The morning of Neville’s hearing was bright and warm, with not a breath of wind. But Neville, sitting up in his bed in number twelve, Grimmauld Place, felt cold and numb. He had not been able to sleep all night and now the sunlight was filtering through the curtains his sense of dread was rising. He knew that by the end of the day he could be in Azkaban.
Harry on the bed opposite him was sleeping soundly, and Neville dressed quietly so as not to wake him. He then went downstairs and made his own breakfast. The last couple of days he’d tended to rise early and eat his breakfast before anyone else was up. It gave him more time to be alone.
It wasn’t until he was just about finished that the Weasleys came down into the kitchen, closely followed by Lupin. They fussed over him, and Mrs Weasley did her best to smarten up his rather dishevelled appearance. Ginny did her best to try and raise his spirits and everybody assured him he had nothing to worry about, but Neville didn’t think they sounded entirely confident.
Sirius joined them a little later, and Harry was the last to rise. He patted Neville on the back and promised him a surprise when he returned. He didn’t elaborate and Neville didn’t ask; the idea that he might return Neville didn’t even want to think about at that moment, in case he got his hopes up.
There was knock at the door; it turned out to be Moody, who announced he’d arrived to escort Harry to the Ministry “I’m perfectly capable of escorting him myself, Alastor, seeing as I’m going anyway,” said Mr Weasley.
“No disrespect, Arthur, but I’d rather do this myself,” insisted Moody. “Neville’s safety is our utmost priority and I would not trust anyone with myself with such a task.” Moody had always been very protective of Neville, stemming, so Moody had told him, from the great respect he’d had for Neville’s parents as fellow Aurors. “You can come along as far the Ministry entrance. It never hurts to have an extra pair of eyes on the lookout for trouble.”
So, ten minutes later, Neville, Moody and Mr Weasley left number twelve, Grimmauld Place and headed out into Muggle London. Moody’s only consideration to being among Muggles was a rather crude eyepatch covering his magical eye; he drew numerous strange looks from the morning commuters. They took the Underground into the centre of London. Neville found the experience rather claustrophobic and uncomfortable surrounded by so many Muggles. Mr Weasley on the other hand was utterly delighted. He wore an expression of pure joy and excitement on his face for the entire journey.
Despite Moody’s concerns, the journey passed uneventfully. When they reached the entrance to the Ministry of Magic, Mr Weasley parted from them, as Moody had to take Neville in via the visitor’s entrance. Moody led Neville to a dirty back street, where they found a rather beat-up old red telephone box.
Moody stepped into the box and ushered Neville inside too. He lifted the receiver and dialled a five digit number, muttering, “The number just spells ‘magic’. Couldn’t they have come up with a more secure code?” He then spoke into the receiver, saying, “Alastor Moody escorting Neville Longbottom to his disciplinary hearing.” The coin return slot then spat out two badges. Neville pinned the one saying Neville Longbottom, Disciplinary Hearing to his jumper. The telephone box descended into the ground.
Neville had never been inside the Ministry of Magic before, and he found his first sight of the vast Atrium extremely daunting. He kept close in behind Moody as they made their way through the crowds towards the lifts at the far end. They were required to check their wands with the security guard, then they boarded a lift up to Level Two.
“This way,” said Moody, and led the way down a maze of corridors. They passed a door with a sign reading: Auror Headquarters. “Watch this,” said Moody with a smile. He gently pushed the door ajar and stuck his head round to look in. There were almost instantly several cries of shock and alarm, bordering on panic. “Just passing through,” Moody announced, and withdrew his head. “Still got it,” he said to Neville. “Time was the mere sound of my approach would send that whole room into fits of terror. Good to see I’ve not wholly been forgotten.”
They passed on, and eventually came to a door marked: Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and underneath: Mrs A.S. Bones. Moody knocked loudly. There was no reply. Moody knocked again. Still no answer. “Wand out, Neville,” said Moody, withdrawing his own.
“She’s probably just not in yet,” said Neville.
“Never make assumptions, Neville,” replied Moody. “Constant vigilance.” He pointed his wand at the door, which unlocked and swung open. He paused for a moment, then cautiously entered the office. Neville followed behind. It was empty.
“See, I was right,” Neville observed.
“She was always one for punctuality from what I remember of her,” muttered Moody to himself. He returned to the corridor and, seeing a passing office worker, seized him by the collar and demanded, “You! Where’s Amelia Bones?”
The poor man was quite flustered, and Moody was an intimidating figure to anyone. Eventually he managed to blurt out, “I-I think she’s down in Courtroom Ten. Y-you know, the old courtrooms down by the Department of Mysteries. Something about a Wizengamot trial, I think.”
Moody growled angrily and released the man, who fled as fast as he could run. “Come on!” barked Moody to Neville. He set off down the corridor, back the way they’d come, as fast as his artificial leg would allow.
Neville hurried after him. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“It sounds like Fudge is playing games,” replied Moody. “A full trial, what is he playing at? They won’t stand for it “ they’d better not.” They returned to the lifts and took one heading down. Neville saw Moody was looking even more anxious and agitated than normal.
The lift descended past the Atrium to Level Nine. “Department of Mysteries,” announced the lift voice. Neville stepped out into a dark empty corridor, quite unlike those of the higher floors. A heavy black door stood at the end of the corridor and a passageway led down some steps to the left. Moody hurried him towards the steps. “What’s in there?” Neville asked.
“Never you mind,” Moody replied. “This way.” They reached the bottom of the steps and rushed along another corridor before reaching a large oak door. “In you go,” said Moody. “Stay calm, be honest and don’t let them bully you. I’ll be waiting out here.” He opened the door and pushed Neville inside.
Neville was shocked to find the room in which found himself was familiar to him. It was huge and bowl-shaped, with rows of raised benches surrounding the sunken central area into which Neville walked. Neville remembered when he had seen this room before “ in Dumbledore’s Pensieve, when he had witnessed Snape selling out his Death Eater colleagues and buying his way out of Azkaban. The thought of Snape made him briefly shiver.
Two chairs had been placed in the centre of the room. One was empty, on the other sat Mundungus Fletcher; evidently the Ministry had decided to conduct their trials simultaneously. Sat on the benches were rows and rows of purple-robed witches and wizards. In the centre on the front row sat Cornelius Fudge himself, flanked by two witches Neville didn’t recognise. One had grey hair and wore a monocle; she looked very forbidding. The other resembled nothing less than a squat ugly toad, with a squashed face and protruding eyes. At the end of the row, Neville recognised Percy Weasley, Ron’s older brother, but he was steadfastly refusing to catch Neville’s eye.
“You’re late,” snapped Fudge. “Sit down.” Neville took the empty seat, and Fudge banged a gavel to call for order. “This disciplinary hearing, held on the fourteenth day of August, 1995, is hereby convened,” he announced. “Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Amelia Susan Bones and Dolores Jane Umbridge presiding. The defendants, Mundungus Archibald Fletcher, of number three, Walford Street, London, and Neville Eric Longbottom, of number twenty-six, Preston Road, Huddlesby, are charged with production of magic, namely Patronus Charms, in full view of a Muggle, thus violating the International Statute of Secrecy and, in Mr Longbottom’s case, the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery.”
Fudge leaned forward over the bench and looked down on Mundungus and Neville. “I observe that you have both declined representation,” he said.
“That would be incorrect, Minister,” said a calm voice from behind Neville. Neville turned and was overjoyed to see none other than Dumbledore striding across the room towards them. “My apologies to the court,” he added. “Since arriving at the Ministry, I have been directed to three different places in different corners of this institution, where I was told this hearing would take place. All due to a totally accidental series of misunderstandings, no doubt.”
Fudge glared at Dumbledore, but said nothing in response. Instead, he turned back to Mundungus and Neville. “How do you plead?” he asked.
“Not guilty!” said Mundungus loudly, in a way that suggested he had had much practise of saying those words.
Neville looked across at Dumbledore for reassurance, but Dumbledore was not looking at him. “Not guilty,” he mumbled timidly.
“Then you both deny making a Patronus?” said Fudge.
“Oh no, I made one,” answered Mundungus, “but only because of ’em ruddy Dementors.”
There was a murmur around the courtroom. Fudge gave a weak laugh.”Dementors? You don’t really expect anyone to believe...”
But he was interrupted by the grey-haired witch. “Are you serious?” she asked. “Dementors, in a place such as Huddlesby? I suggest you give us a full account of the event, Mr Fletcher.”
“I don’t think the Wizengamot wants to hear any fanciful made-up stories...” said Fudge.
“Excuse me, Minister,” interrupted Dumbledore, “but I believe in any criminal case the accused has the right to speak in his own defence. Is that not so, Madam Bones?” The grey-haired witch nodded.
Fudge sighed. “Very well. In fact, I am most anxious to know what Mr Fletcher of London was doing wandering about a Lancashire village with only one wizarding family.” He shot a suspicious glance at Dumbledore, but Dumbledore continued to smile serenely.
“Well, you see,” began Mundungus, “I was, um, visitin’ an old dear friend of mine. She’s a Squib, you see, an’ lives in Huddlesby. Well, that evenin’ we were out for a walk, an’ we just happened to pass by this field near where Neville lives.” Neville shifted uncomfortably in his seat. For a career criminal, Mundungus was a terrible liar. He’d obviously had some instruction from Dumbledore not to reveal anything about the Order of the Phoenix.
Mundungus continued his story. “Well, then I hear shouts, so I look in the field and see these two Dementors attacking these two boys. One of ’em has a wand out, so I know he’s a wizard, and is trying to cast a Patronus. He gets off a weak one, but it’s not enough to drive the Dementors away. So I rushed to help him and drove ’em off myself. It was only then I discovered the other boy was a Muggle.”
“Is that what happened?” Madam Bones asked Neville. Neville just nodded silently, not daring to speak, and desperately hoping Mundungus would be believed.
“I don’t know how anyone could believe such a pack of lies,” said Fudge. “Many members of the Wizengamot will know that this man is a recidivist criminal who has been prosecuted for numerous offences over the years. Who could possibly take anything this man says seriously?”
“Mr Fletcher is not on trial for any crimes he many have committed in the past, only for this particular offence,” said Dumbledore calmly. “If however you will not accept him at his word, then the Squib that he mentioned, Mrs Arabella Figg, is waiting outside the courtroom at this very moment. She is a woman of blameless character and utmost integrity, and is prepared to testify to corroborate Mr Fletcher’s account.”
Mrs Figg was ushered into the courtroom and gave her evidence. Fudge did his best to harass and intimidate her, but she stuck firmly to the same story Mundungus had given. Fudge was getting more and more flustered. “Look, I’m sorry, but how can two Dementors possibly have ended up in Huddlesby of all places?” he argued.
“Logic dictates that there are only two possibilities,” said Dumbledore. “Either they went under instruction from within the Ministry, or under instruction from without.”
At this point the toad-like witch, who had remained silent so far, cleared her throat with a soft but audible hem, hem. “That is a very serious allegation against the Ministry, Professor,” she said in an airy, high-pitched voice. “I hope you have evidence to justify such a slander.”
“I was not making accusations, Miss Umbridge, only voicing possibilities. If the order came from a Ministry member, well, it is not my place to comment on what goes on within the Ministry, particularly as I am no longer a member of any of its institutions. I am sure the Ministry’s internal procedures will be more than adequate to clear up the mystery. Of course, if the order came from without, then there is only one possibility as to who could have issued it.”
Dumbledore looked pointedly at Fudge, who was boiling with barely contained rage. “I do not think we need to hear any more,” Fudge snapped.
“I quite agree, Minister,” replied Dumbledore. “The matter is quite simple. Since the law is quite clear that magic may be used before Muggles if one’s life or the lives of others are in danger, then if you accept the testimony before you, there can be only one verdict. We await your decision.”
Neville, who had not spoken throughout the entire proceedings, could not bear to look. He buried his face in his hands and waited as the vote was called for conviction or acquittal. There was a horrible long pause before Fudge said, in a disgruntled voice, “Both acquitted.”
An incredible rush of relief flooded over Neville. He looked up to offer his heartfelt thanks to Dumbledore, but the Headmaster had already gone.
* * *
Stepping outside the courtroom, Neville found himself quite unexpectedly smothered in a big hug from his Gran. “Thank God,” she said. “I got here just after you, but they wouldn’t allow me inside. We just saw Dumbledore, and he told us.”
“Did Dumbledore not stay?” Neville asked.
Moody was standing just behind Gran. “Afraid not,” he said. “He’s got important business to attend to. I bet he twisted Fudge around his little finger in there, eh, Neville? Good to hear there’s still some justice left in this place.”
At that moment, the courtroom door opened. Mundungus stepped out first, and hobbled away up the corridor. He was followed by Fudge, who strode past Neville, Gran and Moody without even acknowledging their presence, even under Moody’s piercing glare. Immediately behind him toddled the short figure of Umbridge. She paused in front of Neville and gave him an appraising look, as if trying to determine something. She then caught sight of Moody staring suspiciously at her, gave him a thin smile and walked on. Neville saw Moody’s magical eye swivel in its socket, watching Umbridge go. “Do you know her?” said Neville.
“Only by reputation,” Moody replied, and did not offer any further explanation.
“Right,” said Gran, “I think we’ll all go out for a meal to celebrate. Will you join us, Mr Moody?”
“I’m sorry, but that’s out of the question, Mrs Longbottom,” insisted Moody. “For his own safety, Neville has to return to Headquarters immediately. The less hanging about, the better. Let’s go, Neville.”
They walked down the corridor away from the courtroom and climbed the stairs to head back to the lift. At the top of the stairs, Neville suddenly felt his scar burn. He stopped and rubbed his forehead. “What is it, Neville?” asked Gran.
“Nothing,” Neville lied unconvincingly. He turned and looked behind him to see the closed heavy black door he had seen on the way down. Something about the door seemed oddly familiar to Neville and the pain in his scar flared again at the sight of it, but Moody quickly took him by the arm and led him away.
Neville Longbottom and the Order of the Phoenix by Sonorus
Chapter Notes: In which Neville travels to the Ministry of Magic and faces his hearing.***