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The Minister for Magic


James sat alone in a compartment near to the front of the train, across from the Prefect’s compartment. Harry Warbeck, one of the prefects, stood outside his door, leaning against the wall, making sure he didn’t go anywhere. The train operator, a soot-covered wizard with a bulbous nose names Jeremiah Kensington, had ordered that James be kept there while he assessed the damage.

“Never in 70 years of operating this train have I had a kid blow off a firecracker!” Jeremiah had bellowed in anger. And then he’d sent a patronus to the Ministry for Magic. “The aurors will be comin’ fer ya!” he shouted, and then he had gone off to inspect the train.

James’s heart was in his throat. He was certain to be getting expelled and the Aurors were probably going to come to drag him home where he’d face the wrath of his parents, who would be very, very angry. He looked at Harry Warbeck’s form in the blown-out windows and wondered if he could take Harry on. James imagined ninja-chopping his way through the door and sprinting down the corridor to the exit, leaping from the train and running - running across the field that surrounded the train to the woods and living like a vagabond. It hadn’t been so bad, the life Remus and Sirius had forged through all summer. Perhap winter would be doable… build some fires, knick some blankets, maybe…

Are you a wizard, use your wand, you idiot. Sirius’s voice suddenly went through James’s mind and he realized he’d been envisioning getting away without using any magic at all. He was just about to start working out what spells he would use against Harry Warbeck in a duel for a bid for his freedom when he heard a great deal of murmuring going on, getting louder, as students all along the train started talking, gossiping, shouting out news to one another.

James stood up and went to the window, sticking his head out the now empty frame to look at Harry Warbeck. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“You aren’t supposed to do that,” Harry said, frowning.

James pulled his head back in. “Alright better? What’s going on?”

“I dunno,” Harry replied, “I’m guarding you, aren’t I? Anything I heard you’d have heard…”

Another of the prefects ran over - it was Geoffrey Mulciber from Slytherin and he grinned menacingly at James, his eyes lit with delight. He looked at Harry, playing at not realizing James could hear him, he said, “This one’s in big trouble. The Minister for Magic has just arrived, along with Alastor Moody.”

Harry Warbeck’s eyes widened. “The Minister!”

James felt like he would be sick. He sat back on the bench numbly, all thoughts of escape from the compartment came screeching to a halt. There was no doubt about it now - he was definitely getting expelled and more than likely sent to Azkaban itself. He clutched the bench, his knuckles white, wishing very much that he wasn’t alone - although, Peter would have been no help at all about now. The first thing from James’s mouth when the Jeremiah Kensington had come running down the aisle of the Hogwarts Express had been that Peter had had no part in the explosion. ”He was trying to stop me doing it,” James had lied, “He had no part in it. Honest.” After all, the whole point had been to cheer Peter up, not to get him in trouble, and so James had shouldered the full responsibility. And because of his reputation of being a troublemaker, nobody had questioned it at all. In fact, even when Peter had insisted that it had actually been his idea, nobody listened, and James had been hauled off to the prefects compartment alone.

He wished Sirius was here with him.

There came the sound of very official, heavy footsteps in the corridor and slowly the sound of the students voices quieted all along the train as the sound got louder and closer and then Harry Warbeck jumped out of the way as Alastor Moody turned and looked in through the paneless window frames at James.

Moody had replaced his eyepatch with a most disturbing glass eye that was held in with a funny contraption like a glasses frame that strapped to his head, his hair wildly flowing around it in frazzled strands that stood up in every direction. This glass eye swivelled and swung about madly, seeming not to focus on any one thing for too long, though his natural, human eye focused quite intently on James Potter.

“What’re yeh thinkin’, boy, settin’ off firecrackers on a ruddy train?” Moody snapped, staring down at James heavily.

James swallowed, very, very terrified. He didn’t know what to say, and even if he did, his mouth felt positively glued shut. He couldn’t move his jaw if he wanted to.

Moody shuffled back and James could hear him kicking back the glass on the floor outside the compartment and he opened the door wide, holding it open, “After you, madam,” he murmured.

James’s heart lurched as he saw her coming around the frame. He’d only seen her in photographs on the cover of the Daily Prophet - never in person before. But she looked just as ominous and stately in person as she did in the papers... It was Eugenia Jenkins, Minister for Magic. Her eyes appraised James slowly as she stepped through the doorway, her mouth a straight, hard line, and she held herself so that her chin was held proudly, a set of freshwater pearls ‘round her neck, accenting her blue skirt-suit and bringing out the embroidered Ministry logo on her lapel. She looked so official that James felt very small all of a sudden and not at all like he was fourteen and a half. His face flushed and he tried to discreetly tug at his shirt to straighten out some of the wrinkles that had already begun to work their way into the fabric.

“Mr. Potter,” Eugenia Jenkins said in a high, important voice, “Do you know who I am?”

James nodded, his mouth still very much not functioning.

“I’m sorry, do you speak?” she asked.

“Y-yes ma’am,” James stammered.

“Very good.” Eugenia Jenkins tilted her head to one side, “Is it true that you’re the one who’s set off a dragon bomb on a locomotive?”

James started to nod, but then he remembered she wanted him to speak and he said, quietly, thickly, “I didn’t realize it was a dragon bomb when I’d done it. Thought it was a noisemaker.” He paused, then tacked on, “Ma’am.”

She studied him for a long moment, then said, “And whatever possessed you to believe setting off any sort of explosive device on a moving vehicle would be an advisable activity?”

James mumbled lowly, but the only word that was loud enough to understand was prank, and Eugenia Jenkins looked most displeased.

It was at this moment that James noticed Moody shift in the hall and another figure came ‘round the corner. James’s stomach lurched yet again as Albus Dumbledore stepped into the compartment, smiling merrily as though he were just coming from a fair. He was smoothing his beard, which was tucked behind the rope belt that looped about his waist. “Good morning, Madam Minister,” he said, nodding politely to her, “Alastor.” He turned to James. “Mr. Potter.”

“Hullo,” James’s voice came out croaky like frog.

Dumbledore turned to Eugenia Jenkins, “I’m so very sorry that Jeremiah has bothered you for such a small misdemeanor, Madam Minister,” Dumbledore said, “I am sure you have far more important things to deal with than a child’s pranks.”

Eugenia Jenkins looked at Dumbledore in surprise, “Why wouldn’t he have contacted us at the ministry? A young man --”

“Young man! He’s only fourteen,” Dumbledore smiled, “Merely a boy.” James could barely believe that Dumbledore had the nerve to interrupt the Minister for Magic. His jaw had dropped. He didn’t even feel the need to be offended by being called a boy or having Dumbledore say he was only fourteen. He was too much in awe.

“None the less, he has blown up a piece of public property,” Eugenia Jenkins said. “That is a very serious offense, Dumbledore.”

Nodding slowly, Dumbledore said, “Ah yes… yes, it is… but the foolishness of our youth! Don’t you recall, Eugenia, what it is like to be fourteen?” he smiled slowly, “You were in Gryffindor… at the time when I was the Head of House, were you not?”

Eugenia Jenkins stared at him quite steadily.

“About the same time that Minerva McGonagall and Brutus Scrimgeour, am I correct?” Dumbledore’s lips were twitching with amusement. “A bit of tomfoolery had been had by the three of you, once upon a time, or have your forgotten all of the things I so very often caught you lot at?”

Bloody hell, James thought, staring around at the adults. Was Dumbledore getting him out of trouble?

“I- I suppose,” Eugenia Jenkins replied reluctantly. An amused smirk was playing on Moody’s mouth.

“So of course you understand how foolish youthful actions can be.” Dumbledore looked about, “Besides that, my dear, it is, after all, the Hogwarts Express…”

Eugenia Jenkins nodded slowly.

“And as I said before, I am sure you are most busy with the matters of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. I’m sure you cannot spare the time to deal with a boy’s detention…” Dumbledore smiled, “That’s what I am here for. As headmaster of Hogwarts. Where this boy was headed at the time the small prank was made. I officially relieve you of the headache of having to deal with this matter. My goodness, if we called you every time a boy pulled a prank…” Dumbledore smiled, “You’d never see your office again, Madam Minister.”

Eugenia Jenkins hesitated, looking from Dumbledore to Moody and back to Dumbledore. It was clear she wanted to hand over the whole thing to Dumbledore - she really did have a hundred other matters of far more importance to deal with back at her office in London - but she’d come all the way here… and if the boy really had set off a dragon bomb on a train... “But he is needing a punishment, Headmaster,” she said, “And the law clearly states that underaged sorcery outside of school --”

“He set off a firecracker, not a spell,” Dumbledore interrupted.

“Damage of public property --”

“Ahh but again, this is the Hogwarts Express, not a public vehicle. Not the Knight Bus.”

Eugenia Jenkins looked quite put in a corner, so she drew herself up. “Very well then, Albus, I shall leave it to you to punish the young man --”

“Boy,” Dumbledore injected.

“-- as you see fit.” Eugenia Jenkins looked at James imploringly. “You, sir, have an official warning from the Minister of Magic, on this, the first of September 1974, that you shall face ministerial prosecution should you repeat this offense. Is that clear?”

James nodded, “As glass, ma’am.” He hadn’t meant it to sound cheeky but the look on her face clearly said she’d taken it that way. She glowered at him a moment, then stepped out of the compartment, nodding at Dumbledore as she passed.

Moody winked at James with his good eye before following her down the aisle.

Dumbledore stood before James patiently, waiting until the minister had departed, then he looked at James and he smiled. “Well, Mr. Potter, let’s go.”

“Go? Go where?”

“To my office.” Dumbledore turned and left the compartment and James hesitated, confused. “Ahem! Mr. Potter, I am a very old man and I do not fancy waiting about all day for you; come along.”

James got up and hurried after Dumbledore, glancing at Harry Warbeck, who stood just around the corner, where Alastor Moody had stood. He gave James a rueful sort of look that clearly said he didn’t expect to be seeing Potter in the Halls of Hogwarts that term. Dumbledore led the way to the exit door and James followed, feeling the eyes of students watching his walk of shame through the first train car to the door. He kept his head low, trying not to meet any of their eyes.

“Mr. Dumbledore, sir,” called Jeremiah Kensington from behind, “Mr. Dumbledore -- what’bout the mess the boy’s made?” he looked at all the shattered glass about the place.

“Oh yes - where is my mind?” Dumbledore asked, and he smiled then drew his wand from his robe sleeve and he cleared his throat. “Reparo!” His voice seemed magnified and bellowy when he spoke the spell. This James looked up for. A good deal of students looked about eagerly. The glass shuddered on the floor and as Dumbledore’s wand waved, the shards flew up from the floor and replaced themselves into the frames of the windows, as perfectly clear and whole as they’d been before James had lit off the dragon bomb. “There,” he said, looking around. He noticed one little fragment of pane that hadn’t replaced itself and he picked it up and pressed it into the window, and there it was. He looked at Jeremiah Kensington. “Good as new, Mr. Operator. On with the journey!” He turned to James, “And on with ours. Come along.”

Jeremiah looked appeased.

James followed Dumbledore out the door of the train and a few feet away, into the field. They stood and watched as faces pressed against the newly repaired windows, watching as Dumbledore and James stood in the knee-high grass. After a few moments, the train whistle filled the air and there was a shrieking as the wheels began churning, slowly but surely, and then the train began to grind forward, and the windows passed by… one by one, face by face… until the engine was gone, disappearing off through the woods, nothing more but a trail of smoke that billowed into the air.

James thought of the train in the woods by Sirius and Remus’s tent, of the bridge and the brilliant feeling of freedom that diving had given them. He wished he was diving off that bridge right now.

He glanced up at Dumbledore.

“Let us away,” Dumbledore held out his arm and James stared at it, confused a moment, then Dumbledore raised his eyebrow and James realized he was meant to grab hold on the crook of his arm. With a crack Dumbledore disapparated from the field and in the blink of an eye (and a wild twist of the stomach), James found they’d appeared in Hogsmeade, out front of the Hogshead pub.

It was nearly noon, the sun hung bright in the sky overhead. They walked quickly through the village and up the hill that led to the castle, Dumbledore murmuring the spells to allow them through the gates without hesitation, and then sealing them back up as they walked on ‘round the bend… and then they broke through the trees and there was the castle, looming up ahead, tall and reaching into the sky with turrets and viaducts. James felt a lump rise up in his throat. Despite everything he was facing, he couldn’t help but feel relief - he was home.

He wondered fleetingly when Hogwarts had become home.

Of course, he realized, it was when he was roomed with the other Marauders. They’d made it home.

Dumbledore’s office seemed a million miles away. When they finally arrived, and Dumbledore told the Gargoyles about his fondness of Watermelon Lollies, he waved for James to have a seat before the desk. Dumbledore himself sank into the chair behind it, a great sigh of relief shuddering through him as he leaned back and clutched the handles of the chair, smiling. “As I said before, I am an old man. My old hips were direly in need of a rest.” He stared at James for a long moment.

James did everything he could to avoid meeting Dumbledore’s eyes, feeling very, extremely uncomfortable. He stared at some of the silvery instruments on the desk and at a pile of papers and at his trainers and the pattern of the rug beneath… But Dumbledore didn’t look away, and finally James had to look up at him - there was just no other options.

A sinking feeling of guilt swept through James’s belly.

“Well, Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore, steepling his fingers before his mouth. “Have we learned a lesson today?”

“Don’t blow off bombs on a train,” James said.

Dumbledore thought a moment, “Very, succinctly said, Mr. Potter.” He said, “And did the minister’s warning sound reasonable to you?”

“Yes sir.”

“Are you going to heed it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Dumbledore nodded, “Very good.” He paused a moment, looking very sternly at James, his wooly eyebrows low over his eyes. “And do you wish to know what I think of the entire situation?” the headmaster asked.

“Yes, sir,” whispered James.

“I am… most disappointed,” Dumbledore said.

James looked up and he felt a lump rise up in his throat. Disappointing the headmaster was the worst thing he’d ever done. His eyes glistened.

Dumbledore stood up, walking to the door and James knew he was being dismissed. He slid out of the chair, feeling profoundly terrible. Dumbledore watched as James slunk by onto the landing outside.

He paused and looked back as he reached the steps. “Professor Dumbledore,” he said thickly, “I’m very sorry that I disappointed you.”

Dumbledore smiled, “Well Mr. Potter, I think the most disappointing part of it all is that I didn’t get to see the dragon bomb fired… I imagine it was a quite spectacular sight.” His eyes twinkled.

James stared up at him in disbelief, and Dumbledore waved his hand and the stairs started carrying James down. “Goodnight, Mr. Potter,” he called, closing the office door.