There was not jut one reason to visit the Minister's Office, but there was one at the forefront of his mind: that goddamn letter that had rubbed him the wrong way. The warning to stay away made two things clear to him: (1) it was going to be a whole lot harder to see Miss Lynch if he didn't get this handed, and (2) the Minister was completely willing to pry into matters of his personal life. As a mere auror, such things hadn't been on his mind; he hadn't been politically relevant. With his promotion, though, things were apparently different.

And not in a good way.

Though it was the most bothersome matter on his mind, it was far from the most pressing, especially from a work perspective. Hogsmeade was up in metaphorical flames of chaos, but with the village's luck over the past few years it was only a matter of time before those flames became literal. He'd entered the office once given permission, quickly placing the stack of folders on the Minister's desk so they wouldn't fall of his arms.

"I'm sure you've heard by now," he grunted, struggling to organize the files as necessary. "but there's been a death in Wellingtonshire. Woman, late sixties, widowed—and wealthy. Fog-related, too."

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