Chapter 68: Madam Marchbanks: Lazy Listening, Matching Talk
“Ninth floor, Department of Mysteries.”
When Melvin and the Headmaster stepped out of the lift, the cold female voice was still echoing inside the lift.
Outside the lift was a straight corridor without any curves, with black rough walls, no doors or windows on either side, only a slightly gloomy black wooden door standing at the end of the corridor.
Melvin’s gaze passed over the corridor, examining that ordinary black door. Wright had said that inside it was hidden the Ministry of Magic’s most top-secret research project.
“The Obliviators’ work is top secret. We believe their research will change the world,” Dumbledore introduced softly.
“Hmm…” Melvin was noncommittal.
In the classical magic era, Egypt and Mayan civilization; in modern times, the American Ministry of Magic and the Ministry of Magic—every era, every country’s wizard management organization has similar departments, all claiming to explore the true nature of magic, the boundary between life and death, the essence of time and space…
A short few hundred years, a long nearly a thousand years—no progress heard of so far anyway.
Some research even has side effects: hieroglyphic magic symbols have been lost across generations, only Runic has barely survived, and even more ancient ancient magic has almost completely been lost.
Leaving the lift and turning left into an opening, below was a dim and cold stone staircase. At the bottom of the staircase was another corridor, extremely similar to the Hogwarts basement: rough stone walls, torches inserted in brackets, thick and heavy wooden doors on both sides, embedded with iron latches and keyholes.
The door leaves on both sides of the walls led to various trial rooms, numbered from one to ten; the higher the number, the more heinous the nature of the case.
Melvin and the Headmaster’s trial today was in the fourth trial room.
Because it was still early, the jury members had not all arrived. After Melvin and Dumbledore arrived, they did not enter the tribunal but waited in the adjacent waiting room for the summons. The staff they met were very tactful, with no disrespect in words or actions, even treating them with respect, not as defendants or suspects.
“Don’t worry, Headmaster Dumbledore. That Umbridge fellow is desperate for promotion, which is why she’s prosecuting you. The Minister is away on a visit and hasn’t returned yet; otherwise, he would surely stop this absurd trial. However, the other Wizengamot members are well aware of her intentions and won’t let her have her way.”
“Professor Levent, all the taverns on the British Isles are singing your name. My colleagues and I go to the tavern for a couple of drinks after work, and we all agree that the projection mirror is a great invention that will change the wizarding world.”
“My honor…”
Melvin and several staff members politely thanked them.
After entering the waiting room, Dumbledore didn’t speak much, his mood somewhat low.
Melvin noticed it and, out of care for the old wizard, spoke to comfort him: “Don’t worry. We made a contingency plan during the Christmas holiday. The trial won’t take too long; it will end soon, and we’ll definitely be back at school in time to audit Harry’s Dark Lord introductory class.”
“I’m just a bit regretful…” Dumbledore said softly. “Cornelius was once a very good wizard. In less than two years, his heart has shriveled and withered, turning into a furry heart craving power.”
……
“Silence.”
A shrill, piercing little girl’s voice echoed in the trial room, deliberately affected, cloyingly sweet, especially knowing that this childish tone came from a middle-aged witch’s throat—most wizards in the room felt a very uncomfortable awkwardness.
The Headmaster and professor on trial were unaffected, standing calmly in the center of the room, composedly surveying the trial room.
This was a spacious underground circular hall, structured in a stepped depression overall. The outer circle was for the jury and spectators, the inner circle a low stone platform with an iron chair in the center, fitted with shackles and copper locks, its unique structure creating a sense of oppressive scrutiny.
The air was filled with a slight dampness; walls, floor, and dome were all built of black stone. Torches and oil lamps had little effect; bright light streamed down from the skylight, illuminating the black tables and chairs in the trial room.
Directly in front, behind the high table, stood the chief judge Umbridge, wearing a black square-cornered wizard hat and black judicial robes. Her forehead showed neatly curled hair, her body short and fat, skin loose, cheeks with an unhealthy pink tint, her face bearing a hypocritical friendly smile, like a shoddy piece from a wax museum.
On the left and right sides could be seen many Wizengamot members in purple-red robes, with an exquisite silver “W” embroidered on the left chest. They lowered their eyes to look at the two in the arena, making faint sounds as they talked softly.
Melvin saw several familiar faces: Madam Marchbanks and Professor Tofudi from the Department of Magical Examinations, Scrimgeour from the Ministry of Magic, and Crouch and Madam Bones, whom he had never met but whose photos he had seen in the newspaper.
Some nodded in greeting to the old Headmaster, some showed apology on their faces, some had flickering light in their eyes and guiltily looked away.
Even though he knew Dumbledore had voluntarily been prosecuted, Melvin still felt a little guilty. If not for the projection mirror implication, as Chief Wizard of the Wizengamot, he should be sitting up there, not being scrutinized.
“Trial of February second.” Umbridge issued the shrill voice again, her two eyes fixed firmly on Dumbledore, her eye spacing slightly wide like a toad. “Chief Judge: Dolores Jane Umbridge of the Office for the Misuse of Magic, clerk: Nymphadora Tonks…”
Tonks, responsible for recording this trial, winked at the old Headmaster, then at that professor, to express a bit of apology.
“Hearing Muggle Studies Professor Melvin Ryan Levent.” Umbridge paused slightly, her gaze sweeping over the next suspect’s name to be read, her voice trembling with excitement. “And the current Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Percival—”
“Sorry to interrupt.”
Melvin’s coughing interrupted the proclamation, not letting this Umbridge finish reading the Headmaster’s name as a suspect. He came to below the chief judge’s dais, gazing at the chief judge, his bell-like voice clearly reaching the ears of all wizards present:
“Esteemed jury members, I believe everyone here is clear on the origin of today’s accusation. This case lacks any procedural legitimacy.
“According to《 Ministry of Magic law enforcement process regulations》 Article 19, Section 3, foreign wizards selling contraband magical items should be reviewed by the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and that department must send written notice to the wizard. It must not escalate to criminal trial level before investigation and evidence collection are complete.”
“Yet this case was initiated directly by Director Umbridge, bypassing the preliminary review.
“If a secondary department’s director can, due to personal emotions, circumvent proper judicial procedures and recklessly send ordinary wizards, or the Chief Wizard of the Wizengamot, to the trial bench, then what is the point of the British Ministry of Magic establishing the Wizengamot?”
This was the plan Melvin and Wright had agreed on long ago: using the foreign wizard identity to shift the case’s jurisdiction to the Department of International Magical Cooperation, excluding Fudge and Umbridge’s influence.
Department Head Barty Crouch of the Department of International Magical Cooperation had missed the Minister position due to his Death Eater son, but his reputation in his job was excellent. Wright believed he would handle it impartially. If this department head wasn’t upright enough, Melvin happened to know some secrets that could provide appropriate minor help.
Crouch was now sitting in the jury seats, unaware he was being considered, his face showing no particular expression.
The projection mirror, as a recent new magical invention, wasn’t really contraband upon close scrutiny. If not for its special function attracting Umbridge’s attention, Professor Levent and Monkstanley should have been nominated for the Order of Merlin.
The Wizengamot members of the jury made rustling discussion sounds. Many wizards hadn’t expected this foreign professor to directly challenge, and to be so knowledgeable about Ministry of Magic laws.
Madam Marchbanks looked at the young professor in the arena. Clearly standing low and looking up, he had an aura towering over the chief judge.
The entire jury was divided into three factions: some close to Dumbledore, some supporting Umbridge under Minister Fudge’s instructions, and others neutral between the two.
“You!”
Umbridge gritted her teeth, struggling to suppress her anger, forcing herself not to show other expressions. The veins on her neck tensed, her whole face like it was being strangled, pausing for a few seconds before squeezing out a cutesy little girl’s voice:
“Mr. Levent, I know you have a lot to say. That can be saved for the self-defense segment. Now please let me continue presiding over the trial. Perhaps you’re not familiar with normal procedures, after all, you graduated from Ilvermorny, that hastily founded short-history school. Oh, I forgot, you’re a dropout, and your major is the crude Muggle Studies…”
Madam Marchbanks on the side couldn’t help frowning, staring sternly at that chief judge witch.
What Melvin had just raised was very meaningful. Recently, a few old folks from the Department of Magical Examinations had read about Muggle procedural justice; they wanted to hear more of Melvin’s views on the Wizengamot and Ministry of Magic. But now, a discussion on the system had been dragged down by Umbridge into crude personal attacks.
Such a witch wasn’t worthy of debating with the special advisor to the Department of Magical Examinations. Madam Marchbanks was too lazy to listen to her unpleasant chatter.
Madam Marchbanks was over two hundred years old, with no patience for things she disliked. She cleared her throat: “This case indeed doesn’t conform to regulations. Per《 Ministry of Magic judicial process convention · Amendment Five》, I propose immediately initiating the voting procedure—”
Umbridge’s face was ugly as she shouted in her shrill girlish voice: “This is contempt of court, contempt of the chief judge!”
Madam Marchbanks didn’t even glance at her, saying lightly: “Those who think the projection mirror is a contraband item, please raise your hand.”
“I disagree!” Umbridge shouted angrily, her always shrill girlish voice cracking somewhat, like an old crow’s shrill wail.
Last time the Ministry of Magic tried to interfere with Hogwarts teaching changes, it was this old thing who directly mobilized the Wizengamot for a vote. Now reviewing the projection mirror, again this old undead!
One was a director with two hundred years of accumulated prestige, composed and calm; the other a recently promoted office director, furious and unsightly in posture. Their dispute had almost no suspense. Jury members close to the Headmaster quickly stated their positions, and the neutral jurors didn’t hesitate much either.
“Those who think the projection mirror is not a contraband item, please raise your hand.”
Over half of the jury wizards raised their hands; the situation was extremely clear.
Scrimgeour, sitting on the right, had a complex expression, looking deeply at the two in the arena.
Was this arranged by Dumbledore?
Probably not.
Madam Marchbanks’s wording was clearly biased toward Levent; she was voting on whether the projection mirror was irregular. Dumbledore and Levent had never been treated as criminals throughout.
The old wizards from the Department of Magical Examinations were obviously helping their special advisor. That Professor Levent had been here less than a year and had already quietly built his own faction.
Scrimgeour thought this way but still cast his vote, deeming the projection mirror legal and compliant.
Except for a few Minister faction members, no one cared about the chief judge’s thoughts. The jury quickly completed the tally; only less than a third thought the projection mirror irregular.
“This is contempt of court, contempt of the Ministry of Magic!”
Seeing Umbridge still inhaling to calm her anger, the muscles on her neck twisting, Madam Bones of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement stood up and announced: “Accusation dismissed, case dropped!”
“……”
A commotion arose in the courtroom as jury members successively withdrew from the trial room.
“Just wait until the Minister returns, just wait until the Minister returns…”
Umbridge muttered lowly, lowering her head to hide the shame and venom in her eyes, turning and leaving without looking back.
“A pleasing result!”
Madam Marchbanks deliberately raised her volume, glancing from the corner of her eye at that director quickening her annoyed steps, involuntarily showing a pleased smile. She shakily left her seat, coming to the platform of the lower circular hall: “Melvin, I happen to have some questions about procedural justice…”
“……”
Melvin was still a bit slow to react.
He had made ample preparations for this trial, spending much time reviewing laws, regulations, and files, fully expecting to debate the group of wizards in the tribunal and harvest a wave of magic power along the way.
But he never expected Madam Marchbanks to not play by the rules at all, coming in with overwhelming authority and ending the trial in less than ten minutes.
He had no room to perform at all.
Before Melvin could answer, Dumbledore smiled and said: “Sorry, Professor Marchbanks, we still have some matters to attend to and must hurry back to school.”
“Goodbye, Professor Marchbanks.”
Melvin hastily waved farewell and followed the Headmaster.
Madam Marchbanks looked stunned, watching the old Headmaster and young professor’s receding backs, silently turning to leave the circular hall.
Leaving the trial room, the two did not take the lift to leave the Ministry of Magic but casually found an undisturbed room. Dim shadows enveloped them; the old Headmaster stood beside Melvin, one hand raised flat, softly calling: “Fawkes.”
“Screech!”
Accompanied by a crisp cry, a brilliant orange flame appeared out of nowhere in the dim room, the flame wave instantly engulfing the two.
The two figures vanished in the firelight.
……
“Miss Granger, Dumbledore and Professor Levent received urgent letters from the Ministry of Magic this morning and have gone to London. Their time is precious.”
“Potter, I don’t know how you learned about the Philosopher’s Stone, but rest assured, no one can steal it. The protective measures are very strict.”
“Enough, Weasley. This isn’t something you should get involved in. I suggest you go outside and get some sun.”
“……”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione passed through the fourth-floor corridor, the Deputy Headmaster’s admonition still echoing in their ears. Professor McGonagall’s attitude was very firm; no amount of persuasion worked. Now they could only figure it out themselves.
Arriving outside the room, they saw the half-open door; the three young faces were tense, expressions grave.
Harry’s face was slightly pale, but his eyes more determined: “Point deduction or expulsion doesn’t matter anymore. We must go through that trapdoor and try to get the Philosopher’s Stone first.”
“You’re right, Harry,” Hermione said in her precise voice, with candy from Professor Levent in her pocket.
Ron nodded vigorously.
The three slipped under the Invisibility Cloak together and pushed open the door.
