The air within the courtroom remained cool and reverent, as though the stone walls themselves were listening. Despite the presence of enchanted torches and murmuring quills, an almost churchlike stillness settled over the gathered crowd. All eyes were drawn to the figure in the iron-bound chair, the man who had once charmed Britain with tales of daring and dragons, curses and courage.
Now, Gilderoy Lockhart sat shackled beneath cold light, a pale sheen of sweat on his brow.
Ethan watched from the gallery, expression unreadable, his chin resting lightly on one hand. His mother sat beside him, her fingers occasionally moving as she whispered a note to the aide at her side. Down below, the chief interrogator stood and raised a scroll that unrolled with a whispering sound like unfolding wings.
"The court will now examine the first primary charge," the wizard began, voice magically magnified, "namely, the unlawful and repeated use of memory modification charms upon multiple individuals, without consent or Ministry-sanctioned oversight, resulting in both psychological harm and permanent memory loss."
A low murmur ran through the audience, horrified, incredulous.
"Let it be known, that Miss Chloe Wright and Department Investigator Gerwyn Rowle began an inquiry into inconsistencies found in Mr. Lockhart's published works, an inquiry that revealed disturbing patterns correlating to victims who had not only vanished from public record, but whose last sightings coincided precisely with Lockhart's claims of heroism."
A wand was raised. A silvery ribbon of memory emerged from its tip and spiraled down into the center of the courtroom, where it expanded into a shimmering Pensieve-like illusion.
The scene depicted was a windswept cliff in Wales, a small cottage perched at the edge, half-collapsed. A younger, disheveled wizard hobbled from the doorway, waving his wand erratically and shouting something incoherent.
"He doesn't know his name anymore," the interrogator said quietly. "He was once a dragon-tamer who saved an entire village from a rogue Fireball Wyrm. Lockhart published that account under Year with the Yeti, claiming it had happened in Siberia, with himself as the hero."
Gasps rose from the benches.
Ethan's fingers tightened faintly around the rail in front of him. He remembered seeing that book in Diagon Alley the summer before his first year. Bright cover, ridiculous grin, glittering lettering.
Seeing the truth behind it made him feel vindicated about exposing Lockhart sooner rather than later.
Fiction, dressed up as truth.
The Pensieve memory faded. A second replaced it. An elderly woman in a cluttered sitting room, talking haltingly to a Ministry official.
"He came for tea," she said in a strained voice. "Said he wanted to learn about the banshee in the cellar. I told him it took me five years to catch it. Five years. And then, then everything went blank. I woke up, and my journals were gone."
The illusion shimmered and vanished, leaving a cold silence in its place.
Lockhart shifted in his seat, clearly struggling to maintain composure.
"I-if I may-", but the head inquisitor cut him off.
"You will be given time to speak. For now, the court will hear the evidence."
Lady Wright stood.
With elegence, she descended to the courtroom floor, a slim portfolio in hand. She handed it to the interrogator, then turned toward the audience and the accused alike.
"I initiated the investigation because the lies were not just boastful exaggerations. They were theft," she said. "Every tale stolen from a true witch or wizard cost that person not only recognition, but often memory, sanity, or worse."
She turned to Lockhart. "You weren't content to simply write fiction, were you? You took lives, left people broken, and sold their stories under your name."
Lockhart looked away.
"I have here," she continued, gesturing towards the portfolio, "twelve confirmed cases. Twelve individuals who suffered either partial or near-total memory loss. Most are unable to testify themselves due to the long-term damage of Obliviation."
She returned to her seat without further words, and the interrogator summoned a final memory.
This one was dimmer, more damaged. A hazy conversation in a candlelit hallway. The voice of Gilderoy Lockhart could be heard, though he wasn't in frame.
"…no one will believe you. I'll publish it before you can write a word. Now hold still-Obliviate!"
The courtroom fell deathly silent.
Even Umbridge, usually incapable of silence, had stopped sipping her tea.
Lockhart slumped in his chair, as though the memory had physically struck him.
At last, the inquisitor raised his voice again.
"Mr. Lockhart, you may now respond to the charges presented."
Lockhart's smile was slow, weak.
"Esteemed members of the Wizengamot," he began, voice quivering like a badly-cast Sonorus charm, "I… I do not deny that some liberties may have been taken in the process of compiling my works."
A scoff ran through the gallery.
"I was under pressure. The publishing industry, there's a demand for drama, for the extraordinary. I-I only meant to preserve these stories, to inspire!"
"By erasing the original authors from history?" someone called out.
Lockhart flinched. "I made them legends!"
"Then name one," the interrogator said. "Name a single person whose memories you took, whose story you claimed. Just one."
Lockhart opened his mouth. Closed it. Swallowed. "I-I don't…"
"You don't remember," the inquisitor finished coldly. "How fitting."
The first section of the trial ended with the official announcement that all twelve memory violations had been verified by Pensieve analysis and witness collaboration. Three victims had permanent memory gaps that could not be healed even with spellwork from St. Mungo's.
Only a few were able to personally attend to give their own statements. The earlier pensive showings were from those who were unable or unwilling to attend.
Ethan remained still throughout, watching the unmaking of Lockhart with what he thought might be glee. Seeing justice served would have anyone feeling happy, wouldnt it?
He leaned slightly toward his mother. "He'll try to turn the crowd. Appeal to sympathy."
"He already is," she murmured back. "But this court won't be swayed by his smile. Not anymore."
"Now," the inquisitor began, "we will be proceeding to the second list of charges. Fraudulent claims of magical achievements and illegal publication of misinformation under magical oath."