Future Nostalgia / Harry Potter Fanfic

Escaping the Ministry

"Ah, Katherine!" said Umbridge, looking at Estella. "It's about time you arrived."

"S-sorry, the line to get in was longer today than it usually is," lied Estella.

Katherine was Umbridge's assistant. That was most likely why she agreed to take the day off so easily.

"Hmmph." Umbridge spoke to the wizard in black and gold. "That's that problem solved, Minister, Katherine will be sent to record-keeping and we shall be able to start straight away." She consulted her keyboard. "Ten people today and one of them the wife of a Ministry employee! Tut, tut...even here, in the heart of the Ministry!" She stepped into the left beside Estella, as did two wizards who had been listening to Umbridge's conversation with the Minister. "We'll go straight down, Katherine, you'll find everything you need in the courtroom. Good morning, Albert, aren't you getting out?"

"Yes, of course," said Harry in Runcorn's deep voice.

Harry stepped out of the lift, his hand brushing Estella's. The golden grilles clanged shut before her. And Estella was off, down to lower floors with Umbridge.

"Good floo in?" asked Estella, filling the quiet elevator.

"Katherine, no need to fill the silence with such frivolous questions," said Umbridge, glancing sideways at Estella before turning her attention to the clipboard in her pudgy hands.

She froze as they stepped off the lift. An unnatural chill crept over her, as if she was descending into fog. It was becoming colder and colder with every step she took: a cold that reached right down her throat and tore at her lungs And then she felt that stealing sense of despair, of hopelessness, filling her, expanding inside her.

Dementors.

She reached the foot of the stairs and turned to her right, following Umbridge. She paused as she saw a dreadful scene. The dark passage outside the courtrooms was packed with tall, black-hooded figures, their faces completely hidden, their ragged breathing the only sound in the place. The petrified Muggle-borns brought in for questioning sat huddled and shivering on hard wooden benches. Most of them were hiding their faces, perhaps in an instinctive attempt to shield themselves from the dementors' greedy mouths. Some were accompanied by their families, others sat alone. The dementors were gliding up and down in front of them, and the cold, and the hopelessness, and the despair of the place laid themselves upon Estella like a curse.

The urge to cast a Patronus was overwhelming. She knew, logically that she could not conjure one here without revealing herself instantly. She moved wordlessly, following Umbridge's path, numbness consuming her brain, but she forced herself to think of Harry, of Hermione, and of Ron, who needed her to fulfill her part.

Moving through the towering black figures was terrifying: The eyeless faces hidden beneath their hoods turned as she passed, and she felt sure that they sensed her, sensed, perhaps, a human presence that still had some hope, some resilience, and defiance left in them.

She stood silently next to Umbridge, recording names and blood status. Hatred coursed through her as she watched Umbridge send person after person to isolation, some to a fate worse than death, the Dementor's Kiss.

"No, no, I'm a half-blood, I'm half-blood, I tell you! My father was a wizard, he was, look him up, Arkie Alderton, he's a well-known broomstick designer, look him up, I tell you-get your hands off me, get your hands off me-"

"This is your final warning," said Umbridge's soft voice, magically magnified so that it sounded clearly over the man's desperate screams. "If you struggle, you will be subjected to the Dementor's Kiss."

The man's screams subsided, but dry sobs echoed through the corridor.

"Take him away," said Umbridge.