CHAPTER 16: Show of Hands (Part 2)
Much of what the Muggles classify as miracles of architecture was not a product of godly interference or extraterrestrial beings, like many ignorants assume - but of Magic. Throughout the world, very few remain. Most were lost during the Dark Wizarding Ages, burned or torn down by Muggles in their quest to eradicate Magic from the world, some still remain hidden, Hogwarts being the only example of it in Britain. The Temple of Kukulkan falls in the third category, the ruins that still stood and had been so integral to Muggle history that they couldn't be properly removed from the world without risking exposing them.
The Wonders of the World, the Muggles called most of them, the more impressive ones. The ones that still stood were named the Wonders of the Modern World, while all the ones that had been destroyed were now deemed the Wonders of the Ancient World. Only the great age of the Pyramid of Giza granted it its place with its other brothers and sisters. Or, perhaps, Muggles were simply keen on making them seven. It was incredible how, even in non-magical communities, the number seven still held power.
Despite them being common knowledge in the Muggle world, these ruins remained under wizard control. They were protected, countless charms and hexes and curses placed upon them so that they may still be standing in the millennium to come. And if someone ever tried to damage them, the wizards would step in and make them regret their transgression. They were sacred, respected in a way that transcended borders and cultures. During the Great War, there had only been the Wizards and the Muggles. It hadn't mattered where you had been born or what you believed. The only thing that mattered was if you had Magic in your blood or not. Even now, after centuries of peace, the ruins stand as a reminder that they were all one people.
This was why the ICW continued with its tradition. The first meeting of the coalition, years deep into the war, had been held in the Lighthouse of Alexandria. After the Statute of Secrecy had been implemented and the ICW started meeting yearly, they continued to use the ruins of wizarding achievements to hold their meetings.
It was something Rufus hadn't known until a few days after he had taken his position as Minister for Magic in Britain, and now he sat in the grand amphitheatre deep in the heart of the Temple of Kukulkan, surrounded by the mossy, grey bricks and snobbish pricks he now called colleagues. Politicians, lawyers and mayor businessmen hanging about with heroes, veterans, and legends, thinking themselves alike, superior, even. He was being cynical, Dumbledore told him, it had even stung Rufus' pride when the old man not so subtly pointed out how very much like Potter he was acting. But he had never been one for the political game. He hadn't come into power, he was forced into it, and the only reason why was because of You-Know-Who's war. He was a soldier, not an actor, and lately, he'd had to pretend and dance and sing tunes he had promised to never utter.
Deep down below, at the centre of the arena, stood Babajide Akingbade. His hands firm on the stone podium, the silence directed to him. It had taken nearly an hour for all the delegations to organize themselves, over two hundred countries, each ranging from five to thirteen representatives. For his part, Rufus had only brought Albus and Potter to join him in representing Britain. With Britain as it was, they were the only two people he could properly trust, for better or worse. Albus sat peacefully on his right, his decades of experience in this council probably made this rather routine for him, while Potter was on his left side, feet on the desk, phoenix perched on his shoulder. His wand was flying through his fingers as he ignored the blatant stares from the rest. The boy had always been irreverent, but Rufus couldn't deny, he knew how to command attention.
"With the power bestowed upon me, I now call this emergency meeting for the protection of the Statute of Secrecy into session," Akingbade's voice boomed through the chamber, followed by the uncompromising banging of the gravel against the stone. "The International Confederation of Wizards will now begin its consideration of item one of the agenda."
There was only one item on the agenda, one that needed no introduction, but Akingbade still went through the motions.
"On the evening of May first, the terrorist organization known as the Death Eaters orchestrated an open attack on seven separate Muggle cities. The life loss was countless, but more importantly, was the unpredictable damage it caused, and is still inflicting, upon our Statute of Secrecy." Even from far away, Rufus saw Akingbade switch his focus towards him. "The subpar efforts from the British Ministry of Magic to contain the situation, along with rising new Muggle technologies, have caused the tale to spread. We have even found some who had, in their possession, pictures and videos of the event, both captured in the middle of the battles as well as from afar through the satellites in orbit. Muggles all over the world have started becoming aware of our existence faster than we can track them down and obliviate them. At present, they are being ignored by the rest of their kind, but that is not something that is expected to last. It is this council's duty, by the end of the week, to agree to a solution that will preserve the Statute and assure our continued survival in the centuries to come."
One of the Brazilian delegates, Isabella Ferreira, was the first to stand up. "The Death Eater organization has been one we have previously discussed, Chief Warlock. Before we begin with any proposals, I believe it would be prudent to hear about their current state of affairs. Last we had heard, they had disappeared shortly after You-Know-Who's demise."
Akingbade nodded. "I believe, out of all of us, Albus Dumbledore is the best equipped to inform us of this."
Albus rose graciously, and the chamber quieted immediately. "Little is known, I'm afraid. As soon as Voldemort came back to power, most of his old allies flocked towards him, and after this latest set of attacks, even more have done so. The Death Eaters are servants, they do as their master commands."
From the other side of the room, the lone figure of Igor Karkaroff stood for the Russian delegation. "I can confirm that," he said. Albus didn't sit down, but didn't interrupt either. "To my regret, as most of you are aware, I was involved with the Dark Lord in my youth. It is fear that drives the Death Eaters, more than loyalty. They are punished in unspeakable ways for doing anything other than the Dark Lord's will. And, to me, at least, it seems clear that the Dark Lord is done with attempting to gain control through politics. He seeks an open war, and so, his Death Eaters will see to it that it happens. I can say, without a doubt, that these attacks were only the first. He is not done yet."
"Unless you have obtained some inside information we are not aware of, Igor, we cannot confirm that for sure," Albus finally interjected, his voice soft and commanding at the same time. "The attacks on the Muggle city were a calculated effort from Voldemort to draw us out from the Ministry so that a select few of his followers could infiltrate it without being stopped. It was a means to an end, not a call to war. Voldemort knows, perhaps better than most, the damage the Muggles can cause if war was to start again."
"And yet, he has continued his assaults. Or is it not true that, even now, you have Death Eater attacks daily on Muggles and wizards alike?"
"We do, but not to the scale of the raids the Chief Warlock spoke of. They are no bigger than any of the attacks we had in the first Blood War, and the council, so no need to interfere in national matters then."
"Back then," one of the Chilean diplomats spoke, "The Death Eaters hadn't dared attack the Muggles so blatantly. It's become quite clear to us that things have changed, even if that's something that has escaped your grasp."
Albus sighed. "Voldemort has indeed become more open in his violence, but the night of the raids also brought heavy losses to him. He lost various members of his inner circle, and most Death Eaters involved in the attacks were captured and have been convicted. Azkaban may no longer be at our disposal, but that doesn't mean the criminals are free to roam."
Takumi Yamamoto, the Japanese Minister for Magic, rose. "And how much damage will your Dark Lord cause before he is stopped? Would the Statute of Secrecy even be capable of surviving it? Please, do not think I'm questioning your efforts, Albus, but the Confederation stepped in when Gellert Grindelwald became a threat to the entire wizarding population. Why should we not do the same in the face of a threat that could grow to become perhaps even greater than him?"
Rufus finally stood up, and though Albus eyes him warily, he didn't intercede. For now, at least. "The difference is that Gellert Grindelwald had extended past his national borders, racing an army and waging war on Europe as a whole. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has remained fully inside Britain, his Death Eaters have never attacked elsewhere. Nearly every country here has had their own crisis, Dark Lords or other threats that attacked the Statute of Secrecy. And yet, never has the Confederation stepped in, so long as the problem remained inside the country's borders."
"I agree, but none of them has caused the nearly irreparable damage to the Statute as You-Know-Who," Yamamoto answered respectfully. "It's unfortunate, but this Dark Lord has caused tremors on an international scale. This can no longer be considered as a national matter, not when it risks going into war with the Muggles again."
"It can't," Albus agreed. "Fanatics and worshippers from all over the world are coming to our shores to support Voldemort. This is something that we must tackle together."
"The British Ministry of Magic has proven itself inefficient, at best," Selim Özdemir, one of the Turkish delegates, snapped. "And at worst they are complicit. For nearly a year, they denied the presence of this terrorist organization. They stuck their head in the sand, and now all of us are left to deal with the consequences. It's time this council acted in the way it was meant to and interfered in this affair. Take control of the Britain situation and extinguish this organization before they can cause any more damage."
"Control over Britain, you mean," Rufus bristled. "You want to undermine the Ministry and take over the country until the situation has been resolved. If you take my power away and hand it to the confederation, who knows who would make the decisions? He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named isn't only famous in Britain, many witches and wizards agree with his views, and would even risk a blown-out war if it meant stopping relations with the Muggles. I don't trust any foreigner to handle our business, not when you can wage war in our country and then happily leave once it's crumbled into nothing."
"And how can we be sure you aren't one of these hidden supporters of You-Know-Who?" A man from the South African delegation asked. "From our point of view, you're just as likely to help this Dark Lord as your previous Minister did."
"It's out of the question," Rufus snarled. "I won't allow it."
"That's something you can't control," Akingbade interjected for the first time in the debate. "If this council decides to, we will interfere, with or without your consent."
The sun was starting to set when Daphne arrived at Bar Loco. It was a rather tacky mix of a nightclub and a pub in the centre of a Muggle city, about fifty miles from Cancún. She understood the necessity of meeting away from wizarding eyes, but if it had been up to her, she would have chosen a place free from Muggles and Wizards alike. One of the waiters approached her, and after a brief dance through the language barrier, he led her into the flashing red, green, and blue lights inside the establishment, through the dancing couples and drinking strangers, up the stairs, and into one of the private rooms there. Daphne was well aware of how this looked, a sixteen-year-old girl being escorted into the back of a seedy, lustful tavern and into a private room with three other adult men eagerly waiting for her.
She wished she didn't care as much, it wasn't as if her father hadn't made a custom of whoring her out for his gain. After that, she really couldn't complain about being sent as an emissary rather than a seductress.
The Muggle shut the door behind her, and the others wasted no time before locking in and ensuring their privacy. The room was small, tilted, and reeking of booze. There were a couple of Muggle bottles open, enough glasses to know they'd been at this for a while, and a cloud of smoke that was barely transparent. Daphne studied them warily, making sure not to show any weakness as she gracefully sat on the couch opposite them. She easily matched the names to their names to the men from their ethnicities.
The Latino man was Alfonso Cárdenas de la Vega, the leader of the most powerful wizarding cartel in the Americas, rumoured to have the largest collection of dark historical artefacts from all over the world and feared to be one of the most powerful wizards in the lost art of Blood Magic. He was the man who virtually controlled all crime from the south of Mexico to the northern regions of Peru and Brazil - wizarding and Muggle alike.
To his right sat Liang Dao Ming. The Deadliest Assassin in the World, her father had called him during the briefing, the man with the power to call upon ghosts, spirits, and demons to murder you without him having to leave his home. Not only was he the jonin of his organization, but also the proud owner of the Eienni Sword, a legendary weapon enchanted to remember all the skills and moves of its previous masters. It was said to be unbeatable.
And finally, there was Kofi Adusei Otieno, the largest trafficker of magical creatures and someone known to use them and exploit them for whatever his purposes. His mother had told her he had enslaved various djinns to do his bidding, Avery said he had once used an army of manticores to slaughter most of the leaders of the Kenyan Ministry of Magic. Mister Snyde had mentioned he had long theorized that it had been Otieno's grandfather who birthed the Lethifolds. All of them agreed that the man could harness the power of the Gods through masks.
Each one of them was one of the most powerful men in the world, all easily able to claim the title of most powerful living Dark Lord, if only You-Know-Who had lived in another time. Daphne felt lacking compared to them. She wondered, not for the first time, why Mister Snyde hadn't spared anyone else to come down for the meeting. It made her all the more worried about what she was about to do. And as Harry's face came into her mind, for a moment, she couldn't help but wonder if he would be part of this meeting twenty, maybe thirty years from now.
The Asian man took a drag from one of the many haphazardly made joints lying on the table. "Where's Karkaroff?"
Daphne raised her mask, clamping down her fears and insecurities and adopting her usual persona. Still, she wasn't convinced. It was different acting aloof among other children, playing grown-ups at Hogwarts, pretending to be Lords and Queens and living legends. These were people she wouldn't even dare fool any other time. But she was here out of duty. She would speak Mister Snyde's words, recite everything she had memorized, and hope they didn't kill her before she was done. She wouldn't show any weakness. It wasn't like she had any other choice. "He won't be needed today," she said.
"Oh, won't he?" Otieno leaned forward. "And who says that? You? Girl."
"Mister Snyde," Daphne answered. "He worries that Karkaroff has become too compromised with the Dark Lord as of late."
"Mister Snyde," the Latino sneered. "He forgets himself in his own self-importance. A man like that is not to be trusted. You do know that isn't his real name, do you, Niña?"
"He is correct, unfortunately," Dao Ming whispered before Daphne could answer. "Karkaroff wouldn't be of any use, he might become a liability soon."
"Karkaroff has always cosied too close to those with power." The African said evenly. "It is no wonder he's had to change his name various times now. He will come to his senses once we remind him who to serve."
"If he lives that long." Dao Ming added.
"Why isn't Snyde here?" De la Vega asked her directly. "Or did the old man leave his excuse back at home?"
Daphne lifted her chin. "Scrimgeour has the country locked down rather thoroughly. It would be a risk to have any of the Knights appear on his travel logs, especially on a week like this."
"And yet you came."
"You'd be surprised how little people think of a teenage girl."
"You'd be surprised how much men think of teenage girls."
Daphne didn't like his tone.
"Regardless of his absence," the Asian man continued. "It was Snyde's responsibility to keep a leash on Voldemort. He hasn't been doing an efficient job."
"I've had to stop my operations completely," Otieno boomed. "My men have been running around Africa, doing the Ministry's job for them, just so that we can start the work back up."
"Voldemort's return has been… unpleasant, on all of us," De la Vega explained. "Last summer, your employer assured us he would take control of the situation. We are still waiting for him to come through."
"It is because of Mister Snyde that the May raids have been the only ones on such a level so far," Daphne said. "Death has changed the Dark Lord, and after Potter embarrassed him in front of the world, he has only deteriorated further. There isn't much we can do to stop him."
"Then Snyde should have just killed Voldemort again and be done with it."
Even Dao Ming and Otieno looked warily around the room. For the most part, all three men had seemed careless enough about mentioning the Dark Lord by name. De la Vega crying out his name before proposing to murder him must have been a step too far.
"If the task was as easy as you suggest," Daphne said, her voice trembling slightly. "Then you are more than welcome to the honour."
De la Vega did not reply this time.
"War is inevitable," she continued. "The Dark Lord isn't listening to reason, he's done trying to be civil about his conquest of Britain. He isn't interested in power, he wants something much more simple than that. He wants to live. And if a war between Muggles and Wizards is what it takes to kill Dumbledore and Potter - or at the very least distract them - then he's willing to start it."
"That can't be allowed," Otieno said slowly.
"Mister Snyde agrees," and by the looks of the other two, so did they. "The Dark Lord's Death Eaters are a large part of his power. While he can carry out attacks on the Muggles on his own, it is much harder to do so without his army."
"That isn't reassuring," Dao Ming said. "Some of my own people are deserting me to join him. If rumours are to be believed, his army had grown two-fold since the attacks."
"Threefold," Daphne corrected him. "And yes, but if we find a way to disrupt their armies, we can avoid another large blow to the Statute of Secrecy."
De la Vega was the first to understand. "You want us to infiltrate his forces."
"The three of you have thousands of witches and wizards at your disposal. Combined, you could challenge the Death Eater army. Having even just a fifth of them flock to Europe and infiltrate the Death Eaters would be more than enough to bring the whole thing down if needed."
"You're forgetting our men are abandoning us for Voldemort, girl," Otieno said darkly.
"Then make sure the ones you send are loyal enough," she replied. "Mister Snyde is already using a large part of our resources to have our own men inside the Death Eaters. He offers to provide protection and means of communication between all of us."
None of the men looked particularly convinced. Daphne had expected it, Mister Snyde had told her they wouldn't. They needed time, needed to realize that this was a problem they couldn't ignore without her help. So she said so, offering to meet again before the ICW finished up with their business here. None of them were happy about it, but they didn't complain.
"Even if we do this, Voldemort is a threat on his own. This won't stop until he's six feet underground," De la Vega said.
"Death has proven itself ineffective," Dao Ming countered. "It is nothing but a low hurdle for a man like Voldemort."
"Are you saying he's immortal?" Otieno barked.
"I'm saying there are many avenues to immortality."
"Mister Snyde is working on that," Daphne said. "He told me he'd brief you once he met you in person."
Dao Ming hummed, studying her carefully.
"He means for us to come to England?" De la Vega snarled.
"Scrimgeour won't be in power forever. Mister Snyde is pretty sure his restrictions will be lifted sooner rather than later."
"Tell him we expect it to be done in a month," Otieno told her. "I won't send any of my men until I see the bastard's face."
"Very well."
Daphne fielded a few more questions, finished Mister Snyde's speech, and once it became clear she wouldn't be needed for any further discussion, she stood. Glad to finally be able to leave this retched place, she turned and headed towards the door, only to remember one of the last commands she had been given.
"Señor De la Vega," she said. "Can I have a word?"
The others stared at her distrustfully before returning to their vices. She knew they would be hanging on every word. The Latino man gave her an arrogant nod and followed her outside. Daphne spoke before he could get any ideas.
"Mister Snyde mentioned you had the world's largest collection of historical artefacts."
He was all business then. "I don't sell my stuff, Niña."
"I'm not looking to buy," she said. "The Pair Dadeni, the Seal of Solomon, the Deathly Hallows, do you know them?"
"What of them?"
"All of them have been propping up in the last year or so."
De la Vega looked troubled. There was no brash, hot rage or out pour of emotion. She finally saw the calculated man the Knights had described to her. "Impossible. They're all lost, scattered, not even Grindelwald could find even a single Hallow."
"He found one."
"Not from what I've heard."
"Mister Snyde disagrees," and instantly, that stopped the man. "Voldemort has found another. He used the Pair Dadeni for his rebirth and the Seal of Solomon to gain control of the dementors."
"Which one did he find?" De la Vega raised his voice.
"Mister Snyde didn't say."
"Chingada puta madre!" He shouted, running his hand through his hair and pacing in front of her.
"Do you have any of the others?" she asked.
"Of the Manuscript?"
"Yes."
The man hesitated. "I've only ever been able to find one."
"Mister Snyde suggests you broaden your search… before Voldemort finds the rest."
De la Vega gave her a stiff nod, and without another word, he parted from the establishment altogether.
Finally free to return to the resort, Daphne rushed down the stairs, still feeling her heart smash against her chest, and began pushing her way out of the building. But before she could leave, she spotted Harry, sitting at the bar, drink in hand, wearing a knowing look on his face. "So," he said, completely unbothered by anything. "How did it go?"
It was the end of their second day at the resort, and Hermione still found herself in awe of every little new thing she found. The Refuge of the Gods was unlike any other hotel she had ever seen, and even without having stayed at any other magical resorts, she doubted many could top it. Whether it was the literal history carved onto the walls - the dirty blue, red, and brown that just ached to be deciphered, translated, and told all around the world - the surprising buoyancy in its pools and beaches - with terrifyingly brutal slides for the Weasleys to abuse or the hippocampi speeding through the water, jumping up and down, stealing the guest's food and disrupting the water polo matches - or the ancient, complicated magic that seeped in every room that made Hermione wish she had more time to stay inside and experiment with its limits, she couldn't say. Everything was just so brilliant, she couldn't really decide.
Their room had fallen into chaos the second they had all begun to settle in, not even the common area had been saved. An invisible man had burst into the room with an invisible gun filled with very, VERY visible paint and attacked the walls, floor, and ceiling without prejudice. Red and orange from the left side battled for control against the green and yellow from the right side. Posters from both the Chudley Cannons and Holyhead Harpies were strung on every surface like propaganda signs. The couches had been stolen, replaced by the ones from the Burrow and even a couple from the Gryffindor Common Room. The less said about the kitchen, the better. At least whatever sentience that controlled the design had given her a small corner of a library with rather fascinating books translated straight from Spanish.
Her room wasn't much better, Ginny's green and yellow colours were an invasion that thankfully didn't cover every surface. Anything on her side of the room and around her bed - for it was her bed, straight from her childhood home, the bed she had come to sorely miss these past couple of summers - was painted pink and cream with all the furniture also seemed to have been directly stolen from her old room. Neville hadn't been so lucky, the entire room he shared with Ron had been covered by a large painting of a Quidditch player in an orange uniform looking as if he was about to pop out from the wall, grab you by the neck, and berate you into buying a year-long pass to all the Chudley Cannons games.
Despite it all, she couldn't be happier. Well, she could, with a lot more bookshelves, a lot less Quidditch, and her brain magically working properly again. But it had been a while since she had felt this close to her friends, since before all that Harry's business had started messing things up over the winter break. After Ron's breakdown the other day, she had feared their friendship was well and truly broken. This trip had given her hope that all wasn't truly lost, and Hermione had promised herself she'd use this trip to prove to Ron she could be a better friend. The fact that she was now alone in their room, having rejected Ron and Ginny's invitation to run off to the beach with the new friends they had made and drink a lot of booze, didn't quite translate that. But to her, the fact that she let them go after only minor fuzzing and forcefully retrieved promises they wouldn't be complete idiots was still Hermione keeping her promise, at least, in her eyes.
Now, nearly two hours from midnight, Hermione was hungry. She considered joining the others at the beach, but immediately shook the thought away. Going with her friends would mean going with strangers as well, and she was only just barely getting comfortable to start talking to Ron and Ginny. From what she knew of the resort, some various late-night bars and diners didn't close until five in the morning, and since Professor Dumbledore had told them they were welcome to anything they wanted, she didn't feel as bad as she left the room and began exploring the nearby restaurants.
All the ones near her hotel were too childish for her liking. Instead of conforming, she went to the lobby and flooed over to one of the common areas set up through the resort, in between various separate hotels, accessible to their respective guests. The long street was filled with bright lights and large crowds. Dozens of flags were strung above them, all types of Spanish music blaring from restaurant to restaurant. There were bars, nightclubs, souvenir shops, tattoo parlours, and everything in between. And as everywhere else in the hotel, it was flowing with magic. Among the wizards walked more of those painted skeletons from the wrecked bus they used to get here, along with tiny brown children wearing big green earrings and dressed up in traditional Mayan clothing, red and blue coloured birds that looked like very distant cousins of Harry's phoenix, giant men that didn't quite look like the giants from Europe, countless large, black dogs, and above in the sky, flying through the animated fireworks, were the feathered serpents - Mesoamerican dragons, but not quite. From what Hermione had read, they were gifts from the old God Quetzalcóatl, but believing that would mean not just believing there were actual Gods in the world, but more than one pantheon of them. Hermione tried not to think about it.
She explored the street, trying to somehow pierce through the language barriers and overhear conversations, and failing miserably at it. After she had to and from the entire street, she decided to settle herself on La Reflexión de la Luna, one of the more prim restaurants she could find. Unfortunately, all the tables were already filled or reserved, so after a complicated barter through signs and half-understood words, Hermione was taken to one of the stools near the counter. She was handed a menu and given a glass of water before she could think of leaving. The food smelled good enough that she ordered various plates, though she made sure they were all rather small portions. She only hoped Professor Dumbledore wouldn't be too angry.
With her order taken and nothing else to do, her eyes drifted to the rest of the establishment. She hadn't expected, however, to immediately recognise the man to his right. Wearing a blue and purple combination of a suit and a robe, something like what the Americans wore, was a dark-skinned man with short, fizzy white hair.
"You're Blenheim Stalk," she blurted out, and immediately regretted it.
Thankfully, the man didn't seem fully put out. "So people tell me."
Hermione hesitated for a moment. "You- I… I- I'm aware it must be cliché, but I've read a few of your books. I never thought I'd ever meet you in person."
"Yes, well, you tend to meet the unexpected here." Stalk put down his menu, called the waiter over, ordered his food, and then fully turned to her. Hermione suddenly felt rather self-conscious under his gaze. She hoped she wouldn't make too much of a fool of herself. "Which ones did you read?"
"Te-Technology: The Muggles' Magic," she replied. "And The Muggles Who Notice."
The man grimaced slightly. "Ah, yes, some of my earlier work. Horribly outdated, I'm afraid, but that's to be expected when studying Muggles. Their world is always changing, it's doing so faster now."
Hermione was surprised with how he was speaking about Muggles. There was something about it that made her stomach tighten. "You-you're not muggle-born?"
"Merlin, no," he scoffed, as if that would be absurd. She was such a silly girl for daring to hope the leader in Muggle studies was muggle-born. He must have noticed something about her because he immediately added. "It's not that I have anything against them, Merlin, no. One of my best friends is a muggle-born. It really is sad how they are unfairly judged for their parentage. "
"Are you working on something new?" She asked, mostly to change the subject.
"Yes," his lips disappeared in a thin line. "Unfortunately, recent events have to be addressed. With war against the Muggles so close, we need to understand them." He reached into his pockets and pulled out a collection of dirty, wrinkled parchments. Before she could ask what it was, he made a copy of it and handed it to her. "Here, I don't usually do this, but well…" Stalk waved his hands as if that explained everything.
She turned down to the stack of parchments. The Death of the Statute of Secrecy: Muggles of the 21st Century. She hurriedly leafed through a few of the pages in the book, and though she couldn't grasp much, the title was enough to worry her.
"You can't mean this, can you?" Hermione asked. "I mean, you… you- this makes it sound as if we're about to…"
"To go to war?" He interrupted her. "Unfortunately, it appears that way."
She was getting rattled, and that always messed with her mind. Why did she have to be so useless in the most important moments? Taking a deep breath, Hermione pushed through it all. Focusing again on the book, she used her finger like a little child and read passages from various pages. The more she read, the harder it was to continue. What Stalk was suggesting was worse than a war. He was practically saying things were dire enough that, at some point, they'd have to join forces with Voldemort and the like just to survive as a species. That that was the better scenario, considering the alternative.
"No, no- this, I mean, it goes against everything you wrote. In- in The Muggles Who Notice, you wrote that Muggles weren't a threat and shouldn't be attacked. You claimed that co-co-coexistance wasn't only possible, but the only way both Muggles and Wizards could survive."
"I wrote that book when I was just out of school," Stalk said. "I was a stupid boy, more dick than brains, and even if I wasn't, things are different now. Muggle technology isn't anything like what we had expected it to be fifty years ago, hiding our existence is already hard enough without You-Know-Who burning down the seven largest cities of Britain. The Statute will fall sooner or later, there is no way around that, whether we win or lose the following war depends on what we do before it does."
"You-you- you're acting like war is un-un…" Hermione cried in frustration.
"Are you oka-"
"You're acting like it's inevitable," she interrupted him. "Muggles aren't the enemy. It's people like Voldemort who need to be
Stalk looked a little white. "In an ideal world, yes, you are correct. Things would be as easy as defeating You-Know-Who, imprisoning him, and living happily ever after, but we don't live in an ideal world. Just because they aren't trying to kill us now doesn't mean Muggles are our friends, and despite how odious and despicable someone like You-Know-Who is, we may end up needing him in the war to come. Muggles nearly wiped us out centuries ago, what do you think they'd be able to do with technology like this."
"That's assuming they're… they're… MAD! It's not like they'll just try to kill us the moment they find out about us."
"They kill each other over pastry shops and slightly raised taxes, what do you think they'd do once we tell them we've been controlling their lives, their governments, their entire world for the past three hundred years?" He asked calmly. "The Statute wasn't a peace treaty, it was a time-out, and it's close to running out. You-Know-Who's Blood War will be a footnote compared to what's to come."
"I can't believe that. There are billions of Muggles, and you're saying that the only solution is to kill all of them? They- they are innocent men and women who have done nothing but try to live a normal life. If anything, it's wizards who should be punished for everything they've done to Muggles. Who gave them the right to control the memories and lives of ninety-nine per cent of the population?"
"Nobody gave it to us, we took it. Just like the Muggles took the right to slaughter us and anything else Magical." For the first time, Stalk seemed truly unapologetic. "You're Muggle-born, I assume. You're blinded by your family, your relationship with these people. The truth is, you are not like them, and they are not like you. And when the Statute crumbles and your parents choose their side, so will you have to choose yours. I hope, for your sake, you don't choose wrong."
He gave her a curt nod and stood up. After asking the waiter for his food to go, he turned back to her one last time. "Keep the book. Read it, maybe. You seemed like a smart girl, maybe you'll understand better then."
And then he left. By the time Hermione's four plates were brought to her, she wasn't hungry any more. And all the brilliant, fascinating, and exhilarating things she had marvelled about on her way to the restaurant felt dull, empty, and hollow on her way back to her room.
That's it for this chapter, thank you all for reading!
By the time I'm posting this, I'M THIRTEEN chapters ahead, and in the middle of the first arc of the Hogwarts Fall Term titled Claustrophobia! If you're interested in learning how to get early access to the chapters, join my discord server using the following link: discord . gg / jyPfbGqhJT
As always, thank you for reading, favoriting, and commenting. I appreciate all of you!