Brush with Percy. He decided his best chance was to act stupid.

“Sorry?” he said.

“Don’t pretend, Runcorn,” said Mr. Weasley fiercely. “You tracked down the

wizard who faked his family tree, didn’t you?”

“I – so what if I did?” said Harry.

“So Dirk Cresswell is ten times the wizard you are,” said Mr. Weasley quietly, as

the lift sank ever lower. “And if he survives Azkaban, you’ll have to answer to him, not

to mention his wife, his sons, and his friends –“

“Arthur,” Harry interrupted, “you know you’re being tracked, don’t you?”

“Is that a threat, Runcorn?” said Mr. Weasley loudly.

“No,” said Harry, “it’s a fact! They’re watching your every move –“

The lift doors opened. They had reached the Atrium. Mr. Weasley gave Harry a

Scathing look and swept from the lift. Harry stood there, shaken. He wished he was

impersonating somebody other than Runcorn…. The lift doors clanged shut.

Harry pulled out the Invisibility Cloak and put it back on. He would try to

Extricate Hermione on his own while Ron was dealing with the raining office. When the

Doors opened, he stepped out into a torch-lit stone passageway quite different from the

Wood-paneled and carpeted corridors above. As the left rattled away again, Harry

Shivered slightly, looking toward the distant black door that marked the entrance to the

Department of Mysteries.

He set off, his destination not the black door, but the doorway he remembered on

The left hand side, which opened onto the flight of stairs down to the court chambers. His

mind grappled with possibilities as he crept down them: He still had a couple of Decoy

Detonators, but perhaps it would be better to simply knock on the courtroom door, enter

as Runcorn, and ask for a quick word with Mafalda? Of course, he did not know whether

Runcorn was sufficiently important to get away with this, and even if he managed it,

Hermione’s non-reappearance might trigger a search before they were clear of the

Ministry….

Lost in thought, he did not immediately register the unnatural chill that was

Creeping over him, as if he were descending into fog. It was becoming colder and colder

With every step he took; a cold that reached right down his throat and tore at his lungs.

And then he felt that stealing sense of despair, or hopelessness, filling him, expanding

inside him….

Dementors, he thought.

And as he reached the foot of the stairs and turned to his right he saw a dreadful

Scene. The dark passage outside the courtrooms was packed with tall, black-hooded

Figures, their faces completely hidden, their ragged breathing the only sound in the place.

The petrified Muggle-borns brought in for questioning sat huddled and shivering on hard

Wooden benches. Most of them were hiding their faces in their hands, perhaps in an

instinctive attempt to shield themselves from the dementors’ greedy mouths. Some were

Accompanied by families, others sat alone. The dementors were gliding up and down in

Front of them, and the cold, and the hopelessness, and the despair of the place laid

themselves upon Harry like a curse….

Fight it, he told himself, but he knew that he could not conjure a Patronus here

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 655