He suspected the large crowd had something to do with the nature of the coming trial. Harry had not been idle during the past week—he had done some research on the matter (with Hermione's judicious assistance) and had learned that no one who had been charged with underage use of magic had ever been tried in an open court before the entire Wizengamot. No, this was Fudge's big chance to humble and neutralize the famous Boy-Who-Lived while setting himself up as the sole voice of reason and champion of the people. Harry only wanted to see the bastard go up against Voldemort himself; the Minister would not last more than a few moments against the dark wizard before facing utter defeat, or worse.
Following his best friend's father, Harry made his way to the stairs which would take them down to the tenth level and the courtroom, all the while his cheeks flaming due to the unwanted attention. It was crystal clear to him—he was big news in the wizarding world, and his trial was drawing a lot of interest. He sensed that it was up to him to take the initiative and show himself in the best possible light. If he could show himself to be the hero these people all hoped him to be—especially with Voldemort's recent return—he suspected the atmosphere of the recently-exited atrium would change into a more positive one for him. Perhaps the idiot Fudge could even be put on the defensive for a change. One could only hope.
Of course, this presupposed Harry could devise something which would not only save his hide, but also prove sufficiently inspiring to capture the imagination of the masses. Unfortunately, he would not be flying on his broom being pursued by an angry dragon, or fighting a massive basilisk—this fight would have to be won with words. He wished Hermione were here; she was the one with the gift for words.
They emerged from the stairwell and made their way down the long hall. Their progress down the hall went largely unnoticed by Harry, intent as he was on his own problems. At length, as they progressed toward Harry's destiny, he noticed a tall, austere sort of man who was regarding them intently as they made their way toward the courtroom. As they drew near, he approached them, a kindly expression coming over his face.
"Ah, Mr. Potter, I presume."
Although Harry was unsurprised the man seemed to know him (was there anyone who did not after all?), everyone else had been content to do no more than watch from a distance and whisper. In his experience, there were many Lockharts in the world—those who wished to know him for their own purposes and agendas.
Deciding it was better to be distant for the moment, he responded cautiously. "Yes? Can I help you?"
The man chuckled. "No, young Harry, I just thought I would say hello before you enter the courtroom."
Harry looked past the man at the open door, leading to courtroom number ten, which loomed in the distance. It seemed to mock him, beckoning him toward his destiny and sudden doom—taunting him with his own fears.
Shaking off his fanciful thoughts, Harry focused his attention back on the newcomer, who was even now watching him with an expression of sympathy.
"It is a little overwhelming, is it not?"
For the first time, Harry noticed the slight accent in the man's speech—it was not blatant, nor did it make him difficult to understand. Although he had no knowledge of this man—as Arthur did not, it appeared, given his curious reaction to the man and his lack of greeting—he was the type that inspired confidence and exuded competence.
"Just a little…" Harry finally muttered in response.
The man nodded sagely. "Although it seems bleak, just remember to keep your head up. We can't necessarily pick our circumstances, but we can choose the manner in which we react and conduct ourselves. Sometimes, that is more important in the long run. Our behavior in trying circumstances is a better indicator of our character than when we are in our comfort zone. Remember that as you stand in front of these fops."
His last words were spoken with a wry smile and a gesture toward Minister Fudge, who was making his way into the courtroom.
Grateful for the kind words, Harry nodded and regarded the mysterious man. "I'm sorry, sir, but do I know you?"
"No, although I do know of you." At Harry's grimace, he once again chuckled and slapped Harry on the shoulder. "I guess that's not exactly a surprise, now is it? Remember, you have people who are on your side—those who will fight for you. Don't let them intimidate and try to isolate you."
Harry nodded, thinking about what the man had told him. He knew he had good friends—Hermione and Ron were the best, Dumbledore and the other professors had always looked out for him, and it was amazing how close he and Sirius had become in such a short time. Somehow he would get through the day and become stronger for it.
Thank you, Mr.…"
"Oh, don't worry about me, Harry," the man responded. "I'm certain we will see more of one another in the very near future."
With that, Harry found his hand firmly shaken, after which the man departed, entering a door to the side of the main entrance to the courtroom. He looked askance at Mr. Weasley and noted a slightly bemused expression on the other man's face. As this was somewhat normal for his best friend's father, Harry simply shook his head, assuming Mr. Weasley had no more idea of the new acquaintance's identity than Harry did.
Gathering himself, Harry and his escort crossed the final distance to the courtroom entrance and paused before the open door.
"Harry," Mr. Weasley began, "you know we're all behind you. Don't worry about a thing."
Thanking his host for his assistance, Harry took at deep breath and entered the courtroom.
He found himself in a semi-circular room, with a floor that was roughly the size of the Gryffindor common room at Hogwarts. On three sides, benches rose up along the walls approximately ten levels high; to his back, a raised gallery stood above the entrance to the courtroom. The benches along the walls were filled with members of the Wizengamot, most of whom were stern-looking elderly witches and wizards. Although it was difficult to get a true reading of the mood of the legislative body, Harry could tell that many were not happy to be there—whether that was due to indifference, disapproval of Fudge's actions, or enmity to himself, he could not tell. Turning back in the direction from which he had just entered Harry gazed up at the gallery, which was packed with onlookers. Among those was the forbidding presence of Lucius Malfoy, who watched him with an arrogant smirk on his face. Determined to avoid the father of his most hated rival, Harry allowed his gaze to wander over the gallery and he caught the eye of the man he had just met outside the courtroom, who gave him a cheery salute. Grinning in response, he turned back to Minister Fudge, who was now regarding him with an expression of fury and the utmost disdain.