The fireplaces in the Auror Office burned green with late-evening Floo calls. Reports hovered in midair, dictated by ink-charms. Rain pattered against the high, charmed windows of Level Two, making the entire room feel like it was underwater.
Alastor Moody limped into the conference room, cane tapping against stone. He tossed a thick folder onto the meeting table, scattering a few spare quills. Kingsley Shacklebolt followed behind him, carrying his own notes.
Waiting at the head of the table sat Director Bartemius Crouch, Sr., his expression hard as granite. To his left sat Amelia Bones, her monocle gleaming as she read through a copy of the field report. On the wall behind them, the Ministry seal loomed like a cold witness.
Crouch didn't look up. "I assume you have something better than speculation this time, Moody."
"I've got facts," Moody growled. "You'll find them in the folder. Medical report from St. Mungo's, magical diagnostics, preliminary interview transcript, core signature testing, and lineage trace."
Bones tapped the stack. "We've already reviewed it. The child's magical core is powerful—unusually so, considering his apparent age—and it's been… altered."
Moody nodded. "Venom bonded with the core. He's not fully vampire, not fully wizard. Magical signature's unstable, but shows structured intent when it manifests. Wild magic, but not mindless."
"And his memory?" Crouch asked.
"Spotty. Claims he doesn't know his name. Doesn't remember how he got to the forest. Might not be lying."
Kingsley added, "He does show awareness beyond his years. He recognized Aurors and certain magical terms without being told. That suggests prior exposure to wizarding culture—but the lineage test showed nothing."
Bones leaned forward. "No connection to any known magical family. Not in Britain. Not even on the fringe registries. Not a squib's child. Not an orphaned Muggleborn. Nothing."
Crouch's eyes narrowed. "So what is he?"
"Unplaced," Moody said. "No record. No origin. Magical signature shows traits inconsistent with any known bloodline. Magic doesn't feel wildborn or accidental. But no familial trace. He might as well have dropped out of the sky."
Kingsley glanced at Moody. "He might have."
Crouch snorted. "You're not putting 'possible sky-child' in my official summary, Shacklebolt."
Amelia Bones ignored the sarcasm. "The real issue is what to do with him now."
Silence settled over the room.
Moody finally said, "He's a magical minor. With no known family. That means he defaults to the Ministry's custody. Next step is to assign him to one of the orphan placements."
"Not just any orphanage," Crouch said sharply. "He's part vampire. We can't risk him biting a caretaker or another child."
"He's not a danger," Kingsley replied. "Not yet."
Bones folded her hands. "Intentional or not, he already destabilized a medical ward and cracked containment twice. I agree with Crouch. Precautions are necessary. I recommend placement at Greystone House—the containment-designated orphanage for magical anomalies."
Moody gave a small grunt. "Greystone's run more like a low-risk holding center than a home."
"That's not our concern," Crouch said. "He's not just a foundling—he's a potential security threat. If he turns violent, we don't want to find out after he's already started school."
"Speaking of school," Kingsley said, "what happens when he's eleven? We can't deny a magical child access to education. Not without violating the Charter."
Bones replied, "If he stabilizes, he'll attend Hogwarts—under probation and magical monitoring. But that's years away. Our priority now is containment, surveillance, and slow integration."
Moody's magical eye spun in a slow circle. "He doesn't feel like a dark creature. But he doesn't feel like a child either."
"That's why we monitor," Bones said. "Assign a case team. Ward his placement. Magical trace. And any sign of irregular feeding behavior—we remove him."
Crouch stood. "Then it's decided. The child will be transferred to Greystone under Level Two precautions. Shacklebolt, Moody—you'll maintain primary oversight. Weekly reports."
Moody nodded once.
"Meeting adjourned."
The others stood and began filing out. Kingsley lingered at the door, looking back at the file sitting on the table, the one without a name on its cover. Just a date.
3 July, 1982.
Unidentified Magical Minor. Condition: Infected Hybrid.
Moody spoke quietly beside him. "That boy's more than a mystery."
Kingsley didn't respond at first. Then he murmured, "He's a question the world hasn't figured out how to ask yet."