“And you’re confident in your findings?”

  “We are, my lord. The British ministry is currently in turmoil due to the anomalous events earlier today. And, despite Dumbledore’s efforts, critical information managed to slip from his grasp.”

  As clandestine discussions went, the choice in venue could be better. Two shrouded figures stood over a balcony overlooking a valley blanketed by fog. While there was a certain beauty to the location, it was also dreary, cold, and dull.

  On a more positive note, it’s also a place that no sane person would ever willingly visit. Hence, why it’s perfect for gatherings needing secrecy and involving general skullduggery.

  “Ah, dear old Albus,” the more elderly of the pair sighed wistfully. “He does have a rather terrible track record of containing sensitive details, doesn’t he?”

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  That was something of an understatement.

  While the famed wizard had the habit of keeping his allies and his ministry in the dark regarding his activities, he wasn’t quite as successful elsewhere. Superficial fame made for shallow influence in deeper waters - and the pair of veiled men often swam the darkest depths.

  “How many were lost?” the older figure asked abruptly.

  “Thirteen, my lord.”

  “Thirteen, exactly?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “That… is concerning.”

  “We came to the same conclusion, my lord.”

  A thoughtful hum. A stroking of a beard. A pause. A choice made.

  “Perhaps it’s time to meet the others once more.”

  “...in person, my lord?”

  “Change is coming, my boy. We need to be ready.”

  “As you say, my lord.”

  Sounds of swirling cloth were heard before disappearing entirely. Now alone, the older man focused on the valley of fog. To anyone else, the view would be obscured.

  To him, the writhing of appendages could not have been any clearer.

  “Soon,” he said, “very soon.”