Harry Potter: Eternity Wizard

Roger's case was special. The details weren't made public, but for the upper echelons of wizarding society, it wasn't a secret.

Many pure-blood families and powerful wizards discussed it over their meals.

Though lawyers weren't part of that circle, he had friends who were. After all, in the legal profession, connections were everything. The key to a court ruling often lay outside the courtroom.

And the rumors he heard weren't good.

"At ten years old, he led a well-organized team through the chaos and horrors of a Muggle war, commanded them to kill so many people, and managed to escape unscathed. His mindset, leadership, and execution were all unbelievable."

"People who brush past death understand the value of life better."

"So, if one day, he seeks power to protect himself or for other reasons and turns to the Dark Arts, what then?"

"His will is strong, and magic is deeply tied to the mind. Besides… he's a Seer."

"This world doesn't need another Grindelwald or another Dark Lord."

These were words the lawyer heard from his friend. The Dark Lord's shadow had only recently left British wizarding society. Those who lived through that era were still alive.

The fear hadn't faded.

Could Roger Virgil grow into the next Dark Lord?

No one knew.

But even a 10% chance was unacceptable for many.

To them, Roger was talented, but wizarding society didn't lack talent.

Some even disliked people like him.

Voldemort, Grindelwald, Dumbledore, Nicolas Flamel, Merlin, Salazar Slytherin… Whenever a new powerhouse emerged, they tried to shape the times in their image, bringing change—sometimes good, sometimes bad. But every time, wizarding society was thrown into upheaval.

Many despised such upheaval. They wanted things to remain unchanged.

Would Dumbledore risk offending the wizarding elite and pure-blood families to use his influence to "pardon" Roger?

The lawyer doubted it.

Knock, knock, knock!

A loud knock echoed.

Then, the prison guard's voice followed. "Roger Virgil, Attorney Wick, the trial starts in five minutes. If you're done, let's go."

The lawyer looked at Roger.

Roger said nothing. He simply stood and walked toward the door.

"Roger!" the lawyer called.

"Hmm?"

"You've heard how terrifying Azkaban is, haven't you? Aren't you afraid?" Wick hesitated before asking.

The eleven-year-old's small figure reflected in his eyes. He couldn't understand why Roger was so calm.

Did he have a hidden ace?

Or had he foreseen something as a Seer?

Yes—one of Roger's charges was pretending to be a religious prophet. But was he really pretending? His case file stated that his ability to predict the future was why his followers survived the war.

Roger smiled and gave an unexpected answer.

"I am afraid. My heart is racing, my muscles are trembling."

"I've never encountered Dementors. I don't know what kind of pain they'll bring me. But there are still people alive in Azkaban, aren't there?"

"When I returned from hell—twice—I swore I would never give up on survival."

"I will fight until the moment I die."

"Until then, nothing will break my will."

He spoke with neither passion nor bravado—just simple, calm certainty.

At that moment, the lawyer understood.

Roger had no trump card.

Even if hell awaited him, even if he was terrified, he had the courage to face it.

And suddenly, the lawyer felt… fear.

Now, he understood why some in the wizarding world wanted Roger imprisoned, even if the chance of him becoming a Dark Lord was slim.

A person with such unwavering resolve… If one day, he deemed Muggles or wizards his enemy—

Creak—

The door opened. Roger stepped out, surrounded once again by four wizard guards.

They left the Department of Magical Law Enforcement on the second floor of the British Ministry of Magic.

Small cases were handled there. Roger's case was not.

He was taken to another place.

From the seventh floor's second level, they descended.

Past the first level—eighth floor.

The Ministry of Magic's floors were oddly numbered. The top floor was the first, the first level was the eighth, the ninth was the Department of Mysteries.

Roger's destination was even lower.

One of the highest authorities in British wizarding society—the Wizengamot.

---

One file after another was presented.

One question after another was asked, allowing the Wizengamot members to understand Roger beyond what was written in the case files.

As he answered, Roger observed everyone around him.

The Wizengamot trial was very different from an ordinary court.

Here, the interrogators asked questions, the accused answered, and the 50 Wizengamot members voted on guilt.

Majority ruled. If the vote was 25-25, the Chief Warlock made the final decision.

Which meant Wick had no role here.

Normally, a defendant with poor communication skills could have a lawyer or another expert speak for them.

But after speaking with Wick, Roger decided to handle it himself.

It wasn't that he doubted Wick's skills—he had his reasons.

First, Wick clearly didn't fully support his case. That was understandable—defense attorneys didn't have to believe in their clients.

But this was the Wizengamot. Here, hesitation could be fatal.

Second, Roger refused to let someone else decide his fate.

Since winning was almost impossible anyway, he might as well take control himself.

"Yes. When I awakened my ability—what you call prophetic magic from a magical outburst—I realized that borrowing the identity of a religious prophet was the best way to survive."

Dumbledore, the Chief Warlock, pressed on with a serious expression.

"By late 1990, the war had lost intensity. With your resources and power, you could have escaped and returned to Britain. Yet you remained in Kuwait as a prophet until the Gulf War ended in spring 1991. Why?"

Gone was the kindly headmaster of Hogwarts. Here, Dumbledore exuded the gravity of his Wizengamot role.

And this question was crucial.

Roger's charges weren't just fueled by Middle Eastern wizard factions stirring trouble. His failure to return when he could had pushed him beyond "necessary survival."

Emergency self-defense only covered crimes committed to escape immediate life-threatening danger.

Dumbledore's words fell, and every wizard in the room focused on Roger—the small boy with soft golden hair, delicate features, and a frail-looking frame that barely reached their waists.

But his response held no weakness.

"Many followed me, believing I was a prophet who could lead them to survival. And they weren't wrong."

"Landmines, bombs, bullets, missile strikes—I could sense them before they came. I always outran death."

"By mid-war, I had enough resources to leave. But if I had… what would've happened? Without me, those people would have lost their pillar of hope. The ambitious ones in my group would have torn it apart for power. People might have turned on each other."

"And worse, we had clashed with multiple military forces. Without my foresight, how would they dodge missile strikes or ambushes?"

"Many would have died."

Roger paused.

"I hate lies. I hate death."

"When I was weak, I had to lie to survive, had to kill to protect myself."

"But when I grew stronger, was I supposed to keep lying? Keep killing?"

"What was the point of surviving, if I had to keep doing what I despised?"

"People shouldn't live just to betray themselves. That's not the life I want."

"I don't accept meaningless death. I won't allow it."

This was Roger's answer—his truth.

Dumbledore's eyes flickered, but he simply responded, "I see."

And then—

"During the Gulf War, you personally killed 98 people. What do you think about that?"

Silence fell.

The room grew heavier.

The real trial had begun.