The inside of 10 Downing Street smelled of lavender.
It was the first thing Harry noticed upon walking in, even more than the sudden influx of artificial light or the missing cool wind against his skin. It was the same air freshener that Aunt Petunia liked to use on an almost daily basis, the same one that burned at his sinuses even through the pleasant, soothing smell. The light gathering in his center turned hard, sharp, ready to lash out at a moment's notice. With a grunt of effort, he forced it to relax once more.
The shield still never left his mind. Hexagons becoming jagged shards that gathered upon a single point in a shimmering barrier of glassy fragments, webbed together with pure light and magic—
"Calm yourself, Potter," Aaron said sharply. Harry winced; the air had begun to crack around them, traces of magic and crystal peeking out from the folds in space. The mental schematic of the shield drew back, apparently satisfied, and the air appeared to knit itself back together. "Don't let that get the best of you in this meeting, or you might blow our cover."
"We have a cover?" he whispered furiously. "Why wasn't I told that we have a cover?"
"Our cover is the fact that we don't know about magic," Aaron murmured back. "If there are any magicians in there, they won't expect us to be able to fight back. I might not be able to manage the same kind of stuff you can, but I can at least make it cold." He held up a hand just briefly, right in the shadow of one of the security cameras. Frost wreathed it immediately, woven into braids of fog and ice crystals. His hand dropped, and the effect faded like it was never there in the first place. "I might be able to do more if I really try, but that should be enough of a surprise for now."
The Queen stopped at the door. "The room is soundproofed both ways, so I will require your presence inside," she said in a clipped tone. "Before that happens, however, we will need to decide on aliases. Margaret has a great deal of liberty when it comes to identity records, even though she shouldn't. If one of your names comes up and this meeting takes a turn for the worse, you may well be in danger."
"I'll take my usual," Aaron said immediately. He gave Harry a considering glance. "As for Potter, it may be best to stick closer to home for now. Your name's just Harry?"
"Just Harry," he confirmed.
"Then we'll go with Harrison," Aaron decided. "Harrison Poe, on account of that argumentative king."
"Harrison Poe it is," the Queen affirmed. She knocked twice on the door, sharply. Moments later, it opened, and Harry stepped into the room as gracefully as he could.
The interior was bland, though it was made well. The walls were a mixture of navy and rich brown wood, painted to seeming suck in light and spit it back out on the accents. The lighting made his own inner light tingle from the artificiality. He was on the verge of commenting about it to Aaron when he realized that his superior was staring forward with a heavy gleam in his eyes.
Sitting at a simple desk cluttered with papers, pens, and stamps, sat a woman. Her wrinkles reminded Harry suspiciously of Aunt Petunia, but in contrast to his Aunt's pinched-lemon look, Margaret Thatcher wore a guarded smile. She gestured with a ring-endowed hand, sapphires glittering in the incandescent light. "Your Majesty," she greeted. "It's good to see you again. If you and your—companions would take a seat?"
Harry sat. Conspicuous as it was, he doubted anyone had missed the slight jump in Thatcher's voice when she'd said companions. Had his presence surprised her, or perhaps it was Aaron's almost hostile glare?
"Thank you, Margaret." Aaron only gestured for Harry to sit after the Queen had, and even then he himself remained standing. The gun at his hip wasn't showing through the suit jacket he wore, but Harry could see the faintest bulge on the same line as his belt.
Thatcher looked over Harry, an interested gleam in her eye. "This is?" she asked, an indulgent smile on her face. Harry nodded his head.
"Harrison Poe, ma'am," he said as steadily as he could. Truthfully, there was a niggling desire to just go invisible and stay that way for the rest of the meeting, but Aaron's wary look and a very slight tightening of the Queen's hands on the arms of her chair stopped him. Instead, he bowed a bit deeper. "It's very nice to meet you, ma'am."
"Are you sure you want to have this… conversation… with Mr. Poe around, Your Majesty?"
The Queen nodded, her gaze searching Harry's for something before turning back to Thatcher. "I do. He was the one that brought this incident to my attention, and he has provided enough proof that I believe it is more than a child's daydream. Now, shall we turn to answers?"
"I had hoped I wouldn't be the one to give you this explanation," Thatcher admitted after a full minute of silence had passed. "You deserve to know, of course, and I have hope that in time everyone on our side will be fully knowledgeable about their affairs, but…"
"There is no but about it," the Queen said stiffly. "Margaret, by keeping this from me I hope you understand you're skirting the law extremely dangerously. These magicians have any number of abilities I don't know about, and though I don't doubt that you had a good reason they still pose a threat to national security."
"It's not simply posing a threat to national security, Your Majesty," Aaron said stiffly. "These wizards have been shown to actively cloak themselves from the presence of the public. Even the Royal Guard has no idea that they exist. Normally I would be satisfied with the notion that they mean no harm, but with this kind of power, I cannot accept that. They have entered Buckingham Palace, Prime Minister, more than a dozen times in the past month alone!"
Thatcher's eyes narrowed slightly. "They have?" she asked sharply. "I swear I had no knowledge of this."
"Did you not?" Elizabeth suggested. "Margaret, you have the most knowledge on these magicians among all of us. How dangerous are these individuals, and how freely do they move?"
"I cannot say much, Your Majesty, you understand," Thatcher insisted. "I am only informed of the bare basics of their politics, and I swore an oath that I wouldn't betray their existence to anyone who doesn't know or has not been approved." Harry saw Aaron opening his mouth out of the corner of his eye, and Thatcher quickly continued. "But I should be able to tell you a little about them. Their new Minister is young, only in her mid-twenties. As far as I know, the entire population—their community, rather—is spread all around Britain, and they move as freely as any other citizen of Great Britain."
"So there isn't any restriction on their activity?" Aaron growled softly. Elizabeth glanced sharply his way. "Your Majesty, these people may be rifling through secret documents. They could be infiltrating this very meeting!"
Alarmed, Harry reached for his light. It responded with vigor, filling his body, though more restrained than the last time he flooded himself with magic. Each different sunbeam from the core of his being rippled, a different aspect alighting within it. He reached out to one, grasping, twisting, understanding. This gentle beam held enough power to create a scalding fireball, one powerful enough to incinerate the desk sitting before them. He discarded that beam carefully and searched through another.
Half-awareness filled him even as he searched. At some point, Aaron had come dangerously close to shouting; a miraculous event, given how tightly Aaron kept rein of his emotions during business. It had taken the Queen reaching out and placing a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. Harry suspected the only reason he'd remembered it was because he was inspecting a sunbeam that seemed to weave the chill of a frozen winter night into his bloodstream.
Finally, he found it. Of the dozens, even hundreds of sunbeams, a single one had something close to what he searched for. He allowed it to shine free of whatever containing barrier had been wrapped around the core of his magic. The light flowed into his body, then out, releasing from his skin in a visible azure pulse.
Everyone stopped dead from the flash. He glanced up, wishing he'd had a weapon. Even the teleporting fork would work better than his fists, and while the pulse hadn't drained him as much as the lance had, a tingling feeling still buzzed in his bones from summoning the barrier in the Dursleys' home. Still, he'd accomplished what he wanted to do.
"Aaron, there are two people in the corner, next to the flag," he growled lowly. "They have something in their hands."
Harry allowed his magic to run a little looser, then, ready to grab the Queen and one of the pens on Thatcher's desk and teleport away. Aaron's gun came up so quickly he barely caught it moving. He held it in one hand, though Harry could see he wasn't used to it. The other was splayed in the same manner he'd held it before entering the room. He could almost see the light of magic rushing into the air above Aaron's palm, ready to yank the heat away from that area in an instant.
"I wonder where you got an ability like that, Mr. Poe," a new voice wondered from the corner. Harry started when two people just appeared there. It wasn't like his own invisibility, which left behind Crystal dust and moved gradually. No, these people had been completely invisible one moment and dressed in robes so gaudy and colorful he nearly looked away the next.
"It seems to be a bit of inheritance on my part," the Queen said calmly. Just like always, Harry marveled at the sheer amount of composure she could keep from sitting on a chair. She stared impassively at the newcomers. "Forgive me for taking command in your office, Margaret, but our new guests should take seats. It is awfully rude to simply have them stand there."
"My thanks, Your Majesty," one of them said. She was the only one to take a seat; the hulking dark-skinned man beside her, with nearly black skin and eyes that glittered with a combination of wariness and crafty intelligence, deigned to stand. His gold robes, lined with silver and tight enough that they seemed to not impede movement, flashed in the light.
Harry turned his eyes to the young woman who had taken a seat. She was pretty, very pretty, and though she only looked to be a year or two younger than Aaron he wondered just how important she could be. She sat with poise, smoothing her scarlet robes trimmed with gold vines and leaves. When Harry looked again, whatever had been in their hands was gone, and he had absolutely no idea where the rods could have gone.
The young woman raised a hand. Contrary to Harry's expectations, she simply smoothed away a lock of shimmering blue-black hair. "Would anyone like tea?" she asked, waving her hand. Immediately a silver platter appeared on Thatcher's desk, complete with six cups of steaming tea and a mirror-smooth pot.
"Your Majesty," Aaron said gently. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and continued to reach for a cup. She took a sip.
"It hasn't been poisoned, Aaron," she admonished with a wry smile in her voice. Harry released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "You don't need to worry too much about these old bones. I've survived poisoning back in the War, and I can still do it now."
Harry wasn't so sure of that. Even by adult standards, the Queen was getting old, and she looked greyer than Aunt Petunia did when she washed the coloring out of her hair. Aaron simply sighed and took a cup himself, while the newcomers both smiled and grabbed for their own.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty," the woman said smoothly. "My name is Millicent Bagnold, the current Minister for Magic."
The air seemed to still slightly. Harry glanced between Thatcher and Bagnold, eyes wide. Despite only being eight, Harry had an eye for when people would argue. Dudley did it all the time, and he got the exact same look in his eyes: a flicker of irritation and a bit of defiance, culminating into a narrowing of the eyes and a pursing of the mouth. Thatcher's forehead tightened even as her cheeks drew inward slightly. Apparently, she didn't like Bagnold all that much.
"And the man behind you?" Aaron asked tersely. The dark-skinned man's head bowed so low his brightly-embroidered hat nearly fell off his head.
"I am Kingsley Shacklebolt, current aide to the Minister, as well as her defender in the Muggle world."
Harry's brow furrowed at the name "Muggle", but before he could follow the little traces of memory it conjured, the Queen spoke. "It's good you're here, Minister Bagnold," she said almost brightly. Had Harry not seen the almost malicious grin on her face only an hour before, he would have guessed she was actually happy to see Bagnold. "Minister Thatcher and I were discussing the presence of your wizards in my Palace, as well as the potential threat they place to national security. Do you have anything to add?"
The bomb couldn't have dropped more obviously, but Minister Bagnold only widened her eyes before continuing. "I was aware of the nature of your conversation, Your Majesty," she said shortly, a bit of a frown directed towards Thatcher. "And I believe I stated that I had hoped it would not be me who would explain this to you."
Fire erupted in Harry's brain.
The crystals in his hand blazed with a brilliant white light. Harry only caught a glimpse before the world before him blurred with tears and hot breath. Ringing screams echoed in the room. It took a moment before his brain connected it with the raw stinging in his throat.
"Mr. Poe!" The flames snapped shut, retreating back into the recesses of his brain. He blinked away the tears; they steamed against his skin. The sizzling pops faded into the background when Aaron's groan sounded from beside him.
"How'd I get on the floor?" he asked blearily. The massive form of Kingsley Shacklebolt stared down at him. His face was creased in some semblance of concern, but he didn't move from his place behind Bagnold.
"Mr. Poe, are you alright?" the Queen asked. Harry reached out and steadied himself on the smooth oak desk as he rose. The throb of something echoed in the veins of his entire arm. He nodded and glanced towards Aaron. The man stared upwards, obviously alert but completely silent and still.
IT took a few more minutes before everyone seated themselves. Nobody spoke the entire time Harry and Aaron got to their feet and seated themselves. Harry's tea arced in a dark-staining splash on the carpet, but nobody bothered to clear it up. Eventually, the Queen spoke up, restrained anger in her voice. "Minister Bagnold, you had bloody well explain what just happened."
Minister Bagnold's eyes narrowed, but she remained silent. Eventually, Kingsley spoke up instead. "Ma'am, I deeply apologize for any misunderstandings that came up as a result of this meeting. On behalf of the Ministry of Magic—"
"The Ministry of Magic will be asunder sooner than you can say 'abracadabra' if you don't explain what's going on!" Elizabeth snapped. Everyone, even the stoic Shacklebolt and Aaron's shivering form, jumped. Harry plucked another sunbeam from the depths of his soul, shunting it through the crystals in his hand. "So far, Minister Bagnold, you are coming dangerously close to proving our suspicions that you are a threat to the wellbeing of the people of Britain. You have exactly one minute to tell me what you just did to one of my trusted guard, or so help me, heads will roll."
Minister Bagnold eventually sighed and glanced towards Thatcher. The older woman's face was pinched into a citrusy scowl. Heavy breaths emanated from the both of them. "It is protocol amongst the Ministers of Magic to keep the royal family of Britain from being notified of the existence of magic," Bagnold eventually admitted. "Even since Royal Magister Dee's mysterious death, the people of the Ministry grew suspicious of the Crown. After applying the Statute of Secrecy, the stance on inviting any muggles who weren't already tied to magic was solidified."
"Muggles?" the Queen asked dubiously.
"Our apologies," Bagnold said quickly. "It simply refers to individuals who don't possess the gift of magic. The Statute of Secrecy was designed to prevent the knowledge of magic from disseminating amongst the muggles. As you can tell, there isn't much we can't stop from getting out."
"And the sudden seizure that affected my guard and his apprentice?" the Queen asked. "I don't suppose the two of them were simply stricken with an aneurysm at the same time."
"No, I don't believe they were." Bagnold's mouth creased into a thin line, followed by a wrinkling of her brows that made her look a decade older. Harry found the transformation oddly amusing, though he wasn't sure if it was the residual pain jittering through his system or not. "There was a failsafe built into the wards surrounding the Statute of Secrecy. In the case that someone particularly important or strong-willed—an exceptional muggle politician, for instance, or a stubborn or wise person—were to learn about magic, an Obliviation would be insufficient to completely wipe the existence of magic from the individual's mind, a simple conversational line would be brought up. This would completely and thoroughly erase the memories of any magic from the individual's mind before compelling them to do something else."
"Mind magic?" Aaron muttered, clutching at his forehead. "Explain why my brain feels like it was dipped in an acid lake." He glanced at Harry. A bit of frost webbed his hands, signaling the presence of the chilly handful of fog weaving across his head. "You alright, Harrison? Need an aspirin?"
"Fine, sir," he grunted. "A little warm, but fine." The background sizzle of his sweat on his skin came back into razor focus, and he winced. "Yeah, just a little warm. Let's go with that."
"You mean to tell me," the Queen growled, sounding truly dangerous for the first time since Harry had met her, "that you just tried to wipe the minds of two people who were completely incapable of fighting back? Two of your fellow citizens?"
"The Statute of Secrecy is to be taken in the strictest of confidences," Bagnold snapped, all pretense of civility dropped. "It doesn't differentiate between a beggar or a queen. All muggles are to be kept privy from the magical government. Even the Prime Minister gets only the barest of details, and that is only so we don't step on each others' toes during the lawmaking process."
"Be that as it may, there are details that greatly concern me," the Queen said imperiously. "Aaron, take your apprentice and head out of the room. You are leaving, and you are not returning until a compromise is written out between the three."
"Your Majesty, I'll have to respectfully decline. You'll need some sort of defense against these wizards in case they try anything funny."
"Then Mr. Poe shall leave," the Queen demanded. "I do not trust my mouth right now. He shouldn't have to hear anything we may say."
Aaron gave Harry a sidelong look he was growing used to. With a despondent nod, Harry crept to the door, his back against the wall the entire time. Before he could leave and release his hold on the light in his crystals, however, Bagnold held up a hand.
"Harrison Poe, was it?" she asked, eyes lidded in a crafty, searching gaze. "Would you happen to have a scar on your forehead, Mr. Poe? In the shape of a lightning bolt."
The plunging chill of terror rushed down Harry's spine, though he didn't know why. The spell he held within his crystal nearly lashed out then and there, but before it could he shoved his hand in his pocket. "I don't," he snapped coldly. "And I would appreciate it if creeps like you wouldn't talk to me again."
Bagnold's recoil at his words was more than enough to set a savage smile on his face. He slipped out the door, not bothering to look at the guard standing in a nearby alcove. Instead, he nearly sprinted to the lobby, desperately holding on to the magic in his crystal. Part of it leaked out anyway, springing to life in a field of glass and crystal. The familiar hexagonal barrier appeared before shifting, becoming broken, jagged.
Harry smoothly transitioned into invisibility, positioned himself in a corner, and waited. All the while, the smell of lavender permeated the building.