As much as Alastor hated the days leading into an inevitable war, he also hated the days where nothing happened. Days of silence made him feel on edge, frantically waiting for the ball to drop and the next death to be reported. Anymore, he couldn’t sit still to finish a report without his hands shaking. Though, some might say that was from his rather generous intake of whiskey, he knew it was fear. Fear that he was missing something, missing a chance to save someone or put someone deserving of punishment into Azkaban.
Today was one of those days. He sat at his desk, filling out paperwork and reminding himself that he had to do these tedious tasks if he wanted the Head Auror position. It wasn’t an open spot, yet, but the time was coming. His friend and mentor, the current Head Auror, Talmage Macmillan, was fastly approaching retirement.
Alastor was stirred from his thoughts when he felt a presence coming towards him. He gripped his wand under the desk, assured that it was always better to be prepared for an attack. “Are you planning on standing in the doorway all day or do you have something you would like to discuss?”, he asked barely bothering to look up from the report he had been looking over.














