"Come in!" Saul Crocker was a willowy man of nearly eighty years old, tall and slender with fingers like spider's legs, and a shrewd look about his face - his beady black eyes narrowed as they stepped through the door, "Ah Potter, Malfoy, you received my memo? Take a seat," they did as they were bid (Harry suppressed a shudder as the office’s privacy charms washed over him), with a mumbled good morning, "I’m sorry to summon you to my office so early, but there’s been an incident in Knockturn Alley over the weekend - a shop exploded," he twisted in his chair to reach for the pile of files stacked behind him, and selected two, pushing them across the desk for the men to take.