AN:

Did someone say 'copious exposition'?
CW: mentions of colonialism, slavery, & genocide.


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Hermione sat back down between her mother and father. On the next settee over Zainab Danjuma did the same, still holding her little brother Musa.

"We appreciate the courage and trust you have shown by coming here." Dithebe Yeukai ambled over to an antique sofa that looked like it could have been liberated from some colonial governor's mansion, and sat with a grunt and a rustling of robes. The historian -Kalenga- remained standing at the edge of the circle of seating, luminously tattooed hands clasped in front of her.

"Doctors Granger," said Yeukai, "Miss Hermione. Mesdames Sȧjuyïgbe, and Miss Uloma."

Wait - did that mean they were married? Hermione snuck a glance at the two women seated across the room, but she'd never been great with body language—

"You have all been granted preliminary approval for visas to Mjiwazamani."

They - what?

They would let her non-magical parents come to—?

"You may choose to finalize them, or you may not," Yeukai continued. "Should you feel it necessary, we can arrange lodgings for you in the Village until you depart. That goes for you as well, Mister Danjuma, Miss Danjuma - and, of course, young Musa."

Zainab looked a bit stricken by the thought.

"But we can discuss all that later." He rested both hands atop the gnarled head of his staff, enchanted rings catching the soft not-quite-sunlight. "Once Madam Kalenga has explained a few things. We cannot have you walking into this uninformed, after all."

"Thank you, Uncle." Madam Kalenga stepped away from the curtained door and into the circle of settees with a gracious smile - and to the guests, said:

"Firstly, you must understand that the abilities which have brought us together, however frightful and uncontrollable they may seem, are no curse. No devil's trick. No sin. They are the result of a great force of nature flowing through you - a power that, with learning and discipline, can be used to work wonders. This is what we mean when we say 'magic'. Those that can consciously affect how magic moves around and through us go by many different names for many different reasons, but in English the simplest one is mage."

There she paused to let that sink in, and Hermione snuck a glance at the Danjumas - Zainab hugging little Musa in her lap, watching raptly, little Musa wide-eyed and curious, Jatau tense and still—

"There are also different ideas about where magic comes from," said Kalenga. "Many people believe it is a gift from a higher power - a blessing, and a sacred obligation. But we have been hidden away for generations now, leaving the rest of the world in ignorance, and it is often all too easy to fear what one does not understand. That is why I am here today."

She looked at Hermione again, at her parents—

"Just as magic has been hidden from you, so has a great deal of history. Your history. It will take me some time to explain - so if anyone needs to refresh themselves, now is the time."

No one moved.

Kalenga nodded as if she expected nothing different."It is a very long, very complex story, so as not to overwhelm you, I will tell a greatly abridged version of events. If you wish, you may pursue further education on the subject at Mjiwazamani."

She stepped over to the strange device in the center of the floor, the glass sphere atop its pedestal, and started rubbing her palms together, muttering rhythmically under her breath, the long chains of glyphs tattooed down her arms pulsing brighter in Hermione's magesight, like moonlight shining out from beneath her skin…

Then she laid her hands on the glass, and her aura followed, flowing down to engulf the sphere, flowing into it - and the shimmery dust inside leapt up as if struck by wind, filling it with a billowing, glimmering cloud - crushed gemstones, maybe—

"Human beings very much like you and I have walked this earth for at least one hundred thousand years," she said, "and for most of that time, mages and ordinary people lived together. Not always in harmony, but almost always in cooperation."

Her aura flared, shrank, and that cloud began to swirl, condensing into vague shapes…

"For a tribe living from hunt to hunt or harvest to harvest, even a single mage could be the difference between survival and extinction."

Most of the powder sank to the bottom of the sphere again, and what remained aloft formed humanoid figures - three kneeling in a triangle, holding hands and swaying around a fourth who was laid flat and shuddering, clutching his chest in pain. Then the three raised their joined hands, and with a ripple of light, the fourth figure relaxed, took a few deep breaths, and sat up.

"We were shamans and priests, healers and protectors…"

The scene collapsed into billowing powder, which swirled together into the shape of a man with a staff standing between several huddled figures and three prowling lionesses. With an upward thrust of the staff, a bolt of electricity flashed down from the top of the sphere and struck the beasts, dissolving them into powder again.

"…and in certain places," said Kalenga, eyes closed, hands pressed to the glass, "some mages decided that their abilities were proof of a divine right to rule, and seized control."

The dust rose to form a pyramid, which then shrank down into the unmistakable shape of a pharaoh on a throne, raising a scepter - which sent a ripple through the scene, and caused the dozen figures before him to kneel.

"Mages are human, after all - no more virtuous, and no less viceful..."

The pharaoh and his subjects collapsed back into glimmering dust.

"...but when you have only known magic as a weapon of your oppressors, it is easy to believe all sorts of bad things about anyone magical." Kalenga opened her golden-brown eyes. "Due in large part to such oppressors, fear and hostility towards mages gradually spread through Eurasia —and to a lesser extent Africa— until eventually, in some places, they chose to live apart from their non-magical neighbors."

She took a breath and closed her eyes again, aura brightening around and through the glass, stirring up the dust…

"Three hundred and fifty years ago, this was the case throughout much of the European Peninsula."

Hermione experienced a bit of a mental record-scratch about that turn of phrase as the dust coalesced into a familiar scene: a mob surrounding a cottage, torches and pitchforks, a figures dragged out kicking and thrashing - the cottage replaced with a pyre, a woman tied to the stake atop it, a burst of illusory flame—

Dust again.

"Witch-hunts and witch-trials were more widespread than ever before," said Kalenga, "and while the magical communities of Europe had largely segregated themselves from the general population, they still depended on it in various ways. There were also many mages born to ordinary people, whose communities often turned against them before they even learned to use their gifts. And ordinary people have always outnumbered mages thousands to one."

The dust rose to form armchairs and masculine figures lounging in them, cringing figures flitting around with pitchers and platters, heads down—

"So the ruling mages of Britain, to protect their subjects and their wealth, decided to hide away all things magical - and to stay hidden by making the average person stop believing in magic altogether."

Hermione found herself leaning forward, drawn in not just by the visual aid, but by Kalenga's lilting, rhythmic way of speaking, the unfamiliar-yet-somehow- comforting accent…

"There are spells, you see, which can influence the mind… and there are devices that can cast spells over large areas."

The dust formed a model of a village on a hill, a mob of tiny figures approaching from three different sides… only to pause as a ripple passed across the scene, and the village vanished like a mirage.

"Combined with various forms of illusion and concealment, this was the backbone of their great plan: safety through secrecy. Of course, it would not be enough to do this only on the British Isles - not with all the people always coming and going from mainland Europe. So they brought the plan to their fellows on the mainland, who quickly agreed, and formed a coalition to coordinate the work."

Finally, a familiar symbol took shape - stylized, interlocking letters beneath a curving banner—

"The International Confederation of Wizards, they call it." Kalenga's voice grew - flatter, then, less lyrical, and the pale red of anger pulsed across her aura— "I.C.W., for short."

Hermione's mind stuck on that - confederation of wizards, not wizards and witches, not magical peoples. She'd never stopped to ponder that before - the connotation of 'human' and 'male', the obscene wealth of the men that laid its foundations—

"But as this was happening, the ordinary people of Britain, France, Portugal, and Spain were plundering many parts of the world…"

More shapes - riflemen marching through a field of bodies, a flag planted in the smoldering ruins of a village—

"…and the mages of those places were helping their people fight back."

A man standing between huddled masses and riflemen with a cowhide shield that somehow deflected their bullets, raising a double-headed axe overhead, and—

Hermione blinked to clear her eyes of another flash of miniature lightning, caught a brief glimpse of the riflemen strewn across the glimmery 'ground' before Kalenga's magic swirled the dust into new figures - a line of people trudging heads-down towards a looming fortress, connected by the chains between their shackled wrists.

Hermione's heart dropped into her stomach.

Then a ripple passed across the scene - and a dozen tiny shackles fell off. Several figures raised their now-free hands, summoned guns and swords right out of the hands of their captors, and led the charge against them.

"The belief that those of us blessed with magic have a sacred duty to use it for the common good, you see, was shared by many pre-colonial cultures…"

Dust again - churning and re-forming into a model ship-of-the-line, cannons spitting fire at a coastal village, groups of tiny figures fleeing only to disappear in gouts of dust and flame. Then down from above swooped three birds - which transformed into spear-wielding humans the instant they touched the deck and used those spears to unleash a flurry of colored light on the gunners—

"...and people are capable of great and terrible things in defense of their homes and families."

—A man on the back of a massive lionine creature which crushed soldiers beneath its paws and spewed some sort of fumes into colonial-style houses, shrugging off musket-fire on its way towards what had to be a slave-fortress—

"Stories of such resistance spread back to the homelands of the invaders, often exaggerated in the retelling, and further inflamed the average European's fear of magic." Another pulse of power from Kalenga's tattooed hands turned the scene back into a glimmering cloud. "It thus quickly became clear to the ICW that if they wanted to hide away all magic and keep it hidden, segregating Europe alone would not be enough - so they decided that they had to segregate every place that their countrymen had colonized…"

The dust settled into a map of the world, onto which ring-laden hands loomed to place chess pieces atop western and southern Africa, all down the eastern coasts of the Americas…

"…and every place that they intended to colonize."

Kalenga's aura fluttered, angry white blending with a half-dozen other colors.

"Knowing they could not hope to accomplish such a thing without allies, the ICW reached out to the ruling mages of North Africa, the Middle East, Russia, and Imperial China…"

—Hermione shoved her good hand into the pocket of her denims, pulled out her notebook, returned it to its normal size with a whispered incantation, snatched the pen out of its spiral-ring binding, and began to take notes as fast as she could without completely sacrificing legibility—

"…many of whom had long segregated themselves from the general population for similar —though not identical— reasons. The ICW's plan for total concealment seemed to them like a more formalized, thorough, and secure version of what they had already been doing for generations. Many also saw the plan as a great opportunity - for it was obvious to anyone who gave it serious thought that in parts of the world where mages were not persecuted, they would have no reason to separate themselves from their people."

Yes, that…

"Indeed, many would have every reason not to separate."

Oh.

No - surely she didn't mean…

"But the ICW cared only for Europe. Thus it was also obvious that sooner or later, there would be war… and a skilled mage capable of hardening their heart can profit greatly from war."

She did.

"Here in western Africa," said Kalenga, "there was no segregation when it came to fighting back against the slavers - or when it came to raiding your enemies in order to capture slaves, for that matter. So when men who looked very much like those that had been buying slaves and selling guns to the slavers came demanding that all mages separate from their people, the mages generally reacted in one of two ways - a begrudging yes, or a very firm no . The kingdoms that had profited most from the slave trade chose to aid the ICW, because they too saw opportunity - and to do otherwise would have meant fighting the very people that had helped them become so wealthy and powerful. To their enemies, the call for segregation was a call to abandon their people to slavery, which they emphatically refused."

A sinking feeling came over Hermione then, an unease she would usually banish by opening a book or practicing curses, but…

"The ICW chose to interpret such refusals as declarations of war. Partially out of fear for their safety-in-secrecy, yes - but we must not overlook the fact that while the mages of Europe had seen the great wealth their non-magical countrymen plundered from the colonies, their segregation from ordinary society had prevented most of them from fully participating in colonization."

Kalenga's aura flared around the sphere again, stirring up the dust (which Hermione now suspected was some kind of crushed gemstone) and moulding it into row after row of wizards in Aurorish, militant overcoats, raising their wands in a salute to the looming symbol of the ICW.

"Then the constituent lords of the Confederation decreed that refusal to conform to their plan of secrecy was no less than a threat to their civilization - and that anyone who refused was therefore an enemy of civilization, to be killed or subjugated posthaste."

Oh, this was the worst sort of familiar—

"The lands and wealth of such enemies, of course, would go to those that could seize it."

Bordel de merde—

"The ICW's allies in North Africa and West Asia, who had formed coalitions of their own, made similar decrees. Why risk war with an entire subcontinent of coordinated mages, after all, when you could instead conquer and plunder peoples that are divided and unprepared?"

Kalenga paused for a moment then —perhaps for breath, perhaps for effect— and Hermione seized that moment to frantically catch up on her note-taking—

"Some scholars have spent their entire lives studying the Secrecy Wars," Kalenga continued, "so if you would like to learn about them in greater depth and detail I can recommend some books, but right now I'm going to focus on the very broad strokes of how things happened on this continent."

Her tattoos pulsed brighter in Hermione's magesight, her magic reshaping the dust into a map of Africa with totally unfamiliar borders - and mountain ranges and rivers and little pyramids by the Nile…

"The ICW invaded from the west…"

—A line of tiny soldiers popped up along the western coastline and started marching inland—

"…while their allies invaded from the north and east."

—and more marched out of the pyramids, the Atlas Mountains, a little fortress in what had looked like Ethiopia, boats just off the eastern coast…

"So it was that many peoples found themselves facing two invasions at once, by magical enemies that were united in purpose, well-coordinated, and —in the case of the ICW— did not hesitate to use their ordinary countrymen as curse-fodder."

The map dissolved, reforming into a hillside strewn with uniformed bodies and fallen rifles - and atop it a wizard leaning heavily on his staff behind a shield-charm rendered in floating dust, which flickered under a barrage of colored light from the wands of the cloaked figures marching up between the bodies. Then one little glimmer slipped through, and he was flung back onto the ground.

"Even a very powerful mage will be exhausted after a day of deflecting bullets," said Kalenga. "And in many places the invaders did not even have to worry about building footholds and staging areas, because the empires had already done so."

The map again - this time with different borders, kingdoms and tribal territories slowly vanishing into a pallor that curved along the coasts, creeping inland—

"Resistance was disorganized at first, hampered by politics and inter-tribal grudges. By the time many peoples realized the true scale of the invasions, they were already being overwhelmed. By the time that large, coordinated resistance coalitions did come together, the invaders had already destroyed entire societies and secured a vast quantity of resources to further fuel their war."

The map smoothed out, then rose up into a diorama-sized model village surrounded by fields, little figures strolling to and fro - only to be engulfed by a sudden explosion of illusory flame that writhed like a living thing, bestial shapes surging forth to devour huts and people before dissolving back into the - fiendfyre, she realized—

Dust again.

"It was brutal, ruthless force against the home advantage all across the heartlands, from the Uélé to the Kalahari and Mount Kĩrĩnyaga to Mbamou."

Then a new scene, more Aurorish figures standing in a line casting salvos of curses into a shield-wall held up by men with short spears, who cast their own spells through those spears while marching closer - though not without losses, multiple curses to one shield breaking the formation - but as several shield-bearers fell others blurred forward just like that mage in Doctor Ezkibel's memories to skewer several invaders, whose fellows stumbled clumsily - because they weren't used to fighting at close range, Hermione realized, English dueling was all done from a distance - roots burst from the ground and snared their attackers, holding them in place for advancing spearmen just as broom-riders swooped down from above to rain curses on the defenders, blasting apart what remained of their formation—

Dust.

"Some tribes chose to abandon much of their territories and gather behind magical protections the invaders could not penetrate…"

The map and the creeping white again - except this time with a number of tiny villages, towns, and forts surrounded by shimmering circles that remained unbroken as the color was leached from their surroundings—

"…while many others resorted to what we now call vita va nyigu - War of the Wasp."

Kalenga's magic sculpted the dust into a prowling lion, red dripping from its fanged maw.

"It is the art of denying a mighty enemy the chance to make full use of their might."

A single bright more of dust floated into the side of the lion's snout; the lion flinched, swiped a paw at it, missed, and continued on with an irritated shake of its head.

"The art of saving your strength and whittling theirs down by a thousand cuts and stings."

The mote of dust was joined by two others, and with them flew loops around the lion's head, every touch provoking a flinch, a head-shake, and a failed attempt to swat them. Three became nine, and then what Hermione guessed were at least twenty-seven - too many to count with them flying around like that, a swirling cloud of them constantly stinging, too small and quick for the increasingly agitated beast to swat, causing it to lunge side-to-side in futile attempts to escape them, silently snarling and roaring, slapping at its own face, which was starting to swell—

"It is easy to 'hit and run' when you can turn into a bird or travel many miles in an instant, you see…"

As Kalenga spoke the beast's agitated flailing began to slow, its torso heaving with heavier breaths, its face deformed by swollen stings, its steps unsteady. One last futile dodge caused it to sway, stumble—

"…and even the strongest lion cannot defeat a swarm of angry wasps."

—and fall on its side.

Hermione suddenly felt rather ignorant of entomology - jotted down Vita va Nyigu = magical guerrilla warfare—

"Unfortunately," said Kalenga, "the invaders were more creative than lions - and far crueler."

A pulse of her aura dissolved the lion and the wasps, reshaping them into a burning village, bodies strewn about, survivors corralled and forced to kneel by more Aurorish figures - who one by one bound them with collars that flashed as they were fastened. Then one wizard raised a scepter - and every captive stood in unison. He pointed it forward and they began to march in lockstep, rifles materializing in their hands.

Dust.

A large, angular wagon with a heavily barred door, shuddering as it trundled across a savannah. Then its door slammed open, and out leapt a transformed werewolf - followed by four more that joined it in loping off across the landscape, which rolled by like a treadmill until they came upon a hunting party - perhaps a dozen figures with spears who immediately formed a shield-less phalanx. What followed was a blur of fur and claws and teeth and limbs and stabs that ended with four hunters and two werewolves sprawled dead in the grass, and several more men hunched over in pain as their remaining comrades stood guard and watched the other three beasts retreat across the savannah.

Then all but the wounded hunters dissolved and re-formed into a caravan of equally beleaguered-looking figures, many carrying things on their backs or heads as they trudged through the gates of a walled city. Some of those things appeared to be children. The last of them staggered through just seconds before the gates swung shut - and a moment later three balls of illusory fire streaked down and burst against the walls, as if launched by trebuchets. The scene zoomed in on the refugees, following one of the hunters through the city as he clutched at his bandaged arm, until he was welcomed into some sort of shelter - people bustling to and fro to bring the newcomers steaming bowls. Hermione gripped the edge of her seat as she watched the bitten man drink from his bowl and then lie down, surrounded by other refugees.

A moment later, the change began - convulsions, pained thrashing and flailing, bones reshaping, claws slicing their way out of his fingers and toes, fur sprouting…

The others had scrambled away - but not far enough.

He lunged for the nearest person, and the crowd burst into chaos - and then dust, which swirled and settled into the likeness of a river winding through wilderness. Several cloaked figures crept to the water's edge, and poured in several jugs of simulated liquid that shone with a pale, sickly light. Then they were gone, and the wilderness was replaced with a riverside village shielded by a dome-shaped ward of some kind, beneath which people filled pots and pitchers and buckets with river-water and carried them home. It wasn't long before the first of them collapsed. Then another, two, four, eight—

When all of them lay still, the ward-bubble faded to nothing.

Then once again, it all dissolved into dust.

Kalenga took her hands off the glass sphere to lift a drinking gourd off her belt and take a few gulps.

Hermione found that her heart was beating rather fast. She took a deep breath, and unclenched her good hand from the edge of the settee.

"The city-state now known as Mji-wa-zamani," said Kalenga, plugging the gourd and setting it on the nearest chair, "has been a sanctuary for those fleeing oppression for thousands of years. Pharaohs and Sultans have destroyed their armies simply trying to reach it. At the time of the Invasions, word of it had spread throughout much of the continent, so people from all over the continent sought refuge from the wars there - and it welcomed them."

She laid her hands on the glass again, aura flaring down her arms and into the sphere, swirling the dust like a tiny whirlwind and condensing it into another miniature caravan of refugees hiking up a forested slope - most on foot, the few camels and goats carrying supplies rather than people. Then a nearby tree exploded - swiftly followed by another, struck by the flashes of dust Kalenga used to mimic spellfire. Frantic motion spread up the caravan, people stumbling and shoving each other as they tried to hurry forward - and over them swooped wizards on brooms, tossing curses down into the crowd. More of them closed in on foot, marching in from refugees from the edge of the scene, raising their wands to cast who-knew-what at defenseless stragglers - only to be struck by a fireball from above that devoured several and knocked others out of their firing line. The broom-riders stopped cursing and pointed their wands upward - only for two of them to be snatched off their brooms by large winged blurs just as a dozen figures with swords and shields apparated into a defensive formation around the refugees and cast curses through those swords at the attackers. In moments, it was over - after another exchange of explosive spellfire that failed to harm the refugees or their rescuers, the invaders cut their losses and fled, pursued by those winged blurs.

The scene shifted - forest dissolving into a camp, new figures emerging from large tents with blankets and bowls for the refugees while those swordsmen —swords-mages— stood watch.

"Mjiwazamani gave them a safe place in which to regroup," said Kalenga, "and to coordinate stronger resistance."

The camp became a circle of mages in diverse styles of robe, tunic, wrap, and armor, some holding spears or swords, others staves or wands, all standing around a large map of the continent, gesturing at it. Then the mages dissolved and the map grew to fill the sphere, a mountain rising up in the middle of it - down from which glided a flock of birds that threw fire down onto an advancing army - and out of the smoke and flame charged a line of battle-mages just as diverse as the war-council.

"It helped them fight back - and fight hard ."

Here Kalenga paused again, wandlessly summoning her drinking gourd —which made Hermione's heart leap for some reason— and taking a sip before continuing.

"Ancient magical defenses unknown to the invaders, War of the Wasp with the 'home-field' advantage, and the desperate ferocity with which only cornered people can fight, all supported by Mjiwazamani; these were our strengths."

Another sip.

"The enemy's greatest advantage was their cruelty - the use of their native allies, non-magical countrymen, and enslaved captives as disposable fodder to wear down opposition, the destruction of land, resources, and entire tribes… some evidence even suggests that they deliberately aided in spreading anti-magical Christianity in order to turn ordinary people against their protectors.

But sooner or later, such cruelty always provokes more resistance than surrender - and popular resistance in a land one does not know, a land one lacks the numbers to control, is powerful indeed. The ICW was also invading the Americas at the time - which, for a variety of very interesting reasons, was not going well for them. Fighting two great wars on opposite sides of a great ocean stretched their forces thin; too thin to stop us from pushing them back."

She laid her tattooed hands on the sphere again, and let her magic flow, raising a map of the continent with that stark white along much of its western coastline, creeping inland in many places and leeching color from vast swathes of territory like bleach spilled on watercolor. Then a splotch of green bloomed from the heart of the continent, expanding outwards to meet the colorlessness and overtake it, pushing it out of central Africa and slowly back towards the sea…

"The problem," said Kalenga, "was the northeastern invaders, who were not stretched nearly so thin."

Another pulse of magic turned the dust of all North and East Africa from Morocco to Egypt and Sudan to Tanzania blood-red, creeping down across the Sahara and westward to Lake Tanganyika - where it collided with the green.

"For a variety of reasons, the magical Caliphates and Persians were mostly able to establish Secrecy without bloodshed, and their wars to force people in central and south Asia to do the same ended quickly, compared to the violence here. Generally speaking, the elite mages of highly stratified societies all over the world often chose to conceal their magic from the common people they were already estranged from rather than risk their wealth, power, and lives by fighting multiple empires at once. What this meant for most African mages was that about a decade into the wars, the West Asian invaders were suddenly free to focus their full strength on the invasion, with several nations worth of reinforcements from their newest allies."

The red finished engulfing the Sahara, consuming the northernmost green, and in the east suddenly surged inland, spilling unevenly over country-sized splotches of territory—

"The coalition headquartered in Mjiwazamani was able to stop them in many places, and sabotage them in others…"

Tiny little bubbles of green began to emerge amidst the red, and the amidst the white too - first a dozen, then twice that, then more—

"…but the human cost was dire."

For a heartbeat or two, Hermione braced herself for the sort of imagery she had come across while researching the history surrounding her grandmother's departure from France.

Then Kalenga took her hands off the sphere again, and Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"Here in the west, ICW forces began to worry not just about the strength of their enemies, but about the strength of their eastern allies as well - which, unlike their own, was not stretched thin across a great ocean. Their common cause, you see, did not erase the old grudges and fears between them. There were a number of violent disagreements between North African mages marching south and European mages marching east - and the longer the war went on, the more all the invaders indulged their appetite for conquest. If the Arabs and Turks managed to conquer the bulk of Africa, why stop there? This was the worry of the ICW - nevermind that the Arabs and Turks were just as likely to try conquering each other again as they were to try reclaiming Iberia or Romania or something. Also, trying to enforce anything across a continent whose people have gotten very good at irregular warfare is a nightmare. Often literally."

She took another sip from her gourd.

"So. Suffering heavy losses in both Africa and the Americas, and fearing the growing power of their allies, the ICW called for ceasefires. For negotiations. They offered peace on the condition that all mages conform to the International Statute of Secrecy - that they segregate and hide themselves from ordinary people."

What? But that was—

"The resistance did not like this, did not trust it, but they too were fighting a war on multiple fronts - and they knew they would not be able to do so forever. 'What good is there', some asked, 'in fighting for the right to protect our friends and neighbors if it leaves too few of us alive to do so?' Hiding away from the world, they argued, did not have to mean ceasing to aid and protect their peoples entirely. The same arts that conceal magical towns and villages can be used to conceal all sorts of things; no one can spread word of something they remain unaware of."

Hermione's brain felt like it was trying to think in several directions at once. It had occurred to her, not long after the Tonkses first explained how the Statute was actually enforced in Britain, that mages could conceal good deeds done for moyens just as easily as they might conceal crimes against moyens - but then the Tonkses had given her so much more information, so much to study, so much to catch up on, and then she'd been at Hogwarts and too caught up in it all to think about anything happening in the mundane world, and it had just… slipped her mind.

But what was to stop a capable mage from sneaking into a Critical Care Unit, healing people more completely than mundane medicine could, and then obliviating any witnesses? What was to stop them from intervening during natural disasters - or warzones? Mémé Marion and Tante Lulu believed that at least some of the stories of uncanny luck and miraculous rescues they'd heard from other Shoah-survivors were attributable to magical Jews shirking the Statute to protect their people…

How many mages had been choosing lives over laws all along?

"They knew that concealing the very existence of magic would greatly impede their ability to help their ordinary kin," said Kalenga, "but sometimes you must concede the battle to win the war."

Win the—?

Did she… mean to imply that…

"After many days and nights of negotiation, deliberation, and fierce debate, the coalition headquartered in Mjiwazamani agreed to sign and abide by the International Statute of Secrecy on two conditions. The first was that Secrecy be managed by the native people of any given territory - by Yoruba for Yoruba, by Khoisan for Khoisan, by Kikuyu for Kikuyu, and so on. The second was that the invaders, the forces of the ICW and their allies in what would come to be known as the Kemetic Union, were to leave behind all the people, lands, and valuables they had seized."

The ICW and KU - but not their ordinary countrymen, the British and French and German and Portuguese and—?

"The invaders did not like that second part. They agreed to withdraw, but not to relinquish their plunder - and insisted on maintaining outposts around the continent to 'observe' and make sure the mages of Africa obeyed their Statute. It was not long before violence broke out again - duels to the death, assassinations, and skirmishes, culminating in the Mbamou Incident of 1729 - which involved several dragons, a conjured lightning-storm, and a great deal of gunpowder. It was the sort of disaster that stuns people into a peace-making mindset. Not everyone - not by far. But enough people for diplomacy to resume."

Diplomacy? After all that, they—?

"In the year 3186 —or 1732, by the Christian calendar— elected representatives of the newly-named Ubuntu League convened in Mjiwazamani and voted to partition their homelands - to conceal the magical from the ordinary. It was neither a unanimous decision nor a popular one - some members of the resistance immediately left the League in protest. But the majority of the international magical community of Sub-Saharan Africa chose to establish Secrecy on their own terms, rather than have it forced upon them as part of a colonial regime."

Hermione's self-restraint burst like a dam - and before she could second guess herself, the words spilled out:

"So instead they just abandoned everyone else to colonial regimes?"

Every eye in the room turned towards her - but she was too full of restless, angry heat to care.

"Hermione," said her father, as if from miles away - but Kalenga held up one hand in a conciliatory gesture, lips curved in a sad smile.

"Not everyone," she said, "but far too many. Sometimes there is no good option available to us - only a least disastrous option. You arrived in Nigeria via airplane, did you not?"

What? "Yes, but what does—"

"Do those flight safety pamphlets still instruct you to put on your own oxygen mask before attempting to help others, in emergencies?"

Hermione struggled to maintain her inside voice. " Yes , but—"

"The League chose the strategy that would help them preserve the most magical lives so that we, their descendants, could retain our lives, sovereignty, and our ability to use our gifts for the common good. It was a hard choice which allowed them the breathing room to rebuild, and build more sanctuaries like Mjiwazama—"

"For mages, you mean."

Even if mages were more than one percent of the overall population they couldn't possibly be there to intervene in every crisis. How many people had they left to—?

A hand on her shoulder - Maman's. "Darling—"

"Or do you let ordinary people in as well?"

"If they are in urgent need of shelter that other ordinary people cannot or will not provide?" Said Kalenga. "Yes."

They - what?

"There are sections of many magical enclaves designed specifically to seem almost entirely non -magical, in order to reduce the memory modification required to maintain Secrecy while sheltering ordinary people there."

…oh.

"Mjiwazamani is not one such enclave," said Dithebe Yeukai, "but the households of first-generation mages are welcome there…"

They what?

"…so long as they are not hostile towards magic. We do not separate families, if we can help it."

"But—" Hermione scrambled for words. "Doesn't that - you're not - worried about—"

—The first phrase that came to mind was diluting the potency of the blood - an unfortunate side effect of getting to know her enemy by reading their manifestos—

"—demographic shift?"

Yeukai's eyebrows rose. "We are not. For one thing, the families of first-generation mages most often choose a study-abroad sort of arrangement over immigration. For another, many first-generation mages choose to live closer to home than Mjiwazamani. The number of ordinary people that do end up immigrating makes up a very small fraction of our overall population. It is also known that living in places of such concentrated ambient magic as Mjiwazamani significantly increases the odds of each new generation being born with the Gift."

Right - she'd heard that from Andromeda and Fleur as well, the former of whom said that most British mages dismissed the idea as 'communalist proselytism', the latter of whom said it was common knowledge in magical France—

No! No distractions!

"What about the Statute?" She tried to ask rather than demand, and wasn't quite sure she'd succeeded—

"The Statute mandates that we conceal knowledge of our existence from the general population," Yeukai replied. "The non-magical residents of Mjiwazamani rarely have any reason to leave it, even temporarily."

The continued implication that it was some sort of paradise brought her anger roaring back. A dozen news reports flashed through her mind, recent and old - the civil war her father had come to England to escape, the brutal crackdowns in South Africa, the riots in Los Angeles over racist violence against the descendants of people Mjiwazamani didn't save, that famine in Sudan

Rwanda, just the summer before.

"And everyone else?" She demanded, voice trembling with rage and upset. "All the ordinary people who don't have any mages in the family? All the people that don't fit in your secret shelters, all the people you can't conveniently obliviate?"

"You voice questions often heard in the forums of Mjiwazamani," Kalenga said somberly, "subjects of fierce and constant debate. I suspect you will find many kindred spirits in the coming months."

Which wasn't an answer - but before Hermione could come up with any response more coherent than setting something on fire, a new voice spoke across the room - a single word Hermione didn't even recognize the language of with a sharp click right in the middle. She turned to see one of the guards beside the curtained door in that odd wooden armor, looking at Dithebe Yeukai - who, after a few seconds, nodded.

"Vwéfálá ɠau *ōkò-ë hwyt'tsáŋQwɒlû," said the guard, which sounded about as far from Kiswahili as Gaelic did from français , what—?

Yeukai tapped a finger against the gnarled head of his stave for a moment, then nodded again - and said to Hermione: "These fine young men are Walindamani - members of the League's transnational defense and peacekeeping force."

The guard who had spoken clasped his hands behind his back and bowed his head in Hermione's general direction.

"They deal with threats and crises that local organizations are unprepared or disinclined to resolve, such as large Secrecy breaches, wars, and… well." Yeukai turned to look at the guard again. "Speak freely, nephew."

"Miss Granger," the peacekeeper spoke with a Nigerian accent, not quite looking at her for some reason— "Doctors Granger, siblings Danjuma, Mesdames Sȧjuyïgbe. The Ubuntu League was founded on the conviction that magic is meant to be used for the common good."

Huh.

That sounded… rather Jewish, actually–

"As such, we are called upon to perform rescue and protection missions in non-magical territory - such as moving civilians out of natural disaster and war-zones, fighting slavery, and sabotaging the apparatus of oppression, among other things."

Which sounded like something from Foucault or Fanon–

"We are authorized to use magic to do so as long as we coordinate with the local Secrecy corps."

–and made Hermione's heart leap like it did after she'd cast a new curse for the first time.

"My comrades and I carried out such missions here in Nigeria, during the civil war."

She twitched slightly, almost startled - her father rarely spoke of the war at all–

"Some divisions also work with the Preservers," Kalenga chimed in. "The League's nature conservation corps, that is; they cleanse pollution, replenish soil, re-plant forests, that sort of thing."

"It is not enough," said the peacekeeper, "but it is the most we can do, for now."

Hermione unclenched her jaw to say: "Because of the Statute."

"In part," said Kalenga, "yes. Our ancestors initially conformed to the Secrecy in order to protect themselves from foreign invaders - but the partition of the world has allowed profound ignorance of magic to spread freely through the ordinary population. What people do not understand, they are much more likely to fear - and what they fear, they can more easily be convinced to hate. The League's Covert Outreach Corps have had some success in slowing the spread of such ignorance and the hostile dogmas it contributes to, but they are limited by the strictures of Secrecy and the sheer numbers of our ordinary cousins. And with all the new killing machines invented in the last century or so… I'm afraid the false peril that the ICW used as pretext for conquest has become very real."

Hermione suddenly remembered Viktor's words about magical communities caught in Blitzkrieg - wards unprepared for the devastating new weapons created since the first World War, first-gens forced to beg aristocrats for shelter, a dozen demagogues riding the waves of fear with anti-moyen rhetoric…

"But that's—"

She cut herself off before she could say not fair.

Nothing about the magical world was fair. She knew that, intellectually from the beginning and experientially since she stormed out of Dumbledore's office and into the basilisk's gaze, but this— God-knew-how-many mages hiding while millions were conquered and slaughtered and enslaved, families torn apart - entire cultures—

To call it injustice would be like using the word wildfire to describe a nuclear blast.

The sheer scale of it sent restless heat coursing through her veins and sparks dancing down her trembling fingers, every breath just stoking the urge to jump up and do something—

"That," said Kalenga, "is how our world came to be as it is now. It is why we conceal magic from the world, why the Ubuntu League remains capable of aiding our ordinary cousins, and why Mjiwazamani is the League's heart - the great crossroads and sanctuary of magical civilization on this continent. The safest place on this continent."

Right.

Where had she heard that before?

"It is precisely because it is such a crossroads that the most prestigious and innovative learning communities can be found there," Kalenga continued as if she hadn't just flipped Hermione's worldview upside-down and set it on fire– "All residents under the age of adulthood for their species, regardless of if they arrived in Mjiwazamani by birth or immigration, are automatically enrolled in public schooling. Certain fundamental skills, such as magical self-awareness and control, are taught within domestic communities."

"New arrivals," Yeukai added, "especially first-generation mages, are placed in communities that have experience helping immigrants acclimate."

"Thank you, Uncle," Kalenga gave him a respectful nod, and to the visitors said: "Transfer students must take placement exams, the results of which will help them apply to more specialized and exclusive learning arrangements, such the magical craft communities, or the Rozvi Academy of Defense—"

!

"—of which these men are graduates." she nodded to the guard who had spoken and his companion, where they stood to either side of the curtained door.

(Was that what Doctor Ezkibel had shown her memories of? 'Peacekeeper' training?)

Hermione looked on the peacekeepers with new eyes - the one who'd spoken looked about her father's age, which could mean he was twice that old (because mages) while the other didn't look much older than Tonks; both stood straight as Aurors, radiating competence and danger with those short-swords hanging on their belts, yet without the cruel smugness of Proudfoot's lot - and the smooth plates of their armor at least seemed to be enchanted in the same manner as the baobab itself, her magesight catching soft glimmers of power along the wood's grain (was it enchanted, or merely harvested from such a tree?) - were their wands hidden in the vambraces?

How skilled were these men, to be chosen as embassy guards?

A clap jolted her attention back to Dithebe Yeukai.

"Now," he said, looking at everyone but Hermione– "are there any other questions?"

Hermione had all the questions.

Which was actually rather frustrating, because she had no idea which one to start with - and as she furiously sorted through them trying to choose one, Zainab Danjuma spoke up:

"Yes Sir." She tensed ever-so-slightly as everyone's attention fell upon her. "You said that the Grangers and - Sȧjuyïgbes have been granted…"

"Preliminary visas, yes!" Yeukai set aside his staff, reached into his layered robes, and retrieved a little coin-purse - out of which he drew a handful of braided cords and round bits that glowed in Hermione's magesight. This he deftly separated into six necklaces with round wooden amulets - though amulet carried a connotation of protective enchantments, and the magic woven through these ones didn't look anything like the protective amulets she'd seen (or made)—

Then, with a flick of his fingers, Yeukai sent all six of the necklaces floating across the room to Hermione, her parents, and the Sȧjuyïgbes - Uloma caught hers with a delighted giggle.

Hermione nearly fumbled hers by catching it one-handed and staring at Yeukai; she'd never seen anyone do wandless magic like she did - much less better than she did, casually multitasking free-form levitation—

The pendant in her hand had the haloed-mountain emblem engraved in it, surrounded by several circles of bafflingly tiny glyphs, none familiar - and the cord was enchanted too, without glyphs, subtle magic woven throughout; some sort of resilience spell, maybe?

"Mesdames Sȧjuyïgbe have expressed intent to emigrate," said Yeukai, "while Miss Hermione comes to us as a transfer student…"

Right, but her parents hadn't said anything about—

"…though the Doctors Granger qualify for Sanctuary as well."

Oh.

Hermione turned to look at her mother, and then at her father - just in time to see them exchange a pensive, loaded Look.

Would they–?

It would be safer than France - far more than the Channel and le Ministère de la Sécurité Magique's less-than-guaranteed incorruptibility between them and Riddle's—

"Should you wish to discuss such an arrangement for your family, Mister and Miss Danjuma," Yeukai went on, "we will gladly guide you through the application process."

"I…" Zainab looked at Jatau, down at little Musa in her lap, then at Jatau again– "We will have to discuss it with our family."

"Of course," Yeukai said easily - and to the room at large: "Other questions?"

"Yes!" Hermione blurted.

Yeukai glanced at the Danjumas and Sȧjuyïgbes again before nodding to her. "By all means."

Hermione quickly cross-referenced the questions she'd managed to write down with the ones she hadn't - most were about the rights of non-human peoples in the Ubuntu League's member states and Mjiwazamani specifically, but the accepted definition of 'person' could vary wildly from culture to culture, even if the statues outside did suggest some measure of equality… and Madame Delacour had asserted that the interspecies egalitarianism of magical France was due to its 'communalist' (which seemed to be the magical version of 'socialist') foundations, so…

"I've been told that Mjiwazamani is a 'socialist democracy," she said, "but what does that actually mean, here?"

Yeukai blinked a few times and looked to Kalenga, who appeared to think for a moment before replying:

"Well, first and foremost, it means that whomever you spoke with did not feel like explaining the distinction between socialist and ubuntuist, and chose the term they felt that you would more easily understand."

…Hermione didn't like that. She didn't like that at all.

"And what is that distinction?" She asked, flipping to a new page in her notebook and titling it Mjz Gov't & Culture—

"Socialism is a European concept," said Kalenga, "which bears some resemblance to the politics of Ubuntu: a collectivist philosophy shared by most of the League and by many of our ordinary cousins; it can be broadly summarized by the proverb I am because we are - or, alternatively, A person is a person through other people. We are not solitary creatures; indeed, humans are perhaps the most social of creatures, as are most human-like peoples. Ubuntu acknowledges that 'humanity' is not an individual quality, but something we create by participating in community - and something we owe to each other. It precludes private ownership of any land or resource, non-democratic forms of government, and –in theory– any belief in the innate superiority of mages over ordinary people. It is why self-segregating mages from ordinary people was once unthinkable even to those that weren't under direct threat of conquest and enslavement."

"...a sacred duty to use magic for the common good," said Hermione.

Kalenga smiled, just a little. "Precisely."

"But…" Hermione frowned, mind racing– "Is that not… completely incompatible with the Statute of Secrecy?"

"Many believe so," said Kalenga. "Show me a society free of contradictions, and I will show you a facade."

Hermione jotted that one down verbatim. "But–"

"Miss Granger." A smile jarringly similar to the one McGonagall wore when Hermione tried to thoroughly discuss Transfig theory in class– "The history and civics courses you will soon be taking will discuss the incompatibility you have insightfully noticed and the structure of our societyin far more depth than we have time for today - as will most of the youth groups I suspect you'll become involved with."

Oh.

Well.

Good, then.

"Thank you, Madame," said Hermione.

"You are most welcome, Miss Granger." Kalenga turned to the others. "Yes, Mister Danjuma?"

.

Two hours later, Hermione left the embassy with only a few of her questions answered, a great many new questions rattling around her head, and her notebook nearly a dozen pages fuller. The walk back through the neighborhood passed in a haze of frustrated, confused, periodically furious rumination, interrupted only by the sight of garden-roofed houses and intriguingly unfamiliar architecture that must've been built after the apocalypse Kalenga had described - built with magic in the traditions of their ancestors while their ordinary neighbors lived in European-style buildings, wore European clothes, spoke European languages, moved to European countries to escape the aftershocks of European dominion…

Suffice to say she forgot to shop for sympathy-bonded journals.

That evening, after she and her father and her mother had finished lying-by-omission about their outing, Hermione sat down in at the guest room vanity, flipped her notebook open, and in harsh, sharp letters, wrote:

Fairness is not the default state of humanity, but rather a construct - a social contract.

The world will never be fair unless we make it so. No one else will do it for us.

There is no justice but that which people make for themselves.

No equality but that built atop the ruins of les anciens régimes.

No freedom but that which they seize - and refuse to give up or compromise.

It looked a lot more... self-important on the page than it had sounded in her head.

Maybe she would run the words by Harry, once she got the journal thing sorted out. He was always honest to a fault. Once you convinced him that you wouldn't hate him for it, at least.

.


AN:

There you have it. This is what happens when you think too hard about shoddy worldbuilding while taking an ethnic studies course and American Indian history at the same time.
Has Mjiwazamani been a lifesaving sanctuary organizing hub for African magicals? Yes. Are its envoys presenting an unbiased picture of it? Absolutely fucking not.
The next chapter will be entitled 'The Mountain', and involve A) plot b) much bigger magic.