You asked for a longer chapter, so here it is! Hope it's long enough!
That week went by in a second.
We had been almost over thinking Ron was dead, but now that Mum was back to normal, we were fine. We were all convinced that he was just hidden for some reason at that point. Having my Mum back made the week go all the faster.
The thing that really helped, though, was that daze of joy. Finally! Finally, we could make a difference and do all those things we'd had way too much time to plan while we were stuck in this stupid house. It was about time we got to do something. Every prisoner's gotta be released at some point, and if it's … well … while they're still alive, then most of 'em are gonna go right back out there and do that same old thing all over again until they get imprisoned once more. That's what we planned to do. Keeping us cooped up in this house had been a dumb move. It only gave us more time to plot and dream about what we would do when we got out, and now that we were going to, look out, Britain- the Weasleys were free and ready for action. I would get to go back to Hogwarts! I was looking forward to seeing Neville, Luna … maybe even Lavender and Cho! Even homework didn't sound all that bad. Going back to Hogwarts made up for all the things I used to complain about when I was lucky enough to there. Professor McGonagall would seem saintly kind after this. Nothing could spoil my return to school! Nothing! All this made me walk around in a bubble of pure bliss all week.
Then, it was the day of the hearing. We were up and about by six, but we didn't have to be at the Ministry until nine o'clock. Therefore, we were all very well-fed and looking absolutely spectacular by the time we left the house. Might as well show them that were no lowlives like they tried to claim anyone who wasn't on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's side was. No one would believe the family who set out in the nice suits and the ironed dresses that morning was going to a hearing to try and get their arrest lifted, because no one would believe that they'd ever been arrested in the first place. Not that the Ministry cared about appearance. They always based their judgements on what was on the inside. Yeah. Your blood.
We arrived at the Ministry half an hour early, but, as Tonks had said, things had been quiet around here, and I don't think they had any other cases that day, so they were ready for us.
"Remember," my father muttered to my brothers and I, just as he had before we left the house and when we had first arrived at the Ministry, "not a word unless you are directly asked a question by the judge or one of the jury." He turned to me in particular and added, "Do you hear me, Ginevra? Not. A. Word."
"Fine," I muttered, pretending to be offended, but knowing that he really did have to remind me of this if he didn't want me to make a sarcastic comment the first time they started dissing our family and friends. Or possibly leap out of my chair and go for physical contact. (They'd taken our wands away at the front desk when we had signed in for the hearing, otherwise this could've gotten interesting.)
We entered the coutroom escorted by Dementors. I had to fight the depression they brought with them mentally, because I knew that conjuring my Patronus would only attract attention to me as a strong and able witch, and right now I thought that it was probably my best bet to look weak and as though I wouldn't be able to ward off a fly, let alone Voldemort and all his Death Eaters. Plus, I didn't have a wand in the first place. There was that, too.
I glanced around and saw a few familiar faces, like Delores Umbridge, my repulsively fake-sweet Defense against the Dark Arts teacher back in fourth year, and …Wait! I thought. Is that Tonks?! Tonks?! Tonks is on the jury! How'd she manage to pull that one off? Hang on a minute- so's Kingsley! Kingley's on the jury too! Wow! We might have a chance of winning this thing now!
I fought the urge to wave or in any way acknowledge Tonks and Kingsley as I took my seat in the middle of the courtroom and waited for the hearing to begin as I thought of all the things I would do when I got back home.
They went through a bunch of beginning legal procedures before starting the actual hearing. I tuned out during these, and by the time I was back with the rest of the world, the questioning had begun.
"Did you or did you not have a magical being impersonate your youngest son with spattergroit?" the judge asked.
"We did," replied Dad. He had told us before he left that we were to be nothing but honest. Well- almost nothing. "That was because we didn't know where he was and were embarrassed to admit he had run away from home."
The judge bought it, and continued, "And who else was he with when he ran away from home?"
"We don't know," replied my father. "Otherwise we would've tried to contact him through them- obviously he won't pay any attention to any means of contact we try to use to reach him himself, if he wanted to talk to us he wouldn't run away from home, clearly- and besides, we couldn't send messages to anyone he might be with anyway, we're still under arrest at the moment."
"Yes," growled the judge, "you are, which is why it would be wise if you would answer the question I ask and only the question I ask! Now! Who was he with?"
"We don't know!" repeated my father.
"Very well," said the judge. "Then I have to go on to the matter of lies in court. Was that the only reason you had the ghoul impersonate your son? Or were you lying when you said that was the only reason? 'Fess up now, you won't be in trouble. Don't 'fess up, and we find out you're lying- now, that could get you in trouble. We would have a bit of a sticky situation on our hands, now, wouldn't we?"
"Hang on now," said my father nervously. "I never said that was the only reason. Now, you know as well as we do that Harry Potter and our son Ron were very good friends. You know as well as we do that they could or could not have left together, and while we don't know that for sure ourselves, we thought you wouldn't look kindly on that and didn't feel that we should tell you that he had run away, because we knew you would figure out like we did that he could be with Harry Potter."
"You are aware that Harry Potter is Undesirable Number One?" the judge asked.
"Yes," said my father reluctantly, "it's why we didn't want to mention anything to the Ministry if it might have to do with him."
"Smart," muttered the judge.
"But you don't know for sure that he's run away with Undesirable Number One?"
"No," enunciated my father firmly, telling a flat-out lie. "Any information that we hear about them both is as much news to us as it is to you."
That part was far too true.
"Very well," said the judge. "Jury, make your decisions."
There was a pause of a full five minutes. I stayed as still as possible, trying to look sweet and innocent to these people as, in my mind, I plotted my next rebellion against them. Tonks and Kingsley did a fairly good job of pretending to be deciding how to vote, scrunching up their foreheads and looking like they were considering this as deeply as everyone else. It was a very long five minutes, looking up at the people who would decided my fate, and, essentially, theirs. They might just be creating their own worst enemy, the same way Voldemort had with Harry. Do these people never learn? Honestly.
The judge cleared his throat and said loudly, "Jury! You should have made your decisions by now. We will now take a vote. All in favor of keeping all charges and leaving these people under house arrest on the charge of fraud, please raise your hands now."
Far too many people for my liking raised their hands. A young man next to the judge's stand took some notes in a little booklet and looked back up at the judge, who ignored him.
"All in favor of dropping all charges and releasing these people from their house arrest sentence, please raise your hands now," said the judge solemnly.
It was too close to call between last time's count and this time's. This made me nervous, and I felt absolutely sick as I watched the judge turn and lean down to the man below the stand to murmur something to him. The man said something back, and the judge sat up straight, looking triumphant.
"It is a tie!" he called out. "Therefore, these people will be put on probation." He looked at us. "You may go around your village of Ottery St. Catchpole, you may have visitors, and you may feel free to live your normal lives. However," he said to the four next to me, "you may not go back to work. And you," he turned to me, and my heart froze up with the worst kind of horror and suspense as I waited until he said, "may not go back to school."
I hung my head. This was all wrong, all completely wrong! No, no, no! Everything was supposed to be perfect. I was supposed to go back to school, everyone else was supposed to go back to work, my mother was supposed to go back to cleaning the house and writing half a dozen times a day to all of us when we weren't home, and in a few months, Harry, Ron, and Hermione would come home so we could all be together by Easter! But now not a single one of those things seemed likely to happen, even them coming home this spring, which really had nothing to do with whether or not we were on house arrest.
I sighed quietly as the judge went on with more rules and regulations, taking away more of the freedom I still thought I would have while on probation with every word. Voldemort had won again, even though he was probably off on a murder parade in some place I'd never heard of and didn't even know that his worst enemy's closest thing to family had just been denied again the chance to help him. But still, it was a win for him in theory. This whole war was because of him, wasn't it? And us being arrested had had everything to do with the war, hadn't it?
Why did things have to be this way? I had no idea. I wondered sadly as the judge dismissed the court and we left the splendor and horror of the courtroom behind. We had only been outside the courtroom about five seconds before strong arms pulled us all into a dark, empty hallway. I started to scream as a natural reaction, but a soft hand clamped over my mouth.
"Shh!" cried Tonks.
"They can't know we're here," said Kingsley's voice, hushed and unplaceable in the darkness.
"We're so sorry," said Tonks, putting her arms around me. "We tried to get everyone to vote for you to be released, really we did. We told all our friends and everyone who knows whose side we're really on or who wouldn't just go tattling to the Minister and get us caught. But it looks like it just wasn't quite enough." She looked at Kingsley. "If only we had gotten those other ones from that department …"
"You tried your best," replied my father, "and we couldn't ask for more than that, Tonks. It'll be all right. We can use the Burrow as the Order's headquarters again. It'll be fine. We can get fresh air … a little more space …"
"But not a lot more space," Tonks reminded him. "And that's just it. We wanted to give you the space to fight, to help us again. But now you still won't be able to do anything about the war. You can't leave Ottery St. Catchpole."
"Tonks," I said condescendingly, "do you know what 'probation' means?"
"Yes," she said, turned off by my tone, and my mother said, "Don't use that tone with her, young lady! You are being very rude."
"Sorry," I said, "but I wasn't trying to be. I'm trying to say, probation means they take the trackers out of your house. They're probably doing that right now. They don't know I figured out they were there in the first place. But anyway, they just check on you themselves occasionally. And we'll be home most of the time, won't we? We can still do it!"
Tonks didn't look convinced. "I donnou," she said. "It's awfully dangerous to do something like that anymore, Ginny. Are you sure you're willing to risk it all- and I do mean quite possibly all- for something that might not end up making any difference in the war at all?"
"Oh, it will," I said confidently. "I know it will."
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