” Dumbledore remarked casually.
“Well... watching trials can be rather dull,” Jon answered lightly.
“It’s getting late.” Dumbledore glanced at the golden clock on the wall, the hand already pointing at twelve.
“Yes, Professor...” Jon said softly. “I’ll be going now.”
“How’s your preparation for the Second Task?” Dumbledore asked, his tone like that of a caring elder.
“I’ve solved the golden egg’s riddle...” Jon replied calmly. “I just hope there aren’t any surprises like that Ironbelly again.”
“Of course not. The Second Task will be fair.” Dumbledore waved a hand and gave him a kind smile.
“Any other questions?” Dumbledore asked, noticing Jon’s hesitation.
“Yes... just one.” Jon hesitated, then spoke. “About the merpeople living at the bottom of the Black Lake... they won’t come ashore to hunt their enemies, will they?”
“Correct. Merpeople can hardly survive on land.” Dumbledore looked at him with interest, as if pondering the meaning behind his words.
“That’s good...” Jon let out a quiet breath of relief.
Then he turned and walked out of Dumbledore’s office.
Until he disappeared into the night.
Author's Note
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