Ron Weasley, twelve years old, only regretted that there weren't enough Death Eaters at Hogwarts for him to rack up more heroic deeds.
"I get it, I get it, you've said it a million times already," Hermione Granger said, rolling her eyes impatiently. "You used a Soul Link Totem to split the damage you took with Lockhart, making that git feel the pain too." She waved a dismissive hand. "Instead of going on about it, you should be thanking Luna properly—if she hadn't used her divination to pinpoint your location and led us there, no totem in the world would've saved you from Lockhart."
It wasn't exactly kind to speak like that to someone who'd just been injured and earned some glory, nor was it what a good friend would do. But even the most thrilling story gets old when it's repeated endlessly, right?
On the first day, Hermione had listened to Ron's tale of that day's events with curiosity.
On the second day, she'd been shocked as Ron started twisting the story.
By the third day, she was speechless as he began fabricating details outright.
So now, all that was left between friends was exasperation.
"Yeah, 'cause when we got there, Ron was tied up tight to that totem," Neville Longbottom remarked casually.
"Hey! Mate! That's not how it went!" Ron protested, his face flushing.
What followed was a flurry of "If it weren't for me…" and "Luna did help, but…"—a jumbled mess of words that dissolved into incoherence, drowned out by laughter echoing through the Great Hall.
Knock, knock.
As the group bantered, a knock came at the door of Harry's office. When Sirius Black opened it, an unexpected figure stood in the doorway.
"Fudge?" Sirius's lip curled in distaste as he sized up the visitor. "What are you doing here? Is the Ministry of Magic really that idle?"
"Oh, Sirius, good to see you!" Cornelius Fudge replied, seemingly oblivious to the hostility. He extended a hand for a greeting, only to have Sirius pointedly dodge it. Undeterred, Fudge squeezed his way inside. "Harry? So glad you're here—er, I mean, could we have a word? Just the two of us?"
Fudge's hands fidgeted nervously in front of his chest.
"A word?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "Fine."
With that, Sirius and the kids were ushered upstairs, leaving Harry and Fudge alone on the ground floor.
"You've been doing quite well for yourself, Harry," Fudge said warmly, using Harry's first name with a familiarity that felt forced. "Yes, very good indeed. I heard about the… the matter of you becoming Hogwarts' new headmaster."
"It's just a proposal," Harry corrected. "I haven't agreed to it. And I've always thought Professor McGonagall is far better suited for the role."
Compared to their previous encounters, Fudge seemed overly friendly today, almost… desperate. Like a man chasing a woman who wouldn't give him the time of day. It was painfully obvious.
"Oh, we all know what that means, Harry," Fudge said with a forced chuckle. "I'll admit, Professor McGonagall is an excellent educator. I've respected her for years—but she's simply not right for that position now."
"Maybe," Harry replied noncommittally. "But the appointment of Hogwarts' headmaster isn't something the Ministry gets to decide."
"Of course, of course! That's Hogwarts' prerogative, and the Ministry would never interfere," Fudge said, his smile overly ingratiating. "Speaking of which, have the centaurs from the Forbidden Forest approached you lately? The Ministry's been struggling with how to reward them for their aid in the Battle of Hogwarts."
"Isn't there precedent for something like this?" Harry asked. "The centaur tribes haven't come to me about it."
"No," Fudge admitted, scratching his head awkwardly. "You know how it is—wizards… we have our own perspective. Magical creatures like centaurs don't usually…"
He trailed off, but Harry understood. Wizards rarely acknowledged the critical help provided by magical creatures.
"That's your problem to solve," Harry said evenly. "I'm just a professor. But Triton's tribe did contribute immensely to the Battle of Hogwarts. Four centaur warriors died, and many more were injured, some severely."
"I know, I know," Fudge said, rubbing his temples in frustration.
Fudge continued to ramble, circling around compliments and vague complaints about the Ministry's challenges, avoiding the point. Since he wasn't in a hurry, Harry wasn't either, responding curtly to each of Fudge's remarks.
"By the way, Harry, have you ever considered a career in politics?" Fudge finally asked, feigning casualness. "Not just your current role as Minister of the Shamanic Priesthood, but… Minister for Magic?"
Fudge held his breath.
"You're already thinking about successors?" Harry asked bluntly, cutting through the pretense. "Fair enough, but putting aside my age and experience, I have no interest in being Minister for Magic. You don't need to test me."
"Ahaha, haha!" Fudge's face turned the color of liver, but he didn't lose his temper. Instead, he forced a laugh. "No, no, this isn't a test! Age isn't an issue, Harry. With enough strength and prestige, and the support of most British wizards, you could be Minister."
"According to the Ministry's latest polls, your approval rating is high, Harry. Very high," Fudge said, avoiding specific numbers as he took a deep breath. "People trust you. They see you as the next Dumbledore… or rather, a young Dumbledore, not muddled with age—sorry, no offense meant. That's just what the Ministry's staff heard during the surveys. So, if you had any interest—"
"I don't," Harry interrupted firmly. "I have enough on my plate. My priority is training more reliable shaman priests. You know what the world's like out there. Only enough shamans can balance the increasingly volatile elemental spirits."
"Is that so?" Fudge said dryly. "Well, that's… excellent. I mean, we've had great cooperation before, haven't we? You cleared your godfather's name, and I helped sideline Crouch's overambitions. Looking back, those were good times."
"Get to the point, Minister," Harry said, his patience wearing thin. "This is a school, not a political office. I don't have time for games."
"Of course not!" Fudge said quickly. "I just mean our talks could be more… direct. We know each other better than the average wizard, and we've worked together before. Could I say I've consulted you for advice? Not just on the Minister's succession, but other matters—like the centaurs, the elements, or even those demons. I'd value the input of an expert like you, Harry." His voice quickened. "Perhaps you'd consider a new role? Like an advisor to the Minister, or a senior assistant?"
Fudge finally revealed his true intentions, and Harry understood why he'd come.
It was just like when Fudge first became Minister. Widely doubted, he'd only secured the position through his rivals' missteps. To hold onto power and gain public support, Fudge had styled himself as an extension of Dumbledore's will. He'd send owls to Dumbledore before every major decision, and though Dumbledore always replied that he wouldn't interfere with the Minister's choices, Fudge would claim the decisions were Dumbledore's ideas. That strategy had helped him solidify his position.
Now, Fudge was trying to pull the same trick again.
Because for Fudge, life had become incredibly difficult.
If Ron was basking in glory, Fudge was drowning in misery.
He didn't even dare walk through the Ministry's main hall to get to work anymore. Crowds of protesting wizards filled the atrium, chanting for his resignation. Once, Fudge had loved strutting through the Ministry, basking in greetings from passersby. Now, he had to take the Floo Network straight from home to his office.
And then there were the owl droppings bombarding him.
Fudge's actions during the Battle of Hogwarts hadn't stayed secret. He'd led the Aurors into battle, only to flee at top speed after the first clash with demons. Despite issuing a gag order to the Auror Office, the battle-hardened Aurors, who no longer respected him, let the truth slip. The story spread like wildfire.
Rita Skeeter had devoted an entire front page to mocking Fudge's cowardice. For days, even the global chaos and the failing Statute of Secrecy couldn't overshadow Fudge's headline. Dumbledore had merely gone missing, but Fudge, the Minister for Magic, had run.
Skeeter had even interviewed Rufus Scrimgeour, the Head of the Auror Office, who didn't spare Fudge's feelings. Scrimgeour recounted the events plainly, even praising Harry's strength based on his firsthand experience, proving Professor Potter's reputation wasn't just talk.
"I refuse," Harry said calmly. "Face it, Fudge. You're finished. You should've known the consequences when you fled the battlefield. You don't deserve to be a leader."
"At least if you resign now, you might save some face," Harry continued. "But if the wizarding public has to force you out, you'll have nothing left."
Fudge didn't respond. It was as if his spirit had been drained. His shoulders slumped, his back hunched, and he looked utterly defeated.
"But… I've only been in office for less than two years…" Fudge croaked, his voice barely audible. "I don't want to…"
"There've been Ministers who died in office," Harry said. "At least you won't."
The word "died" made Fudge flinch visibly. Without another word, he stood, looking lost. He grabbed his hat and left without so much as a goodbye.
No sooner had Sirius and the others, who'd been eavesdropping from upstairs, come back down than the office door was knocked on again. Harry opened it to find Rufus Scrimgeour, a man he'd fought alongside, standing there.
"Fudge was just here, wasn't he?" Scrimgeour asked gravely as he sat down.
"Yes," Harry replied, pouring him a cup of tea. "You followed him?"
"Word at the Ministry was he was headed to Hogwarts. I knew he'd come to you," Scrimgeour said with a scoff. "You're his last hope for support. You didn't agree to help him, did you, Professor Potter?"
"No," Harry said evenly. "I won't help a coward who fled the battlefield. As Minister, he should've been prepared to die there if necessary."
"Exactly," Scrimgeour said, his voice dripping with disdain. "A leader stands at the front, not runs away. No one at the Ministry supports him anymore. I don't know why he's still clinging to that position."
"That's your business," Harry said, shaking his head. "But if you're here, does that mean you want to be Minister?"
"I'm not a pure politician, Professor," Scrimgeour said frankly. "I don't hide behind fancy words. So, yes, I want to be Minister, and I believe I'd be a better one than Fudge."
"Then run for it," Harry said with a nod. "Win the public's support. Just don't repeat Fudge's mistakes. I think you've got a good shot—you're practical, at least."
"You don't have any ambitions yourself, Professor?" Scrimgeour pressed. "Not just for Britain, but the entire wizarding world is facing massive challenges. The Ministry needs a leader with strength and vision now more than ever. If it were you, I'd step aside and back you fully."
Harry stared at Scrimgeour, stunned. He couldn't fathom why the Head of the Auror Office had such faith in him.
"Why?"
Harry couldn't understand how things had spiraled to this point. Pureblood families and many wizarding households wanted him to become Hogwarts' headmaster to ensure the school's safety. And now, others were hoping he'd step up as Minister for Magic to lead wizarding Britain forward.
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