- Text Size +
Who is Harold Minchum?


“So who is Harold Minchum?” James asked, musing. It was Saturday afternoon, following the meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, and he was sitting in the desk chair in the upstairs room of the Shrieking Shack, a parchment pulled up before him, his quill hovering over. Sirius and Remus sat side-by-side on one of the two beds and Peter laid across the second one, sucking on a sugar quill. “What do we know about him?”

Remus spoke up first, “My dad was mates with him.”

“Really?” James looked over, “Do you know him well?”

“Better,” said Sirius, “How has this not come up yet in the like twenty million times we’ve discussed this already?”

“I’ve only just remembered! I’ve never personally met him, but he’s been in my dad’s stories before... My dad was mates with him when he was younger. They worked together at the Ministry when my dad was a junior assistant at the time. They went to a summit for MACUSA over in Canada… I think the place was called Scratchytoon? Siskatoon?… they were roommates there. It’s when he met my mum.” Remus looked sad - he’d just realized that he’d never hear that story again.

Sirius wrapped his arm ‘round about Remus and squeezed him.

“So this bloke’s worked at the Ministry a long while then,” James said.

Remus nodded, “Yeah… my dad liked him a lot. Always went on about this story where Harold Minchum turned into his animagus form - a moose - and he was in a bar and I dunno dad used to laugh too hard telling the story for me to really understand what the bloody hell he was talking about. Something about the moose orders enough drinks that his antlers are holding all the shot glasses and I dunno.”

“So Harold Minchum’s an animorphamagus then?” James said, (“animagus,” corrected Peter lazily), and James turned to the parchment and scribbled that bit down. “And he turns into a moose, you say? I wonder what personality traits go with a moose?”

“Probably similar to a stag,” Sirius said, still hugging Remus comfortingly. “I mean, essentially a moose is just a gigantic deer, isn’t it?”

“Moose are very different from deer, really,” Remus inserted.

“They’ve got four legs and horns,” Sirius said, “Essentially the same.”

“So do rhinos, are those deer, too?” Remus asked sarcastically.

Sirius thought about it a moment, “They’re dinosaur deer.”

“Bloody hell,” muttered Remus, shaking his head, “Can’t ever be wrong.”

James scribbled down research moose animagi - personality?? on the parchment. “What else? Do we know anything else about Minchum?”

“Moody seemed alright with him, he didn’t hex him or kick him out or anything - he was going to go for a walk with him that day,” Peter pointed out. “You don’t go for walks with people you hate or that you don’t trust.”

Moody trusts him. James’s handwriting was appalling, Sirius noted, craning his neck to see the list thus far. Only James himself would be able to translate that jumbled mess.

“And he was well dressed,” Remus pointed out. “He had on a suit and tie - a bowtie. It was a nice tie. It was red with blue dots.”

Sirius looked over at Remus, smirking, “You noticed that much detail about this bloke’s tie?”

“Sure,” Remus answered.

“Whyever for?” Sirius asked, and he narrowed his eyes, “Was this a handsome bloke?”

“Merlin’s beard, Sirius. NO. He’s old!” Remus rolled his eyes, then shrugged, “Ties look really nice on gentlemen.”

“I wear a tie,” Sirius said.

“Wearing it about your head like a bloody pirate doesn’t count as wearing a tie, you git,” Remus said.

Sirius considered this, “Hmm… I’ll remember that.”

Remus smirked, “I’d like to see you in a proper suit and tie, actually. I bet you’d look very nice. Grey, to match your eyes.” Remus studied Sirius a moment, picturing it, “Yes…” he mused, “Very nice, indeed.”

Sirius grinned.

“Um, I’m glad you lot are all dopey and in love and all that, but maybe we could focus on Harold Minchum a bit, yeah? Seeing as that’s what we’ve meant to do here?” James asked.

Peter snickered.

“We’re talking about him,” Remus argued, “Or I am, any rate. Its you lot who haven’t said anything of any use!”

Sirius yawned, “I’ve already suffered for the information I’ve provided.”

“I reckon you want a badge of honor?” James quipped.

Sirius sat back up, “Is the Order going to issue badges of honor? If so, then I most certainly do want a badge of honor. Gold. And I’ll pin it right to my chest here. Right here on my manly pec, Potter.” He jabbed at his left chest.

James rolled his eyes. “You wish you had manly pecs, Black,” he said.

“Oh he has pecs,” said Remus reverently. “Trust me, I know all about his pecs.”

Peter looked traumatized by this statement.

James laughed, “Rose coloured werewolf glasses, you’ve got!”

Sirius grinned, “What if a werewolf needed glasses?” He looked at Remus, “What if you were a specky git like Prongsie? What then? When you transformed would you be blind? Bloody hell, what a lame wolf you’d be then! A blind werewolf! Imagine!!”

“I reckon it would work the way James’s glasses does when he transforms. Or my clothes. They sort of...pack up with the human skin, I suppose.”

Peter looked alarmed, “Where does our skin go when we transform?” He’d clearly never thought about it before. “Blimey. Do you reckon it could get lost or something if you were transformed too long?”

“Nawh,” Sirius shook his head, “Calm down, Wormtail, don’t be so - sooo --” he looked at Remus, searching for a word.

“Neurotic,” Remus supplied.

Sirius turned to Peter, “Yeah - erotic!”

NEUROTIC, Sirius, neurotic!” Remus corrected quickly, “That’s a very different word, mate.”

James cracked up, wiping tears from his eyes. “We are so far off topic but that was bloody worth it!”




That week, James took out a subscription to the Daily Prophet and they took turns looking through it over breakfast, trying to spot anything at all pertaining to the Ministry. What they found was that Harold Minchum was mentioned quite frequently - in all sorts of capacities. The man was currently an auror, apparently one of Alastor Moody’s top men. Minchum was responsible for having put Druella Black behind bars the first time. He was the head auror on the case against Fenrir Greyback, investigating the missing kids from the muggle schools all over Europe. He’d been one of the men who oversaw the strengthening of Numengard, the castle where they kept Grindelwald, and had helped in converting it into one of the finest wizarding prisons in the world - and by finest, they really meant most dreaded. Numengard had more dementors than most people dared to fathom, and, according to Mr. Minchum, this was what Azkaban needed.

“Putting more of the dementors about Azkaban would be advisable,” Harold Minchum was quoted as saying in one article, “Especially as the Ministry aurors collect more and more of the Death Eaters - that is, followers of He Who Shall Not Be Names - and, eventually You Know Who himself. The more dementors, the more secured Azkaban shall be! It shall be known as the prison that none shall break free from!”

When they brought the papers out to the Shrieking Shack on Wednesday for Sirius to read through, he shivered reading that line, “Dementors are bloody terrifying. I don’t fancy ever meeting one.”

James shrugged, “I don’t reckon they’d bother me much. I mean sure they’re creepy but there are worse things.”

“Than never feeling happiness again? Than reliving all your worst memories and thoughts?” Sirius demanded. “Bloody hell, James, there can’t be anything worse than that.”

James said, “Sure there can.”

“Only because you haven’t got anything truly terrible in your life to revisit,” Remus said.

Sirius pointed at Remus, “What Mooney’s said.”

James said, “Oi, I have loads of terrible stuff in my past!”

“Uh huh,” Sirius nodded. “Like what? Mummy burning the bacon at breakfast?” he laughed.

James frowned, “There’s stuff.” He looked at Remus and his eyes flitted over the scars, “Granted nothing quite -- on the same level -- as -- as you lot…”

Sirius reached over and rubbed James’s hair, making it stand up on end. “Ah the dementors would have a right good feast on you. So much happiness in there. Bloody hell, they may never go hungry again.”

Remus smirked.

Peter asked, “But overall making prisons stronger - that’s a good thing, yeah?”

“Yeah. S’long as it’s Death Eaters he wants to put inside it,” James said, and he scribbled this information down on his pros and cons list under a pro.

Thursday he found a book in the library that detailed all the different meanings of the animagus forms that a person could take and he looked up the moose, scribbling down word for word what the book said for a description.

A moose is a prideful creature - a natural leader whose skills as a leader are gravitated towards for the sheer capability of the witch or wizard. Brute force is always secondary for the wizard who transforms into a moose, while peaceable options are always preferred. The moose will always fight to protect any and all that are subject to their leadership. The moose is an incredibly intelligent wizard, capable of picking up on nuance. They’re attention seekers, and a wizard who transforms to a moose is a seeker of dominance, displaying bravery at every opportunity. They have strict rules and retribution for breaking those rules is quick, fierce, and just.

“Well that all sounds good,” Peter said when James read the description to them that night in the dormitory.

“What do you think of it, Rey?” James questioned. “Rey???”

It was thundering-and-lightening outside, the rain whipping against the window. Remus was staring at the thick glass with worry in his eyes. He looked over at James, “Huh?”

“The moose description I’ve just read?” James asked, “What’d you think?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear it. What was it?”

James sighed.

Remus frowned, “I’m just worried about Sirius is all.”

“I know. But he’ll be alright, mate. This is important, you gotta focus!” James complained. “Now let me read it again - and you bloody pay attention this time, alright? Here goes -- a moose is a prideful creature ….




Hundreds of miles away, in her office in the Ministry for Magic, Eugenia Jenkins reached over to her inbox to collect the next folder containing information on another thing she needed to look at and approve. She opened it up and across the top of the parchment with in read Custody of Remus John Lupin. She leaned back with a sigh, pulling the parchment with her.

She had honestly been putting this one off.

She’d known Lyall Lupin. She’d actually rather fancied Lyall Lupin once upon a time, before he’d been anybody, before he’d started working at the ministry. Eugenia stared at the name of Lyall Lupin’s son on the parchment and she drew a deep breath. She had cried the night she heard that Lyall had been murdered - a mystery yet unsolved, who had done the killing. She’d sat in her office with the Prophet article open on her desk, unable to believe the words she was seeing… And now here she was, faced with the terrible aftermath - his orphaned son.

According to the file, Remus John Lupin had just turned fifteen the month before. He was the rightful owner of the house, but there’d been many, many bills overdue and consequently there was very, very little money left in the Lupin vault at Gringott’s. Remus Lupin was worth very little; not exactly nothing, but right next to it. He had no extended family - no grandparents, no aunts or uncles, no brothers or sisters, nothing. He was alone. But he wasn’t of age, so something had to be done with him during the months when he wouldn’t be at Hogwarts - and with only two months left to the term, Eugenia needed to figure out how to get him taken care of.

What to do with Remus Lupin?

She steepled her fingers and sat back, staring at the file...

What to do indeed…

“Madam Minister?” Eugenia looked up to see her secretary - her niece, Claire Fitz - standing in the doorway, holding a tea cup and a kettle. “Should you like some tea, Madam Minister?”

The girl sounded weird, but Eugenia supposed there was an awful lot of allergies going about this time of year…

“Tea would be lovely, dear,” Eugenia replied, and she diverted her eyes down again at the file before her, looking at the blinking face of Remus Lupin in a wizarding photograph - his Hogwarts ID photograph - a scar over his nose, thick and jagged, and she frowned down at it. The boy was horribly marred. It was too bad, she thought, for he might’ve been good looking if it wasn’t for the scars…

Claire poured the tea and, with a shaking hand, held it out to Eugenia.

“Thanks my dear,” Eugenia said, taking the cup and putting it at her elbow without taking a sip.

“Is it sweet enough, madam minister?” Claire pressed.

“Yes, sure,” Eugenia said, distracted.

“You didn’t taste it,” Claire pouted.

Eugenia reached for the cup… lifting it to her mouth…

A hand reached out, slapping away the teacup, which flew to the floor and shattered into a hundred bits. Eugenia looked up - Claire’s face had gone from expectant to terrified, “DON’T DRINK IT AUNTIE, DON’T DRINK IT! IT’S POISON!!”

Eugenia Jenkins looked up in shock.