Chapter 7 The Ministry Of Magic

Harry awoke at half-past five the next morning as abruptly and completely as if somebody had yelled in his ear. For a few moments he lay immobile as the prospect of the disciplinary hearing filled every tiny particle of his brain, then, unable to bear it, he leapt out of bed and put on his glasses. Mrs. Weasley had laid out his freshly laundered jeans and T-shirt at the foot of his bed. Harry scrambled into them. The blank picture on the wall sniggered.

Ron was lying sprawled on his back with his mouth wide open, fast asleep. He did not stir as Harry crossed the room, stepped out on to the landing and closed the door softly behind him. Trying not to think of the next time he would see Ron, when they might no longer be fellow students at Hogwarts, Harry walked quietly down the stairs, past the heads of Kreacher's ancestors, and down into the kitchen.

He had expected it to be empty, but when he reached the door he heard the soft rumble of voices on the other side. He pushed it open and saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Sirius, Lupin, and Tonks sitting there almost as though they were waiting for him. All were fully dressed except Mrs. Weasley, who was wearing a quilted purple dressing gown. She leapt to her feet the moment Harry entered.

‘Breakfast,’ she said as she pulled out her wand and hurried over to the fire.

‘M-m-morning, Harry,’ yawned Tonks. Her hair was blonde and curly this morning. ‘Sleep all right?’

‘Yeah,’ said Harry.

‘I've b-b-been up all night,’ she said, with another shuddering yawn. ‘Come and sit down....’

She drew out a chair, knocking over the one beside it in the process.

‘What do you want, Harry?’ Mrs. Weasley called. ‘Porridge? Muffins? Kippers? Bacon and eggs? Toast?’

‘Just—just toast, thanks,’ said Harry.

Lupin glanced at Harry, then said to Tonks, ‘What were you saying about Scrimgeour?’

‘Oh ... yeah ... well, we need to be a bit more careful, he's been asking Kingsley and me funny questions....’

Harry felt vaguely grateful that he was not required to join in the conversation. His insides were squirming. Mrs. Weasley placed a couple of pieces of toast and marmalade in front of him; he tried to eat, but it was like chewing carpet. Mrs Weasley sat down on his other side and started fussing with his T-shirt, tucking in the label and smoothing out the creases across his shoulders. He wished she wouldn't.

‘...and I'll have to tell Dumbledore I can't do night duty tomorrow, I'm just t-t-too tired,’ Tonks finished, yawning hugely again.

‘I'll cover for you,’ said Mr. Weasley. ‘I'm OK, I've got a report to finish anyway....’

Mr. Weasley was not wearing wizards’ robes but a pair of pinstriped trousers and an old bomber jacket. He turned from Tonks to Harry.

‘How are you feeling?’

Harry shrugged.

‘It'll all be over soon,’ Mr. Weasley said bracingly. ‘In a few hours’ time you'll be cleared.’

Harry said nothing.

‘The hearing's on my floor, in Amelia Bones's office. She's Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and she's the one who'll be questioning you.’

‘Amelia Bones is OK, Harry,’ said Tonks earnestly. ‘She's fair, she'll hear you out.’

Harry nodded, still unable to think of anything to say.

‘Don't lose your temper,’ said Sirius abruptly. ‘Be polite and stick to the facts.’

Harry nodded again.

‘The law's on your side,’ said Lupin quietly. ‘Even underage wizards are allowed to use magic in life-threatening situations.’

Something very cold trickled down the back of Harry's neck; for a moment he thought someone was putting a Disillusionment Charm on him, then he realised that Mrs. Weasley was attacking his hair with a wet comb. She pressed hard on the top of his head.

‘Doesn't it ever lie flat?’ she said desperately.

Harry shook his head.

‘Mr. Weasley checked his watch and looked up at Harry. I think we'll go now,’ he said. ‘We're a bit early, but I think you'll be better off at the Ministry than hanging around here.’

‘OK,’ said Harry automatically, dropping his toast and getting to his feet.

‘You'll be all right, Harry,’ said Tonks, patting him on the arm.

‘Good luck,’ said Lupin. ‘I'm sure it will be fine.’

‘And if it's not,’ said Sirius grimly, ‘I'll see to Amelia Bones for you....’

Harry smiled weakly. Mrs. Weasley hugged him.

‘We've all got our fingers crossed,’ she said.

‘Right,’ said Harry. ‘Well ... see you later then.’

He followed Mr. Weasley upstairs and along the hall. He could hear Sirius's mother grunting in her sleep behind her curtains. Mr. Weasley unbolted the door and they stepped out into the cold, grey dawn.

‘You don't normally walk to work, do you?’ Harry asked him, as they set off briskly around the square.

‘No, I usually Apparate,’ said Mr. Weasley, ‘but obviously you can't, and I think it's best we arrive in a thoroughly non-magical fashion ... makes a better impression, given what you're being disciplined for....’

Mr. Weasley kept his hand inside his jacket as they walked. Harry knew it was clenched around his wand. The run-down streets were almost deserted, but when they arrived at the miserable little underground station they found it already lull of early-morning commuters. As ever when he found himself in close proximity to Muggles going about their daily business, Mr. Weasley was hard put to contain his enthusiasm.

‘Simply fabulous,’ he whispered, indicating the automatic ticket machines. ‘Wonderfully ingenious.’

‘They're out of order,’ said Harry, pointing at the sign.

‘Yes, but even so...’ said Mr. Weasley, beaming at them fondly.

They bought their tickets instead from a sleepy-looking guard (Harry handled the transaction, as Mr. Weasley was not very good with Muggle money) and five minutes later they were boarding an underground train that rattled them off towards the centre of London. Mr. Weasley kept anxiously checking and re-checking the Underground Map above the windows.

‘Four stops, Harry ... three stops left now ... two stops to go, Harry...’

They got off at a station in the very heart of London, and were swept from the train in a tide of besuited men and women carrying briefcases. Up the escalator they went, through the ticket barrier (Mr. Weasley delighted with the way the stile swallowed his ticket), and emerged on to a broad street lined with imposing-looking buildings and already full of traffic.

‘Where are we?’ said Mr. Weasley blankly, and for one heart-stopping moment Harry thought they had got off at the wrong station despite Mr. Weasley's continual references to the map; but a second later he said, ‘Ah yes ... this way, Harry,’ and led him down a side road.

‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘but I never come by train and it all looks rather different from a Muggle perspective. As a matter of fact, I've never even used the visitors’ entrance before.’

The further they walked, the smaller and less imposing the buildings became, until finally they reached a street that contained several rather shabby-looking offices, a pub and an overflowing skip. Harry had expected a rather more impressive location for the Ministry of Magic.

‘Here we are,’ said Mr. Weasley brightly, pointing at an old red telephone box, which was missing several panes of glass and stood before a heavily graffitied wall. ‘After you, Harry.’

He opened the telephone-box door.

Harry stepped inside, wondering what on earth this was about. Mr. Weasley folded himself in beside Harry and closed the door. It was a tight fit; Harry was jammed against the telephone apparatus, which was hanging crookedly from the wall as though a vandal had tried to rip it off. Mr. Weasley reached past Harry for the receiver.

‘Mr. Weasley, I think this might be out of order, too,’ Harry said.

‘No, no, I'm sure its fine,’ said Mr. Weasley, holding the receiver above his head and peering at the dial. ‘Let's see ... six...’ he dialled the number, ‘two ... four ... and another four ... and another two...’

As the dial whirred smoothly back into place, a cool female voice sounded inside the telephone box, not from the receiver in Mr. Weasley's hand, but as loudly and plainly as though an invisible woman were standing right beside them.

‘Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.’

‘Er...’ said Mr. Weasley, clearly uncertain whether or not he should talk into the receiver. He compromised by holding the mouthpiece to his ear, ‘Arthur Weasley, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, here to escort Harry Potter, who has been asked to attend a disciplinary hearing....’

‘Thank you,’ said the cool female voice. ‘Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes.’

There was a click and a rattle, and Harry saw something slide out of the metal chute where returned coins usually appeared. He picked it up: it was a square silver badge with Harry Potter, Disciplinary Hearing on it. He pinned it to the front of his T-shirt as the female voice spoke again.

‘Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium ’

The floor of the telephone box shuddered. They were sinking slowly into the ground. Harry watched apprehensively as the pavement seemed to rise up past the glass windows of the telephone box until darkness closed over their heads. Then he could see nothing at all; he could hear only a dull grinding noise as the telephone box made its way down through the earth. After about a minute, though it felt much longer to Harry, a chink of golden light illuminated his feet and, widening, rose up his body, until it hit him in the face and he had to blink to stop his eyes watering.

‘The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day,’ said the woman's voice.

The door of the telephone box sprang open and Mr. Weasley stepped out of it, followed by Harry, whose mouth had fallen open.

They were standing at one end of a very long and splendid hall with a highly polished, dark wood floor. The peacock blue ceiling was inlaid with gleaming golden symbols that kept moving and changing like some enormous heavenly noticeboard. The wall's on each side were panelled in shiny dark wood and had many gilded fireplaces set into them. Every few seconds a witch or wizard would emerge from one of the left-hand fireplaces with a soft whoosh; on the right-hand side, short queues were forming before each fireplace, waiting to depart.

Halfway down the hall was a fountain. A group of golden statues, larger than life-size, stood in the middle of a circular pool. Tallest of them all was a noble-looking wizard with his wand pointing straight up in the air. Grouped around him were a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin and a house-elf. The last three were all looking adoringly up at the witch and wizard. Glittering jets of water were flying from the ends of the two wands, the point of the centaur's arrow, the tip of the goblin's hat, and each of the house-elf's ears, so that the tinkling hiss of falling water was added to the pops and cracks of the Apparators and the clatter of footsteps as hundreds of witches and wizards, most of whom were wearing glum, early-morning looks, strode towards a set of golden gates at the far end of the hall.

‘This way,’ said Mr. Weasley.

They joined the throng, wending their way between the Ministry workers, some of whom were carrying tottering piles of parchment, others battered briefcases, still others were reading the Daily Prophet while they walked. As they passed the fountain Harry saw silver Sickles and bronze Knuts glinting up at him from the bottom of the pool. A small smudged sign beside it read:

All proceeds from the fountain of magical brethren will be given to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

If I'm not expelled from Hogwarts, I'll put in ten Galleons, Harry found himself thinking desperately.

‘Over here, Harry,’ said Mr. Weasley, and they stepped out of the stream of Ministry employees heading for the golden gates. Seated at a desk to the left, beneath a sign saying SECURITY, a badly-shaven wizard in peacock-blue robes looked up as they approached and put down his Daily Prophet.

‘I'm escorting a visitor,’ said Mr. Weasley, gesturing towards Harry.

‘Step over here,’ said the wizard in a bored voice.

Harry walked closer to him and the wizard held up a long golden rod, thin and flexible as a car aerial, and passed it up and down Harry's front and back.

‘Wand,’ grunted the security wizard at Harry, putting down the golden instrument and holding out his hand.

Harry produced his wand. The wizard dropped it on to a strange brass instrument, which looked something like a set of scales with only one dish. It began to vibrate. A narrow strip of parchment came speeding out of a slit in the base. The wizard tore this off and read the writing on it.

‘Eleven inches, phoenix-feather core, been in use four years. That correct?’

‘Yes,’ said Harry nervously.

‘I keep this,’ said the wizard, impaling the slip of parchment on a small brass spike. ‘You get this back,’ he added, thrusting the wand at Harry.

‘Thank you.’

‘Hang on....’ said the wizard slowly.

His eyes had darted from the silver visitor's badge on Harry's chest to his forehead.

‘Thank you, Eric,’ said Mr. Weasley firmly, and grasping Harry by the shoulder he steered him away from the desk and back into the stream of wizards and witches walking through the golden gates.

Jostled slightly by the crowd, Harry followed Mr. Weasley through the gates into the smaller hall beyond, where at least twenty lifts stood behind wrought golden grilles. Harry and Mr. Weasley joined the crowd around one of them. Nearby, stood a big bearded wizard holding a large cardboard box which was emitting rasping noises.

‘All right, Arthur?’ said the wizard, nodding at Mr. Weasley.

‘What've you got there, Bob?’ asked Mr. Weasley, looking at the box.

‘We're not sure,’ said the wizard seriously. ‘We thought it was a bog-standard chicken until it started breathing fire. Looks like a serious breach of the Ban on Experimental Breeding to me.’

With a great jangling and clattering a lift descended in front of them; the golden grille slid back and Harry and Mr. Weasley stepped into the lift with the rest of the crowd and Harry found himself jammed against the back wall. Several witches and wizards were looking at him curiously; he stared at his feet to avoid catching anyone's eye, flattening his fringe as he did so. The grilles slid shut with a crash and the lift ascended slowly, chains rattling, while the same cool female voice Harry had heard in the telephone box rang out again.

‘Level Seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club and Ludicrous Patents Office.’

The lift doors opened; Harry glimpsed an untidy-looking corridor, with various posters of Quidditch teams tacked lopsidedly on the walls. One of the wizards in the lift, who was carrying an armful of broomsticks, extricated himself with difficulty and disappeared down the corridor. The doors closed, the lift juddered upwards again and the woman's voice announced:

‘Level Six, Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparation Test Centre.’

Once again the lift doors opened and four or five witches and wizards got out; at the same time, several paper aeroplanes swooped into the lift. Harry stared up at them as they flapped idly around above his head; they were a pale violet colour and he could see MINISTRY OF MAGIC stamped along the edge of their wings.

‘Just inter-departmental memos,’ Mr. Weasley muttered to him. ‘We used to use owls, but the mess was unbelievable ... droppings all over the desks...’

As they clattered upwards again the memos flapped around the lamp swaying from the lift's ceiling.

‘Level Five, Department of International Magical Cooperation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats.’

When the doors opened, two of the memos zoomed out with a few more of the witches and wizards, but several more memos zoomed in, so that the light from the lamp flickered and flashed overhead as they darted around it.

‘Level Four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau.

’ ‘S'cuse,’ said the wizard carrying the fire-breathing chicken and he left the lift pursued by a little flock of memos. The doors clanged shut yet again.

‘Level Three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters, and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee.’

Everybody left the lift on this floor except Mr. Weasley, Harry, and a witch who was reading an extremely long piece of parchment that was trailing on the floor. The remaining memos continued to soar around the lamp as the lift juddered upwards again, then the doors opened and the voice made its announcement.

‘Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services.’

‘This is us, Harry,’ said Mr. Weasley, and they followed the witch out of the lift into a corridor lined with doors. ‘My office is on the other side of the floor.’

‘Mr. Weasley,’ said Harry, as they passed a window through which sunlight was streaming, ‘aren't we still underground?’

‘Yes, we are,’ said Mr. Weasley. ‘Those are enchanted windows. Magical Maintenance decide what weather we'll get every day. We had two months of hurricanes last time they were angling for a pay rise.... Just round here, Harry.’

They turned a corner, walked through a pair of heavy oak doors and emerged in a cluttered open area divided into cubicles, which was buzzing with talk and laughter. Memos were zooming in and out of cubicles like miniature rockets. A lopsided sign on the nearest cubicle read AUROR HEADQUARTERS.

Harry looked surreptitiously through the doorways as they passed. The Aurors had covered their cubicle walls with everything From pictures of wanted wizards and photographs of their families, to posters of their favourite Quidditch teams and articles from the Daily Prophet. A scarlet-robed man with a ponytail longer than Bill's was sitting with his boots up on his desk, dictating a report to his quill. A little further along, a witch with a patch over one eye was talking over the top of her cubicle wall to Kingsley Shacklebolt.

‘Morning, Weasley,’ said Kingsley carelessly, as they drew nearer. ‘I've been wanting a word with you, have you got a second?’

‘Yes, if it really is a second,’ said Mr. Weasley, ‘I'm in rather a hurry.’

They were talking as though they hardly knew each other and when Harry opened his mouth to say hello to Kingsley, Mr. Weasly stood on his foot. They followed Kingsley along the row and into the very last cubicle.

Harry received a slight shock; blinking down at him from every direction was Sirius's face. Newspaper cuttings and old photographs—even the one of Sirius being best man at the Potters’ wedding—papered the walls. The only Sirius-free space was a map of the world in which little red pins were glowing like jewels.

‘Here,’ said Kingsley brusquely to Mr. Weasley, shoving a sheaf of parchment into his hand. ‘I need as much information as possible on flying Muggle vehicles sighted in the last twelve months. We've received information that Black might still be using his old motorcycle.’

Kingsley tipped Harry an enormous wink and added, in a whisper, ‘Give him the magazine, he might find it interesting.’ Then he said in normal tones, ‘And don't take too long, Weasley, the delay on that firelegs report held our investigation up for a month.’

‘If you had read my report you would know that the term is “firearms",’ said Mr. Weasley coolly. ‘And I'm afraid you'll have to wait for information on motorcycles; we're extremely busy at the moment.’ He dropped his voice and said, ‘If you can get away before seven, Molly's making meatballs.’

He beckoned to Harry and led him out of Kingsley's cubicle, through a second set of oak doors, into another passage, turned left, marched along another corridor, turned right into a dimly lit and distinctly shabby corridor, and finally reached a dead end, where a door on the left stood ajar, revealing a broom cupboard, and a door on the right bore a tarnished brass plaque reading Misuse of Muggle Artefacts.

Mr. Weasley's dingy office seemed to be slightly smaller than the broom cupboard. Two desks had been crammed inside it and there was barely space to move around them because of all the overflowing filing cabinets lining the walls, on top of which were tottering piles of files. The little wall space available bore witness to Mr. Weasley's obsessions; there were several posters of cars, including one of a dismantled engine, two illustrations of postboxes he seemed to have cut out of Muggle children's books, and a diagram showing how to wire a plug.

Sitting on top of Mr. Weasley's overflowing in-tray was an old toaster that was hiccoughing in a disconsolate way and a pair of empty leather gloves that were twiddling their thumbs. A photograph of the Weasley family stood beside the in-tray. Harry noticed that Percy appeared to have walked out of it.

‘We haven't got a window,’ said Mr. Weasley apologetically, taking off his bomber jacket and placing it on the back of his chair. ‘We've asked, but they don't seem to think we need one. Have a seat, Harry, doesn't look as if Perkins is in yet.’

Harry squeezed himself into the chair behind Perkins's desk while Mr. Weasley riffled through the sheaf of parchment Kingsley Shacklebolt had given him.

‘Ah,’ he said, grinning, as he extracted a copy of a magazine entitled The Quibbler from its midst, ‘yes...’ He flicked through it. ‘Yes, he's right, I'm sure Sirius will find that very amusing—oh dear, what's this now?’

A memo had just zoomed in through the open door and fluttered to rest on top of the hiccoughing toaster. Mr. Weasley unfolded it and read aloud, ‘"Third regurgitating public toilet reported in Bethnal Green, kindly investigate immediately.” This is getting ridiculous ...’

‘A regurgitating toilet?’

‘Anti-Muggle pranksters,’ said Mr. Weasley, frowning. ‘We had two last week, one in Wimbledon, one in Elephant and Castle. Muggles are pulling the flush and instead of everything disappearing—well, you can imagine. The poor things keep calling in those—pumbles, I think they're called—you know, the ones who mend pipes and things.’

‘Plumbers?’

‘—exactly, yes, but of course they're flummoxed. I only hope we can catch whoever's doing it.’

‘Will it be Aurors who catch them?’

‘Oh no, this is too trivial for Aurors, it'll be the ordinary Magical Law Enforcement Patrol—ah, Harry, this is Perkins.’

A stooped, timid-looking old wizard with fluffy white hair had just entered the room, panting.

‘Oh, Arthur!’ he said desperately, without looking at Harry. ‘Thank goodness, I didn't know what to do for the best, whether to wait here for you or not. I've just sent an owl to your home but you've obviously missed it—an urgent message came ten minutes ago—’

‘I know about the regurgitating toilet,’ said Mr. Weasley.

‘No, no, it's not the toilet, it's the Potter boy's hearing—they've changed the time and venue—it starts at eight o'clock now and it's down in old Courtroom Ten—’

‘Down in old— but they told me—Merlin's beard—’

Mr. Weasley looked at his watch, let out a yelp and leapt from his chair.

‘Quick, Harry, we should have been there five minutes ago!’

Perkins flattened himself against the filing cabinets as Mr. Weasley left the office at a run, Harry close on his heels.

‘Why have they changed the time?’ Harry said breathlessly, as they hurtled past the Auror cubicles; people poked out their heads and stared as they streaked past. Harry felt as though he had left all his insides back at Perkins's desk.

‘I've no idea, but thank goodness we got here so early, if you'd missed it, it would have been catastrophic!’

Mr. Weasley skidded to a halt beside the lifts and jabbed impatiently at the ‘down’ button.

‘Come ON!’

The lift clattered into view and they hurried inside. Every time it stopped Mr. Weasley cursed furiously and pummelled the number nine button.

‘Those courtrooms haven't been used in years,’ said Mr. Weasley angrily. ‘I can't think why they're doing it down there—unless—but no...’

A plump witch carrying a smoking goblet entered the lift at that moment, and Mr. Weasley did not elaborate.

‘The Atrium,’ said the cool female voice and the golden grilles slid open, showing Harry a distant glimpse of the golden statues in the fountain. The plump witch got out and a sallow-skinned wizard with a very mournful face got in.

‘Morning, Arthur,’ he said in a sepulchral voice as the lift began to descend. ‘Don't often see you down here....’

‘Urgent business, Bode,’ said Mr. Weasley, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet and throwing anxious looks over at Harry.

‘Ah, yes,’ said Bode, surveying Harry unblinkingly. ‘Of course.’

Harry barely had emotion to spare for Bode, but his unfaltering gaze did not make him feel any more comfortable.

‘Department of Mysteries,’ said the cool female voice, and left it at that.

‘Quick, Harry,’ said Mr. Weasley as the lift doors rattled open, and they sped up a corridor that was quite different from those above. The walls were bare; there were no windows and no doors apart from a plain black one set at the very end of the corridor. Harry expected them to go through it, but instead Mr. Weasley seized him by the arm and dragged him to the left, where there was an opening leading to a flight of steps.

‘Down here, down here,’ panted Mr. Weasley, taking two steps at a time. ‘The lift doesn't even come down this far ... why they're doing it down there...’

They reached the bottom of the steps and ran along yet another corridor, which bore a great resemblance to the one that led to Snape's dungeon at Hogwarts, with rough stone walls and torches in brackets. The doors they passed here were heavy wooden ones with iron bolts and keyholes.

‘Courtroom ... ten ... I think ... we're nearly ... yes.’

Mr. Weasley stumbled to a halt outside a grimy dark door with an immense iron lock and slumped against the wall, clutching at a stitch in his chest.

‘Go on,’ he panted, pointing his thumb at the door. ‘Get in there.’

‘Aren't—aren't you coming with—?’

‘No, no, I'm not allowed. Good luck!’

Harry's heart was beating a violent tattoo against his Adam's apple. He swallowed hard, turned the heavy iron door handle and stepped inside the courtroom.

哈利在第二天早晨五点半的时候突然完全惊醒，仿佛有人在他耳边大声叫喊一样。有一小段时间他稳稳的躺在床上，纪律听证会的情景充满了他脑子的每一个角落，几乎让哈利无法忍受，他跳下床戴上眼镜。威斯里太太已经将他的牛仔裤和T恤衫清洗干净并且放在床脚。墙上那幅空白的画也在吃吃的笑着。

　　罗恩四肢张开仰面躺着，嘴巴张的大大的，很快就睡着了，当哈利穿过房间的时候他并没有被吵醒。哈利走出卧室站在楼板上并轻轻的带上身后的门。哈利试图再次系统的思考这个问题，他看看罗恩的样子，也许他们再也不能在霍格瓦彻成为同学了，哈利平静的下楼，穿过克瑞彻祖先的头像装饰，然后向下进了厨房。

　　他本来希望厨房现在没人，但是当哈利到达门口的时候他听见另一边传来低低的谈话声。他推开房门就看见威斯里夫妇、天狼星、卢平和唐克丝都坐在里面，这种情景几乎就象是他们正在等他一样。除了威斯里太太之外所有人都衣冠楚楚，而威斯里太太则穿了一件夹棉的紫色睡袍。当哈利进来的时候她正在跳着脚。

　　“早餐，”威斯里太太抽出魔杖匆匆忙忙的点上火。

　　“早—早—早上好，哈利，”唐克丝打着哈欠说道。她的头发今天早晨是白色的而且略微卷曲，“过来坐下吧。”

　　她拽出了一只椅子，并且把旁边的一只挪开了。

　　“你要来点什么，哈利？”威斯里太太问道。“麦片粥？松饼？腌鱼？熏肉和鸡蛋？还是烤面包？”

　　“就要—就要烤面包，谢谢，”哈利说道。

　　卢平扫了一眼哈利，然后就对唐克丝说道，“你刚才说斯奎慕怎么了？”

　　“哦…是的…好的，我们需要更加的小心一点，他已经问了肯斯雷和我一些奇怪的问题…”

　　哈利感到一丝模模糊糊的感激，他并不需要参与这场谈话。他的体内正在蠕动。威斯里太太将两片烤面包和橘子果酱放到了哈利的面前；他试着去吃，可是味同嚼蜡。威斯里太太坐到了他的另外一边，并且开始对他的T恤衫大惊小怪，压平标签，从肩膀开始抹平折痕。可是哈利希望她不要这么做。

　　“…而且我必须告诉丹伯多明天晚上我不能值夜班，我只是太—太—太累，”唐克丝说完又打了一个大大的哈欠。

　　“我会替你的，”威斯里太太说道，“我没问题的。反正不管怎样我都要赶完一份报告。”

　　威斯里先生没有穿巫师的长袍，而是穿了细条纹的长裤和一件老式的轰炸机夹克衫。他把头从唐克丝那里转向哈利。

　　“感觉如何？”

　　哈利耸耸肩。

　　“很快就会结束的，”威斯里先生振作起来说道，“几个小时之后你就会没事的。”

　　听证会在和我的同层的埃米拉·波恩斯的办公室举行。她是魔法条例执行处的头头，也就是这个部门正在对你调查。

　　“埃米拉·波恩斯是个好人，哈利，”唐克丝诚挚的说道，“她是公正的，她会认真听取你的陈诉。”

　　哈利点点头，仍然无话可说。

　　“不要丧失心情，”天狼星突然说道，“要有礼貌并且贴近事实。”

　　哈利再次点点头。

　　“法律在你这边的，”卢平冷静的说道，“甚至是未成年的巫师在生死攸关的时刻都是允许使用魔法的。”

　　有一股寒流从哈利的脖子传到背上；在一瞬间哈利以为有人对他施展了隐身咒语（就是前面疯眼汉穆迪曾经对哈利施展过的那个变色龙隐身咒语），接着他就意识到是威斯里太太正在用一把湿梳子替他梳头。她使劲的在哈利的头顶压着。

　　“你的头发曾经平坦服帖过吗？”威斯里太太失望的问道。

　　哈利摇摇头。

　　威斯里先生看了一下表然后抬头看着哈利。“我想我们现在要出发了，”他说道，“我们去的稍微早了一点，但是我认为你早点出发去魔法部，总比在这里象热锅上的蚂蚁一样乱晃的好。”

　　“好的，”哈利下意识的回答道，他放下了手中的烤面包并站了起来。

　　“你会没事的，哈利。”唐克丝象好朋友一样按着哈利的肩说道。

　　“祝你好运，”卢平说道，“我确信你会一切安好的。”

　　“如果事情不如人意，”天狼星咬牙切齿的说道，“我会为了你去拜访一下埃米拉·波恩斯的……”

　　哈利虚弱的笑了笑。威斯里太太拥抱了他一下。

　　“我们都会为你祈祷的，”她说道

　　“好的，”哈利说道，“嗯……那么再见了。”

　　他跟着威斯里先生上楼并且穿过客厅。他能够听见天狼星的妈妈在窗帘的后面打着呼噜。威斯里先生打开大门，他们走了出去，外面正是寒冷，灰色的黎明。

　　“你平常不是走路上班的吧，对吗？”当他们精神抖擞的走到广场的时候，哈利问威斯里先生。

　　“不，我经常步行，”威斯里先生说道，“但是很显然你不是，而且我认为我们最好彻底使用非魔法方式到那里去…这样可以留一个好印象，告诉他们你是遵守纪律的…”

　　当他们一路行进的时候威斯里先生一直把手放在夹克里。哈利知道他的手里紧紧的抓着魔杖。这是一条几乎荒废的小路，但是当他们到达小的可怜的地铁站的时候却发现这里挤满了早班赶车的人。当他们发现自己与那些正在谈论着日常事物的麻瓜如此接近的时候，威斯里先生极为困难的压制住了自己热情。（威斯里先生是个麻瓜迷）

　　“就象神话一样，”他眼镜盯着自动售票机小声说道，“具有惊人的独创性。”

　　“但是它们已经失灵了，”哈利指着标记说道。

　　“是的，但是即使如此…”威斯里先生天真而且容光焕发的看着这些东西。

　　哈利和威斯里先生从一个昏昏欲睡的售票员那里买了票（哈利执行了这次交易，因为威斯里先生对麻瓜货币很不在行），并且五分钟之后他们登上了一辆开往伦敦市中心的地铁。威斯里先生焦虑不安的一遍又一遍的检查着贴在窗户上的地铁路线图。

　　“还有四站，哈利…现在还有三站…两站就到了，哈利…”

　　他们在伦敦市一个十分靠近中心的车站下了车,并且溶入了一条人流,这条人流里面都是些穿着考究,手里拿着公文包的男男女女。他们走上自动扶梯，通过剪票栏（威斯里先生对这种扶梯两边吞票的方式感到十分欣喜），随后他们就出现在一条宽阔的街道上，街道两边都是壮观的高楼大厦，街上车水马龙。

　　“我们在哪里？”威斯里先生茫然的问道，在一次心跳的瞬间里，哈利几乎认为尽管威斯里先生不停的查阅地图他们还是在错误的站台下了车，但是一秒钟之后威斯里先生说道，“啊，是的…这条路，哈利。”然后就领着哈利拐进了旁边的一条路。

　　“对不起，”威斯里先生说道，“不过我从来没有乘坐火车上班，从一个麻瓜的观点来看我的举止极为不同。事实上，我以前从来没有使用过来宾入口。”（这里的来宾入口应该是指魔法部的来宾入口，也就是连接麻瓜世界和魔法部的通道）

　　他们走的越深入，路边的建筑物就显得越发的矮小破旧，直到最后他们抵达了一条小巷子，这条小巷包括几间破烂不堪的办公室，一个酒吧以及一辆正在溢水的罐车。哈利本来希望魔法部设在一个更加令人印象深刻的地方。

　　“我们到了，”威斯里先生简洁的说道，他用手指着一个老旧的红色电话亭，这个电话亭少了几块玻璃，并且竖立在一堵被严重乱图乱画的墙壁前面，“跟我来，哈利。”

　　他打开了电话亭的门。

　　哈利走进了电话亭并且很好奇这个地方到底是干什么用的。威斯里先生自己挤到哈利旁边并且把电话亭的门关上了。这里面有点狭窄；哈利被挤的靠在电话机上，电话机弯弯曲曲的挂在墙上仿佛一个野蛮人曾经试图把它撕开一样。威斯里先生越过哈利拿到了听筒。

　　“威斯里先生， 我认为这部电话机也失灵了，”哈利说道。 “不，不，我肯定它是好的，”威斯里先生将听筒靠在耳边开始拨号。“让我看看…六…”他拨着号码，“二…四…再一个四…再一个二…”

　　当号码盘平稳的回到原位的时候，一个冰冷的女声从电话机里面传出来，而不是从威斯里先生手上的听筒里面传出，不过这个声音十分响亮明白，好象有一个看不见的女人就站在他们旁边。

　　“欢迎光临魔法部。请报出您的姓名、职业。”

　　“恩…”威斯里先生显然不确定他是否要对着听筒说话。他折衷的把话筒放在耳朵上，“亚瑟 威斯里，不适当使用魔法物品办公室的，旁边陪同的是哈利·波特，他被要求前来参加一个纪律听证会…” “谢谢，”这个冰冷的女声说道，“来访者，请拿好徽章并把它系在长袍的前面。”

　　出现了一阵卡嗒声，接着哈利就看见有某样东西从金属滑道里面滑出来，这个金属滑道通常是用来返回硬币的。他把这个东西拣起来，那是一个正方形的银制徽章，上面写着哈利·波特，纪律听证会的字样。当女声再次响起的时候，他将徽章别在T恤衫的前面。

　　“魔法部的来访者，您需要接受一个检查，并且将您的魔杖拿到安全处登记注册，安全处就在中厅的最里面。“电话亭的地板突然颤抖起来。他们慢慢的沉入地下。当外面的人行道慢慢抬升并超过电话亭的玻璃窗直到黑暗在他们的头上逐渐增大的时候，哈利看起来有点紧张。然后他们就什么也看不见了，他只能听见电话亭向下通过地面时发出的枯燥的摩擦噪音。尽管哈利感觉要漫长的多，但是大概一分钟之后一束金色的光线照亮了他的脚下，并且越来越宽，逐渐上升直到射到他的脸上，哈利不得不眨眼以避免流泪。

　　“魔法部预祝你们度过愉快的一天，”这个女声说道。

　　电话亭的门弹开了，威斯里先生走了出去，后面跟着哈利，他的嘴巴惊讶的几乎合不拢。

　　他们现在正站在一个极为深长壮观的大厅的一端，大厅铺着十分光亮的黑色木质地板。孔雀蓝的天花板上镶嵌着闪闪发光的金色符号，这些符号持续移动并且改变，就象是许多天堂的守护者。两边的墙上都镶嵌着发亮的黑色木头，并且有许多镀金的壁炉。每隔几秒钟，随着一声轻微的飞速移动就有一个巫师或者女巫从左手边的壁炉里走出来。而在右手边，每个壁炉前面都排起了小股队伍等着离开。

　　在大厅的半路上有一个喷泉。一组比真人尺寸稍大的金色雕像站在一个圆形水池的中央。这些雕像里面最高大的是一位长相高贵的巫师，他的魔杖直指天空。围绕在这个巫师雕像周围的有一个漂亮的女巫，一头半人马，一只小妖精和一只小精灵。后面的三尊雕像都以崇敬的表情站在巫师和女巫的面前。水流正在从他们魔杖顶端闪闪发光的喷嘴里面飞出，其他的喷嘴还包括半人马的一条拖绳，小妖精帽子的顶端，以及小精灵的两只耳朵，因此丁冬作响的落水声从雕像的缝隙传出，而在这些雕像的脚下错落分布着数以百计的巫师和女巫，这些雕像大多数都衣着灰暗，看上去有些早熟。笔直的看过去在大厅的尽头有一组金色的门。

　　“这条路，”威斯里先生说道。

　　他们加入了人流，在魔法部的工作人员之间穿行，有些工作人员手上拿着一大叠摇摇晃晃的羊皮纸，而另外一些则提着一个扁扁的公文包；还有一些人则边走边读着每日先知报。当哈利和威斯里先生经过喷泉的时候，他看见在水池的底部闪烁着许多银币和青铜币。在水池的旁边有一个小小的被弄脏的牌子，上面写道：

　　来自魔法同胞喷泉的所有收益都将捐献给圣蒙哥魔法医院，用以治疗魔法疾病与伤害。

　　哈利发现自己拼命的想着：“如果这次我没有从霍格瓦彻被开除的话，我会捐上十个帆船币。”

　　“上这来，哈利，”威斯里先生说道。他们走出了魔法部雇员的人流，前往那些金色的门。在左边的地方放着一张桌子，上面有一个标志牌写着安全处，当他们靠近的时候一个巫师抬头看着他们并放下了手中的每日先知报，这个家伙胡子刮的很糟糕的，身上穿着一件孔雀蓝的长袍。

　　“我正在陪同一个访问者，”威斯里先生对着哈利做了一个手势。

　　“站过来，”这个巫师用一种无聊的口气说道。

　　哈利向他走过去，这个巫师拿出一根长长的金色棒子，这根棒子象汽车天线一样又细又柔软，巫师用它在哈利的前前后后上下翻飞的探测。

　　“魔杖，”安全处的巫师嘟噜着放下了那个金色的设备并且把手伸了出来。

　　哈利把自己的魔杖递过去。巫师将魔杖放到一个奇怪的黄铜仪器上，它有点象各种比例的碟形天线。仪器开始振动起来。一张窄条的羊皮纸从仪器的底部传出来。巫师拿起羊皮纸读着上面的文字。

　　“十一英寸，凤凰羽毛的轴心，已经使用四年。资料正确吗？”

　　“是的，”哈利紧张的回答道。

　　“我留下这个，”巫师说着把这一小条羊皮纸钉在一只小铜钉上。“你把魔杖拿回去，”他把魔杖扔给哈利补充道。

　　“谢谢。”

　　“等等…”巫师慢慢的说道。

　　他的眼镜飞快的从哈利胸前的访客铭牌扫到他的前额。

　　“谢谢你，伊瑞克，”威斯里先生沉稳的说道。他抓着哈利的肩膀带着哈利离开了安全处，重新加入了在各个金色大门之间穿梭的巫师和女巫们的大军。

　　人群稍稍有点拥挤，哈利跟着威斯里先生穿过几扇门来到较远处的一个小一点的大厅，在这里至少有二十部金色格子一样的电梯在工作着。哈利和威斯里先生加入了其中的一群等电梯的人。在他们的旁边站着大胡子巫师，手上拿着一个巨大的纸板盒，盒子里发出一阵令人焦躁的噪音。

　　“你好吗，亚瑟？”这个巫师冲着威斯里先生点点头。

　　“你端着的是什么，鲍勃？”威斯里先生看着盒子问道。

　　“我不能肯定，”这个巫师严肃的说道，“我原本以为它只是一只符合标准的小鸡，可是它现在开始吐出火焰了。看样子我已经严重破坏了禁止实验性饲养的规定。”（不会吧，难道真是初生的凤凰不如鸡啊，这也能看错，这位老兄厚黑学已然炉火纯青了）

　　随着一声嘈杂的响声，一部电梯停在了他们的面前；金色的格子门打开，哈利和威斯里先生跟着其他人走进电梯，哈利发现他自己已经被挤到了后面的墙上。几个巫师和女巫好奇的打量着他；他低头看着自己的脚以避免碰到任何人的视线，当他这么做的时候额头的刘海垂了下来。格子门哗的一声关上了并开始缓慢爬升，当哈利在电话亭听过的同样的女声再度响起的时候，电梯的链条发出了喀哒声。

　　“第七层，魔法竞赛与运动部，不列颠与爱尔兰快迪斯合作联盟总部、办公室桌球俱乐部、和魔法玩具专利局。”

　　电梯门打开了。哈利瞥见一条凌乱不堪的走廊，各种各样的快迪斯广告乱七八糟的钉在墙上。电梯里面一个抱着扫帚柄的巫师艰难的从电梯里面挤出来并且消失在走廊里。门关上了，电梯再度颤抖着爬升，这一次那个女声宣布：

　　“第六层，魔法运输部、弗罗粉传送网络合作中心、扫帚调整控制处、波奇办公室和传输测试中心。”

　　再一次，电梯门打开了，四五个巫师和女巫走了出去；与此同时，有几架纸飞机冲进了电梯。当这些纸飞机悠闲的拍打着翅膀在头顶盘旋的时候，哈利盯着他们，他们通体是淡紫色的，在他们的翅膀边缘上盖着魔法部的邮戳。

　　“这只不过是内部邮件罢了，”威斯里先生轻轻的告诉哈利，“我们一般情况下使用猫头鹰，但是信件的数量多的令人难以置信…他们堆满了我的办公桌。”

　　当他们爬升的过程中，这些内部邮件全都在围着天花板的吸顶灯盘旋。

　　“第五层，国际魔法合作部，国际魔法物品交易标准合作办公室，国际魔法法律办公室和国际魔法联盟英国分会。”

　　当电梯门打开的时候，两封内部邮件及几个巫师出去了，但是又飞进来几封内部邮件，因此他们头顶上的灯变得忽明忽暗。

　　“第四层，魔法生物规章与控制部，魔法生物合作处，身体与灵魂分离办公室（前作有过介绍，特指对使用瞬间移动魔法不当引起身体与灵魂分离者进行救助的机构），小妖精联络办公室，和宠物咨询中心。”

　　“到了，”那个提着喷火鸡的巫师还有几封内部邮件一起出了电梯。电梯门再度关闭。

　　“第三层，魔法意外与灾难部，包括魔法灾难逆转办公室，救援指挥部，以及保护麻瓜委员会。”

　　在这一层，除了哈利、威斯里先生和一个正在电梯里读着一张很长的羊皮纸的巫师以外，其他人都出了电梯。当电梯再度上升的时候剩下的内部邮件仍然在围着吸顶灯盘旋。接着电梯门再度打开，那个女声宣布道。

　　“第二层，魔法条例执行部，包括不适当使用魔法办公室，傲罗指挥部，和魔法物品维修保养管理办公室。”

　　“这里就是了，哈利，”威斯里先生说道。他们和那个巫师一起走出了电梯并且来到了一个有一排门的走廊。“我的办公室在这一层的另外一边。”

　　“威斯里先生，”当他们经过一个阳光普照的窗户的时候哈利说道，“我们现在不是仍然待在地下吗？”

　　“是的，我们在地下，”威斯里先生说道，“那些是魔法窗。由魔法维修处决定每天是什么天气。在他们上一次要求加薪期间我们足足经历了两个月的飓风天气…往这边拐，哈利。”

　　他们拐了一个弯，通过了两扇厚厚的橡木门，并出现在一个分割成一个个独立小间的嘈杂的开放区域，这里充满了谈话声和笑声。内部邮件象微型火箭一样在这里往来穿梭。在最近的一个小间的上面挂着一个歪歪斜斜的牌子，上面写着：傲罗指挥部。

　　当他们经过的时候哈利偷偷的从门边看过去。傲罗成员在他们的小间墙上挂满了被通缉的巫师的图片和他们自己的全家福，有的还张贴着他们喜欢的快迪斯队的图片，以及每日先知报的文章。一个穿着鲜红色长袍的巫师正盘腿坐在桌子上，用他的大羽毛笔赶制一份报告，他的脑袋上留着比比尔还长的马尾辫。再过去一点点，一个用眼罩蒙住一只眼睛的女巫正坐在她的单间的墙顶上与肯斯雷·沙克雷波尔特聊天。

　　“早晨好，威斯里，”当他们靠近的时候肯斯雷小心翼翼的打招呼道。“你有一秒钟时间吗，我有句话要和你说。”

　　“是的，如果真是一秒钟的话，”威斯里先生说道，“我现在有点忙。”

　　他们正在交谈，但是看来好象很难沟通，而当哈利想开口和肯斯雷打招呼的时候，威斯里先生踩了一下哈利的脚。他们跟着肯斯雷一直走进去直到一个最里面的单间。

　　哈利被眼前的情景惊呆了，在他身边每个方向上都是天狼星的相貌，有关的新闻剪接和老照片—甚至天狼星还在作为好人参加波特婚礼时候的照片都有—它们都贴在墙上。唯一一块没有贴天狼星内容的地方是一张世界地图，地图上的红色大头针象宝石一样闪闪发光。

　　“这里，”肯斯雷粗率的对威斯里先生说道，并将一捆羊皮纸塞到了威斯里先生的手里。“在过去十二个月里我尽可能的搜集有关麻瓜飞行发动机的信息。我们已经接到报告说布莱克还在使用他的那辆老摩托车。”

　　肯斯雷冲哈利眨了几下眼睛，然后小声补充道，“给他那本杂志，然后他会发现那是很有趣的。”接着他用正常的音调说道：“不要拖太长时间，威斯里，那份火腿报告的延误让我们调查了一个月。”

　　“你如果读了我的报告就应该知道那个东西是火臂，”威斯里先生冷淡的说道，“而且我恐怕你必须继续等待摩托车的消息了，我们此刻很忙。”他压低声音说道，“如果你能在七点钟以前离开的话，莫莉做了肉丸子。”

　　他带着哈利走出肯斯雷的单间，穿过第二个橡木门进入了另一个单位，左转，通过下一个走廊，再右转进了一个灯光昏暗，明显破旧的走廊。最后他们到达了一个死胡同，在他们的左边有一扇微微敞开的门，这是一个打开的扫帚柜，而在右边的门上则挂着一个讨厌的失去光泽的黄铜牌子，上面写着：不适当使用麻瓜物品办公室。威斯里先生邋遢的办公室看起来比对面的扫帚柜还要小一点。两张办公桌拥挤的放在里面，靠墙的地方摆着一溜塞满东西的柜子，中间的空间刚好能让他们勉强通过，在每个橱柜的顶端都堆满了大批的文件。在墙上剩下的小小空间之中摆放着几样令威斯里先生着迷的东西：几张汽车的图片，包括一个已经被拆卸下来的发动机，两张从麻瓜小孩的书上剪接下来的邮箱的图解；以及一张显示怎样缠绕插座的示意图。

　　在威斯里先生对面的办公桌上放着一张老酒鬼的照片，他郁郁寡欢的打着饱嗝，拇指上玩弄着一双空着的皮手套。在盘子的旁边放着一张威斯里家的全家福照片。哈利注意到派斯似乎已经从里面走开了。

　　“我们这里没窗户，”威斯里先生抱歉的说道。他把夹克衫脱下来并挂在椅子背上，“我们申请过，但是他们似乎并不认为我们这里需要一个窗户，哈利，不要再看了，珀金斯还没来。”

　　当威斯里先生快速阅读着肯斯雷刚刚交给他的羊皮纸的时候，哈利正挤进珀金斯办公桌后面的椅子里。

　　“哈，”威斯里从一本名为吹毛求疵的杂志里面摘取了一点东西之后，他微微一笑，“是的，他是对的，我敢肯定天狼星会发现这很有趣—哦，亲爱的，现在几点了？”

　　一封内部邮件刚刚从开着的门里飞进来并落在那个打着饱嗝的酒鬼照片上面。威斯里先生打开信并大声读了起来。

　　“比斯乃尔·格林报告第三个回流的公共卫生间。这真是荒谬…”

　　“一个回流的卫生间？”

　　“反麻瓜者开的玩笑，”威斯里先生皱着眉头说道，“我们上周处理了两个，一个在威姆布莱顿，一个在大象城堡。麻瓜正想冲水的时候一切都消失了—是的，你可以想象一下。这些破事接连不断的出现—我认为他们应该叫管道工—你知道的，就是那些专门修理管道的人。

　　“管道工？”

　　“正确，是的，当然他们会狼狈不堪，仅仅希望我们能抓住几个肇事者。”

　　“傲罗不会去抓他们吗？”

　　“哦，不，这些事情太琐碎了，不会惊动傲罗的，它归一般魔法法律执行巡逻队管辖—啊，哈利，这位是珀金斯。”

　　一个驼背的，看来有点羞涩的老巫师正好走进了房间，他留着花白胡须，正在喘气。

　　“哦，亚瑟！”他没看哈利拼命叫道，“感谢上帝，我不知道最好怎么处理这件事，是否要等你来。我刚刚给你家派去一只猫头鹰，不过很显然你没收到—十分钟前来了一封紧急信件—”

　　“我知道，是关于那个回流卫生间的事情，”威斯里先生说道。

　　“不，不，是关于波特儿子听证会的事情—他们已经修改了时间和地点—它就在现在八点钟的时候，在楼下老的十号审判庭举行—”

　　“在楼下的十 —但是他们告诉我— 梅林的胡子！

　　威斯里先生看看表，发出一声尖叫并从椅子上跳了起来。

　　“快，哈利，我们应该在五分钟前到那里！”

　　珀金斯把背贴在橱柜上以便让威斯里先生跑出办公室，哈利紧紧跟在后面。

　　“为什么他们修改时间？”当他们穿过傲罗单间的时候哈利气喘吁吁的问道。人们纷纷侧头让开并盯着他们快速经过。哈利感到他所有的感觉都还停留在珀金斯的办公桌。

　　“我也不知道，但是感谢上帝我们来的够早，如果你错过了听证会，那后果将是灾难性的！”

　　威斯里先生在一个电梯前面急刹车并焦躁不安的戳着下降按纽。

　　“快来！”

　　电梯喀哒喀哒的进入视野，他们迅速的跑进去。每次电梯停下的时候威斯里先生都要恼火的咒骂，并且用拳头使劲砸着九层的按纽。

　　“那些审判庭已经多年不用了，”威斯里先生愤怒的说道，“我想不出他们为什么要在那里举行听证会—除非—但是不—”

　　正在此时，一个肥胖的女巫拿着一个冒烟的高脚杯走进电梯，威斯里先生并没有仔细看她。

　　“中厅，”冰冷的女声说道，接着金色的格子门打开了，哈利远远的瞥了一眼有金色雕像的喷泉。肥胖的女巫走了出去，同时一个菜色皮肤的巫师脸色悲伤的进来了。

　　“早上好，亚瑟，”当电梯开始下降的时候他用一种埋死人的口气说道，“不是经常能看见你下到这里来。”

　　“紧急事务，波迪，”威斯里先生说道，他的脚正在焦急的跺着，并担心的看着哈利。

　　“啊，是的，”波迪眼睛一眨不眨的打量着哈利，“当然。”

　　哈利现在几乎没有心情理波迪，而且他不眨眼的紧盯也不会使哈利感觉更舒服。

　　“神秘部门，”女声说完门就打开了。

　　“快点，哈利，”那扇令人恼火的电梯门打开的时候威斯里先生说道。他们迅速的跑过一个走廊。这个走廊看起来和上面的完全不同。墙上光秃秃的，既没有窗户也没有门，只在走廊的尽头有一片黑色的草原图画。哈利以为他们要从这里穿出去，但是威斯里先生抓着他的手并且把 他拽向左边，在这里有一个开放的楼梯踏步。 “从这里下去，从这里下去…”威斯里先生气喘吁吁的叫道，同时一步两级的往下冲。“电梯也不能下到这么远…为什么他们要在这里干这件事情，我…”

　　他们跑到楼梯底部并延着另一个走廊一直跑，这条走廊与霍格瓦彻魔法学校里面史纳皮的地牢有许多令人讨厌的相似之处，都有着粗糙的石头墙和突出墙面的火炬。在这里他们经过的都是栓着铁栓，带锁眼的沉重的木头门。

　　“审判庭…十号…我认为…我们快到了…是的。”

　　威斯里先生在一个肮脏的带着一把大锁的黑色大门前面一个急刹车，他靠在墙上疲惫不堪，手紧紧的抓着胸口。

　　“进去吧，”他气喘吁吁的说道，并且用拇指指这这扇门，“就是这里。”

　　“不是—你不跟我一起进来吗—？”

　　“不，不，我是不允许进入的。祝你好运！”

　　哈利感到心快跳到嗓子眼了，他口干舌燥，吞咽困难，转动着铁制的沉重的门把手并且走进了审判庭。