tradition

02

That morning dawned gray and somber, a fitting prelude to the events that would soon unfold. Harry, Arthur Weasley, and Mark Laurier strode purposefully toward the metro station, the brisk air sharp against their faces. As they approached the ticket gates, Mr. Weasley marveled at the Muggle ingenuity surrounding them. "Trains... underground? Ingenious, these Muggles," he remarked, his eyes wide with wonder as he observed the automated turnstiles. Mr. Laurier, a seasoned wizard with extensive experience in the Muggle world, gently guided him. "Arthur, tap your card," he instructed, demonstrating the action with practiced ease. Arthur followed suit, a look of surprised delight crossing his face as the gate opened seamlessly.

The trio continued their journey, weaving through the throngs of morning commuters. They soon found themselves at a small, inconspicuous red phone booth, a relic of another era. Squeezing inside, Mr. Laurier deftly inserted some Muggle money into the slot and pressed a sequence of buttons. The booth shuddered slightly before beginning its descent, the walls glowing with an ethereal light. Mr. Weasley looked around, his mouth agape in sheer amazement. "Out you go, Harry," Mr. Laurier said, nudging him gently as they emerged into the bustling atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Witches and wizards apparated in bursts of green flame, their robes billowing as they hurried to their destinations. "Harry, catch up!" Arthur called, his voice barely audible over the cacophony.

The group made their way to the elevators, where they were joined by the imposing figure of Kingsley Shacklebolt. He leaned in, whispering something urgent into Arthur's ear. "My goodness, they've changed the time of your hearing, Harry," Arthur relayed, his brow furrowed with concern. Mark Laurier's expression mirrored his own. "When is it?" Harry asked, his voice steady despite the sudden rush of anxiety. Kingsley looked at him with grave eyes. "Now," he said simply, the word hanging heavily in the air.

They exited the elevator and moved swiftly through the corridors, pausing only when they caught sight of Cornelius Fudge and Lucius Malfoy deep in conversation. "Now, remember, only speak when you're spoken to. Keep calm, you've done nothing wrong. We're not allowed in, but good luck," Mr. Laurier advised, giving Harry a reassuring pat on the back. With a deep breath, Harry stepped forward into the small, dimly lit courtroom, his heart pounding in his chest.

The sound of Fudge's gavel echoed through the chamber as he called the hearing to order. "Disciplinary hearing of the 12th of August into offenses committed by Harry James Potter, resident of Number 4 Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey. Interrogator Cornelius Oswald Fudge, witness for the defense..." His voice trailed off as a commanding presence interrupted him. Albus Dumbledore, resplendent in his deep purple robes, stepped forward. "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," he announced, his voice resonating through the hall. The assembled wizards and witches murmured among themselves, and Fudge's face twisted into a mask of irritation. "You got our message that the time and place of the hearing had been changed, did you?" he asked, his tone a poor attempt at nonchalance.

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement. "I was fortunate enough to arrive three hours early," he replied, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to Fudge's barely concealed agitation. Fudge cleared his throat, attempting to regain his composure as he read the charges aloud. "The charges against the accused are as follows: that he did knowingly and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, perform a Patronus charm in the presence of a Muggle. Do you deny producing said Patronus?" Fudge demanded, his voice sharp.

Harry shook his head, trying to explain. "No, but—" he began, but Fudge cut him off, pressing on with his questions. "Are you aware that the use of magic outside school while under the age of seventeen is prohibited?" Harry nodded, frustration bubbling up inside him as he raised his hand in a futile attempt to speak. "Witches and wizards of the Wizengamot..." Fudge started, but Harry's patience snapped. "I was only doing it because of the Dementors!" he exclaimed, his voice ringing with urgency.

Fudge's lip curled in disbelief. "That's quite clever, but Muggles can't see Dementors," he retorted. Harry's knuckles whitened as he gripped the chair's arms. "I'm not lying!" he insisted, his voice trembling with the effort to keep his emotions in check. Fudge raised his hand, silencing him with a commanding gesture. "Enough. I'm sorry to interrupt what would have been a very well-rehearsed story, but since you can't produce a witness of the event..." he began, only to be interrupted once more.

"Pardon me, but as it happens, we can," Dumbledore interjected smoothly. Mrs. Figg, a squat, elderly woman with a stern expression, stepped forward. Harry vacated his seat, allowing her to take his place. "Please describe the attack," requested Madam Bones, a formidable witch in black robes. Mrs. Figg glanced at Dumbledore, who gave her an encouraging nod. "Well, one of them was very large and the other rather skinny," she began, her voice quivering slightly.

Fudge sighed, exasperation etched into his features. "Not the boys, the Dementors," he clarified impatiently. Mrs. Figg's eyes widened in realization. "Oh, right, right. Well, they were big, cloaked, and then everything went cold. It was almost as if all of the happiness had gone from the world," she recounted, her voice filled with the horror of the memory. Fudge chuckled derisively. "Now, look here, Dementors don't just wander into a Muggle suburb and happen across a wizard," he scoffed.

Dumbledore's expression hardened as he addressed the Minister. "I don't think anyone would believe that the Dementors were there by coincidence, Minister," he stated firmly. A woman in black robes with a pink collar, Dolores Umbridge, spoke up in a simpering voice. "I'm sure I must have misunderstood you, Professor. Dementors are, after all, under the control of the Ministry of Magic. It's so silly of me, but it sounded as if you were suggesting that the Ministry had ordered the attack," she said, her voice dripping with false innocence.

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. "That would be disturbing indeed, Madam Undersecretary. This is why I'm sure the Ministry will be mounting a full-scale inquiry into why the two Dementors were so very far from Azkaban. Of course, there is someone who might be behind the attack," he said, his voice carrying a weight of unspoken accusation. He stepped closer to the podium where Fudge sat, his presence imposing. "Cornelius, I implore you to see reason. The evidence that the Dark Lord has returned is incontrovertible," he urged, his tone both commanding and pleading.

Fudge shook his head vehemently. "He's not back," he spat, his denial laced with fear and stubbornness. Dumbledore sighed, a look of profound disappointment crossing his face as he turned back toward Harry. "In the matter of Harry Potter, the law clearly states that magic may be used in front of Muggles in life-threatening situations," he argued, his voice ringing with authority. Fudge scoffed dismissively. "Laws can be changed, Dumbledore," he replied.

Dumbledore's eyes flashed with a rare intensity. "Clearly, it has become a practice to hold a full criminal trial to deal with a simple matter of underage magic," he said, his words a sharp rebuke. The assembled witches and wizards murmured among themselves, the tension in the room palpable. "Those in favor of conviction?" Fudge called, raising his hand. A few others followed suit, their faces set in stony resolve. Harry's heart sank as he took in the sight of those who sought to condemn him.

"Those in favor of clearing the accused of all charges?" Dumbledore's voice rang out, and a wave of hands rose in response. Fudge looked around, his expression one of reluctant acceptance. "Cleared of all charges," he announced begrudgingly. A rush of relief flooded through Harry as he turned to Dumbledore, gratitude shining in his eyes.

"Professor!" he called, his voice filled with a mix of relief and awe. But Dumbledore, his mission accomplished, walked away with a purposeful stride, his figure disappearing into the shadows of the courtroom.