The Hearing
Harry awoke the next morning just as he had on the first morning the nightmare had become - suddenly, and with the distinct feeling that something was wrong. He lay frozen in place for a long moment before fishing around on the nightstand for his glasses and looking on either side of the room, confirming both of his sons were in their camp beds, right where he had left them when they went to bed the night before.
Unsurprisingly, he found his same green eyes staring back at him. Albus was awake, sitting cross-legged on his bed, leaning against the ratty old wallpaper on the wall. He was reading a book, something about history of the ancient pureblood families that he'd nicked from the library before Sirius got to it. From the blank look on his face, and the quill he was rolling through his fingers, Harry could tell he wasn't concentrating on what he was reading.
"You okay, bud?" he asked quietly, careful not to wake the two deep sleepers on the other side of the room.
"I woke up this morning with an awful thought," Al replied quietly, still manoeuvring the quill deftly between his fingers.
Harry slowly stood up, stretched, and walked around the bed to join his son in sitting on the camp bed. "What awful thought?"
"Well, what about Uncle Dud?"
That had thrown Harry. "What about Uncle Dud?"
Al shrugged. "We're back in the war. He's a muggle. And he's your family. Is he safe?"
Harry put an arm around his son's shoulders, a comforting gesture for the one of his children that was always most concerned about everyone else. "Of course he's safe. He was fine the first time, and he'll be okay now, too."
"But he can't defend himself."
Now it was Harry's turn to shrug. "He was a thug back then. Back now? Anyway, he can stand up for himself when he needs to. Right now, no one's interested in him and that's the way it's going to stay."
"... But he couldn't defend himself against the dementor."
Harry sighed, and pulled his son closer, into more of a hug. "The dementors were there for me, not Uncle Dud. They were only interested in him because he was with me."
"Does that mean we're in danger? James? Me? The family?"
"Whoa there, bud," Harry said with a smile. "Look, everyone's going to be just fine."
"No they're not," Al countered. "First it's Sirius, then there's Remus and Tonks, and Uncle Fred. And what about Granddad, he gets hurt somewhere in all this too, right?"
"Albus," Harry said firmly. "You need to stop worrying about what's coming. It's going to happen, whether you like it or not. You of all people know first-hand the consequences of meddling with time."
Al sighed now. "But ... but it's Sirius. He's first, I know he is. And ..."
"And it's a lot harder when you know them as a person, right?" Harry offered helpfully.
"Yeah," Al admitted.
Another sigh, and then came his words of wisdom. "Look, I want you to try and think of it this way: We have an opportunity to know them. To spend time with them. And this time, I get to say goodbye. When we go back, the timeline will go back to normal and they won't remember any of this. But you get to treasure these memories forever."
He didn't know where this wisdom had come from, but he suddenly realised it was something he'd needed to hear himself. This was a second chance to treasure their time with their loved ones. There was no time to waste in mourning them. There would be time for that later.
"Come on - get dressed and let's go down for breakfast. No doubt Gran's already up making her famous breakfast fry-up."
"You had me at food," Al said with a grin.
Downstairs, they arrived in the kitchen to find Mr and Mrs Weasley, Sirius, Lupin and Tonks sitting there almost as though they were waiting for them. All were fully dressed except for Mrs Weasley, who was wearing a quilted purple dressing gown. She leapt to her feet the moment the father-son duo entered.
"Breakfast," she announced, pulling out her wand and hurrying over to the fire.
"M-m-morning, Harry," yawned Tonks. "Oh, and Al. Hello."
She was awkward, clearly having difficulty adjusting to the boys presence when she wasn't expecting to see them. Her hair was blonde this morning, and curly like Hermione's. "Sleep alright?"
"Yeah," said Harry. "Sure."
"Hey, I've been wondering," she continued, clearly not noticing Harry's discomfort at what today would bring. "Al. It's a cool name, but it has to be a nickname, right?"
"Uh, yeah," Al said, settling himself into a chair beside his Granddad. "The long version is Albus."
Five sets of eyes settled on Harry, who shrugged. "So we named all the kids after people we care about," he said, waving a piece of toast he'd snatched from Sirius' plate in his hand. "So do the others."
"Others?" Mrs Weasley asked, eyebrows raised.
Harry couldn't help but smile. "Your children are not the end of the Weasley line."
"There will be no end to the Weasley line," Al added, yawning. To the inquisitive looks, he said, "What? We breed like rabbits, don't we?"
Arthur actually burst out laughing. "I see you've met Great-Aunt Muriel."
"My cheeks hurt at the thought of her pinching them," Al confirmed. "But that's okay, I guess. She's a little gaga, but she's family."
"Speaking of family," Remus interjected, "Harry mentioned you've got a penchant for family history. Tell me about the Evans'."
The next half hour was, mercifully for Harry, dominated by Al and his knowledge of his maternal grandmothers' family history.
"But the best bit," he said excitedly, "is that Lily wasn't the first of the Evans' to have magic. She had a great-grandfather about sixteen generations back that went to Hogwarts. See, muggles weren't so great with it, but wizards keep excellent records."
Harry found himself incredibly grateful that he wasn't required to be a part of this conversation. He sat back, listening to his son tell Remus everything he knew about his muggleborn ancestor. Meanwhile, Mrs Weasley couldn't help but fuss with his shirt, tucking in the label and smoothing out the creases in his shoulders.
"Really, Molly, I'm fine," he insisted, hoping he was putting on a better face than he currently felt.
"It'll all be over soon," Mr Weasley said bracingly. "In a few hours' time you'll be cleared."
Though Harry knew this to be true, he couldn't help but wonder if things would go the same way the second time over. There was, after all, a little part in the back of his mind that was convinced they'd been pulled back here by dark forces. The larger part of his head, however, was continuing to remind himself that it was an accident with James and his attempt at creating a spell. Infuriatingly, the kid couldn't remember the specific incantation he'd used. Apparently he'd just said different sounds and bingo-bango, they were back in 1995.
The adults were conversing about Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement - a role which Harry himself occupied back at home. In truth, he'd packed in life as a full-time Auror several years ago now, though that's still the way he found himself describing his job to his family. In the midst of this misadventure, he was suddenly thankful he'd finally given in to years of badgering to become an administrator. After all, life as an Auror wasn't all it was cracked up to be. And, pushing forty, he was starting to feel his age. Life as an administrator certainly wasn't so bad. He definitely had more time at home with his family. And with Ginny - he was definitely enjoying those extra date-nights with his wife. He did still get to oversee the Auror Department, after all ...
Everyone was giving him bits and pieces of advice, but his brain was taking none of it in. Truth be told, he was terrified of facing Cornelius Fudge and the Wizengamot again. As an Auror, he could handle it. But on the other side of the desk? That was something he'd been dreading since he'd realised where they'd landed.
"I think we'll go now," Mr Weasley said, checking his watch. "We're a bit early, but I think you'll be better off at the Ministry than hanging around here."
"Okay," Harry said, now functioning entirely on autopilot.
Though the adults were all busy wishing him luck, it was Al who he actually listened to. "It's gonna be fine, dad," the teenager reassured him. "You've done it once and you'll do it again."
Those words of encouragement were what he held on to as he blindly followed Mr Weasley through London, toward the Ministry.
What Harry didn't know, of course, was that only a couple of floors above them, Ginny Weasley was waking up with a start. She was exactly where she'd gone to bed last night, but something didn't feel quite right. Something was really, really off.
She sat up suddenly, taking in her surroundings. This was the same bedroom she'd been living in all summer, her best friend fast asleep in the bed on the opposite side of the room. Still, something didn't quite feel ... right.
It wasn't that Harry was due for his hearing at the Ministry today. It wasn't that they'd been cooped up inside Girmmauld Place all summer, rather than at home at the Burrow where she could fly freely, as long as her brothers weren't around. The distinct 'plop' of a dungbomb in the hallway, however, had her immedaitel on her feet.
She was on her feet in seconds, her hands clutched into fists by her sides. She was eerily calm, though one look at her squared shoulders was a dead giveaway that she was angry.
"James Sirius!" she yelled, ready to walk out that door and keep yelling at her son. Outside in the hallway, he gulped and accepted his fate. When his mother didn't materialise, however, he legged it the heck out of there.
Back inside the bedroom, Ginny was standing stock still, her head leaned to the side thoughtfully. She had no idea how she knew James' middle name - only a few weeks ago, she was a normal teenager with no knowledge of her future, after all - but somehow, and she couldn't explain how, she knew it was right. Her son's name was James Sirius. Named for Harry's father and godfather.
Merlin's beard, what were they thinking? With a name like that, there was no way he wouldn't turn out to be a trouble maker!
Quietly, and still dressed in pyjamas, she made her way down the stairs, past the severed heads of house-elves long gone, and past the curtains hiding that awful screaming portrait she had taken great delight in blasting off the wall twenty years ago. She stopped in the hallway outside the kitchen, listening closely to the noises she could hear coming through the door.
There was a voice in there that was oddly familiar. And - was that a story about Ignotus Peverrell? Hang on a minute. She knew that voice all too well - but how, she couldn't entirely understand.
Opening the door to the kitchen, she saw exactly who she expected to see. And then several other people she thought she'd never see again.
"Albus," she said, far stronger than she currently felt. "Would you care to explain what the hell is going on?"
Back at the Ministry, Harry was marvelling at how the place looked almost exactly the same as it did every day when he went to work. Except, this was a whole different time, and a whole different place. He'd allowed Mr Weasley to handle the phone box at the visitors entrance, though they both knew he would have done it quicker and more eloquently. He'd blindly followed his father-in-law through the Atrium, registered his wand with the security desk, and made it all the way to the lifts before they encountered anything unsettlingly familiar.
It was the inter-office memos, the flying paper airplanes, that did it for Harry. He couldn't help staring up at them, remembering a time not too long ago where he could guarantee almost half of these would wind up on his desk at Head of the Auror Department.
Seeing him staring up at the memos and misinterpreting his gaze, Mr Weasley was telling him, "Just inter-departmental memos. We used to use owls, but the mess was unbelievable ... droppings all over the desks ..."
It wasn't until that familiar cool female voice said, "Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services" that Harry had a real shock. He'd completely forgotten that Arthur Weasley's Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office was located on the same floor as Harry's own office decades later.
In fact, they had to walk through part of the Auror Headquarters to get to the tiny office Mr Weasley shared with another wizard, whose name was escaping Harry's memory.
When they ran into Kingsley Shacklebolt, he and Mr Weasley were addressing each other as though they hardly knew each other - not as though they had both enjoyed at feast back at Grimmauld Place last night. When Harry opened his mouth to say hello to Kingsley, Mr Weasley stood on his foot.
They followed Kingsley back to his cubicle at the very end of the offices - a cubicle which, one day, would be occupied by Harry himself. Instead of the photographs of his friends and family that Harry had kept around him, he found Sirius' face blinking down at him from every inch of the walls. Newspaper cuttings and old photographs - even the one of Sirius being best man at his parents wedding - papered the walls. The only Sirius-free space was a map of the world in which little red pins were glowing like jewels.
It was the strangest conversation Harry had witnessed in a long time, and he had witnessed an awful lot of strange conversations in his day.
"Here," said Kingsley brusquely to Mr Weasley, shoving a sheaf of parchment into his hand. "I need as much information as possible on flying Muggle vehicles spotted in the last twelve months. We've received information that Black might still be using his old motorcycle."
Knowing for a fact that this motorcycle was in Hagrid's possession at Hogwarts - and that he himself would receive it has a birthday present only a few years from now - Harry had to stifle a laugh. Instead, he pretended to be very interested in one of the articles pinned to the wall closest to him. When he dared to look up, Kingsley tipped him an enormous wink and added, in a whisper, "Give him the magazine, he might find it interesting." Then he said in normal tones, "And don't take too long, Weasley, the delay on that firelegs report held our investigation up for a month."
"If you had read my report you would know that the term is firearms," said Mr Weasley coolly. "And I'm afraid you'll have to wait for the information on motorcycles; we're extremely busy at the moment." He dropped his voice and said, "If you can get away before seven, Molly's making meatballs."
The strangeness of the conversation had almost made Harry forget about what was to come later today. Almost.
For just a moment, he was able to take a seat inside the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office. But then, in ran Perkins, the man who worked alongside Mr Weasley.
"I know about the regurgitating toilet," Mr Weasley told him.
"No, no, it's not the toilet, it's the Potter boy's hearing - they've changed the time and venue - it starts at eight o'clock and it's down in old Courtroom Ten -"
"- Down in old - but they told me - Merlin's beard!"
Harry's stomach dropped. He remembered the hearing was down in the serious old courtrooms, but he'd forgotten they'd moved the time on him at the last minute. Looking at his watch, he realised it was five past eight.
Perkins flattened himself against the filing cabinets as Harry left the office at a run, Mr Weasley on his heels.
"It's okay, Arthur," Harry found himself saying. "I know where to go."
"That may be," Mr Weasley managed as they ran, "but you're not supposed to."
By the time they made it to the lifts, Harry had conceded he needed to at least pretend he was following Mr Weasley, the actual Ministry employee, and not the other way around.
"Those courtrooms haven't been used in years," said Mr Weasley angrily. "I can't think why they're doing it down there - unless - but no -"
"- I do have some experience with these courtrooms, Arthur," Harry said quietly. "We became quite familiar with them after the war."
He was mercifully saved from the elaboration of 'we' by a plump witch carrying a smoking goblet entering the lift.
When a second man entered the lift at the Atrium level, Harry did a double take - he knew this man. Broderick Bode, an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries. Later this very year, he would be placed under the Imperius Curse and forced to attempt to steal the prophecy down in the Department of Mysteries, and he would suffer spell damage. He would be murdered whilst in care at St Mungo's not long after.
Harry was amazed how much he could remember about someone he met once many, many moons ago. But then again, Harry Potter never forgot anyone who died as a direct result of his own journey.
By the time they raced through the corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries, hung a left at a corridor one could easily have run past, and arrived at Courtroom Ten, Harry had forgotten he was on his own.
"Go on," Mr Weasley panted, pointing his thumb at the door. "Get in there."
"Aren't - aren't you coming with -"
"No, no, I'm not allowed. Good luck!"
Harry's heart really was in his throat. He swallowed hard, turned the heavy iron door handle and stepped inside the courtroom. The sight that met him was horribly familiar. Not only had he been here more times than he could count in the aftermath and trials following the War, but it was just as intimidating and foreboding as it was the first time he had walked into it at fifteen years old.
"You're late."
It was not a question, but a statement. This time, however, he was prepared.
"I'm sorry, Minister," Harry said, addressing Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic directly. "I didn't receive notice of the change of time or venue."
"That is not the Wizengamot's fault," said the voice. "An owl was sent to you this morning. Take your seat."
His gaze dropped to the chair in the centre of the room, the one that wrapped its occupant in chains. As he perched himself ever-so-carefully on the very edge of the seat, he half expected the chains to reach out and pull him back. They clinked threateningly once, but they stayed put. Grateful - and thanking his lucky stars, for that was his nightmare scenario right now - Harry looked up at the bench in front of him.
There were easily fifty people here, the full Wizengamot. Why it was necessary for a misuse of magic hearing, no one would ever understand. Though these days, the Daily Prophet was running a smear campaign that would turn out to be a pre-cursor to 'Undesriable No. 1'. Maybe that had something to do with it.
"Very well," said Fudge. "The accused being present - finally - let us begin. Are you ready?"
The eager voice of Percy Weasley was quick to respond with, "Yes sir."
The sight of his brother-in-law as part of this charade made Harry sick to his stomach. Nevertheless, he looked up and waited.
"Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August," said Fudge in a ringing voice, "into 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. Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister."
Harry's eyes settled on the woman sitting to Fudge's left, the woman with the toad-like face who he knew would be wearing robes in an awful shade of pink. She was sitting back in her chair, her face hidden by the shadows around the top of the room. That woman was a nightmare all on her own - and he was about to face her head-on, all over again.
"Court scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley -"
Harry's attention was suddenly completely over his shoulder, where he'd heard the heavy old courtroom door open once more. He found himself actually sighing in relief when the quiet voice behind him said, "Witness for the defence, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."
He was striding purposefully across the courtroom floor, wearing the same long midnight-blue robes he'd be wearing in his Headmaster portrait many years from now. He drew level with Harry and nodded to him barely imperceptibly. For Harry's ears alone, he muttered a greeting of, "Mr Potter."
"Professor," Harry returned the tiny nod. There was no time to say anything else, for Fudge had started talking again, which caused the members of the Wizengamot to fall silent once more.
"Ah," he'd said, clearly disconcerted. "Dumbledore. Yes. You - er - got our - er - message that the time and - er - place of the hearing had been changed, then?"
"I must have missed it," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "However, due to a lucky mistake I arrived at the Ministry three hours early, so no harm done."
No harm my left foot, Harry thought, knowing in his bones that Fudge had done everything in his power to try and avoid having Dumbledore present for his defence at this god-forsaken hearing.
"Yes - well - I suppose we'll need another chair - I - Weasley, could you -"
"- Not to worry, not to worry," Dumbledore said pleasantly. He took out his wand, gave it a little flick, and a squishy chintz armchair appeared out of nowhere next to Harry. Dumbledore settled himself in it, the tips of his long fingers together, and looked back at Fudge with an expression of polite interest.
Harry looked slowly from Dumbledore to Fudge and back, not entirely sure of what was going to happen next.
"Yes," said Fudge again, shuffling his notes. "Well, then. So. The charges. Yes."
He extricated a piece of parchment from the pile before him, took a deep breath, and read out, "The charges are as follows: That he did knowingly, deliberately and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produce a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited 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."
Harry blinked a few times, letting the words wash over him.
"You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?"
It took Harry a moment to recognise that Fudge was, indeed, speaking to him. After all, it had been a lifetime since he'd lived in Privet Drive.
"Uh, yes," he said awkwardly. He cleared his throat, then added, "Yes, sir."
"You received an official warning from the Ministry for using illegal magic three years ago, did you not?"
"Uh ..." He paused, half-expecting the chains on the chair to wrap him up for lying when he said, "Yes. I did. But -"
But Fudge didn't say anything. Instead, he continued, "- And yet you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?"
"Yes. But -"
"- Knowing that you are not permitted to use magic outside school while you are under the age of seventeen?"
The snarky part of his brain was telling him he was well and truly over the age of seventeen, but he still found himself saying, "Yes. But -"
"- Knowing you were in an area full of Muggles?"
"Yes. But -"
"- Fully aware that you were in close proximity to a Muggle at the time."
"Yes," said Harry, now angry, "but I only used it because we were -"
Amelia Bones, the witch with the monocle, cut across him in a booming voice. "You produced a fully-fledged Patronus?"
Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Yes," he said, "it's a stag, it's always a stag."
"Always?" boomed Madam Bones. "You have produced a Patronus before now?"
"Yes," said Harry, the anger still building inside his chest. "I learnt it in third year because of the -"
"At thirteen?" she questioned, starting down at him. "Impressive. A true Patronus at your age ... very impressive indeed."
Though others were mumbling, all this seemed to do was upset Fudge.
"It's not a question of how impressive the magic was," Fudge said in a testy voice, "in fact, the more impressive the worse it is, I would have thought, given that the boy did it in plain view of a Muggle."
"The Muggle in question was my cousin - he's hardly just some Muggle on the street, he's known about magic for years!" Harry said loudly, before anyone could interrupt him again. "And I only did it to stop the Dementors!"
He'd expected more muttering, but the total silence stopped him. It somehow seemed worse than the muttering he'd been enduring since the moment he stepped into this place.
"Dementors?" said Madam Bones after a moment, eyebrows raised. "What do you mean, boy?"
"I mean there were two Dementors down that alleyway," Harry said, forcing himself to calm down and keep his head. "They went for me and my cousin. I had to cast the Patronus charm to stop them from hurting us."
"Ah," said Fudge again, smirking now. "Yes. Yes, I thought we'd be hearing something like this."
"Dementors in Little Whinging?" Madam Bone asked, surprise written all over her face. "I don't understand."
"Don't you, Amelia?" Fudge asked, still smirking. "Let me explain. He's been thinking it through and decided Dementors would make a very nice little cover story, very nice indeed. Muggles can't see Dementors, can they, boy? Highly convenient, highly convenient ... so it's just your word and no witnesses."
Harry looked to Dumbledore, who gave a tiny nod. That was all the permission he needed to use knowledge he genuinely didn't have back in the day.
"You're welcome to get a Pensieve," he said to Fudge, again still much calmer than he felt. "You know as well as I do that memories show when they've been tampered with. My memory will show you the truth."
The room was eerily silent again, this time their entire attention concentrated on him.
"Two Dementors were in Little Whinging. They followed my cousin and I into the alleyway. They came from each end. Everything went dark, and cold, and Dudley felt them and ran for it ... I had to do it, to protect myself." He paused, then added, "And to stop them from hurting Dudley."
"Enough!" Fudge roared, clearly very upset at Harry's level-headed explanation. "I'm sorry to interrupt what was clearly a very well-rehearsed story -"
That was when Dumbledore cleared his throat. The room fell silent once more, every eye of the Wizengamot trained on Dumbledore.
"We do, in fact, have a witness to the presence of Dementors in that alleyway," Dumbledore said. "Other than Harry's own memories, or Dudley Dursley."
Fudge's plump face seemed to slacken, as though somebody had let the air out of it. After a moment, he said, "We haven't got time to listen to more tarradiddles, I'm afraid, Dumbledore. I want this dealt with quickly -"
"- Naturally," Dumbledore said. "Now - and please, correct me if I'm wrong - under the Wizengamot Charter of Rights, the accused as the right to present witnesses for his or her case. Isn't that the policy of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Madam Bones?"
Harry knew without question that this was, of course, true. It was the first and most important of all of the rules of his Department. After the atrocities he'd seen the Department commit during the war - which, at least in this timeline, were still yet to come - he felt it was important to emphasise this above everything else. Everyone, no matter who they are or where they come from, has the right to their own defence.
Madam Bones', "True, perfectly true," summarised things better than Harry's thoughts on the matter far more eloquently than he had in his head.
"Of course, if you would prefer, we can obtain a Pensieve -"
"- Oh very well, very well," Fudge snapped. "Where is this witness?"
Dumbledore flicked his wand toward the door, which opened to reveal Mrs Figg. She made her way over to the seating, where Dumbledore gladly vacated his seat for the old lady. Harry found him wishing once again that she had thought to change out of her carpet slippers.
"Full name?" said Fudge irritatedly.
"Arabella Doreen Figg," she answered him in her quavery voice.
"And who exactly are you?" said Fudge, in a bored and lofty voice.
"I'm a resident of Little Whinging, close to where Harry Potter lives."
I don't live there, Harry found himself reminding himself very strongly. I live in a big, blue house out in the countryside with my wife and my kids. I survived this nightmare, and now I'm thriving on the other side of it.
It was the same mantra he'd had going through his head since he found himself back in this nightmare again. For today, it had at least staved off the anxiety attack he felt coming on. Or rather, delay it. He knew he would have to suffer through that again before too much longer.
He'd been dealing with anxiety in the aftermath of the war for more than twenty years now.
But, despite Harry's internal struggle, the hearing continued around him. Madam Bones was saying, "We have no record of any witch or wizard living in Little Whinging, other than Harry Potter. That situation has always been closely monitored, given ... given past events."
"I'm a Squib," said Mrs Figg. "So you wouldn't have me registered, would you?"
That was another change they'd made on the other side of this, one that Hermione Granger herself had insisted on. Squibs were just as much a part of the magical community as witches and wizards, she'd argued. They needed to keep track of them and provide support to the wider community. These were, after all, a people caught between two worlds - people who belonged to neither of them.
Though she didn't know it, Arrabella Figg had been the reason they'd pushed this change through.
"A Squib, eh?" Fudge asked, eyeing her suspiciously. "We'll be checking that. You'll leave details of your parentage with my assistant, Weasley. Incidentally, can Squibs see Dementors?"
"Yes, we can!" Mrs Figg said indignantly.
"Very well," Fudge sighed. "What is your story."
The moment she launched into it, Harry found himself remembering how it felt like Mrs Figg had learned her story by heart. Which, to be fair, she probably had. He found himself tuning out of the beginning, until she got to the important part.
"... On approaching the mouth of the alleyway I saw Dementors running -"
"Dementors don't run, Mrs Figg," Harry heard himself saying kindly. "They glide."
"That's what I meant to say," Mrs Figg said quickly, patches of pink appearing in her withered cheeks. Though this time, she wasn't as flustered as she had been last time he went through this. "Gliding along the alley towards what looked like two boys."
"What did they look like?" asked Madam Bones.
"Well, one was very large and the other one rather skinny -"
"- Not the boys, the Dementors!" Fudge interrupted impatiently.
"Oh," said Mrs Figg. "They were big. Big and wearing cloaks."
Harry took a deep breath, and clutched at the chair so tightly that his knuckles went white. He found himself counting backwards from ten, focusing on his breathing and doing everything in his power to resist the urge to run as far away from this place as he possibly could.
"Anything else?"
"Yes," said Mrs Figg. "I felt them. Everything went cold, and this was a very warm summer's night, mark you. And I felt ... as though all happiness had gone from the world ... and I remembered ... dreadful things ..."
Madam Bones' eyes widened slightly. Harry knew as well as anyone else in this room that Mrs Figg had described the effects of a Dementor perfectly. By rights, this should be over. But there was one more question, that somehow gave Harry hope.
"What did the Dementors do?"
"They went for the boys," said Mrs Figg, her voice stronger and more confident now that they seemed to believe her story. "One fo them had fallen. The other was backing away, trying to repel the Dementor. That was Harry. He tried twice and produced only silver vapour. On the third attempt, he produced a Patronus, which charged down the first Dementor and then, with his encouragement, chased the second one away from his cousin. And that ... that is what happened," she finished somewhat lamely.
The three adjudicators looked down at Mrs Figg in silence. Finally, Fudge said rather aggressively, "That's what you saw, is it?"
"That is what happened."
"Very well," Fudge nodded. "You may go."
As Mrs Figg left the courtroom, Harry found himself slowly letting out a deep breath he'd been holding since the start of her testimony. He waited, staring very intently at his shoelaces, while Madam Bones and Cornelius Fudge debated Mrs Figg's testimony.
"But Dementors wandering into a Muggle suburb and just happening to come across a wizard?" Fudge all but snorted. "The odds on that must be very, very long. Even Bagman wouldn't have bet -"
"- Oh, I don't think any of us believe the Dementors were there by coincidence," Dumbledore said lightly.
"And what is that supposed to mean?" Fidge asked icily.
"It means that I think they were ordered there," Dumbledore said simply.
Harry looked from Dumbledore to Fudge and back again, suddenly not sure how this was going to end.
"I think we might have a record of it if someone had ordered a pair of Dementors to go strolling through Little Whinging!" Fudge barked.
"Not if the Dementors are taking orders from someone other than the Ministry of Magic these days," the Professor answered him calmly. "I have already given you my views on this matter, Cornelius."
"Yes, you have," Fudge said forcefully. "and I have no reason to believe that your views are anything other than bilge, Dumbledore. The Dementors remain in place in Azkaban and are doing everything we ask them to."
Not for long, Harry found himself thinking sarcastically.
"Then," Dumbledore said quietly, "we must ask ourselves why somebody within the Ministry ordered a pair of Dementors into that alleyway on the second of August."
Harry was laughing humourlessly inside his own head. Take your pick, he thought. This place is full of Death Eaters, dark wizards, and people who are just waiting to take the wrong side of history. Half the people in this room are going to do awful things. How the high and mighty will fall ...
Back in the courtroom, the woman who was the subject of his teenage nightmares leaned forward with her trademark, "Hem hem!"
Harry's eyes flew open, staring openly at the witch with the toad-like face.
"The Chair recognises Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister."
She locked eyes with Harry for a very brief moment, as though she were assessing him. Moving her attention to Dumbledore, she said, "I'm sure I must have misunderstood you, Professor Dumbledore," she said. "So silly of me. But it sounded as though you were suggesting that the Ministry of Magic had ordered an attack on this boy!"
She laughed then, which made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand up. That laugh had been the subject of more than one of his nightmares.
"If it is true that the Dementors are taking orders from the Ministry of Magic, and it is also true that two Dementors attacked Harry and his cousin, then it follows logically that somebody at the Ministry might have ordered the attacks," Dumbledore said politely. "Of course, these particular Dementors may have been outside Ministry control -"
"- There are no Dementors outside Ministry control!"
That little outburst showed Harry the real truth of the Minister for Magic. The man was so obsessed with power that he couldn't see the truth of what was right in front of him: Lord Voldemort had returned. And instead of readying the Ministry for what was to come, instead of trying to put some sort of protection in place, this man chose to ignore it all. Though to be fair, the blame didn't lie entirely with Fudge. He was, however, a catalyst for the downfall of the Ministry.
"I would remind everybody that the behaviour of these Dementors, if indeed they are not figments of this boys' imagination, is not the subject of this hearing!" Fudge protested. "We are here to examine Harry Potter's offences under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery!"
"Of course we are," Dumbledore countered, "but the presence of Dementors in that alleyway is highly relevant. Clause Seven of the Decree states that magic may be used before Muggles in exception circumstances, and as those exceptional circumstances include situations which threaten the life of the wizard or witch themselves, or any witches, wizards, or Muggles present at the time of the -"
"- We are familiar with Clause Seven, thank you very much!"
"Of course you are," Dumbledore said, still in a very courteous tone. "Then we are in agreement that Harry's use of the Patronus Charm in these circumstances falls precisely into the category of exceptional circumstances the clause describes?"
"If there were Dementors, which I doubt."
Dumbledore glanced to Harry, who met his gaze for a fraction of a second. Addressing the room at large once again, he said, "You have heard it from an eyewitness. If you still doubt her truthfulness, call for a Pensieve and take Mr Potter up on his offer of divulging the memory of the attack. Memories don't lie."
"Except when they do."
"... And then they get foggy," Harry muttered. Fudge and Dumbledore both glanced to him, then back to their own argument.
"I want this over today Dumbledore!"
"But naturally, you would not care how many times you heard from a witness, if the alternative was a serious miscarriage of justice."
"Serious miscarriage, my hat!" Fudge yelled. "Have you every bothered to tot up the number of cock-and-bull stories this boy has come out with, Dumbledore, while trying to cover up his flagrant misuse of magic out of school? I supposed you've forgotten the Hover Charm he used three years ago -"
"That wasn't me," Harry said quietly, knowing what was about to come next. "That was Dobby, the house-elf. You could view that memory too, if -"
"- YOU SEE?" Fudge roared, gesturing wildly in Harry's direction. "A house-elf! In a Muggle house! I ask you."
"To be fair, Cornelius," Dumbledore said all too calmly, "it is a wizard's home, too. The house-elf in question is currently in the employ of Hogwarts School. I can summon him here in an instant to give evidence if you wish."
"I - not - I haven't got time to listen to house-elves! Anyway, that's not the only - he blew up his aunt, for Merlin's sake!" Fudge shouted, banging his fist on the judge's bench and upsetting a bottle of ink.
Harry jumped at that, and the chains on the chair clinked menacingly. He pulled his hands aware from the seat quickly, holding them in mid-air in front of him. He wasn't game enough to even so much as touch the chair again.
"And you very kindly did not press charges on that occasion, accepting, I presume, that even the best wizards cannot always control their emotions," Dumbledore said, his tone remaining incredibly calm despite Fudge's clear irritation and yelling.
"And I haven't even started on what he gets up to at school."
Harry had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at that. If the kind of trouble kids got themselves into at Hogwarts was punishable by the Ministry, half of his family would have been permanently imprisoned for years by now. It was a ridiculous thought, but Fudge was very clearly a man grasping at straws. There was no doubt about that in anyone's minds, like it or not.
"But, as the Ministry has no authority to punish Hogwarts students for misdemeanours at school, Harry's behaviour there is not relevant to this hearing," Dumbledore said politely as ever, but now with a suggestion of coolness behind his words.
"Oho! Not our business what he does at school, eh? You think so?"
"The Ministry does not have the power to expel Hogwarts students, Cornelius, as I reminded you on the night of the second of August," said Dumbledore. "Nor does it have the right to confiscate wands until charges have been successfully proven; again, as I reminded you on the night of the second of August. In your admirable haste to ensure that the law is upheld, you appears, inadvertently I am sure, to have overlooked a few laws yourself."
"Laws can be changed."
"Clearly," Dumbledore and Harry both said at once. Several confused glances landed on Harry, but he shrugged them off.
Still maintaining his tone of cool calm, Dumbledore continued, "And you certainly seem to be making many changes, Cornelius. Why, in the few short weeks since I was asked to leave the Wizengamot, it has already become the practice to hold a full criminal trial to deal with a simple matter of underage magic!"
A few of the witches and wizards in the violently plum coloured robes shifted uncomfortably, and though they were looking everywhere around the room, they couldn't meet anyone's eyes.
"As far as I am aware," Dumbledore continued, ignoring the discomfort around them, "there is no law yet in place that says this court's job is to punish Harry for every bit of magic he has ever performed. He has been charged with a specific offence, he has presented his defence, and he has offered to show his memories. All he and I can do now is to await your verdict."
Harry had forgotten how direct Dumbledore could be, especially when it came to things like this. His portrait at Hogwarts was a good likeness of the man, but it still wasn't Albus Dumbledore himself. He glanced sideways, seeking reassurance, but the Professor continued to look up at the benches where the entire Wizengamot had fallen into urgent, whispered conversations.
By this point, Harry was barely keeping it together. His heart, which seemed to have swollen to an unnatural size, was thumping loudly under his ribs. Yet again, he was quite confident he had not made a good impression. Even the gift of hindsight, and all his years of experience as a part of the prosecution, left him falling short again in his own defence. Thank God for Dumbledore - without him stepping in, Harry would have been toast.
He didn't bother to try and continue his own defence. Last time, he remembered wanting to say something more to Fudge, but not being able to find the words. This time, however, he sat silently and waited.
When the whispering finally stopped, he found himself slowly looking up to face his fate.
"Those in favour of clearing the accused of all charges?" Madam Bones' voice boomed all around him.
There were hands in the air on all sides. Now failing miserably at trying to control his breathing, he tried to count hands, but Madam Bones was saying, "And those in favour of conviction?"
Fudge raised his hand; so did half a dozen others, including toad-face and a couple of the others that had been pointing and whispering during the proceedings.
Fudge glanced around, seeing the lack of support for his movement. He took two deep breaths and said, in a voice distorted by suppressed rage, "Very well, very well ... cleared of all charges."
Harry couldn't help himself - he grinned. Having lived it once was enough, going through it again was nothing short of a nightmare, but coming out the other side of it really was a huge weight off his shoulders.
A/N: So I might have got a little caught up in the trial. The way I see it, with the benefit of Harry's future knowledge and hindsight, the whole thing looks even more ridiculous. Anywho - that's just me. Hope you enjoyed my 7700 word chapter!
