Early next morning about a half past nine
Young Benjamin Hobbes Jr had never been this nervous or upset or frightened in his entire life. Nothing could ever compared; not the many times that he and his best friend narrowly escaped their fathers' wrath, not the time he broke his leg from a hard fall as a small boy, and not even the time his sister spent a month in the hospital could have rattled his cage the way this did. Because of all the arrests lately, they had been pulling all sorts of people all over the Ministry to aid with court procedures. Families of defendants left and right demanded advocates for the people on trial out of fear. It was such a strain on the whole system thanks to the American-like impulsiveness that Scrimgeour sent out his staff that they almost threw out the rulebook. So long as they could everyone through the system and out, the Ministry would stay afloat.
He still didn't understand why they had chosen him for this particular defendant, and no one would volunteer information. It wasn't often that someone told him that he should do a good job, but he shouldn't do it too well. He didn't understand why they had chosen someone from the Department for Regulation as advocate; was the idea to give this defendant someone inexperienced who would do a crummy job? Benjamin always liked being on good terms with people, but he also liked not being put in aggravating situations. Did they do this because they thought that his warm and friendly nature would make him easier to mold so that he'd do exactly what they asked of him when advocating for his defendant? Worse yet, what if he was the kind of person who'd just roll over for his superiors? Had he been doing that all along to keep from stepping on people's toes? Was being nice just another way to be a push-over in times like these? And since when did he start questioning the way that his parents had raised him?
The way in which the Death Eaters had broken apart was surreal; the fact that they were breaking up at all seemed weird in and of itself, but the way they scattered was beyond what anyone had expected. There was talk of one man who had turned coats, but everyone had a different answer concerning his name. Now, the case everyone had been waiting for was only a few painful minutes away. Despite the resolute will of Minister Bagnold, the immense protests had overwhelmed her into allowing an open court for the case. Families of victims had threatened to riot inside and outside the building if they refused an open trial, something that wizards and witches were never prepared for. Now the trial would become what Rufus Scrimgeour had hoped to avoid: a spectacle.
A gallery had been installed in the courtroom just for this case. Many were dressed in their absolute best, Benjamin included because it seemed appropriate; he just felt stupid trying to wear anything else. Although there were so many people, there wasn't a stentorian roar of talking normally found in closed places with crowds. With aurors everywhere, people chose to be on their best behavior. Rumors had also gone around that they were twice as many aurors as anyone could see because half of them were disguised as animals. They blended in well with the owls and various familiar pets that people had brought along.
Benjamin bent an ear to their conversations in hopes of concentrating on something other than his own inadequacies, but it didn't help as much as he had wanted. One of the Death Eaters arrested, Bellatrix Lestrange, had supposedly miscarried in her efforts to escape. They had rushed her to a doctor and had to knock her out just so she'd cooperate. They was no telling if that were true because her husband insisted that he had neither touched nor even associated with her. However, that might've been just to deter aurors from arresting him too. Everyone brought in had plenty of secrets.
His friend Aloysius Hyde had escaped from the gallery after passing off a bribe to an auror. The long-legged young wizard strode like a wiry horse toward his ursine friend. "How're ya feeling?" he asked, giving him a hearty pat. Aloysius had always been a tall person, but Benjamin was even taller. His strong and bulky figure made the other look like a rail.
"How do you think?" Benjamin's voice was dismal. "Why do you think they chose me instead of someone like you?" They worked in the same department.
"Truth?" He frowned, pulling his friend into a quick hug. "I'm too much of a sophist. I make the weaker argument stronger. They want you because you're honest."
"Being honest just means that I'll try my hardest."
"Yeah, but…." Aloysius lowered his voice. "You…you know where this man belongs." Under the doctrines of the Dark Lord, both men and their whole families would have quickly perished.
The door to the chamber slowly opened, announcing to everyone that the trial would start. Aloysius scrambled back into the gallery which had immediately hushed. All eyes turned to the trio that entered.
"Go on, you dirty hack, into that district court…."
The eyes of the prisoner leered at the gawkers as he stalked in with two handlers. Hands chained in front, he proceeded down the walkway with his proud head high and defiant. Fame had woven its way through the crowd to spread little rumors about the state he had been in when they first found him. Everyone had expected the shaggy man-beast, and instead saw a well-groomed wizard with a very thin face. Color still hadn't completely returned to his face, but he looked as though he'd been eating more than just scotch. They had delayed the trial for two weeks just to clean him up so he wouldn't have bloody gums and skin lesions. However, the ravaging his body had sustained meant that he could never regain the bloom of his physical charm. All the gloss of beauty was present, but the substance of his beauty had died forever. He wore long gloves to hide his bony wrists.
Even though the prisoner was only of average height, he seemed taller than everyone else in the room. Benjamin shrank away as the fugitive sat down gingerly at his seat. He canted his head inquisitively toward the advocate like a python evaluating its potential prey.
After mustering all his courage, Benjamin leaned over to whisper, "Is there anything I can do for you, sir?" He spoke with respect out of compulsion and fear.
"It's no surprise they gave me the likes of a mud-blood," he answered coolly. "If you could please, pretend that you're not as stupid as you look."
All members of the Wizengamot rose, displaying the "w" on their plum robes when they stood. Bartemius Crouch wore a frigid expression as he watched the fugitive; many knew how long he had been waiting for this moment. "Thomas Marvolo Riddle—"
"I am Lord Voldemort." The light of anger came to the prisoner's eyes. "That man does not exist. I am not him, and I never was."
Warlock Crouch bristled at the interruption. "You are hereby charged as a criminal before this court and your peers for your many transgressions, more numerous than any wizard in history, against magical peoples of all heritages. Let it be known that this trial shall only concern itself with the crimes which are most difficult to discern and with the purpose of discovery. For the time of this trial, the prisoner shall be known as Thomas Riddle—"
"I am Lord Voldemort," he snapped, his face twisting into a sneer.
"This court does not recognize titles." Warlock Crouch leered in reply, daring the prisoner to attack him.
Minister Bagnold, however, could see where things would lead without intervention. Standing next to Warlock Crouch, she touched his shoulder gently. "With the consent of the court, let the prisoner be known in this trial as Mr. Voldemort."
Neither party seemed pleased with the suggestion, perhaps more interested in just fighting to test their enemy's will. However, neither voiced outright objection to the idea either. The prisoner showed a semblance of respect for the Minister, possibly because she had provided him with all the necessary care to keep him comfortable and alive.
"If I may." Benjamin, known to the court as Advocate Hobbes, hoped that he didn't sound like a child when he spoke up. He resisted the urge to raise his hand in an attempt to be acknowledged, and he would have looked particularly bad doing that since he was already on his feet. "Because this trial is based on discovery." Now he wished that he hadn't spoken up at all because he felt the hot gaze of everyone on him; the worst came from the man he was defending. "I am curious as to my role."
Warlock Crouch grimaced incredulously, the bushy moustache on his lip wiggling with his expression. "Is this a serious inquiry?"
Advocate Hobbes sat down as if the question had pushed him into his seat. "No, your honor. Not at all." He dared not glance at his defendant.
"For today, the court will concern itself with inquiries regarding the murders of James Potter and Lily Evans, and the dark item known as the Colombian Rum-Runner." Although the Wizengamot had limited their scope, Warlock Crouch sounded more interested asking the defendant about other matters.
Emotions ranging from shame to fury swirled around in the defendant's expression. Looking over his shoulder, he scowled at the audience in the gallery.
"Mr. Voldemort." Minister Bagnold gestured to the chair in the middle of the courtroom. "Would you please take your seat so we may begin?"
