"Oi, Malcolm, check this out."
Malcolm turned from his desk as Horace approached his desk with a wide parchment. The enchantments on the parchments let one scroll around an overhead view of London from the Aurors office, making tracking through the streets a far less arduous task than it might have been. "What am I looking at?" Malcolm asked blankly; the map was large, and not particularly closely zoomed. Whatever Horace was seeing, he was not.
"Here," his colleague pointed out, pressing a finger down onto the map to enlarge a section. A seedy part of town, to be sure, mostly bars and clubs. It contained a fair amount of gang activity but that was work for the blue caps, not the Ministry. Something did catch his eye, though; a group of figures moving at a decidedly hurried pace through the back alleys of the neighborhood. One woman, a witch by the coloring of her blip, chased by three men, all wizards. That certainly smelled of Ministry duty.
"Very well, I'll go sort these folk out," he said with a sigh. He stood from his chair and started moving about; a dark coat covered his tucked in shirt, black leather gloves covered his slim, long-fingered hands, and a gray newsboy cap flipped on top of his head. Glimmering green eyes surveyed his desk and snatched up his cypresswood wand, the familiar heft and handle of the delicately curved instrument never failing to make him feel at home. He waved that hand over the map and a phantom image appeared in the air; Malcolm grabbed the edge of that phantom map and pulled it outwards. The ghostly image, much like a window shade, retracted into the map as by spring.
"Back in a jiff," he said with a tip of his hat and a cheerful smile.
Pop!
The streets of London were dank, to say the least. Recent rains left puddles at corners and dips in the road, the cobblestone streets glistening slickly with wetness. Malcolm's want waved delicately at his shoes. "Silencio." He tapped his feet on the cobblestone and nodded with some satisfaction, his leather boots making not a sound on the hard stone as they tapped. And so he set off at a jog, following the mental map he had painted for himself.
