May 2015

The headquarters of the International Confederation of Wizards was magnificent. Set into the side of a mountain in the Swiss Alps, it offered awe-inspiring views of snow-covered slopes and clear blue skies. Virtually unreachable except by magic, its defences consisted of the best security measures that its member nations had to offer.

For the most part, Ike Kowalski had grown accustomed to it over the year he had worked there as one of the American delegates. Today, however, it was as intimidating as the first day he set foot there, newly sworn into his role and eager to effect lasting change. He had been preparing for this summit for months, trying to make sure his case was as ironclad as possible, but that was hardly reassuring. He knew that most of the representatives there would want to discredit his efforts on principle alone.

He checked his watch, and his heart seemed to skip a beat when he realised that there were only a few minutes left. He must have lost track of time while going over his notes for the meeting.

Gathering together his things, he hurried into the council chambers. By the time he arrived, most of the other representatives had already found their seats around the large oval table that took up most of the space in the room.

As Ike took his own place, Olivia Santorelli, the other American delegate, reached over and clasped his shoulder reassuringly. "You have more support than you realise," she whispered so that no one else could hear.

"I hope so," he replied. "If not, this is going to go down like a lead balloon."

She blinked at him. "A lead balloon?"

Ike didn't have time to explain the No-Maj idiom; before he could reply, the Supreme Mugwump, Babajide Akingbade, rose to his feet at the head of the table. All chatter ceased at the motion, the gathering falling quiet as a sign of respect.

"As you are all aware," Babajide said, "this emergency summit was called at the request of Mr Kowalski. Mr Kowalski wishes to" — his voice faltered for a moment; Ike knew he always sought to remain impartial, so this slip was particularly out of character for him — "amend the International Statute of Secrecy and establish a special task force to prepare for our possible reintegration into the Muggle world."

The announcement shouldn't have come as a surprise to anybody. It was the only item on the day's agenda, which contained a summary of both Ike's proposal and his reasons for it for their convenience. Nevertheless, the room erupted into a cacophony of noise and protests at Babajide's words.

Ike sighed and glanced over at Olivia. Meeting her eyes, he raised an eyebrow pointedly.

So much for more support than he realised. If he got more than twenty votes in his favour, it'd be a miracle.

"Silence," Babajide demanded, and the ICW members obligingly fell quiet. "Mr Kowalski has gone through the proper channels and has been shown to have enough of a case to justify presenting his proposal here today. You will show him the respect that his station commands. Mr Kowalski, you have the floor."

The weight of their stares was overwhelming as he rose to his feet, but he tried not to let it show. They were like wolves; if he showed any sign of weakness, let them smell even a whiff of blood, they'd tear him to pieces. He had seen it happen countless times in the past.

Steadying his shaking hands, he took a deep breath and began to speak. "You are all aware, I am sure, that the No-Maj world has been subjected to a series of potentially cataclysmic threats over the last several years, and that a number of so-called 'superheroes' have arisen to overcome these threats."

He opened his binder — a holdover from being raised in a half-blood household — before using his wand to enlarge a collage he had assembled in preparation for this moment. It was comprised of photographs and news headlines detailing the actions of these superheroes. They had been carefully curated to include the most severe threats and the most complimentary media responses.

Levitating it so that everyone could see it, he paused to let a ripple of surprise run through the room. Just as he'd thought; they'd all heard about the events, but for the most part, they'd written them off as petty No-Maj concerns for the No-Majs to deal with. They hadn't realised their true extent.

"This one," he said, pointing to the first photograph, "is the devastation that was wreaked upon New York three years ago when a man from another planet attempted to invade Earth. Prior to that point, he'd had no dealings with anyone from Earth before — we were just as much his target as the No-Majs were. We left the No-Majs to deal with him on their own. Our sources on the inside say that if these superheroes had failed to defeat him, the government planned to sacrifice the city and everybody in it to contain the threat. Two wizards died that day due to our negligence; that number would have been significantly higher had the No-Majs had gone through with their plan of destroying the city."

As he spoke, he surveyed the room. His colleagues' expressions ranged from fear to horror as the information sunk in. Pausing only to take a breath, he pressed on, not wanting to lose his momentum. "And this one was taken only a few days ago in Novi Grad, the capital of Sokovia. Our Muggle liaisons are still trying to gather information on this event, but early reports indicate that, knowing that greater threats were yet to come, a group of superheroes created a robot — an animated statue, if you will — to help them defend the planet. It turned against them. A dozen of our people died trying to protect themselves and their neighbours, and in this case, the city was destroyed. If we were involved, the group may not have seen the need to create this robot, and the battle may never have happened."

Ike's speech was emotive, rhetorical, manipulative — all the things that his studies had taught him to avoid. But in this case, facing people who were masters of making up reasons to rationalise their own interests, it was his best option. His eyes met Olivia's, and she gave him an almost imperceptible nod of encouragement. "As you can see, there are many more examples that I could go through, but I believe I have made my point."

He enlarged and levitated another sheet of parchment from his binder so that it was visible as well. This one displayed a timeline of all of the major threats the No-Maj community had encountered in the last fifty years. The dots were sparse at first before clustering around the last few years. "And the incident rate isn't slowing. If anything, it's getting worse over time. Two dead three years ago, and twelve last week. What happens next time? The longer we leave this, the more its impacts will seep into our little corner of the world as well — for let us not forget that, as much as we speak about the wizarding world and the No-Maj world, we occupy the same countries, the same cities, the same streets. When aliens from another planet launch an attack at them, they are attacking us, too. How many people do we have to lose before we decide to get involved?

"Imagine how different the results of the Battle of New York, or of the Battle of Sokovia, would have been had our people been allowed to get involved. Instead, they were stuck in their homes, knowing that they could defend themselves if they were attacked directly but were not allowed to wilfully enter situations where they had reason to believe that they might be seen. One survivor from New York spoke of how he watched the alien invaders kill a girl on the street outside his home. If he had been out there with her, he would have been allowed to defend her. But because there were people nearby, and because he was inside at the time of the attack, leaving his house to protect somebody would have nullified any self-defence argument he tried to put forward."

To drive home the point, he gestured to a picture of a seven-year-old girl.

Quiet murmurs ran through the gathering. He wasn't surprised; unlike some of the other photographs, which were at least marginally self-explanatory, they would have had no idea why this one was included. "Her name was Rosa Ingles. And before you ask, yes, she was a witch. It happened too quickly for her accidental magic to protect her."

This time, Ike did hesitate. He didn't have much time to make his initial case, but it felt wrong not to observe a moment of silence. After a few seconds, he continued: "But these aren't the only changes that No-Maj culture has been undergoing. I have collected a number of key headlines from No-Maj newspapers and magazines from around the world. 'Iron Man Saves the Day!' 'All You Need to Know: Suits, Super Serums, and Gamma Radiation.' 'What Makes a Hero?' And my brother's personal favourite: 'How to Get a Body Like Thor'. There was a time when it would have been folly to reveal ourselves to the non-magical community. But now, they are increasingly open to people who are different than them, especially when said people are fighting for their freedom. People who once would have been outcasts are now being lauded as heroes. It is time for us to stop this fragmentation and return to being one people, one species determined to fight together against mutual enemies.

"The law is supposed to protect us. What happens when all it does is endanger not only our people, but the very world we live in?"

Ike hesitated. The other delegates seemed to have been receptive so far — surprisingly so — but that was the easy part. It was one thing to inform; it was another to convince. "When the International Statute of Secrecy was introduced, it was as a last resort. Now, it is nothing but a holdover from days long gone. Nevertheless, I am not asking for it to be overturned; there is still value in it for as long as it is sustainable. I am merely asking that we accept that there will come a time in the very near future where we no longer have the luxury of keeping ourselves separate and begin to prepare accordingly.

"As such, I propose that we make a series of amendments. First, that we assign our most experienced public relations officers and No-Maj liaisons to developing a strategy for reintegration, should we need it. Second, that we agree that the next time such an attack occurs, any and all witches and wizards present are given permission to defend themselves and their fellow people — magical and non-magical alike — in any way that a reasonable person would deem appropriate. Third, that we prepare to deploy a force of Aurors should a threat occur that poses a significant enough threat to our planet to warrant our involvement."

-x-

As the members of the International Confederation of Wizards tapped their wands to their agendas to cast their votes, a grim silence settled over the room. The debate had raged on for days, drifting from calm discussions to outright arguments and back again multiple times. Friendships and alliances had been tested and strained as individuals put forward answers to questions with the potential of upending everything they held dear.

Now, all that was left was the moment of truth — the moment when each and every one of them had to make a decision about whether the safest course of action was to hold onto the security measures of the past or throw off old traditions and ally themselves with the Muggles.

The book laying open in front of Supreme Mugwump Babajide Akingbade warmed as the votes were counted. To ensure that the results could not be tampered with, they were entered directly into the official record of the order of proceedings without human involvement. When the pages cooled once more, he peered down at it, watching as two numbers slowly appeared in elegant calligraphy.

Even as prepared as he was, seeing the final numbers laid out so bluntly came as a shock.

Rising to his feet, Babajide paused for a moment, struck by just how momentous this meeting was. It would go down in the history books; the only question was whether it would be as the best decision the wizarding world had ever made or the worst.

Beyond the doors of the conference chamber, reporters stood at the ready. Their stories were sure to already be drafted; all they were waiting for was confirmation of which version to run and what to fill the blanks with.

But for now, the full weight of Babajide's attention rested on the tense gathering before him. Taking a deep breath, he began to speak, his low and gravelly voice echoing through the silent chamber. In that moment, a dragon could have swooped in, and he doubted anybody would move a muscle.

"A decision has been reached," he said. "With a count of seventy-three votes to forty-eight, the motion to amend the International Statute of Secrecy… is sustained."

A clamour broke out at the announcement. Babajide wasn't surprised. There were enough votes in support of the motion to carry it through, but only barely. Still, in practical terms, whether it was a close decision or a unanimous one made no difference. It was binding either way.

Three hundred and twenty-six years, numerous Muggle and wizarding wars, and at least two incidents of schoolchildren commandeering a flying car, and the International Statute of Secrecy had stood strong. There had been slip-ups, resulting in more Memory Charms than any nation could be bothered to count, but nothing permanent.

Until now.

"If you have anyone you would like to nominate for the special task force assigned to preparing a reintegration strategy, get their names to me by the end of the week. Apart from that… tell your respective governments of this outcome. Meeting adjourned."

Babajide could only hope they hadn't doomed them all.

A/N: Re-uploaded on 3 April. Thank you so much to Alphinss for betaing!