The meeting room was dead silent.
The dozen or so officials from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes kept their heads down. No one dared meet Silas Quildon's gaze.
Some lowered their heads as though they had suddenly developed an intense interest in the grain of the wooden table.
Others looked out the windows, as though the rooftops of Diagon Alley had suddenly become the most worthwhile subject of study in the world.
Quildon tapped his fingers heavily against the table twice.
"No one has anything to say? Fine, let me ask another way." He walked around the conference table and stopped in front of a young employee wearing round glasses.
"Perkins, you're with the Muggle Liaison Office. Tell me, when did you find out about that book?"
Perkins swallowed, his voice barely louder than a mosquito's whine. "L-last night, sir."
"Last night?" Quildon's voice rose sharply. "A book sold over ten thousand copies in the Muggle world, and you only found out last night?!"
"I, I thought..."
"You thought what?"
Perkins flushed scarlet. "I thought the higher-ups already knew about it and hadn't taken any action, so... so I didn't dare report it."
Quildon stared at him for a full five seconds before turning to someone else. "Weatherby, what about you?"
Weatherby was a middle-aged wizard in his forties whose hair was already thinning.
He rubbed his hands together, a trace of embarrassment in his voice. "I only found out last night too, sir. An inspector working under me heard people talking about it at the Leaky Cauldron and told me when he got back."
"Then why didn't you report it immediately?"
"I..." Weatherby opened his mouth. "I thought someone was already handling it."
"After all, that book has been popular in the Muggle world for almost two weeks. I thought the Ministry's senior officials must have known about it long ago."
"You thought? You thought?" Quildon was almost roaring now. "Every last one of you was 'thinking'!"
"You thought the higher-ups knew, and the higher-ups thought you'd reported it. And what happened?"
"What happened was that our Ministry of Magic, the highest authority responsible for overseeing the entire Wizarding World of Great Britain, became the last place to find out about this!"
He strode back to the head of the conference table and braced both hands against it, his chest heaving.
"Do you know how many phone calls I received this morning? An editor from the Daily Prophet called to ask what the Ministry thought of that book."
"Members of the Wizengamot called to ask how the Ministry intended to deal with it."
"Even people from the Department of International Magical Cooperation called to ask about it. They said the Ministry of Magic in Gaul had heard about it too!"
The air in the meeting room seemed to freeze.
A witch sitting in the corner cautiously raised her hand.
"Sir... our department actually received a report earlier about unusual gatherings in the Muggle world."
Quildon's gaze snapped toward her. "When?"
"About... a week ago." The witch's voice grew quieter and quieter. "The report said large numbers of Muggles had suddenly gathered in several places in London, as though they were looking for something."
"But we thought it was just some sort of Muggle social activity, so we didn't pay much attention."
"Didn't pay much attention?" Quildon sneered. "Didn't you send anyone to investigate?"
"We did," the witch said hastily. "An inspector went to take a look. He said all those Muggles were holding a book and seemed to be following its contents to look for certain places."
"But the inspector thought it was just Muggle popular culture and had nothing to do with the Wizarding World, so..."
"So he came back?"
The witch nodded.
Quildon closed his eyes, feeling darkness wash over his vision. His chest rose and fell slightly, as though he were suppressing something.
"Good. Very good." He opened his eyes and swept his gaze over everyone present.
"Since you all know where the problem lies now, I'll tell you what you're going to do next."
He straightened, his voice returning to a calm tone.
"First, the Muggle Liaison Office will send people into the Muggle world immediately to gather comprehensive information about that book."
"I want to know who the author is, how he wrote all this, and, most importantly, whether he's actually a wizard."
Perkins hurriedly took out a quill and began taking notes.
"Second, the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad is to stand ready. If that book contains genuine magical information, it may prompt Muggles to imitate it."
"I don't want to see some Muggle break his neck trying to fly on a broomstick."
A wizard in green robes in the corner nodded.
"Third," Quildon paused, "contact the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and have them assess whether this violates the International Statute of Secrecy."
"If it does, we'll need to launch an investigation."
Weatherby raised his hand and asked, "Sir, the author of that book... how do we find him? Apparently, he didn't even leave any contact details."
Quildon gave him a cold look. "You can certainly investigate the publisher, the printing house, and everyone who might have come into contact with him."
"If that author really is a wizard, he can't simply vanish into thin air."
"But..." Weatherby hesitated. "What if he's a Muggle?"
Quildon stared at Weatherby and spoke slowly. "If he's a Muggle, then the problem is even more serious."
"A Muggle writing detailed accounts of the Wizarding World... I don't need to explain what that means, do I?"
Weatherby's face grew a shade paler.
"Meeting adjourned." Quildon waved a hand. "I expect a preliminary investigation report on everyone's desk before tomorrow morning."
The officials rose and filed out.
Quildon was left standing alone in the meeting room, his brow deeply furrowed.
He kept feeling that this would not be so easily resolved.
Just then, the meeting room door was pushed open.
His assistant leaned halfway inside, looking somewhat odd.
"Sir, Minister Fudge's office just called."
Quildon's heart lurched.
"The Minister said... he'd like you to come over right now."
Quildon's expression stiffened.
He stood in silence for a few seconds, then adjusted his tie, took a deep breath, and strode out of the meeting room.
In the corridor, several officials who had not yet gone far saw him hurrying past and lowered their heads, pretending to be busy with other things.
Quildon ignored them. He walked briskly to the lift and pressed the button for the floor of the Minister's Office. As the metal doors slowly closed, he muttered a curse.
"Merlin's beard..."
Meanwhile, on Privet Drive in Surrey.
The usually quiet street had become strangely busy lately.