Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (19 page)

In the complete silence that greeted these words, the witch to the right of Fudge leaned forwards so that Harry saw her for the first time.

He thought she looked just like a large, pale toad. She was rather squat with a broad, flabby face, as little neck as Uncle Vernon and a very wide, slack mouth. Her eyes were large, round and slightly bulging. Even the little black velvet bow perched on top of her short curly hair put him in mind of a large fly she was about to catch on a long sticky tongue.

‘The Chair recognises Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister,’ said Fudge.

The witch spoke in a fluttery, girlish, high-pitched voice that took Harry aback; he had been expecting a croak.

‘I’m sure I must have misunderstood you, Professor Dumbledore,’ she said, with a simper that left her big, round eyes as cold as ever. ‘So silly of me. But it sounded for a teensy moment as though you were suggesting that the Ministry of Magic had ordered an attack on this boy!’

She gave a silvery laugh that made the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stand up. A few other members of the Wizengamot laughed with her. It could not have been plainer that not one of them was really amused.

‘If it is true that the Dementors are taking orders only from the Ministry of Magic, and it is also true that two Dementors attacked Harry and his cousin a week ago, then it follows logically that somebody at the Ministry might have ordered the attacks,’ said Dumbledore politely. ‘Of course, these particular Dementors may have been outside Ministry control –’

‘There are no Dementors outside Ministry control!’ snapped Fudge, who had turned brick red.

Dumbledore inclined his head in a little bow.

‘Then undoubtedly the Ministry will be making a full inquiry into why two Dementors were so very far from Azkaban and why they attacked without authorisation.’

‘It is not for you to decide what the Ministry of Magic does or does not do, Dumbledore!’ snapped Fudge, now a shade of magenta of which Uncle Vernon would have been proud.

‘Of course it isn’t,’ said Dumbledore mildly. ‘I was merely expressing my confidence that this matter will not go uninvestigated.’

He glanced at Madam Bones, who readjusted her monocle and stared back at him, frowning slightly.

‘I would remind everybody that the behaviour of these Dementors, if indeed they are not figments of this boy’s imagination, is not the subject of this hearing!’ said Fudge. ‘We are here to examine Harry Potter’s offences under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery!’

‘Of course we are,’ said Dumbledore, ‘but the presence of Dementors in that alleyway is highly relevant. Clause Seven of the Decree states that magic may be used before Muggles in exceptional circumstances, and as those exceptional circumstances include situations which threaten the life of the wizard or witch him- or herself, or any witches, wizards or Muggles present at the time of the –’

‘We are familiar with Clause Seven, thank you very much!’ snarled Fudge.

‘Of course you are,’ said Dumbledore courteously. ‘Then we are in agreement that Harry’s use of the Patronus Charm in these circumstances falls precisely into the category of exceptional circumstances the clause describes?’

‘If there were Dementors, which I doubt.’

‘You have heard it from an eyewitness,’ Dumbledore interrupted. ‘If you still doubt her truthfulness, call her back, question her again. I am sure she would not object.’

‘I – that – not –’ blustered Fudge, fiddling with the papers before him. ‘It’s – I want this over with today, Dumbledore!’

‘But naturally, you would not care how many times you heard from a witness, if the alternative was a serious miscarriage of justice,’ said Dumbledore.

‘Serious miscarriage, my hat!’ said Fudge at the top of his voice. ‘Have you ever bothered to tot up the number of cock-and-bull stories this boy has come out with, Dumbledore, while trying to cover up his flagrant misuse of magic out of school? I suppose you’ve forgotten the Hover Charm he used three years ago –’

‘That wasn’t me, it was a house-elf!’ said Harry.

‘YOU SEE?’ roared Fudge, gesturing flamboyantly in Harry’s direction. ‘A house-elf! In a Muggle house! I ask you.’

‘The house-elf in question is currently in the employ of Hogwarts School,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I can summon him here in an instant to give evidence if you wish.’

‘I – not – I haven’t got time to listen to house-elves! Anyway, that’s not the only – he blew up his aunt, for God’s sake!’ Fudge shouted, banging his fist on the judge’s bench and upsetting a bottle of ink.

‘And you very kindly did not press charges on that occasion, accepting, I presume, that even the best wizards cannot always control their emotions,’ said Dumbledore calmly, as Fudge attempted to scrub the ink off his notes.

‘And I haven’t even started on what he gets up to at school.’

‘But, as the Ministry has no authority to punish Hogwarts students for misdemeanours at school, Harry’s behaviour there is not relevant to this hearing,’ said Dumbledore, as politely as ever, but now with a suggestion of coolness behind his words.

‘Oho!’ said Fudge. ‘Not our business what he does at school, eh? You think so?’

‘The Ministry does not have the power to expel Hogwarts students, Cornelius, as I reminded you on the night of the second of August,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Nor does it have the right to confiscate wands until charges have been successfully proven; again, as I reminded you on the night of the second of August. In your admirable haste to ensure that the law is upheld, you appear, inadvertently I am sure, to have overlooked a few laws yourself.’

‘Laws can be changed,’ said Fudge savagely.

‘Of course they can,’ said Dumbledore, inclining his head. ‘And you certainly seem to be making many changes, Cornelius. Why, in the few short weeks since I was asked to leave the Wizengamot, it has already become the practice to hold a full criminal trial to deal with a simple matter of underage magic!’

A few of the wizards above them shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Fudge turned a slightly deeper shade of puce. The toadlike witch on his right, however, merely gazed at Dumbledore, her face quite expressionless.

‘As far as I am aware,’ Dumbledore continued, ‘there is no law yet in place that says this court’s job is to punish Harry for every bit of magic he has ever performed. He has been charged with a specific offence and he has presented his defence. All he and I can do now is to await your verdict.’

Dumbledore put his fingertips together again and said no more. Fudge glared at him, evidently incensed. Harry glanced sideways at Dumbledore, seeking reassurance; he was not at all sure that Dumbledore was right in telling the Wizengamot, in effect, that it was about time they made a decision. Again, however, Dumbledore seemed oblivious to Harry’s attempt to catch his eye. He continued to look up at the benches where the entire Wizengamot had fallen into urgent, whispered conversations.

Harry looked at his feet. His heart, which seemed to have swollen to an unnatural size, was thumping loudly under his ribs. He had expected the hearing to last longer than this. He was not at all sure that he had made a good impression. He had not really said very much. He ought to have explained more fully about the Dementors, about how he had fallen over, about how both he and Dudley had nearly been kissed …

Twice he looked up at Fudge and opened his mouth to speak, but his swollen heart was now constricting his air passages and both times he merely took a deep breath and looked back down at his shoes.

Then the whispering stopped. Harry wanted to look up at the judges, but found that it was really much, much easier to keep examining his laces.

‘Those in favour of clearing the accused of all charges?’ said Madam Bones’s booming voice.

Harry’s head jerked upwards. There were hands in the air, many of them … more than half! Breathing very fast, he tried to count, but before he could finish, Madam Bones had said, ‘And those in favour of conviction?’

Fudge raised his hand; so did half a dozen others, including the witch on his right and the heavily-moustached wizard and the frizzy-haired witch in the second row.

Fudge glanced around at them all, looking as though there was something large stuck in his throat, then lowered his own hand. He took two deep breaths and said, in a voice distorted by suppressed rage, ‘Very well, very well … cleared of all charges.’

‘Excellent,’ said Dumbledore briskly, springing to his feet, pulling out his wand and causing the two chintz armchairs to vanish. ‘Well, I must be getting along. Good-day to you all.’

And without looking once at Harry, he swept from the dungeon.

Dumbledore’s abrupt departure took Harry completely by surprise. He remained sitting where he was in the chained chair, struggling with his feelings of shock and relief. The Wizengamot were all getting to their feet, talking, gathering up their papers and packing them away. Harry stood up. Nobody seemed to be paying him the slightest bit of attention, except the toadlike witch on Fudge’s right, who was now gazing down at him instead of at Dumbledore. Ignoring her, he tried to catch Fudge’s eye, or Madam Bones’s, wanting to ask whether he was free to go, but Fudge seemed quite determined not to notice Harry, and Madam Bones was busy with her briefcase, so he took a few tentative steps towards the exit and, when nobody called him back, broke into a very fast walk.

He took the last few steps at a run, wrenched open the door and almost collided with Mr Weasley, who was standing right outside, looking pale and apprehensive.

‘Dumbledore didn’t say –’

‘Cleared,’ Harry said, pulling the door closed behind him, ‘of all charges!’

Beaming, Mr Weasley seized Harry by the shoulders.

‘Harry, that’s wonderful! Well, of course, they couldn’t have found you guilty, not on the evidence, but even so, I can’t pretend I wasn’t –’

But Mr Weasley broke off, because the courtroom door had just opened again. The Wizengamot were filing out.

‘Merlin’s beard!’ exclaimed Mr Weasley wonderingly, pulling Harry aside to let them all pass. ‘You were tried by the full court?’

‘I think so,’ said Harry quietly.

One or two of the wizards nodded to Harry as they passed and a few, including Madam Bones, said, ‘Morning, Arthur,’ to Mr Weasley, but most averted their eyes. Cornelius Fudge and the toadlike witch were almost the last to leave the dungeon. Fudge acted as though Mr Weasley and Harry were part of the wall, but again, the witch looked almost appraisingly at Harry as she passed. Last of all to pass was Percy. Like Fudge, he completely ignored his father and Harry; he marched past clutching a large roll of parchment and a handful of spare quills, his back rigid and his nose in the air. The lines around Mr Weasley’s mouth tightened slightly, but other than this he gave no sign that he had seen his third son.

‘I’m going to take you straight back so you can tell the others the good news,’ he said, beckoning Harry forwards as Percy’s heels disappeared up the steps to Level Nine. ‘I’ll drop you off on the way to that toilet in Bethnal Green. Come on …’

‘So, what will you have to do about the toilet?’ Harry asked, grinning. Everything suddenly seemed five times funnier than usual. It was starting to sink in: he was cleared,
he was going back to Hogwarts.

‘Oh, it’s a simple enough anti-jinx,’ said Mr Weasley as they mounted the stairs, ‘but it’s not so much having to repair the damage, it’s more the attitude behind the vandalism, Harry. Muggle-baiting might strike some wizards as funny, but it’s an expression of something much deeper and nastier, and I for one –’

Mr Weasley broke off in mid-sentence. They had just reached the ninth-level corridor and Cornelius Fudge was standing a few feet away from them, talking quietly to a tall man with sleek blond hair and a pointed, pale face.

The second man turned at the sound of their footsteps. He, too, broke off in mid-conversation, his cold grey eyes narrowed and fixed upon Harry’s face.

‘Well, well, well … Patronus Potter,’ said Lucius Malfoy coolly.

Harry felt winded, as though he had just walked into something solid. He had last seen those cold grey eyes through slits in a Death Eater’s hood, and last heard that man’s voice jeering in a dark graveyard while Lord Voldemort tortured him. Harry could not believe that Lucius Malfoy dared look him in the face; he could not believe that he was here, in the Ministry of Magic, or that Cornelius Fudge was talking to him, when Harry had told Fudge mere weeks ago that Malfoy was a Death Eater.

‘The Minister was just telling me about your lucky escape, Potter,’ drawled Mr Malfoy. ‘Quite astonishing, the way you continue to wriggle out of very tight holes …
snakelike
, in fact.’

Mr Weasley gripped Harry’s shoulder in warning.

‘Yeah,’ said Harry, ‘yeah, I’m good at escaping.’

Lucius Malfoy raised his eyes to Mr Weasley’s face.

‘And Arthur Weasley too! What are you doing here, Arthur?’

‘I work here,’ said Mr Weasley curtly.

‘Not
here
, surely?’ said Mr Malfoy, raising his eyebrows and glancing towards the door over Mr Weasley’s shoulder. ‘I thought you were up on the second floor … don’t you do something that involves sneaking Muggle artefacts home and bewitching them?’

‘No,’ Mr Weasley snapped, his fingers now biting into Harry’s shoulder.

‘What are
you
doing here, anyway?’ Harry asked Lucius Malfoy.

‘I don’t think private matters between myself and the Minister are any concern of yours, Potter,’ said Malfoy, smoothing the front of his robes. Harry distinctly heard the gentle clinking of what sounded like a full pocket of gold. ‘Really, just because you are Dumbledore’s favourite boy, you must not expect the same indulgence from the rest of us … shall we go up to your office, then, Minister?’

‘Certainly,’ said Fudge, turning his back on Harry and Mr Weasley. ‘This way, Lucius.’

They strode off together, talking in low voices. Mr Weasley did not let go of Harry’s shoulder until they had disappeared into the lift.