After the War

Chapter 29

Harry tugged at the collar of his new dress robes, pulling the clasp to the middle of his chest before flicking the sides back to shove his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

"Ron! Let's go! I can't be late today!" Harry called loudly. He leaned his back against the kitchen table where George sat fiddling with a prototype of his, his brows furrowed in concentration. George had decided to move into one of the spare bedrooms last weekend since he couldn't bear to move into the flat above the store yet, but also desperately needed to escape the claustrophobia of the empty Burrow.

"Hold your hippogriffs! I'm coming!" Ron bellowed back down the stairs. Heavy footsteps echoed through the house as he ran down the steps, followed by a dull crunch and a heavy onslaught of cussing. Ron stumbled into the kitchen a moment later, rubbing the side of his arm darkly.

"Did you pick a fight with the stairs again, Ronald," George asked absentmindedly without looking up. Harry smirked beside him and leaned off the table.

"Oh, shut it," he replied indignantly.

"If you stopped yelling profanities at the poor stairs, maybe they'd stop tripping you."

"Remind me why we let you move in here, again?" Ron asked haughtily while grabbing a handful of floo powder.

"'Cause he asked," Harry answered for him.

"What happened to not being able to be late today?" Ron asked annoyed, turning towards his grinning friend.

"I'm sure I can be a few minutes late. Got to use my fame for something, right?" Harry responded lightly while reaching in to grab some powder.

"And he chooses to use it to make fun of you for tripping down the stairs for the fourth time this week," George responded, turning in his chair to smile cheerfully at his younger brother.

"Precisely!" Harry stepped into the fireplace and swirled out of sight.

"This was only the third, George," Ron mumbled as he stepped in after him.

"Sure, 'cause that's a lot better." George shook his head and turned his attention back to the prototype in his hand while Ron followed his friend to the Ministry. The two friends made their typical walk to their lifts and dodged the few eager reporters waiting to catch one of them or anyone else involved in the highly anticipated hearings that had begun the past week.

"Good luck," Ron muttered as a lift arrived.

"See ya," Harry replied. He stepped through the gold grates and waited nervously to be delivered to level ten at the bottom of the Ministry. His footsteps echoed ominously against the dark floors of the base level and he squinted slightly as his eyes adjusted to the dearth of light. The corridor had torches lining the hall whose flickering flames cast eerie shadows onto the gray walls. He walked down the corridor, ignoring the paths leading off of the main hall, and pulled open the door into courtroom ten: a room that he was far too familiar with.

The high benches surrounded the room and fluted marble pillars stood out against the dark stone. The fifty or so witches and wizards of the Wizengamot already filled the seats in their magenta and black robes, chatting lightly amongst themselves. Harry scanned the rows of seats, looking for a familiar face, but found none.

"Mr. Potter! Just in time! And it is so good to meet you at last!" a wizard exclaimed excitedly and approached him at a fast walk. "I must say that I've been hoping to run into you at the Ministry since I heard you started working here." He grinned broadly, exposing a missing tooth and a crooked smile, and grabbed Harry's hand enthusiastically.