SuperPotterLock - The Order of the Phoenix

The Hearing

John slid down onto the stone floor, breathing heavily, waiting for Harry's hearing to run its course. Mr Weasley paced nervously. Neither of them spoke. After a moment, Dumbledore came flying down the corridor, and into the courtroom, leaving a rather old woman standing outside with them.

She glanced at them and nodded, then stared at the door, clutching her bag tightly and waiting. Eventually, she was called inside as well.

'Witness,' Mr Weasley muttered at John's questioning look.

The minutes crawled by, and John didn't particularly feel like getting up, even though his breathing had returned to normal, so he remained sitting on the floor.

Not long later, the old woman came back out of the courtroom.

'How's it going?' John asked her, looking up.

'Dumbledore will sort it all out,' she said, though her voice shook. She shuffled away, leaving John and Mr Weasley alone again.

It dragged on and on, until the doors opened.

Dumbledore hurried off, but Harry came over to them.

'Cleared of all charges,' Harry told them, sounding immensely relieved.

Mr Weasley peeked into the courtroom behind him. 'Blimey, Harry, they've not tried you in front of the entire Wizengamot?' he said.

'Er, I think they did,' Harry said.

'Blimey,' Mr Weasley said again, cleaning his glasses on his shirt.

John rubbed his head, Sherlock's anger crashing through it. 'Shh,' he muttered, anxiously staring at the door behind Harry.

Mycroft's head poked around the door. 'Come on, John, let's get this over with.'

John took a deep breath, smoothed out the creases in his jumper and walked inside. He stifled a gasp. He'd been here before, in Dumbledore's Penseive. The visions bubbled around him, but Sherlock helped him push them away.

The walls were dimly lit by torches, empty benches rose on either side of him, but the benches ahead were filled with many shadowy figures. They had been talking in low voices, but as soon as the heavy door swung closed, an ominous silence fell.

A cold male voice rang out across the courtroom.

'Take your seat.'

John dropped his gaze to the chair in the centre of the room, the arms of which were covered in chains. He'd seen those very same chains spring to life and bind whoever sat in the chair. Even now, he saw a figure sitting in it, flashing between all the people he'd seen sit there before. He stared at it, frozen to the spot, until he felt Mycroft's hand on his shoulder and the figure disappeared.

'Sorry,' he muttered. His footsteps echoed loudly as he walked across the stone floor. When he sat gingerly on the edge of the chair the chains clinked threateningly, but did not bind him. Already feeling sick and dizzy, John looked up at the people seated at the bench above.

There were about fifty of them, all wearing plum-coloured robes with an elaborately worked silver 'W' on the left side of the chest, all of them staring down their noses at him.

In the very middle of the row sat Cornelius Fudge, to his left a square-jawed witch wearing a monocle, and on his right was another witch, but she was sitting so far back on her bench that her face was in shadow.

Sherlock's anger rose again, and John closed his eyes until it died back down.

'The accused being present, let us begin. Are you ready?' Fudge called down the row.