Since the early 1900s, there have been those at the Ministry who scuttle in the shadows, straddling the line between this world and the next. Witches and wizards, nameless and nonexistent, who—at times—hold the safety of Great Britain in their hands. Their missions are confidential, their victories unknown, and their constancy unquestionable. Secreted in the darkest corners of the darkest department, their work goes unknown and unacknowledged by the wizarding world at large—exactly as it’s meant to be.
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On his third day as Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt found himself alone in his office for the first time since he’d been appointed to his new position. Grateful for a moment of silence, he gestured vaguely towards the tea service with his wand and crossed to the fireplace. As his tea prepared itself, he took the opportunity to breathe and consider the monumental task at hand, his mind already running ragged around what the next step would bring.
“Minister.”
The crisp voice startled him from his thoughts and he wheeled around. A petite witch, older than him by a number of years if the short-cropped grey hair was any indication, stood politely under his assessing stare. Ignoring the fact there was no feasible way she could have gotten into his office, Kingsley sensed no immediate threat from the woman and didn’t go for his wand.
“Yes?”
She nodded in apparent satisfaction and the hint of a smile appeared, softening her severe features.
“My name is M. We need to talk.”