MTLNOVEL Chapter 163: The Target
It had been three days since Cael returned to his new home—a quiet, hidden house not far from Ottery St. Catchpole. The place still smelled of fresh wood polish and newly delivered furniture. His mother's journal sat safely on the desk, and his pouch of gold rested under lock and spell.
But today wasn't for comfort.
Today was for the next step: infiltrating the Ministry of Magic.
Cael sat by the window, staring out at the overgrown garden as his mind turned.
The system had been clear:
"You must enter the Department of Mysteries. Retrieve the Door Key linked to the legacy of the Six."
Breaking into the Ministry wasn't something anyone could do blindly. He needed a plan—and that started with finding the perfect target to impersonate.
The Polyjuice Potion was brewing in the kitchen—bubbling away, still weeks from completion. But by the time it was ready, he had to know every detail about his target: name, appearance, habits, and weaknesses.
Cael grabbed a quill and parchment, scribbling notes.
First question: Who in the Ministry is low-profile but has access to the Department of Mysteries?
His first thought had been Arthur Weasley, but that idea was too risky. Arthur was known, respected, and had a large family. Too many people would notice if something was off.
He needed someone less noticeable—someone ordinary, with the right connections.
Cael stood, pulling on his cloak. The only place to start this search was where gossip flowed best: The Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley… all places full of loose tongues.
After couple of days of searching for information , Cael found himself sitting at a dimly lit table inside the Leaky Cauldron, nursing a butterbeer. Around him, wizards chatted about Quidditch, Ministry regulations, and family matters.
He listened carefully, letting conversations drift into his ears.
"…Still can't believe Julian Travers got that Ministry position," one witch muttered to her friend near the bar.
"Travers?" her friend replied, frowning. "Thought their family has become weakened after the war?"
Cael's ears perked up.
"Not all of them. Julian's a cousin. Keeps his head down. Works in the Department of Magical Transportation, I think."
Bingo.
Department of Magical Transportation, Cael thought. That department handled Portkeys, the Floo Network… and they had reasons to visit all corners of the Ministry, maybe even the Department of Mysteries under the right excuse.
He finished his drink, stood up quietly, and slipped away into the crowd.
That night, back in his cottage, Cael began his research.
He spread open newspapers, Ministry pamphlets, and old magical records he'd bought from second-hand shops in Diagon Alley.
The name Julian Travers appeared here and there.
Julian Travers was approximately twenty-six years old and employed as a mid-level assistant within the Department of Magical Transportation. He had no known immediate family residing in England. Most of his relatives were either in hiding or imprisoned due to their affiliations with the Dark Lord during the last war. A few of the younger members of the family remained, including Simon Travers, currently serving as a Slytherin Prefect at Hogwarts.
Julian, however, had stayed out of trouble. Smart move.
No wife, no children, no close friends mentioned.
Perfect.
Over the next few days, Cael followed Julian's trail—watching from the shadows as the man moved through Diagon Alley, stopped at cafes, bought supplies, and occasionally visited the Ministry.
Julian was average height, slim, with brown hair and plain features. The kind of man people barely noticed—a ghost in a crowd.
Exactly what I need, Cael thought, scribbling more notes.
One afternoon, Cael tailed him through Diagon Alley, keeping a careful distance.
Julian walked with a slight hunch, head down, hands tucked into his robe pockets. He wasn't nervous—just naturally cautious, blending into the world like background noise.
At one point, Julian ducked into Flourish and Blotts, purchasing a small stack of books. Cael, using a Disillusionment Charm, managed to glance at the titles.
Books on advanced Portkey regulations, Floo Network maintenance, and Ministry codes.
He memorized everything.
When Julian left the shop, Cael followed again—through narrow alleys, across busy streets, all the way to the visitor entrance of the Ministry of Magic.
The entrance looked ordinary—a red telephone booth tucked between two old buildings.
Julian stepped inside, pressed a series of buttons, and vanished as the booth descended underground.
Cael stayed hidden nearby, watching. He noted every movement, every detail.
Later, he found a hidden spot and scribbled:
• Julian Travers uses the public telephone booth to enter the Ministry.
• Time of arrival: 8:15 AM daily.
• Time of departure: Between 5:00 PM and 6:00 PM.
• Lunch at café near Knockturn Alley—12:30 PM sharp.
• No apparent security check when entering via telephone booth. Identification required: wand scan + verbal confirmation of appointment or staff status.
The plan was forming.
He'd wait until Julian was vulnerable—alone, distracted—take a hair sample for the Polyjuice Potion, and then impersonate him.
But first, he needed to know the Ministry layout.
Over the next week, Cael spent every day mapping out the Ministry's departments.
Through old books, overheard conversations, and subtle questioning in wizarding pubs, he pieced together:
• The Department of Mysteries was located on the deepest level of the Ministry.
• Only Unspeakables and certain authorized personnel could enter.
• The Department of Magical Transportation occasionally sent staff to inspect or assist with Portkey-related work inside.
• Julian Travers had clearance—mid-level, not unrestricted, but enough to get through the initial security gates.
Cael tapped his quill against the parchment, thinking hard.
He'd need more than a disguise.
I'll need forged documents, he realized. Maybe fake inspection orders, confirmation papers, Ministry seals.
Fortunately, Knockturn Alley had merchants who didn't ask questions—for the right price.
Two days later, Cael returned to Knockturn Alley hiding his face as to not let any flaws .
The streets were dark, twisted, and filled with strange stalls—potions, cursed trinkets, illegal magical objects.
He found a vendor known as Merrick, an old wizard with greasy hair and a crooked grin.
"Ministry papers, you say?" Merrick rasped, eyeing Cael with suspicion.
Cael slid a pouch of Galleons across the counter. "Authentic enough to pass at first glance. Nothing more."
Merrick inspected the gold, then shrugged. "Give me the name, department, and what you want it to say. You'll have it in two days."
Cael provided the details—Julian Travers, Department of Magical Transportation, assigned to inspect magical seals near the Department of Mysteries.
The forged papers arrived as promised, along with a Ministry seal charm to replicate official stamps.
Back home, Cael checked the Polyjuice Potion, which bubbled steadily in its cauldron, nearing completion.
Everything was falling into place.
He sat by the window that night, thinking through every step.
The plan:
1. Track Julian Travers as usual.
2. Wait for an isolated moment—preferably during his lunch break near Knockturn Alley.
3. Use a simple Stunning Spell, extract a hair sample, and leave him hidden safely under a Disillusionment Charm.
4. Take the Polyjuice Potion, transform.
5. Enter the Ministry at 8:15 AM sharp, using the telephone booth entrance.
6. Present forged documents at security.
7. Head to the Department of Mysteries.
8. Locate and steal the Door Key linked to the Six's legacy.
9. Exit without raising suspicion.
The system's voice echoed again in his mind:
"Success requires preparation. Risk is high. Failure may result in exposure or imprisonment."
Cael smirked, eyes glinting in the moonlight.
"Come on system i died coding, do you think just infiltrating ministry is enough to scare me ," he whispered to himself.
The road ahead was dangerous—but with the Polyjuice brewing, forged documents ready, and the target selected, Cael was one step closer to uncovering the ancient secrets his mother died for.
He glanced down at the journal on his desk—the faded handwriting of Elara Black reminding him of why he couldn't afford failure.