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 net 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 ir 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 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, palling 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 more stops, Harry . . . Three stops led 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 locking adoringly up at the witch and wizard. Glittering jets of water were flying from the ends of their wands, the point of the centaurs a tow, 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.