Chapter 86: The Bureau of Mysterious Affairs

Sandrine pulled Xiven along, moving with the crowd toward the far end of the Ministry’s main hall. At the end, the narrow space suddenly opened up into a spacious circular plaza. In its center stood a fountain, with several massive golden statues rising from a round pool.

The tallest statue depicted a wizard, his wand pointed straight toward the sky. Gathered around him were a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin, and a house-elf, the latter three gazing up at the two wizards with expressions of reverent admiration. Shimmering streams of water flowed from the tips of the wizards’ wands.

“So this is called the Fountain of Magical Brotherhood?” Xiven asked, his expression strange as he looked at the name inscribed on the fountain’s base.

This design, which clearly centered wizards and diminished the status of the other magical beings, was obviously unreasonable. From what Xiven knew, centaurs and goblins were proud to the extreme, never deigning to associate with wizards. Goblins had rebelled several times in previous centuries and had never truly submitted to wizards; centaurs were even more aloof, refusing to accept the label of “human” altogether.

To imagine them looking at wizards with such worshipful expressions as depicted by the statues—well, “fairy tale” hardly seemed strong enough.

Sandrine glanced at the statue, scoffing as she said, “Apparently it was designed by some foolish wizard sculptor last century, who fancied that this statue could promote equality between wizards and nonhuman magical creatures? Laughable.”

Xiven shook his head inwardly, recalling the pure-blood wizards’ lofty attitude toward half-bloods and Muggle-borns. Even within the wizarding community, so much inequality persisted; how could one expect wizards and nonhuman magical beings to coexist as equals?

He sighed and continued walking beside Sandrine.

As they passed below the fountain, Xiven noticed a number of glittering silver Sickles and bronze Knuts at the bottom of the pool. A grimy little sign beside it read: All proceeds from the Fountain of Magical Brotherhood are donated to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Injuries and Illnesses.

Seeing this, Xiven was suddenly reminded of the wishing pools he’d seen in his previous world, and a wave of nostalgia swept over him. He tossed a Galleon into the water.

Sandrine looked at him in surprise. “If you want to donate to St. Mungo’s, we could contact the director and make a direct donation.”

Xiven shook his head, smiling. “I just thought, since we’re here, it’s nice to leave a token.”

Sandrine didn’t quite understand Xiven’s sentiment, but said nothing more, pulling him toward the magical lifts at the end of the hall.

At the far end, numerous lifts crowded together in a semicircle—there were at least twenty, he reckoned. These magical lifts were clearly products of alchemy; Xiven could sense the ebb and flow of magic within them.

Watching the Ministry employees jostle to squeeze into one lift after another, Sandrine frowned. She had no intention of being packed in with strangers.

Just then, a kindly-looking middle-aged man in a British hat approached them. “What a coincidence, Mrs. Rozier—and young Mr. Rozier. Heading for the courtroom, are we?”

Sandrine nodded to him. “Indeed, Director Morn, quite a coincidence.”

“Then please come with me,” Director Morn said with a smile, gesturing for them to follow. Noticing Sandrine’s distaste for the crowded lifts, he added, “Few employees travel to Level Nine, so you shouldn’t have to share the lift.”

Sandrine’s expression relaxed, and she led Xiven after Director Morn.

As promised, once the three entered the lift heading downward, no other employees attempted to join them; instead, they squeezed into the other crowded lifts.

The metal folding doors slammed shut with a clang. Amid the lift’s creaking and the occasional gust of cool air, the three descended to the ninth underground level.

Here, the style was utterly different from the main hall. The entire floor consisted of a single crude corridor leading to a black door. Dark tiles covered the floor and walls, and not a single window or doorway broke the corridor’s stark emptiness.

Rows of torches fixed to the tiled walls flickered with blue-white flames, lending the floor an air of mystery.

“The courtroom is down on Level Ten—you’ll have to walk a bit further,” Director Morn explained, preparing to lead them around a corner toward the staircase.

But suddenly, Xiven was struck by a surge of profound unease.

He turned abruptly toward the solitary black door at the end of the corridor. From within, a force emanated—both familiar and strange—a sense of déjà vu.

“What’s wrong, Xiven?” Sandrine noticed his changed expression.

“Nothing, just curious,” Xiven replied, struggling to resist the urge to approach and open the door, forcing himself to look away.

He took a deep breath, calming his trembling heart, and asked, feigning casual interest, “Director Morn, do you know what’s behind that door?”

“That’s the Department of Mysteries,” Director Morn replied, casting a deep glance at the black door. “It’s the Ministry’s most secret branch. I’m not entirely sure what’s inside.”

“Let’s head to the courtroom—the session’s about to start,” he added, deliberately changing the subject.

Xiven sighed in disappointment, glancing back at the black door of the Department of Mysteries, then followed Director Morn.

…

When the three arrived at the courtroom, there was still some time before proceedings began. Sandrine and Xiven were shown to a VIP room to wait.

“Son, are you interested in the Department of Mysteries?” Sandrine suddenly asked.

“I admit, I’m quite curious,” Xiven replied, pleasantly surprised. “Do you know anything about it?”

“I only know a little,” Sandrine said softly. “The Department of Mysteries is a research division of the Ministry, but it was actually founded even earlier than the Ministry itself. Its projects are known only to a select few high-ranking officials.”

“Still, thanks to the pure-blood family networks, we learn some of the secrets.” Here, she looked a bit troubled. “It’s rather incredible, but neither the Rozier family nor my own, the Selwyns, have ever produced a Minister for Magic.”

“Our understanding of the Department of Mysteries comes through marriage ties with the Lestrange family, so we don’t know much.”

…

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