Three days passed in the blink of an eye. On the fourth floor above ground of the Ministry of Magic, the cold, solemn courtroom stood beneath the heavy shadows cast by towering stone pillars. The Wizengamot members sat like statues in their crimson-purple robes upon the rising circular tiers, their gazes—appraising, suspicious, or curious—fixed upon the defendant at the center. Gilderoy Lockhart stood there, stripped of his usual flamboyance.
He wore a well-tailored but dark-toned emerald robe. His hair was meticulously combed, and his face bore an expression mixed with gravity, exhaustion, and a trace of... resolve. At his neck, his high collar cleverly concealed the traces of the Cursed Mark.
At the prosecution's table, Albus Dumbledore looked calm, but his blue eyes behind crescent spectacles were as sharp as an eagle's. He was certain that even if Lockhart had indeed become an excellent professor over the past period, his role as a stepping stone for the Harry Savior Plan remained irreplaceable. Today was the best opportunity to completely expose this fraud's true face and use it as a chance to reclaim control of public opinion.
"Gilderoy Lockhart," the Wizengamot's chief judge said, his voice echoing through the silent hall, "you stand accused of plagiarizing the magical achievements of others, illegally altering others' memories with Memory Charms, fabricating personal experiences, and obtaining fame and wealth through fraud. How do you plead?"
Every eye in the courtroom focused on Lockhart. The air seemed to freeze. Dumbledore waited for Lockhart to collapse before the irrefutable evidence—his memories—or to offer clumsy lies in his defense.
Lockhart stood at the center of the courtroom, his wand tucked into his robes, untouched. His body leaned forward slightly, his fingers opening and closing at his sides as though grasping at something invisible in the air. He