The Prime Minister, John Major, sat at the board-room table and tried not to fidget. Under normal circumstances, this wouldn't be an issue. Though he had only been in office just for a few days, he was a seasoned politician.
However, it wasn't just the situation that unsettled him—it was the people and the room itself.
Even as Prime Minister, one doesn't enter the Palace or meet with the Queen every day.
The room was imposing. High ceilings adorned with chandeliers cast a dim, golden light over the polished wood of the table.
He sat at the far end of the table.
Opposite him sat the Queen, all calm authority, her gaze unreadable.
To her left sat his predecessor, looking far too comfortable in a setting that made him squirm. There was an almost imperceptible smile on her lips, one that hinted at knowledge he wasn't yet privy to.
To the Queen's right sat her son, Prince Charles. His attire was as unassuming as his expression, but there was a precision to his appearance that hinted at military roots.
Beside them were figures he recognised only by title: marshals from various branches of Military Intelligence — men and women with stoic demeanours and steely gazes. They were the type who moved in the shadows, dealing with the unspeakable so that the rest of the country could sleep peacefully at night. Their presence made him feel as though he had been summoned into a secret world, one far more dangerous than he was prepared for.
And then there were the two foreigners. Their strange clothing made them stand out in the room. They were leaning against the wall with crossed arms and closed eyes.
The room was silent, save for the muted rustling of papers and the occasional clink of porcelain as tea was poured.
He cleared his throat softly, searching for the right words to break the stillness. Just as he was about to speak, the Queen raised a hand, halting him before he could begin.
"Prime Minister," she said, her voice soft but commanding, "before we start, there is something you must understand."
Her gaze was unwavering, and Major felt a sudden chill despite the warmth of the room.
"This meeting is unlike any you have faced in your political career," she continued. "You have been summoned here not for matters of state, but for something far more... delicate." She paused, allowing the weight of her words to sink in. "There are things, Prime Minister, that even your office does not have access to. Secrets that have been kept for centuries."
The two foreigners in the room stirred, opened their eyes, and straightened.
He glanced at his predecessor, who was now looking at him with a knowing smile. She had been briefed before, perhaps during her tenure, yet had said nothing of it.
The Queen gestured to the strangers, and they draw near.
"Prime Minister," the Queen spoke again, this time with a faint edge of formality. "May I assume that you have been contacted by a man with a name Cornelius Fudge?"
Major's breath caught in his throat.
What? Fudge? How does she-
"I—I don't understand," he stammered, finally voicing the question that had been brewing in his mind since the moment he entered the room. "What is this about?"
The two strangers reached the table, and Major could now see them more clearly. One, an Indian man with greying hair, a sharp jawline with a thick handlebar moustache, wore a long, dark purple loose collarless shirt that swirled with green as he moved and deep red — something that resembled loose trousers.
The other, taller and younger, had long auburn hair streaked with two colours tied back by a blue ribbon with long strands of hair hanging on either side of his face. His sharp, alert eyes missed nothing. His attire was the strangest one John Major ever seen - a long deep-red shirt with golden knot patterns and wide, flowing sleeves reminiscent of a Japanese kimono. His black trousers were loose at the knees but tapered tightly from the shins to the ankles.
Their presence felt otherworldly, as though they didn't quite belong in the carefully curated world of Buckingham Palace.
The Queen held Major's gaze, her expression unreadable. "You have met Cornelius Fudge, have you not?" She repeated calmly, though her eyes flickered with something that unsettled him.
"I did," Major admitted, his voice wavering. "But how—he claimed- I wasn't aware that you knew..."
"The Queen does not know him, Prime Minister," one of the strangers interrupted.
Major's head snapped toward the stranger who had spoken. The man with the auburn hair, his tone calm yet firm, stared at him with eyes that held an intensity cutting through the room's heavy atmosphere.
"She knows of him," the man continued, his accent unplaceable but each word crisp. "We all do. But that is not the issue here."
The Queen remained poised, her gaze never leaving Major. Her silence was both comforting and unsettling.
Major's mind raced. He had met Fudge only days ago — and had tried to convince himself it had never happened.
Yet here, in the presence of the Queen herself, he couldn't dismiss the reality he was now facing.
John Major felt the weight of the room pressing in on him as the Queen remained silent, her gaze as unwavering. The tension coiled in his chest, a knot of uncertainty forming as he searched for a foothold in the strangeness that surrounded him.
"Prime Minister," the Indian man's voice broke the silence, its deep resonance cutting through the tension with measured calm. "I apologize for this situation. This meeting is the first of its kind, and we hope it will be the last."
Major's eyes flicked to the man. His accent was rich and formal, each word spoken with the precision of someone accustomed to wielding authority. It was soothing, though it did little to fully ease the knot of uncertainty in Major's chest.
Before he could respond, the Queen shifted slightly in her chair. Her gaze remained fixed on him—calm yet piercing. "Let's start again," she said, her voice steady but commanding.
"Yes, of course," the Indian man agreed, nodding deferentially. "I am deeply sorry for the abruptness of this, Prime Minister."
With a graceful movement, the man pulled out a chair and sat down, followed closely by the auburn-haired man.
"My name is Rajhans Bhattacharya," the Indian man continued. "I serve as the Court Wizard to Queen Elizabeth of the House of Windsor, second of her name. I also represent The Magical Commonwealth of Nations."
John Major sat quietly in the pale grey light of his office at Downing Street. He sat alone, trying to piece together what he had just been told—what he had just been entrusted with. The words echoed in his mind, along with the broader revelations of the magical world's complex history.
The meeting had started formally enough, with Bhattacharya outlining the brief history and quick run on needed informations.
The International Coven of Warlocks (ICW) serves as the global governing body of the magical world, much like the United Nations functions for non-magical nations. Established centuries ago, the ICW exists to maintain international peace, cooperation, and the regulation of magic between countries. It was instrumental in the creation of the Statute of Secrecy, which governs the separation of the magical and non-magical worlds. The magical Commonwealth—comprising the same nations as the non-magical Commonwealth.
The position of Court Wizard, equal to Minister of Magic, was traditionally the central figure responsible governance and maintaining the country's welfare. This position, however, remained a secret from the public, kept hidden to avoid unwanted attention. Historically, the Court Wizard wielded considerable influence in both magical and political spheres, ensuring that magical Britain was well-represented within the ICW and other international magical bodies.
However, following the First Wizarding War in Britain, Fudge's predecessor made a decision to split the position of the Court Wizard in secret. This occurred largely due to Fudge's increasing reliance on unsavoury elements, particularly those from the losing side of the war, many of whom harboured darker ambitions. The split left Fudge as a figurehead with compromised authority, allowing factions with ulterior motives to gain influence over the magical government. Fudge, lacking the foresight or the political acuity to question the division of power, never verified whether the Court Wizard position was truly necessary or maintained its prior influence.
This internal imbalance has attracted the attention of the ICW, who have grown increasingly concerned about the state of Magical Britain. Despite their global reach, the ICW is unable to take legal action against the country, as its current head hails from Britain. Such a conflict of interest complicates any efforts for direct intervention. Nevertheless, dissatisfaction is widespread, especially from some of the oldest magical communities—those that were crucial in shaping both the ICW and the Statute of Secrecy. These ancient entities have voiced their displeasure at the disarray within Britain's magical leadership and the threat it poses to international stability.
The ICW, recognizing the potential for further destabilization, has quietly reached out for assistance. They believe that Major, a key figure in the non-magical government, can help by covertly gathering intelligence on Fudge and his actions.