Chief Warlock

"Th-this is impossible. I never wrote that! That wasn't written by me!" Lucius Malfoy was still arguing hoarsely.

Murphy shrugged and faced everyone on the tribunal. "Everyone has seen both letters now. I believe you have a basic judgment in mind."

The wizards on the bench leaned toward one another, whispering and discussing in a noisy jumble.

No one stopped them, and Murphy let them talk.

If possible, Murphy hoped they could use this one piece of "evidence" to determine Lucius Malfoy's guilt outright.

Though the evidence had, in fact, been forged by him.

That second debt-collection letter did exist; Murphy had seen it in earlier years, but later he had long since lost track of where it had gone. What he had displayed just now was actually the same as the first letter, a counterfeit made entirely by an expert in Muggle document forgery.

In any case, Lucius Malfoy's handwriting was easy to find, and for those professional document forgers, imitating handwriting and aging paper were just basic operations.

But those techniques were extremely rare in a world that possessed exceedingly convenient magic.

What Murphy was betting on was that wizards had no document authentication experts.

However, he might have been too confident.

"Murphy," suddenly, a gentle voice sounded. "Where did you find these two letters?"

Murphy instantly grew tense, because the person asking was the one he least wanted to face: Dumbledore.

"Uh, in my family's old house."

"Hmm. The specific location—where in the house was it?"

Murphy frowned. "The second floor, in an old trunk."

Dumbledore nodded again. "Is there a river near your old home?"

Huh?

What the hell kind of question was that?

What did that have to do with the letters?

Murphy's mind was suddenly in chaos. What exactly did the headmaster mean? Did he have some kind of magic that could judge whether the letter was real or fake?

But what did that have to do with whether there was a river?

Murphy had no way of judging what the correct answer to this question should be, so he could only answer truthfully, "No, Professor."

Dumbledore nodded, as if he had obtained the answer, then said, "Relying only on these few words in this letter, it may be very difficult for us to determine the writer's true intent. If we were to convict the party involved solely on the basis of this letter, I imagine he would certainly refuse to accept it."

"Murphy, you said just now that you had two pieces of evidence. What is the other one? Rufus Scrimgeour told me that you also accused Lucius Malfoy of engaging in dangerous conduct. Is your second piece of evidence related to this?"

Murphy swallowed.

He suddenly regretted it a little. If he had known earlier, he would not have made such a big issue of things. Just reporting some other bad deed of Lucius Malfoy's would actually have been enough to achieve his goal.

He had never expected there to be something like the Purge Act, nor had he known that this report of his would draw Dumbledore over.

Otherwise, no matter what, he would have made this evidence look a little more convincing!

But once the bow was drawn, there was no turning back. At this point, there was no room for him to retreat.

"Yes, Professor."

After Murphy finished speaking, he looked at Lucius Malfoy. "Lucius Malfoy, a friend of mine told me that you have many, many dark magic objects hidden in your home. They are all kept in your cellar, arranged neatly on those shelves, safely protected under glass covers."

"He also told me that among these dark magic objects, there is one that is completely different from the others."

As Murphy spoke, he unhurriedly put a glove on his right hand.

"Because it was given to you by the Dark Lord."

With that right hand, he drew a notebook with a black cover from his chest.

"Lucius Malfoy, you know what this thing is, don't you?"

Hearing Murphy's earlier description, Lucius Malfoy had already been terrified, and when he actually took out that notebook, Lucius Malfoy suddenly looked as if all the strength had been drained from his body, almost collapsing on the spot.

How could this be?

How did he know the situation in the cellar so clearly?

How could he have gotten that diary?

Should it not have been burned along with everything else?

Could it be... that the day he broke into his house, it had not been for those Muggles, but actually for it?

Had he been aiming to put him to death from the very beginning?

Lucius Malfoy's heart was filled with terror.

The Dark Lord's Diary had powerful dark magic attached to it. It was absolutely a dark magic object, not to mention that once it was proven to be the Dark Lord's possession, his identity as a Death Eater would basically be confirmed.

"No! I don't know it! That isn't mine!"

Yet as soon as those words left his mouth, Lucius Malfoy saw the smile on Murphy's face.

"Oh?" The young man smiled, as if he had been waiting precisely for those words.

"You're lying," the young man declared with certainty.

Then he turned to face the judges' bench. "I request that the witness be summoned: the house-elf, Dobby."

Clang! Lucius Malfoy really could not hold himself up anymore. His body went limp, and he collapsed inside the iron cage, utterly unaware even as the spikes scraped open his back.

The house-elf was brought in by two Aurors, each gripping one of his arms and hauling him along.

"Dobby, I order you! Stop—" Lucius Malfoy suddenly let out a hoarse, desperate roar, but before he could finish giving the order, Dumbledore made a closing gesture with his right hand and lightly sliced it sideways. Lucius Malfoy's mouth shut by itself, as if it had been zipped closed.

"Silence, Lucius Malfoy. Here, he is not your servant, but a witness. You may not interfere with a witness's testimony."

"Thank you, Professor." Murphy gave Dumbledore a slight bow.

That silencing spell just now had genuinely been cool.

"Dobby." Murphy looked at the house-elf. "You don't need to be nervous. We're only asking you a few questions. Just answer truthfully."

"Dobby... Dobby..." Dobby looked at Lucius Malfoy in the cage, then glanced around at the wizards on the judges' bench. Suddenly, he rushed toward the presiding desk and slammed his head into it.

Murphy was startled and hurriedly reached out to block him. The elf's big head drove his hand into the presiding desk, and it felt as if two of his hand bones were about to be smashed apart.

He yanked Dobby up, grabbed the other party's torn pillowcase, and lifted him into the air. "Are you fucking insane?!"

"Dobby bad, bad Dobby... waaah..."

The house-elf actually started crying.

Clearly, he had already realized that these people wanted him to do something harmful to his master.

Murphy got angry and slapped him across the face. "What the fuck are you crying for!"

He glared viciously at Dobby. "I'm telling you one more fucking time. I ask the questions, and you answer truthfully. If you dare lie, your master, and your master's whole family, will all go to Azkaban! Did you hear me?! Do you understand?!"

"Waaah, hit Dobby, beat Dobby to death. Dobby can't do anything to betray his master. Dobby is a bad house-elf. Dobby should just die..."

"..."

Fuck.

Murphy was speechless. This thing might really have grown up being scared; intimidation did not work on him at all.

He set Dobby down and looked helplessly toward Dumbledore.

Headmaster, a little help?