A/n: wanted to write another chapter today XD I did reference the Harry Potter OOTP book a lot for the hearing, sorry about that. I didn't really know how to write it XD

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Newt sat at the desk in his bedroom after another sleepless night. Pickett was sitting on his desk, looking up at him worriedly as the man flicked through pages of a book on dementors.

No wonder these creatures are misunderstood; half the information here isn't relevant or entirely true.

Newt sighed, knowing that looking through books about the wraith like monsters would be completely pointless. He was better off learning from his own experiences with them.

He'd been at the graveyard visiting his mother's grave. She hadn't been dead for very long, killed in an accident that Newt had forced himself to forget. Grieving for her wasn't easy, and it was one fateful day at the graveyard when he saw a dementor for the first time.

It was a being from his nightmares, cloaked in dark, shredded material. Two grey skinned hands hung limply from its robes, a single gaping hole for a mouth that seemed to gasp endlessly for air. It didn't appear threatening to him in any way, simply floating peacefully in front of him.

At the time, he'd been terrified of it, and had abruptly fallen over, scrambling to get away. The dementor simply watched with eyes it didn't have, drifting closer every so often but stopping when it got too close.

Newt had known what dementors were, and what they did.

Yet this one had no effect on him. It didn't make him feel sad, cold, depressed, empty. Mostly because he already felt those things, still mourning his mother. He didn't have the effort to conjure up any happy memories that the dementor could possibly feed off.

He remembered the next moments well.

******

Newt was still breathing heavily, the only sound being his own frantic breaths and the endless gasping of the creature hovering a few metres away.

The dementor lifted a hand, pointing at a tombstone. His mother's tombstone.

Newt watched, curious, and becoming less afraid. He'd read a lot about dementors, that they were extremely dangerous. This one didn't appear to want to hurt him in any way at all.

"That's my mother," Newt said, not knowing why he was speaking to the creature but doing so anyways. "She died a few weeks ago."

The dementor nodded, somewhat solemnly. It stayed for a few moments, it's rattling breath taking up any silence.

Then it simply drifted away, floating out of the graveyard and into the woods on the other side of the cemetery. Newt could only pull himself shakily to his feet, wondering what had just happened.

******

Dementors seemed to be capable of understanding human emotions, just not experiencing them themselves. They were also very intelligent, understanding concepts like grief and loss.

This was news to Newt, for sure.

He leaned back in his chair, frowning.

He didn't exactly want to go to the ministry. He'd worked there after he'd managed to graduate after being expelled. Earning two sickles a week from a job that required him to sit around and deal with documents about house elves all day wasn't something he'd particularly enjoyed. Although, he had enforced the ban on experimental creature breeding, which he considered one of his proudest moments.

The thing he was worried about most was the fact that people might recognise him. What if some of the people from 1926 still worked at the ministry now? He didn't exactly know what he'd say if someone recognised him. That he was a relative, perhaps?

Newt looked upwards to the clock on the wall, and decided to feed the creatures in his suitcase before getting ready for the hearing.

The mooncalves bounced around him eagerly, Newt grinning. Some people thought they looked horrifically freaky, Newt just thought they were adorable with their huge eyes and stumpy legs. But then again, he was the man who thought a baby acromantula was adorable.

Frank, the Thunderbird, swooped overhead, screeching. Newt still felt bad for the huge, golden creature. He'd meant to release him back in America in 1926, but had never gotten around to it.

Hi niffler came shuffling out of its den, leaving bits of shiny jewellery behind as it walked. Newt picked up an item he recognised as his pocketwatch. "I wondered where that'd gone."

Evyndor, the unicorn, was last to be fed.

He'd grown into a fully sized unicorn, a large spiralling horn protruding from his forehead. The only curious thing about the beast was that he'd remained the midnight black colour he'd been when he was a foal.

Black unicorn foals were extremely rare, the foals usually being gold, then turning silver, and finally fading into white. Newt had never come across a black unicorn before, they were supposedly unheard of.

The stallion bumped Newt's shoulder with its nose, Newt grinning as he reached up to scratch the animal behind its ears. "Well good morning to you too, Evyndor."

******

"My, my, dear!" Molly Weasley's voice was worried as she brushed dust off Harry's dress robes and did her best to tame his hair. "You don't look like you slept well last night."

Harry shrugged. He hadn't slept much, mostly spent the night looking out his window.

Harry and Draco were both dressed in the fanciest dress robes they could get at short notice, looking as presentable as they could. Their other companion, Newt Scamander, however, looked far from presentable.

The man ran into the room, visibly flustered. "They've changed the time! We're going to be late!" He shrieked. "Molly!" He said, voice frantic. "Where's my coat?!"

"Hanging up to dry, dear!" Mrs Weasley called back, the brown haired man nodding and grabbing a piece of toast before he dashed to the laundry room. He came back with his royal blue coat over one shoulder, the piece of toast in his mouth.

Mrs Weasley beckoned the man over, fixing his messy hair as he tried not to spill crumbs on his waistcoat as he ate the piece of toast.

He pulled a pocketwatch from his pocket, holding it up and frowning. Harry and Draco got the message, quickly leaving the room. Newt followed, Pickett sitting on his shoulder and waving. A few people waved back cheerily, the Weasley twins clearly having the most enthusiasm.

******

"Right," Newt said as the blue telephone box the three were standing in seemingly turned into an elevator and began to descend. "The ministry is usually packed full of people, so you're both going to have to stay close to me. We're already late, and we don't want to waste time because one of you got lost."

"Have you been here before?" Harry asked.

"Yes, I used to work here back in the 1920s. We just have to hope no one recognises me, or we could have a bit of a problem. I'll be under an alias of the Magizooligist Edward Redmayne."

Draco nodded, somewhat nervously. He didn't particularly want to be recognised either, as his father was at the ministry a lot.

As Newt had said, the ministry was absolutely packed. People bustled around, owls and paper airplanes flying overhead. The floor consisted of black tiles, shiny and polished.

Newt pulled them both into a cramped elevator, some people frowning as they recognised Harry, wondering what the boy-who-lived was doing at the ministry. Luckily, all Newt had received was a curious stare from an old man at the front desk.

"Department Of Mysteries."

A voice rang out, the elevator doors opening. Newt stepped out, looking down to where he'd written the time and place of the hearing on his hand. Harry and Draco followed as the man made his way through the maze-like corridors, some people shooting them odd glances.

They stopped outside a set of double doors.

"Right. Now, only speak when spoken to, behave like adults, and if one of you swears then I'll feed you to an Occamy."

Draco raised an eyebrow, but nodded, anxiety rising.

******

The courtroom was huge, and Harry could only gulp as he looked around. There was a chair in the centre of the room, a rather uncomfortable looking one with chains that could easily bind the person to the chair in seconds.

"You're late," a cold, male voice rang out, one Harry realised to be the judge. He was aware that he was now standing alone, as Draco and Newt went to sit down where the witnesses and defendants were supposed to be.

"I'm sorry," Harry replied, somewhat nervously. "I didn't know that the time had been changed."

"That is not the Wizengamot's fault," the judge said. "An owl was sent to you this morning. Take your seat."

Harry frowned, doing as told and remembering Newt running into the dining room this morning, panicking that the time had been changed. They could've at least given them a bit more time.

His eyes were wide as he stared at the chains, but they did not bind him like he'd expected. Thankful, he turned his attention back to the people watching him.

There was about fifty of them, all wearing posh robes with a silver W embroidered into the left side of their chest. They all looked relatively similar, snooty and stuck up. Most of them watched him with rather austere expressions, others looking curious.

The judge, who Harry now recognised to be Cornelius Fudge, began to speak.

"Very well. The accused being present, finally, let us begin. Are you ready?"

"Yes, sir," came an eager voice that Harry recognised. He turned, seeing one of the eldest Weasleys, Percy.

"Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August," Fudge said, his voice ringing as Percy began scribbling down notes. "Of offences committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey."

"Interrogators, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister For Magic, Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley."

Harry didn't pay much attention, simply looking around and trying to block out the overwhelming sound of nearly seventy people's hearts beating all at once, fighting back the desperate hunger he was facing.

"Witnesses for the defence, Draco Lucius Malfoy-" a few heads turned at this, but the courtroom otherwise remained silent. "Edward Artemis Redmayne, and Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."

Harry frowned, turning, and seeing the elderly wizard sitting near Newt and Draco. He avoided Harry's gaze, watching Fudge. Whispers now ran through the crowd, even Fudge looking nervous at Dumbledore's presence.

"Ah, well yes, the charges. The charges against the accused are as follows: that he did knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received and previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge-"

Harry frowned. Was he talking about the time when he blew up aunt Marge, or when he got blamed for the charms Dobby cast? He fought the urge to laugh as he realised just how much trouble he got into with the ministry.

"Produce a Patronus Charm in a muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a muggle, on the second of August at twenty three minutes past nine, which constitutes to an offence under Paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy."

Harry drew in a breath, trying to regulate his breathing and remembering to do so. Breathe in, breathe out. He knew that his breathing was doing little more than inflating and deflating his useless lungs, but it was better to be safe than sorry if someone picked up on his lack of breathing.

"You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?" Fudge asked, glaring down at Harry over the piece of parchment he was holding.

Harry resisted the urge to reply with a 'duh', the scar on his forehead very much visible.

"Yes," he replied, somewhat begrudgingly. He already hated nearly everyone in this room, with their stuck up glares and wrinkly faces.

"You received an official warning from the Ministry for using underage magic three years ago, did you not?"

"Yes, but-"

"And yet you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?" Fudge asked, disregarding Harry's attempt to explain.

Harry frowned, now considering Fudge rude as well as mean. "Yes, but-"

"Knowing that you were in an area where magic is not permitted?"

"Yes, but-"

"Knowing that you were in an area full of muggles?"

"Yes, but-"

"Knowing that you were in close proximity with a muggle?"

"Yes," Harry said, angrily. "But I only used it because we were-"

Yet again, Harry was cut off, this time by a different voice. It belonged to a witch sitting in the crowd, who Harry remembered Fudge calling her a Madam Bones. "You conjured a fully fledged Patronus?"

"Yes," Harry replied. "Because-"

"A corporeal Patronus?"

"What?" Harry asked, confused.

"Your Patronus had a clearly defined form? Not just smoke or vapour?"

"Yes," Harry replied, feeling rather impatient. "It's a stag, it's always a stag."

"Always?" Madam Bones asked. "You've conjured one before this?"

"Yes, I've been doing it for over a year. Professor Lupin taught me in my third year, because of the-"

"Very impressive," Madam Bones cut him off. "A true Patronus at your age, very impressive indeed."

The crowd had a mixed reaction to this. Some were nodding approvingly, others frowning and shaking their heads. Mutters ran through the crowd, Harry catching Draco's nervous gaze.

"It doesn't matter how impressive the magic was, given the fact he conjured the Patronus in front of a muggle," Fudge spoke again, his voice testy.

"I did it because of the dementors!" Harry said loudly, sick and tired of being cut off.

The muttering and whispering faded immediately, replaced by an eerie silence that Harry didn't like.

"Dementors?" Madam Bones asked after a moment. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that there were two dementors in an alleyway that tried to attack me, Draco and my cousin!" Harry said, a tone of desperation in his voice.

"I thought we'd be hearing something like this," Fudge said, a smirk rising that made Harry feel ill. "You've been thinking through it and decided that Dementors would make a nice little cover story, very nice indeed."

Harry's eyes narrowed angrily. They all thought he was crazy after the Triwizard Tournament, didn't they? "I'm not lying, they attacked us. Draco was there too."

Draco gulped as Fudge's gaze turned to him.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy," Madam Bones said as Draco stood. "Would you mind recalling the events that happened on the second of August?"

Draco drew in a deep breath. "I was spending the day with Harry, and it was getting dark and it looked like a storm was about to hit." Draco played out the story he'd forged in his head, leaving out all parts of Dudley's involvement in Harry causing the storm.

"Can you recall the time of when the storm began to appear?"

"Approximately 9:00 to 9:10," Draco replied. "The park Harry, his cousin and I were at was one situated in a field, so as soon as we saw lightning we knew we had to get undercover or we'd be struck. We ran, and we found an undercover alleyway to stay in until the storm passed or someone could pick us up. Then everything got horridly cold, like all the happiness had gone from the world. Two dementors appeared. They attacked Harry's cousin and I, so Harry used the Patronus to help us."

"If there really were two dementors like you say, why did you not try to help?" Madam Bones asked.

"I've never been able to conjure a Patronus," Draco replied.

"Yet you can do advanced wandless magic, correct?"

Draco nodded.

"Not a very convincing witness," Fudge said, the youngest Malfoy taking his seat.

"Oh, I don't know," Madam Bones said. "He described the effects of a dementor quite accurately."

"But dementors simply wandering into a muggle suburb, and they just happen to come across a wizard?" Fudge snorted. "The odds of that are extremely low-"

"Minister, if I may," came a voice, Harry turning to see Newt getting to his feet.

"Yes?"

"I'm a Magizooligist, and I've studied dementors for years. The chances of this happening aren't as low as you may think. Dementors are extremely intelligent creatures, capable of understanding human emotions, and many different languages. It's not an uncommon occurrence for beings as intelligent as dementors to start thinking for themselves."

"What exactly are you implying, Mr Redmayne?"

"I don't think any of us believe the dementors were there by accident, or coincidence," Newt replied.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Fudge's voice was icy.

"They were ordered there," Newt said, as if it were the most simple thing in the world.

"I doubt that the ministry would've ordered two dementors to go strolling through Little Whinging!" Fudge barked, his voice angry.

"Not if the dementors are taking orders from someone other than the ministry," Newt replied.

"I've already shared my views with you on this subject, Cornelius," Dumbledore finally rose to speak, Newt sitting back down. "As Professor Redmayne has said, dementors are highly intelligent beings, clearly capable of thinking for themselves-"

"Yet all of the dementors remain in Azkaban, doing everything we tell them to. They are under the ministry's control completely," Fudge replied, narrowing his eyes at Dumbledore.

"Then we must ask why someone within the ministry ordered a pair of dementors to that alleyway on the second of August."

Silence met Dumbledore's words, Harry shifting nervously in his seat.

A woman leaned forward, Harry recognising her as Dolores Umbridge. He couldn't help but frown at her. She resembled a toad somewhat.

"The Chair recognises Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister," Fudge said.

"I'm sure I must have misunderstood you, Professor Dumbledore," the spoke, in a girly, high pitched voice that made Harry want to vomit. "It sounded for a teensy moment that you were implying that the Ministry ordered an attack on this boy!"

A few people in the courtroom laughed, no actual humour in any of their voices.

"Logically, if it is true that Harry, Draco and Harry's cousin were attacked by two dementors a week ago, then it would suggest that somebody at the Ministry might have ordered the attacks. Of course, unless the dementors were out of the ministry's control-"

"There are no dementors out of the ministry's control!" Fudge practically shrieked, Harry raising an eyebrow at the way his face had turned brick red, almost like Uncle Vernon's did. Well, Uncle Vernon usually turned more of a Beetroot purple colour.

"Well then I'm sure that the ministry will look into why there were two dementors in Little Whinging-"

"It's not your place to decide what the Ministry does or does not do, Dumbledore!" Fudge snapped, now a shade of magenta that Uncle Vernon would have definitely been proud of. "I'd also like to remind everyone that we are here to discuss Harry Potter's offences. The dementors, if not figments of the boy's imagination, aren't the subject of this hearing!"

"Well of course they are," Dumbledore spoke again. "They are very relevant to the case. Clause Seven of the Decree states that magic may be used before Muggles in exceptional circumstances, and as those exceptional circumstances include situations which threaten the life of any witch, wizard or muggle-"

"We are familiar with Clause Seven, thank you very much!" Fudge snarled. Harry could only narrow his eyes as he drew in another breath. This man was acting like a child.

"Of course you are," Dumbledore replied cheerily. "Then we are in agreement that Harry's Patronus Charm falls into the circumstances the Clause describes?"

"If there were dementors, which I doubt-"

"You have heard it from a witness," Dumbledore interrupted, looking towards Draco. "You could question him further if you wish-"

"I intend to wrap this up today, Albus," Fudge spat. "Plus, what about all the other times he's used magic outside of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? I don't suppose you've forgotten the Hover Charm he used three years ago-"

"It was a house elf!" Harry cut him off, fighting the urge to grin. This was all rather ridiculous now.

"A house elf! The boy is delirious, a house elf in a muggle household?"

"That house elf is currently in employment at Hogwarts," Dumbledore chimed in. "I can summon him here in an instant if you wish to interrogate him."

"I don't have time to talk to house elves! That's not the only time, he blew up his aunt!" Fudge said, banging his fist on the bench and tipping a bottle of ink over.

"And charges were not pressed on that occasion, as I presume you know that even the best wizards cannot always control their emotions," Dumbledore replied cheerily.

Silence reigned for a few moments. "Those in favour of clearing the witness of all charges?" Madam Bones' voice echoed through the room. Hands were raised, more than half.

"Those in favour of conviction?"

Fudge raised his hand, as did the toad-like witch beside him. Not many people raised their hands.

"Very well," Fudge said, suppressing rage. "Cleared of all charges."

"Excellent," Dumbledore said, springing to his feet faster than any man his age should be able to. "Good day to you all."

And without looking at Harry once, he swept from the dungeon.