Chapters 91-100

How long?

‘All rise! All rise! This session of the Court of Probations is adjourned.’

Hermione sat utterly still. She was strangely aware of her breathing—in and out—and of the artificially calm beating of her heart. It surprised her that they should continue like that, her breath and her heartbeat.

Then she inhaled deeply and turned to her lawyer.

‘How do we appeal?’ Hermione asked.

For a second Ace Loxweild-Spalt looked almost shocked, but a heartbeat later her professional façade of blond coolness slid back into place.

‘You don’t,’ the witch replied simply. ‘There is no appeal. The only recourse you have left is an audience with the Minister of Magic. His decision supersedes all others, even verdicts of the full Wizengamot.’

‘How do I get that audience?’

Distantly Hermione noticed that Ron was holding Alina in his arms at the very back of the courtroom. The girl was beating her fists against him, obviously about to lose control of her magic. The slivery glitter in the air around Ron indicated that he had already cast a containment charm over both of them, showing considerable presence of mind. For a moment Ron’s eyes met Hermione’s and he hesitated. But Hermione shook her head. There was nothing Ron could do for her—and both Alina and her mother needed him now. Ron nodded and turned around. When he left, he was carrying Alina with his right arm, while his left arm was slung awkwardly around Lois’ back.

Suddenly Harry was on the other side of the table. He was terribly pale, his green eyes burning.

‘It was not your fault,’ Hermione said automatically.

I must not break down. I will not break down.

‘I will also need to talk with Draco and possibly Percy and Arthur,’ she went on. ‘We need to find out what went wrong.’

Another deep breath. ‘Harry—I know that this was one of the first things Shacklebolt decreed when he took over as Minister of Magic…but…I need to be sure…There are no more Dementors in Azkaban, are there?’

Harry swallowed convulsively.

‘Harry?’ She was beginning to shake in spite of the Calming Draught. ‘Harry? Please tell me that there are no more Dementors in Azkaban.’

‘I’m sorry, Hermione,’ Harry muttered. ‘They don’t guard the cells anymore. But…see—there’s a problem…There is no other place in the wizarding world besides Azkaban where Dementors can be contained safely. Charlie’s researching the problem—we’re trying to find another solution and get it through the Wizengamot, but—’ He shook his head, an anguished expression in his eyes. ‘They are still there, Hermione.’

She must not break down.

Another breath.

And another.

‘Then I need to go to St. Mungo’s, too.’

She watched how Harry forced himself to calm down, how the lines of his face tightened and the fire in his eyes grew cold. Somehow he managed to pull himself together. ‘Draco, Percy and Arthur can meet us at Grimmauld Place tonight. And I’ll go see Shacklebolt about the audience right away. He needs to—’

‘No,’ Hermione interrupted, although she wanted nothing more than to rush to the Minister’s office right away. ‘No. Harry, we can’t barge into this blindly. The audience is Severus’ last chance. We need to discover what happened first. The decision of the Chalice can’t possibly be correct. But right now…if I go to the Minister now, all I’ve got is a verdict of an impartial magical artefact that I don’t like. That won’t be enough.’

She could see how Harry clenched his teeth. At last he nodded. ‘I hate it, but you’re right. I’ll ask for an appointment tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Thank you.’ Hermione made herself turn to her own legal counsel. Loxweild-Spalt’s eyes were icy enough to freeze the blood in her veins. Shuddering, Hermione followed the lawyer’s gaze.

Dolores Umbridge was standing next to the desk she had occupied during the last few days. The Probations Official was fingering her pink wand with a loving caress, glowing and gloating with her triumph. She had finally defeated Harry Potter.

Hermione ignored Umbridge. ‘Ms. Loxweild-Spalt—I need to know your professional opinion. Do you think that something did go wrong? Or is that merely wishful thinking on my part?’

oooOooo

‘Are you all right?’ Minerva McGonagall’s voice penetrated the haze that surrounded her. Hermione shook her head. She wasn’t sure if the Calming Draught or incipient shock was causing this reaction. She blinked her eyes. St. Mungo’s. They were at St. Mungo’s and she needed to talk to Muriel Mugwort.

‘I won’t fall down, if you let go of me now, I think,’ Hermione said.

‘Are you sure?’

I will not break down. Hermione took a step away from the Headmistress. She didn’t fall down. ‘Thank you for coming with me. I know you’re very busy. I appreciate that very much.’

Hermione knew it was an irrational reaction. But she hated the expression of careful concern on the older woman’s face.

Don’t look at me as if I’m a widow. He’s not dead yet.

Another deep breath. Hermione turned around and opened the door.

oooOooo

‘If the Dementors are merely contained at Azkaban and no longer used as guards…’ Muriel Mugwort turned her mug of tea thoughtfully in her hands. Hermione’s cup sat untouched on the table.

After an initial reaction of shock and outrage, the Healer’s demeanour was composed and professional again, something for which Hermione was profoundly grateful.

‘He is not someone who should be exposed even to the mere presence of Dementors for any length of time,’ Muriel said.

Hermione nodded. She was very much aware of that. ‘How long?’

‘I’d be very surprised if he were to survive a year,’ Mugwort replied bluntly. ‘But irreversible mental and magical damage might occur within weeks.’

‘Then we simply have to get him out sooner than that,’ Hermione announced, her voice fierce.

But the other women would not meet her eyes.