Ali's eyes narrowed dangerously. "So you recognize what we are," he said, his voice low and threatening. "That suggests you're no ordinary Muggle, Mr. Wilson—if that's even your real name."
The man sipped his coffee again, unhurried. Then, setting the cup down with deliberate care, he met All Might's eyes directly.
"James Wilson is the name I'm using here," he replied with casual indifference. "And no, I'm not an 'ordinary Muggle,' as you so charmingly put it." Something resembling amusement flickered across his features. "Though I find your Federation's obsession with magical blood status terribly provincial."
Aaron's eyes narrowed slightly. "You speak as if you're not from the Federation. Where do you hail from, then?"
Before the man could answer, a waiter approached with a tray bearing three plates of salt-baked chocolate cookies. He arranged them on the table with practiced efficiency.
"Your cookies, gentlemen. Enjoy."
The interruption created a momentary lull in the tension. Once the waiter had departed, Wilson gestured toward the plates.
"You ordered these, I believe? A peace offering, or an interrogation tactic?" He took one of the cookies, examining it with mild interest before taking a bite. "Quite good. Your tax dollars at work, I suppose."
Ali ignored the offering, leaning forward with intensity. "Stop playing games. We have reason to believe you're connected to Kamar-Taj. The building you emerged from is under surveillance for suspected dark wizard activity."
At the mention of Kamar-Taj, something changed in Wilson's demeanor—so subtly that a less observant person might have missed it entirely. It wasn't alarm or guilt, but rather a sharpening of focus, as if the conversation had suddenly become worthy of his full attention.
"Kamar-Taj," he repeated thoughtfully. "You've been hunting them quite zealously, haven't you? Ever since London."
Aaron stiffened almost imperceptibly. The reference to the London incident was not public knowledge—only those within the Ministry or connected to the event itself would know of its significance.
Wilson noticed their reaction and smiled faintly. "Oh yes, I know about London. I know quite a bit about your... situation. More than your superiors would be comfortable with, I imagine."
He brushed cookie crumbs from his fingers with fastidious care. "What if I told you that your understanding of Kamar-Taj is fundamentally flawed? That you're hunting shadows while missing the substance?"
"Enough!" Ali's patience had evidently reached its limit. He drew his wand with practiced speed, keeping it low but unmistakably aimed at Wilson. "You're coming with us for formal questioning. Resist, and we're authorized to use whatever force necessary."
Wilson appeared unimpressed by the threat. "Two questions before you attempt anything rash," he said calmly. "First, have you considered why, despite monitoring this location with your precious Goblin Eyes, you've detected no magical signatures? And second—" his gaze sharpened "—have you ever wondered why those practicing the mystical arts at Kamar-Taj prefer the term 'sorcerer' to 'wizard'?"
Without waiting for their response, Wilson made a peculiar gesture with his right hand—fingers moving in complex patterns that neither Auror recognized from any known spellcasting technique. Golden sparks began to form intricate circular patterns in the air between them.
Aaron reacted instantly, casting a shield charm as Ali launched a stunning spell. But to their astonishment, both magical attacks seemed to dissipate into the golden circles, absorbed without effect.
"Magic and sorcery," Wilson explained conversationally, as if they were discussing an academic distinction rather than engaged in combat, "are not the same discipline, though they draw from similar sources. Your education has been... incomplete."
The café around them suddenly shifted—or rather, the Aurors' perception of it changed. The mundane interior stretched and folded impossibly, revealing architectural elements that hadn't been visible moments before: sweeping arches adorned with intricate geometric patterns, walls lined with ancient texts in languages neither man recognized, and windows that opened onto vistas that could not possibly exist outside the building's physical location.
"Welcome," Wilson said, rising to his feet with newfound grace and authority, "to a small extension of Kamar-Taj."
Ali attempted another spell, but his wand movements seemed sluggish, as if he were casting underwater. Aaron took a more pragmatic approach, reaching for the communication device concealed in his robes—only to find it transformed into a beautifully crafted but utterly useless ornament.
"Your weapons function on principles of channeling and directing magical energy," Wilson explained, stepping back as golden shields materialized around his form. "Whereas sorcery is about shaping reality itself through dimensional access and manipulation." He gestured expansively. "Different roads to power, you understand."
"Who are you really?" Aaron demanded, his customary calm finally cracking.
The man who had called himself Wilson smiled enigmatically. "Someone who finds himself inconveniently caught between factions. The Sorcerer Supreme would not approve of my methods, while your Ministry would misunderstand my intentions." His expression grew more serious. "But time grows short, and London was merely a prelude."
A shimmering portal began to form behind him—a circular gateway that revealed glimpses of stone corridors lit by oil lamps.
"Tell Draco that he's hunting the wrong prey. The true threat comes not from Kamar-Taj, but from those who would exploit the weakening barriers between dimensions." Wilson's form began to blur at the edges as he stepped backward toward the portal. "The Ancient One seeks to preserve balance, not disrupt it. Remember that when the true enemy reveals itself."
Ali lunged forward, but the golden shields repelled him with surprising force, sending him sprawling across the café floor. By the time he regained his footing, Wilson had vanished into the portal, which collapsed into nothingness behind him.
Gradually, the café returned to its ordinary appearance. Other patrons continued their conversations, seemingly oblivious to the confrontation that had just occurred.
Aaron helped his partner to his feet, his expression grave. "We need to report this immediately."
Ali nodded, his earlier arrogance replaced by unsettled confusion. "What was that? Not any magic I've ever encountered."
"I don't know," Aaron admitted, glancing at the spot where the portal had been. "But I suspect Director Draco will find it very interesting that someone from Kamar-Taj knows him by name—and seems to think we're fighting the wrong battle entirely."