A/N
This has been stuck in my head for MONTHS. Literally since November of 2019. And after way too much procrastination, I finally got around to writing this, so here it is: - The truth behind Wizards Unite. Guess you could say that the Quarantine/Lockdown is good for something….
My thanks to Indibindi for letting me trash out the concept with her one late night when we were out hunting for the Confoundables, and HecateFey for being my inspirational muse, sounding board and beta for this short project.
The Magical Truth of Wizards Unite
It had been less than a week since it first began. Already the Ministry was overwhelmed. Everyone from Hit Wizard, Auror, Obliviator, Unspeakable, Magizoologist, and even the professors from Hogwarts. Unsurprisingly, the interns were as tired as anyone else.
Everyone was bone tired. Everyone ached, and was sore in ways that defied magical and non-magical relief remedies. The Statute of Secrecy Task Force were exhausted, with some of its members not bothering to go home, but to just sleep at their desks. Half of Britain's Wizarding population was mobilized in the Task Force, and they could barely keep the situation contained.
But since the situation was still somewhat localized to the United Kingdom, the International Confederation of Wizards - ICW - had deemed not to intervene for the time being. But unless the British Ministry and specifically, the British Minister could at the very least contain it, and soon, that unwanted intervention would occur.
Simply put, the entire government had simply been ground down and then overwhelmed by the calamity that had befallen them. Minister Granger, the first non-magical born to hold the office of Minister for Magic since the inception of the wizarding government of the United Kingdom was slumped, rather than sat in her chair. She rested her closed eyes upon the palms of her hands, her favorite substitute for pretending to sleep.
The Minister of Magic. The highest-ranking office in the land. The power of the British Wizarding Government. Right at her fingertips. And she was not the first Minister of Magic to be left feeling so helpless while sitting behind the heavy oak desk.
The desk itself was a piece of history. It had been a fixture for more almost 200 years in the office. She moved her hands, and opened her eyes with a sigh, staring down at the surface of the desk. The polished green vellum pad has been worn almost completely smooth by the passage of countless hands. if she squinted at it, she swore it was possible to make out the signatures of her predecessors. There, she recognized the spidery scrawling of former Minister Cornelius Fudge. that smeared set of overly cursive script was no doubt that of Rufus Scrimgeour. That ugly, almost blocky print was that of Thicknesse - the pawn of Yaxley and by extension Lord Voldemort - now long dead - and of course, her direct predecessor, and former boss Kingsley Shacklebolt.
If the desk was the only immovable, and unchanging fixture in the office, Minister Granger had certainly spent her first several evenings - after regular office hours - rearranging the furniture to make the office into an extension of herself.
The tabletop itself was otherwise spartan, except for a stack of three "IN" trays that were kept remarkably empty, and a nearly overflowing "OUT" tray. To her right was a luxury eagle feather quill and an ink bottle. She had surreptitiously placed a notice-me-not charm on the small silver tray and fountain pen that lay next to the ink bottle. Given the length of her name, she refused to waste time having to refresh the quill every time she had to sign her name. And given its length, this was somewhat understandable. There were days when the cramp in her hand helped her understand why certain former ministers seemed to never achieve or accomplish much of anything that they could sign their name on.
The window behind the table was now a wall to wall bookshelf filled with a complete set of current legislation, and innumerable reference tomes on a wide variety of subjects which had already seen much use. Her majority in the Wizengamot had made it a simpler matter to strip out centuries of insane legislation and simply replace it with what could be recognized as reasonable and balanced. As always, being in politics and law is about pleasing everyone, promising something, and then getting what you want with none the wiser. If people knew the depths of their Minister's machinations, there was a good chance she would have been mistaken for an Alumnus of Slytherin House
The thought made Hermione smile wryly, as nobody looked for the cunning disguised as one of the so-called "brave." But that was her own, very personal little secret. The Sorting Hat itself was perhaps the only one to know that secret.
Beyond the two straight backed, hard wooden chairs of the type her favorite professor had preferred, the fireplace never went out, and burned steadily in the background, a few charms in place muffling the sound of burning wood and the woodsmoke at bay. Directly opposite the fireplace was a two-seater sofa, armchair, coffee table with a small minibar in the corner. Having spent too many long hours at the table, the appeal of the sofa, and a firewhiskey were a long standing afterwork indulgence that she rarely partook of. Beyond the solid oak door, her secretary maintained her vigil, as gatekeeper and guardian against anyone without an appointment or suitably urgent business.
The disillusioned pair of Hit Wizards who also lurked in the outer office were never seen or heard, but Hermione knew they were there whenever she ventured out. Her misspent adventuring youth in Hogwarts and a year on the run from Voldemort had gifted her with an unmatched situational awareness.
She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. It was 9 o'clock in the evening, and she still had one meeting left. It was a meeting that she was not sure about. Having been Minister for only three months, she was still getting "settled in" when the Calamity struck, and now she was set to meet the only head of department she had yet to meet.
It came to her as no surprise that this department head was the last one. Some ministers went several terms without ever meeting anyone from this department. It was a running joke of the bleakest nature that when the highest and mightiest in the political landscape were visited by one of these few witches and wizards, all hell's breaking loose.
Once upon a time, "all hell" referred to Voldemort and his Death Eaters. For eight weeks, it had been the Calamity. And now, instead of dealing with the rank and file, the Head of the Unspeakables, had deemed it necessary to rise from the depths of Level Nine to meet with the Minister, personally.
Hermione sighed, and poured out two fingers of the amber liquid into the heavy crystal cut tumbler. It was going to be a long, long night.
break into chapter 2?
He waited patiently. He was used to waiting. He was the picture of calm, and collected cool in a crisis. He simply sat, and waited. He was the wizard that had been constantly underestimated for almost three decades. He had two jobs as it were, and the split was rather bizarre, arguably between what was the most important and historically the least valued department in the Ministry of Magic.
He had kept an eye on the Marauders as they had been potential recruits. He had been there. Suffered through the loss of family and friends during the rise of Voldemort and then the worst of the clandestine battles against Voldemort and his Death Eaters during the First Wizarding War. He had been one of the few lone voices in the wilderness alongside that of Albus Dumbledore who had believed that Voldemort was not dead, merely vanquished and would return. He had fought and lost and gained a great deal over the years. But history had proved him right.
His actions since moving up the ranks of his actual department, since the end of the second wizarding war had raised eyebrows within that department and also the department that he publicly worked for. Those in the know, chose to remain silent. Those who did know, quickly realized that they were better off not knowing.
There was plenty of spluttered outrage at the sheer ludicrousness of some of the things he had done, especially from the Purebloods, and even the half blood and Muggle...non-magical born had thought the measures a hallmark of the certifiably insane. But he had been right, and history would state so clearly. Even if the public history - magical or otherwise - would never know the full story.
His actions had made recent British wizarding history known to the entire Muggle World. MACUSA had followed suit, unable to deny the potential need for such large-scale plausible deniability. Hence their own revelations, following in his footsteps as it were, about the interwar years and the rise of Grindelwald. Now, his actions of recent history, that began with the release of a series of books that chronicled the blended fact and fiction of Harry Potter, and the defeat of Voldemort was about to pay dividends. Even larger dividends that the ones currently being paid to both Ms. Rowling and The Ministry.
The books were dated from 1991 to 1998, even though the first book was only released in 1999, and the final book was only released in 2007. Admittedly, his department had wound up crossing a number of lines, and in many cases helped determine the width of those proverbial lines. But the financial success of the series of books could not be denied.
He had adapted and learned from the non-magicals, laundering collectively billions in to pound sterling, that were funneled back to the Ministry as millions of Galleons.
Ms. Joanne Rowling, known better by her pen name "J.K. Rowling," was a half-blood who had been well paid to "write" and promote, publish and distribute the Harry Potter series of books. A little additional behind the scenes magic had ensured global success. Needless to say, she had her millions – fair pay in his opinion for ensuring the success of the venture. It had first been dubbed a ludicrous fail-safe. But since it was a profitable piece of ludicrousness, the naysayers had quickly fallen silent. Indeed, any act of ludicrousness that brings in enough Galleons to make a Goblin turn varying shades of envious green will silence anyone.
His true department, one that was rather…unspeakable in nature, had ensured the success of the "Harry Potter" series of books. That was Phase One. Phase Two-Alpha to proceed without a hitch: - Squibs were recruited by the hundreds globally and after signing a magical contract or two were sent to non-magical institutions of higher learning – universities – to acquire degrees in computer programming, game development, art, graphics, special effects, and visual effects. That is to say nothing of the more "mundane" subjects such as marketing, sales, logistics and supply chain management.
Phase Two-Beta had seen all those artistically and creatively qualified squibs were systematically hired in all the right places: - Namely Warner Bros Pictures, Heyday Films and 1492 Pictures, as well as the various supporting agencies and operations. Squibs. So very underestimated. Then books became movies and then became "Potter-mania." Years of careful planning meant that suddenly, the real money started rolling on: - Merchandising. Digital Games. Theme Parks. Everything Harry Potter related.
He sighed, still feeling a little guilty, all things considered. Considering who and what Harry Potter did mean to him. On a personal level. The irony of doing what he had done "for the Greater Good," was not lost upon him either. But the greater good also included Mr. Potter earning enough in royalties to retire immediately, and for his seventh-generation grandchildren to never have to work a day in their lives either. And those were perpetual royalties.
Phase Two-Charlie had seen close work between his department, far too many squibs and a near ridiculous number of non-magicals to finally solve the age-old conundrum posed by magic, technology, computing and programming that was equal parts Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Charms and Merlin alone knew what else.
His unspoken off department now boasted a very large "Technomancer Division." These were the Squibs that got magic and technology to blend together perfectly. If they could only figure out how to uncouple the Time-turners that were somehow permanently fused to…. whatever made things work down there… he mentally shrugged. It worked, and the side effects seemed to be...manageable. Him and his department would do precisely that: - Manage.
Of course, all anyone could do right now was manage. Grim Fawley's Calamity had caused near unprecedented levels of chaos and confusion. So much, that the Unspeakables had taken to the field to aid in the containment of every magical trace, artifact and creature that seemed to somehow be roaming free at will.
But for the last 72 hours, his Technomancers had rolled out a solution. It was already available in Greater London, and so far, it was working. There were still casualties, and injuries sustained, but that was, almost insignificant. What were a dozen injured or even dead non-magicals, compared to the world at large discovering the Magical World?
He knocked on the outer door of the Minister's Office, and entered when given leave to do so. He noted, the faintest smell of Cologne on the air from his right, and the out-of-place shadows to the left. The personal guards of the Minister of Magic were already poised to attempt to strike him down. His mouth had only time to twitch in the semblance of a smile before he was ushered into the inner office of the first Muggle Born Minister for Magic: - Hermione Jane Granger.
In all fairness, the Head Unspeakable felt that this would actually go down a lot better and smoother, simply because he would not have to waste time explaining the things a non-magical would already have a firm grasp off. If it was a Pureblood sitting in that chair, in that office, he mused, he wouldn't even be bothering with this. He'd just crack on and Merlin be damned the consequences.
"Minister Granger, thank you for agreeing to meet me on such short notice."
Her years in the political sphere allowed her to hide her reaction, barring the slight widening of the pupils. That came from discovering just exactly WHO held the Position and title of Head Unspeakable. She tried to say his name, but he shook his head, the ghost of a smile upon his lips as something prevented her from saying his name and was forced to settle for his title instead, "Head Unspeakable," she greeted, "I hear it is rare for the sitting Minister for Magic to meet with...anyone from your department."
"We are living in rare times Minister."
"How rare indeed," she replied, "Let us leave formality at the door. Hermione."
"Very well Hermione. I do regret that the nature of magic prevents me from dispensing with such formalities."
She smiled. Magic indeed. A charm most likely…. hopefully not a curse. For the two of them, there was no need to beat about the bush. They both knew why they were here, and what to discuss, and as he laid out the solution, it left the Minister, incredulous. "It's a what?"
"It is a Mobile Phone Game, Hermione." He held out a phone - an iPhone 6S Plus to show her and walk her through it."
She waved the phone aside, "Yes, I know what those are. But you mean to tell me…
"Yes minister," he replied. "The game application is essentially magic given, computer code form. As in Arithmantic equations, turned into computer code. The phone's own GPS and digital antenna detect the Confoundable, and cast a charm – designated Alpha – that convinces all non-magicals in the vicinity that they can't see the Confoundable. Only those with the phone app can.
Their finger becomes the equivalent of an incantation and wand motion. The phone becomes the wand, casting the spell.
The memory in the phone… she mused, the power drain, and demands on the device must be excessive.
Yes. We don't need to do anything about battery drain. The muggles call them power…
…banks I know. How many phones out there can support the software?
"Our testing indicates any recent model - within the last three years - will run the application with ease. Anything beyond five years is likely to fail within six months to a year."
Hermione was silent for a long time. Reviewed the proposal. "We are putting the non-magicals who play this game at risk. We have confirmed reports of Class 4 animate artifacts, and even things that Scamander himself would be hesitant to approach."
"The program contains a second charm, designate beta. It will fool most of your class 3 and lower magical creatures. They'll attack a mirage or clone of the non-magical player. That buys us time. A different charm will send an alert to the nearest Secure, Contain and Protect Team for artifact recovery, or Mobile Task Force to secure a magical creature." It seemed that usual, the Head Unspeakable had covered all the angles.
The reputation of the Unspeakables was proven in her office that day. No matter the question or conundrum she posed, the Head Unspeakable had an honest, real world and practical answer. It came down to one final question. "I'm convinced. How soon before we can get this out there?"
All is in readiness to proceed. Our people are in place in WB Studios and Niantic. Upon your approval we will have this ready for download and deployment within 24 hours.
Why Niantic? she asked, then answered her own question, "Pokémon Go."
"You know your games," he nodded almost approvingly, "Niantic's GPS network. We can adapt their system of Poke-stops and the non-magicals will form a task force at the very least a few hundred thousand strong to combat the Calamity across the nation. Globally? We're looking at millions."
He would continue to outline the importance of the GPS network, as a way to track both the non-magical players and the Confoundables, to ensure that the right support teams could be deployed as necessary to secure and contain the threats faced accordingly.
She seemed on board, but going half way with just the good news was never his style, "Minister, you must be aware that the system is far from perfect. At present, we estimate that approximately one out of every one thousand non-magical will be injured or worse during the initial three months of deployment. There are too many for the Ministry to provide support to all."
Hermione was pacing in front of her desk now as she digested this piece of unwelcome information. "Fawley wants this. Merlin alone knows why…" She shelved that line of discussion and investigation for another day, "What does MACUSA have to say about this? Niantic is an American based company."
"MACUSA is currently unaware of this project."
Hermione Granger was the smartest witch of her age for a reason. She has morals, standards, ethics. But in this case, she knew what had to be done to protect the Wizarding World. Sometimes, morals, standards and ethics only stand in the way. "Get this deployed and if the results are good, and the costs are justifiable we will get MACUA involved. Otherwise this gets buried. I mean buried-buried, Head Unspeakable."
"Yes, Minister," he paused for a moment. His wand snapped into his hand and a burst of silvery smoke erupted from the tip and seeped through the floor. The Patronus would deliver a simple one-word instruction, and the solution would be rolled out at once. Hermione shook her head marveling at the sheer simplicity of how all the protections on her office were nullified in the presence of the Head Unspeakable.
This is why the Unspeakables were not spoken about. They were the ultimate undemocratic sanction, to be used to protect a nation's democracy during its darkest hours. That Unspeakables and the so-called "Overseer's Council" that monitored the actions of all Unspeakables only added to this mystique. She had no doubt in her mind that it did exist, and that it possessed frightening resources at its disposal, especially if it could develop and deploy such a solution within 24 hours.
"If there is nothing else, Minister?"
"Just two things," she said, deciding to put her theory to the test, "Firstly, well done Head Unspeakable."
"Thank you, ma'am." he replied, "The second thing?"
"Family lunch is still on the last Sunday of the month?"
He smiled, "For the whole family." and with a crack of displaced air, he was gone.
She smiled at the vacant spot where he once stood. That...seemed to confirm his identity… but she would know in a month. Having waited weeks to brew Polyjuice potion, she could wait a few weeks. In the meantime, she had a number of different department heads to meet with.
She glanced at the clock in the corner, a little after ten. Well, the night was still young and the magical government never sleeps. She sent a half dozen Patronus messengers swimming through the air and walls to get the update reports that were now five minutes over due from her department heads.
The following weeks, the British Ministry of Magic rolled out its solution. Within hours of the mobile game being made available for download globally, they had first pushed back the boundaries of the calamity, and then incredibly, managed to gain some measure of control of the situation.
It was not without casualties, with just over a thousand dead and injured non-magicals. Almost half as many witches and wizards were injured, and would not be fit for duty for weeks in most cases. in a few rare cases, they would never return to duty at all, and were invalidated out of service. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was back to near second-rise-of-Voldemort levels of available manpower. Fortunately, that state of affairs would last until the Auror Graduation, less than a week away.
Grim Fawley had clearly been dismayed with the Ministry counter and had spread his Calamity into a global affair. The British solution, with ICW sanction, had been rolled out almost immediately. Globally, over ten million non-magicals were helping to contain the secret of the magical world. A truth that they would never know about. A truth that the vast majority of the magically governments would turn a blind eye to. Her actions, and those of her Unspeakables may have been taken without the sanction of the ICW, but even they could not gainsay those results.
Hermione sipped her pumpkin juice, "Sometimes it really does pay to ask for forgiveness instead of permission." She watched as the extended family of Potter and Weasely came together as they did for the semi-official once-a-month family luncheon.
The Burrow had been rebuilt since the days of the war. The building was modern, concrete and stone. It would stand the test of time the way the original building had not been able to. Unsurprising really given that the first iteration of The Burrow and been held together and upright by magic than any real sense of solid construction. Indeed, the only surviving "relic" of that age was the chicken coop. Henrietta continued to lay a dozen eggs a day.
Regardless of the large, mansion-like residence, the wildness of the lands around it remained unchanged. The apple orchard was still there, and there was now a properly tiled and lined path to the small brook now a proper swimming pool at the bottom of the garden. The gnomes were still in residence, only because Arthur was very fond of them - to Molly's simultaneous amusement and frustration,
The next several generations of Potters and Weasleys and Merlin help them all Malfoys and Greengrass splash and swim together in said pool, while others, including Harry, Ron and Ginny languidly pass a Quaffle back and forth overhead.
Arthur emerged, no doubt to ring the proverbial luncheon bell, with his ever-present cup of tea in hand. They had shared the same patch of grass, just off the well-worn, but equally well-maintained path over the course of far too many of such family gatherings. They spoke some but more often than not, it was a comfortable silence.
Hermione gave her father in law a sidelong glance and asked the question that had kept her awake at night for the better part of six weeks when the Calamity and other governmental bric-a-brac did not occupy her waking thoughts, "Arthur, what is your favorite Pokémon?"
He paused, saucer in one hand, cup halfway raised to his mouth. Hermione grinned on the inside. She had him, and they both knew it. His body language had given that away, and even the most stringent of denials short of a memory charm would not make her forget this moment, or confirmation that it wasn't somebody wearing a Glamor or making use of Polyjuice Potion.
Hermione had spent days puzzling it out, contemplating her memories of the summer before her fourth year, the Quidditch World Cup, and the campsite. Especially everything that happened before the match itself" -
By the time they reached their camp again, Mr. Weasley had pointed out an Obliviator, two Unspeakables, an Auror, a secretary for the improper use of magic department, a diplomat for the being division in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and a member of the Floo Regulation Committee. Ron was apparently used to it, because he didn't seem all that captivated. But from what her friend had said, she'd gotten the impression that even though Mr. Weasley headed the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office, he wasn't really that important.
That wasn't what she was seeing then, nor was it what she had seen and experienced since, and so many details didn't add up for her back then. Now, they did.
For someone who was not, well, maybe he isn't "important-important," but he sure seems to know a lot of people.
This was the man that headed a supposedly minor office some twenty years prior. The department of those days had a staff of 3 or 4 at the most. But Mr. Weasley was able to sponsor his own Legal Bills. He is the figure at the Ministry that knows everyone by name. Some would say that he is the fatherly figure that would support the wavering, guide the lost, and be all things to all who are in need.
He had the political power and financial standing to somehow go toe to toe against the old House Malfoy led by Lucius and his coalition of supporters. Political battles being what they were, it was never fair, but he always held his own, if not gave out as good as he got, without resorting to Malfoy mudslinging.
This was also the same man that wrote and petitioned for laws to be amended, creating loopholes that had never made sense to her from a magical standpoint, but made perfect sense from a muggle doing research and development: Like making it legal to enchant a car to fly, provided the enchanted vehicle is not flown in public.
The same man who had once been unable to light a campfire with matches, surrounded by the evidence of dozens of failed attempts in splintered burned out litter. He had finally managed to spark one into flame—and promptly dropped it in surprise. Yet he was more in tune with technology, computing and the digital era than many of the non-magicals that grew up in a technology saturated world.
Yes, she decided, there was more to Arthur Weasley than would even meet the eye, or public eye for that matter. On the one hand, he would forever be known as a Father-in-Law, a grandfather, and as a good, honest man with a kind heart. He would be remembered as the family man, who put seven children through Hogwarts on a single salary. He would be loved for his fascination with muggles, their technology and would be forever wondering what is the exact function of a rubber duck.
Both are true, which meant seeing him only one way… would be false. In a moment of sudden, startling clarity she knew. It was the combinations of these two hands that make Arthur Weasley, who he is: - Father, and Head Unspeakable of the Ministry for Magic.
The sun was rising towards noon, and Molly was calling them to lunch. Arthur Weasely was lost in deep contemplation as to what he should do, as a Father-in-Law, but also as Head Unspeakable. She turned and stared up the garden path towards the house.
Arthur drained the last of his tea, "Hermione," she paused and turned to look at him. "Psyduck." He gave her a smile that she had seen on only one other person.