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Prologue

"It was once my duty to know people. During my tenure in the Ministry, and onward into my career at the Academy, I've come to know many persons, wizarding and Muggle alike. In all that time, I've become certain of exactly two things: one, we are all one human race, and two, I will never fully understand them."

Sherrod Howe

August 1, 1994

Dear Finnbar,

How are things back home? Weather's been typical for Northern Ireland, and you'll be glad to hear that the Muggles round here have rather quieted down, it seems! Made me quite happy for old Bishop that his rally went undisturbed, for the most part (more on that later). In any case, now that it's done, I'll likely be home by tomorrow, once I've taken in a bit of local color. There's a good German opera playing just down the street; quite retrospective, as I say, and I'd hate to miss it.

Now I know you wished to meet the good doctor, but fear not. I intend to regale you with all the essentials. It will be as though you were there yourself! Here's how it began:

For a Monday, Great Victoria Street was very typically busy. As a general rule, Great Victoria is perhaps the foremost thoroughfare in Belfast, and one that the Muggles of the city count on quite heavily, as it houses the Belfast Great Victoria Street railway station, its central position allowing for easy walking to the shopping streets, to the Grand Opera House, the Odyssey Arena and the Crown Liquor Saloon, and of course, the famous Europa Hotel, the so-called "most bombed hotel in Ireland", which only reopened last February.

By the entrance to the parking garage, there's a broom closet, so cramped and tucked away in the corner, so blended in with the color of the rest of the wall, you'd never see it if you didn't already know it was there. Being that I come here so often to hear my good friend speak, I knew exactly where to find it.

My hair was just the way I like it, and I had just the right layer of stubble on, along with my favorite charcoal-colored ascot. To occupy my thoughts, I allowed myself to chuckle at the thought of how ironic the hotel stood; all the different points of attack the IRA could even now pursue. Quite bewildering, I say, that Muggles insist on building these skyscrapers so damn tall, and yet afford so little protection to them. Just whatever happened to a good old fashioned stone castle, eh Finn? But, I digress.

Once I stepped into the closet, I tapped the three bricks sticking out of the wallpaper with my wand, and in an instant, the wall pushed backward on itself, stretching into a modest-sized hallway, before suddenly dropping into a spiral mahogany staircase. I observed from all the smudges on the railing that the hotel was quite bustling, as there were so many handprints adorning said railing, and no one had yet bothered to come wipe it down. Far be it from me to leave such a thing unattended, I took the liberty myself, casting a simple charm to clean it off. Then, after replacing my wand back in its pocket, I began down the hall, and from there down the stairs. I was quite excited for my impending performance, so I must confess I had quite a spring in my step.

At the bottom of the staircase, which was quite a long ways down, I then found myself in the quaint lobby, about the size of one of our classrooms at Rathlin, with red and black checkered tapestries, elaborately-patterned, yet faded carpet, some lived-in couches and chairs beside a roaring fire off in the corner, and in the opposite corner, beside an archway and raised portcullis, was the Hotel Victoria front desk, manned by a goblin with a long black beard, and checkered robes which matched the tapestries.

The goblin continued on writing in a ledge that was about the size of him, as I walked towards the desk, admiring the gigantic wall of shining keys behind it. When I reached the desk, I promptly rang the bell twice, and gave a smile at my host, who slowly looked up from his book, glaring, yet also attempting to smile.

"Welcome to the Hotel Victoria, sir," the goblin crackled, "How may I help you?"

"I'm here for the rally, chap," replied I, "My old friend Sibs is speaking here, Dr. Sebastian Bishop? He usually speaks in conference room four?"

"Conference room four…" slowly, methodically, the goblin host flipped through his ledger, ran his bony finger down each page, and turned again, all while I watched, trying to maintain my smile, for the sake of the moment and for politeness. You never know with these goblins; clever, but not the most friendly of fiends.

"Ahhhh, yes," the goblin tapped at a particular spot on the page, "Dr. Bishop, of St. Mungo's. Unfortunately, conference room four was reserved this year, in favor of a charity auction, a benefit for those affected by the current conflict in America. Dr. Bishop's rally had to be moved to a...somewhat smaller venue. Conference room eight."

"Ah, say no more, friend," I tapped the desk, "I know the place. As I recall, the guests all gathered there for a party back when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was destroyed. I remember Albus Dumbledore even made an appearance. Crashed the party, held a toast, took my last bag of lemon drops and buggered off before you could say 'Bob's your uncle'. You weren't working here back then, were you?"

The goblin shrugged.

"Anyhow, I can find my where there alright. Thank you kindly, sir!"

The goblin simply nodded, and returned to his writing as I sped down under the portcullis and left down the west conference hallway. I've never been late to one of Sibs's rallies, and I'd be damned if I started now.

Now Finnbar, I need to tell you something about conference room eight, as it speaks greatly to poor Sib's state of mind prior to his speech:

Aside from its historical significance to the Hotel Victoria, being the room that hosted the official celebrations of Voldemort's fall, for all of Belfast, and the event which caused the hotel's prominence as the premiere wizarding hotel in the whole of Northern Ireland, it was a rather embarrassing place to host a political rally. The whole reason that the party was hosted there to begin with, was because it was the only vacant conference room at the time. Why? Because no other conference wanted to be held there. It was not only the smallest conference room in the hotel, being only slightly larger than a cinema screening, and not only was it perpetually smelly due to the ghoul living under the floorboards, but it was also situated right under the honeymoon suite, and right next to the kitchens. While magic could block out the noise, the vibrations were much more difficult to block out...from both.

I imagine Sebastian could only hope, as he sit at his dressing vanity backstage, that nobody had gotten married in Belfast recently.

As I snuck up behind him from backstage, he was wearing his finest dress robes, as always, with a red rose inside his right lapel, a good-luck charm his wife had given him before taking her seat. I perceive if he had placed it there himself, it would've been in his left lapel, naturally, since he's right-handed, as is his wife (yet again, I digress).

His salt-and-pepper hair had just been neatly greased and combed to his liking, straight with a small cowlick in the front. His fur was a healthy orange, well-groomed and fluffy after some two hours of tender, loving care. As he held his flash cards in one padded hand, tapping them against the table, the fingers of his other hand drummed against his lap, while his tail nervously swung this way and that behind him. Speaking he could handle, but the waiting is what kills him, poor lad.

"Sibs!"

Sebastian jumped in his seat, startled before he could turn around and see who it was. In the reflection of his vanity, his inspiration (if I may put modesty aside), his friend and mentor, yours truly, Headmaster Howe, stood behind him, my thumbs hooked into the pockets of my vest. Upon seeing me, Sebastian took a sigh of relief.

"Sherrod!" he smiled, then got up from his stool and embraced his old friend.

"Good to see you, doctor!" I hugged back, "How's Hannah?"

"She's great, thanks. She'll be really happy to see you, you hardly ever visit anymore."

"Ah, recent affairs are keeping me occupied, I'm afraid. Times are changing over at Rathlin, and your alma mater as well."

"I heard. You really did get to meet Harriet Potter, then?"

"That I did."

"And what they're saying about Black? He was innocent all along?"

"Well, there's a trial going. That's all I can say."

"All you can say, eh?"

I winked, and Sebastian laughed.

"Very well," the doctor shrugged, "You have your adventures, and I have mine. Speaking of which?"

"Oh, right! When do you want me to go on?"

"Whenever you're ready, boy."

"Good, let's go now!"

"Well, wait a minute—!"

It was too late. I had already pushed myself through the checkered curtain, and was awaited to the sound of a modest-sized audience applauding, some whistling.

"Okay, okay, thank-you everyone," I began, "My my, I don't recognize some of you, and I never forget a face. How 'bout it, lads? Golly wiz, are we really this popular now?"

The crowd laughed for a while.

"Now, since we do have some new faces now, some introductions are in order. My name is Dr. Sebastian Bishop," the crowd laughed again, "And these rumors about me being a freakish cat man, really need to stop," they laughed harder.

"No, no, I'm kidding, obviously. My name is actually Sherrod Howe, Headmaster at Rathlin School of the Arts and Magic, and I'm a friend of the cat-man," a couple laughs there, but not nearly as many, "And you did hear me right, I said 'doctor'. In addition to being the Potions Master in charge of mental health, up at St. Mungo's, he is also a Muggle-trained psychiatrist, and was a fine addition to their psychiatric department, which even now remains the fastest-growing branch of medicine in magical Great Britain today."

A modecome of applause ensued.

" Now me and Bishop have known each other for about a decade now. Our friendship grew through letters to me at Rathlin, and I learned through our correspondence, just how much my school's legacy has made an impact on some people. Him, obviously, but many of you as well, since you're here. Well, some of you at least. I got to figure a few of you came because your girlfriend promised you pussy if you came with her, and you just—" roaring laughter ensued, "Just completely misunderstood her." the tittering went on, then died down a bit.

"So then, without further ado, it is my sincere honor, to welcome to the stage, the man who's apparently going to end the Statute of Secrecy and bring about world peace, or some such thing," some laughs came from that, followed by a roaring applause, "Please welcome Dr. Sebastian Dwightly Bishop, founder and president of the Re-Integrationist Party of Great Britain, and your candidate for Wizengamot!"

With confident stride, I heard Sebastian get up from his stool, and looked on with pride as he stepped through the curtain, waving at the now-standing crowd of around a hundred or so people. Behind the glare of the stage lights, he could see his darling Hannah raising her fists as she called his name, her white robe and blonde hair adorned with every kind of flower.

He bit his lip with glee, then waved at the crowd some more, and shook my hand as he took his place at the podium, which had the banner "Bishop for Wizengamot - Unite the World" hanging from the front. While everyone took their seats, Sebastian placed his cards down, took a deep breath, and picked up the slide-show clicker from its place on the podium.

"Good evening," he started, "I'm Dr. Bishop, and I have to thank Professor Howe for his...kind words," he got some awkward chuckles out of some of the audience, then continued, "Some introductions on my part, for those who're just joining us.

"Both my parents were from Belfast, but I was born and raised in London. When I turned eleven, I, with most other British kids, was sent to Hogwarts, where I was sorted into Slytherin House, much to the surprise of my parents, both Hufflepuff and proud of it. Now I know I don't conform to what you might see as the stereotype of a greasy-haired, scheming Slytherin, but well, that's a whole nother conversation in itself. Suffice to say, I'm an ambitious man. I'm also seriously skeptical of authority, and I don't think there's anything wrong with that." That got some modest applause.

"Now, to address the elephant in the room...my appearance. You see, I was never all that good a student, but I was pretty alright in Potions. So good, in fact, that I had it in my head to try and brew a bit of Polyjuice Potion. Unfortunately, the hair sample I thought belonged to my mate, Billy Williams, actually belonged to his cat. Thing is, Polyjuice Potion is meant for human transformation only. With animal hair, the effect is permanent unless it's brewed perfectly...mine wasn't. So, thanks to my twelve-year-old pride, here I stand before you, fluffy and adorable as ever!

To Sebastian's surprise, he got some applause out of that.

"So anyhow, once I graduated with tops in my Potions NEWTs, and found a modest living as a healer's apprentice in Oxford, I had it in my head to go to Muggle university, even though my parents both said I was fine with my lot as it was, especially considering I only got into that apprenticeship because I didn't score high enough on all my NEWTS to become a proper healer. Once I did start upon this path, however, I knew right away I wanted to study psychiatry. While wizarding medicine is, of course, much more advanced and consistent than Muggle drugs, we wizards have very little in terms of proper psychotherapy training, but we'll get to that later.

"For now, let it simply be said that I applied as a Muggle, with credentials afforded to me by the Ministry, as well as a more properly prepared batch of Polyjuice Potion, and eventually got accepted to the University of California in Los Angeles, where I received a Muggle undergraduate degree in psychology, a medical degree, and three years residency in a Muggle psychiatric ward in Beverly Hills. Incidentally, my personal journal from my time in America has since been published into a book, 'Healers Without Magic: Adventures Living as a Muggle Psychiatrist'. It'll be up for sale after the rally, all proceeds will go towards the Mental Health wing of St. Mungos.

"Anyways...something I ended up learning, as I lived over there, was just how similar the Muggles are to us. They go to their day jobs, they love their families, they want a good life for them. This got me intrigued, as I'd never given much thought to the Muggles as people before my little odyssey. I, like most wizards, saw them as little more than savages, eh? People who must just be miserable without magic to run everything, or so I thought. Little did I know just how much they get along without it, just how inventive they've had to be to survive, and just how much we ourselves owe to them.

"The train, the automobile, the Gregorian calendar, the parliamentary system of government, chocolate— for God's sakes, CHOCOLATE!" more awkward laughter, "All Muggle inventions. So once I'd settled into my new position at St. Mungo's, I began doing my own research into Muggle/wizard relations since the adoption of the Statute of Secrecy. What I found surprised me."

He clicked the button in his hand, and suddenly, the slide show he'd prepared illuminated onto the white screen to the left of him. On it was projected a map of the UK, with red dots on it, here and there.

"It turns out, there are several small wizarding communities dating back to before the Statute of Secrecy, communities of a few hundred or less, where Muggles and wizards actually do live in cooperation with each other. Often times the Muggle populace is confunded, but sometimes, at least some of the Muggles know that wizards live among them, and have for centuries. Such folks accept this as part of their town's culture, and remain tolerant of their magical neighbors. Iin turn, this cultural acceptance and sparse population makes them a tolerated exception to the Statute of Secrecy itself. Such examples of these towns are Godric's Hollow in the West Country, Ottery St. Catchpole in Devon, and the most famous example, and the subject of our talk tonight, Rathlin Island, just off the coast of Ireland.

"Now the island itself is recorded as having only about six or seven dozen permanent residents, all Muggles, mostly fishing families. However, as we all know, Rathlin island also happens to be home of the famed Rathlin Academy, which houses a student body of sixteen hundred, from all over the world, having both a primary school and a secondary school, accepting Muggles and wizards alike. Of course, in the Muggle world, it's known simply as an arts school.

"What's amazing about Rathlin to me, however, is in fact the secondary school. You see, after a student completes the already-exclusive primary school, they must next test into the secondary school, the Academy proper, where they choose their major field of study. For the select few Muggles that pass, and enter into the Academy, tradition dictates that they be let in on the truth of the existence of wizards. Those who accept and tolerate this fact, and swear their own secrecy on the matter, are allowed admission to the Academy. The few who don't have their memories modified, and are ejected back to their homes.

"From there, Rathlin becomes a Re-integrationists dream. While classes are distinct between Muggle and wizarding students, they still live together, befriend one another, form lifelong friendships and relationships. It was this, my friends, that inspired me to run for Wizengamot.

"Now friends…"

Just then, the chandelier hanging above began to shake loose in its moorings, as a rhythmic thump reverberated off the creaking walls, like the ticking of a clock. An awkward silence filled the room, before Sebastian began to clear his throat.

"Friends...despite the coined term we use, 'wizarding world', to refer to wizarding society, the truth is that there is only one world, Planet Earth, and we share it with Muggles. While I would not call Muggle existence 'miserable' as I once did, they do suffer from societal ills that would be unthinkable to we wizards."

He clicked the button again, and shuffled through a slide each depicting starving African children, a bald, emaciated man in a hospital gown, and a smog-choked London.

"Starvation, diseases such as cancer and AIDS, homelessness, pollution; all things, you'll notice, are easily solvable with magic. Were it not for the Statute of Secrecy, we could magically produce enough food to feed the entire Muggle population on earth for decades, all in less than a day. We could provide more reliable, and faster-working medicines and potions, and instruct Muggle doctors in their production. We could transfigure all the carbon dioxide in Earth's atmosphere into rainclouds!

"In the case of pollution, this is an especially dire situation. Due to ever-rising carbon levels in Earth's atmosphere, both Muggle and wizarding scientists agree that over the next several decades, the planet's climate will be irreversibly changed, due to the greenhouse effect. This is something that affects both wizards and Muggles alike, yet it is something we are powerless to do anything about. To do so would reveal us to the world.

"And my friends...that's what we are going to talk about today. Over the course of this evening, myself and several other experts will, using Rathlin Academy as a model, outline my own Seven Year Plan, on how we, as a collective wizarding society, can reintegrate magical persons into Muggle society, for the first time in a thousand years, following an abolition of the Statute of Secrecy, and how, in doing so, we can increase the quality of life for Muggles everywhere, for the mutual benefit of all humanity. My friends...let's begin."

It was at this point that the rally commenced in earnest. He described to us in detail how he'd first have us present ourselves to the parts of all non-executive branches of Muggle governments, who don't already know. From there, spend some time acclimating before going to the Muggle media, and so on and so forth, all leading up to year seven, when we open all wizarding borders to their Muggle counterparts. Everyday Muggles will, for the first time, be allowed to shop at wizard stores, and one day even attend wizard schools.

Damn respectable effort he's put into all of this, considering it will probably never happen (don't tell him that though, else he'll give you an earful). Even if he was elected to Wizengamot, and somehow got appointed Minister at some point, the British Ministry of Magic doesn't have anywhere near the authority to implement what he proposes. That power would rest solely with the International Confederation of Wizards. Now he knows this, mind you, and you know what he said?

"One step at a time, Sherrod. Every movement starts small."

He's got commendable optimism, that man; tragic, but commendable.

In any case, this letter has gone on a bit too long, and I'd hate to overburden ol' Doyle with too heavy a parcel, poor bird. So I'll just leave you by saying I eagerly await seeing you and Colm again, at which time we simply must have tea and biscuits at that spot in the village we like. My treat.

Your humble guardian,

Sherrod

To whom this concerns,

Your message was well-received. We shan't attempt to contact you in person again, and not least because President Hudson has submitted a formal statement to the press announcing her condemnation of your recent activities. Not that it matters. We've left no paper trail, and all of Waterman's family are either dead or in Britain. Besides that, he was a pretentious simpleton. He will not be missed.

In any case, please accept the enclosed bearer bond as your final payment for services rendered, as well as this friendly reminder to our agreement:

Wherever you go, whatever you do, stay out of Rocky Mountains. It would be in your best interest to do so.

— D

Sherrod Howe is property of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Finn and Colm Negus are property of kleinnak