The following morning after his conversation with Eleanor, Alexander Goldenhart awoke before the sun had fully risen over the horizon. The sky, still tinged with shades of gray, cast a pale light through the windows of the Goldenhart Manor.
Descending the steps with the grace of someone long accustomed to routine, he made his way to the kitchen, where he found Ozzy, the house-elf, already waiting for him with a steaming teapot and perfectly arranged toast on an antique porcelain plate.
"Quick breakfast today, Ozzy," said Alexander, picking up the cup and nodding with a faint smile.
"As you wish, Minister," replied Ozzy with a bow.
Moments later, Alexander Apparated at the entrance to the Ministry of Magic. The clock had barely struck seven in the morning, and yet the place was already bustling with hurried witches and wizards, flying folders darting through the hallways, and animated discussions echoing off enchanted marble walls.
In his eight years as Minister, Alexander had pushed through deep reforms. The most significant of them had been opening England's magical borders to foreign wizards. The British magical community, though powerful, was small—causing challenges ranging from a shortage of qualified professionals to cultural stagnation. Meanwhile, many wizards around the world were facing unemployment and prejudice in their home countries.
Fortunately, British wizards had not demonstrated the same kind of xenophobia found in parts of the Muggle world, which made the integration surprisingly peaceful. Alexander, though discreet in public appearances, had become a well-known and—by many—beloved name.
Several employees smiled and greeted him as he passed, to which he responded with a subtle nod. Some dared to strike up conversation, but most knew—Alexander hated being delayed by small talk. Without that common knowledge, he would hardly make it to his office before lunchtime.
As he opened the door to his office, he paused. Two figures were already waiting, seated in the armchairs by the lit fireplace.
Oriom McBeth was a short, rotund man with a thick mustache that looked more like a duster. He wore a somewhat outdated but well-maintained beige suit. Beside him, Kyle Smith remained standing, arms crossed, his sharp gaze revealing his usual seriousness.
"I wonder what brings the Head of the Aurors and the Head of the Hunters here looking so grim this early in the morning," Alexander commented as he walked to his desk, not expecting an answer. He sat down, clasped his hands over the polished wood, and stared at them, waiting for an explanation.
Oriom was the first to speak.
"Sorry, Alex. We didn't want to come without an appointment, but... complications have arisen in the Berta Issacs case."
Alexander shot a penetrating look at Kyle, who merely nodded silently.
"And what complications would those be?" Alexander asked, his voice low but loaded with expectation.
Oriom scratched the back of his neck, visibly uncomfortable.
"That woman... she's a problem in herself, Alex. A completely unpredictable variable. A big one, to be honest."
Kyle, his expression even harder, added:
"Team Three's sacrifice wasn't in vain. They managed to save three Muggles. But Berta's orders cost the lives of four Aurors... and left another incapacitated, forced into retirement. She acted impulsively. If it were up to me, she'd be expelled from both the Hunters and the Aurors."
Oriom resumed with a heavy sigh:
"The problem is, she's become something of a heroine to the public. The Department and the Ministry have been flooded with letters demanding she receive the Order of Merlin. That was actually our plan—to give her and the team a First-Class Order of Merlin, then force her into retirement for alleged medical reasons. But... things got out of control."
Alexander frowned.
"And why didn't it work?"
Oriom stood and walked to the desk, placing a copy of the Daily Prophet in front of the Minister.
The headline was clear: Interview with the Heroic Auror. In the photo, Berta Issacs—a plump woman with curly brown hair—smiled while sitting on a couch, surrounded by reporters.
Alexander didn't need to read further.
"In the interview," Oriom explained, "she says she's perfectly fine and eager to return to work. The public is on her side. We won't be able to retire her now."
Alexander ran a hand down his face, exhaling forced patience.
"I want to meet her. This afternoon. No excuses. Anything else?"
Kyle and Oriom exchanged a worried glance.
"Out with it," Alexander muttered. "I don't have all day."
Kyle cleared his throat before responding.
"I received a letter from the Head of Intelligence last night. Dumbledore is on the move. Our infiltrators at Hogwarts reported that he summoned a few professors ahead of schedule and... modified part of the castle. We don't yet know why."
He paused, as if weighing his next words.
"Additionally, Hagrid withdrew something from Gringotts when he took Harry Potter to buy his school supplies. Our contact at the bank couldn't find out what it was."
Alexander raised an eyebrow, surprised—not by the content, but by how fast his department had uncovered it. He already knew about the plans of that damned old man.
"This gives us the perfect excuse to intervene at Hogwarts," he murmured. "Kyle, tell Ernest to keep monitoring the school. And send a letter to Cris. I know we have our differences, but she's still my niece. I want to see her in person."
Kyle nodded.
Oriom cleared his throat.
"Speaking of Ernest... he discovered that some members of the Council are planning to boycott the budget increase for the Azkaban guards. Today's meeting might be... complicated."
Alexander leaned his elbows on the table and ran his hands through his hair, irritated.
"Bloody old men," he muttered. "Always clinging to the past…"
Despite having dismantled almost all remaining influences of Voldemort within the Ministry, many conservative wizards still opposed his ideas.
That afternoon, Alexander would have to gather a majority vote in the Wizengamot to approve the new budget for Azkaban. And he knew it wouldn't be easy.