He knew this day would come. Ever since that thrice damned Potter… but it was no good. That was Water under the bridge. He was here, in that spartan room for half a year now. No communication allowed. His phoenix gone to who knows where. No friends to visit him, to seek his counsel. Even the house-elves didn't answer his questions.
Instead, they maligned him. The Prophet called him a senile old man, a has-been. No more of the adulation he had enjoyed. He wasn't known as the Defeater-of-Grindelwald, they called him the Betrayer-of-the-Potter now. When he was called to the Ministry these days, everyone went out of their way to get out of his way.
But his duty, as far as he was willing to tell wasn't an easy one. His Greater-Good-Omelette couldn't be made without a few Chosen-One-eggs, whoever they might be. Yes, it meant he'd suffer, mostly from his guilty conscience, still, nobody ever said it was easy to be a Light Lord. He knew that, when he took up the mantle, he'll know that when they drag his unwilling body towards the dementors (so why did he still shudder?).
He even agreed with some of the conclusions of the news rags. He was many things they confused him with, but they never saw the whole picture. They never took his convictions into account. Wasn't killing wrong? Should no one have a second chance? Wasn't mercy preferable? Wouldn't no mercy cement the guilty in their role? Why must a guilty always be sentenced? Why was mercy not preferable? Wouldn't they, the ones crying so loud for justice and condemnation, like to have been shown mercy too, if they got caught?
No, he knew he was right. And he'd show them. He is many things his accusers confuse him with, but senile he was Not! He'd fight tooth and nail for his viewpoint, his convictions. He'd show them that he was not an enemy to take on lightly. And whether his accusers would drag out his heart and every decision that he had made, it didn't matter. He was Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. It will be a just trial. He'd make it so.
The door opened. Ah, Kingsley and … who was it? Ah yes, Auror Stebbins.
"Are you ready, Mister Dumbledore?"
"Yes, I am, Kingsley."
A frown settled upon the Face of his former Comrade-in-Arms, "It's Auror Shacklebolt to you, Sir."
He knew better than to antagonise this wizard, "My Apologies, Auror. I meant no offence."
"Very well, let's get you to your trial, Mister Dumbledore."
AN: Yes, it's the thing, we (or at least I) have been waiting for. It's the trial of a manipulative Dumbledore. How manipulative he is, is your choice. Is he "only" misguided? Is he the Devil personified? You decide. Still, he's not stupid. He knows his stuff; a politician doesn't survive the political arena without getting good at the game. Or as one of my favourite Authors (DisobedienceWriter if you must know) wrote, "Amelia did what she could, but he did what he could." Yes, he wrote about Lucius Malfoy, but I still think, all great persons think at least somewhat alike, and it feels too much as a subtitle about this Session of the Wizengamot.
So, there you are. I can't write this story; I know this now. Have fun with it, make it good and make us hang on the edge of our seats. Thank you.
rascaldi