Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix - J. K. Rowling [57]
“Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August,” said Fudge in a ringing voice, and Percy began taking notes at once, “into offenses committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Harry James Potter, resident 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 the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley —”
“— Witness for the defense, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,” said a quiet voice from behind Harry, who turned his head so fast he cricked his neck.
Dumbledore was striding serenely across the room wearing long midnight-blue robes and a perfectly calm expression. His long silver beard and hair gleamed in the torchlight as he drew level with Harry and looked up at Fudge through the half-moon spectacles that rested halfway down his very crooked nose.
The members of the Wizengamot were muttering. All eyes were now on Dumbledore. Some looked annoyed, others slightly frightened; two elderly witches in the back row, however, raised their hands and waved in welcome.
A powerful emotion had risen in Harry’s chest at the sight of Dumbledore, a fortified, hopeful feeling rather like that which phoenix song gave him. He wanted to catch Dumbledore’s eye, but Dumbledore was not looking his way; he was continuing to look up at the obviously flustered Fudge.
“Ah,” said Fudge, who looked thoroughly disconcerted. “Dumbledore. Yes. You — er — got our — er — message that the time and — er — place of the hearing had been changed, then?”
“I must have missed it,” said Dumbledore cheerfully. “However, due to a lucky mistake I arrived at the Ministry three hours early, so no harm done.”
“Yes — well — I suppose we’ll need another chair — I — Weasley, could you — ?”
“Not to worry, not to worry,” said Dumbledore pleasantly; he took out his wand, gave it a little flick, and a squashy chintz armchair appeared out of nowhere next to Harry. Dumbledore sat down, put the tips of his long fingers together, and looked at Fudge over them with an expression of polite interest. The Wizengamot was still muttering and fidgeting restlessly; only when Fudge spoke again did they settle down.
“Yes,” said Fudge again, shuffling his notes. “Well, then. So. The charges. Yes.”
He extricated a piece of parchment from the pile before him, took a deep breath, and read, “The charges against the accused are as follows: That he did knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produce a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, on August the second at twenty-three minutes past nine, which constitutes an offense under paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under section thirteen of the International Confederation of Wizards’ Statute of Secrecy.
“You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?” Fudge said, glaring at Harry over the top of his parchment.
“Yes,” Harry said.
“You received an official warning from the Ministry for using illegal magic three years ago, did you not?”
“Yes, but —”
“And yet you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?” said Fudge.
“Yes,” said Harry, “but —”
“Knowing that you are not permitted to use magic outside school while you are under the age of seventeen?”
“Yes, but —”
“Knowing that you were in an area full of Muggles?”
“Yes, but —”
“Fully aware that you were in close proximity to a Muggle at the time?
“Yes,” said Harry angrily, “but I only used it because we were —”
The witch with the monocle on Fudge’s left cut across him in