Emma Potter; Going to War

11: Expulsion or Escape?

I gasped; I could not help myself. The large dungeon wehad entered was horribly familiar. We had not only seen itbefore, we had been here before: This was the place we had visited inside Dumbledore's Pensieve, the place where we had watched theLestranges sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban. 

The walls were made of dark stone, dimly lit by torches. Emptybenches rose on either side of us, but ahead, in the highest benchesof all, were many shadowy figures. They had been talking in lowvoices, but as the heavy door swung closed behind Harry and me an ominoussilence fell.A cold male voice rang across the courtroom. 

"You're late." 

"Sorry," said Harry nervously. "we-we didn't know the time hadchanged." 

"That is not the Wizengamot's fault," said the voice. "An owl wassent to you this morning. Take your seats."

 I dropped my gaze to the chairs in the center of the room, thearms of which were covered in chains. I had seen those chains spring to life and bind whoever sat between them. Our footsteps echoedloudly as we walked across the stone floor. When we sat gingerly on theedge of the chairs the chains clinked rather threateningly but did notbind us. Feeling rather sick I looked up at the people seated at thebench above. 

There were about fifty of them, all, as far as I could see, wearingplum-colored robes with an elaborately worked silver W on the lefthand side of the chest and all staring down their noses at him, somewith very austere expressions, others looks of frank curiosity.In the very middle of the front row sat Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic. Fudge was a portly man who often sported a lime-greenbowler hat, though today he had dispensed with it; he had dispensedtoo with the indulgent smile he had once worn when he spoke toHarry and me. A broad, square-jawed witch with very short gray hair sat onFudge's left; she wore a monocle and looked forbidding. On Fudge'sright was another witch, but she was sitting so far back on the benchthat her face was in shadow. 

"Very well," said Fudge. "The accused being present — finally —let us begin. Are you ready?" he called down the row. 

"Yes, sir," said an eager voice I knew. Ron's brother Percy wassitting at the very end of the front bench. I looked at Percy, expecting some sign of recognition from him, but none came. Percy'seyes, behind his horn-rimmed glasses, were fixed on his parchment, aquill poised in his hand. 

"Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August," said Fudge in aringing voice, and Percy began taking notes at once, "into offensescommitted under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by HarryJames Potter and Emma Lilth Potter, residents at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging,Surrey. 

"Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic;Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to theMinister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley —" 

"— Witness for the defense, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," said a quiet voice from behind us, we turned our heads sofast we cricked our necks.Dumbledore was striding serenely across the room wearing longmidnight-blue robes and a perfectly calm expression. His long silverbeard and hair gleamed in the torchlight as he drew level with Harryand looked up at Fudge through the half-moon spectacles that restedhalfway down his very crooked nose.

 The members of the Wizengamot were muttering. All eyes werenow on Dumbledore. Some looked annoyed, others slightly frightened; two elderly witches in the back row, however, raised their handsand waved in welcome. 

A powerful emotion had risen in my chest at the sight of Dumbledore, a fortified, hopeful feeling rather like that which phoenixsong gave me. I wanted to catch Dumbledore's eye, but Dumbledore was not looking our way; I was continuing to look up at theobviously flustered Fudge.