The Head Auror’s office in the Ministry of Magic was a commanding space, filled with the weight of responsibility and the faint scent of parchment and protective enchantments. The walls were lined with moving wanted posters of dark wizards, their sneering faces vanishing and reappearing as if taunting the very forces hunting them. A large, enchanted map of Britain hung behind the desk, glowing dots marking suspected magical disturbances and known hideouts of fugitive dark wizards.

At the center of the room sat the Head Auror, hunched over stacks of case files, his quill scratching hurried notes onto a report about a recent raid. His desk was a mess of half-finished paperwork, confiscated dark artifacts sealed in shimmering containment spells, and a steaming cup of tea that had long gone cold. The fireplace crackled behind him, occasionally flaring green as memos shot in from the Minister’s office.

A junior Auror knocked and entered hesitantly, holding a fresh report. “Sir, we’ve got new report. It’s about a—”

The Head Auror barely looked up, his sharp eyes scanning the document before snatching it from the junior’s hands. “Get a team ready,” he said briskly, his voice like steel.

The junior Auror continued, looking at Harry with a nervous look. “But sir, this case it’s not like the others.”