Expelled - Harry Potter Fanfic (REWRITE)

Chapter Four

As the Wizengamot began to disperse, Harry got out of his chair as well, the chains making one final clinking noise before going back to being idle.

Without bothering to be dismissed, Harry walked right out of the courtroom and found Mr. Weasley sitting in a chair across the hall. He immediately rose when he saw Harry and grabbed the teen by the shoulder lightly.

"So?" He inquired. "How did it go?"

Harry only gave a mute shake of his head as he led the way towards the lift. He couldn't believe he just sat by and let himself be expelled. Yes, he was following Kingsley's advice and trusting Remus when he said that Dumbledore was to be his defendant, but nonetheless, it didn't help his case.

"I'm... sorry, about that Harry," Mr. Weasley said after a brief hesitation. "Did Dumbledore show up?"

Harry gave another shake of his head. His voice didn't seem to want to work and there was a painful throbbing in the back of his throat, making it more difficult to get words out.

"I see," was all Mr. Weasley said. He took the liberty of holding open the thankfully empty elevator door and pushing a button. Harry didn't notice which one. His vision kept getting blurry.

"We're going to make a quick stop at my office, if that's all right with you."

Harry nodded as the grates closed, and they began the slow, creaky journey up.

He allowed himself to be led out of the elevator and past a bunch of cubicles until they came upon what was basically a cupboard. Now, under normal circumstances, Harry would've never decided to follow Mr. Weasley in, but what seemed like a thick fog had blanketed his mind and didn't give a second thought on entering. He stayed in his blurry-state-of-mind until Mr. Weasley abruptly shoved a magazine into his hands.

"Here, hold this for me, will you?" Mr. Weasley asked breathlessly before rummaging through a large pile of asorted paperwork on his desk, which looked similarly to how the Dursleys' living room looked after all of his Hogwarts letters Harry should've gotten in the first place burst out of the fireplace.

It suddenly occurred to Harry that he was in an almost-cupboard and tried to back out-but the door had shut on its own. Perhaps the place would've seemed bigger had it not been for the two desks, many filing cabinets, and two wizards taking up the space.

Mr. Weasley looked up at the noise Harry had made when his back hit the door and gave him a grim smile. "Ah, yes...that door is charmed to automatically close when there is no one outside speaking to someone inside...". It seemed plausible, but Harry couldn't help noticing the way Mr. Weasley looked away almost immediately after he said that. Also, how hard was it to close a door? Is the Wizarding World really that dependent on magic for every little thing? Harry was about to ask the question when he felt the newspaper begin to tremble.

"Erm... Mr. Weasley?" Harry asked, afraid to disturb the ginger wizard from his searching.

Mr. Weasley looked up. "Yes, Harry?" He asked. There was something in his face that reminded Harry of his aunt when she knew he was about to ask a question: one of semi-annoyed patience. It was enough of a reminder of her for Harry's throat to close up and him to shake his head. Now it feels like he's back at the Dursleys.

It was another minute or so of Mr. Weasley continuing to desperately rummage for something and Harry to continue watching him and pretending that the newspaper in his hands wasn't currently shaking so hard it resembled a small earthquake. After two minutes of severe shaking however, Harry pushed aside the lump and tried to ask the question again.

"Mr. Weasley?"

Mr. Weasley looked up at him, seeming a little distracted as a toaster began launching mini fireworks into the air.

"Why is the magazine shaking?"

"Ah," Mr. Weasley said, looking awkward as he turned toward the malfunctioning toaster and silencing it with a wave. "That- you see, Harry, is-"

But he never got to finish. Harry recognized the feeling the same day of the Quidditch World Cup as they took the portkey there.

"Now, please try to understand, we- the order- safer with them," Mr. Weasley said, almost pleading as a kettle began screaming and he had to turn away to take care of it.

But Harry understood. They didn't want him there, an Obscurial, in a house full of important people, talking about important things he can't know, even though it may apply to him. They think it may be safer with the people who made him this way, and they've been told why he is an Obscurial, and as they continue to shut their eyes on the suffering of one and turn away face the suffering of many, Harry will slowly, happily, decline into the shadows until someone remembers the boy that brought their attention to the danger. And by then it will be too late. He will be a husk of the person he once was. Perhaps driven that way because of abuse, perhaps madness, perhaps a dementor. He's certain he can't summon one to save his life if one was to come bursting into the cramped office.

Harry didn't meet Mr. Weasleys eyes, which were pleading for his forgiveness, as he felt that familiar pull. Watching the room spin and fade, he realized he did not hate Mr. Weasley for doing this.

After all, it's for the greater good.