The Last Atlantean (On Hold)

The Philosopher We've Been Philosophering About (try saying that 10 times fast)

                                                                    2 months ago

The hour was late, and the Minister for Magic's office was a war zone of parchment, open scrolls, floating files, and the sour stench of nerves. Cornelius Fudge sat hunched behind his desk, eyes sunken, his once-neat robes wrinkled and stained with spilled ink and sweat. Magical candles flickered restlessly, casting long shadows that twisted with every gust from the fireplaces.

For weeks now, Fudge had been consumed with one goal—find the treaty. The one referenced by the man who had broken into his office weeks ago... without triggering a single alarm, without leaving a trace, without being seen.

That man had stood before the Minister as if the entire Ministry's security meant nothing. And his words still haunted Fudge's every thought.

"This is a warning and a reminder, read the damn treaty. And the next time something like this happens again... the consequences will be on you and this nation will pay for your incompetence."

Now he sifted through parchment like a madman, his eyes scanning documents signed before his time, and before the time of the Minister before him. Centuries-old agreements, charters, magical oaths, many in languages few even remembered.

"Something binding. Something we missed, anything."

A younger clerk, a nervous man barely out of his training robes, stood nearby holding another bundle. "Minister, we've already been through the archives from the Department of International Magical Cooperation twice this week. There's no record of any covert alliance matching your description."

"Then look again!" Fudge snapped, his voice rising with a panicked edge. "We're dealing with someone who bypassed every defense this Ministry has. Who broke into my office without leaving a single trace—no wards triggered, no alarms, not even a magical footprint! That doesn't just happen, lad!"

Another assistant hesitated before offering, "Sir... could it have been a foreign agent? A specialist?"

Fudge rounded on him, eyes wide. "No. No... this wasn't a common operative. He entered and left like there was nothing stopping him, the wards intact. Whoever that man was, he had knowledge we don't. And if what he said is true, we may have committed a near act of war!"

Just then, the heavy double doors slammed open with a burst of magic and in strode a tall, broad-shouldered man with sharp eyes and a perpetually grim expression:

                                               Head Auror Gareth Stormvale.