Roger Virgil's case had become a matter of quiet, intense speculation among the highest echelons of wizarding society. Though the specifics were not publicly disclosed, they were far from secret, especially among the pure-blood families who controlled vast resources, and the powerful wizards whose names carried weight across the wizarding world. In hushed circles, it was the topic of heated discussions, often during leisurely gatherings where such matters were casually debated.
The lawyer, despite his position, was not privy to these inner circles. However, through a friend — a friend with connections — he had learned much. It was said that in the legal world, much of the influence that shaped court decisions lay far beyond the courtroom itself. The key to understanding legal judgments often came from those who wielded power, not from the letters of the law. The rumors surrounding Roger Virgil were disturbing to say the least.
At the age of ten, Roger had already shown the kind of leadership and ruthlessness that was both impressive and terrifying. In the midst of the Muggle wars, a time when chaos and brutality were daily realities, Roger had led a team of fighters, orchestrating their survival with a degree of tactical brilliance that had left an indelible mark on all who had witnessed it. He had survived the war and, more disturbingly, emerged unscathed, his mind sharpened by the horrors he had encountered. His leadership skills were exceptional, and his ability to make swift, decisive actions in the face of death had been called "incredibly displayed." The boy, now a young man, had not only lived through the war but had been marked by it, his psyche altered in ways that many could not fathom.
It was in these whispered conversations that another, darker possibility was raised: What if Roger's experiences, his thirst for power, led him down a more dangerous path? What if, having already brushed with death and seen the fragility of life, he sought greater power to protect himself — or perhaps for reasons even more sinister? If that power led him to the pursuit of dark magic, what then?
Roger, it was said, was not only a powerful wizard but also a Seer. This was a rare gift, one that could make his already formidable potential even more dangerous. A Seer who sought dark magic, a Seer with the will and mental fortitude of Roger, could be a threat to the entire wizarding world. The specter of Voldemort and Grindelwald still loomed large over the British wizarding community, and for many, the thought of another dark wizard rising was too much to bear. The idea that Roger could be the next dark lord was one that many could not dismiss, no matter how slim the chances seemed.
The lawyer pondered this grim possibility as he listened to the words of those in power. Though Roger was indeed a talent — an extraordinary one at that — the wizarding world was not in short supply of talented individuals. In fact, many of those in power would prefer to see such talents extinguished rather than risk another upheaval in wizarding society. History was full of figures like Voldemort, Grindelwald, Dumbledore, and Merlin — individuals whose power had the potential to reshape the world. Such changes, while often ushering in progress, also brought turmoil, fear, and division. The ruling class of wizarding society, those who preferred the status quo, did not want another upheaval. They did not want another powerful wizard to challenge their dominance or introduce new forms of magic that might disrupt the delicate balance of power.
The question then became: Would Dumbledore, the revered figure in wizarding society, risk the wrath of so many powerful families and wizards to intervene on Roger's behalf? The lawyer found this unlikely. Even though Dumbledore had the power to influence events, even he would face strong opposition from those who did not want to see Roger acquitted. There was simply too much at stake.
As these thoughts swirled in his mind, the sound of a heavy knock on the door interrupted his reverie. The voice of a prison guard called out, announcing that the trial was about to begin. Roger, who had been silently sitting, stood up without a word and walked toward the door. The lawyer, however, couldn't resist asking one last question.
"Roger!" he called out, his voice a mixture of concern and curiosity. "You should have heard what they say about Azkaban, haven't you? Aren't you afraid?"
Roger turned slightly, a faint smile on his face. The lawyer could see the young man's calm demeanor, and it unsettled him. The fear that should have been there, the trembling uncertainty, was nowhere to be seen. Roger simply responded, his voice level, almost detached.
"I'm terrified. My heart is racing, my muscles are trembling." Roger's admission was candid, but it did little to ease the lawyer's concerns. He continued, "I haven't been exposed to Dementors, and I don't know the full extent of the terror they can bring. But there are still people alive in Azkaban, aren't there? If they can survive, then so can I."
Roger paused for a moment, his words deliberate. "From the moment I returned from hell twice, I made a vow — I will never give up on life. I will fight, no matter what, until my final breath."
The lawyer stared at him, struck by the conviction in Roger's voice. It was not a boastful declaration. There was no fiery speech, no grandstanding. Roger's resolve was quiet but absolute. It was the kind of determination that made the lawyer feel an uncomfortable chill. In that moment, the lawyer understood something fundamental about Roger: the young Seer was not afraid of Azkaban. He was not afraid of death. What terrified him more was the idea of surrendering to fear and losing the fight for his life.
The lawyer felt a sudden, deep fear for the first time in this case. He understood, at last, why many of the wizarding elite were so wary of Roger. Even if there was only a small chance that Roger could grow into a dark figure, the possibility alone was enough to make many wizards uncomfortable. Roger had the courage, the resolve, and the power to change the world, for better or for worse. And in the hands of someone so determined, the consequences could be catastrophic.
As the door opened and the four guards encircled Roger once more, the lawyer couldn't shake the image of the young man's calm, unyielding face. They made their way through the Ministry, passing from the second floor of the Ministry of Magic headquarters to the eighth floor, where the Wizengamot awaited. There, in that grand chamber, the fate of Roger Virgil — and possibly the future of the wizarding world — would be decided.
One document after another was laid out before the members of the Wizengamot, each page shedding light on the details of Roger Virgil's case. One interrogator after another stepped forward, questioning him about the events that led up to the charges against him, allowing the members of the Wizengamot to form a clearer picture of the young man standing in the defendant's seat. While Roger answered each question with apparent calm, he was also observant, aware of the eyes upon him, analyzing the reactions of the fifty members as they listened to his responses.
The Wizengamot trial was nothing like a traditional court trial. The process was structured differently — the interrogators posed questions, Roger responded, and then the members of the Wizengamot raised their hands to vote on his guilt. Each member's decision was based on their personal assessment of the situation, and the minority obeyed the majority. In the event of a 25-25 split, the decision was left to the Chief Warlock, who in this case was none other than Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard in the room. Dumbledore's role in the Wizengamot was akin to the speaker of a council, holding the final say in important matters. Wick, Roger's lawyer, had no direct involvement in the process; he stood to the side, watching the proceedings unfold, though he couldn't help but feel a rising tension.
Normally, a defendant would rely on their lawyer to speak on their behalf, especially if they weren't particularly skilled in articulating their defense. But Roger, after a brief discussion with Wick, had decided to speak for himself. It wasn't that he doubted Wick's professional abilities; rather, there were deeper reasons for his choice. During their earlier conversation, Roger had sensed something unsettling — Wick, despite being his defender, had not shown unwavering support for him. It was understandable; after all, defense was simply a job, and no one was expected to approve of everything their clients did. But in a trial like this, where the stakes were so high, any hint of hesitation could be disastrous.
Roger knew that the outcome of the trial was already likely set in stone. His situation was dire, and the chances of a favorable outcome were slim. Still, he preferred to face the questions himself rather than leave his fate in the hands of someone who might not fully believe in him. He had already endured too much in his life to let others dictate his future, especially when it was clear that even the most powerful figures in the wizarding world viewed him with suspicion.
As the interrogators continued, Roger answered each question with quiet conviction. One of the most critical questions came from Dumbledore himself. His expression, usually warm and kind, now bore the solemnity befitting his position as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. His voice was calm but firm as he posed the question that had been on many minds for some time: "According to our investigation, by the end of 1990, the intensity of the war had already decreased. With your power and resources at the time, you had a complete opportunity to get out of the war and return to England. Why did you stay in Kuwait as a religious seer until the spring of 1991, when the Gulf War was finally over? Why didn't you leave when you had the chance?"
Dumbledore's question was sharp, and the weight behind it was impossible to ignore. The investigation into Roger's actions had already revealed a key point: that he had stayed in Kuwait longer than necessary. His choice to remain there, despite the war winding down, had been a factor in many of the charges against him. After all, if Roger had truly possessed the resources and abilities to escape, why didn't he return home?
The answer to this question was crucial. If Roger had stayed out of selfishness or for personal gain, it could paint him as someone who cared little for the lives of others. However, Roger's response was far from weak or apologetic.
"In Kuwait, many people followed me because they believed I was a religious seer," he began, his voice steady, unwavering. "They trusted me to guide them, to protect them from the dangers that surrounded us. And I did protect them. I used my abilities, my predictive powers, to keep them alive. Landmines, bombs, bullets, missiles — I could sense them before they arrived. I was always one step ahead, able to avoid death's pursuit."
Roger paused, taking a deep breath as he continued, "By mid-war, I had already accumulated enough resources to leave, to escape the chaos. But if I had left, what would have happened to the people who depended on me? They would have lost their anchor, their leader, and the group would have fallen apart. Those who had been suppressing their ambitions might have seized the opportunity to gain power, and the fragile unity we had built would have crumbled."
He looked up at the members of the Wizengamot, his gaze steady. "Without my foresight, many would have died. I had helped them avoid missile attacks, ambushes, and dangers they couldn't have predicted. If I left, I would have been abandoning them to their fates, and I couldn't do that."
The room was silent after Roger's words, the weight of his explanation sinking in. His answer wasn't one of self-justification; it was one of pragmatism. Roger had made a difficult choice, one that, in his eyes, had been necessary for the survival of those around him. He had seen himself not as a mere survivor, but as a leader — a leader who was willing to shoulder the burden of responsibility for the lives of others, even at the cost of his own safety and comfort.
The members of the Wizengamot exchanged looks, each one considering Roger's response carefully. Some were skeptical, unwilling to excuse his actions, while others seemed moved by the gravity of his explanation. Dumbledore, for all his wisdom, did not immediately offer a judgment. He knew that Roger's words had raised more questions than they had answered, but they had also provided a glimpse into the young man's mindset — a mindset shaped by the horrors of war and the responsibility he had taken on.
As the interrogation continued, Roger's fate remained uncertain, hanging in the balance. But one thing was clear: whatever the outcome, Roger had proven that he was not simply a product of his circumstances. He was a force unto himself, one whose choices — right or wrong — had been guided by a deep sense of responsibility and a powerful will to survive. Whether the Wizengamot would see it that way was another matter entirely.
Roger paused, his words hanging in the air as he gathered his thoughts before continuing. "I hate lies, and I hate death." He leaned forward slightly, his eyes intense. "When I was weak, I had to borrow lies to gain strength, to protect myself by bringing death to others. And in that moment, I believed the lies because I had no other choice."
There was a quiet tension in the room, as Roger's voice rang out with a surprising clarity. "And at that time, there were tens of thousands who believed in me. I had weapons, I had manpower, I had power. I became strong, and with that strength, I was able to protect myself. But as I grew stronger, I had to continue doing the same things I hated: using lies to mask my true self, bringing death to others. Watching those who believed in me die."
He paused again, his expression hardening as he spoke with an intensity that captivated every member of the Wizengamot. "What is the meaning of becoming strong if all it does is allow me to keep doing what I hate? What is the point of surviving, if it's just to continue living in a cycle of disgust and regret? Is that really what life is about? Shouldn't people strive for something greater than constantly disgusted by their own actions?"
Roger's voice softened, but his words were no less powerful. "People shouldn't live to hate themselves. That's not the life I want. I don't like farewells. I don't like death, so I refuse to accept its presence. I won't let it come for me, and I won't let it come for those around me. When I promised those people that I would lead them through the war, I wasn't going to break that promise. I wasn't going to leave before the war was over. I couldn't."
His words lingered in the air, and for a moment, it seemed as though even the Wizengamot was holding its breath. The answer was raw, honest, and stripped of pretense. It was not the response they had expected from someone accused of using others and participating in a war that had cost countless lives. But in that moment, Roger had revealed something that no one had anticipated — a glimpse of the true depths of his convictions.
Dumbledore, his brow furrowed in deep thought, nodded slightly. He was not one to make rash judgments, but Roger's answer had not dispelled all of the questions that lingered in the room. Instead, it added layers to them.
"Hmm," Dumbledore finally murmured, his tone measured, before continuing with the next question. "During the Gulf War, you personally killed 98 people. What is your view on this?"
The air in the room shifted immediately. The Wizengamot members seemed to lean forward, their attention now fully fixed on Roger. It was clear that this question, more than any other, carried the heaviest weight. It was not merely a question of legality; it was a question of morality, of human nature. They wanted to know if Roger felt remorse for taking lives.
Roger's expression remained calm as he met Dumbledore's gaze. The question seemed inevitable, but its importance was not lost on him. He had already anticipated it, knowing that his actions during the war were a significant point of contention. The number of people he had killed, whether in self-defense or in the defense of others, was not a simple matter of black and white.
The room was tense as he spoke, his voice unwavering. "Madmen whose families died in the war, whose spirits were shattered. Scumbags who saw the chaos as an opportunity to do evil. Invaders from Iraq, and the American forces who pursued their own goals without regard for the lives around them. Among the people I killed, 54 were trying to kill me."
Roger paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in. "The other 44? They were trying to kill the people around me. Do you think it's a crime to defend those who rely on you, to stop the hand of death from taking those who can't protect themselves?"
The question Roger posed hung in the air, a challenge to the judgment of the Wizengamot. "If you think it's a crime to act in self-defense, to act in defense of others, then I don't think there's anything more to discuss." He spoke with a level of clarity and certainty that left little room for debate.
A murmur spread through the room, the wizards shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Roger's words were blunt, but they were also undeniably compelling. There was a quiet acknowledgment in the air, a realization that the line between right and wrong was often not as simple as it appeared at first glance.
Dumbledore, ever the diplomat, did not allow the discussion to linger too long before asking his next question. "Roger Virgil, you've killed so many people. Do you feel guilty for ending the lives of others?"
This, too, was a question Roger had expected. He had thought about it long before he stood in the defendant's seat, and his answer came without hesitation. His tone was firm, unyielding, as he spoke: "No."
The room seemed to grow even quieter, as though they were all waiting for some qualification, some explanation that would soften his words. But Roger offered none. "He who kills shall be killed. From the moment they picked up the butcher knife, they should have known that there were consequences. I know they may have been someone's son, husband, father, sister, or brother. Some will mourn for them. They may not have thought of their actions as evil — they were simply fighting to protect their country, to protect their people. But that doesn't excuse their actions. And it doesn't mean they should escape the consequences of their choices."
Roger's voice was unyielding. "I will not feel the slightest guilt for killing them. They had the option to put down their weapons. I didn't want to kill them, but I did what was necessary to survive."
His words echoed in the chamber, and the silence that followed was thick with contemplation. Roger had not shown remorse, not because he lacked empathy, but because he had come to see his actions as a necessary evil in a world where survival often demanded the most difficult choices. The Wizengamot would have to decide whether they could accept that reasoning, or whether they would condemn him for the lives he had taken in the name of survival.
The tension in the room was palpable, and for the first time since the trial had begun, it seemed as though everyone — even the members of the Wizengamot — was grappling with the complexity of Roger's words, struggling to determine what truly constituted right and wrong in a world as morally gray as the one they inhabited.
"Life is priceless. One life should not be nobler than another, and a hundred lives should not be more precious than ten lives, and vice versa. Life is not something that can be placed on a scale," Roger declared, his voice unwavering, cutting through the tense atmosphere of the courtroom. The simplicity and weight of his words hung in the air, challenging the very nature of justice and morality in that room. "If someone hates me because I killed their loved ones and wants to kill me, then come on. I don't have double standards. From the moment I started fighting, I was already prepared to face death." He let his words settle, his gaze intense, as if daring anyone to contradict him.
Roger paused before continuing, his tone taking on a more resolute edge. "However, no matter how deep their hatred or how just their reasons, I will not show mercy to those who raise their weapons against me. They chose their fate when they chose to fight me. I won't apologize for protecting myself."
His words were a challenge, not just to those who had come to judge him, but to the very notion of justice itself. The courtroom was silent, save for the soft shuffling of robes and the occasional cough. Roger's gaze moved from one Wizengamot member to the next, sensing their disapproval, their confusion, and in some cases, their begrudging understanding. He had already anticipated that his blunt honesty would unsettle them, but he had no intention of softening his stance.
Dumbledore, ever the master of observation, had been carefully watching the reactions of the wizards around him. Some appeared visibly disturbed, their faces wrinkled in distaste or shock. It was clear that Roger's words, bold and unapologetic, had struck a nerve with many present. But Roger didn't care. He had long since stopped caring about the approval of others. His convictions were his own, formed in the crucible of war, and no one could take that from him.
Albus Dumbledore, seated at the center of the Wizengamot, seemed momentarily lost in thought. The weight of the trial, the complexity of the decisions ahead, were evident in his eyes. Despite his outwardly calm demeanor, he was keenly aware of the delicate balance at play. After a long pause, Dumbledore finally spoke, his voice steady but filled with an undercurrent of concern. "Mr. Roger, you should have communicated with your lawyer before the trial. If you are found guilty, it will certainly be a serious offense, and the British Ministry of Magic usually detains serious criminals in Azkaban." His words, though seemingly innocuous, carried a deeper implication.
Roger, however, was not fooled. He understood Dumbledore's subtext — the wise old wizard was subtly warning him that his current approach could harm his case. He could sense the Chief Warlock's genuine concern, though it was masked by the formality of the courtroom. Roger's gaze flickered momentarily, but he quickly regained his composure. He knew exactly where Dumbledore was coming from. He was trying to help, trying to give him a chance to soften his approach and save himself from the harshest consequences.
But Roger had made up his mind. He wasn't about to change now, not after everything he had been through. "I know that I am a child, much weaker than any wizard present," Roger began, his voice steady despite the immense weight of his words. "You don't even need magic. Your strong bodies can knock me to the ground with a single hand. If I say some soft words, or shed a few tears, it might help my case. I know how this works."
He paused, looking around the courtroom, meeting the eyes of the assembled wizards. "But I don't want to do that. This is the Wizengamot. You are the powerful wizards who hold the legislative and judicial power of the entire British wizarding world. I know that each of you has extraordinary qualities: vast knowledge, long-standing bloodlines, deep wisdom, powerful strength, and far-reaching influence." His voice was firm, unyielding. "I don't believe you can be easily deceived. I also despise lies."
Roger's words rang true in the silent courtroom, and his gaze was unflinching. "You've asked me many questions, but my answer has always been the same. During the Gulf War, everything I did, every consequence I faced, was because I wanted to survive. I wanted to save those who believed in me, and I wanted to fulfill my promise to them. I have no regrets. Even if you find me guilty and gave me the chance to go back to that battlefield, I would do it all over again. I would still fight."
His words carried the weight of a hard truth, one that few in the room could easily dismiss. "All my answers come from the heart, without a single lie. If you have the means to read minds, to detect lies, feel free to verify them, as long as it doesn't harm me," Roger finished, his tone unwavering and sincere.
The room fell into a heavy silence. Every wizard in the courtroom was staring at him, their eyes narrowed, trying to decipher the young boy standing before them. Though Roger was physically weak, his words revealed a soul that had been tested and forged in the fires of war. A soul that had survived the impossible, that had fought and killed its way out of hell, and now stood unyielding before the highest court in the wizarding world.
Roger's courage was undeniable. His willingness to stand before them without flinching, without giving in to the pressure to conform, made an impression on every wizard in the room. Some might have been unsettled by his unwavering stance, while others may have felt a quiet admiration for his strength of will. Even Dumbledore, wise and experienced as he was, could not help but feel a sense of awe for the boy who had faced death and emerged unbroken.
Despite the tension, Dumbledore had no more questions. It seemed that Roger had already answered everything that needed to be said. With a solemn air, Dumbledore turned to the Wizengamot and asked, "Then… Members who agree that the charges are valid, please raise your hands."
There was a pause. Some raised their hands immediately, others hesitated, and some chose not to act at all. A few members who had previously been vocal in their opposition to Roger remained quiet. Interestingly, many of those who had been determined to find Roger guilty were now less certain. Conversely, some of those who had believed in his innocence were now raising their hands in agreement with the charges.
The room was divided, unsure of how to proceed, and all eyes turned toward Dumbledore. But the Chief Warlock remained still, his face unreadable, his decision yet to be made. It was clear that the fate of Roger Virgil was far from certain. The question now was not whether he was guilty, but whether the Wizengamot could reconcile his actions with the complexities of justice, morality, and the harsh realities of the world in which they lived.