Expelled - Harry Potter Fanfic (REWRITE)

Chapter Three

The way to the Ministry, Harry was told, was quite a walk. Then why did it feel so fast? Perhaps it was his nerves that made him blur everything out, but next thing he knew, he was being ushered into a phone box. He was vaguely aware of Mr. Weasley punching in the numbers six two four four two and speaking their names and being handed a badge.

He wasn't quite sure of where his conscience had gone. It seemed to have slipped away with fear and irrelevant questions. Now that Harry is out of the house, will someone tell them of his summer situation? Will Hermione decide that she's been patient enough? Will they be conversing about it recklessly and intend for someone to overhear and question?

He pulled himself back to Earth the moment the grates slid open and he and Mr. Weasley stepped out into a hall. Well, the biggest hall Harry had ever seen. It was about the size of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, but instead of banners and tables, there were dozens of floo fireplaces lining either side, with hundreds of witches and wizards pouring out. Instead of a beige brick like Hogwarts is made of, the stone (or glass? It was so shiny and slippery), was a polished onyx color, and very reflective.

It almost looks like home, Harry thought wistfully before taking in a sharp breath.

He had not meant to think like that. He had never told anyone of his true feelings about Hogwarts. Questions would come up, people will get suspicious, and then all of his secrets will get swept out of his control like a leave in the breeze.

Harry was ushered past the golden statues of a wizard, a witch, a centaur, a goblin, and a house elf. They all had a fawning look on their faces directed towards the golden wizard. He felt as though this was fairly inaccurate to how other magical creatures may see wizards (well, maybe not the house elf).

Mr. Weasley led Harry straight to an elevator with golden grates. Is it simply human nature to want gold? Harry remembers a time back in the summer before his third year when he was tempted to buy a solid gold gobstones set. And the attempt Quirrell had made to get to the Sorcerer's Stone back in his first year. He decided that people must be like nifflers: little creatures with an eye for gold and no real use for it besides to collect.

Mr. Weasley entered before Harry, probably so Harry didn't bump into someone hostile to his presence or to make sure he didn't get in trouble the three seconds he's been in there. A wizard-Harry realized it was Kingsley-behind Harry tapped Mr. Weasley on the shoulder and whispered something. Mr. Weasley immediately punched in a different number.

After about five minutes of witches and wizards getting off and on, Harry and Mr. Weasley were the final two on board. The elevator started to go down, down, down, until a voice (was it enchanted? There was no way someone was saying these things) announced that they were in the "Department of Mysteries." Mr. Weasley at this time had begun to bounce nervously from foot to foot and had practically trampled Harry trying to get off before the gates even opened.

"Let's go, let's go," Mr. Weasley said, taking Harry's arm and pulling him down a long dark corridor.

"Mr. Weasley, is something wrong?" Harry asked as he ran to keep up.

"No, no-erm, yes," Mr. Weasley said, stumbling over his words. "We were supposed to have been there ten minutes ago, and now we're a tad bit late."

"I thought it started at ten, and that's why we got here early."

"Kingsley told me different on the lift."

They stopped in front of a heavy door, looking to be made of the same material as the rest of the ministry.

"Ok, remember what Remus said, Dumbledore will be there to defend you, stick to your story, and don't interrupt to ask what will happen, understand?" Mr. Weasley said in one breath.

Harry could only give a nod. His stomach seemed to be on a broomstick, trying to catch the snitch no matter the cost.

"Go, go, you'll be fine," Mr. Weasley said, practically pushing Harry into the door.

He tripped into a large circular room (surprise, surprise, made of shiny black stone/metal!), with a chair--and chains, he noticed with a shudder--in the center. Feeling as though he was being watched, he found that there were hundreds of witches and wizards looking down on him, some with disgust, some with sympathy.

He noticed that the disgust had many more members than the sympathy ones, however.

"Sit," came the cold, booming voice of Fudge, the Minister of Magic. His eyes were as hard as his voice, lacking all the warmth that he used to show towards the teenager.

Harry made his way over to the chair, where the chains clicked multiple times and shifted before settling near his arms and legs. Not touching, but close enough to be a menacing presence. As if the jury around him wasn't enough.

Fudge ruffled around a large stack of papers on his desk before finally getting settled. "You are Harry James Potter, residing in number four, Private Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?"

"Yes, sir," he responded, thinking about why he never knew his middle name until now.

"Do you admit to casting the patronus charm, fully aware that you were in an area surrounded by Muggles?"

Remember Kingsley's advice, don't speak until spoken to, Harry thought to himself. Should not be that difficult to remember; it was basically the same rule the Durselys applied.

"Yes, sir."

"And you are aware of the warning you were given three years ago, regarding a floating cake upon two guests in your uncles house?"

Harry thought he heard a few snickers from the Wizengamot, but the woman on Fudge's left was frowning at him sympathicality. This gave him the confidence to toss Kingsley's advice aside.

"Yes sir, but -"

"Therefore, with no defense present, you are herby-"

"Now wait a minute, Minister. I believe that the boy has a right to speak about his accounts," the woman on Fudge's left interjected again. In fact, now that Harry looked closer, she looked very similar to Susan Bones, one of Harry's occasional Hufflepuff classmates.

With the entire jury silent, Harry was finally aware of a scribbling noise. Indeed, close to Fudge, was one of Ron's older brothers, Percy, scribbling away like mad.

"I believe you are correct," Fudge said through his teeth. He then turned to Harry. "What is your defense?"

Where was his defense? Dumbledore should've shown up at the beginning of his trial. Didn't Remus say that Dumbledore was going to be here? Maybe there was an incident.

Harry gave a nervous swallow before speaking. "I was walking home from the park with my cousin, Dudley, when two dementors appeared. One had him pinned on the ground, trying to suck his soul out. The other came for me. I cast my Patronus-"

"Are you admitting to casting a successful patronus charm, not only to protect yourself, but to protect your cousin as well?" The woman asked.

"Yes."

"Impressive." She gave a nod at Harry to continue.

"Well, I drove both dementors away and took my cousin home."

There was a long pause after Harry had finished, like the Wizengamot was waking up from a deep sleep.

Finally, Fudge said, "Not only have you admitted to casting a spell in front of a Muggle, you decided to create a fantastical story to go along with it."

"What?" Harry asked, forgetting Kingsley's reminders. And where was Dumbledore?

"Dementors don't just happen to run across a wizard in a Muggle town. It would take someone from the Ministry of Magic officials to order them to do that," Fudge stated matter-of-factly.

"Well, maybe it was Voldemort!"

There was something like both a collective sigh and a wince from the jury above, as though they had heard this story hundreds of times. They probably had.

Fudge smiled cruely. "And there is the lie we have been waiting for. Mr. Harry James Potter," he said, raising his gavel, "you are herby expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

And with that, he banged the gavel on his podium, ending the trial and Harry's chance of survival.