The halls of the Ministry of Magic were empty at the evening hour, and his footsteps echoed as he made his way across marble the atrium. Even the golden fountain laid still, it's slowly bobbing waters reflecting the shimmering lights of lanterns floating up high above. In the centre stood the marble statue of a wizard, his eyes closed and both hands folded on the top of a plain wooden staff.

He continued on towards the elevators. Beside it hung several posters of wanted witches and wizards; the more infamous ones had moving pictures, and others only a drawn illustration. A ding from the elevators pulled his attention back, and he stepped inside.

Although the nearly hundred buttons weren't labelled, he knew where he needed to he: he had been there over a decade ago, to watch the trial and conviction of a Dark Wizard who went by the name of Achreius Vir. As he went to press the very lowest button, his hand trembled slightly – but then the entire elevator propelled itself backwards, and he had to hold on tightly not to lose balance.

A mere moment later he stood at the very lowest floors of the ministry – a little disoriented and definitely more nauseous than before. He wasn't sure if he was happy to be released from the brass and wooden confines, seeing the unlit hallway in front of him. Dark tiles made it difficult to get a sense of its true size: it appeared both endless, and horribly narrow, as if he had found himself at the bottom of the ocean.

The hallway ended in a single door made out of black wood, lit by an unknown source of light. There were no offshoots, nowhere to go but straight ahead – or go back home and forget he'd ever been there.

He took a deep breath, and reached for his pocket watch again, in the hopes that the few seconds extra time would come with courage. Once more the writing on the inside changed: 'Good luck'.

With a step forward into the darkness he fully expected something to happen; for him to fall through the floor, the halls to vanish into an elaborate labyrinth, or anything else similarly bad. But instead his foot hit the tiles, and nothing changed. The door at the end of the hallway still called for him.

Carefully he walked on, swallowing his nerves and trepidation. The ministry had called him here; this was not the curse-riddled dungeon of an ancient dark wizard, or a tunnel in an old tomb infested with ancient corrupted magics. Yet although he knew that, he was also awfully aware that the Aurors probably kept things even worse down here.

Reaching the door, he went to knock on it with two knuckles. Before his hand reached the wood, he heard the door unlatch. Slowly it opened, and daylight spilling through the crack blinded him.