'Ah, Mafalda! '
Umbridge looked at Hermione and said, "Did Traverse ask you to come?"
'Yes — yes, 'said Hermione in a small voice.
'Well, you'll do well. '
Umbridge turned to a wizard in a gold-trimmed black robe. 'That settles the problem, Minister. If Mafalda can take the notes, we can begin now.'
She looked at her clipboard. 'There are ten people today, and one of them is the wife of a Ministry employee!
Tsk, tsk … right here, inside the Ministry! '
She stepped into the lift and stood beside Hermione, followed by two other Wizard's who had been listening to Umbridge and the Minister's conversation.
'Let's go straight down, Mafalda. There's everything you need in the Court.
Good morning, Albert. Aren't you going out? '
'Going out, of course. '
Said Harry in Runcorn's deep voice.
Harry stepped out of the lift.
The golden gate clanged shut behind them.
He looked back and saw Hermione's anxious face fall again. Beside her stood a tall wizard, Umbridge's velvet bow reaching up to Hermione's shoulders.
'What brings you here, Runcorn? '
Asked the new Minister. His long black hair and beard were streaked with silver, and the shadow of his large forehead hid his twinkling eyes. He reminded Harry of a crab peering out from under a rock.
'To, 'said Harry, hesitating for a fraction of a second.' To have a word with Arthur Weasley.
Someone said he was on the first floor. '
'Ah, 'said Harry.
'Did anyone catch him talking to the bad guys? 'said Piers Sinkness.
'No, 'said Harry, his throat dry.' No, it wasn't. '
'Ah … well, it was only a matter of time, 'said Sinkness.
Sinknes said in a muffled voice, "If you ask me, pure-blooded traitors are as bad as mudbloods.
Good-bye, Runcorn. '
'Good-Bye, Minister. '
Harry watched Sinkness walk away down the thickly carpeted corridor.
As soon as the Minister had disappeared, Harry pulled the Cloak of Invisibility out from under his heavy black robe, put it on, and walked in the opposite direction.
He was so tall that Harry had to bend down to make sure his big feet were not showing.
Fear crept into his heart. He passed by one bright wooden door after another. Each door had a small sign on it, with the name and position of the person in the room written on it.
The majesty, the complexity, and the inscrutability of the Ministry seemed to have overwhelmed him, making the course of action that he, Ron, and Hermione had carefully planned for the last four weeks seem like a ridiculous game.
They put all their thoughts on how to get in, and never thought about what they would do if they were forced to separate.
Now that Hermione was stuck in the courtroom, it would undoubtedly drag on for hours.
Ron was trying to do what Harry knew was beyond his power, and a woman's freedom might depend on his performance;
Harry, on the other hand, was still wandering around the top floor, knowing that the person he was looking for had just taken the elevator down.
He stopped and leaned against the wall, trying to decide what to do.
The silence pressed upon him: there was no sound of bustle, no sound of speech, no sound of hurrying footsteps. The purple-carpeted passageway was as silent as if under a spell of silence.
Her office must be here, Harry thought.
It seemed unlikely that Umbridge would hide the jewels in her office, but it seemed foolish not to search and make sure.
So he walked down the passageway again, only to see a frowning wizard murmuring to a quill pen that was rapidly scribbling on a roll of parchment in front of him.
Harry began to pay attention to the names on the doors. After turning a corner, the passageway opened into a spacious area.
A dozen Wizard's, male and female, sat in rows of small desks, similar to school desks, but much smoother and unscathed.
Harry could not help stopping to watch, for the sight had a hypnotic effect.
The Wizard's, in unison, waved and turned their wands, and cubes of coloured paper floated in the air like little pink kites.
After a few seconds, Harry realized that this was a rhythmic process, and that there was a pattern to the gathering and dispersing of the paper.
After a few more seconds, he realized that he was watching the making of a pamphlet. The cubes of paper were pages of content, folded together, magically fastened, and stacked neatly beside each of the Wizard's.
Harry approached softly, for the Wizard's were so absorbed in their work that he doubted they would notice his footsteps, which were muted by the carpet.
He stole a bound pamphlet from a young witch and held it under the Cloak of Invisibility.
The pink cover bore a bold title in gold lettering:
THE MUDBLOODS
A MENACE TO THE PEACEFUL PURE-BLOOD SOCIETY
Beneath it was a drawing of a red rose, strangled by a fanged, menacing blade of grass, and a smirking face in the centre of the petals.
The pamphlet was unsigned, but the scar on the back of Harry's right hand began to prickle again.
The witch beside him confirmed his suspicions. "Is that old hag going to spend all day interrogating the Mudbloods?" she said, waving and turning her wand. "Does anyone know?"
"Look out."
The wizard beside her glanced around uneasily, and one of his papers slipped to the floor.
"What, she has not only a magic eye, but also a magic ear?"
The witch glanced at the glossy mahogany door opposite the pamphleteers.
Harry looked that way, too, and a surge of anger rose in his chest like a viper.
In the mahogany where the mirror had been on Muggle's door was a large, round eyeball with a bright blue iris that would have been frighteningly familiar to anyone who knew Alastor Moody.
For a moment, Harry forgot where he was, what he was doing, and even that he was invisible.
He strode to the door and looked at the eye. It was no longer moving, just staring blankly upward. The sign below read:
Dolores Umbridge
Senior Deputy Minister of the Ministry of Magic
There was a new, brighter sign below it:
Director of the Muggle Birth Registration Committee
Harry looked back at the dozen or so pamphleteers. Although they were all busy, it was hard to imagine that no one would notice if the door of an empty office opened in front of them.
So, he took out a strange-looking object from the inside pocket of his clothes.
It had swinging legs and a spherical rubber trumpet body.
Harry crouched down in the Invisibility Cloak and placed the decoy bomb on the floor.
The decoy bomb immediately started moving, quickly moving between the legs of the adepts.
Harry put his hand on the doorknob and waited. Then there was a loud bang and a cloud of choking black smoke poured out of one corner.
The young witch in the front row screamed. Pink pages flew everywhere, and she and her companions jumped to their feet, looking around for the source of the chaos.
Harry turned the doorknob, stepped into Umbridge's office, and closed the door behind him.
He felt as if he were going back in time. The room was exactly the same as Umbridge's office at Hogwarts: lace hangings, upholstery, and dried flowers covered every surface that could be touched, and the same flowered plates on the walls showed a large, brightly coloured cat in a bow, hopping and frolicking in a sickeningly coquettish way.
A flouncy and floral tablecloth covered the table.
Behind the mad-eyed man's eyeball was a device like a telescope, which allowed Umbridge to watch the staff outside the door.
Harry glanced up and saw that they were still huddled around the decoy bomb. He pulled the telescope away from the door, leaving a hole in it.
He took off the magic eye and put it in his pocket. Then he turned to face the room, raised his wand, and whispered, "Fly the locket."
There was no movement, but he did not expect it. Umbridge was no doubt an expert in protective charms.
He hurried to the back of the desk and pulled open drawers. There were quills, notebooks, and correction tapes.
Enchanted paper clips slithered out of the drawers like snakes, and he had to beat them back.
There was also an elegant little lace box full of bows and hairpins; but there was no locket.
There was a filing cabinet behind the desk, and Harry rummaged through it.
Like Filch's filing cabinets at Hogwarts, it was full of folders, each labeled with a name.
It was not until Harry reached the bottom drawer that he saw a distraction: Mr. Weasley's file.
He pulled it out and opened it.
Arthur Weasley
Bloodline: Pureblood, but intolerably close to Muggle.
Known member of the Phoenix Society.
Family: Wife (Pureblood), seven children, youngest two in Hogwarts.
Note: Youngest son is seriously ill at home, confirmed by Ministry of Magic inspector.
Security status: Tracking.
All movements under surveillance.
Likely to be in contact with Number One Rogue (Lived at Weasley's).
"Number One Rogue," Harry muttered.
Harry muttered under his breath as he put Mr. Weasley's file back and closed the drawer.
He knew who he was referring to. Sure enough, as he straightened up and searched the room for any other hiding places, he saw a large portrait of himself on the wall, with the words Number One Rogue emblazoned across his chest.
There was also a small pink note with a kitten in one corner.
Harry walked over to take a look and saw that Umbridge had written the words "will be punished" on it.
His wrath increased, and he groped in the vases and baskets of dried flowers, but was not surprised to find no locket.
He glanced around the office one last time, and his heart skipped a beat: on the bookshelf by the desk, Dumbledore was looking at him in a small rectangular mirror.
Harry rushed over and grabbed it, but as soon as he touched it he saw that it was not a mirror. Dumbledore was smiling thoughtfully over the glossy cover of a book.
For a moment Harry did not notice the green cursive on his hat: The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, nor did he see the smaller print on his chest: Rita Skeeter, author of the best-selling book Amando Dippet: Master or Idiot? By Dippet.
Harry flipped the book open and saw a page of photographs of two teenage boys, their arms over each other's shoulders, laughing wildly.
Dumbledore's hair was elbow-length, and he had a faint mustache that reminded one of the thin whiskers on Croom's chin that Ron hated so much.
The boy laughing silently next to Dumbledore had a wild, happy air about him, his blond curls falling to his shoulders.
Harry wondered if he was a young Dougie, but before he could read the description, the office door opened.
Harry would not have had time to put on the Cloak of Invisibility if Sinkniss had not looked out as he entered.
He thought, however, that Sinkniss might have caught a glimpse of something, for he stood still for a moment, staring in wonder at the spot where Harry had disappeared, perhaps concluding that he had seen Dumbledore scratching his nose over the cover (Harry had hurriedly put the book back on the shelf).
Sinkniss finally reached the desk and pointed his wand at the quill in the inkwell. It sprang out and began to write a note to Umbridge.
Harry held his breath and slowly backed out of the office, back into the spacious area.
The pamphlet-making Wizard were still huddled around the remains of the decoy bomb.
It was smoking and whimpering faintly. As Harry hurried down the aisle, he heard the young witch say, "I bet it crawled over from the Experimental Spells Committee. They were so careless. Remember that poisoned duck?"
Harry considered his options as he hurried to the elevators.
The chances of the Locket being in the Ministry were slim, and Umbridge was sitting in a courtroom full of people. There was no hope of magic finding the Locket from her.
It was imperative that he get out of the Ministry before he was exposed and try again another day.
First, he had to find Ron, and then together they had to figure out how to get Hermione out of the courtroom.
The elevator arrived, but there was no one inside.
Harry jumped in and pulled off the Cloak of Invisibility as it began to descend.
To his great relief, as the elevator creaked to a halt on the second floor, Ron, soaking wet and staring, stepped in.
"G-good morning," he stammered.
He stammered as the elevator began to move again.
"Ron, it's me, Harry!"
"Harry! Good heavens, I forgot what you looked like - why isn't Hermione here? "
"She went down to the courtroom with Umbridge. Couldn't refuse, and -"
But before Harry could finish the sentence, the elevator stopped again.
The door opened and Mr. Weasley came in, talking to an old witch with a bun as high as an anthill.
"... I understand what you're saying, Wakanda, but I'm afraid I can't be part of -"
Mr. Weasley broke off abruptly when he saw Harry.
It was a very strange feeling to see Mr. Weasley glaring at him with such disgust.
The elevator doors closed and the four of them began to descend again with a whoosh.
"Oh, hello, Reggie," Mr. Weasley said over his shoulder at the sound of Ron's dripping robes. "Isn't your wife in court today?
Why - what's the matter with you? Why are you so wet? "
"It's raining in Yaxley's office,"
Ron said into Mr. Weasley's shoulder, and Harry thought he was afraid his father would recognize him if they looked at each other. "I couldn't stop it. They told me to get Bernie - Pilsworth. I think they said -"
"Yes, it's been raining in a lot of offices lately," Mr. Weasley said. "Have you tried the Cloud Spell Recall? Blackie used it very well. "
"Cloud Spell Recall?" Ron whispered. "No, thank you, old - I mean, thank you, Arthur."
The door opened and the old witch with the anthill on her head stepped out of the elevator. Ron dashed past her and was out of sight. Harry tried to follow him, but was blocked. Percy Weasley stepped into the elevator, his nose almost buried in the papers he was reading.
The door clanged shut and Percy realized that he had been in the same elevator as his father.
He raised his eyes and saw Mr. Weasley, whose face was as red as a carrot, and who was out when the elevator doors opened.
Harry tried to go down again, but this time Mr. Weasley's arm stopped him.
"Wait a minute, Runcorn."
"I hear you exposed Dirk Cresswell," Mr. Weasley said as the elevator doors closed and they clanged down another floor.
Harry sensed that Mr. Weasley's anger had only increased by the encounter with Percy, and decided that the safest thing to do was to play dumb.
"What did you say?"
"Don't play dumb, Runcorn," Mr. Weasley said angrily. "You hunted down that Wizard who made up the genealogy, didn't you?"
"I - so what if I did?"
"So what?
Dirk Cresswell is ten times as good a Wizard as you are! " Mr. Weasley whispered as the elevator continued its descent. "If he ever gets out of Azkaban, he'll be after you, not to mention his wife and friends -"
"Arthur," Harry interrupted. "Do you know that you're being followed?"
"Is that a threat? Runcorn? "
"No," Harry said. "It's the truth! They're watching your every move - "
The elevator doors opened and they were in the lobby.
Mr. Weasley gave Harry a stern look and stormed off.
Harry stood frozen, hoping that he wasn't pretending to be Runcorn... and the elevator doors clanged shut.
Harry pulled out the Invisibility Cloak and put it on again. Ron was still dealing with the rainy office, and he had to find a way to free Hermione on his own.
When the elevator doors opened, he stepped into a stone corridor lit by torches, very different from the carpeted and wood-paneled corridor on the upper floor.
The elevator clanged away, and Harry shivered slightly as he looked at the black door in the distance that marked the entrance to the Department of Mysteries.
He walked forward, not towards the black door, but towards the door on the left in his memory.
There was a flight of stairs that led down to the court.
As he crept down, he imagined all kinds of possibilities. He still had two bait bombs, but perhaps he could just knock on the door and go in as Runcorn and ask to speak to Mafalda?
Of course, he didn't know if Runcorn had that much power. Even if he did, Hermione's continued absence could lead to a search, and they hadn't had time to evacuate the Ministry of Magic...
Thinking about this, he didn't immediately feel an unusual chill creeping up on him. It was like falling into a fog, and every step he took was colder.
The chill poured down his throat, freezing his heart and lungs. He felt despair and helplessness invade his heart and spread through his body...
Dementors.
At the bottom of the stairs, Harry turned right and saw a horrible scene.
The dark corridor outside the court was filled with tall, hooded figures. Their faces were completely covered, and the only sound was the harsh sound of breathing.
The Wizard, who had been summoned to the court as Muggle, was huddled together in fear, shivering on the hardwood bench outside. It was a strange and uncomfortable sight.
Because many people were covering their faces with their hands, perhaps instinctively trying to block the Dementors' greedy mouths, the situation was a bit tragic, at least in Harry's eyes, uncomfortable.
Those people were huddled together, some were accompanied by their families, others were sitting alone.
The Dementors floated in front of them, and the chill, the helplessness, and despair were closing in on Harry like a curse...
Resist, he told himself, but he knew that if he summoned the Patronus here, he would be exposed immediately.
So he walked forward as quietly as possible. With every step, the numbness in his mind increased, but he forced himself to think of Hermione and Ron. They needed him.
It was terrifying to walk among the tall, black figures. As he walked past, the faces without eyes turned around under the hood. He was sure that they could feel him, maybe feel that there was still some hope in a person's body, some vitality...
Suddenly, in the frozen silence, the door of a court on the left side of the aisle opened, and there was an echoing shout.
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