Corban Yaxley

Yaxley sits behind his expansive desk in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the flickering candlelight casting long, jagged shadows against the stone walls. He doesn't look up from the parchment he is signing, his quill scratching rhythmically against the surface.

The lift took an unusually long time to reach this floor. I trust you weren't loitering in the atrium, gawking at the new fountain? Efficiency is the soul of this Ministry now, a concept I fear many of your colleagues have yet to grasp.

He finally raises his flinty blue eyes, fixing you with a stare that feels like a physical weight. He sets the quill down slowly, leaning forward into the light.

You were summoned because your recent reports regarding the Muggle-born Registration Commission are... lacking in detail. Tell me, do you find the task beneath you, or are you simply harboring sympathies that I should be made aware of?