Standing Straight

The air in Dumbledore's office was thick with tension, the kind that clung to the walls and made the portraits of former headmasters shift uncomfortably in their frames. The students involved in the brawl stood in a line before the grand desk, their faces a mix of defiance, annoyance, and, in some cases, poorly concealed amusement. The room felt like a powder keg, one spark away from exploding.

On one side stood the Gryffindors—James, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Weasley twins—each radiating varying levels of frustration. On the other side, Malfoy, Flint, Pucey, and the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team stood with their trademark sneers, though a few of them looked more sulky than smug.

Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape were in the middle of a heated argument, their voices sharp enough to cut through the heavy silence.

Severus Snape's voice was as cold as a dungeon breeze. "They assaulted Slytherin students, Headmaster. This is no small matter. Pointing a wand and casting a spell at Draco is not something to be taken lightly."

McGonagall's lips were pursed into a thin line, her tone equally icy. "And Malfoy's foul language is something to be ignored, is it? He had no right to speak as he did!"

Snape's dark eyes narrowed, his voice dripping with disdain. "And that gives them the excuse to launch an attack?"

Dumbledore, who had been silently massaging his temples, let out a heavy sigh. The old wizard looked weary, as though he had lived long enough to see history repeat itself yet again. "Enough," he said firmly, his piercing blue eyes flicking between the two heads of house. "As things stand, both parties are at fault. And I have decided that all involved will apologize to one another and serve detention for a month."

James, who had been listening quietly until now, suddenly straightened up, his ears perking at the words. His expression shifted from mild boredom to quiet defiance.

Dumbledore's voice remained calm, though the lines on his face deepened slightly. "Now, all of you, say sorry to one another."

The room filled with half-hearted mutterings of "Sorry." None of the apologies were sincere; they were merely spoken for the sake of getting it over with. But as the words faded, one voice remained conspicuously absent.

James Dawson had not spoken.

All eyes turned to him. He stood there, arms crossed, his face unreadable. The silence stretched uncomfortably.

Dumbledore's gaze landed on him, mild but expectant. "Mr. Dawson?"

James met his gaze without hesitation. His voice was steady. "Sorry, Headmaster, but I won't be saying it."

McGonagall inhaled sharply. "Mr. Dawson, you will apologize at once."

James didn't flinch. "I refuse, Madam." His tone remained respectful, but his meaning was clear. "And I don't regret my actions."

The room, already tense, felt as if it had dropped a few degrees.

Malfoy, sensing an opportunity, scoffed. "Then I'm not sorry either. I meant what I said."

Dumbledore exhaled through his nose, the headache undoubtedly growing worse. Before he could speak, another voice chimed in.

"I'm not sorry either," Harry said, his green eyes blazing.

Before the rest of the Gryffindors could follow suit—because the twins looked ready to chime in as well—Dumbledore's voice boomed through the office, his usual calm demeanor cracking just slightly. "SILENCE!"

A stunned hush fell over the room. Dumbledore, though visibly exasperated, managed to regain his composure, his long fingers steepling as he regarded James once more. "Mr. Dawson, if you do not apologize, I will be forced to write to your guardian."

James barely blinked. "Sure, sir."

There was something about his absolute lack of hesitation that made McGonagall frown, and Dumbledore rub his temples once more.

"Very well," Dumbledore said, clearly resigning himself to the stubbornness before him. "You are dismissed. James, you will accompany Professor McGonagall until I hear from your guardian."

James nodded. "Okay."

With that, the students began to file out of the office, splitting off into their respective groups. Gryffindors followed McGonagall, Slytherins slinking behind Snape, both groups throwing glares over their shoulders.

The footsteps echoed down the corridors as McGonagall led the Gryffindor students through the castle. The air was thick with something unspoken, and finally, she stopped and turned sharply toward James, her lips pressing into a tight line.

"Mr. Dawson, I am very disappointed in your behavior. If you had simply apologized, this matter would have ended right then and there."

James met her gaze without hesitation. "Professor, I believe in standing my ground and my principles. In no way, shape, or form will I apologize to Malfoy or any of the Slytherins for that matter."

McGonagall's nostrils flared slightly, but James continued, his voice unwavering.

"He called me and Hermione 'Mudbloods' in broad daylight, without a care. If I back down now, if I say sorry to that lot, what message does that send? That it's okay? That their words don't matter? No, Professor. I won't do it. And if that disappoints you, then so be it. But I won't change my mind."

There was a moment of silence.

Harry, Ron, and the twins exchanged glances, their eyes widening slightly. It wasn't often someone talked back to McGonagall and got away with it.

Harry, for his part, was already thinking about writing to Sirius about this later.

McGonagall exhaled through her nose, clearly torn between reprimanding and understanding. "With your permission, Professor," James added, "I'd like to write to my guardian myself."

McGonagall's lips thinned. "No need. I will personally go and fetch him just as I escort you back to the common room."

James, ever practical, tilted his head slightly. "You should wait until tomorrow afternoon. I live in an orphanage—he has duties to attend to. It wouldn't be right to drag him here without notice."

McGonagall studied him for a long moment before finally nodding. "Very well. But until then, you are not to leave Gryffindor Tower. Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, I presume you'll ensure he gets his meals?"

Ron and Harry immediately straightened. "Yes!" they both said at once.

McGonagall nodded once more before turning to continue the walk back, leaving the Gryffindors trailing behind, their minds whirling with everything that had just happened.

Fred nudged James with a grin. "Mate, you've got stones. Properly massive ones."

James smirked but said nothing.

Harry, still deep in thought, murmured, "I wonder what Sirius will think about this..."

As they walked, James remained silent, his mind already working ahead.

The Gryffindor common room was packed to the brim, the air buzzing with restless energy. News of the Quidditch fight had spread like Fiendfyre, and students—both involved and uninvolved—were eager for answers. The tension was palpable, the room a cacophony of overlapping voices and frantic questions. As soon as Professor McGonagall left, the dam broke.

Voices overlapped as students bombarded the Gryffindor Quidditch team with questions.

"Did you really hex Malfoy?"

"I heard you turned someone into a ferret!"

"What happened in Dumbledore's office?"

"Are we all getting detention now?"

Percy Weasley, the ever-dutiful Prefect, tried to take control. His voice strained over the commotion. "Alright, alright! Settle down! I need to speak with—"

But his words drowned in the rising noise. The Quidditch team huddled near the fireplace, exchanging glances. Oliver Wood crossed his arms, staring directly at James.

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?" he demanded.

James, who had been silent until now, sighed. Then, with no hesitation, he raised his wand to his throat and cast a Sonorus charm.

"CALM DOWN, EVERYONE!"

The magic-enhanced voice rang through the common room like a thunderclap. The effect was instantaneous—every conversation halted. Heads snapped towards James, their curiosity heightened by the sheer authority in his tone.

The moment the silence settled, James took a step forward and jumped onto a table, elevating himself above the crowd. His stance was strong, confident. His dark eyes swept over the room, making sure every single person was listening.

"I KNOW EVERYONE HAS QUESTIONS, AND YELLING OVER EACH OTHER WON'T SOLVE ANYTHING."

His voice, carried a weight that demanded attention.

"So let's do this properly."

He paused, letting the anticipation build. Then, lowering his voice to a normal tone, he began.

"Here's what happened," James started, his voice measured but firm. "It all started when Malfoy called Hermione a 'Mudblood.'"

A few gasps rippled through the room, especially from the younger students who weren't yet familiar with the weight of the word. James continued, his expression darkening.

"Ron reacted first—he fired a spell. That's what set off the fight. From there, it escalated."

The room, filled with students who had initially only heard rumors, now had the full picture. The initial buzz of excitement among the students died down, replaced by contemplation. Some were nodding in agreement, others frowning as they processed the information.

But the Quidditch team wasn't satisfied yet.

Oliver Wood, arms still crossed, spoke up again. "Alright, that explains the fight. But what the hell happened in Dumbledore's office?"

James gave a small nod, acknowledging the question.

"Let me explain that as well."

He recounted everything—Dumbledore's attempt at mediation, the forced apologies, and most importantly, his refusal to say sorry.

This revelation shocked the room.

"What?!"

A wave of hushed whispers spread like wildfire.

"Wait, you refused to apologize?"

"He talked back to Dumbledore?"

"That's mental!"

For many students, speaking against Dumbledore was unheard of. He was a legend, the greatest wizard alive. To defy him? It wasn't just bold—it was unthinkable.

Some students immediately viewed James in a negative light, their expressions wary. But others… others were intrigued.

Ron, now standing beside James, cleared his throat. "Well… I also agreed not to say sorry to Malfoy. But Dumbledore said we should have."

James exhaled sharply, shaking his head. His voice turned sharper, more commanding.

"Dumbledore, or anyone else, can say whatever they like. I don't care."

Another wave of shock rippled through the room.

Harry, his brow furrowed, finally spoke up. "What do you mean?"

James turned to him, and his expression softened just slightly. But his voice—his voice remained powerful, compelling.

"Harry… Malfoy called me a Mudblood. Do you know what that means? It means my blood is as low as mud. That I am less than him. And he said it with the confidence of someone who grew up believing it, like a Death Eater in the making."

His words landed hard. A heavy silence settled over the room. James wasn't just speaking—he was painting a picture, drawing them into his emotions, his anger, his refusal to bow down.

His eyes bore into Harry's.

"Tell me, Harry… what if someone said to you that your parents having a baby was the biggest mistake of their lives? That their son—you—are worthless?"

Harry froze.

The room held its breath.

James let the silence hang for a moment before asking, his voice softer now but just as firm.

"Would you just listen to that and walk away?"

Harry's hands clenched into fists. "No."

James nodded, satisfied. Then he looked back at the room, sweeping his gaze over every face.

"And now, I am being told to say sorry to the person who said that to me. Would you?"

The effect was immediate.

Something clicked in the minds of the Gryffindor students. James's words—his refusal, his anger, his principles—suddenly made sense.

The initial shock, the murmurs of doubt, began to fade.

The upper-year students, those who had seen families torn apart, understood it first.

Then it spread.

The younger ones, influenced by their seniors, began to nod in agreement.

Ron, Hermione, and Harry—his closest friends—spoke in unison.

"No."

James's voice rose one last time.

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I am a Muggleborn. I came into this world expecting to be welcomed, to learn the mysteries of magic. But instead, I learned about Death Eaters, Dark Lords, and their war to eradicate or rule over those they deem unworthy."

His words hit hard. Even those who hadn't fully understood before were starting to now.

"People were hunted. Killed. Just for being born. And now some snot-nosed brat from a pureblood family thinks he can walk around saying the same things, and I'm expected to stay silent? To say sorry?"

His voice dropped, heavy with finality.

"I won't."

The entire common room was silent.

The Gryffindors, nodded.

Even those who initially doubted James were quiet now—because they knew, deep down, he was right.

"Now, you can turn your eyes away from it," James finished, his gaze never wavering. "I won't blame you for it. But what happened to me could happen to you. And one day, you might be asked to say sorry to the person who hurt you."

With that, he stepped down from the table.

Without another word, he turned and headed toward his dormitory.

As soon as James was out of sight, Harry spoke first.

"I have a letter to write to Sirius."

Ron nodded. "Me too."

Hermione, unusually quiet, looked determined. "Me three."