A Certain Magical Hogwarts

The door opened, and Scrimgeour limped into the room.

Compared to Fudge, with his round hat and portly figure, Scrimgeour—the Head of the Auror Office—looked solid and weathered, bearing the scars of his work.

Once Nicolas Flamel left, it was just the two of them.

"How are you feeling, son?" Scrimgeour asked, his concern gruff.

"I think I'm alright now," William replied, somewhat puzzled.

"Oh… well, I hope you're comfortable here?"

William wanted to say no; after all, who would feel comfortable in a hospital? Instead, he simply nodded. It was evident that the Auror head wasn't exactly skilled at small talk.

No wonder Fudge had risen to power; his social skills alone would have put him miles ahead. 

In wartime, a tough leader would have been preferred, but in peaceful times, Scrimgeour's hard demeanor wouldn't get him far.

After a few more awkward exchanges, Scrimgeour finally came to the point.

"Son, I wanted to talk to you… about that dark-robed wizard."

"Funny, I was hoping to hear about that myself," William said offhandedly. "Has the Ministry's investigation turned up anything?"

"Oh… no. He was slippery and powerful; even twenty Aurors couldn't catch him."

William shrugged, unsurprised. If the Aurors were that effective, the wizarding world would have been far more peaceful by now.

Scrimgeour paced a bit, then asked, "What did Dumbledore say… and the old man, Flamel?"

"Sir, you should probably ask them yourself," William replied plainly.

"I know, I know, but you understand… Dumbledore always has his own plans, doesn't he?" Scrimgeour's voice took on an edge. 

"If he were Minister, I'd follow his orders without a single question. But he isn't, because he doesn't want the role; he's content to stay at Hogwarts as Headmaster.

"But Britain has an official Ministry, not just Hogwarts, nor the old Order of the Phoenix." He lowered his voice and leaned in, almost as if to share a secret. "He might not want to be Minister, but the rest of us are responsible for Britain. Otherwise, what am I here for, being the Auror head of office and all?"

Scrimgeour's voice grew more intense. "Kid, we need to be prepared… for things like this." He waved his hand toward the door.

"If I'd known sooner, I'd have had fifty Aurors lying in wait, ready to ambush him instead of scrambling to catch him. Don't you think that would've made a difference?

"It's for your safety as well as everyone else's. Surely you don't want your family going through another attack like that?"

William smiled, faintly amused. Scrimgeour had a fair point and was, after all, framing it from the moral high ground.

This also suggested something else to William: Dumbledore wasn't the conventional "good" wizard, nor a saint, nor a fool. 

He was supremely confident, distrustful of the Ministry and its Aurors—he trusted only himself. And Dumbledore's cunning was enough to ensure that he rarely, if ever, made mistakes.

"I'm sorry, sir, but the truth is, I don't know much more than you do," William replied smoothly. "You said it yourself: the 'great' Dumbledore… he wouldn't share his plans with a 'mere' student."

"A mere student?" Scrimgeour shook his head, chuckling. "You're being too modest, kid."

He restored the chair William had blasted to pieces and took a seat.

"The youngest Merlin Award winner…now, that's no small feat." Scrimgeour gestured around the room. "Plenty of folks think you just got lucky. But the scene at Gringotts… we all saw it for ourselves.

"Dumbledore cares about you, son. He likes you, trusts you!"

The comment was innocent enough, but William couldn't shake the feeling that there was an underlying intention behind it.

"So… I thought maybe Dumbledore had shared a few details with you?"

"Sorry, but no," William said. "I haven't seen him at all since."

Scrimgeour sighed, "Fair enough. Well, have you considered working with the Ministry?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean becoming an Auror," Scrimgeour clarified. "I can give you a chance to make good use of your skills after you graduate. Think about it."

Seeing William's unconvinced expression, he added, "I know you don't like Umbridge. Neither do I. She's gone. I made sure of it."

William snickered inwardly. Umbridge's departure was Fudge's doing, orchestrated after they got close at the Merlin Award banquet. Clearly, the Auror head had his own little manipulations.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm only twelve," William reminded him. "I don't exactly meet the requirements."

"Not officially, no. But you could start as an apprentice. Plenty of Hogwarts students joined the Aurors straight out of school during the war with Voldemort. 

"As a Merlin Award recipient, you'd be an exception. And I wouldn't have you in the field; it'd just be training, an introduction to the job."

"Imagine the honor that would be for you—experience that would help you rise, whether you wanted my job or even Fudge's one day."

The offer was as blatant as it was flattering. Scrimgeour wanted to befriend William and gradually extract information from him. Clever, really—after all, William was just a "child."

"If I ever want to become an Auror, I'll apply after graduation. Right now, I think I'd rather focus on my studies," William said, smiling. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"Oh, absolutely. Just know my door is always open." Scrimgeour started to continue, but the door opened, and Hermione entered, carrying a potion.

William blinked, surprised to see her there.

Hermione glanced uneasily at Scrimgeour. "Auror, sir, the Healer instructed me to give William his medicine and make sure he rests."

Hermione shot William a look, and he caught on immediately, taking in a labored breath and groaning, "Sorry, my chest hurts again…"

"Very well, then." Scrimgeour straightened up, disappointment plain on his face. "And remember, son, the Auror office is always open to you."

As he was about to leave, Scrimgeour leaned in close and muttered, "Watch yourself, boy. Dumbledore obviously knew the dark wizard was coming to Gringotts; how else could Fawkes have arrived before the Aurors?"

William didn't respond, only offering a cold stare.

When Scrimgeour had finally gone, Hermione handed over the potion, and William took a sip. 

He nearly gagged at the vile taste, suspecting it was something Professor Snape had brewed.

But under Hermione's stern gaze, he managed to gulp it down.

After he finished, Hermione picked up one of his first-year textbooks, took a seat in the chair, and buried herself in it without a word, still angry that he'd left her behind that day.

Though she pretended to be engrossed, her gaze often darted over the top of the book, watching him closely, as if making sure he didn't get himself into further trouble.

William said nothing, resting quietly.

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