London, 10 Downing Street.
The Prime Minister's office was still ablaze with light. The green light on the secure telephone blinked at a steady rhythm, signaling that the Prime Minister was still working and might pick up the receiver at any moment to summon an assistant waiting outside.
The corridor wasn't exactly quiet. Staff finishing their shifts were handing over work, occasionally stopped for inspection by security personnel. From MI5 to MI6, from counter-intelligence to foreign intelligence, no one really knew which department anyone belonged to.
The highest security standards were enforced here. Every staff member coming and going had to undergo rigorous vetting—background checks, home addresses, even their private phone lines were likely monitored by intelligence agencies. Every computer, desk, chair, cabinet, and decoration had to pass through at least five security screenings, their origins traced and logged to ensure there was zero possibility of bugging.
As the staff gradually filtered out, silence began to settle outside. The green light on the phone suddenly turned red. Before the jarring ringtone could sound, the secretarial assistant picked up:
"Yes... yes, very good, sir..."
The Prime Minister on the other end informed them that today's business was concluded. The assistants, advisors, and other miscellaneous personnel could clock out, leaving only the necessary security detail. The Prime Minister wanted some time alone.
The call ended, and the assistant conveyed the order. A few restrained cheers seemed to come from the adjacent office as people packed up and lined up to leave. The security checkpoints beeped as badges were swiped, and the secure phone switched to a yellow light, indicating the signal was temporarily disconnected.
Ending a busy day, the Prime Minister cut off contact with the outside world, enjoying the peace of solitude in his office.
Inside, the Prime Minister stared at a grimy oil painting in the corner. It was a rather unflattering portrait of a short man wearing a silver wig who looked a bit like a frog, his eyes seemingly unfocused.
The figure in the painting gave a polite cough:
"To the Muggle Prime Minister. The Ministry of Magic requests an urgent meeting. Please reply immediately. Yours faithfully, Fudge."
The Prime Minister shivered slightly. The February chill in London was biting, and his throat felt a little tight. "Er... this is too sudden. I mean, you can't just propose a meeting in the middle of the night. It's hasty, and quite frankly, offensive..."
"Do you have concerns?"
"My staff are right outside, along with intelligence agents. They have equipment; they might overhear our conversation."
"We have ensured that no person or device is listening. Even if they were, they would quickly forget the matter. They will simply believe you were taking a nap in your office for a while," the short man urged. "Please give your answer immediately."
"Not this again..."
There had been two previous meetings: one on the night of his election victory, and one last summer. Those eccentric people were rude and difficult to communicate with.
The Prime Minister sighed helplessly. "Fine, fine. I'll see him."
Hardly had the words left his mouth when, before he could even compose his face, flames erupted from the empty grate of the ornamental fireplace—emerald green flames. A short, portly figure appeared in the fire, spinning fast like a top. It was Cornelius Fudge.
"Good evening, Prime Minister."
Fudge, clutching a lime-green bowler hat and wearing purple pointed boots, stepped onto the expensive carpet and brushed the Floo powder ash from his clothes. "We meet again."
"My intelligence services haven't reported any unusual signs lately. No eerie cold fog, no missing cargo ships, nothing."
The Prime Minister glanced at him, disliking this wizard minister from the bottom of his heart. Their past two encounters hadn't been pleasant experiences. He prayed there wouldn't be more bad news.
"Are you here to tell me that the escaped wizard has been caught? That sort of news could have waited until morning."
"Sirius Black has indeed been caught. In fact, we caught him over the Christmas holidays, and the trial is already over."
Fudge forced a smile, trying to lighten the mood. In the past, he had always felt a sense of superiority facing the Prime Minister, but now, facing the head of the Muggle government as a mere low-level employee, his mindset was very subtle.
"Whatever happens with your wizard criminals and residents has nothing to do with us. I only care about the normal lives of our people."
The Prime Minister raised his chin slightly, looking at Fudge suspiciously. He was thinner than before, his complexion was sallow, and his hair was thinning significantly. As a politician, the Prime Minister was familiar with that look—generally speaking, it wasn't a good sign.
"Your wizard government should take responsibility for its actions. A serial killer breaks out of prison, and it takes you six months to catch him? If that were me, people would be marching in the streets demanding my resignation."
"Marching in the streets..."
Fudge's smile grew even more bitter. He sat down on a chair in front of the desk, mumbling, "If only wizards were that gentle."
"What happened? Can I do anything to help?"
The Prime Minister took the opportunity to sit in his main chair. It was an empty pleasantry, the kind of perfunctory remark used to comfort political opponents or placate voters. He had absolutely no desire to get involved in wizarding troubles.
"The situation is very complicated. I need to explain it to you slowly."
Fudge slumped slightly, his face full of gloom. "Actually, Sirius Black was innocent. The criminal who blew up the street and killed twelve Muggles... er, ordinary people... was actually another wizard who was present, Peter Pettigrew. He cut off his own finger to fake his death and escape, framing Black for the crime. He then turned into a rat and hid for twelve years, only being discovered recently."
"Huh?"
The Prime Minister's jaw dropped, dumbfounded.
"What's worse is that Peter Pettigrew escaped at the very last moment while being transported to Azkaban. He is now a serial killer on the loose." Fudge sighed again.
The Prime Minister jumped up in shock, knocking over the teacup in front of him. "You... you... you have to be responsible for this! We absolutely cannot let a serial killer roam our communities! You have to protect my safety! Didn't you plant an... Auro... Orbo..."
"Auror."
"Whatever. You have to send more people to ensure our safety!"
"That is what we should do, but that is no longer my jurisdiction," Fudge smiled bitterly.
"What do you mean?"
The Prime Minister looked at Fudge. Combining the signs he'd seen, he began to guess something, feeling a strange, inexplicable sympathy for a fellow sufferer.
"Because I obstructed Black's trial, I have been removed from office by other officials in the Ministry. I am now just an ordinary employee of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, responsible for all handover duties."
Fudge pulled a long face, finding it very difficult to explain the situation. "For this meeting, I was delegated to come here first to brief you on the latest developments and to introduce you to my successor, as well as several other wizards. They have longer-term plans to discuss with you."
"This..."
The Prime Minister didn't know what to say.
Fudge turned his head to look at the portrait of the short man in the corner.
The man in the portrait was twirling a quill, looking around with boredom. "Professor Levent is explaining the structure and functions of the Muggle government to them, helping them understand the relationship between the Crown and the Government. He's explaining the constitutional monarchy reforms; he'll be done in a moment."
"Professor Levent..."
Fudge muttered the name, his eyes incredibly complex. "For the past few weeks, Umbridge kept emphasizing in my ear that he was the mastermind behind the removal resolution. He convinced Dumbledore, pushed the Wizengamot proposal, and allied with Madam Edgecombe from the Department of Transportation. I shouldn't have given him a hard time when he first arrived in Britain... Umbridge influenced my decision."
Professor... is that some kind of job title?
The Prime Minister immediately memorized the name. It sounded like this person had even more influence than Fudge.
"To the Muggle Prime Minister. Requesting a meeting. Please reply immediately. Acting Minister, Amelia Bones."
"Oh, yes, alright."
Before the Prime Minister could memorize the name, flames shot up in the fireplace again, and several wizards stepped out of the grate one after another.
Leading the way was a witch. Square-jawed with thin eyebrows and a monocle, she had short, gray hair that looked sharp and capable. Broad-shouldered and tall, she cut a somewhat imposing, sturdy figure.
"Amelia Bones, Acting Minister of Magic."
Madam Bones extended her hand, greeting him politely.
"Hello, hello."
She looks like one of those annoying pragmatists, the Prime Minister evaluated silently. There were many officials like her in the Muggle government, but they usually couldn't reach the top levels; they spent their lives trapped in one department working themselves to the bone, their achievements becoming stepping stones for people like him.
The second arrival was a middle-aged wizard who looked stern and unsmiling. He had tawny hair and bushy eyebrows streaked with gray. Though he walked with a slight limp, his gaze was so piercing one dared not look him in the eye.
"Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office, Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
Scrimgeour didn't shake hands. Instead, he walked to the door and windows, tapping them with his wand. The locks clicked shut, and the curtains drew themselves together without a breeze, cutting off any possibility of the office being bugged from the outside.
A sharp, tough character.
The Prime Minister noticed the indicator light on his secure phone go completely dead—the power had likely been cut.
The third was also a middle-aged wizard, thin, with a back as straight as a ramrod. He wore impeccable, tidy official robes, his hair parted with strict precision, and sported a toothbrush mustache.
"Barty Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation."
The Prime Minister shook his hand, his mind a blur. He didn't understand this department or that department, but taking it literally, he tagged this unsmiling wizard as the Foreign Secretary.
The last one was somewhat unexpected. Still a wizard, but he looked exceptionally young. He wore a well-tailored Muggle suit with a black and gray striped tie. Black hair, black eyes, and a faint smile playing on his lips—just the right amount, gentle and polite.
If he hadn't seen him step out of the fire with his own eyes, and if Fudge hadn't introduced him, the Prime Minister would have believed it if he claimed to be a student from Cambridge Business School.
"Melvin Levent, Professor of Muggle Studies at Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts?"
The Prime Minister remembered the magic school Fudge had mentioned.
"The emphasis should be on 'Muggle Studies'."
Madam Bones took the lead, walking to the desk. She waved her wand, restoring the teacup the Prime Minister had knocked over. Like a slow-motion rewind, the spilled tea flew back into the cup.
"Professor Levent has been pushing for reforms in the Muggle Studies curriculum over the past few years, making wizards across the magical world realize the potential of Muggles. More and more wizards are becoming curious about Muggle technology and social systems. We came here this time to discuss some small-scale, pilot exchanges and cooperation."
Melvin, meanwhile, borrowed the teapot and cups on the desk, replaced the contents with the Earl Grey tea he had brought, and poured cups for Madam Bones, Scrimgeour, and Fudge.
The Prime Minister stared at the wizards' tea, not reacting for a moment, and swallowed subconsciously. "You aren't here for the fugitive?"
"Prime Minister, Peter Pettigrew is a dangerous Death Eater, but the Death Eater forces disbanded thirteen years ago. Furthermore, he has no wand and would need to swim across the North Sea in a rat's body. We also have Sneakoscopes deployed along the coastline."
Madam Bones slowed her speech: "If he hasn't been eaten by fish, and if he hasn't frozen to death in the waves, even if he successfully returns to Britain, I imagine he will only hide in sewers or gutters."
"So you are here to establish diplomatic relations?"
The Prime Minister understood the implication. He was both shocked and delighted. His politician's brain instantly conjured up possibilities from every angle. "Diplomacy with the wizarding world!"
"Hold on..."
Melvin tapped his porcelain cup, the crisp sound interrupting the Prime Minister's fantasy in time. "We will not participate in any political disputes between Muggle nations, we will not provide any military assistance, we will not engage in any intelligence activities, and we certainly will not help you deal with any political rivals."
"Then what are you doing?"
"You can think of us as a remote, secluded small country very far from Britain. We can establish some trade relations. You don't need to consider transportation restrictions or worry about tariffs. We can use gold or gems and other valuables as settlement currency."
Melvin spoke in a low voice.
The Prime Minister's head buzzed, overloading on the spot.
Magical fireplaces, flying broomsticks, incredible magical items... He would become the greatest Prime Minister in British history; he would be the Magellan of the new era!
As if knowing his thoughts, Melvin tapped the cup again. "Sorry, we cannot sell those things. We must abide by the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy and the regulations prohibiting the misuse of Muggle artifacts."
"Statute of Secrecy, misuse of Muggle artifacts?"
The Prime Minister repeated the phrases, looking blankly from one person to another.
"Due to historical reasons, wizards worldwide reached a consensus and enacted the Statute of Secrecy to help wizards hide their identities and avoid unnecessary trouble. As one of the members who drafted the bill, the British Ministry of Magic does not allow any behavior that exposes magic," Crouch spoke up to explain.
"Then how do we cooperate? How do we do import and export trade?"
The Prime Minister looked at Melvin. He noticed the behavior of this young wizard; it seemed he was the one leading this diplomatic mission.
"In some less sensitive industries. For example: food processing, home appliances, film and entertainment..."