— I don't think I quite understood you, mister. — I smile politely at the chubby little man with the watery eyes. — You mean me, Sora Hoshino and Mr. Harry James Potter aren't officially adults yet, right?
— If you understand that, there's no need to waste my time — it's worth money! — The official grimaced and lowered his eyes to the papers, but I could see the sparks of satisfaction in his gaze, as well as that peculiar anticipatory glint.
— Doesn't the fact that I'm holding a paper with the official decision of the Wizengamot mean anything? — I'm really enjoying this, I'm already anticipating how much blood I'm going to drink, I just have to find a way... or rather ways to do it.
— The Wizengamot's decision was tentative. — The head of the juvenile probation department responds rather primly. There are three such departments, by the way, and they all deal with the same thing, except that when it comes to direct communication with the people, the cases are handled exclusively through one department, this one. — In order for you and Mr. Potter to be officially recognized, you must be seventeen years of age, you must have all the necessary preliminary documents, and you must both be recognized as competent by your guardians. The Ministry will never go out of its way to violate laws and regulations by bypassing all proper procedures. — He puffed up like he was about to burst, but there was a look of anticipation in his eyes.
— You know the word "precedent," don't you?
— For insulting your elders, you should be punished. I'd recommend a caning for your guardian.
— That's a strange reaction, Mister, to a simple question. — I wipe the smile off my face and replace it with a slight sadness. — Well, I can see there's no point in talking to you normally. — I rise from the rather uncomfortable visitor's chair. — In that case, I'll see you later, mister. — No nods or other expressions of respect, even out of common courtesy.
A look of annoyance and disappointment ran down my spine, but "Mister" remained silent. Without thinking, I walked over to where Secretary Fudge was sitting. I was sure he would enjoy our conversation. I couldn't help but smile as I passed a small cubicle with rather comfortable sofas, a few ficus trees, and pleasant lighting that contrasted sharply with the overall gloomy design of the British Ministry of Magic's interior.
A few wizards and sorcerers were resting there, discussing something in a jovial manner. As it turned out, despite the special papers Harry and I had been given, Dumbledore, who had summoned the boy to his room for tea, had gently rinsed his brain and told the teenager the simple truth: You're a little brat with no rights, I'm your guardian, because little brats can't be without a guardian, and a piece of paper from the court means nothing.
When the Gryffindor came to me with this question, I was a little surprised, and I asked him to tell me what the good Headmaster had actually said, but no, he hadn't misunderstood, he had understood correctly. Then I had my doubts and decided to make a banal check — I went to the ministry to get a certificate that would once again recognize me as eligible.
If you want, you can get a mountain of such certificates, but I faced the harsh reality: even if you get a court order, you still have to get it enforced. Well, I admit I could have spent this day in a different way, but if I had the chance to walk around here and make people bleed, why should I pass it up, right? Besides, I'm not the bad guy in this situation.
The minister's office was deserted, not even a secretary, but there was a bell on his desk, which I rang. No, I feel, and through the spiritual world and see where the young secretary is now, and what services she provides to her boss, but not to "scare" the office? Why make a scandal when you can do everything more calmly, without hysteria?
I watched them both shudder with a covert chuckle and a polite expression on their faces, and when the girl began to fidget and weave worked charms, Fudge himself flared with real anger at being interrupted without finishing. As a man, I understand him perfectly, but if you decide to do such things in the middle of the working day, then be prepared for something like this to happen.
The girl's face was... well, normal for the level of the locals, because she certainly did not come from a magical family, so there were no "thoroughbred" features. The secretary, as they say, "kept her face", not revealing her recent occupation of "tension" of the minister, discontent glittered in her eyes, and therefore she did not want to let me pass to the "august" in any way.
I did not try to persuade anyone for a long time, but simply said that if I was not allowed to see the minister now, I would go from here first to Skeeter, and then to my friend Pierre Delacour, not the last person in the government of magical France. I didn't speak softly, but I didn't shout either, so I wasn't surprised when Fudge's voice came from a box on the secretary's desk, demanding to speak to me.