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HRA# CHAPTER 148
🕑 Added 2025-06-04 00:44:27 +0000 UTCHarry and Dumbledore spoke in hushed tones, their voices so low that the spectators in the stands could only see their lips moving, unable to discern their words. Yet, the easy familiarity and relaxed demeanor between them amplified the murmurs rippling through the crowd.
It was as if they weren’t in the solemn courtroom of the Wizengamot but rather enjoying afternoon tea in a sun-dappled, breezy garden.
And perhaps that wasn’t surprising. To many of the wizards in the Wizengamot, this whole affair seemed utterly unnecessary. It had started as a trivial matter, and no one would seriously fault a young wizard for it.
But given the identity of the individual involved, coupled with the Daily Prophet’s month-long sensationalism, the trial had become less about giving Harry an explanation and more about placating the broader British wizarding community.
It was about stopping the barrage of Howlers flooding the Ministry of Magic, preventing owls from defecating on office desks, and keeping disgruntled wizards from clogging the Ministry’s entrance hall.
This was just a formality. Everyone knew a first-year wizard couldn’t possibly perform Apparition, so the Wizengamot members appeared relaxed, some even waving cheerfully at Harry.
But if there was anyone in Courtroom Four who was visibly on edge, it was the other party involved in the case.
“Madam Mafalda Hopkirk?” Harry’s gaze moved past Dumbledore to the woman seated in the chair.
Her disheveled, bushy gray hair framed a small, pale figure. Her face was devoid of color, her lips a ghostly white where they should have been rosy.
It was clear that the Head of the Improper Use of Magic Office had not been faring well lately. Her chair was flanked by chains that clinked menacingly from time to time, causing her to flinch violently with each rattle.
She had kept her head bowed since the start, only lifting it when Harry’s voice reached her. Her unfocused eyes stared at him for several seconds before finding clarity, her lips trembling as she muttered something inaudible.
“…She won’t be sent to Azkaban, will she?” Harry asked Dumbledore with concern.
“Oh, it won’t come to that,” Dumbledore replied, shaking his head slightly. “After all, this was merely a professional oversight. No one was harmed, and no one died, so sending Miss Hopkirk to Azkaban would be excessive… otherwise, half the Ministry would be locked up.” He paused, then added, “I suspect the pressure she’s facing comes from other quarters.”
Social pressure, to be precise.
Even from a distance, Harry could faintly detect the lingering odor of… owl droppings emanating from Miss Hopkirk.
Clang, clang, clang.
The sudden toll of a bell silenced the room. Cornelius Fudge, seated at the highest point in the stands, cleared his throat. The trial was meant to be presided over by the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Dumbledore, but since Dumbledore was standing below, the Minister for Magic took charge.
The Wizengamot wasn’t just composed of renowned wizards; it included the Minister and other senior Ministry officials.
“Order, please,” Fudge announced, raising his voice. “Since everyone is present, let’s begin. Court scribe, are you ready?”
“Yes, sir,” replied a woman seated at the front edge of the stands.
“Trial of August 24th,” Fudge continued. “Regarding the case of Harry James Potter versus Mafalda Hopkirk, Head of the Improper Use of Magic Office, for dereliction of duty.”
In truth, Harry had filed a complaint against the Improper Use of Magic Office as a whole, but somehow, when Fudge spoke, it sounded like Hopkirk alone was at fault… as if she’d been scapegoated.
A department head was, presumably, a significant enough figure to quell the public outrage in the British wizarding world—and perhaps absorb some of the resentment directed at other departments.
“Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Court scribe: Mia Smith. Let’s begin, Bones.”
“Very well, Minister,” said a woman dressed in black robes, a black square cap perched on her head, sitting beside Fudge.
Strands of gray hair peeked from beneath her cap, framing a stern, square face adorned with a monocle. Her expression was severe enough to make Ron weep, perhaps even more intimidating than Professor McGonagall.
Harry didn’t want to judge by appearances, but he couldn’t deny that, based on her demeanor, Madam Bones matched the description Mr. Weasley had given that morning—a fair woman.
“Please state, Harry James Potter, everything you did on July 30th up until you received the Ministry’s warning letter,” Bones said loudly.
“Of course, Madam,” Harry replied earnestly. “There’s not much to say. It was just an ordinary day for me. I wanted to relax in the nearby park, but then I received that letter.”
No one questioned this. The matter was hardly a secret anymore, with the Daily Prophet having covered every detail—embellished, of course.
“…On July 30th, the defendant, upon receiving an alert from the Trace, sent a warning letter to Harry James Potter, residing at Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, under the mistaken belief that Harry James Potter had violated Clause Three of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. Do you admit to this, Mafalda Hopkirk?” Bones asked, turning to Hopkirk.
“I… admit it,” Hopkirk finally spoke, her voice hoarse, likely from disuse, scraping like a blade on glass.
“Did you review the contents of the letter before sending it?”
“No,” Hopkirk said, shaking her head in distress.
“And do you believe it reasonable for a child raised in a Muggle household, a first-year Hogwarts student, to perform Apparition?”
“Of course not!” Hopkirk said through gritted teeth. “But it was an alert from the Trace! Who could’ve imagined it would—Merlin’s beard!”
Hopkirk doubled over in her chair, clutching her head and sobbing. Her words came in broken fragments, but her distress was clear. Who could’ve foreseen that the Trace, a system used for over a century, would have such a flaw?
The Wizengamot members continued their whispered discussions, nodding or shaking their heads. Harry observed these figures at the pinnacle of British wizarding society with interest. He noticed Fudge—the Minister’s forced smile had faded, and he shifted uncomfortably, as if suppressing something.
“Do you admit to dereliction of duty, resulting in an innocent child being wrongfully accused?” Bones pressed.
Hopkirk only covered her face, sobbing uncontrollably, unable to speak.
“Answer the question!” Bones demanded, unfazed by Hopkirk’s tears.
“…Yes, I admit it,” Hopkirk finally replied, her voice muffled through her fingers.
“I believe the truth is clear,” Bones declared. “On July 30th, a wizard briefly lingered on Privet Drive, and for reasons unknown, the Trace, which should only detect magic from underage wizards, reacted to the magic performed by that wizard.”
“Though we’ve used the Trace to monitor underage wizards outside school for over a century, we must now acknowledge that this spell has flaws we hadn’t previously recognized, requiring improvement.”
“Nevertheless, Madam Hopkirk’s gross negligence has caused significant public backlash against the Ministry.”
Harry noticed the whispers from the stands near the courtroom’s exits grow louder when Bones mentioned public backlash.
“If there are no further objections, please vote,” Bones said loudly. “Those in favor of finding Madam Hopkirk guilty, raise your hands.”
A sea of hands shot up, including Fudge’s, whose face betrayed irritation directed at Hopkirk for the trouble she’d caused him and the Ministry. To the average wizard, this was a failure of Fudge’s administration, a headache he couldn’t ignore.
This only made Harry more curious about Fudge’s earlier restlessness.
“Those in favor of finding Madam Hopkirk not guilty, raise your hands,” Bones continued, as per protocol.
Not a single hand rose.
Hardly surprising. No one wanted to work in an environment filled with deafening Howlers and owl droppings. The senders didn’t care about the Ministry’s internal divisions; to them, the Ministry was one entity, and all were culpable.
Truth be told, only in the Wizengamot’s chambers did the faint stench of owl droppings, noticeable since Harry entered the Ministry’s atrium, finally dissipate.
It was no exaggeration to say that Hopkirk had alienated her colleagues with this fiasco. No wonder no one spoke in her defense.
“Minister?” Bones said quietly to Fudge after scanning the room, signaling it was time for him to deliver the verdict.
“Thank you, Bones,” Fudge said, nodding. Taking a deep breath, he announced, “As punishment for your negligence and the severe consequences it has caused, even a department head must face accountability.”
“With regret, Hopkirk, you are hereby sacked. Take some time to rest at home.”
As Fudge’s words landed, the tension in the courtroom eased.
Click!
A sharp sound accompanied a bright flash. Harry whipped around to see Rita Skeeter in the courtroom, waving at him as if in greeting. She’d just taken a photo.
It didn’t take long for Harry to understand why the Ministry allowed Rita Skeeter into such a serious proceeding—Fudge was likely banking on this story being published as soon as possible.
It was his chance to salvage his approval ratings and the Ministry’s reputation.
“Looks like you won’t need to take the stand,” Harry whispered jokingly to Dumbledore. “Regretting not being up there?”
“Ahem! Quiet!” Fudge’s booming voice cut through before Dumbledore could respond. “In addition to the Hopkirk case, there may be another matter related to this case for the Wizengamot to consider.”
Harry looked up at Dumbledore, who met his gaze with a playful tilt of his head and a wink, as if to say, See?
“Another matter related to this case?” Bones’s brows furrowed sharply. Even facing Fudge, her authority didn’t waver. “If it’s evidence that could affect this case’s outcome, it should have been presented during the trial.”
“Oh, no, no, Bones, calm down. It’s not evidence that would affect this case’s verdict,” Fudge said, coughing and waving his hands. “It’s another matter—”
“If I may, Minister,” Bones interrupted sharply. “If it’s a separate case, it should be filed properly and heard on a designated date. Courtroom Four is convened today solely for the Hopkirk case.”
“I know, I know, Bones! No need to lecture me!” Fudge’s face flushed red, and he waved an arm, nearly knocking over the ink bottle in front of him. “Now, let me finish!”
“Harry James Potter!” Fudge turned abruptly to Harry below. “Do you admit that you have not performed magic outside of school?”
“…I admit it,” Harry replied, raising an eyebrow.
“Very well,” Fudge said, nodding with satisfaction. He gestured behind him. “Bring them in.”
The Wizengamot members and Ministry staff, who had begun to leave, settled back into their seats. They craned their necks toward the courtroom’s heavy doors, curious about Fudge’s intentions.
The doors creaked open, and a tall, thin Ministry employee escorted a child inside.
“…Terry Boot?” Harry whispered to himself, recognizing the boy.
One of his mentees, a Ravenclaw in his year at Hogwarts.
Why was he here? And brought in by Fudge, no less?
Terry Boot was clearly overwhelmed by the atmosphere of Courtroom Four, especially as he realized how many eyes were on him, including those of prominent figures he’d only seen in newspapers. The pressure was palpable.
His eyes were red-rimmed, evidence of recent tears. Compared to Harry’s calm and composed demeanor since entering, Terry’s reaction—nervous and shaken—finally seemed like that of a typical twelve-year-old.
Truthfully, this relieved many in the room. Harry’s earlier composure had made them uneasy.
But why had Fudge brought this boy here? What was he trying to prove?
“I know you’re all wondering,” Fudge said loudly, relishing the attention. “As I told Bones, what I’m about to address isn’t unrelated to the Hopkirk case—because this case fundamentally stems from Harry James Potter performing magic outside of school.”
“Possibly, Minister,” Bones interjected. “We’ve established this child could not have performed Apparition near his home, and he is innocent, as even Hopkirk herself admitted.”
“Yes, yes, he couldn’t have used Apparition,” Fudge nodded repeatedly. Then, suddenly, he added, “But what if he used other magic?”
Fudge’s words were like dumping red-hot coals into cold water. The room erupted into heated discussion.
Wizengamot members and Ministry staff whispered fervently, debating whether Fudge’s claim held water—had Harry truly used magic? Regardless, Fudge had ignited the courtroom’s atmosphere.
“It seems I’ll have a chance to take the stage after all,” Dumbledore said, stepping beside Harry, his voice low enough for only them to hear.
“You knew about this?” Harry whispered, but this time, Dumbledore didn’t respond.
Fudge didn’t call for silence, clearly pleased with the stir he’d caused. His gaze fell on Harry, and he frowned—despite his bombshell, the boy remained unfazed, calm, and composed… as if nothing could rattle or stop him.
Just like… Dumbledore.
T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
Comments
Vick
So that little b*tch of Minister decided to be a ennemy. Time to destroy him (politicaly).
