"Mr. Potter, is it?" the stranger asked. Edwin continued to stare at him, open-mouthed. "Professor Dimsdale called you Potter. You wouldn't by chance be the son of Charles Potter?"
"That's right." Very tentatively, he slid his wand back into the inside pocket of his robes.
The stranger smiled. "I might have guessed. I played Quidditch against your father in my Hogwarts days. Southill's the name. Julian Southill." He bowed a stately bow. Edwin returned the courtesy.
"Edwin Potter, sir," he said.
"Do you fly, Mr. Potter?"
"A fair bit, I suppose."
"Don't lie to the man, Edwin," Dilys spoke up. Edwin suddenly remembered where he was and who was with him. "You're brilliant on a broom and you know it."
Edwin felt his cheeks flush. He was, indeed, a good flyer, and if he had ever managed to stay off of detention, he might have still been the Gryffindor Seeker.
The stranger shrugged in the direction of the castle. Rigel Black, fuming and spattered with dung, had just then reached the gates. "That was a handy bit of magic, that was. Seventh year?"
"Sixth, sir," Edwin said. Then, smelling the spilled rum on his collar he added, "but I'm already seventeen." He quickly retrieved his wand and magicked away the stain.
If Julian Southill noticed the unusual aroma of Edwin's clothing he chose not to mention it. Instead he said, "Did you really manage to acquire an Erumpent horn?" Basil, Thomas, and Dilys traded frantic glances. Edwin gulped and decided to keep his wand out, although he slowly allowed his hand to drop to his waist. "Don't worry!" Southill continued. "I have no intention of getting you into trouble. I'm merely curious. That's a very tightly regulated import. I take it you…know some people?"
Edwin said nothing and attempted to keep his cool.
"Perhaps we should chat. Just the two of us—if your friends don't mind?" Julian Southill gestured toward the castle. Edwin glanced at his friends, nodded, and strolled toward Hogwarts alongside the Ministry wizard.
"You seem like a resourceful young wizard," he said approvingly. Edwin remained silent. "A bit brash, perhaps, but if you're anything like Charles Potter you've got a good head on your shoulders. How's your French?"
Edwin shrugged. "Mostly swear words, I'm afraid, but I know how to conjugate them. What is this about, Mr. Southill?"
Julian Southill leaned forward. "I work for the Ministry. I've just been appointed Commissioner-at-Large for Magical Territorial Relations and Statutory Secrecy. I'm here to recruit members for my legation."
"I'm sorry," Edwin said. "I almost got that. Would you mind repeating it slowly?"
Mr. Southill grinned. "Never mind the jargon," he said. "I don't suppose you keep up with the Muggle news?"
"You mean the war?"
"The peace!" Mr. Southill said. "Britain signed on to a treaty in the Netherlands only a few months ago. It's very complicated, but the long and the short of it is that we—that is, the United Kingdom—have several new overseas territories to consolidate."
"Wait, are you saying the Queen wants wizards to—?"
"Of course not, Mr. Potter. Neither Her Majesty nor the Lord High Treasurer has the slightest inkling of my mission. Let the Muggles handle their own affairs, but we wizards will have to handle ours as well." By now they had reached the front gate. Edwin glanced upwards at the twin winged boars flanking the entrance.
"We wizards in the homeland have certain obligations to others of our kind who are now under British rule. There are magical flora and fauna to study, colonial relations to strengthen—the Americans are already pressing for their own wizarding school! There are trading opportunities to explore. And of course, there are laws to be enforced. I'm speaking, of course, of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy."
The wheels began to turn in Edwin's mind. Wizards had passed the Statute of Secrecy three years before he was even born. Edwin had grown up understanding that there were severe penalties for practicing any magic at all where a Muggle could see it.
"Britain is signatory to the Statute, as I'm sure your History of Magic teacher has explained to you." In fact, Edwin knew the Statute practically by heart since he was a child. After all, to hear his mother tell it, his formidable grandfather had practically written the thing singlehandedly.
"So…it's up to us to enforce it in our overseas territories."
Julian Southill grinned. "I knew you were a bright lad. But it's tougher than you'd imagine. There are magical creatures in America that haven't even been cataloged, and don't get me started on the disregard for magical secrecy! The Iroquois had been giving the French fits for years! Well, they're our problem now, and they're only the tip of the iceberg."
They ambled along vaguely in the direction of the groundskeeper's hut as Mr. Southill continued.
"The long and the short of it, Mr. Potter, is that I need a few young wizards to join my legation. Not bureaucrats, mind you, but wizards who are able to think on their feet. Wizards who are able to improvise, to press on without flinching from danger."
"I see."
"I asked Professor Dimsdale to recommend a number of likely candidates from among the seventh-years. The wizards I choose will have to be competent in numerous magical disciplines, but exceptional talent at Defense Against the Dark Arts is absolutely crucial. The Defense professor's assessment of each candidate must therefore weigh heavily in my final decision. What are your marks like in Defense, Potter?"
"Wait a minute," Edwin said. "Are you offering me a position? But you don't even know me!"
"I know your father," Mr. Southill said. "And I know what I just saw at the Three Broomsticks. Mind you, I'm not promising anything. But it would be worth your while to offer your name for consideration. I shall mention you to Professor Dimsdale. Now, I ask again: how are you at Defense?"
Edwin sighed. He wasn't the best in his class: that was Thomas Wildsmith. He wasn't even the best Gryffindor. Reginald Longbottom always won the highest marks in his House, and there were usually two or three others ahead of him as well.
"Better than average," he said. A second later, pride swelling in his chest, he added, "But I'm best in my year at dueling. It's only the theory that trips me up."
"After what I saw this afternoon," Mr. Southill grinned, "I've no doubt you're a terror on the dueling grounds. You shall hear from me this summer, Mr. Potter. The more I think of it, the more certain I am that you're precisely the kind of wizard I'm looking for.
"Mr. Southill?" Edwin said.
"Yes, Potter?"
"You said you were looking for wizards, right? I mean, more than one? Well, there's another student I think you ought to consider."
"Yes?"
"Basil Parkison. He's in Slytherin. All you said about being able to improvise, to keep pressing on…? I reckon Basil sounds like the sort of wizard you're looking for. We've been friends for six years now. I've never seen a problem he couldn't think his way out of."
Mr. Southill considered Edwin's suggestion.
"Parkinson, eh? I don't suppose you have any idea what his Head of House thinks of him?"
"Professor Littlefield? Oh, I'm sure she'd tell you he's more than ready to see the world beyond this old castle."
• The Treaty of Utrecht, signed in March–April 1713, ending the War of Spanish Succession. The treaty gave the United Kingdom control of several former Spanish and French colonies including Gibraltar, Minorca, and parts of Canada. It also required France to recognize British sovereignty over the Iroquois and opened trade with India to all European nations.
• The post of Prime Minister evolved gradually over time, and is applied to early Prime Ministers only in retrospect. Robert Harley, First Earl of Oxford and Earl Mortimer, was effectively Queen Anne's chief minister when he served as Lord High Treasurer (1711–1714).
• The British use of "mates" for "friends" seems to have arisen in a nautical context at about this time or perhaps a bit later. This explains why this usage did not make its way to America. I suspect it would be anachronistic for Edwin to call Basil his "mate" at this point in his life.