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Chapter 195: The Bald Witch
Darren woke up early the next morning when Nymphadora Tonks came to wake him.
The girl's kindness was overwhelming. She had brought him breakfast the day before, knowing he'd been feeling miserable. She had done it all herself.
The food tasted surprisingly good, and Darren, feeling a little lost, ended up eating two large bowls. If Tonks hadn't brought two, he would have eaten even more.
Of course, Tonks wasn't perfect. When Darren had asked for a storybook to pass the time, she had brought him a joke book instead. It was filled with dry, cold humor.
He looked at the pages without smiling or laughing.
It wasn't funny, and staring at it made him almost feel frozen—but he was bored, so he went through the book expressionlessly, hoping the Ministry of Magic would send him back quickly.
"We'll Apparate to central London and enter the Ministry of Magic through the phone booth there. Darren, are you ready?" Tonks asked, concern clear in her voice.
She worried that, like before, Darren might take all the blame on himself, which could cause misunderstandings.
Yesterday she hadn't had the chance to mention it, because he had been too withdrawn, simply sitting there and staring at the joke book without expression.
She realized belatedly that maybe bringing a joke book hadn't been the best idea.
They Apparated to central London. Both Tonks and Alex flanked Darren cautiously, keeping a close eye on him.
Since he had been attacked by Death Eaters at Hogwarts, it was possible danger could follow him anywhere. Precaution was necessary.
Unlike Fudge, they weren't careless. So many students had already died, yet Fudge still worried about undermining Dumbledore's authority.
"Here!" Alex pointed to a red phone booth.
"Go first," he said cautiously, glancing at Darren.
Darren nodded and stepped into the dilapidated booth. The glass above was broken, and the interior walls were covered in scribbles.
It looked filthy, hardly like a Ministry phone booth.
Tonks squeezed in behind him, and Darren's face was pressed against her arm.
"Sorry… it's so cramped," she said, a little embarrassed.
She positioned herself so she could use the phone. "Let me see… the number is 62… 442… okay."
As Tonks dialed, a voice spoke—not through the receiver, but as if a woman was standing right there with them:
"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and purpose."
"Oh, Nymphadora Tonks, Auror Command. I'm bringing Darren Porter for the court trial!" Tonks replied.
"Thank you. Guest, please take this badge and pin it to your clothing."
A silver, rectangular badge slid into the booth, engraved with Darren Porter – On Trial, identical to the badges Harry had worn before.
Tonks clumsily pinned it to Darren's shirt, their bodies still pressed together, making movement difficult.
"All set. Don't worry, I've got you," Tonks said with a smile. Darren gave her a grateful look.
Then the voice spoke again:
"Ministry guests, you must register your wands at the security department."
The booth vibrated, startling Darren. He grabbed Tonks instinctively.
"Be careful!" he warned, frightened.
[Ding, Father +80]
"Don't worry, Darren. It's just a routine procedure. Nothing will happen to you," Tonks reassured him, patting his back.
After a minute, a thin golden light shot out at Darren's feet, growing until it bathed his face.
"Oh! I almost forgot!" Tonks blocked his eyes.
"The Ministry wizards move quickly—this is it! And… welcome!" she reminded him one last time. The booth opened, and Darren stepped out.
"Cluck!" Tonks laughed, teasing him.
Darren blinked in confusion, then realized his age and smiled sheepishly.
"Come on," she urged, leading him ahead.
"This is the Ministry of Magic. Isn't it beautiful?"
Darren nodded, taking in the grandeur. The Ministry was luxurious—golden and radiant.
The floor gleamed, the ceiling was peacock blue with intricate golden symbols, and dark wood lined the walls.
The fireplace looked gilded—probably not pure gold, or Darren might be tempted to steal it.
In the center of the foyer was a large fountain, crowned with a statue of a tall wizard surrounded by witches, house-elves, centaurs, and goblins.
The magical creatures gazed at the wizards with admiration.
Nearby, a group of wizards appeared, their faces lifeless, and most had noticeably bald heads.
Darren noted a similarity with Muggles: middle-aged men often went bald. Some had thick hair, likely using magical hair treatments, but most didn't care.
Darren touched his own thick hair, unable to imagine what he would look like bald. He imagined the effect of baldness on Snape—it made him nearly laugh and cry at the same time.
Fortunately, Mr. Weasley arrived just then, interrupting his thoughts and saving him from breaking into uncontrollable laughter.
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