The petrified Prime Minister could not speak. But from the desperate pleading that flickered in his eyes, Bryan understood clearly that the man had more or less consented to the proposal of cooperation.
"Thank you for your cooperation—" Bryan said calmly, as though they'd just concluded an ordinary negotiation.
He snapped his fingers with a sharp, crisp click that echoed in the quiet office. Another breeze rose from nowhere and the Prime Minister suddenly found he could move again.
The sensation of mobility returning all at once was almost as shocking as losing it had been.
The Prime Minister gasped desperately for breath and rolled his neck carefully, working out the terrible strain that had accumulated in his muscles from his frantic, aborted attempt at running earlier.
'Minister of Magic and Deputy Chairman of the International Confederation of Wizards—'
The titles rolled through his mind again, carrying new weight now that he'd experienced firsthand what these people were capable of.
The urge to call for help made one more desperate circuit through his thoughts before he abandoned it.
He watched the grey-haired young man with violet eyes cross casually toward the sitting area of the office and asked in a voice that trembled despite his best efforts to control it: "What was that just now?"
"What just now… Oh, that was magic—" Bryan said as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
He gave his wand a casual flourish. A grimy, dust-covered wine bottle appeared on the coffee table. Alongside it appeared three gleaming crystal glasses.
"Well then, Prime Minister—do sit down, please. We can discuss everything more comfortably over a drink." Bryan's tone was absurdly civilized given the circumstances.
"This happens to be Madam Rosmerta's finest oak-matured mead, aged in the best barrels—"
Magic. Of course. Not a trick.
Because if it were a trick—the titles of these two people who had appeared without warning in his office would have been Minister of Tricks and Deputy Chairman of the International Confederation of Tricksters—
The Prime Minister couldn't stop his mind from running away with itself, spiralling into hysterical internal commentary as a defence mechanism against the impossible reality confronting him.
He walked slowly, carefully toward the sofa, his legs were feeling unsteady beneath him. The two strangers already sat there looking at him with patient, expectant expressions—waiting for him to join them like guests at his house.
"From what you've both said—" The Prime Minister lowered himself onto the sofa. He was not in control of this situation, and he knew it well but he refused to be led passively by the nose through whatever conversation was about to happen.
He furrowed his brow and observed his two uninvited guests with wary, analytical suspicion, cataloguing details.
"My predecessor as Prime Minister… from the way you speak, it sounds as though he knew you? Or at least knew people like you?"
"As a general rule, the Minister of Magic only contacts the sitting Muggle Prime Minister in cases of emergency—"
Amelia Bones sat with perfect composure, her spine straight with hands folded neatly in her lap. Despite her obvious exhaustion, she projected an air of complete capability.
"So, your predecessor would have known my predecessor—Cornelius Fudge, that is. He was the previous Minister for Magic. He was subsequently removed from office for his involvement in certain criminal matters."
As she spoke, the wine bottle on the coffee table rose smoothly into the air of its own accord, tipping itself. Honey-gold mead flowed from its mouth in a perfect stream, filling each of the three crystal glasses.
The sight made the Prime Minister's breath catch sharply in his throat for several seconds. He slid a carefully neutral glance toward the grey-haired young man keeping his face expressionless. He had the distinct feeling that this Deputy Chair was quite capable of ending his life at any moment.
"But why did my predecessor never mention… never once mention… that there are wizards in this country?"
"Likely because he had no wish to be laughed at or taken for a madman—" Bryan chuckled, sounding genuinely amused.
"After all, if you hadn't witnessed what you just witnessed with your own eyes—you wouldn't believe for a moment that wizards actually exist, would you?"
The Prime Minister opened his mouth, then closed it again. He had no good answer to that.
Bryan and Amelia both raised their glasses. The Muggle Prime Minister had no intention of touching his own glass.
His mind, however, was working furiously beneath the surface calmness he was projecting.
Judging by the manner of both visitors, they did not appear to be here to assassinate him or stage some sort of coup. If they'd wanted him dead, he would already be dead. And if they hadn't lied about their identities and positions…
"If I remember correctly, you—you said just now—"
The Prime Minister did not want to be lectured like a confused schoolboy being taught basic facts. He made a conscious effort to straighten his posture, to reclaim what dignity he could. "That the Minister of Magic only meets with the Muggle—"
The word felt strange in his mouth. "The Muggle Prime Minister when there's an emergency of some kind?"
Bryan and Amelia exchanged a quick glance. Then Bryan set down his glass and said,
"That is indeed the case, and we will get to the emergency shortly. However, for the sake of your understanding, I think it would be best if we took a few minutes first to give you a brief introduction to the wizarding world—"
The Prime Minister gave a slow nod, arranging his face into an expression of attentive calmness.
"It's fairly straightforward, actually," Bryan began, settling more comfortably into his chair.
"Muggles—ah, that's what we call those who cannot use magic—Muggles have always had some concept of wizards as a group. Your fairy tales, your folklore, your legends of witches and sorcerers and magical beings. Most of those stories have at least a grain of truth to them, though the details are often wildly inaccurate."
He gestured expressively as he spoke. "Wizards: those who can use magic.
In terms of numbers, we are nothing compared to Muggles. But despite our small numbers, the wizarding community has its own complete, functioning society all the same—a rather insular one, largely hidden from Muggle awareness. We call it the 'wizarding world.'"
Bryan paused to take a sip of his mead, giving the Prime Minister time to absorb this.
"Within the wizarding world you will find governments with legislative and executive branches, schools, hospitals, banks and all manner of other institutions serving the public, just as in the Muggle world.
The wizarding world is generally organized along the same national boundaries as the Muggle world," Bryan continued. "There's the British wizarding world, governed by our Ministry of Magic. The French wizarding world, the German, the Italian. Most European nations have their own magical governments and communities, and the same holds true for the Americas, Asia, and Africa—"
Bryan paused again, this time to draw a deeper breath, then added with particular emphasis:
"One more thing worth mentioning: the history of wizards is very nearly as long as that of Muggles. We are human beings, the same species as you—not some completely other race or supernatural creatures."
The Prime Minister found himself appreciating the young Deputy Chairman's manner of explanation. It was remarkably concise and to the point.
But appreciation aside, the knowledge that such a people existed—that an entire hidden society of human beings with extraordinary, reality-defying powers lived alongside ordinary citizens, moving unseen and undetected through British society—left the Prime Minister genuinely shaken to his core.
And beneath the shock, something else was rising steadily like bile in his throat: fear. Deep fear of the unknown and uncontrollable.
"How many—" His voice came out rougher than intended.
He cleared his throat and tried again. "I mean, how many wizards are there specifically in Britain?"
"According to our Ministry's most recent records, there are forty-six thousand, one hundred and twenty-two permanent resident wizards currently in the United Kingdom," Amelia answered. "In addition to that baseline population, there are roughly ten thousand or more transient wizards present at any given time—"
"So roughly sixty thousand people in Britain—"
The Prime Minister drew a sharp. "Sixty thousand people who can apparently waltz in and out of my office as if it were their own sitting room?!"
"Oh, certainly not—" Bryan smiled slightly. "Your office's fireplace is under strict surveillance by the Ministry of Magic. No one has the authority to arrive here via the Floo Network except the Minister of Magic herself."
"Oh, strict surveillance?!" The Prime Minister protested immediately, his voice rose despite his intention to remain calm. "You cannot surveil my office without my permission! That's completely unacceptable!"
"It is the Floo Network itself that is monitored, not your office," Amelia interjected, her voice was steady and reasonable.
"We have no interest in your day-to-day work. This monitoring is purely to guard against wizards with ill intent. Surely you can understand the necessity—wizards are not all good people?"
'Fireplace. Floo Network.'
Two more strange new words and concepts lodged themselves in the Prime Minister's aching skull, joining "wizards" and "magic" and "Ministry of Magic" in the rapidly growing pile of information he was being forced to accept.
His head throbbed with the heat of too much new information being crammed in too quickly. "Fine. Do continue—"
He suppressed his irritation with an effort. He hadn't forgotten that this wizarding Deputy Chair had frozen him solid without so much as blinking or breaking a sweat.
Antagonizing these people would be extraordinarily unwise.
"As Minister Bones has just said, there are bad sorts among wizards, just as there are among Muggles," Bryan resumed, his tone becoming noticeably more serious.
"Though calling them merely 'bad sorts' may be putting it far, far too kindly. Some wizards can only honestly be described as irredeemably evil. Terrorists of the worst kind."
Bryan drew a slow breath, and his expression turned grave.
"There is one particular wizard—extraordinarily dark in his ambitions and methods, and extraordinarily powerful in his magical abilities—who has done terrible, unforgivable things over the course of several decades.
For nearly thirty years, wizarding governments across Europe and countless righteous individuals have tried desperately to bring him to justice. None have managed it successfully.
For a time, due to certain unusual circumstances, this wizard left the country and went into hiding abroad.
Now he has returned to Britain. He has gathered his forces and he is fighting the Ministry … openly.
Prime Minister, I regret to inform you: the British wizarding world is currently in an active state of war. And that war has every realistic possibility of spiralling beyond our ability to contain it—by which I mean spreading to other wizarding nations, and into the Muggle world."
"A state of war." The Prime Minister studied the young Deputy Chair of what amounted to the Wizarding United Nations with evident scepticism creeping into his expression.
He had no comment to make on the apparent absurdity of how a man who looked barely past twenty had come to hold such a significant international position. But precisely because he was so young, the Prime Minister couldn't help wondering whether the young man was prone to exaggeration.
"Chairman Watson, you've said there is currently a war happening among wizards in Britain. Is it possible—what I mean to ask is—"
He turned slightly to address Minister Bones directly.
"Could I interpret this situation as—you're hunting down the founder of a terrorist organization? A wizard one, naturally. Perhaps a rather cunning and dangerous—"
"Bryan is not exaggerating in the slightest, Prime Minister."
Minister Bones saw through whatever wishful thinking the Muggle Prime Minister was clinging to. Her tone hardened perceptibly, becoming sharp.
"It is a war. A real war. Wizards have suffered tremendous losses. And frankly—during the period when Vol—when Voldemort was at his most active years ago, Muggles suffered greatly as well. You simply weren't aware of it.
Under the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, any event that might expose the existence of magic to the general Muggle population must be covered up and explained away. Voldemort and his followers' massacres of Muggles are generally reclassified by the Ministry as natural disasters, things your world can make sense of."
Amelia's eyes were hard.
"But I can tell you the truth now: over the past thirty years, at the very minimum, tens of thousands of Muggles have died as a result of Voldemort's campaign of terror."
"Tens of thousands?" The Prime Minister looked at Minister Bones with open doubt.
Tens of thousands of British citizens, murdered by this wizard terrorist, and he'd never heard a whisper of it? That couldn't possibly be true. That level of death toll couldn't be hidden. Could it?
"The massive explosion and disturbance that appeared in London a week ago—the thunderous booms and shaking that lasted for hours,"
Bryan said softly. "I noticed that several Muggle newspapers have been following the story demanding answers from you and your government—"
The Prime Minister had half-jumped from his seat, his face went ashen white.
Bryan watched him with a half-smile. "That was us. Fighting Voldemort and his army of Dark wizards."
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