Chapter Text
While Crouch was giving orders for the Aurors to immediately arrest Albus Dumbledore and to treat him as a fugitive if he went to escape, Llewellyn was humming to himself while putting the vials of memories on the desk. Crouch came back five minutes later, after screaming against some of his men to move or he would personally hex them in prison for insubordination. He was followed by a man in his mid-thirties, looking at his boss and the attorney as if they would suddenly start firing Unforgivables in the middle of the ministry. Crouch slipped back on his chair, motioning for the other man to sit beside the attorney.
"Lawrence, this is Mr Ward, attorney, who will act as the defence for Sirius Black. He asked to include memories as proof of this case and that I act exceptionally as the sworn-in clerk, as there his a legal precedent apparently. As such, I won't be able to accomplish my duties as a judge..." The other man, Lawrence, was frowning and looking alternately at the memories, his boss and the attorney, not understanding why he was there. "So I want you, as you're my Deputy, to witness my oath and to act as judge during the trial of Black."
Said Lawrence was now looking his Head of Department directly in the eyes, flabbergasted by the news. He took a breath and slowly nodded.
Llewellyn spent the following week preparing both trials. For Black, he just reviewed legal texts and precedents and particularly the Statement from 1943. Dumbledore's prosecution would be more tricky though. First, he received several letters from known members of the ICW, the Wizengamot and from his old friend Andryusha, the heir to the Russian empire, who told him he was just sending a letter to pleased the ICW and continued by asking news of his family and remembering that times where they lost their other friends during a hunt and spend two days alone in the Siberian tundra and how he loved it when Llewellyn would blush just seeing him half-naked. Llewellyn answered that he was fine and imbued a nasty curse who would not be detected - he invented it - in the parchment. Then came the problem of testimony. The proofs Gringotts had acquired were damning but by themselves, they wouldn't suffice. Not in Britain, where the guy was seen like half-deity. So he had to come up with a plan. And fucking good witnesses too. The fact that the Aurors had retrieved the Potters' key vault and what the goblins identified as a "family heirloom of great value" without saying more of his nature was a bonus of course... But still insufficient. Of course, Rubeus Hagrid, to whom Sirius had trusted the child was to be interrogated. When answering the ministry summoning, the man was crying, claiming Albus Dumbledore was a hero and a good man, but he did say that little Potter was living with his aunt at Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging in Surrey and that Professor McGonagall didn't like those Muggles. So of course, Llewellyn went to Hogwarts to meet with her.
When he saw the Scottish castle, Llewellyn was impressed. And being part of Russian nobility and was regularly invited to hunting games and balls, it did take a lot to impress him. But the castle was shimmering with magic, clearly constructed upon the intersection of four ley lines at least. He took a breath, comparing as he went the beauty of the high towers to the severity of Durmstrang Institute. When he entered the castle itself, he was almost overwhelmed by the atmosphere. He had chosen his favourite appearance for this meeting, dark blue hair with grey eyes and the aristocratic features he inherited of his mother, in a three-piece suit à la No-Maj made in Devil's snare fibre with some Niffler's Fancy leaves to give it a coppery shimmer. The students he asked for directions to McGonagall's office were awe-struck by this wizard who pictures were in the papers every day as British reporters seemed hell-bent to uncover the mysteries of this lawyer. When he knocked on the door and had waited for fifteen minutes, he conjured an armchair where he sat comfortably and picked a book about how to banish ghosts and malevolent spirits in his attaché-case. He was in the middle of a chapter listing the pro and cons of the Japanese exorcism when the doors opened to let several teachers out. He sighed, putting a mark where he was in the book like it was the most difficult thing he ever did, stood up and vanished the armchair with a little flick of his wand. "Good day, ladies, sirs. Llewellyn Ward, attorney-at-law...". He was cut by a stern-looking witch. "Every witch and wizard in Britain know who you are, Mr Ward. I'm surprised that you made it, I would have guessed you would be taken by a number of interviews with the press." She guided him inside the office, while the other teachers looked at him with mixed feelings. One of them, a plump looking man, was clearly considering how to best win his favour without betraying the faculty. The witch closed the door and indicated him a chair while sitting behind her desk. "I only give interviews to the press when I'm sure it would be beneficial to my case. Considering the number of anonymous threats and howlers I received since the arrest of Mr Dumbledore - including one in Hindi if you can believe that - I will wait until the end of the trial." He smiled gently to the witch. "I understand that you teach Transfiguration? It was one of my best subjects in school. Do you know why we need to keep a mandrake lead in our mouth for a month to start becoming an Animagus? I have sent letters to a number of Master but none of them had a satisfying answer... Even at Uagadou, they could not provide me with an answer... Excuse me" he added with a sheepish smile when he saw the witch glaring at him " I'm a bit passionate about it, I intended to write a thesis about the ritual and maybe even find a way to simplify it."
"Did you truly expected to speak craft with me when you tripled my workload, Mr Ward?". Oh, she really is not happy about it. " I have been in weirder situations before, Miss McGonagall. But if you want to go directly to the purpose of my visit... Mr Potter will be retrieved from the Muggles today by Goblins and Ministry officials. And it has come to my attention that you were not happy about this placement in the first place... I understand that you cannot leave the school at this time, given your added duties. As such, I wanted to take your deposition now to avoid you a court summoning." He took a file out of his attaché-case labelled Britania and from this file a roll of parchment. "This is a binding magical contract which have been checked by the DMLE. All you have to do is write your feelings toward the placement of Mr Potter and his Muggle family, what you know of Albus Dumbledore's intentions at the times and in truth everything you might find useful to share about it... Of course, I will be the one to decide if it will be used at all during the trial but as you can see, I already signed the clause guaranteeing that I will not twist your word and contact you if I feel a need for clarification." From what he had gathered about the witch honesty was the best policy. He certainly didn't add this kind of clause usually and still managed to pass this kind of written deposition in court thanks to loopholes and technicalities. And the Babayaga knew that British laws were full of those. But against Dumbledore, cheap tricks wouldn't do. His mind came back to the witch when she sighed. "Can I think about it? I admit that all of this is a bit...". He smiled warmly. " I understand, Miss. But I am on a limited timeline. If in one week I don't have a written deposition, I will have to send an official summon." He stood up. "Now, unless you have questions, I need to see about Mr Potter." When he opened the door to leave the office, he added with a grin "Feel free to seek advice with another lawyer if you manage to find a competent one in this country." And he was gone.
To Godric's Hollow. He wanted to see, to feel what happened that night. And if he could understand it, even... It would probably add nothing to either case, but the Killing Curse was not something a toddler could resist. Something happened and the academic understanding of the what and the how would revolutionised the teaching of the Dark Arts and their practice. He apparated near the entrance of the village and almost vomited immediately because of the residual stench of the magic who took place here. Pulling a vial of his attaché-case, he gulped the potion who would dim his sensibility. How so many wixen had not noticed it was beyond his comprehension. Surely there were Sensitives in Britain? The gift was rare and he himself could only feel magic because of his animagus form, but still. Though he remembered the horrendous book on British genealogy he studied before taking his bar examination and the fact that many families were inbred. Maybe it was due to that. He put a scarf on his nose, the potion not being enough to entirely make the smell disappear and activated the charm that would make the most comfortable fragrance calm his offended nostrils. The shampoo of his dear wife Marisha, the cologne of is not-just-a-friend Andryusha and the freshly bathed skin of his little Sveta merging together. He wasn't surprised in the list when facing the cottage of the Potters, he discovered the stench came from it. He followed it upstairs, where only his duelling reflex allowed him to duck the cutting curse sent at his throat. Unsheathing his aspen wand, he quickly activated his belt-imbued ward and throw to bones breaking curses toward the hands of his attacker. The cry of pain didn't quite cover the sound of bones being crushed. He maybe had taken it a little too far, but really, no one could blame him.
His aggressor revealed himself to be a young man with dark oily hair and a prominent, though hooked, nose who was now looking at him with all the hatred and rage of... A teenager having been scolded and grounded. The man was at least twenty of age and he seemed to still have that blatant arrogance and rightful anger commonly found in teenagers through thirteen to seventeen years old. British, thought Llewellyn, not for the first time since he came, would be the death of him. Just to avoid further problems, he cast a wordless Incarcifors, the robe of the man turning into heavy silver chains and dropping him down on the floor where his nose broke and he fainted. The attorney looked at him and because he thought he knew who it was, checked his left arm where he saw the Dark Mark for the first time. The thing was ignominious. And that auto-proclaimed Dark Lord really didn't help to promote the Dark Arts in the British Islands. Anyway, he set up to work and cast several analysis spell. He had spent an hour getting frustrated by the absence of useful results, not knowing what exactly he was looking for. There was powerful magic who took place here, just before whatever caused that horrible stench, but he could not pin down the results to know what exactly it was. He was pretty sure some kind of rituals were involved, but no ritual took only a few minutes and none would be able to stop the Killing Curse. And then he saw the blood, just a few drops in front of the crib. It truly felt like Christmas. Knowing he needed to check for blood wards - and giggling at the idea that all British wixen revered a child because his mother used a magic they feared and despised - he got to work and it didn't take long after that for him to find exactly what kind of wards was used here. It was not the kind that was practice, even at Durmstrang were Dark Arts of all kind - except for necromancy - were taught happily. Not when just "practice" would definitely kill the caster. Though he was pretty sure about one fact: anyone who would be stupid enough to throw a Killing Curse at Harry Potter would be in for a single trip to Hell. Such was the nature of the Christ Ward, to immunise the beneficiary to whatever and whoever killed the beneficiary. That piece of knowledge should not be made public.
He dragged the Death Eater outside of the house and throw a perfectly controlled Fiendfyre to it. He apparated back and let Severus Snape deal with the consequence, Dark Mark fully exposed. And then he took a bottle of vodka and the shot glass who came with inside his cabinet and with a determination specific to a russian, he proceeded to empty it.