Chapter 25: Hearing
August 12, 2002 – Monday
#12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London
"...and I'll have to tell Dumbledore I can't do night duty tomorrow, I'm just t — t — too tired," Tonks said, yawning, her voice laced with exhaustion as she struggled to get the words out.
"I'll cover for you," said Mr Weasley. His words were filled with kindness and understanding, a supportive tone that contrasted with Tonks' weariness. "I'm OK, I've got a report to finish anyway." He turned from Tonks to Harry. "How are you feeling?"
Harry shrugged, his shoulders slumped in the emotional weight of the moment. His silence spoke volumes, a mix of anxiety and uncertainty.
"It'll all be over soon," Mr Weasley said bracingly, his voice offering a glimmer of hope, even if it seemed distant. "In a few hours' time you'll be cleared."
Harry said nothing, his inner turmoil reflected in his troubled expression.
Buffy stepped up beside Harry and Mr. Weasley, she was dressed in a nice business suit, but her words carried a hint of frustration and a touch of humor. "I really hope Dumbledore appreciates this. I hate wearing skirts. Makes it hard to slay things in."
Mr. Weasley gave Buffy a nod, a mixture of gratitude and agreement evident in his gesture. In the meeting, Dumbledore had asked Buffy to represent Harry as he was not going to be able to do it himself. She had consented on one condition that she could take Hermione and Dawn with her. Neither of the twins had seen much of the wizarding world's government, and Buffy had felt this would be an educational experience for all of them
"The hearings on my floor, in Amelia Bones's office." Mr. Weasley said, his voice carrying a sense of urgency as he provided the location. "She's Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the one who'll be questioning you."
"Amelia Bones is OK, Harry," said Tonks earnestly, her words wrapped in reassurance. "She's fair, she'll hear you out."
Dawn and Hermione came down just then, dressed in matching knee-length dresses, their attire a subtle contrast to the gravity of the situation, their presence a glimmer of normalcy in the midst of uncertainty.
Harry nodded, still unable to think of anything to say, his agreement silent but profound.
"Don't lose your temper," said Sirius abruptly, his tone a mix of stern concern. "Be polite and stick to the facts when questioned. Also let Buffy handle your defense."
Harry nodded again, his determination to stay composed evident in the solemn expression on his face.
"The law's on your side," said Lupin quietly, his words a calming presence in the midst of turmoil. "Even underage wizards are allowed to use magic in life-threatening situations," his voice held the assurance that they were on the right side of the law, a comforting reminder.
Mr. Weasley checked his watch, his eyes darting between Harry, Buffy, Dawn, and Hermione. "I think we'll go now," he said, his tone reflecting a mix of concern and readiness. "We're a bit early, but I think you'll be better off at the Ministry than hanging around here."
"OK," said Harry automatically, his response tinged with a touch of anxiety.
"You'll be all right, Harry," said Tonks, her words filled with warmth and encouragement.
"Good luck," said Lupin, his voice a soothing balm in the midst of uncertainty. "I'm sure it will be fine," his reassurance like a gentle pat on the back.
"And if it's not," said Sirius grimly, his words holding a protective edge, "I'll see to Amelia Bones for you…" His promise was clear, a reminder of the unwavering support Harry had.
Mrs. Weasley hugged Harry, her embrace a comforting gesture that conveyed her motherly affection. "We've all got our fingers crossed."
"Right," said Harry, his voice a mixture of determination and gratitude. "Well... see you later then."
Mr. Weasley unbolted the door, and he stepped out into the cold, grey dawn, followed by Buffy, Harry, Dawn, and Hermione.
Streets of London
"You don't normally walk to work, do you?" Dawn asked Mr. Weasley, her voice filled with curiosity as they strolled down the street.
"No, I usually Apparate," said Mr. Weasley, his explanation tinged with a hint of inconvenience. "But obviously you all can't, and I think it's best we arrive in a thoroughly non-magical fashion... makes a better impression, given what Harry is being disciplined for..."
They eventually arrived at an underground station. They bought their tickets from a sleepy-looking guard, and five minutes later, they were boarding an underground train that rattled them off towards the center of London.
They got off at a station in the very heart of London, and were swept from the train in a tide of besuited men and women carrying briefcases. Up the escalator they went, through the ticket barrier, and emerged on to a broad street lined with imposing-looking buildings and already full of traffic.
"Where are we?" said Mr. Weasley blankly, his confusion mirroring the others' uncertainty.
Buffy wondered the same thing as she wasn't familiar with London yet, her gaze taking in the bustling surroundings with a mix of intrigue and bewilderment.
"Ah yes . . . this way, Harry, Buffy, Dawn, and Hermione," Mr. Weasley said and led them down a side road, his voice carrying a mix of apology and uncertainty. "Sorry," he said, "but I never come by train, and it all looks rather different from a Muggle perspective."
Dawn snorted at that, her amusement evident. She looked at her sisters and quipped, "Makes me glad we were raised Muggle." Buffy and Hermione exchanged knowing glances, and even Harry had to agree, their upbringing as Muggles suddenly feeling like a sanctuary.
"As a matter of fact, I've never even used the visitors' entrance before," Mr. Weasley admitted as they came up to an old red telephone box. "Here we are. After you, Harry. Watch what I do, Buffy, and then you can come down next."
Buffy nodded as she, Hermione, and Dawn watched Harry and Mr. Weasley enter the telephone box. Mr. Weasley closed the door, but thankfully, Buffy could see through one of the small windows in the door. Mr. Weasley reached past Harry for the receiver. He dialed six, two, four, four, and two, and then Harry and Mr. Weasley sank below the level of the ground.
A moment later, Buffy, Dawn, and Hermione squeezed into the telephone box, and Buffy repeated the sequence she had watched Mr. Weasley dial. Then, with a sense of anticipation, they descended down below the ground.
Ministry of Magic
They exited the telephone box to find themselves in a large underground room, their surroundings a blend of enchantment and bureaucracy. Harry and Mr. Weasley were there waiting for them, their expressions a mix of readiness and anticipation. Mr. Weasley led them to a reception desk.
"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business," said the receptionist, her voice efficient and formal.
"Arthur Weasley, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, here to escort Harry Potter, who has been asked to attend a disciplinary hearing. Buffy Summers, who is to be his defense attorney, and Dawn and Hermione Summers to watch the hearing for educational purposes."
"Thank you," said the receptionist, her response polite and perfunctory. 'Visitors, please take the badges and attach them to the front of your robes." She handed four badges to Harry, Buffy, Hermione, and Dawn. "'Visitors to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium. The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day."
"This way," Mr. Weasley said, his guidance invaluable as they navigated through the bustling crowd, making their way toward a desk. "Over here, Harry, Buffy, Dawn, Hermione," he said, motioning toward the designated desk. They all stopped in front of the desk in question, their purpose clear and their presence noted. "I'm escorting several visitors," he informed the guard at the desk, his tone confident and respectful.
"Step over here, one at a time," said the wizard in a bored voice, his demeanor a stark contrast to the magical world's mysteries. "Wand."
Harry produced his wand, handing it over to the wizard. The wizard dropped it onto a strange brass instrument, which resembled a set of scales with only one dish. It began to vibrate, the peculiar sight and sound adding to the aura of the magical bureaucracy. A narrow strip of parchment came speeding out of a slit in the base. The wizard tore this off and read the writing on it.
"Eleven inches, phoenix-feather core, been in use four years. Is that correct?" The wizard inquired, his tone matter-of-fact.
"Yes," said Harry nervously, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I keep this," the wizard declared, impaling the slip of parchment on a small brass spike. "You get this back," he added, thrusting the wand at Harry, their exchange complete.
"Thank you," Harry said, his gratitude heartfelt as he reclaimed his wand, the sense of relief palpable.
"Next," said the wizard, efficiently inspecting Dawn, Hermione, and Buffy's wands in turn, the ritual of examination playing out with each of them.
"Thank you, Eric," said Mr. Weasley, his acknowledgment warm and courteous, before guiding Harry away from the desk. Buffy, Dawn, and Hermione followed closely, the process completed with a sense of collective relief.
They walked over to what Dawn was sure was an elevator, its mundane appearance in contrast to the magical world surrounding them.
"'All right, Arthur?" said a wizard, nodding at Mr. Weasley, their exchange a brief moment of camaraderie amid the bustling atmosphere.
"What've you got there, Bob?" asked Mr. Weasley, his curiosity piqued.
'"We're not sure," said Bob. "'We thought it was a bog-standard chicken until it started breathing fire. Looks like a serious breach of the Ban on Experimental Breeding to me."
"Ya, think," Dawn said sarcastically, her dry humor cutting through the gravity of the situation, her comment a reminder that even in the magical world, absurdities could be commonplace.
Just then, they entered the elevator, embarking on the next stage of their journey. When they reached Level Two: Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services, they disembarked.
They turned a corner, walked through a pair of heavy oak doors, and emerged in a cluttered open area divided into cubicles, the hustle and bustle of the magical bureaucracy continuing around them.
"Morning, Weasley," said Kingsley, as they drew near. "Hello Professor Summers, nice seeing you again. Weasley, I've been wanting a word with you, have you got a second?"
"Yes, if it really is a second," said Mr Weasley, his reply tinged with a hint of urgency. "We're in rather a hurry."
They talked as they walked, the conversation held in snippets as they navigated through the busy Ministry. Eventually, Kingsley left them as they went through a set of oak doors, into another passage, turned left, marched along another corridor, turned right into a dimly lit and distinctly shabby corridor, and finally reached a dead end.
A door on the left stood ajar, revealing a broom cupboard, and a door on the right bore a tarnished brass plaque reading: Misuse of Muggle Artifacts.
Hermione shook her head as she looked at Mr. Weasley's office. "How can you work in here?"
Dawn had to nod in agreement, the room's cramped and shabby appearance a stark contrast to their expectations of the Ministry.
A stooped, timid-looking old wizard with fluffy white hair entered 20 minutes later, his anxiety palpable. "Oh, Arthur! Thank goodness, I didn't know what to do for the best, whether to wait here for you or not. I've just sent an owl to your home but you've obviously missed it — an urgent message came ten minutes ago—"
"I know about the regurgitating toilet," said Mr Weasley, his voice tinged with exasperation.
"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 now and it's down in old Courtroom Ten—"
Buffy frowned and looked to Mr. Weasley, her frustration apparent. "Why wasn't I informed of this?"
"Down in old — but they told me — Merlin's beard!" Mr. Weasley said, his surprise mirrored by the others. "I'm not sure, Buffy. I would have thought Dumbledore would have listed you as Harry's defense."
They ran out of his small office, down the hall, back towards the elevator, a sense of urgency propelling them.
"Why have they changed the time?" Harry said breathlessly, his concern evident as they rushed to the courtroom, the unexpected twist adding to the tension of the day.
"I've no idea, but thank goodness we got here so early, if you'd missed it, it would have been catastrophic!" Mr. Weasley said, his voice filled with relief and impatience as he hurriedly pressed the 'down' button on the lift. "Come ON!"
The lift clattered into view, and they hurried inside, the anticipation mounting as they descended to the appropriate floor.
"Quick, Harry, Buffy, Hermione, and Dawn," said Mr. Weasley as the lift doors rattled open, and they sped up a corridor that was quite different from those above. "Down here, down here."
The doors they passed here were heavy wooden ones with iron bolts and keyholes, the atmosphere growing more solemn and foreboding with each step.
"Courtroom . . . Ten . . . I think . . . we're nearly . . . yes." Mr. Weasley said as he stumbled to a halt outside a grimy dark door. "Go on. Get in there."
"Aren't — aren't you coming with—?" Harry asked.
"No, no, I'm not allowed. Buffy's allowed because she's your defense," Mr. Weasley answered, his voice tinged with regret. "Dumbledore had to pull some strings to just get Hermione and Dawn allowed to even watch. Good luck!" he called after them, his encouragement carrying through the heavy door as Buffy led Harry, Dawn, and Hermione into the courtroom.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Dawn heard Harry gasp, his surprise catching her attention, and she wondered what had startled him as she and Hermione took a seat at the back of the room.
Fudge's cold voice rang across the courtroom, a stern and unwelcoming presence. The atmosphere grew tense. "You're late."
"Sorry," said Harry nervously, his voice quivering with uncertainty. Dawn could sense his anxiety, his unease palpable in the air.
Buffy put her hand on Harry's shoulder and shook her head, her demeanor showing both support and defiance. Her touch was a reassuring anchor in the storm of tension that filled the room. "We had not been informed of the time change."
"That is not the Wizengamot's fault," said Fudge, his response unwavering, casting a dark cloud over the room. "An owl was sent to you this morning. Take your seat."
Buffy frowned, her determination evident. Her eyes locked onto Fudge with a fiery intensity as she cited a rule she had been well-prepared for. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for her to deliver the final blow. "I believe you should read up upon your own rules. Defense is required to be notified one week in advance of a location or time change." Her words were a beacon of hope and defiance, a testament to her meticulous preparation, and a tribute to Dumbledore's wisdom in ensuring she was well-versed in such matters.
"Very well," said Fudge, his tone carrying an air of impatience and authority. The oppressive atmosphere in the room seemed to grow even heavier. "The accused being present — finally — let us begin. Are you ready?"
Buffy nodded, her determination unwavering, indicating that Harry could answer on his own behalf. Her resolute support was like a shield, protecting Harry in the face of adversity.
"Yes, sir," said Harry, his response clear and determined. His voice resonated with a steely resolve, ready to face the proceedings head-on, despite the odds stacked against him.
"Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August," said Fudge in a ringing voice, and Percy began taking notes at once. The echoes of Fudge's words seemed to reverberate through the room, marking the start of a fateful encounter. "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. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley—"
"Defense Attorney, Buffy Anne Summers, Professor at Hogwarts, Vampire Slayer," Buffy interjected, her assertive tone cutting through the tension like a blade, commanding attention and causing a stir of reactions in the room. The room seemed to come alive with murmurs and whispers, a spark of intrigue ignited by Buffy's formidable presence in the courtroom.
"Yes," said Fudge again, shuffling his notes. The tension in the room seemed to tighten further, like a coiled spring ready to snap. "Well, then. So. The charges. Yes. The charges against the accused 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."
"You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?" Fudge said, his gaze fixed on Harry over the top of his parchment, his scrutiny intense. The weight of Fudge's words bore down on Harry, and the air seemed to grow heavier.
Buffy whispered, "Go ahead; I will let you know when you don't have to answer."
"Yes," Harry said, his voice unwavering, his determination clear in the face of the mounting pressure.
"You received an official warning from the Ministry for using illegal magic three years ago, did you not?" Fudge asked, his tone accusatory. The accusation hung in the air, a heavy cloud of suspicion.
"Yes, but—" Harry began, seeking to explain, his emotions on edge, ready to defend his actions.
"And yet you conjured a Patronus on the night of the twenty-eighth of July?" Fudge interrupted, his interrogation relentless. The relentless questioning by Fudge was like a relentless storm, each thunderous accusation driving deeper into Harry's resolve.
"Yes, but—" Harry started once more, attempting to provide his perspective, his voice tinged with frustration and desperation.
But again, Fudge interrupted, his questions relentless, cutting off Harry's attempts to defend himself. "Knowing that you are not permitted to use magic outside school while you are under the age of seventeen?"
"Yes, but—" Harry began a third time, his responses becoming increasingly frustrated, like waves crashing against an unyielding shore.
"Knowing that you were in an area full of Muggles?" Fudge interrupted yet again, his tone unyielding, his grip on the situation unrelenting.
"Yes, but—" Harry began a fourth time, his determination to explain his actions undeterred, a glimmer of hope fighting to break through the storm of accusations.
"Fully aware that you were in close proximity to a Muggle at the time?" Fudge said as he kept interrupting, his insistence on highlighting the circumstances unwavering, like a prosecutor driving home a damning case. The pressure in the room was suffocating, each interruption a relentless blow to Harry's defense.
"Yes," said Harry as he glared at Buffy, wondering why she wasn't stepping in to help him. His frustration and confusion were evident in his gaze, as he longed for her support. "But I only used it because we were—"
Madam Bones interrupted Harry in a booming voice, her presence commanding the room's attention. "You produced a fully-fledged Patronus?"
"Yes," said Harry, his voice carrying a hint of exasperation, his eagerness to explain evident in his tone, "because—"
"A corporeal Patronus?" Madam Bones said, her scrutiny sharp, her piercing gaze locked onto Harry's.
Buffy nodded, her response firm and unapologetic, a pillar of support for Harry. "Yes, a fully corporeal Patronus. I myself have seen it. Not in the incident that is being discussed here, though. I asked Mr. Potter to demonstrate a Patronus last year to one of my classes. If you're interested to know what form it takes, it's a deer or stag to be more precise."
"Always?" boomed Madam Bones. "You have produced a Patronus before now?"
"Yes," said Harry, his responses growing more assertive, his determination to convey the truth unwavering. "I've been doing it for over a year."
"And you are fifteen years old?" Madam Bones asked, her scrutiny unrelenting, as if trying to piece together the puzzle of Harry's abilities.
"Yes, and—" Harry began to explain further, his words teetering on the edge of urgency.
"You learned this at school?" Madam Bones continued her line of inquiry, seeking clarity in the midst of the courtroom turmoil.
Buffy sighed, feeling the need to clarify the situation for the court. "Yes, he learned it at Hogwarts. My predecessor, Professor Remus Lupin, taught it to him when Dementors were sent to Hogwarts to protect the school from Sirius Black. Mr. Potter had an adverse reaction to the Dementors and was taught to ward them off." Her explanation was a lifeline in the sea of accusations.
"Impressive," said Madam Bones, her tone softening as she stared down at Harry. Her professional demeanor shifted, acknowledging the significance of his abilities. "A true Patronus at his age... very impressive indeed." Her words were a rare moment of recognition in a courtroom filled with doubt and accusations, offering a glimmer of hope to Harry and Buffy.
"It's not a question of how impressive the magic was," said Fudge, his frustration evident, his impatience growing with each passing moment. "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!"
"I did it because of the Dementors!" Harry said, his voice carrying a hint of exasperation, his desperation to make them understand his motives clear.
"Dementors?" said Madam Bones after a moment, her interest piqued. "What do you mean, boy?"
"I mean there were two Dementors down that alleyway, and they went for me and my cousin!" Harry explained, his voice filled with a sense of urgency, the weight of the memory still haunting him.
"Ah," said Fudge, his tone shifting, recognizing the severity of the situation. "Yes. Yes, I thought we'd be hearing something like this."
Buffy stepped in front of Harry, her demeanor firm and assertive, defending her client with unwavering determination. "Minister, I ask you to keep your opinions to yourself. This is a court of facts, not opinions." She then stepped back beside Harry, her role as his defense attorney clear in her actions, a guardian of justice in a sea of doubt.
"Dementors in Little Whinging?" Madam Bones said, her confusion evident. "I don't understand—"
"Don't you, Amelia?" said Fudge, his voice dripping with condescension. His arrogance hung in the air, a stark contrast to Buffy's professionalism. "Let me explain. He's been…" he paused as Buffy coughed, her disapproval clear. "Muggles can't see Dementors, can they, boy? In the end, it's just your word and no witnesses..."
"We do, in fact, have a witness to the presence of Dementors in that alleyway," Buffy said, her confidence unwavering, her resolve shining like a beacon of truth, "other than Dudley Dursley, I mean."
Fudge's plump face seemed to slacken, his demeanor faltering in the face of a credible challenge. "'We haven't got time to listen to falsehoods, Ms. Summers. I want this dealt with quickly—"
"I may be wrong," said Buffy, her voice measured and assertive, "but I am sure that under the Wizengamot Charter of Rights, the accused has the right to present witnesses for his or her case? Isn't that the policy of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Madam Bones?"
"True," said Madam Bones, her acknowledgment of the rules clear. "Perfectly true." Her words affirmed the importance of justice and fairness in the courtroom.
Buffy smirked, her subtle victory evident, her confidence in Dumbledore's foresight and her own skills bolstered. She hoped that Dumbledore had somehow managed to secure the witness they needed.
"Oh, very well, very well," snapped Fudge, his annoyance apparent, though he had no choice but to proceed. "Where is this person?"
"She should be just outside the door. Should I—?" Buffy began to ask, ready to guide the proceedings.
"No — Weasley, you go," Fudge barked at Percy, his impatience evident, wanting the process to move swiftly.
A moment later, Percy returned, followed by Mrs. Figg, who entered the courtroom, her presence unassuming yet potentially pivotal.
"Full name?" said Fudge loudly, his tone demanding, as he sought to establish the identity of the witness. The courtroom seemed to hold its breath, the anticipation mounting as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place.
"Arabella Doreen Figg," said Mrs. Figg, her voice clear and steady, ready to provide her testimony, her presence a beacon of hope in the courtroom.
"And who exactly are you?" said Fudge, his suspicion clear, his skepticism unwavering.
"I'm a resident of Little Whinging, close to where Harry Potter lives," said Mrs. Figg, her voice steady and determined, her commitment to the truth evident in her words.
"We have no record of any witch or wizard living in Little Whinging, other than Harry Potter," said Madam Bones, her statement reflecting the stringent monitoring in the area. "That situation has always been closely monitored, given... given past events."
"I'm a Squib," said Mrs. Figg, her revelation meant to explain the lack of registration, her words a key to unraveling the mystery.
"A Squib, eh?" said Fudge, his gaze scrutinizing her closely. "We'll be checking that. You'll leave details of your parentage with my assistant Weasley. Incidentally, can Squibs see Dementors?"
"Yes, we can!" said Mrs. Figg, her response laced with indignation, asserting her ability to perceive Dementors despite her Squib status, her testimony ringing with authenticity.
"Very well," Fudge said aloofly, his impatience evident, but unable to ignore the testimony unfolding. "What is your story?"
"I had gone out to buy cat food from the corner shop at the end of Wisteria Walk, around about nine o'clock, on the evening of the twenty-eighth of July," gabbled Mrs Figg, her words spilling out in a hurried manner, her memories still vivid. "When I heard a disturbance down the alleyway between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. On approaching the mouth of the alleyway, I saw Dementors running—"
"Running?" said Madam Bones sharply, her attention focused on the details, seeking clarity in the unfolding narrative. "Dementors don't run, they glide."
"That's what I meant to say," said Mrs. Figg quickly, correcting herself, eager to provide accurate information. "Gliding along the alley towards what looked like two boys."
"What did they look like?" said Madam Bones, her inquiry demanding a detailed description, as the pieces of the puzzle came together.
Buffy sighed, her voice tinged with exasperation, her desire for clarity and precision evident. "Please clarify, Madam Bones. Do you mean the boys or the Dementors?" Her request for a clear distinction was essential to the proceedings.
"The Dementors... describe them," Madam Bones pressed, her determination to gather accurate information unwavering.
"They were big. Big and wearing cloaks," Mrs. Figg said, her description lacking in detail, her memory of the encounter still haunting her.
"Big and wearing cloaks," repeated Madam Bones coolly, while Fudge snorted derisively, his skepticism evident. "I see. 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..." Her words conveyed the chilling impact of the Dementors' presence, painting a vivid picture of the horrors she experienced.
Buffy nodded in agreement, providing context for those who might not fully understand the gravity of the situation. "I have talked to people who have encountered Dementors, and that is exactly what they do. It's why you very rarely see someone break out of Azkaban." Her words underlined the profound terror the Dementors could instill in anyone, regardless of their magical abilities.
"What did the Dementors do?" Madam Bones asked, her interest piqued, the suspense in the courtroom palpable as everyone leaned in to hear Mrs. Figg's response.
"They went for the boys," said Mrs. Figg, her testimony continuing, her words painting a vivid picture of the harrowing scene. "One of them had fallen. The other was backing away, trying to repel the Dementor. That was Harry. He tried twice and produced only silver vapor. 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."
"Very well," said Fudge, his dismissive tone evident, unwilling to acknowledge the significance of the testimony. "You may go."
Mrs. Figg cast a frightened look from Fudge to Buffy, then got up and shuffled off towards the door and exited the room, her role in the courtroom drama concluded.
"Not a very convincing witness," said Fudge loftily, his skepticism unwavering, determined to maintain his stance.
"Oh, I don't know," said Madam Bones, her response measured, her professional judgment clear. "She certainly described the effects of a Dementor attack very accurately, just as Ms. Summers said. It is why prisoners very rarely break out of Azkaban. And I can't imagine why she would say they were there if they weren't." Madam Bones's insight carried weight, offering a glimmer of hope to Harry and Buffy in their battle for justice.
"But Dementors wandering into a Muggle suburb and just happening to come across a wizard?" snorted Fudge, his disbelief clear, his skepticism unwavering. "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," said Buffy lightly, her tone suggesting a deeper meaning, her words carrying a hint of intrigue.
"And what is that supposed to mean?" Fudge asked icily, his suspicion growing, as he sensed a shift in the narrative.
Buffy smiled, her expression composed, her confidence unshaken. "I don't presume to know. But it is odd, is it not, for two Dementors to be so far from Azkaban? Why would they be there unless they had been ordered there?"
"I think we might have a record of it if someone had ordered a pair of Dementors to go strolling through Little Whinging!" barked Fudge, his tone dismissive, his arrogance still prevailing.
"Not if the Dementors are taking orders from someone other than the Ministry of Magic," Buffy said, her statement carrying a weight of implication, her words hanging in the air like a revelation. "I believe Dumbledore has given you his views on this matter, Mr. Fudge." Her words served as a reminder of the larger, ominous forces at play, urging Fudge to consider the gravity of the situation.
"Yes, he has," said Fudge forcefully, his resolve unwavering, dismissing Dumbledore's concerns. "And I have no reason to believe his views are anything other than bilge, Ms. Summers. The Dementors remain in place in Azkaban and are doing everything we ask them to."
"Then," said Buffy, her tone calm and measured, her commitment to uncovering the truth unwavering, "we must ask ourselves why somebody within the Ministry ordered a pair of Dementors into that alleyway on the twenty-eighth of July." Her words were a challenge to the status quo, a call for accountability.
"The Chair recognizes Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister," said Fudge, giving her the floor.
"I'm sure I must have misunderstood you, Professor Summers," Umbridge said in a saccharine tone, her condescension evident. "So silly of me. But it sounded for a teensy moment as though you were suggesting that the Ministry of Magic had ordered an attack on this boy!"
"Ah, my future co-professor. It's nice to meet you before school started," Buffy said, attempting to ingratiate herself to Umbridge as Dumbledore had instructed, her tone masking her true intentions. "We should get together to discuss our curriculum for the coming year. And no, I am not suggesting the Ministry itself had anything to do with the attacks. But we have to agree that if someone outside the Ministry didn't order the attacks, then there is someone inside the Ministry that did."
"I would remind everybody that the behavior of these Dementors, if indeed they are not figments of this boy's imagination, is not the subject of this hearing!" said Fudge, his irritation evident, as he attempted to steer the proceedings back to their original purpose. "We are here to examine Harry Potter's offenses under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery!" His words were a clear attempt to maintain control over the narrative.
"Of course we are," said Buffy, her voice still steady, her commitment to justice unwavering, her words a reminder of the importance of the context. "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 exceptional circumstances and, as those exceptional circumstances include situations which threaten the life of the wizard or witch himself or herself, or any witches, wizards, or Muggles present at the time of th—"
"We are familiar with Clause Seven, thank you very much!" snarled Fudge, his impatience boiling over, as Buffy challenged the Ministry's interpretation of the law. The courtroom crackled with tension, the battle of wills escalating.
"Of course you are," said Buffy courteously, her words carrying a hint of diplomacy. "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," Fudge said, his skepticism unwavering, as he clung to his position.
"You have heard it from an eyewitness," Buffy said, her tone firm, challenging Fudge to consider the truth. "If you still doubt her truthfulness, call her back, question her again. I am sure she would not object."
"I — that — not —" blustered Fudge, struggling to maintain control over the proceedings. "It's — I want this over with today, Ms. Summers!" His desperation to conclude the hearing was evident, but Buffy's determination to seek justice prevailed.
Buffy nodded, her stance unyielding, determined to uphold the principles of justice. "Then may I suggest you take a vote now based on the facts and only the facts as presented. If you choose to either not vote or base the vote on opinion, I will be forced to ask for a mistrial."
"Those in favor of clearing the witness of all charges?" said Madam Bones' booming voice. "And those in favor of conviction?"
The majority voted in favor of clearing Harry of all charges.
"Very well, very well... cleared of all charges," Madam Bones announced, bringing the proceedings to a close.
Buffy smiled, her mission accomplished, justice prevailing. "Thank you for your time."
Harry headed for Hermione and Dawn, while Buffy was about to follow when she heard a voice behind her, "Ms. Summers." The unexpected call caught her attention, and she turned to see who had addressed her.
Buffy came face to face with Umbridge, the woman who would soon become a significant presence in her life at Hogwarts. "If you could come by my office here at the Ministry later, I would very much appreciate discussing this year's curriculum at Hogwarts for our class," Umbridge said, her tone polite and formal.
Buffy smiled, her expression friendly, concealing her true thoughts. "I would appreciate that very much."
Umbridge nodded, her demeanor softening slightly. "May I ask why you defended Mr. Potter?"
Buffy nodded in response, her tone conversational. "Of course. The Headmaster is paying me a lot of galleons." It was a lie, but she had been asked to defend Harry and agreed to it. "But if the Wizengamot had offered more, I would have, of course, gone in and prosecuted Mr. Potter instead."
Umbridge seemed satisfied with Buffy's answer, her mind working in mysterious ways, thinking she might be useful when they got to Hogwarts.
Buffy nodded, her tone agreeable. "How about we meet up tomorrow afternoon, at two o'clock? I'm going to be in Diagon Alley with Hermione and Dawn, picking up their school supplies."
"Excellent," Umbridge said, her voice tinged with authority. "I will see you then. By the way, I will not be playing favorites just because they are your sisters. If they get out of line..."
"Of course, I completely understand," Buffy assured her, her response respectful and composed. "I would do the same thing in your place."
Umbridge nodded in agreement. "Good."
Buffy turned and left with Hermione, Dawn, and Harry, leaving behind an air of tension in the courtroom.
