Hogwarts: Becoming the White Lord from Breathing

Chapter 156 The trial begins

February 13, 8:00 AM.

Mortos arrived at the Ministry of Magic an hour early.

His office had been forbidden from apparition, so he entered the Ministry of Magic starting from a telephone booth.
Along the way, everyone who saw him instinctively stopped and stared at him—after yesterday's earthquake, no one in the Ministry of Magic was unaware of his existence.

And those pure-blood wizards also gained a completely new understanding of the name Caliban Mortos.

Amelia seemed to be isolated to avoid suspicion; Damon saw her standing at the edge of the crowd from afar, quietly nodding at him.

The person leading him was an unfamiliar Ministry of Magic official, of medium height and build, with a serious expression. Apart from saying "Please follow me" when confirming Damon's identity, he remained silent throughout, leading him into a narrow, enclosed room—on which there was cake and black tea on the table, as well as books to pass the time.

"The trial has not yet begun. Please wait here for half an hour, and I will come to call you then."

"Thank you."

“You’re welcome.” The Ministry of Magic official seemed somewhat surprised, and after a moment he said, “I think you did the right thing.”

After saying that, he left solemnly as if nothing had happened.

Damon glanced at the man, chuckled, and calmly sat down in the room, picking up a piece of cake with a fork and casually starting to read a book.

I thought the next half hour would be a quiet period, but it seems that wasn't the case at all.

"Morthos?"

Suddenly, a second voice rang out in the room—a man's voice.

Damon did not respond.

"Morthos?"

There was a hint of doubt in his voice.

"I'm not deaf, let's get straight to the point."

Damon placed the black tea on the small table and leaned back in the deformed chair—he probably wasn't in the mood to read anymore.

"You're in big trouble this time."

The man's voice was magnetic and deep, as if Damon had pierced the sky.

“Fudge won’t let you off the hook. He’s already made an agreement with his gang to keep you in Azkaban for at least ten years.”

"So what?" Damon raised an eyebrow, pondering what to do next—it would be too foolish to really fight the Ministry of Magic. Hmm, he'd decide based on his mood at the time.

To be honest, after dealing with so many dangerous incidents, he was getting a little tired of the Auror job—the students at Hogwarts were much more endearing than those dark wizards he faced every day.

He personally was also reluctant to directly conquer the Ministry of Magic by force—that would make things very complicated and his position would become very delicate.

The opinions of those around them are even more so.

In a sense, Dumbledore was right.

No one can live outside of a community, and Damon is unwilling to disrupt the current ecosystem of the wizarding world—which he certainly would if he were to take a hard line.

"We can help you, as long as you nod."

The man's voice was seductive, as if Damon could escape the impending crisis simply by nodding.

"What are the conditions?"

"join us."

"who are you?"

"We are omnipresent, the aggregate of all interests—your power is too great, and we hope you will use it with caution."

"Does this mean I shouldn't take action anymore, or that I should be at your beck and call?"

"We have both, and both are fine. We fully respect your wishes."

“That’s great, I don’t plan to choose either one.” Damon put his feet on the wooden table and closed his eyes to rest.

"You've said your piece, now get out of here."

"I regret that we were unable to reach an agreement. If you change your mind later, just give us a signal. It's never too late before you are completely imprisoned in Azkaban."

The man didn't press the matter; he simply finished speaking and disappeared.

Damon then slightly opened his eyes, a fluorescent light flashing within them—under a microscope, he only saw a mass of magical energy dissipating.

"They don't even dare to show their faces, yet they act all sincere. Isn't that a joke?"

He closed his eyes and swayed gently in the rocking chair.

8:45
"Dong dong."

A knock sounded, as polite as if it were someone else's door—if one ignored the fact that Damon was awaiting trial at that moment.

“Mr. Mortos, it’s time.”

"understood."

The locked room door was then opened, and the same unfamiliar official appeared again.

Criminals are usually tried on the second basement level, but this time it seems the location has changed.
Damon was led to a very deep underground location, and when the elevator doors opened, there was only a corridor in front of him.

This corridor was completely different from the ones above. The walls were empty, with no doors or windows, except for a simple black door at the end of the corridor.

That wasn't enough. In the middle of the passage, there was a gap that led to a staircase—the depth beyond which even the elevator couldn't reach.

The light grew dimmer and dimmer until it became impossible to see anything with the naked eye.

"We've arrived at the Ninth Trial Chamber."

The rough stone walls were paired with a heavy wooden door, fitted with an iron bolt and a keyhole—the door was immediately closed as Damon entered, accompanied by the sound of it being locked.

Inside the wooden door was a dimly lit environment where even those around him could not see clearly—a long table that could accommodate almost everyone was in front of him—at the end of the long table sat a middle-aged man with a serious face—it was Fudge.

When facing Damon, his face is often full of enthusiasm, but now, when facing Mortos, his face is frighteningly serious.

The chair closest to Damon was the only iron chair, with iron chains on the armrests—clearly used to restrain prisoners.

"You're fairly punctual." A cold male voice echoed in the courtroom.

"Please sit down, sit in the seat you see." It was a man's voice, but his manner was gentle.

"I arrived early to wait, so if you're not on time, that's your problem."

Damon smiled as he sat on the Iron Throne, watching as the chains on either side activated, firmly binding his hands—as for his wand, it had been temporarily confiscated from the very beginning.

"."

Noticing Mortos's cooperative actions, many people in the darkness looked much better. While they breathed a sigh of relief, they were also somewhat surprised—Mortos was actually cooperating so well?
Is this a lion whose teeth have been pulled out?

Judging from his usual behavior, it doesn't seem like it.
Everyone stared at this illustrious killer, and he, in turn, stared back at them.

There were about fifty people dressed in crimson robes with an exquisite silver "w" embroidered on their left breast. As he voluntarily 'locked' himself up, those people finally took their hands out of their robes and placed them on the table.

There were probably still people standing around, but they weren't saying anything—were they there to observe the trial? Or were they like a jury?

Damon thought about it with great interest.

"Be serious! Mortos! This is a courtroom!"

Fudge, who was at the end of the long table, suddenly spoke up to warn.

Damon ignored him.

Fudge, however, thought that his authority had worked, and he looked around with a hint of smugness—"Very good," Fudge said, "the defendant has finally arrived, let's begin."

(End of this chapter)