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Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Ministry of Magic
When the Malfoy eagle-owl burst through the morning mist and dropped a letter sealed with the family crest onto the Ministry desk, the new Deputy Head was adjusting his stiff collar in front of the mirror.
Chilton was the picture of a respectable bureaucrat: mustache trimmed to perfection, tailored robes hugging his softening middle-aged frame, every inch of fabric serving his dignity.
As the fresh young blood recently promoted to second-in-command in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, he desperately needed a solid achievement to climb higher.
But he understood even better that here, keeping his feathers dry mattered more than flying high.
After all, to be an official one must think thrice:
think of danger, think of change, think of retreat.
And now was the moment to show political wisdom.
A paper aeroplane sat quietly beside his hand.
Chilton stared at it for a long time. The silver Malfoy crest on the envelope said everything.
He slit it open with a silver knife. Lucius's flamboyant yet arrogant handwriting met his eyes.
"Norwegian Ridgeback…" Chilton repeated softly, brow furrowing.
He held the incendiary complaint letter with the caution of a man walking on thin ice.
Norwegian Ridgeback. Class IV dangerous creature. A red line even among red lines in the 1709 Act.
If this had been an ordinary poacher, he would already be summoning Aurors and claiming the credit.
But the next lines made sweat bead on his palms:
"Hogwarts."
"Harry Potter."
"Albus Dumbledore."
Any single name in this letter was enough to detonate the Daily Prophet.
Chilton sank into his office chair, mind racing.
As a veteran bureaucrat, he knew Lucius Malfoy's style all too well.
The complaint had been filed through official channels. It was already logged in the Ministry's system.
If he buried it and the dragon later caused a fatality at school, Malfoy could turn on him in a heartbeat, accusing him of dereliction and concealing a major safety hazard.
And as a rising official without Dumbledore's protection, crossing Lucius was career suicide.
So he had to accept it.
And he had to do something.
"Albus, you really handed me a nightmare," Chilton muttered to the empty office.
"I'm just the man who handles hinkypunk tourist complaints. Why make me choose sides between two mountains?"
Lucius's letter was masterfully crafted.
Every word had been weighed.
Malfoy appeared to be acting with perfect propriety, responsibly reminding him as a Governor:
If he did nothing, this casual disregard for law and underage safety would appear on next week's Board agenda as a case of dereliction.
If Chilton stormed Hogwarts with a team, even a single cough from Dumbledore could strip him raw in a Wizengamot administrative review.
Sweat prickled the tip of his nose.
In this impossible position, his old bureaucratic survival instinct kicked in.
His eyes stopped on one line:
"…considering that the students involved include not only the famous Mr. Potter but several impressionable first-years, the risks to improper magic use and psychological welfare are deeply concerning…"
"Underage wizards."
Chilton's mind clicked. A perfect escape hatch.
If this stayed a pure creature-violation case, it was his mess.
But once reframed as underage exposure to dangerous creatures plus improper magic use involving high-profile minors… the responsibility became negotiable.
This was no longer purely his department's problem.
It was now a hybrid administrative intervention involving campus safety and underage welfare.
And in the Ministry, no one hungered for exactly that kind of jurisdiction more than the woman in the pink cardigan who was desperate to impress Minister Fudge.
Chilton seized a quill and wrote rapidly on the inter-departmental routing slip.
This was his favorite bureaucratic alchemy: redefining the problem so the hot potato landed in someone else's lap.
Cross-Departmental Action Recommendation
To: Director Dolores Umbridge, Improper Use of Magic Office
cc: Minister's Office, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Board of Governors Secretariat
The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures takes extremely seriously the formal complaint submitted by Mr. Lucius Malfoy regarding "potential systemic safety hazards at Hogwarts." After preliminary review, the core issue is no longer merely illegal creature keeping but extends to improper magic use and administrative neglect involving multiple high-profile underage witches and wizards (especially Mr. H. Potter).
Given that the case has evolved from a biological violation into serious campus administrative failure, this Department recommends that the Improper Use of Magic Office take primary lead responsibility, conducting an urgent compliance survey and underage-welfare intervention at Hogwarts.
The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures will serve as a supporting technical unit, providing non-decision-making assistance during Saturday night's administrative operation.
We respectfully request Director Umbridge review and assume full coordination of this joint inter-departmental action.
"Perfect."
Chilton admired his own handiwork.
Responsibility lines drawn crystal clear.
If blood was spilled on the Astronomy Tower Saturday night, or if Dumbledore pushed back, it would be Umbridge's fault as the lead coordinator. Chilton would merely be the helpful man who brought the cages.
He pulled out an "URGENT – Cross-Departmental" header sheet, wrapped the whole steaming potato neatly, and stamped it with the Department seal.
One flick of his wand. The paper aeroplane flew out of the fourth floor.
Its destination: that famous pink office.
The moment that woman saw the words "Harry Potter" and "full coordination," she would swoop down like a vulture smelling carrion and swallow the poisoned fruit of power without hesitation.
Chilton leaned back in his armchair. Outside, the enchanted ceiling had shifted from overcast to a cold, rumbling thunderstorm.
The thunder rolling beyond the window perfectly matched his mood.
A quiet thrill at having steered the storm toward someone else.
"Good luck, Dolores," he chuckled, popping a peppermint drop into his mouth and even humming a little tune.
"Go bite Dumbledore. Just don't drag me into the crossfire."
At that same moment, countless paper aeroplanes still darted through the Ministry corridors.
But the one carrying trouble flew like a herald of the storm about to break over Hogwarts Saturday night—the one called "procedural justice" but in truth a private vendetta.
The Ministry's vast administrative machine had begun to rumble, every gear providing legal cover for the coming gale.
And back in the castle, Harry and Ron were desperately trying to calm a drunken, spark-spitting baby dragon.
They had no idea that behind them in the darkness waited not only Norbert's sharp teeth, but stack after stack of lethal parchment.