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The Nomination for Minister of Magic


Flash bulbs flickered and blinked, brilliantly bright, as Harold Minchum walked down the staircase in the entrance hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Reporters from the Daily Prophet and every other wizarding publication in the world eagerly jostled and fought to get a clearer view of the auror, taking pictures and notes and shouting questions out of turn, their eyes all focused on the stern face of the ministry official as he adjusted his cufflinks carefully at his wrists and made sure the point of his pocket square was just so. He looked at his watch and at exactly noon, he walked up to the podium that had been magicked onto the stair and raised his wand to his throat, “Sonorous,” he murmured.

If the reporters hadn’t already been in a frenzy - they certainly were now.

“Good afternoon,” Minchum said and his voice echoed around the room. A wizard with a large radio microphone aimed it closer to Minchum’s podium, not wanting to miss a single word for the listeners of his station. “Witches, Wizards. First of all, I wish to welcome you to the grounds of Hogwarts School, a place that is very dear to my heart. Hogwarts was my home growing up, as it is, and has been, for many generations of witches and wizards, since the school was conceived of by the Founders. Since those days, Hogwarts has been a place of comfort and safety for millions of us.
“This year, the sanctity of the school was compromised by a dark wizard - a man that the Wizarding World calls He Who Must Not be Named - a Dark Lord who seeks to tear everything that we love and hold dear apart. The school was closed by order of the current Minister for Magic, Eugenia Jenkins, whose work as Minister for Magic has included many great, and noble deeds, including strengthening our relationship with the Mermish and MACUSA, passing protective laws for fair trial, and setting up a fund to assist witches and wizards who are in need. Eugenia Jenkins is not a bad Minister, she is not a bad woman. She is however under attack by a wizard whose powers she cannot compete with and has no experience defending herself against.
“In light of recent events, you, the Wizarding World, have chosen to hold an open election this summer to appoint a new Minister. I am honored that my name has come up among such distinguished options as Albus Dumbledore, Vanessa Bones, Adom Tutman, and all of the other nominees that have been put forward. Today, the Wizarding World has officially extended to myself and Adom Tutman the ballots for nomination and I am here today to officially accept the nomination for Minister for Magic and to describe to you what it is that I, Harold Minchum, would do as Minister for Magic.
“First, I would reopen Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as of 1 September as is tradition, reinstating Albus Dumbledore as Headmaster. Under Dumbledore’s appointment, this school has risen to new heights of greatness, accepting more muggle-born and half-blood students in the past two decades than it has at any time prior in the history of the school. Albus Dumbledore belongs in these halls, and it is his protection that has kept the school safe. Prior to his rash sacking, the school and it’s students were safe from attacks, and it was only when Dumbledore was removed that the children were ever in any danger.
“Next, I would actively seek out the followers of the Dark Lord to bring justice. Inspections of every suspect would be enforced. Rumors and whispers would no longer be ignored. The Dark Lord’s networking must be put to an end. Right now, the Ministry - and by extension, the entire Wizarding World - is vulnerable, infiltrated as it is by You Know Who. I would put an end to that. No more crooked aurors, no more two-faced politicians and members of the Wizengamot. The Ministry for Magic will be stringently cleansed of all traces of Voldemort.
“Furthermore, those found guilty of following You Know Who will be strictly sentenced and sent to Azkaban for their deeds. The security measures at Azkaban will be tripled - more dementors to guard the prison, stronger cells built for high security prisoners.
“We must show He Who Must Not Be Named that we mean business. We must show him that he cannot make us fear him. We must stand strong, together, as a community, as a world, to show that Dark Lord that his ways are not to be tolerated. Fear mongering, torture, murder - prejudice, hatred - these things will be tolerated no more. Enough magical blood has been spilled these past years, enough lives have been destroyed or taken.
“I can see it in the faces of the witches and wizards I meet everyday. We’ve had enough. We’re broken with worry, with oppressive fear.
“NO MORE.
“I WILL PROTECT YOU, UNTIL MY DYING BREATH… I WILL STAND UP… I WILL SAY ENOUGH. I WILL FACE THE DARK LORD HEAD ON AND TELL HIM THAT WE… HAVE HAD… ENOUGH!
“Voldemort can fire his best shots against me. I will not allow him to make me bow. I will not allow him to make you bow.
“WE WILL NOT TAKE THIS LYING DOWN.
“NO MORE.
“As Minister for Magic, I will strengthen us.
“As Minister for Magic, I will protect us.
“As Minister for Magic, I will avenge us.
“AS MINISTER FOR MAGIC, I WILL SHOW THE DARK LORD THAT WE… ARE… ONE… THAT MAGIC IS NOT MEANT TO BRING TEARS AND PAIN, THAT MAGIC IS MEANT TO BE LIGHT, IS MEANT TO END SUFFERING…
“AS MINISTER FOR MAGIC, I WILL SAVE OUR WORLD… EVERYTHING THAT WE HOLD DEAR ABOUT IT…
“AS MINISTER FOR MAGIC, I WILL END THE DARK LORD AND RESTORE PEACE!”

Harold Minchum stepped back from the podium, ducking around the security detail that had accompanied him - the Prewetts and Moody - and hurried up the stairs to the second floor to get away from the frenzied reporters that screamed and shouted, begging for him to answer questions, crying out in shock and awe at the passion with which he’d spoken.

Far off, in Godrics Hollow, Sirius Black and James Potter sat in James Potter’s bedroom, a radio on the floor between them, the words of Harold Minchum crackly through the speaker. James looked up with passion in his eyes. “He’s bloody brilliant,” he breathed, “I hope I’m half as brave as he is when I’m older.”

“You’re brave as that now,” Sirius replied, and he reached for the knob to turn off the stereo as they began a commentary of the speech.

“I’m not,” James answered. “I doubt I could ever be. Minchum is a bloody LION.” James looked revrently.

Sirius shrugged. “Honestly? I was just thinking that his speech reminded me of you.”
“Of me?” James looked utterly bewildered. “Me how?”
“At the Order meeting, talking to all those people, getting everyone going and raring and ready! Making them all brave enough to go charging into Grimmauld Place at the lead of Peter Pettigrew to save one of our own from the Dark Lord. Bloody hell, mate, your speech was just as good as all that, even used some of the same terminology!”

James blinked in surprise. “You’re mad.”

Sirius shook his head, “I’m not. You’re a good leader, and so is Harold Minchum, that’s my point.”

James looked uneasy, like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to believe Sirius or not. He shrugged.

“For real. You and Remus are the bravest blokes I know,” Sirius insisted.

“You’re brave, too,” James said. He was just glad they were having this conversation without Peter around - he knew neither of them could’ve said Pete was brave with a straight face.

Sirius laughed, “No, I’m a stupid, reckless git that doesn’t think things all the way through; there’s a difference.”

“You aren’t stupid,” James said. Then, changing the subject suddenly, not wanting to admit he agreed that Sirius was reckless and a git. “I wish I could vote. I’d vote a hundred thousand times for Harold Minchum. Everyone should vote for Minchum, I don’t understand the thought process behind a single person who doesn’t,” he went on, standing up and pacing about, still energized by the excitement he’d gotten from listening to the speech. “Bloody hell, he’s brilliant. He’s the greatest man on this planet, I reckon, right next to Dumbledore himself!”

Sirius watched James move about, a smirk playing on his face. He has no bloody idea, Sirius thought, watching as James continued on, waving his arms about as he talked, getting himself properly worked up. Sirius realized suddenly how much taller and grown up James Potter appeared; here he was, fifteen - no longer that bloody little eleven year old jumping from seat to seat aboard the Hogwarts Express, chasing an imaginary snitch - here he was, standing up and talking politics instead of Quidditch. Sirius could almost squint his eyes and picture James Potter in a smart suit and tie, something the like of which Harold Minchum would wear (and apparently turn Remus’s knobs)... He could picture James Potter standing at a podium with the press before him, delivering his own acceptance of nomination speech… could picture him doing addresses in the chambers of the Ministry for Magic…

Potter for Minister, thought Sirius. Vote for Potter!

Perhaps one day…

Then Mopsus’s voice came echoing into Sirius’s mind… James Potter will die at the hand of the Dark Lord!

He shivered the thought from his mind.

No, Sirius thought, forcing it out brutally, James Potter won’t ever die. Look at him there, like a ruddy statue… (James had one hand up in the air like he was posing for one of those fountain statues you saw everywhere commemorating this general or that minister or what not). Sirius’s eyes glistened with hope for his mate. He’ll be great. He’ll die an old man in his bed a hundred years from now, when he’s good and tired and grey as Dumbledore…

“I can’t bloody wait until 4 August,” James said excitedly, “Minchum’s going to bloody destroy Voldemort! I can’t wait. Bloody hell, I can’t wait.”

Sirius hugged his knees, “Well, I mean, the election is on 4 August, I don’t reckon he’ll instantly kill the Dark Lord…”

“But it’ll be the first step of it,” James insisted. “Merlin. This is exciting, why aren’t you more excited Sirius, how are you sitting there, so calm, when we just heard that speech? Aren’t you excited?”

Sirius replied, “I’ll be excited when all that lot happens. When it’s real, when Voldemort’s corpse is rotting in the bloody ground where it ought to be.”

“Me, too, but I’m excited now, too,” James said.

Sirius smirked, “You don’t say.”

James wrung his hands.

“It’s going to be a very long summer if you keep this lot up,” Sirius snickered, “It’s not barely even May, Potter.”

“I know.”

“We’ve got other things to think on, too, other important things we need to figure out. Like how to get my mirror back from the Shrieking Shack so I can talk to Moony, and we gotta get the Order together…”

“Yes, the Order! We need to figure out how we can help the Minchum campaign!” James exclaimed. “Blimey, we’re gonna be busy.”




Albus Dumbledore sank into his seat back in the room over the Hog’s Head Pub. He was holding a handful of clockwork bits and pieces he’d collected from the floor in the library at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, and a small glass orb… He had found the pieces, and the orb, when he’d gone back to collect Sirius Black’s things before Walburga had time to reseal the Fidelus Charm. He turned the smoky orb over in his palm. Coming from it was a small tag with spidery black writing upon it: A Prophecy of Mopsus, concerning the fate of James Charlus Potter and Tom Marvolo Riddle; Given 27 April, 1975 to Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, Alice Prewitt & Frank Longbottom.

Dumbledore rubbed his beard thoughtfully.

He got up and wandered across the room slowly, putting the orb up on the mantel carefully, keeping the label angled so he could look at it. He leaned against the wood mantel and stared down into the hearth, his eyes filled with concern.

Mopsus was dead, yet his spirit lived on - at least long enough to deliver this prophecy.

How?

He stared into the fire, thinking, considering, his mind working over the details of all that had come to pass since he’d walked into that little shop the year before at Diagon Alley.

A child’s soul had been bartered by Mopsus’s presence at the castle. And he’d heard rumors, rumors from each of the years about things that Kostos Mopsus had predicted during their first classes that had come true - every last thing the old man had predicted had come to pass… except for one, which seemed to Dumbledore to be entangled together with the bartered soul…

A test, he’d heard, four souls would be tested - two would pass and two would fail.

He’d worked out at least two of the four who had been tested, knew them by name and had been keeping an eye upon them all year long, watching parts of their testing unfold… But who were the other two? And what had the results been? April, come and gone, the testing completed… the souls of those four were sealed…

Dumbledore rubbed his beard.

He would have to learn, he supposed, in the fullness of time.

But until then, he’d keep his eye on Regulus Black, as the boy fought for his soul.