For two days, the magical world trembled not loudly, not violently, but with a quiet, suffocating dread. News traveled on whispered breath faster than owls or courier spells. Rumors grew faster than facts. Everyone seemed to know something.
But no one knew everything.
Because no one could.
Zack hadn't taken from one region, one vault, or one country.
He had taken from everywhere.
And the magical world fragmented by culture, secrecy, isolation had no concept of a global threat.
THE MAP OF LOSS
Deep beneath the Ministry of Magic, in a secured chamber only Ministers, Auror Commanders, and war-time strategists were allowed to enter, the newly formed task force gathered around a vast enchanted map.
A single glowing red marker pulsed over London.
Then another blinked into existence over the forests of Romania.
A third ignited above the Himalayas.
Then Egypt.
Siberia.
Brazil.
Ireland.
Markers continued appearing irregular, unpredictable, horrifying.
Madam Amelia Bones spoke first, voice strained:
"Current confirmed incidents: twenty-three."
A low murmur rippled through the room.
Kingsley Shacklebolt folded his arms, expression unreadable.
"And those are only the vaults we know about," he said. "Private collections, bloodline libraries, ancestral archives… how many are unrecorded?"
The Minister exhaled slowly.
"So we can't even identify what was taken."
Dumbledore's response was soft, almost gentle:
> "It appears the one behind this knows far more about us than we know about ourselves."
And somehow, that was the most terrifying part.
DENIALS AND DELUSIONS
Not all nations accepted the reports.
Across Europe and beyond, responses varied:
France claimed the British were exaggerating.
Japan's Onmyōji Guild declared their wards "eternally inviolable."
Brazilian shamans insisted ancestral spirits protected their knowledge.
Durmstrang faculty accused Hogwarts of fabricating paranoia to discredit them.
Denial was easier than fear.
But fear still grew.
When an old pure-blood family in Italy discovered their secret vault emptied generations-old curses lifted, but every record gone they accused rivals.
When a necromantic enclave in Russia found their ritual books missing, they assumed betrayal.
And when a dark coven realized their magic faltered without written guidance, they turned on each other.
Across continents, it wasn't objects that vanished.
It was foundation.
Centuries of knowledge.
Lineage secrets.
Power carefully hoarded.
Gone.
Others whispered a word too heavy for comfort:
> "War."
THE WRONG ANSWERS
Back in the Ministry war-room, theories multiplied.
Wild ones.
Desperate ones.
One wizard slammed the table:
"This is the work of a reborn Dark Lord!"
Another shouted:
"No Grindelwald had contingencies he must have left followers!"
A third muttered:
"Perhaps… giants? Or vampires?"
Someone in the back whispered:
"…aliens."
Every head turned.
The wizard shrank in his chair.
"I I was joking."
Dumbledore did not smile.
Instead he said quietly:
> "Jokes often begin where truth is too uncomfortable to consider."
No one laughed.
A PATTERN WITHOUT PATTERN
Kingsley pointed to the map.
"Look: there is no logic."
He was right.
The stolen material wasn't just valuable artifacts and elite archives.
Some were:
small rural coven journals
amateur research notes
abandoned manuscripts
children's spell attempts
A witch frowned.
"So why steal trivial scraps along with irreplaceable dark magic?"
Dumbledore answered:
> "Because even the smallest piece may complete a larger design."
The Minister looked weary.
"So we are not facing someone seeking power."
"But someone seeking understanding."
Dumbledore nodded.
"And that makes them far more dangerous."
THE SHADOW WITHOUT A SHAPE
The task force drafted their first official conclusions:
No spell known could breach so many wards silently.
Only one explanation remained not stated loudly, but painfully clear:
> The threat did not come from magic.
From wizard.
But something outside their frame of reality.
Something they could not measure.
HOGWARTS A SUBTLE SHIFT
In the Ravenclaw common room, a seventh-year student stared at her spellbook, confused.
Runes she knew by heart felt… wrong.
Charms she had cast flawlessly for years suddenly required twice the focus.
It wasn't weakness.
As if magic wasn't behaving naturally.
She whispered into the dim room:
"…it feels like the world is being… measured."
Somewhere in the castle, ancient wards pulsed.
Not in warning.
In acknowledgment.
THE MINISTRY RESPONSE
Later that evening, after hours of arguments, fear, and reluctant agreement, the Minister issued a final directive.
A parchment floated above the chamber:
TASK FORCE 01 THE VEIL INVESTIGATION UNIT
Objective:
> Identify the force removing magical knowledge worldwide.
Determine intent.
Prevent further loss.
By any means necessary.
Wands were raised.
The motion passed unanimously.
No applause followed.
Only silence.
ABOVE THEM ALL
Zack watched.
Emotionless. Analytical. Focused.
He saw:
governments scrambling
factions blaming one another
scholars panicking
seers whispering warnings no one understood
He logged the results as data:
> MAGICAL WORLD AWARENESS: LIMITED
ESTIMATED ACCURACY: <21%
RISK OF EARLY DISCOVERY: LOW
Then he made the only conclusion required:
> "They have noticed a fraction.
Not the whole."
Which meant only one thing:
> There is time.
Time for research.
Because Zack wasn't merely collecting knowledge.
He was preparing for something far greater.
A possibility now forming into strategy:
> A doorway not between places, but between realities.
And the magical world?
They were still trying to understand the first question.