47 Judgement of the Wizengamot

In the dimly lit chambers of the Wizengamot, tension hung thick in the air as witches and wizards from all echelons of magical society gathered to address the explosive revelation from Hogwarts. The ancient hall echoed with the murmurs and hushed whispers of the members as they took their seats upon the rigid, time-worn benches.

At the center of the room stood a solitary chair, unoccupied until Albus Dumbledore stepped forward. His vibrant robes, adorned with shimmering celestial patterns, swirled around him as he moved with a serene grace that defied his advanced age. As he took his place, he surveyed the assembled lords and ladies, the trademark twinkle noticeably absent from his piercing blue eyes.

"Esteemed members of the Wizengamot," Dumbledore began as his magically-amplified voice resonated through the chamber, "this emergency session has been convened to address the dire events that transpired last evening at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As many of you have undoubtedly heard, Lord Voldemort was discovered possessing the body of Professor Quirinus Quirrell."

Gasps and frantic whispers erupted from the crowd at this revelation. Several members looked aghast, their faces drained of color, while others shook their heads vehemently in denial.

"Preposterous!" exclaimed Tiberius Ogden, a wizened old warlock, as he slammed his gnarled fist upon the bench. "Surely you don't expect us to believe that You-Know-Who has returned? After his defeat a decade ago?"

Dumbledore raised a placating hand. "I assure you, Tiberius, I would not make such a claim lightly."

With a subtle wave of his wand, a glowing spectral form shimmered into existence before the Wizengamot - the unmistakable visage of Voldemort's twisted, serpentine face hovering in the air. A collective shudder spread through the assembled witches and wizards.

"This ethereal representation," Dumbledore explained, levitating a small, pulsing crystal orb, "was captured from Quirrell's body and imprisoned within this enchanted sphere. Make no mistake, this is the very essence of Lord Voldemort himself, held in stasis but undeniably present."

As the truth sank in, a deathly silence fell over the chambers. Even the most ardent skeptics found themselves robbed of their bravado in the face of such irrefutable evidence.

Lady Griselda Marchbanks, a stately witch with iron-grey hair twisted into an elegant chignon, raised her hand, drawing all eyes to her. "While this news is deeply disturbing," she said in a clipped tone, "we must carefully consider our course of action. If the Dark Lord has indeed found a means to linger beyond the grave, we cannot allow this opportunity to permanently neutralize his threat to slip through our fingers."

Murmurs of foreboding agreement came from the crowd. Dumbledore inclined his head respectfully towards Lady Marchbanks. "Your wisdom is, as always, unparalleled, my lady," he intoned solemnly. "I implore all present to approach this matter with clear minds and resolute hearts. Voldemort's continued existence is an abomination that cannot be tolerated."

A heavyset wizard near the front heaved himself to his feet while his walrus-like mustache quivered with indignation. "The Dementor's Kiss!" he bellowed gruffly. "That's what the soulless wretch deserves! It's an affront to all we hold sacred to allow him even a sliver of continued existence!"

"Hear, hear!" chorused a contingent of like-minded hardliners scattered throughout the Wizengamot. However, an equal number seemed to recoil at the notion of such a swift and harsh sentence.

A wizened old medi-wizard interjected with a reedy voice, "Let's not be hasty, now. This could be the greatest breakthrough in our understanding of soul magic in centuries. Surely there's much we could learn from studying this unprecedented situation..."

The walrus-mustached wizard scoffed derisively. "Learn? What more is there to learn about that monster? He's snuffed out countless lives and plunged our society into darkness!"

When the chamber devolved into chaos, Lady Marchbanks rapped her knuckles sharply on the bench, calling for order. When the clamor had subsided, she fixed Dumbledore with a penetrating gaze.

"Albus," she said while her voice cut through the tension like a razor, "you have been at the forefront of this situation from the beginning. What is your counsel on the matter? You, more than anyone, understand the grave implications of allowing such evil to persist."

A deathly hush fell over the Wizengamot as all eyes turned to the legendary wizard. Dumbledore took a moment to gather his thoughts before rising to his full, imposing height.

"My friends," he began as his rich, sonorous voice commanded attention, "in my many years, I have witnessed both the most awe-inspiring triumphs and the most soul-crushing atrocities of which our kind is capable. Time and time again, I have seen how ambition, when twisted by hatred and fear, can transform into something truly monstrous."

He paused while his piercing blue eyes seemed to bore into the very essence of each witch and wizard present.

"Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore continued, "is the ultimate embodiment of that corruption. He is a being so utterly consumed by his own obsession with immortality and supremacy that his actions have led to unspeakable outcomes. What you see before you is merely a shadow of a man, clinging to this world through the most unnatural of means."

The spectral form of Voldemort's face contorted in a silent snarl as its crimson eyes blazed with unfettered hatred. Dumbledore, however, remained unflinching.

"In my judgment," he pressed on, "attempting to 'study' or interrogate this abomination would be as futile as trying to find meaning in a starless void. It knows nothing of truth, wisdom, or mercy. It is a perversion of the highest order, and like all things so fundamentally tainted, it must be excised from existence."

The weight of Dumbledore's words seemed to hang in the very air of the chamber. He allowed them to sink in for a moment before delivering his final verdict.

"The Dementor's Kiss," he declared. "Let what remains of Lord Voldemort be utterly consumed, his corruption purged from this world. Only then can we begin to truly heal from the blight he has wrought."

A profound stillness greeted Dumbledore's pronouncement, broken only by the faint rattling of the enchanted sphere that contained Voldemort's raging form.

Suddenly, a voice thundered through the hall, belonging to an aged wizard whose eyes burned with decades of pent-up fury. "The Kiss is too merciful for that vile monster!" he roared. "He deserves an eternity of unrelenting agony for his heinous crimes against wizardkind!"

A chorus of solemn agreement rippled through the crowded chamber, made clear by nods and grim-set jaws. Yet, a smaller faction raised dissenting voices, tempering the thirst for vengeance with reason.

Augusta Longbottom, her monocle glinting in the flickering torchlight, swept the assembly with a sharp gaze. "Calm yourself, Wilbert," she cautioned. "We mustn't allow our pursuit of justice to be tainted by blind retribution. The Kiss would effectively neutralize the threat he poses, reducing him to a mere husk."

As Longbottom's words hung in the air, a figure cloaked in shadow rose from the back of the chamber. As they stepped into the dim light, the assembly turned to face the newcomer - an Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries, their features obscured by enchanted robes.

"Honored Wizengamot," the Unspeakable began with their voice magically distorted to preserve their anonymity, "while the Dementor's Kiss would indeed destroy Lord Voldemort's spirit, we must consider the potential ramifications of leaving even a shred of his essence adrift."

A hush fell over the chamber as the gathered witches and wizards leaned forward. The Unspeakable allowed the gravity of their words to sink in before continuing.

"There are forces at play, ancient powers beyond our complete understanding, that could conceivably allow a being of such malevolence to reconstitute itself given enough time. The probability is infinitesimal, but it cannot be discounted entirely."

Dumbledore watched the Unspeakable intently, a glimmer of realization flickering in his bright blue eyes. The other members of the Wizengamot shifted uneasily, disquieted by the ominous implications.

From the upper tiers, a thin, old voice cut through the tension. "And what solution would you propose, Unspeakable?" inquired Arcturus Black, the aging patriarch of the once-noble house, known for his subtle sympathies towards the pureblood agenda.

The Unspeakable met Black's gaze levelly with an inscrutable expression beneath their enchanted hood. "There exists an option that would ensure Lord Voldemort's absolute and irrevocable eradication," they said carefully. "A path of such finality that there could be no return, no possibility of reconstitution, not in a thousand lifetimes or a million eons."

Uneasy murmurs spread through the Wizengamot at the dire implications of the Unspeakable's words. Even the most hawkish members seemed taken aback by the notion of an oblivion so complete.

Augusta Longbottom pursed her lips. "Speak plainly, Unspeakable. If you have a specific proposal, let us hear it."

The Unspeakable's posture stiffened almost imperceptibly before they responded while their distorted voice took on a somber timbre. "There is an ancient gateway, a threshold beyond which none can return," they said gravely. "A permanence unwitnessed since the days of the Founders themselves."

Dumbledore remained silent with a grave expression. The other members of the Wizengamot reacted with shock and bewilderment - for beyond the inner sanctum of the Department of Mysteries, knowledge of this gateway was virtually nonexistent.

"This... threshold?" rasped Arcturus Black. "What assurances have you that it can achieve what you claim?"

A tense silence stretched out as the Unspeakable seemed to weigh their response carefully.

"There can be no assurances, Lord Black," they said at last. "For any who have crossed that boundary are forever severed from our plane of existence. That is the nature of the path beyond the Veil - a point of no return, surpassing even the finality of death itself."

A profound hush fell over the Wizengamot as the true gravity of the Unspeakable's words sank in. Even the most ardent of Voldemort's sympathizers seemed chilled by the implications of what was being proposed.

Finally, Dumbledore stood up tall, his robes swirling around him like a colorful storm. His voice, amplified by magic, sounded deep and solemn, reaching everyone listening.

"My friends, colleagues," he began as his bright blue eyes swept over the assembled lords and ladies, "the matter before us is one of utmost gravity. The decision we make today will echo through the ages, shaping the very foundations upon which our society is built."

The elderly wizard seemed to draw himself up even taller.

"Lord Voldemort's crimes against wizardkind are beyond forgiveness," Dumbledore continued. "His obsession with immortality at any cost, his perversion of the natural order, his merciless slaughter of the innocent - these acts have marked him as a blight upon not only our world but upon the very fabric of existence itself."

Dumbledore's gaze bored into each and every witch and wizard as his voice took on the cadence of a solemn judgment.

"In my long years, I have borne witness to the most awe-inspiring triumphs of the soul and its most devastating corruptions. And I can say, without hesitation, that Voldemort embodies the latter in its most absolute form."

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to hang heavy in the torchlit gloom.

"Thus, while the path presented to us by our esteemed Unspeakable fills me with deep unease, I cannot deny that it represents our surest course to utterly and irrevocably extinguishing this great evil from our world."

A deep silence fell over the room as Dumbledore's words echoed in the minds of everyone there. One by one, the Wizengamot members began to nod their heads in serious agreement with the legendary wizard's advice.

From the uppermost tiers, Lord Arcturus Black watched the proceedings with an inscrutable expression as his gnarled hands gripped his cane until his knuckles turned white. Yet, he made no further protest as the somber consensus solidified.

At last, Lady Marchbanks rose from her seat, smoothing the folds of her plum-colored robes with an air of terrible finality.

"The Wizengamot has deliberated at great length," she proclaimed with her iron-grey bun held rigid and unmoving, "and we have reached a most grave verdict."

Her piercing gaze swept over the assembled lords and ladies as her eyes burned with unwavering conviction.

"In light of the unfathomable depths of his transgressions against wizardkind, in acknowledgment of the perverse imbalance his very existence has wrought upon our world, we find Lord Voldemort unfit to walk any plane of existence henceforth."

She lifted her chin, seeming to draw strength from some untapped well of fortitude.

"By the ancient rites and authorities vested in this august body, we hereby condemn the entity known as Lord Voldemort to oblivion. Let his fractured spirit be cast into the void beyond the Veil, there to be unmade and forever denied the possibility of return or reconstitution."

A heavy, breathless silence descended over the Wizengamot. Even the most hardline of Voldemort's detractors appeared shaken by the sheer, cosmic finality of Lady Marchbanks' proclamation.

From the corner of Dumbledore's eye, he noticed Lord Arcturus Black's face had turned an ashen grey while his thin lips pressed into a bloodless line. But the ancient wizard made no move to protest further as the gravity of the ruling settled over the chamber like a leaden shroud.

The matter, it seemed, had been decided - Lord Voldemort was to be utterly erased from the very fabric of existence.