"If you think I'm joking, why don't you go confirm it yourself? As a wizard, is it so hard to believe I might know a few spells that you don't?" Alan sneered, watching the color drain from Julia's face. "Or perhaps," he added, taking a slow step toward her, "you'd like to experience the power of my unique magic firsthand?"
Julia flinched, her composure finally shattering. She cast a look of mingled dread and doubt at him, then spun on her heel and hurried out of the room.
"Don't forget to prepare my payment," Alan called after her retreating back. "Don't make me wait."
Cornelius Fudge, who had been a silent, dazed spectator to the entire exchange, remained rooted to the spot. He looked as though he had just witnessed something beyond his comprehension, but the weight of the secrecy oath already pressed against his tongue, ensuring he could never speak of it.
"Mr. Fudge," Alan said, snapping the Director out of his trance.
"Ah?" Fudge jumped, his voice weak. He had just seen the formidable Julia Travers bullied into a state of near-collapse by this teenager. Now, he found himself instinctively shrinking under the boy's gaze.
"When you leave, would you mind sending in the Daily Prophet reporter for me?" Alan asked. It was phrased as a request, but the tone was an undeniable command, issued without the slightest regard for Fudge's high-ranking position in the Ministry.
"Oh... of course! Right away!" Fudge responded with a fawning smile, acting more like an assistant than a department head as he scrambled out of the lounge.
***
Over in Auror Command, Alastor Moody was in a towering rage.
Moments ago, in the high-security interrogation room, he, Barty Crouch, and Minister Millicent Bagnold had been standing over Torquil Travers, waiting for the man to fully regain consciousness so they could begin the formal questioning.
Without warning, Torquil had suddenly doubled over, clutching his stomach and unleashing a harrowing, agonized howl. Despite Moody's rapid-fire healing spells and a powerful restorative potion forced down the man's throat, nothing had worked. Torquil had expired right in front of them.
The three Ministry officials stood over the cooling body, their faces ashen.
"What happened? How did he die in plain sight under our watch?" Millicent Bagnold asked, her voice sharp with confusion.
"I've never seen anything like it. It wasn't a standard spell reaction," Moody growled, his magical eye spinning frantically. "It looked like a curse, or perhaps... Scrimgeour! Where are you?"
Rufus Scrimgeour, the deputy head of the Hit Wizards, hurried into the room. "What is it, Alastor?"
"The potion Torquil drank earlier—who brought it? Who administered it? Where is the empty vial?" Moody's questions came like a barrage of dragon-fire.
"Torquil?" Scrimgeour looked at the body. "He's dead? Do you think he was silenced?"
"I think someone got to him! Either a delayed curse or a poison! Investigate every person who had contact with him since his arrest! Move!" Moody roared, pointing a trembling finger at the door.
Scrimgeour knew better than to argue with the veteran's temper and rushed out to begin the search.
"Damn it! Just when we had him, those scum struck again," Moody cursed, slamming his staff into the stone floor. He knew the chances of finding a paper trail were slim; he hadn't expected the Travers influence to be so efficient and ruthless within his own walls.
Barty Crouch sighed, a look of profound frustration on his face. "It's a blow, certainly. But we still have the other four in custody. Catching five Death Eaters in one night is still a massive victory, Alastor, even if the big fish was silenced."
"He's right," Bagnold added, quickly regaining her professional mask. She didn't let the setback ruffle her for long. "Tell me more about this boy. Alan Wilson... isn't he the one who assisted in the arrests two years ago?"
"He is. During that fight, he saved the Potter boy's life," Moody reported, though his tone remained bitter.
"Young, talented, and highly effective," Bagnold mused. "We need to meet him immediately. The wizarding world hasn't had such a shot of morale in years. We need to celebrate this."
"You mean...?" Crouch asked tentatively, sensing the Minister's political gears turning.
"A civilian hero. An underage wizard of Muggle-born origin. It's the perfect narrative to boost public confidence, wouldn't you say?" Bagnold smiled at Crouch.
"Dumbledore might have concerns," Crouch noted hesitantly. "Alan is his student, after all."
"This is a celebration of his bravery. Why would Albus object?" Moody grunted.
"Last time, Alan wanted to stay out of the spotlight. Dumbledore was worried that too much exposure would put a target on the boy's back," Crouch explained.
"Nonsense! You-Know-Who is gone," Moody laughed, though the sound was hollow. "As for your run-of-the-mill Dark wizards? I'm tellin' you, Barty, they wouldn't stand a chance against the lad. You haven't seen the gear he carries. He's more than capable of looking after himself."
"If Moody has that much confidence in him, then it's decided," Bagnold declared. "I'll handle Albus if he raises the issue. Let's go. The remaining prisoners will face a public trial."
***
Back in the VIP lounge, Alan finally faced Rita Skeeter.
"Mr. Wilson, I am truly honored that after such a monumental achievement, I was the first person you thought to call." Rita Skeeter was already making a name for herself at the Prophet, though she was currently pigeonholed into celebrity gossip and society fluff.
When the news of the XXXX-level incident broke that morning, every paper in London had scrambled for details, but the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had locked the Ministry down tight. They only knew that Hit Wizards had hauled in five high-profile fugitives.
A tip-off about an underage wizard defeating five Death Eaters was the scoop of the decade. Usually, such a story would be handed to a senior political correspondent; Rita would have been lucky to snag a grainy photo from the sidelines. But then Alan's personal invitation had arrived, giving her the golden ticket past the Auror guards.