The Ministry of Magic was as gorgeous as he remembered. The floor was a polished dark wood floor, and the ceiling was peacock blue, inlaid with glittering golden symbols that moved and changed constantly, like a huge bulletin board.
The walls on all sides were inlaid with glossy dark wood, and many gilded fireplaces were embedded in the wood. Every few seconds, a Wizard would emerge from one of the fireplaces on the right, and in front of the fireplaces on the right, there would be a line of people waiting to leave.
In the middle of the hall was a fountain.
In the middle of a circular pool stood a group of golden statues, larger than life. The tallest one was a male wizard with a noble temperament. He held his wand high and pointed it at the sky. Surrounding him were a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin, and a house elf.
It looked interesting.
Hundreds of Wizard phantoms appeared from all directions, their faces draped with lifeless expressions, just like the ones Harry had seen on the faces of the Muggle staff.
Mr. Weasley led Harry away from the stream of Ministry staff walking towards the golden door, and stopped in front of a table with a security check sign.
Here sat a Wizard in a peacock blue robe, with a shaved beard. As Harry and the others approached, the Wizard raised his head and put down the Prophet in his hand.
"I've brought a guest."
Mr. Weasley pointed at Harry.
The Wizard listlessly shone Harry in front of him, then raised a long golden wand and swept it over Harry's chest and back from top to bottom.
"The wand."
Harry handed it over, examined it, and took it back. The Wizard wanted to look at him again after the examination, but before he could, Harry was taken away by Mr. Weasley.
They entered the elevator, and as it rose, they saw all kinds of Wizard and paper airplanes whizzing up the elevator.
"Those are the notes used to send messages between departments," Mr. Weasley said.
Mr. Weasley said. Then he remembered what Jon had said the other day. If they could use electronic devices to send messages, they wouldn't have to use these kinds of notes.
He shook his head, clearing the thoughts from his mind.
The elevator stopped on the second floor, where the Department of Magic Law Enforcement, including the Office of Prohibition of Magic, the Auror Command, and the Weissengamore Administration.
This was their destination.
They walked out of the elevator and into the hallway. After a while, they saw Mr. Kingsley.
After a quiet exchange with Mr. Kingsley, Mr. Weasley led Harry to his office.
They hadn't even exchanged a few words when they received a new piece of information from an old adept.
Harry's trial time had been changed to eight o'clock. They hurried out of the office, then into the elevator, and ran all the way down to the basement.
Mr. Weasley couldn't follow Harry into the courtroom, so Harry had to do it himself.
He took a deep breath, twisted the doorknob, and walked in.
He was familiar with this place.
The walls around him were made of dark stone, and the torches were gloomy. On both sides of it were rows of empty benches, and in front of him, on the highest benches, there were many dark figures whispering to each other.
Jon was sitting among them.
But no one saw him. He sat in a relatively remote position, and in order to keep it a secret, he hid his figure and just sat in an empty seat.
He wasn't supposed to be here today.
But he had nothing to do anyway, so he came to have a look. After all, Dumbledore was going to be here today. He had planned to take some time to talk to Dumbledore, but since he was already here, he might as well stay and see what was going on.
And the position he chose was not bad, so he could see Harry's nervous expression.
"You know."
A voice said in the darkness.
"I'm sorry," Harry said nervously. "I didn't know the time was changed."
"That's not Weissengamore's fault," the voice said. "An owl was sent this morning to inform you.
Sit down. "
Harry came to the chair in the middle of the room, walked over, and sat down gingerly.
He looked up and saw that there were about fifty people on the benches. They were all wearing purplish-red robes, and some of them had very stern expressions.
Some of them were obviously curious about what was going on.
In the middle of the front row of benches sat a familiar face. It was Connelly Fudge, Minister of the Ministry of Magic, but he seemed fatter than before.
To Fudge's left sat a broad, square-jawed witch wearing a monocle. To his right sat another witch, but she was a little further back, so she was in shadow.
The trial was announced.
"The trial of the twelfth of August," Fudge said in a booming voice, "of Harry James Potter, of 4 Privet Drive, Little Hutchinshire, Surrey, for violation of the Act on Reasonable Restraint of Underage Wizard and the International Secrecy Act."
"Interrogators: Connelly Oswald Fudge, Minister of the Ministry of Magic; Amelia Susan Burns, Director of the Department of Magic Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Deputy Minister; Percy Ignatius Weasley-"
"Witness for the Defence: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."
Behind Harry, Dumbledore walked calmly, his expression serene, to a position parallel to Harry. From Jon's point of view, his long beard and hair gleamed in the torchlight.
It had to be said that Dumbledore was very dignified in this way.
In the section of the jury not far from Jon, more than half of them welcomed Dumbledore, while the rest expressed fear and annoyance.
Because of Dumbledore's appearance, Foggy appeared to be very flustered. This kind of fluster made Chown despise him even more. The phrase "mud can't support a wall" was probably used to describe him.
Jon already knew how ridiculous this trial was because the judges had their own ideas. But after all, it was boring, so he still chose to watch. In fact, he didn't quite agree with Dumbledore's way of facing Fudge. There was a simpler way, but Dumbledore didn't want to use it. It was just Fudge, and he wasn't even qualified to enter their plan.
But Dumbledore was going to leave soon. As long as he was happy, there was nothing impossible.
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