After ticking off every item on their shopping list, Wyzett and Luna headed home to carefully sort and put away their new supplies.
Once everything was in its place, they caught the Knight Bus to Whitehall, the very heart of the Ministry of Magic.
Whitehall was no ordinary street. Not only did it house the Ministry, but it was also surrounded by important government buildings, connecting Parliament to Downing Street. The magic here ran deep—hidden in plain sight among the Muggle world's corridors of power.
Luck was on their side: all the beds aboard the Knight Bus were free, so there were no repeat mishaps from the day before.
The bus tore through the city, weaving between grand buildings, zipping past honking cars, and finally screeching to a stop in a shadowy alleyway.
Stepping out, they found themselves on a narrow, neglected street. The cracked pavement was riddled with potholes filled with murky water, and a faint stench hung in the air.
Wyzett wrinkled his nose, a bit disappointed. He'd expected the Ministry's neighborhood—so close to the government's core—to be far more impressive.
Luna drifted beside him, her voice dreamy as ever. "I thought so too. Wouldn't it be lovely if the Ministry were next to a zoo?"
Wyzett grinned. "If it were, we could visit the animals after sorting our passports. That'd be brilliant."
They scanned the crumbling street, following a graffiti-covered wall until they spotted a battered red telephone booth.
It looked completely abandoned—several panes of glass were smashed, and the receiver dangled limply to the floor.
A street full of potholes, a vandalized phone booth—no sensible Muggle would ever step inside. It was a perfect bit of magical camouflage.
"Charming, in its own way," Wyzett muttered, pulling open the door. The dial was an old-fashioned rotary, worn smooth by years of use.
He picked up the receiver and dialed, "Six... two... four four two."
On a Muggle keypad, those numbers spelled "MAGIC."
Suddenly, the rotary clicked back into place, and a cold, mechanical woman's voice echoed: "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name, occupation, and purpose of visit."
Luna squeezed in beside him. Wyzett spoke up, "Wyzett Lovegood, Luna Lovegood. Students. Here to apply for wizarding passports for international travel."
"Thank you," the voice replied instantly. "Please take your badges and pin them somewhere visible to avoid unnecessary trouble. Thank you for your cooperation."
With a soft metallic clink, two gleaming silver badges slid from what should have been the coin slot.
Each badge was neatly engraved: Wyzett Lovegood (Luna Lovegood), Wizard Passport Application.
After a few more crisp instructions, the floor of the phone booth began to tremble, then slowly descended beneath the ground.
Keen to make the most of this rare visit, Wyzett quietly activated his Oculus Magicae, pacing a few steps to absorb the traces of ancient magic lingering in the booth.
"This feels a lot like a Muggle lift," Luna remarked.
Even in the gloom, Wyzett could sense her wide, curious eyes taking in every detail.
The ride was almost identical to a real elevator—even the faint scraping noise was the same.
After about a minute, a golden light flickered at their feet. It stretched and widened, sweeping up and down their bodies before pausing over their badges—and then vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
The cold voice returned: "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. We hope you have a pleasant day."
With a sudden pop, the booth door swung open, and a vast, dazzling atrium stretched out before them.
Beneath their feet were rows of polished black wooden floorboards; above, a seamless peacock-blue ceiling arched overhead.
Countless golden symbols—gleaming and mysterious—drifted across the ceiling like wandering stars.
Though light shimmered everywhere, the Ministry's grand hall felt cold and solemn, the black decor lending it an austere, almost intimidating air.
Luna cocked her head, gazing up in wonder. "Those patterns are beautiful—like nebulae swirling in the night sky," she murmured in her lilting, dreamlike voice. "Maybe some sleeping star is talking in its dreams, and the Ministry has caught those words and turned them into patterns... There could be secrets hidden up there!"
Wyzett listened intently, recalling the centaurs from the Forbidden Forest. "Just like how astronomers watch the stars to uncover hidden omens."
"Or maybe it's just a good story," Luna mused.
"A fairy tale, if it's that golden and bright," Wyzett agreed, smiling.
They wandered deeper into the hall, chatting softly as Wyzett surreptitiously gathered more ancient magical energy from the surroundings. He used his knowledge of astronomy to trace imaginary constellations among the drifting symbols, connecting them with a wave of his hand.
Luna's eyes sparkled even brighter than the golden glyphs overhead.
Soon, they reached the center of the atrium, where a grand fountain stood.
Floating in the middle was a gilded statue of a stately wizard, wand raised high toward the heavens. Around him were four more: a graceful witch, a centaur rearing on its hind legs, and two nearly identical goblins.
The goblin and centaur statues wore the same expression—bowing reverently toward the wizard and witch.
"Goblins and centaurs would never look so humble," Luna sighed. "They're far too proud."
Wyzett nodded, thinking of the centaurs he'd met in the Forbidden Forest and the goblins at Gringotts. "If Bane saw these statues, he'd probably charge over and smash them to bits."
Luna laughed, her voice clear and sweet. "That must be a centaur's name. Goblin names are usually much more fun..."
They soon found a desk with a sign reading "Security Desk."
As instructed by the cold voice, they needed to pass a security check before conducting any official business.
The wizard behind the desk looked thoroughly bored, chin propped on his hand as he read the paper. When he noticed them, he glanced at their badges.
"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," he droned, barely looking up. Producing a short, antenna-like rod, he walked a slow circle around them.
When nothing happened, he yawned. "Let's see your wands."
The wand-inspection device looked bizarre—like a magical radio receiver bristling with dish antennas.
After a quick scan and a few odd vibrations, the machine spat out a strip of parchment.
"Dragon heartstring, thirteen inches, in use for one year... Unicorn tail hair, ten and a half inches, usage... brand new?"
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