The Ministry of Magic was busier than usual, its hallways bustling with a peculiar energy that seemed at odds with the war scars still lingering just beneath its polished surface. Enchanted sconces cast warm, flickering light along the walls, illuminating the faint cracks and scorch marks that magical maintenance hadn't yet erased. There was something about the air in the Ministry—a mix of fresh paint and old dust, as if history was trying to settle even as the present refused to sit still.

Harry Potter walked briskly toward the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, his Auror trainee robes feeling heavier than they ought to. At twenty-five, he'd grown into his frame, his wiry build giving him a lean and sharp appearance, but the war had left its mark. His green eyes, framed by round glasses, carried a weight far beyond his years, and the unruly mop of black hair on his head seemed more defiant than ever. He rubbed the back of his neck, a habit he hadn't quite shaken, as he approached the door to Gawain Robards' office.

The nameplate on the door was polished to a mirror-like sheen, the letters etched in an elegant script that belied the man behind it. Harry hesitated for a moment before pushing the door open.

Robards was seated behind a sturdy oak desk, his head bent as he skimmed a roll of parchment. The Head Auror was a man of precision, from the neatly arranged files on his desk to the clipped efficiency of his speech. His greying temples gave him an air of distinction, and his sharp blue eyes, framed by a furrowed brow, seemed to see everything—and miss nothing.

"You're late, Potter," Robards said without looking up.

Harry's mouth twitched into a faint smile. He wasn't late—he knew he wasn't—but arguing the point would be pointless. "Sorry, sir."

Robards finally looked up, his expression unreadable. "Sit."

Harry slid into the chair opposite the desk, which creaked slightly under his weight. Robards leaned back, his fingers steepled as he studied Harry.

"Potter," he began, his voice low and deliberate, "you've been here six months. Long enough to know how things work, but not long enough to think you've got it all figured out."

Harry nodded. It wasn't exactly a compliment, but it wasn't a criticism either. Robards wasn't the kind of man who handed out praise freely—or at all, really.

"I'm assigning you your first solo investigation," Robards continued, reaching for a slim file on the corner of his desk. He slid it across to Harry, who picked it up with careful hands. "Missing Wizengamot trial records. A few clerks flagged the anomalies, but the details are sparse. Cases dating back decades—gone. No theft alarms triggered, no signs of tampering."

Harry frowned, flipping open the file. The parchment inside was sparse, listing a handful of cases, their associated dates, and little else.

"This seems...oddly quiet for something this important," Harry said, glancing up.

Robards raised an eyebrow. "That's because whoever's behind it knows what they're doing. No fireworks, no drama—just methodical, deliberate erasure. Subtle. And dangerous."

Harry nodded slowly, his mind already churning. "You think it's internal?"

"Has to be," Robards replied. "Access to these records is restricted to a select few. It's your job to figure out who—and why."

The weight of the assignment settled over Harry like a second cloak. It wasn't the kind of work he'd imagined when he signed up to be an Auror. He'd pictured duels, high-speed chases, and dark magic—but this was something else entirely. Quiet. Insidious.

"You'll be working with Susan Bones," Robards said, interrupting his thoughts. "She's been assisting the record keepers with cataloguing. Knows the system better than most. Take her lead where necessary."

Harry nodded again. "Understood, sir."

Robards leaned in, his eyes narrowing. "Potter, this is not just about earning your stripes. It's about putting in the effort and doing the job right. Completely. Like a true professional. I couldn't care less about your past. What matters to me are the results. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied with determination.

Robards held his gaze for a moment longer before nodding, and a faint hint of contentment appeared on his face. "Excellent. You may go."

—

The record room was tucked away at the end of a narrow corridor, its unassuming door marked with a simple brass plaque: Archives. The door to the Ministry's record room creaked slightly as Harry pushed it open, revealing a cavernous space bathed in the warm, flickering light of enchanted sconces. The room smelled of old parchment and ink, layered with the faint hum of residual magic that clung to every surface. Shelves loomed high above, their tops disappearing into a shadowy haze, while floating ladders glided soundlessly along the aisles. It was both orderly and overwhelming, a maze of history catalogued in meticulous rows and drawers.

At the far end of the room, a lone desk was surrounded by stacks of parchment and open ledgers. Susan Bones stood there, her back straight as she bent slightly over a spread of scrolls. She worked with quiet focus, her wand raised to direct a hovering quill that jotted notes in a quick, practiced hand. The soft scratch of the quill was the only sound in the room until Harry cleared his throat.

"Potter, right?" Susan said without looking up. Her voice was calm and measured, carrying easily across the space. She straightened, turning to face him fully. Her hazel eyes were warm but sharp, their depths hinting at both professionalism and quiet resolve. Light brown hair, pinned neatly at the back of her head, gleamed softly in the lamplight.

"That's me," Harry replied, stepping closer. "Susan Bones?"

"Guilty as charged," she said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She extended a hand, and Harry shook it briefly. Her grip was firm, her touch cool. "Robards mentioned you'd be stopping by."

"Good to meet you," Harry said, glancing around at the organized chaos of the workspace. Piles of parchment were arranged in neat columns, with small tags floating magically above each to indicate their contents. The desk itself was covered in a map of the record room, its surface annotated with tiny, glowing runes marking key locations.

"Not quite what you were expecting, was it?" Susan asked, catching the flicker of uncertainty in his expression.

"Not really," Harry admitted, brushing a hand through his perpetually untidy hair. "But I suppose nothing about the Ministry is ever straightforward."

Susan chuckled softly. "You're learning." She gestured to the map, stepping aside to make room. "Come have a look. I've been assisting the clerks with cataloguing these records for months now. Most of it's straightforward—just years of dust and bureaucracy—but recently, things have been...off."

Harry moved closer, leaning over the desk to study the map. It was beautifully detailed, showing every aisle and shelf in the room. Tiny arrows moved slowly across the parchment, representing the floating ladders as they glided along their paths. Bright dots of light indicated sections where records were stored, while darker gaps marked areas of concern.

"I've marked the shelves where the flagged cases were stored," Susan explained, pointing to several sections of the map. "See these gaps? Those files are missing. It's subtle—no alarms, no obvious signs of tampering—but they've vanished all the same."

Harry frowned, his gaze following her finger. "And these are all trial records?"

"Correct," Susan said. "Wizengamot trials, some going back decades. Whoever's behind this is careful, though. There's no clear pattern—at least, not yet. Different years, different types of cases."

Harry straightened, his brow furrowing in thought. "But there's no way to access these files without clearance, right? Someone would have to be inside the Ministry."

"Exactly," Susan said. "The system's enchanted to prevent unauthorized access. Which means either someone's found a way around it, or..." She trailed off, her lips pressing into a thin line.

"Or they already have the clearance," Harry finished for her, his tone grim.

Susan nodded, her expression unreadable. "Robards thought you might be able to spot something we've missed."

Harry gave a faint smile. "No pressure, then."

Susan's lips quirked into a brief grin. "None at all. Come on, I'll show you how the cataloguing system works. It's fairly intuitive once you get the hang of it."

She led him to one of the nearest shelves, summoning a floating ladder with a flick of her wand. The ladder hummed softly as it stopped before them, its golden rungs gleaming faintly. Susan tapped her wand against a small plaque on the side of the shelf, and a scroll popped out from a drawer near the top, gliding smoothly into her outstretched hand.

"Every record in this room is tied to a unique identifier," she explained, handing Harry the scroll. "Each shelf corresponds to a specific time frame and category—civil cases, criminal cases, appeals, you name it. When a record goes missing, it leaves a gap in the system. Normally, that gap triggers an alert, but in these cases, nothing's happened. It's like the files were never here at all."

Harry unrolled the scroll, scanning its contents. It was a trial record, dated over thirty years ago, detailing a case he didn't recognize. "So these gaps—there's no residual magic? No sign that anything was tampered with?"

"None," Susan said, crossing her arms. "That's what makes it so strange. Even the oldest spells leave traces, but whatever this is...it's clean. Too clean."

Harry nodded slowly, his mind racing. "Do you think it's deliberate?"

Susan hesitated, her gaze flickering back to the shelves. "I don't like to speculate," she said carefully.

"But if it is, they're very good at covering their tracks."

"Subtle and dangerous," Harry muttered, echoing Robards' earlier words. He handed the scroll back to her. "How many files are we talking about?"

"So far, a dozen," Susan replied. "But that's only the ones we've noticed. There could be more."

Harry ran a hand through his hair again, a familiar unease settling in his chest. This wasn't the kind of case he'd imagined when he joined the Aurors. It was quiet, methodical—less about confrontation and more about piecing together fragments of truth. But it was no less dangerous. If someone was tampering with Wizengamot records, they weren't just rewriting history. They were manipulating the very foundation of wizarding law.

"We've got our work cut out for us," he said finally, his voice steady despite the weight of the task ahead.

Susan gave him a small, approving nod. "We do. But we'll manage."

There was something reassuring about her confidence, a quiet strength that reminded Harry of Hermione. He felt a flicker of gratitude for the partnership, however unexpected it might have been.

"Here," Susan said, pulling another scroll from the desk. "This one's flagged in your file. Might be a good place to start."

Harry took the scroll, his fingers brushing the rough edges of the parchment. As he unrolled it, his eyes scanned the faded text, his brow furrowing in concentration. The details were sparse—a trial, a conviction, a judgment rendered and now gone.

The hours stretched on in the quiet confines of the record room, the flickering sconces above casting warm light that softened the imposing height of the shelves. Harry found himself slipping into a rhythm, scanning scrolls and ledgers, cross-referencing names and dates, even as a thread of unease wound tighter in his chest. Susan worked beside him with steady focus, her wand occasionally flicking to summon a file or shuffle a stack of parchment.

Harry couldn't help but glance at her now and then, noting how methodical she was. She didn't rush, didn't let the enormity of the task fluster her. Her movements were efficient, her demeanour calm, as though cataloguing a decades-old bureaucracy wasn't the Herculean effort it appeared to be. It was a sharp contrast to the war years, where every moment had been charged with urgency and peril.

"Do you always work this late?" Harry asked, breaking the silence. His voice echoed faintly, swallowed by the cavernous room.

Susan didn't look up, though a corner of her mouth twitched into a faint smile. "Lately, yes. Records don't catalogue themselves, and the clerks aren't exactly fighting for overtime."

Harry chuckled softly, leaning back against the desk. "I don't know how you do it. This kind of work would drive Ron mad in about ten minutes."

Susan straightened, arching a brow as she glanced at him. "And you?"

He thought about it for a moment. "I'm not sure yet. Ask me again after another hour."

Susan let out a quiet laugh, the sound light but genuine. "Fair enough."

Harry pulled another scroll from the pile, unrolling it carefully. The parchment was older, the ink faded but legible. As he scanned the details—names, charges, dates—his brow furrowed. The case wasn't familiar to him, but something about it struck a chord.

"This one," he said, passing the scroll to Susan. "Does it match anything else we've found?"

Susan took the scroll, her eyes scanning it quickly. After a moment, she frowned. "It's another flagged case. One of the first we noticed missing."

"What do we know about it?" Harry asked, leaning forward.

"Not much," Susan admitted. "The trial took place in 1963. A wizard named Lysander Crake, charged with using Legilimency to manipulate Ministry officials. He was convicted—at least, according to the records we still have. But the details of the judgment? Gone."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing. "And there's no backup? No way to cross-reference it with another department?"

"Not unless someone kept a private record," Susan said. "Which, given the Ministry's obsession with centralization, is unlikely."

Harry nodded slowly, his mind churning. "It's odd though, isn't it? A case about manipulating Ministry officials going missing. Seems a bit too convenient."

Susan's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "You think there's a connection?"

"I'm not sure," Harry admitted. "But it's worth looking into. Do we have any information on this Lysander Crake? Where he is now, what happened after his conviction?"

Susan shook her head. "Nothing in our records. But..." She paused, her gaze drifting to a far corner of the room. "There might be another way to find out."

Harry followed her gaze, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Susan stood, brushing off her robes. "Come on. I want to show you something."

She led Harry through a maze of shelves, deeper into the archives than he had ventured before. The air grew mustier, the light dimmer, as they wove between towering stacks of parchment and leather-bound tomes. Finally, Susan stopped before a small, unassuming door set into the back wall.

"This," she said, tapping her wand against the doorknob, "is where we keep the more... sensitive information."

The door swung open with a soft creak, revealing a cramped room lined with filing cabinets. Unlike the orderly shelves outside, these cabinets seemed to defy organization, their drawers labeled with cryptic runes and symbols.

"Unofficial records," Susan explained, her voice low. "Memos, personal notes, things that never made it into the official files. Most of it's probably useless, but..."

"But it might hold something no one wanted on the official record," Harry finished for her, stepping inside. The room felt heavy, the air thick with the weight of forgotten truths. The faint hum of enchantments buzzed in the background, subtle protections woven into the very walls.

Susan moved to one of the cabinets, her wand flicking in a practiced motion. A drawer slid open, revealing tightly packed folders and scrolls. She began sifting through them with careful precision, her fingers brushing over faded labels and hastily scrawled notes.

"Here," she said after a moment, pulling out a worn folder. The edges were frayed, and the label on the front was barely legible. "This might be something."

Harry took the folder, flipping it open. Inside was a collection of loose parchment: fragments of reports, scraps of correspondence, and what appeared to be a personal memo from an Auror dated shortly after Crake's trial. He scanned the memo, his brow furrowing as the words began to piece together a troubling picture.

"'Crake's sentencing was contentious,'" Harry read aloud. "'Some on the Wizengamot felt the evidence was insufficient, but the conviction stood after additional testimony was introduced last minute. Unusual circumstances surrounding the trial have raised concerns among certain members.'" He looked up at Susan. "Last-minute testimony? That's odd."

Susan nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Especially if it was pivotal to the conviction. That kind of evidence should have been meticulously recorded."

"Unless someone didn't want it to be," Harry said grimly. He flipped through the rest of the folder, stopping at a note written in an elegant but rushed hand. "'Crake was sent to Azkaban, but whispers suggest his connections to key Ministry figures remain intact. Possible risk if he appeals—recommend further monitoring.'" He lowered the parchment, his mind racing. "This feels bigger than just a missing file."

Susan stepped closer, her brow furrowed as she scanned the papers in Harry's hands. "If Crake still had influence after his conviction, it could explain why someone might want to erase his case. But that was decades ago. Why now?"

Harry shook his head, closing the folder with a decisive snap. "That's what we need to find out. If this is connected to the other missing files, it's not just about Crake—it's about something larger."

Susan gave him a steady look, her hazel eyes searching his face. "We'll have to tread carefully. If someone's going to these lengths to bury the truth, they won't take kindly to us digging it up."

"I'm not afraid of upsetting a few people," Harry said, a note of determination in his voice. "I've dealt with worse."

Susan's lips quirked into a faint smile. "I'll hold you to that, Potter."

They returned to the main room, the folder tucked securely under Susan's arm. As they settled back at the desk, Susan pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and began jotting down their findings, her handwriting neat and precise. Harry watched her for a moment, struck by the quiet determination she radiated. She was as steady as she was sharp, and he felt a flicker of gratitude for her presence. He wasn't used to working with people who approached things with such calm professionalism—Hermione excluded.

"Tomorrow, we should dig into the other flagged cases," Susan said, breaking the silence. "If there's a pattern, we need to find it."

Harry nodded. "Agreed. And I'll see if I can get anything from the Auror archives—there might be something we've overlooked."

Susan glanced up, her expression serious. "You should be careful, Harry. If someone's behind this, they're already ahead of us. We don't want to tip them off."

"Don't worry," Harry said, offering a faint smile. "I know how to stay under the radar."

Susan's eyes softened, and for a moment, the air between them felt less heavy. "Good. Because I'd rather not explain to Robards how we set off an interdepartmental panic on your first solo case."

Harry laughed quietly, the sound breaking the tension. "I'll do my best."