The Ministry of Magic
“Hi, Harry,” Mr Weasley greeted him with a smile. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine, sir. How are you doing?” Harry replied, looking from the Weasley patriarch to the witch standing beside him, whom he didn’t know. Why was she there? Was she one of the people guarding him?
“I’m doing well, Harry, thank you. I don’t believe you’ve met Nymphadora Tonks?” Mr Weasley shook his offered hand before nodding to the woman.
“Just Tonks, please,” she said, extending her hand. “My mother decided to curse me with a name like Nymphadora.” She spat out the name like it burned her tongue, and her hair flashed red for a few seconds.
“How’d you do that?” Harry asked suddenly. “With your hair, I mean.”
“I’m a Metamorphmagus,” Tonks said. “It means I can change my appearance at will.” To demonstrate, she morphed her features until he was staring at himself.
“Brilliant!”
“Got me top marks in my Concealment and Disguise classes during Auror training. It’s very handy.”
“You’re an Auror?”
“Yes, that’s why Dumbledore sent me to bring you to the Ministry, to protect you. Arthur’s a fine dueller, but I’ve been trained specifically for this.”
“Thank you, Tonks. I’m afraid we must go. Better to be early than late,” Mr Weasley interrupted their conversation. Harry nodded, following his friend’s father as he led them down the street, away from Privet Drive. Harry hoped that he would have to return there only to pick up his things, but the fact that they hadn’t mentioned packing his trunk made him think he wouldn’t be going anywhere.
Harry pushed those thoughts aside. It wouldn’t do to think too much about that now. Not when he had his hearing to worry about. Harry hadn’t really given himself time to think about it. His uncle and aunt kept him busy during the day, and whenever he was left alone, he worried about surviving the Dursleys. So, he hadn’t given himself time to wonder about what would happen at his trial. He didn’t let himself think about the possibility that he would be expelled after all. That meant that he would have to stay at the Dursleys all year-round and he was barely surviving the two months this year. He didn’t know what they would do to him if they got stuck with him that long.
Now, however, it was all he could think about, so he turned to the two adults to distract himself. “How are we going to the Ministry?”
“I’m going to Apparate us to an alley near the Ministry. From there, we’ll enter from the visitors’ entrance,” Mr Weasley explained as they entered a side alley. “Have you ever Apparated before?”
Harry shook his head. Mr Weasley gave him a reassuring smile, telling him that it might feel uncomfortable before offering his arm to take. Harry wrapped his hand around the man’s arm lightly, and before he knew it, the alley disappeared in a swirl of colours. It felt like he was being squeezed through a tube, and when they landed in another alley, Harry had to fight to keep what little he had eaten inside his stomach.
Once the alley stopped spinning and his stomach calmed down, Mr Weasley led them out of the alley, and they walked five minutes and then stopped in front of an old telephone box. He opened the door and got in, motioning for Harry and Tonks to do the same. Harry complied, his forehead wrinkled in confusion, but he knew better than to question the man.
It was a very tight fit. Harry was pressed between Tonks and the wall. His back was screaming in pain, as well as the rest of his body as his multiple bruises were disturbed. Harry once again bit his lip to stop himself from crying out but had to stop when Tonks gave him a worried look, frowning at him. He released his lower lip, offering the Auror a tentative smile.
“Let’s see… six… two… four, another four and two… this should be it,” Mr Weasley spoke out loud. Once he was done dialling those numbers, a female voice filled the telephone box, making Harry jump. Where was the voice coming from?
“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.”
Mr Weasley answered the invisible woman and soon, a silver badge shot out from the machine. Mr Weasley handed it to him. It read Harry Potter, Disciplinary Hearing and Harry pinned it on the front of his shirt.
The voice spoke again with instructions on what to do next and where to go before the floor of the telephone booth shook and sank to the ground, much like a Muggle lift.
By the time their wands were checked and they used the very slow lift— it stopped at almost every floor, wizards and witches from various departments going in and out, including a wizard carrying a fire-breathing chicken— to reach “Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services”, as the female voice in the lift announced, it was a quarter to eight. Mr Weasley brought them to his office on the other side of the floor, stopping once to talk to a tall, dark-skinned man with a gold hoop in his right ear who Mr Weasley introduced as Kingsley Shacklebolt, another Auror.
Mr Weasley’s office was very small, with two desks crammed inside. Filing cabinets overflowing with papers lined the walls, making it hard to move around. The walls were covered in posters of cars and other Muggle objects. On his desk, Harry could see a picture of the Weasley family, with a space where Harry thought Percy would be. He frowned, wondering where the third Weasley son was. People in wizarding pictures could move around, but he’d thought Percy would stay with his family.
“Ok, Harry,” Mr Weasley startled him out of his thoughts. “Your hearing will be with Madame Bones. She’s the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She’s a fair person, so you’ll be alright.”
“Just be calm, stick to the facts, and you shouldn’t have any problems,” Tonks added. “Underage wizards can use magic in life-threatening situations. The law’s on your side, so she’ll—”
Harry didn’t get to know what she’d do because the door opened, and a short man stumbled inside, panting as if he’d run to get there. “Arthur!” he exclaimed. He didn’t glance at Harry, as most people tended to do wherever he went. “Thank Merlin you’re here. I tried to owl you, but you obviously didn’t get it. An urgent message came a few minutes ago. It’s about the Potter boy’s hearing. It’s been changed to eight o’clock, and it’s down in Courtroom Ten—”
“Eight o’clock in Courtroom Ten?! But they told us—” Mr Weasley cut himself off, turning to Tonks, who told him that she’d be waiting in her office.
“Come on, Harry. We need to go, we have only five minutes to get there.” The man bolted out of the room, Harry hot on his heels.
“Why have they changed the time?” Harry struggled to catch his breath as he ran after the man. He felt dizzy, but he blinked away the dark spots forming in his eyes. People stared at them when they passed them, gawking at the sight of Harry Potter running in the Ministry.
Mr Weasley stopped in front of a lift, furiously jabbing at the button to call it. Once inside, the older wizard huffed impatiently at every stop, stabbing at the button as if it’d make the lift move faster. They got out at Level Nine, the Department of Mysteries, Mr Weasley grumbling about how the room had not been in use for years.
Mr Weasley led him through a bare corridor with no windows or doors except for a plain black one at the end of it. Mr Weasley took his arm, accidentally squeezing the bruises there and for a moment, Uncle Vernon was there dragging him to his bedroom for his punishment, but Harry shook his head to clear that thought and ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time.
They reached the bottom, and after a few more turns, Mr Weasley stopped in front of a tall, black door with an iron lock. He leaned against the wall, panting from all the running and Harry wanted to do the same, but Mr Weasley urged him to go in.
“What? You’re not coming with me?” he asked when the ginger man didn’t give any indication that he would be following behind.
“No, I can’t. I’m sorry, I’m not allowed.” He gave him an apologetic smile. “Good luck.”
Harry murmured a thanks and turned to the looming door. His heart was beating ferociously in his chest, going a mile per minute. His hands felt clammy, and he squeezed his fist, hoping that the pain would help keep him grounded. He took a deep breath and turned the heavy door handle, stepping through the courtroom.
As soon as he saw the room, dread filled his guts. He knew this place. He’d seen it before when he saw the Death Eaters' trials in Dumbledore’s pensieve. They were doing his hearing in the same courtroom as murderers?
The walls were made of dark stone, with torches that gave the room an eerie atmosphere. The benches on either side of him were empty, but in front of him, on the highest bench, many people were sitting, talking to each other in low whispers.
The heavy door banged closed behind him and everybody turned to look at him, conversations dying down as they observed him like vultures.
“You’re late,” a male voice spoke. “Take your seat.”
Harry nodded and looked at the centre of the room, where he could see a chair, with arms covered in chairs. They were used to bind whoever sat there, usually people who had committed serious crimes, but would he have to be chained? He only meant to save himself and his cousin, who already knew about magic. Was what he had done really so bad that they had to chain him down?
He gulped and went over to the chair. He sat on the edge of the seat, side-eyeing the chains, but they didn’t spring to life. Harry choked down a sigh of relief and turned his attention to the people seated on the bench. There were about fifty of them, wearing plum-coloured robes with a silver ‘W’ on the left side of the chest. They were all staring at him with different expressions, but he wasn’t sure he liked any of them.
A bead of sweat ran down the back of his head as he made eye contact with the wizard in the middle of the front row: Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic. Harry had met him once, in the aftermath of the Aunt Marge incident. He had smiled at him, laughing off his worries about being expelled for performing magic on his aunt, even if at that time it was accidental, but now that smile was absent, replaced by cold eyes and a mouth set in a straight line.
On his left sat a witch with short greying hair and a monocle, while on his right was another witch, but her face was shadowed as she was sitting too far back on the bench.
“Very well,” the Minister said. “Now that the accused is finally here, let us begin. Are you ready?”
Harry recognized the ‘Yes, sir’ that rang in the silent room. Turning to the voice sitting at the end of the front bench, Harry saw curly ginger hair and horn-rimmed glasses. He tried to lock eyes with the third born Weasley, but Percy ignored him, as if pretending that they didn’t know each other, that he wasn’t his younger brother’s best friend. Harry had never been close to Percy, but he had always received a smile from him when they crossed paths at the Burrow. What happened this summer?
Percy began taking notes as Fudge spoke. “Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August,” he said, “for offences committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.”
The portly man continued listing the interrogators, but he was interrupted by another familiar voice. “Witness for the defence, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.”
Dumbledore strode in as if he were simply taking a walk in a park, his long midnight blue robes flowing behind him.
Harry didn’t know how to feel about the man.
On one hand, he was relieved to see him there. Dumbledore would surely be able to get him out of trouble. He knew those people and the law better than he did, which Harry could admit didn’t really mean much as he knew nothing about either of those, so he would know how to get around it and convince people of his innocence.
On the other hand, the man had left him at relatives that summer after what he had gone through in the graveyard, without so much as a letter to check in on how he was doing, and he wasn’t telling him anything.
Harry tried to catch his eye, but the headmaster didn’t even spare him a glance. Instead, he continued to look up at Fudge with his trademark calm expression and twinkling eyes. The same couldn’t be said for the Minister, as he was very obviously glaring at the older wizard. Perhaps he also knew that with Dumbledore there they wouldn’t be able to do anything to Harry. He fervently hoped he was right.
Harry watched as Dumbledore and Fudge bickered about the hearing time being changed. Once they were done, Dumbledore conjured an ugly, bright yellow armchair and sat down with his hands clasped together on his lap.
“Er, well— the charges, yes.” Fudge hastily took a piece of parchment from the tall pile in front of him, almost knocking the rest over. He steadied the tower before taking a deep breath and read out, “The charges against the accused are as follows:
“That he, in full awareness of the illegality of his actions as he received a written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge in the year 1992, produce a Patronus Charm in a Muggle area, in the presence of a Muggle, on the second of August at twenty-three minutes past nine, which constitutes an offence under Paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks’ Statute of Secrecy.”
The Minister read out his charges and then looked down at him.
“You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging Surrey?” Fudge said, glaring at him.
“Yes,” Harry answered.
The Minister continued with his questioning, and Harry’s frustration grew as he didn’t let him speak, interrupting him before he could explain himself. He could feel his breathing pick up faster every time Fudge cut him off, and he was sure that he was glaring back at the Minister. Harry tried to calm himself down. It wouldn’t do to snap at him, even though it was all he wanted to do. He gave a glance at the wizard sitting beside him, wondering when he would chime in to save him and stop him from embarrassing himself.
Then the questioning, interrupted by the witch with the monocle, who Fudge had introduced as Amelia Susan Bones, the same woman who was supposed to do his hearing in the first place, turned to his ability to cast a corporeal Patronus, which Fudge promptly shut down.
“It does not matter how impressive it was,” he said, “in fact, it’s even worse, given that he did it in front of a Muggle!”
Harry saw Percy nod from his peripheral vision, and the dam finally broke. He couldn’t contain his frustration anymore, and he said very loudly, louder than it was really necessary in the quiet room, “I did it because of the Dementors!”
Murmurs broke out at his exclamation, and it was Madame Bones who asked him to explain.
The Minister smirked at him, looking like Christmas had come early. “You’ve found the perfect cover story, boy, haven’t you? Muggles can’t see Dementors, can they? Very convenient indeed… it’s just your word with no witnesses…”
Harry flinched at being called ‘boy’ and at the argument that his uncle had also used, but he pushed thoughts of his uncle away. “I’m not lying!” he yelled. “There were two of them. Everything went dark and cold, and both my cousin and I felt them and tried to run but—”
“Enough with the lies!” Fudge shouted back. “I’m sure you’ve rehearsed this very well, boy, but there is no way—”
Just as he had interrupted Harry, the Minister was stopped from continuing his speech by the clearing of a throat. The Wizengamot went quiet again as Dumbledore got up from his armchair. Harry turned his glare to the headmaster, wondering why he was only intervening now.
“We do have a witness,” Dumbledore’s voice was still calm, as he stared down at the Minister, “other than Dudley Dursley.”
Fudge’s smirk fell at once, and he looked like someone had killed his wife. Did he even have a wife? Was there someone who could put up with him and his bowler hats? The Minister, after pulling himself back together, a mission not very well accomplished as he was still scowling quite a bit, tried to dismiss the witness, claiming that there wasn’t enough time for ‘tarradiddles’, but Dumbledore was quick to introduce the mystery witness.
Fudge sent Percy to open the doors and once he did, Mrs Figg timidly entered the room, looking around. Dumbledore gave her his chair and conjured a second one for himself, and then the questioning began again.
Mrs Figg told her story when asked, with Madame Bones asking questions to clarify the events. Harry was digging his nails on his palms, his breaths coming in short pants. He hoped that Mrs Figg’s account of the events was enough to declare him innocent, but Harry was afraid that it wasn’t really doing anything to prove his story. Her descriptions of the Dementors were very vague—anyone would be able to tell that they were ‘big and wearing cloaks’, and Madame Bones and the rest of the Wizengamot clearly seemed to agree. Harry appreciated Mrs Figg’s attempts to help him, but was this really what was going to save him from expulsion and the snapping of his wand? Wasn’t there any other way to prove his innocence, like using a pensieve to see his or Mrs Figg’s memories?
His neighbour then described how the Dementor made her feel and how Harry had tried and failed to conjure the Patronus two times before succeeding on his third try. Then she was dismissed, and Harry waited with bated breath to see what would happen. Would he be expelled, or did Mrs Figg convince them? Harry could see that Fudge didn’t believe him, but Madame Bones and the rest? Did they believe him? Harry really, really didn’t want to be expelled. He needed to go back to Hogwarts, or Voldemort wouldn’t be the one who finally killed him.
The court discussed the improbability of Dementors being in Little Whinging, a Muggle area. Madame Bones seemed to believe him, but Fudge was very insistent that he was lying.
“Oh, but I don’t think any of us believe the Dementors were there by coincidence,” Dumbledore said in a light tone, and Fudge was immediately on him like a shark, trying to shoot down every accusation that somebody had sent the Dementors after him.
When Dumbledore wondered out loud if somebody from the Ministry had sent the Dementors, the witch sitting on Fudge’s left leaned forward, and Harry could finally see her face. She had a broad, pudgy face, with large, round eyes and short curly hair and a black bow on the top of her head. Harry thought she looked rather like a toad.
Her voice was just as annoying as she looked, very high-pitched and she sounded like she had drunk two pitchers of Aunt Petunia overly sweet tea. Harry hoped he wouldn’t have to hear it for long, or he was going to try to burst his eardrums.
“I’m sure I must have misunderstood you, Professor Dumbledore,” she said. “But it sounded for a teensy moment that you were suggesting that the Ministry of Magic had ordered an attack on the boy!”
Her laugh grated on his year, and once again, Harry wished he were deaf. A few others laughed along, but none of them sounded really amused.
Dumbledore and Fudge continued their fight, Fudge getting angrier by the second and turning a shade of purple that rivalled Uncle Vernon, while Dumbledore stayed as cool and collected as ever. They went back and forth, Dumbledore putting a stop to every attempt to discredit Harry’s story. Fudge mentioned the incident caused by Dobby, and then the blowing up of his aunt, at which Harry scoffed. Fudge was the one who let him off. He couldn’t change his mind two years later when it was convenient for him.
Harry elected to stay silent as they discussed Harry, knowing that there wasn’t much else he could say to help his case. They would either believe him or not. Harry had been hopeful when he received the second letter from the Ministry, but now he resigned himself to his fate. He’d have to stay at the Dursleys, he wouldn’t have any friends—he doubted his friends would want him anymore once he became useless and couldn’t do magic anymore—and Voldemort would come to finish his job once he was defenceless, if his relatives didn’t kill him before he could by either beating him or starving him to death.
Harry lost track of what they were saying, only bringing himself out of his thoughts by Madame Bones’ booming voice. The courtroom fell silent, all whispers ceasing at once. “Those in favour of clearing the accused of all charges?”
Harry’s heart constricted in his chest. He wrung his hands on his lap. He hadn’t realised it was already time for a decision. He didn’t dare breathe as he watched the hall cast their votes. Harry’s eyes darted around, mentally counting the hands that rose. Many hands were in the air. In fact, it looked like it was more than half! Did this mean he was free? Harry edged further in the chair when Madame Bones asked who was in favour of conviction, and only Fudge and the toad-woman, plus six others raised their hands. Harry glared at Percy, who also had his hand up, but the ginger-haired man still didn’t meet his eye.
Fudge looked like he had swallowed the bitterest lemon on earth as he forced himself to speak the words, “Very well… cleared of all charges.”
Dumbledore jumped to his feet and vanished the two seats. “Well, I must be getting along. Good day to all.”
Any bit of gratefulness that Harry might have felt for the headmaster disappeared as the man left without sparing a glance at the teenager. Harry was left sitting there, staring at the door where Dumbledore disappeared from with a frown.
Nobody but the Umbridge woman was paying him any attention anymore, so he tentatively got to his feet and went for the door, initially keeping his pace slow in case they called him back, but when nobody did, he half-sprinted out of the courtroom.
Harry found Mr Weasley and Tonks waiting for him outside. Mr Weasley was immediately on him, looking worried as he gently grabbed his arms and stared at his eyes.
“Are you ok?” the kind man asked. “Dumbledore didn’t say anything. Did they—”
“Cleared,” Harry pushed away his anger at Dumbledore to beam at his friend’s father, “of all charges!”
Mr Weasley smiled back and pulled him towards his chest, hugging him. Harry winced as he pressed on his bruises and Mr Weasley must’ve noticed because he loosened his hold and stepped back, giving him another brief worried look. Harry was quick to smile at him, trying to reassure him that he was ok, and Mr Weasley seemed to believe him.
“That’s wonderful, Harry! I knew they weren’t going to find you guilty, but I must admit I was–”
Mr Weasley was interrupted by the door opening again and the Wizengamot filing out of the courtroom. He showed his surprise at Harry being tried by the full court as he pulled him aside to let them pass, and even Tonks seemed shocked by it.
The Minister walked past them, ignoring them, and Percy did the same, keeping his head high. Harry could understand Percy ignoring him, but to not acknowledge even his own father? What happened between them?
Harry felt Mr Weasley tense, his mouth tight, but that was the only sign that he had seen his son.
“Let’s go, Harry. It’s best if we bring you home now.”
Those words made the unease in his stomach come back, and he nodded weakly at the wizard, who led him back upstairs with a hand on his back. He pondered about his options. Could he convince Mr Weasley to bring him home with him? To get his belongings from Privet Drive and him to the Burrow? Harry took a deep breath. He wasn’t a Gryffindor for nothing, even though recently, he didn’t particularly feel like one.
“Mr Weasley?” he called out as they took the stairs to Level Nine. “Can– Can I stay with you for the rest of the summer?” he asked. “My relatives and I don’t get along, you see, and I feel like it would be best if—and I haven’t seen Ron in so long…”
Mr Weasley’s apologetic smile shot down every hope that Harry had. “I’m sorry, Harry. Molly and I asked if I could bring you back with me, and Snuffles and Ron begged Dumbledore to let you come to headquarters, but he didn’t want to hear it. He said it’d be best if you stayed at your aunt’s this summer, that it’d be safest.”
Harry scoffed. Safest. Yeah, right. So safe that he got attacked by Dementors with his cousin, but Harry didn’t say anything. If these were Dumbledore’s orders, nothing he could say would convince Mr Weasley to move him from his relatives, no matter how sorry the man looked.
“Wait, Snuffles? Is he at the Burrow?” Harry lowered his voice, looking expectantly at the older man.
“No, we’re all at the headquarters of—” he cut himself off, looking around as if making sure nobody was listening to him. “I’m sorry, I can’t talk about this here, but we’re all together, yes. Hermione’s there too.”
“Oh.” Harry tried to let the hurt wash over him.
His friends were all together, having fun and being kept up to date. They were with Sirius, spending time with him while he was his godfather, and he hadn’t spent more than a few hours with him and only communicated through clandestine letters and fire calls in the dead of night.
“I’m sorry, Harry. I would bring you back with me if it were possible.”
“It’s ok. I’ll be alright.” The lie tasted bitter in his mouth, but he smiled at the man anyway.
Mr Weasley opened his mouth to say something, but he closed it with a snap when a cool, mocking voice joined their conversation.
“Well, well, well… Patronus Potter,” Lucius Malfoy said. He was standing in the middle of the corridor, Cornelius Fudge next to him and now regarding them with a look of cold fury.
As soon as Harry met the older Malfoy’s cold blue eyes, Harry was brought back to the cemetery where the same man stood in front of him with a mask and black robes. He heard his laughter as Lord Voldemort tortured him with the Cruciatus ringing in his ears. Harry threw a disgusted look at the Minister. What was he doing talking to him when Harry had told him he was a Death Eater? But of course, the man didn’t believe Voldemort was back, so thinking that he would trust his word that Lucius Malfoy was Voldemort’s follower was foolish. Fudge could stare at Voldemort’s face, and he probably still wouldn’t believe him.
“The Minister was just telling me about how you wriggled out of your punishment,” Mr Malfoy drawled. “Very snakelike of you, Potter.”
Harry took a step forward, but Mr Weasley stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
“But of course, Dumbledore’s Golden Boy thinks he’s above the law. Not very surprising, from what Draco has told me about you.”
Mr Weasley glared at the blond man but didn’t say anything, probably also due to the look that Tonks gave him. She raised her left wrist slightly, exposing a silver watch, and Mr Weasley nodded, turning to the teenager.
“Come on, Harry. We’ve wasted enough time.”
✦✦✦✦✦✦✦
Before he knew it, Harry was staring at the front door of Privet Drive. Vernon’s car wasn’t there, and Harry was glad for that. He didn’t want to deal with them just yet.
Harry led the two wizards inside, offering them a cup of tea as a thank you for being there with him, which the two wizards refused, saying that they had to be at work soon. Harry filled up a glass of water instead and asked if they could give him any news. Mr Weasley told him about the slander campaign against him and Dumbledore, that as he saw today, the Ministry didn’t believe Voldemort was back.
In summary, nothing that the Weasley twins hadn’t already told him, but they also said that Voldemort was staying quiet, working to recruit new followers and gain strength while nobody believed he was alive, meaning that the fact that there weren’t any reports about Death Eaters attack in the Muggle news was because there weren’t any, and not that they just weren’t reporting them.
Tonks had just finished telling him that they couldn’t share anything else when Harry heard the most horrible sound. The sound of a car parking right outside. Harry tried to school his expression, not to show his fear at being found in the living room with another two wizards. Harry hoped his mind was playing tricks on him, but he heard the key turning and the door opening, and he knew he wasn’t imagining it.
The Dursleys were home.