Harry Potter 05 - Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Yes, I thought we’d be hearing something like this.’
    ‘Dementors in Little Whinging?’ Madam Bones said, in a tone of great surprise. ‘I don’t understand –’
    ‘Don’t you, Amelia?’ said Fudge, still smirking. ‘Let me explain. He’s been thinking it through and decided Dementors would make a very nice little cover story, very nice indeed. Muggles can’t see Dementors, can they, boy? Highly convenient, highly convenient … so it’s just your word and no witnesses …’
    ‘I’m not lying!’ said Harry loudly, over another outbreak of muttering from the court. ‘There were two of them, coming from opposite ends of the alley, everything went dark and cold and my cousin felt them and ran for it –’
    ‘Enough, enough!’ said Fudge, with a very supercilious look on his face. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt what I’m sure would have been a very well-rehearsed story –’
    Dumbledore cleared his throat. The Wizengamot fell silent again.
    ‘We do, in fact, have a witness to the presence of Dementors in that alleyway,’ he said, ‘other than Dudley Dursley, I mean.’
    Fudge’s plump face seemed to slacken, as though somebody had let air out of it. He stared down at Dumbledore for a moment or two, then, with the appearance of a man pulling himself back together, said, ‘We haven’t got time to listen to more tarradiddles, I’m afraid, Dumbledore. I want this dealt with quickly –’
    ‘I may be wrong,’ said Dumbledore pleasantly, ‘but I am sure that under the Wizengamot Charter of Rights, the accused has the right to present witnesses for his or her case? Isn’t that the policy of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Madam Bones?’ he continued, addressing the witch in the monocle.
    ‘True,’ said Madam Bones. ‘Perfectly true.’
    ‘Oh, very well, very well,’ snapped Fudge. ‘Where is this person?’
    ‘I brought her with me,’ said Dumbledore. ‘She’s just outside the door. Should I –?’
    ‘No – Weasley, you go,’ Fudge barked at Percy, who got up at once, ran down the stone steps from the judge’s balcony and hurried past Dumbledore and Harry without glancing at them.
    A moment later, Percy returned, followed by Mrs Figg. She looked scared and more batty than ever. Harry wished she had thought to change out of her carpet slippers.
    Dumbledore stood up and gave Mrs Figg his chair, conjuring a second one for himself.
    ‘Full name?’ said Fudge loudly, when Mrs Figg had perched herself nervously on the very edge of her seat.
    ‘Arabella Doreen Figg,’ said Mrs Figg in her quavery voice.
    ‘And who exactly are you?’ said Fudge, in a bored and lofty voice.
    ‘I’m a resident of Little Whinging, close to where Harry Potter lives,’ said Mrs Figg.
    ‘We have no record of any witch or wizard living in Little Whinging, other than Harry Potter,’ said Madam Bones at once. ‘That situation has always been closely monitored, given … given past events.’
    ‘I’m a Squib,’ said Mrs Figg. ‘So you wouldn’t have me registered, would you?’
    ‘A Squib, eh?’ said Fudge, eyeing her suspiciously. ‘We’ll be checking that. You’ll leave details of your parentage with my assistant Weasley. Incidentally, can Squibs see Dementors?’ he added, looking left and right along the bench.
    ‘Yes, we can!’ said Mrs Figg indignantly.
    Fudge looked back down at her, his eyebrows raised. ‘Very well,’ he said aloofly. ‘What is your story?’
    ‘I had gone out to buy cat food from the corner shop at the end of Wisteria Walk, around about nine o’clock, on the evening of the second of August,’ gabbled Mrs Figg at once, as though she had learned what she was saying by heart, ‘when I heard a disturbance down the alleyway between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. On approaching the mouth of the alleyway I saw Dementors running –’
    ‘Running?’ said Madam Bones sharply. ‘Dementors don’t run, they glide.’
    ‘That’s what I meant to say,’ said Mrs Figg quickly, patches of pink appearing in her withered cheeks. ‘Gliding along the alley towards what looked like two boys.’
    ‘What did they look like?’ said Madam Bones, narrowing her eyes so that the edge of the monocle disappeared into her flesh.
    ‘Well, one was very large and the other one rather skinny –’
    ‘No, no,’ said Madam Bones impatiently. ‘The Dementors … describe them.’
    ‘Oh,’ said Mrs Figg, the pink flush creeping up her neck now. ‘They were