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HRA# CHAPTER 147
🕑 Added 2025-06-02 23:47:49 +0000 UTCDiligence, effort, perseverance—hard to imagine these positive traits being associated with that journalist notorious for spinning wild tales, but the truth was undeniable.
“That’s… quite a spectacle,” Ron said, picturing the scene with a sigh of awe.
“No kidding,” Mr. Weasley nodded in agreement. “Like I said, Harry, no need to be nervous. You’ve got a lot of people backing you. You’re not alone.”
As if worried Harry might buckle under pressure, Mr. Weasley offered another round of reassurance.
“Thanks,” Harry said with a smile. “Don’t worry, I’m ready.”
“Couldn’t ask for better,” Mr. Weasley said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “The hearing’s on my floor. Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, will be questioning you. She’s fair, you’ll see.”
“What?” Percy said, startled. “The head of the department herself?”
“No choice, Percy. This has blown up,” Mr. Weasley explained. “The wizarding community’s support for Harry has exceeded even Fudge’s expectations. Can you believe it? A minor case of underage magic outside school—not even about snapping his wand or expelling him from Hogwarts, just a warning—and yet, wizards are acting like they’re ready to storm the Ministry.”
“Hold on, Dad, it’s not ‘just a warning,’” Fred said, indignant. “This is about Harry’s reputation. And I’d bet anything that even if the Ministry expelled him from Hogwarts, other magic schools wouldn’t turn him away!”
“Exactly. It’d be Hogwarts’ loss—no, the entire British wizarding world’s loss,” George added.
“Hey, kids, your dad’s just making a point,” Mrs. Weasley said soothingly. “Besides, the Ministry has no authority to expel Hogwarts students. Harry’s staying right here, aren’t you, Harry?”
“Absolutely, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said earnestly. “Hogwarts is the most storied of the three major magic schools.”
“Given how much attention this case is getting across the British wizarding world, the Ministry’s gone all out and called the highest-level criminal court to hear it,” Mr. Weasley said with a sigh. “The Wizengamot will vote, but honestly, there’s not much to vote on. Everyone knows what’s really going on.”
The Wizengamot, in Muggle terms, could be likened to a council of wise elders for wizards. It issued the Order of Merlin and held both legislative and judicial powers, functioning as both court and parliament.
“I hope this wraps up quickly,” Mr. Weasley continued. “My friend in the Department of International Magical Cooperation says this has even reached other countries. Apparently, the French are having a good laugh about it. Bloody hell, it’s infuriating.”
For any Brit—wizard or not—French mockery was a bitter pill to swallow. Harry understood that all too well.
“I’m done eating. How do we get to the Ministry?” Harry asked, wiping his mouth. “The car?”
“No, no, Harry, definitely not,” Mr. Weasley said, waving his hands. “Remember? Not for use—so we’re not taking that car. That’d land us in a whole different mess.”
“Yes, Arthur, that car we don’t even name,” Mrs. Weasley said, shooting her husband a pointed look. “The Ministry has an official entrance near Whitehall. You can use that.”
“Absolutely not!” Mr. Weasley said, crossing his arms emphatically. “Did you forget what I just said? Harry cannot use the main entrance today. I’d bet my slippers the Ministry’s atrium is packed right now. Merlin’s beard, just thinking about it gives me chills.”
“Sounds lively,” Ron quipped. “At least we don’t have to worry about Harry getting mistreated at the Ministry.”
“Of course he won’t,” Mr. Weasley said, resisting the urge to ruffle Ron’s hair. “Let’s see… eight o’clock sharp. If Jess hasn’t botched anything, our fireplace should be connected to the Ministry’s Floo Network. Come on, Harry, you remember how to use Floo powder, right?”
“Yep,” Harry nodded. During his stay at the Weasleys’, he’d used Floo powder to travel to Diagon Alley plenty of times. It was faster, safer, and far more comfortable than the Knight Bus or Apparition.
With a sense of urgency, Mr. Weasley quickly changed into work clothes and prepared to take Harry to the Ministry. After hugs and well-wishes from Ron and the others, Harry grabbed a pinch of Floo powder, tossed it into the fireplace, stepped in, and said clearly, “Ministry of Magic!”
Green flames flared, and Harry felt the familiar whoosh of travel. A moment later, an arm pulled him out of the fireplace.
“You alright, Harry?” Mr. Weasley asked, concerned.
“Fine,” Harry said, already taking in his surroundings. This was his first time at the heart of wizarding society—the Ministry of Magic.
The atrium was a grand, opulent hall. As Harry and Mr. Weasley stepped aside, more people emerged from the same gilded fireplace. A whole row of them lined the corner, with witches and wizards constantly coming and going.
The floor was polished dark wood, gleaming underfoot. The peacock-blue ceiling was studded with shimmering golden symbols that shifted and moved in ways Harry couldn’t yet decipher.
This was the Ministry’s atrium. At its center stood a fountain, just as Harry had read about: a circular pool with towering golden statues, larger than life. A wizard stood tallest, wand pointed skyward, surrounded by a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin, and a house-elf, all gazing at him with adoring expressions.
It was striking, but Harry’s attention was drawn to the far end of the hall, where a dense crowd was gathered. Ministry workers were struggling to hold them back, preventing them from advancing.
“Merlin’s beard…” Mr. Weasley whispered, leaning close to Harry. “Look at them. If we’d come through the main entrance, we’d be swarmed by now. I wasn’t kidding, Harry—they’re all your supporters. Quick, let’s move before they spot you.”
Mr. Weasley reacted fast, but not fast enough.
“Harry! Potter!”
A piercing, almost hysterical scream rang out. Harry turned to see a woman in a veil, one hand over her mouth, the other pointing at him.
Her cry drew every eye in the atrium, especially the crowd being held back by Ministry staff. In an instant, the employees were overwhelmed as the mob surged forward.
“Run!” Mr. Weasley grabbed Harry’s arm and bolted, dragging him along like they were fleeing for their lives. But it was too late. The crowd closed in from behind and ahead, shouting Harry’s name with fervor, hands outstretched as if shaking his would bring them luck.
Harry wasn’t sure how he made it inside the Ministry proper. Despite his battle-hardened physique, the crush of people was too much. He forced a stiff smile, shaking hand after hand. Their voices blurred into a cacophony, with only fragments like “We support you!” and “Take down the Ministry!” breaking through.
By the time Harry and Mr. Weasley crossed the security line and stumbled into an elevator, their neatly combed hair and pressed clothes—courtesy of Mrs. Weasley—were in complete disarray.
“That was terrifying, wasn’t it?” Mr. Weasley said, exhaling heavily and winking at Harry. “Thought we’d never get out.”
“Yeah, they were… enthusiastic,” Harry said, straightening his clothes. Even in Azeroth, he’d never faced anything like that. Azerothians were reserved by comparison—none of those witches had tried to practically climb on him.
“So, is it really okay for them to shout about taking down the Ministry inside the Ministry?” Harry asked, a sudden thought striking him.
“Of course it is,” came a voice from the other side of the elevator, not Mr. Weasley’s. “The Ministry doesn’t sweat the small stuff like that. As long as they don’t actually do anything, we don’t care.”
Harry turned to see a familiar face—someone he’d met at the Kenmare Kestrels’ club.
“Ludo Bagman, you remember?” the middle-aged man said, extending a hand.
“Of course,” Harry said, shaking it. “Are you a department head now?”
“Haha, not yet, but soon, I hope,” Ludo said with a grin. “Anyway, Harry, I wish you luck with the hearing—though I don’t think you’ll need it. I even bet Ruar Knight on it—”
“Hey, Ludo,” Mr. Weasley interrupted. “Harry’s just a kid.”
“Right, my bad,” Ludo said, scratching his head.
[Seventh Floor: Department of Magical Games and Sports, including the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club, and Ludicrous Patents Office]
A cool, detached female voice echoed through the elevator.
“Looks like my stop,” Ludo said, stepping out with a wave. “Good luck, Harry! And don’t slack on your training!”
“I won’t,” Harry called, waving as the elevator doors closed.
“Don’t mind Ludo,” Mr. Weasley said with a shrug. “He’s not a bad sort, just has… hobbies. If he tries to rope you into a bet, just say no.”
“I’m not into gambling,” Harry said with a nod. His only expertise was gambling with his life—and luckily, he always came out on top.
[Sixth Floor: Department of Magical Transportation, including the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparition Test Centre]
The elevator doors opened and closed as they descended. Harry stood in the corner, Mr. Weasley shielding him to avoid another scene.
“So, we’re going underground?” Harry asked.
“Yes, the Ministry’s built below the surface,” Mr. Weasley whispered. “Quiet now, we’re almost there.”
The cold voice announced more floors as they continued downward.
[Second Floor: Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services]
“Here we are, Harry, let’s go,” Mr. Weasley said, pulling him out of the elevator. “My office is on this floor, but we’re not headed there today.”
“Wizengamot Administration Services?” Harry asked, glancing around. The area had a distinct wizarding charm, but it felt different from Diagon Alley.
Paper airplanes—Ministry memos, according to Mr. Weasley—zipped through the air, a cleaner alternative to owls, which tended to leave messes in corridors and on desks.
“Exactly,” Mr. Weasley said with a smile. “Neat, isn’t it? These windows are enchanted to make it feel like we’re above ground. Sunny today—guess the Magical Maintenance crew’s in a good mood.”
“What if they’re in a bad mood?” Harry asked.
“Then we get rain,” Mr. Weasley said with a sigh. “Sometimes even gales. If you don’t hold the handrails, you’ll get blown from one end of the corridor to the other.”
His pained expression suggested he’d experienced it firsthand. Harry nodded, no longer surprised by the chaotic quirks of wizarding life. It almost felt like an abuse of magic.
They descended a stone staircase, chatting casually as if heading for a picnic. The Wizengamot’s area reminded Harry of Hogwarts’ dungeon classrooms: rough stone walls, torches flickering in brackets, and heavy wooden doors with iron fittings.
“Courtroom Four,” Mr. Weasley said, stopping before a door. “This is it.”
“Are you coming in?” Harry asked.
“Nope,” Mr. Weasley said with a shrug. “Only you’re allowed in there. Don’t worry, Harry—I’d bet anything you’re not the one who’s most nervous today. Go on.”
Harry nodded, saying nothing more. He twisted the heavy iron handle and stepped into the courtroom.
Like the corridor, the room was steeped in wizarding tradition. Dark stone walls were lit only by torchlight, creating a dim, eerie atmosphere far removed from the bright atrium. Rows of tiered benches lined both sides, filled with people whispering about him, thinking their murmurs discreet. Some wore wizard robes, others Muggle suits—not quite matching the Wizengamot descriptions Harry had read. Ministry employees, perhaps, here for the spectacle?
As Harry approached the center, he saw shadowy figures on the highest benches ahead, dressed uniformly in plum-colored robes with a silver “W” embroidered on the chest. They, too, whispered about him.
At the highest seat, symbolizing ultimate authority, sat Minister Fudge, his round frame topped with a bowler hat, a false smile plastered on his face. Harry scanned for the one person he’d hoped to see—Dumbledore—but he wasn’t there.
That made sense, though, because Dumbledore was standing right in front of him.
“If you’re planning to say something in my defense, the top seat might be more convenient,” Harry said with a grin, approaching Dumbledore. “Right, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Headmaster Dumbledore?”
“Oh, perhaps it’s precisely to speak for you that poor Dumbledore can’t sit up there,” Dumbledore said, hands clasped over his stomach, winking playfully. “Which do you think suits me better, Harry?”
Dumbledore was dressed in a rare, somber black robe today.
“Honestly, I think this whole thing is too small for you to bother defending me,” Harry said with a shrug. “Feels like a waste of your time.”
“Oh, I can’t wait until you’ve done something truly monumental before stepping in,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head slightly. “But we can discuss that later.”
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T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
![[HOPE]](https://runfaps.com/kistorage/100331.jpg)
