New York City
Woolworth Building
MACUSA Headquarter
The Woolworth Building loomed over the bustling streets of New York City, its spire cutting into the late afternoon sky. To No-Maj(Muggel) eyes, it was nothing more than a grand old skyscraper from the early 20th century—a relic of another era. But to those who could see beyond the veil, its true nature shimmered through the glamour. Beneath its ornate façade lay the hidden heart of American wizarding governance: the headquarters of the Magical Congress of the United States of America.(MACUSA)
Inside, the air hummed faintly with enchantments. Doors whispered open without touch, elevators moved with a thought, and entire hallways bent space in ways that made no sense to the non-magical mind.
A tall man in his sixties ascended the marble steps toward the building's enchanted entrance. He carried an ebony cane capped with the gleaming silver head of a thunderbird—its wings spread as if caught in mid-flight. His polished shoes clicked against the stone, the sound sharp in the cool evening air.
As he stepped inside, the golden light of the lobby spilled over him. A young witch at the reception desk glanced up and brightened.
"Welcome, Lord Rowen," she said warmly. "We're delighted to have you here."
Thaddeus Rowen's smile was easy, practiced—charming in the way of a man used to navigating political rooms. "Thank you, my dear. Tell me—has the professor arrived?"
"Yes, my lord. You may visit him directly."
"Excellent." His cane tapped lightly against the polished floor as he headed toward the elevator bank.
The doors slid open with a chime, revealing an old man stepping out, suitcase in hand. His hair was a tangle of silver, and his posture carried both weariness and the quiet alertness of someone who never stopped observing the world.
"Uncle Scamander," Thaddeus said, his smile deepening. "Fancy meeting you here. Why the rush?"
Newt Scamander's eyes flickered up briefly before darting away again. His voice, as ever, was gentle and halting. "Ah—Lord Rowen. I… I didn't expect to see you. Been… oh, years, hasn't it? How have you been?"
"Busy," Thaddeus replied smoothly. "Family matters. There's talk of… new ventures. If a certain little girl proves useful, of course."
Newt frowned slightly at that, though the words seemed to slide past him without full comprehension. "Well—er—I'd better go. Tina's waiting, and you know how she can be when I'm late."
Thaddeus chuckled. "Of course. Send her my regards, won't you?"
"Yes, yes. Goodbye." Newt adjusted his grip on the suitcase, then shuffled toward the stairs in that awkward, half-distracted way of his, as if part of him were already far away, thinking about some creature only he could see.
Thaddeus watched him go, murmuring under his breath, "Such a shy uncle I have." His lips curved faintly before he stepped into the elevator.
He pressed the button for the -12th floor. The descent was smooth, silent, the hum of the building's enchantments all around. When the doors slid open again, the space before him widened into a vast, high-ceilinged atrium.
It was a place of controlled chaos—rows of desks, stacks of parchment, and enchanted memos darting through the air like paper sparrows. Departmental files, stamped and sealed, floated in neat formations, while typewriters clacked on their own. Witches and wizards bent over their work, quills scratching furiously.
No one looked up as Thaddeus crossed the floor, his cane tapping a steady rhythm.
At the far end of the atrium, a large, dark-wood door bore an engraved brass plate:
Head Office – Major Investigation Department
This was the branch that handled the gravest magical incidents—events capable of shaking the wizarding community or shattering the Statute of Secrecy. Every major crisis in the United States passed through here sooner or later.
Thaddeus rapped twice on the door.
"Enter," came the muffled voice from within.
He cleared his throat, turned the handle, and stepped inside. Behind him, the noise of the atrium carried on, the workers too focused on their own tasks to notice his arrival—or perhaps too wise to show they had.