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Chapter Text

PROLOGUE: 4 Privet Drive, Surrey, England
August 7, 1995

Harry Potter still couldn't believe that there were dementors all the way out here. Had Lord Voldemort's power grown so quickly in the months which had gone by since Peter Pettigrew had revived his old master? If so, the Wizarding community had a lot to worry about.

What was even more disturbing was the fact that the dementors been brazen enough to attack not only Harry but Dudley as well. Dudley was a Muggle and the product of a family which didn't want anything to do with witches and wizards. Dudley was no threat to Voldemort or any other wizard -- with the possible exception of his old punching bag, Harry Potter. The only explanation Harry could think of was that Voldemort had taken control of the dementors and was confident enough to have them start attacking Muggles in the open.

Most disturbing of all, however, was the fact that the Ministry seemed to be doing anything possible to interfere with the protection of the Muggles. When Harry had shown the spirit of Gryffindor and cast the Patronus Charm to dispel the dementor attack Dudley, the Ministry had responded with a Howler citing him for inappropriate use of magic by a minor. Instead of the expected award for bravery, he had gotten a provisional expulsion from Hogwarts and a summons to a disciplinary hearing.

This was not fair. Could Voldemort had already taken over the Ministry as well as the dementors? He hoped not, as that could cause a cataclysm worse than the one which had killed his parents and left him with the Dursleys.

The Order of the Phoenix was still on his side, however. He watched as they lined up outside his aunt and uncle's house ready to whisk him to safety at a secret safe house in London. They were led by Alastair Moody, the famous Auror. Judging from the man's reactions to him, it clearly WAS Alastair Moody and not some impostor hiding under the Polyjuice Potion.

Sparks flew in the air, and Moody launched his broomstick into the skies. The rest of the Order followed him, including Harry. Soon, they were in the clouds and away from the eyes of prying Muggles.

A short while later, they approached London. Flying into the capital was going to be tricky because of the possibility that Muggles might see them. Thankfully the moon wasn't visible: had it been lighting up the sky, there could have been trouble.

The convoy flew down over the Thames and started heading towards their destination. At Harry's side was Nymphadora Tonks, a young witch who had an uncanny ability to change her appearance. Together, in silence, the convey skimmed over the water, leaving virtually no wake in their path.

The boat came at them, around the curve of the river, so quickly that the wizards didn't have much time to react. Moody barked an order, and the convoy increased its speed to the point where any Muggles watching from the ship would see just a blur and attribute it to a bird.

Harry veered over to the port side of the ship. Tonks bore left and passed by the starboard side. Harry watched running lights go by in a blur as he flew by. He was surprised to find several unusually bright lights illuminating a section near the stern of the ship. Those weren't running lights, he thought. Someone was either making a video or a Muggle movie. Probably some couple on their honeymoon, he thought.

He wondered whether he should alert the others to the possibility that the Muggles might have caught the wizards on film. He dismissed the threat, however. Trained Aurors like Moody and Lupin presumably understood the possibility and were casting charms to dispel the Muggles' attention. Harry knew that it took years of training to become an Auror. With all that extra experience, they could probably do things which Harry couldn't even conceive of.

He dismissed the possibility of Muggle detection and concentrated on the task at hand: getting himself away from the dementors. He glanced briefly at Lupin, who nodded to him. His hypothesis had been correct: Lupin had been blocking the view from the Muggles. Reassured at last, he continued on towards 12 Grimmauld Place wondering what would await him there.

Had Harry understood that Lupin's nod was simply a comment saying that Harry was now safe from Voldemort, things would have been a whole lot different. For the Disillusionment Charm which everything relied on would be good at preventing Muggles from seeing him...but not video cameras.

To be continued...
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Update #1
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August 7, 1995
Thames River
London, England
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David Stern had no idea that filming a Super Bowl commercial would be so difficult. Granted, Blast Cola had had an excellent quarter and more stores were selling Blast than ever before. However, the ability to sell soft drinks didn't translate well to making fancy commercials.

The CEO had paid over $3 million to acquire a 30-second slot for Blast. Now it was up to Stern, whom the CEO had tapped to actually make the commercial. The CEO had told him that he could spend up to $2 million on this commercial, and that his job would be on the line if it didn't live up to expectations.

He had given the advertisement a lot of thought and had decided that he'd have a young couple drinking Blast in several countries on a round-the-world honeymoon tour. They had already filmed segments in Rome, Shanghai, Moscow, Honolulu, and San Francisco. Now, it was time for London.

Stern had decided immediately that the scene would be shot from the Thames on a luxury cruise liner. The couple would be drinking Blast in their cabin's private balcony with the city skyline lit up at night. It would make a beautiful scene, and it would set the stage for the final shot in Tempe, where the game would actually be played.

The stars in the commercial were actually two gorgeous employees who worked for Blast. The man's name was Jake Myerson. He was 26 and was a quality control specialist. The woman, Rebecca Marshall, was 24 and worked in accounting. Not only were they attractive, but rumor has it they had the hots for each other. That made the commercial even easier. They wouldn't have to put on any false airs to flirt with each other.

Getting the actors to memorize the scripts was one thing. Getting all the cameras, lights, and so forth in the cabin was something entirely different, however. Beds had to be moved a few feet to make room for lights. The TV had to be taken off the wall, and the film had to be placed in the minifridge to keep it from spoiling -- after all, cold film tended to work better than warm film.

Eventually, however, everything was ready. Stern told the actors to take their positions on the balcony. Big Ben was coming up on the starboard -- behind the couple when seen through the camera -- and Stern really wanted Big Ben in the shot. What else truly exemplified England?

He hoped that this shot would work out. If not, they'd have to rent the boat AGAIN and it would take time. Money wouldn't be a problem. However, several crew members were getting a bit antsy. They hadn't been home for several weeks and were getting homesick. London was their last stop, and many people were praying that this shot would pass muster.

Stern watched as Big Ben drifted closer and closer. He lifted up his hand and raised all five fingers in the air. The thumb went down. 5, 4...

At 3, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. All he could see was a distortion of some sort, an area where the view of the other side of the river seemed to be twisted in some way. It seemed to be flying in the air towards them, very quickly. It was too small to be a helicopter and flying too slowly.

The countdown continued. 2, 1, 0. The lights turned on and the actors began their script.

HER: "Jake, look at this! Big Ben! Just like in the books!"

HIM: "I see, Becky! It's beautiful! Look at all the history there!"

HER: "Can you take a picture of me with it in the background?"

HIM: "I'm afraid I can't right now, honey."

HER: "Why not?"

The camera turned to show Jake with a video camera at his feet and a bottle of Blast Cola in his hand. Behind him, out over the river, the bird grew larger and larger. Oddly enough, it wasn't flapping its wings. Must be a kite, Stern thought.

The commercial continued as Jake pointed at the bottle of Blast. "Because of my Blast Cola. The tangy, fruity flavor cheers me up and make all of our problems just pass us by like phantoms in the night."

The line came out perfectly for a change. What was even more impressive is that the distortion flew right behind Jake from the perspective of the cameraman. He couldn't tell what it was in real time, but whatever it was had added immeasurably to the shot by symbolizing the "problems" that were passing the speaker by.

Rebecca, who couldn't see the distortion, continued as if nothing had happened. "All right, Jake. I understand now. Go ahead, indulge yourself in Blast. We can always take the boat again if you want the Big Ben shot."

Perfect, Stern thought. Just perfect! With a fist pump, he said: "CUT! That's a wrap, boys! PERFECT!"

Everyone cheered and began cleaning up the set.

To be continued...
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Update #2
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November 6, 1995
Blast Cola Headquarters
Tempe, Arizona
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The technician played the segment of the commercial shot in London and stopped right in the middle, where the anomaly had appeared. He pointed at the screen.

"There. Take a look at the thing flying past the boat in the background."

Stern looked at the object and frowned. "It's a bird. What else could it possibly be?"

The technician groaned. "I think we've been hacked."

"Hacked? What do you mean? You think Coke or Pepsi is aware that Blast Cola is probably going to be on their level in a few years and are executing a pre-emptive strike to make sure we don't get off the ground?"

"No, Dave. I think some kid tried to screw around with us. Take a good look at this image. I don't know about you, but it looks a hell of a lot like a kid flying on a broomstick. If that ain't a practical joke, I don't know what it is."

Stern looked at the image. The object wasn't very well illuminated, so it's unlikely that they'd ever figure out what exactly it was. However, from the little he did see, he could not rule out the possibility that it was a bird. And in a world where there was no magic outside of fantasy stories, a bird flying by was far more likely than the Wicked Witch of the west.

Granted, it was a rather large bird. It had a long neck -- presumably Sanders's "broom handle" -- and a big triangular tail masquerading as a broom's the sweeping section. It had large wings which had been filmed rising over its body in mid-flap. Judging from the size of the wings, they were large enough to appear almost the size of a child or teenager when seen from this perspective.

Stern couldn't think of any birds that size flying so close to the mainland. There were albatrosses and creatures like that with large wingspans, but those tended to stay out at sea. Perhaps this was a new, undiscovered creature or -- far more likely -- something which had escaped from the London Zoo.

The London newspapers hadn't reported a breakout from the Zoo the day after the filming had concluded. He would know -- he'd read through most of the paper while waiting at the gate in Heathrow. However, what was more likely, a bird breaking free from its cage or the Wicked Witch of the West trying to bombard Blast Cola's luxury liner with flying monkeys?

He had to admit that strange things had been happening in England of late. People had died for no apparent reason and bridges had collapsed in puffs of black smoke. The government had eventually concluded that it was a freak weather phenomenon. However, if it WAS a freak weather phenomenon, that only bolstered the claim that this was an exotic bird. The bird had obviously been blown up to England in the air mass that brought the strange weather.

He had a friend who was an ornithologist -- perhaps he'd be able to identify the bird. However, that wasn't important right now.

He turned back to the technician. "It's a bird. Trust me. Exotic birds exist with a very large wingspan. If you don't like it, erase it using PhotoShop."

Sanders shook his head. "Any attempt to get rid of it will reduce the quality of the image. You'll see seams cutting through Big Ben. We don't want the NFL fans to think that we skimp on quality."

Stern frowned. "And we can't refilm the segment because Becky has since left the company. We'd have to refilm the entire commercial with new actors, and we don't have time for that. We're going to have to keep it as is."

The technician frowned. "But..."

Stern's temper finally let loose. "Darn it, Sanders! It's a BIRD! There's nothing ELSE it can be! Had it been daylight it would have been obvious! Now let's finalize this commercial so we can make our deadline!"

The technician sputtered but did as he was told.

To be continued...
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Update #3
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January 7, 1996
Quabbin Academy of Sorcery
Dana, Massachusetts
United States of America
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A Brief Description of the Academy
Presented by Professor Arthur Nagle
School Headmaster since 1992
Prescott House '44

FOUNDING

The Quabbin Academy of Sorcery, or QAS, was founded in 1695 as a response to prolonged persecution of witches and warlocks during the years 1692 and 1693 in Salem, Massachusetts. The attacks began after a small breach of the Statute of Secrecy triggered a general scare. Eventually, the Statute of Secrecy was restored and the appropriate people Obliviated. Unfortunately, many innocent members of the Wizarding community lost their lives as they withheld using their power to save themselves from the Muggle persecutors. Although each of them could have used magic to protect themselves from the various means of interrogation and torture, doing so would have ruptured the Statute of Secrecy further and all of them knew that any further breakdown of the Statute could have dire consequences for both Muggles and wizards.

Our founder, Josiah Hampton, realized that the only way the wizards would be able to keep their community going would be to have everyone Apparate out of the Salem into a new community further west, far beyond the reach of the Puritan authorities. They eventually called their new community Dana, after Professor Hampton's late wife.

Free from the Puritans, the Wizarding community flourished and developed large populations in three adjacent Swift River Valley towns: Enfield, Prescott, and Greenwich. The centerpiece of the community was the Academy, in Dana proper. At the Academy, young men and women from all over New England would be able to study wizardry without any interference from the Muggle authorities.

As time went by, the population of the area increased. Although the wizards had taken extensive precautions to make sure that a repeat of the Salem Witch hysteria could no longer happen, the increasing numbers of Muggles gave them cause for concern. Eventually, in 1930, Horace Hopwell, a closet wizard who had been living in Boston for a time, recommended that the Swift River Valley be dammed to create a reservoir which would provide drinking water for the Boston area.

The plan was enacted, and the Quabbin Reservoir was born. Muggles watched as the four Wizarding towns were flooded and erased from the map. Meanwhile, Wizard Hopwell was doctoring the records of the towns to ensure that no references to the wizards survived: for instance, the date of the founding of Dana was switched to 1801. What the Muggles didn't realize, however, was that the wizards were able to return to the towns once the reservoir had filled. The Dana wizards had perfected the Repellaqua spell, a powerful incantation which would surround a large area with a waterproof dome.

Protected by Muggle eyes by the impassable shield of water, the wizards resumed their secret lives. In 1946, QAS was honored to be selected as a founding member of the American Sorcerer Academic League, or ASAL. The ASAL comprised a federation of regional Wizarding schools spread throughout the country. The annual Quidditch tournament between the eight schools is one of the highlights of the school year. QAS has jurisdiction over the six New England states as well as part of upstate New York.

The total enrollment at the Academy, as of the 1995-1996 school year, was 826, spread more or less evenly across all seven grades.

ACADEMIC STRUCTURE

Wizards who are accepted to QAS enter the Academy at sixth grade, at the beginning of junior high. They spent Grades 1-5 with Muggles, learning the basics of reading, writing, and arithmetic.

The Academy has two campuses, one for men and one for women. The men meet in Dana and the women in Enfield. Both campus use state of the art magic and are designed to help the students learn as well as they can.

The curriculum follows the standardized class schedule popularized by Albus Dumbledore at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in England. Any prospective parent will be reassured that his or her child will get the appropriate Defense against the Dark Arts, History of Magic, Divination, and other standard lessons. There is also a special program for gifted students.

SOCIAL LIFE

The school is divided into four houses: Dana, Prescott, Greenwich, and Enfield. In days gone by, they corresponded more or less to which city the candidate had grown up in. Nowadays, however, people all over New England get distributed throughout the houses. The old rule still applies -- for instance, everyone from Prescott is assigned to Prescott House -- but the Four Towns only provide 21% of the class of '96.

The Academy hosts several academic and recreational competitions. The four houses compete in Quiddich, Quodpot and spellcraft on a regular basis. The Academy's women's Quodpot team, the Mermaids, have won the ASAL championship three of the past five years, and we are expecting that trend to continue under our new coach.

FINANCIAL AID

We at the Academy understand that a good education does not come cheaply. As a result, we have a financial aid package for those wizards who find admission too expensive. Please contact the headmaster for more information.

Thank you for your attention.

To be continued..
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Update #4
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January 15, 1996
Quabbin Academy of Sorcery
Dana, Massachusetts
United States of America
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"Mr. Reynolds?"

The Muggle Studies teacher turned around. It was one of the ninth graders, David Anderson. David was one of his best students, and the reason for obvious: both of the boy's parents were Muggles. Reynolds was learning about as much from David as the rest of the class was learning from Reynolds himself.

Reynolds wondered if David realized how lucky he as living in the United States. Had David been living in England and attending Hogwarts, he would likely be persecuted by Voldemort's minions -- and by the students of Slytherin House -- as a "Mudblood". Reynolds recalled his experiences during the war against Voldemort and shuddered to think what would have happened to little David if he fell into Voldemort's clutches.

Although the English Ministry of Magic was trying to cover it up, word had started to leak out. Voldemort had returned and was starting to marshal his forces of Death Eaters. Supposedly a Death Eater who had infiltrated Hogwarts had fixed the latest incarnation of the Triwizard Tournament -- a competition between the three major Wizarding schools in Europe -- so that Harry Potter would win, be Portkeyed over to Voldemort's father's grave, and play an important, albeit unwanted, role in the Dark wizard's revival.

From what Reynolds had heard, virtually everything that could have gone wrong had done so. Voldemort's accomplice at Hogwarts had managed to fool the Goblet of Fire into thinking that Harry Potter belonged to a fourth school, which had forced the Goblet into nominating the boy as a fourth champion even though Dumbledore had placed an age line around the Goblet. The announcement of the "fourth champion" had thrown all three schools into apoplexy, but there was nothing they could do as the champions were bound to the tournament by a magical contract which could not be broken.

As if that were not bad enough, Voldemort's plan had gone awry when the two Hogwarts competitors, Potter and Cedric Diggory, had decided to tie for first place and touch the Triwizard Cup -- the Portkey -- at the same time. Both boys had been whisked to Voldemort's father's grave, where the stowaway Diggory had been killed by a supposedly dead Peter Pettigrew. The death of the popular Hufflepuff had horrified the community.

Hopefully Dumbledore would take care of Voldemort's revival in England before everything got out of hand. David here didn't know yet, and hopefully he would never have to know.

Reynolds turned to David. "Yes, David? What's going on?"

In response, David showed him a Muggle information parchment -- a newspaper, Reynolds believe it was called. As a Muggle Studies teacher, Reynolds was more familiar with Muggle artifacts than most wizards. However, that didn't amount to much. It was hard for information to flow between cultures in a world subject to the Statute of Secrecy.

The parchment seemed to be discussing sports. Reynolds didn't understand much about the sports mentioned: basketball, football, and so forth. He knew they existed, but that was more about it. The pictures, as usual, didn't move. This time, they seemed to be showing men in unusual helmets.

David pointed at the parchment. "Mr. Reynolds, I have a good idea for a class project for Muggle Studies which I think everyone will like. A week from this coming Sunday, the 28th, is the Super Bowl."

Reynolds looked at him, baffled. "The what?"

"The Super Bowl, Mr. Reynolds. It's the championship football game and a very popular sporting event. People all over the country, and possibly the world, will be watching it."

"So? I don't think any wizards other than you pay attention to Muggle sports."

David smiled. "Exactly, Mr. Reynolds. I recommend that we all watch the game together and learn about Muggle culture that way. Muggles have devices which can record programs on the television --"

"The what?"

"Television, Mr. Reynolds. It's a Muggle device which allows people to receive programs from all over the world. At any rate, my family will be watching the game, recording it, and sending the record to Hogwarts so I can watch it in my spare time. There's a matter of powering the device which is required to play back to program, but I've been speaking with Professor Nagle and he thinks the problem can be overcome with magic. I must say, Mr. Reynolds, he's intrigued by the idea."

Reynolds stared at him. "You think that this sporting event will be a good way to learn about Muggle culture? I don't see how. All we'll see is Muggles playing games."

David smiled. "The game itself is a sideshow for the most part -- unless you're a fan one of one of the competitors. You see, the Super Bowl is best known for advertisements. Muggle companies take advantage of the fact that the Super Bowl is a highly watched program and develop very good advertisements to be shown during the broadcast. We can learn a lot about Muggle culture simply by watching the advertisements. And when we're not watching advertisements, we can watch the game and learn about football. What's more, there is generally a show during halftime which will let us learn more."

Reynolds laughed. He was intrigued. This actually wasn't a bad idea. "You know, David, that's a very good idea! How long will this game last? Can we show it during classes?"

David shook his head. "No. I think it will take too long. Maybe three or four hours. We'd have to set aside an afternoon for it. If you can't, we can just do an evening. We'll all meet in the auditorium and watch it."

Reynolds frowned. "You're going to have to still do your homework, you know. I don't want people skimping on their lessons because of this Muggle sport."

David looked at him pleadingly. "Can you get Professor Nagle to let us out early and have a half day so we can watch the game and then do our homework?"

A new voice answered. "Absolutely, David."

Both David and Reynolds turned as Professor Nagle walked into the room and smiled. Turning to Reynolds, he continued, "I must say, Steven, this is actually a rather clever idea. It will help cheer up the winter doldrums."

The headmaster turned back to David. "When's the game again?"

"January 28th, sir. A Sunday. I suspect my duck is going to be able to deliver the recording of the game on the 29th or 30th. We've also got a small television we may be able to lend you which runs on batteries. Once we've got the image, we can just blow it up with Engorgio and everyone will be able to see it."

"Indeed you will, David. What about February 2nd? Imbolc, the Cross Quarters day? It's the Friday night after the game and you don't have class the next day. It's a good day for a celebration, right?"

Reynolds looked at the headmaster and smiled. "It is, Arthur. It is."

The headmaster nodded and turned back to David. "All right, David. We're on. Tell me if there's anything you need me to do to help out."

David beamed at him. "Thank you! Thank you!"

To be continued...
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Update #5
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January 17, 1996
Death Eater Safe House
Colombo, Sri Lanka
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Damodharan Dilmi was fed up with waiting. He had been imprisoned in Azkaban for twenty years and had suffered terrible torture at the hands of the dementors. Yet he had stayed strong and true to the dreams of Lord Voldemort.

Many of his fellow Death Eaters in Azkaban had been disheartened when Voldemort had been vanquished by the infant Harry Potter. Dilmi considered them weak and spineless. The fact that a great man had been incapacitated did not end the need for the wizards to rule the Earth. Muggles were incompetent, from what he knew. They were not wise enough to be in positions of authority. Wizards, with access to magic, had access to the required knowledge. It was the wizards' duty to take back what was rightfully theirs.

Dilmi had stewed in his own frustration for many, many years. As if that weren't bad enough, the situation got worse two and a half years ago when the fearsome Light side wizard Sirius Black managed to break out of Azkaban in his Animagus form. He remembered gritting his teeth when the news came in. Not only did the Light side have another fearsome warrior on their side, the dementors had taken extra care to intimidate and terrify the remaining inmates to make sure that the desire to break out of the prison didn't become contagious.

Everything had changed a little over half a year ago, however. He had felt the Dark Mark burn on his arm and could hear the astonished cries of his fellow Death Eater prisoners. He remembered the ecstasy he had felt when he realized that Voldemort had managed to return, having shrugged off a curse that would have killed anyone else. He knew that the time would soon come when the Dark Lord would redeem his followers from Azkaban.

That time had come a couple of weeks ago, when a host of renegade dementors and Death Eaters managed to break the Death Eaters out of Azkaban. Several good men had been killed in the fighting, the arcane knowledge of Lord Voldemort on their lips. However, with the dementors neutralized by their own kind, it all came down to who had the guts to use the Avada Kedavra curse on their opponents. The Light side forces preferred to not do that, which more or less sealed their fate.

Dilmi had played a pivotal role in the breakout. He had managed to Imperius one of the Aurors and convince him to call off some dementor reinforcements. As long as the dementor battle was a stalemate, the Death Eaters would win. It had been Dilmi's duty to ensure that the Dark dementors achieved no worse than a stalemate.

Once free from Azkaban, he returned home to Sri Lanka and spent the next two weeks recruiting allies from all over the Indian subcontinent. He now found himself in charge of a large group of Death Eaters who were itching to get back at the Muggles and Mudbloods.

He had not heard much from Voldemort since his release. However, he knew enough to know that the Dark Lord was pleased with Dilmi's progress. Dilmi had been surprised to learn that Voldemort's recruitment was progressing more slowly than Dilmis. Voldemort's problems could be summarized in two words: Albus Dumbledore. The Hogwarts headmaster had seen Cedric Diggory's body and had listened to Harry Potter's description of the bizarre fight in the graveyard. Dumbledore knew that Voldemort would be snooping around Britain and was doing his best to stop him.

The authorities in Sri Lanka, however, were not aware of the Death Eaters in their midst. Their information came from the British Ministry of Magic, and the Ministry was adamant that Voldemort had not returned.

This left Dilmi in a position to act where Voldemort couldn't. He considered it his duty to do something to show the world that the Death Eaters meant it business. If Voldemort couldn't, Dilmi would. He had mentioned the plan to his lord, and Voldemort had reluctantly agreed. Dilmi's cell would have the opportunity to plan the first magical attack of the Second Wizarding War.

He had discussed the idea with his men and eventually came upon a plan. Two weeks from today, they were to cast a powerful curse on a crowd of people downtown. They would then take advantage of the Imperius curse to frame a Muggle group, allowing the Death Eaters to escape. Dilmi, however, insisted that he receive the honor of casting the Dark Mark into the sky. Sure, everyone would see it. But none of the Muggles would know what it meant. A cloud looking like a skull. Big deal. He'd seen clouds that looked like frogs, trees, and so forth.

Dilmi's reconnaissance had decided upon one of three targets. The primary target was the Central Bank, as an attack there would not only kill people but damage the economy as well. If the Bank was impregnable, the second choice was a sports facility, which allowed for high casualty rates. If all else failed, his cell would fall back on their third choice, a major shopping mall.

Voldemort had planned well. He had distracted Dumbledore and the powerful British authorities while his sleeper cells all over the globe had prepared themselves. Dilmi was ready and hoped that the upcoming attack would earn him a position as the Dark Lord's right-hand man.

He rubbed his hands together, adjusted the Death Eater mask on his face, and continued working on his plans.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Update #6
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January 20, 1996
University of Phoenix
Phoenix, Arizona
United States of America
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Professor Darrell McArthur shook his head in disbelief. Some people around here had absolutely no sense of fashion whatsoever. Granted, he'd seen several kids with thousands of piercings and tattoos in his ornithology lecture. But what would you call an outfit with a purple top and a green robe, especially when it was worn by a man who appeared to be in his mid-fifties?

Had the costumed weirdo been a kid, McArthur would have assumed that he would have been part of some Dungeons and Dragons group or a member of the Society for Creative Anachronism. But a mature adult? Beat the hell out of him.

Coffee break over, he turned back to the project at hand. A couple of weeks ago, he had been sent a copy of a recording taken during a Super Bowl commercial shooting in London. This recording had apparently picked up an unusual object flying down the Thames, presumably a bird. Someone on the photo shoot, a Blast Cola executive named Stern, had had the good sense to send the footage to an ornithologist in case the creature was a newly-discovered species. The recording had been bounced around the department for a few weeks and had eventually wound up on his desk.

The first thing McArthur had done was view the film. There was the bird, just as Stern had claimed. The creature had flown right past the boat, so it wasn't easy to miss. However, it was poorly illuminated so he couldn't tell exactly what it was. So, he'd sent the film over to a processing lab in Scottsdale which would help increase the contrast. Hopefully that would help clarify the image.

The film had been mailed back today and was lying on his desk, waiting for analysis. Pencil in hand, McArthur slid it into the projector and began playing it.

The lab had done its job. Everything was much clearer and sharper now. Whoever this Stern was had filmed the commercial using special film which would be run at 48 frames per second instead of the usual 24 in an attempt to produce an ad of the highest quality possible. This allowed him to see the object flying by in unprecedented detail.

McArthur took one look at the image and nearly cracked up.

It was a teenage boy on a broomstick. It looked like this kid was trying to try out for a role as the Wicked Witch of the West.

It was obvious -- this Stern had been subject to a prank. Obviously, someone on the deck above the commercial shoot had hung a picture of a witch out the window in an attempt to mess around with the commercial. He'd have to call Stern back and tell him to redo the shoot.

He looked more closely at the image to see if he can figure out how exactly the prank had been performed. Judging from the distance the kid had traveled between frames, the little boy was probably traveling at least 30 mph faster than the boat.

His eyes narrowed in puzzlement. How the hell would someone be able to run 30 mph on a boat? He'd been on a few cruise liners himself, and he'd never seen any evidence of cars on them.

The only explanation was that the prankster had come up underneath the boat in a motorboat of their own, placed the image on a pole, and towed the image through the shoot. However, that didn't make sense either. Had that been the case, the image would be bobbing up and down in the waves. This image was not doing so, as far as he could tell.

He analyzed the film further and suddenly saw three things that made his blood turn to ice.

First, he noticed absolutely no evidence of anything holding that broomstick up. No poles. No masts. No wings. No wires. Nothing. It was almost as if the thing had been floating in midair and traveling with no visible source of propulsion. However, that was nothing compared to the second surprise.

The boy had blinked midway through the scene. A cardboard cutout couldn't have done that. Furthermore, if the commercial was aired live, no one would have been able to see the boy blink given the speed he was traveling at and the low light.

The third surprise consisted of a pair of smaller objects in the field of view. They also appeared to be people on broomsticks seen at a distance. They had only become visible after the film had been treated.

They were maybe 30 feet from the boat. There was water beneath them. and air above them. No boats. No gliders. Nothing.

McArthur couldn't believe what he was seeing. He was a scientist and wracked his brain for other explanations. There were none.

He had Stern's number in front of him. It was time to tell the man something which would absolutely floor him.
--------------------
The phone rang in Stern's office, and he picked it up. "Stern."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Stern. This is Profesor McArthur from the University of Phoenix. I've just finished looking at your film footage. It's quite...unusual."

Stern nodded. "I'd suspect so. What species is it? It's pretty big."

McArthur hesitated. "Mr. Stern, are you sitting down? You're going to be in for a surprise. As a teaser, I've made a copy of the film and sent it to our anthropology department, not the biology one. And I'm also recording this call for posterity."

Stern frowned. "The anthropology department?"

"Yes, Mr. Stern. What you have here is -- and I swear to God this is the case -- a teenage boy flying on a broomstick. There are two other people flying on broomsticks as well a little further away. None of them have any means of support or propulsion. And they're not cardboard cutouts because I saw the kid blink."

Stern's jaw dropped. "Are you telling me they're...witches?"

"Correct, Mr. Stern. Believe me, I'm a scientist. I couldn't think of any other explanation. I -- hold on a second, someone just came in..."

The line went quiet for a few seconds, after which a new voice shouted a word that sounded like "Obliviate" and he heard a zapping sound. He heard some muffled voices for a second. Eventually, McArthur came back on the line.

McArthur sounded a bit woozy. "Hello?"

"I'm still here, Professor."

"Who is this?"

Stern was puzzled. "David Stern, Professor. You were talking to me about my videotape. You think you saw evidence of people on broomsticks on my videotape."

"What videotape? What witches? Is this some crank call or something like that? Because if it is, I'm going to tell the dean about this and you're going to be in big trouble."

The conversation went on for a few more minutes. Eventually, Stern just hung up in confusion.

Obliviate? What did Obliviate mean?

He hoped that the Professor hadn't suffered a bout of amnesia or gone into shock because of the magnitude of his discovery. Perhaps that automated computer recording of the conversation would be able to remind him of what happened.

To be continued...
---------------
Update #7
------------
January 22, 1996
Blast Cola Headquarters
Tempe, Arizona
United States of America
------------
Isaac Sanders was startled when he felt someone poke him on the shoulder. Turning away from his computer, he found himself staring into the face of David Stern.

Stern's face was registering confusion and shock. Had something happened to him? Had there been a problem with the commercial. He'd find out soon enough, he supposed.

Stern spoke one sentence. "Izzy, I need to talk to you for a second. Something very...unusual has occurred which you may want to know about."

A worried Sanders followed Stern into an empty conference room. As Stern closed the door behind him, Sanders's concern got the best of him. "What happened, Dave? I haven't seen you like this since Misty was hit by that car."

Stern shook his head. "It's about the commercial. We may have a problem."

Sanders swore to himself. "A problem? What happened? Did the networks pull our ad for some reason? I thought we had confirmation that our ad would be shown midway through the second quarter."

Stern's voice lowered. "It's not the commercial itself. It's that bird that flew past the camera while we were shooting in London."

Sanders nodded. "What about it? I remember it well -- I thought it looked like some kid riding a broomstick."

Stern drew a deep breath. "Izzy, I just got a call from a professor from the University of Phoenix. You may recall that I sent a copy of the tape to an ornithologist I knew to have him determine what type of bird it was. The professor did some work with it and performed some additional processing on the film. And he reached a conclusion which even he couldn't believe."

He paused for effect. "Izzy, you were right. It's a kid flying a broomstick."

Sanders swore. "Oh boy. Someone's hacked us. I bet Pepsi or Coke --"

Stern cut him off. "It's not a hack, Izzy. The professor was absolutely convinced that what we were seeing was an honest to goodness Wizard of Oz-style warlock flying on a broomstick. It was a real person, and not a cardboard cutout -- the kid was blinking. Second, there were two other...anomalies...visible in the processed image, both of which looked like people on broomsticks. Furthermore, there was absolutely nothing supporting any of those brooms or propelling them. Those people were flying using...forces...unknown to science."

Sanders stared at him for a moment and laughed. "Damn, Dave, you almost had me there for a second. You've gotten very good at practical jokes -- "

Sanders cut himself off when he took a good look at Stern's face. The man was terrified. Clearing his throat loudly, he apologized for the interruption and asked Stern to continue.

Stern looked at the floor. "There was one more thing, however, which really troubles me. The community of witches apparently wants to keep itself hidden and are trying to erase any evidence that outsiders know they exist."

Sanders stared at him. "What? I can understand the witches wanting to practice their customs in peace. However, I don't see any reason why they'd want to make us forget they were ever there, though. We didn't threaten them at all. What evidence do you have for this?"

Stern closed his eyes. "Midway through the conversation, the professor had to step away for a moment as someone else had entered his lab. A few seconds went by, and I heard some new guy utter a strange word: `Obliviate'. A few seconds went by, and when the professor came back to the phone, he had no idea who I was or why I had called. What's more, he had absolutely no recollection of ever having handled a videotape or seen evidence of witches. It was as if his mind had been wiped."

Stern paused once more.

"That word 'Obliviate' seems to come from the same root as 'oblivious'. It's almost as if it were a magical spell designed to make people forget a certain event."

Sanders gaped at him. "You mean to tell me that this other guy cast a spell of some sort to make the professor forget what he had seen and then walked away with the evidence?"

"I think so, Izzy. However, I'm not sure whether he managed to come away with the videotape. Supposedly the professor had delivered the videotape to another department -- the anthropologists, so they could study the witches -- before calling me. I have no idea if this guy checked with them."

Sanders frowned. "Wait a minute. If this guy wants to cover up the evidence, why didn't he cast a spell on you to make you forget as well?"

"My guess is he didn't see me there and you have to be physically present to cast a spell on someone. That's the way it works in the movies, after all. However, the obvious implication is that this guy is probably going to be looking for us. We could be in danger. We're going to need to get in touch with those witches somehow and tell them that we mean them no harm and are willing to keep this secret to ourselves."

Sanders looked at the floor and shuffled his feet. "Uh, Dave, if what you're saying is correct, the secret is probably going to be out in a week or so anyway. I'd suspect that those witches are going to have bigger problems to deal with."

Stern stared at him. "A week or so? What --"

Then it dawned on Stern, who put his head his hands. "Oh my God. Super Bowl commercial. That commercial is going to be seen by hundreds of millions of people all over the world. Within a week, the entire world will know that these witches exist. Judging from how seriously they take their privacy, I suspect they aren't going to be happy. And unhappy witches tend to cast spells on people."

Sanders looked out the window. "Is there any way we can cancel the commercial, reshoot it, and get it ready for Super Bowl XXXI?"

"No. The deadline for pulling out of the deal was last month. Besides, if we were to cancel it, the CEO would have my head."

Sanders whistled. "May God have mercy on our souls."

Stern nodded. "May He indeed."

To be continued...
------------------
Update #8
------------
January 25, 1996
Dine Center for Shamanism and Sorcery
Fourth Mesa, Navajo Reservation, Arizona
United States of America
------------
DINE CENTER FOR SHAMANISM AND SORCERY
STATUTE OF SECRECY VIOLATION REPORT

Case File: US-SW-003266
Obliviation Agent: Alexander Strong Bear Parkman
Date Opened: 1/17/96
Risk Level: Low to Moderate

BRIEF SYNOPSIS OF VIOLATION AND STATUS
---------------------------------------------------
Fourth Mesa first became aware of the incident on Wednesday, January 17th. The Violation Detectors in the greater Phoenix area began picking up a large number of excited comments about witches and warlocks, all within a short period of time and within a very concentrated area. After a brief consultation, Shaman Strong Bear was sent to investigate.

Shaman Strong Bear is familiar with a great deal of modern Muggle technology, which proved to be crucial in helping contain this violation. He is also a full-blooded Dine shaman of the highest rank and has handled several Obliviations in the past (see case files US-SW-003132, US-SW-003200, and US-CA-010585).

Strong Bear was able to pinpoint the location of the comments relatively easily. They appeared be centered on an image processing facility in Scottsdale. He donned his Invisibility Cloak and infiltrated the building.

The people in the facility had recently been mailed a videotape for additional video processing. This videotape had come from a Professor Darrell McArthur from the University of Phoenix. Professor McArthur is a biologist who specializes in ornithology and bird-aided epidemics.

Judging from the comments Strong Bear heard in the lab, the facility had recently processed a videotape which purported to show three wizards flying broomsticks in Greater London. A consultation with Cornelius Fudge, the British Minister of Magic, has revealed that these wizards are most likely Harry Potter, 15; Alastair Moody, 62; and Remus Lupin, 34.

Potter is currently a student at Hogwarts, living in Gryffindor House. He was recently acquitted on charges of underage magic. Moody and Lupin are both Aurors and members of the Order of the Phoenix. Both were hired to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts but suffered ill fortune due to Lord Voldemort's curse against the Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers. Lupin was exposed as a werewolf and resigned. Moody was taken hostage by Bartholomew Crouch, Jr., a Death Eater. Crouch then took Moody's place as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

Strong Bear took immediate action, cordoning off the facility and Obliviating everyone in the building. He checked the telephone and computer records and believes that he managed to repair the Statute of Secrecy in this area. However, he was unable to retrieve the videotape, which had apparently been sent back to Professor McArthur.

The Obliviator next visited Professor McArthur's office at the University of Phoenix, only to find McArthur talking on the phone. Strong Bear then Obliviated McArthur, waited for the Professor to complete his call, and then checked the phone records and computer email logs. The phone records reported that the Professor's last call had been to a Mr. David Stern, an executive for the Blast Soft Drink Corporation of Tempe. He then erased the recording of the conversation and headed off to Obliviate Stern.

Strong Bear is currently in the process of trying to track down this man. Stern was not there when Strong Bear visited his house on the 22nd. However, Strong Bear took advantage of the opportunity to do a brief check of the premises for the incriminating videotape. It was not there. He is operating under the assumption that Stern must have sent the tape off to someone else.

[Here our poor Obliviator is barking up the wrong tree. He thinks that Stern sent it to someone, whereas it was actually McArthur who'd handed it off to the anthropology department. That's going to keep it out of his hands...long enough.]

That investigation is also still ongoing. Strong Bear plans to Obliviate everyone he can find who has come into contact with the videotape, as well as everyone with whom the suspects communicated. The magical wiretaps on the telephone lines are working quite well.

LATEST UPDATE
------------------
Strong Bear reports that he believes he will have this matter closed relatively quickly. He plans to Obliviate Stern as soon as he finds him. He is considering Obliviating all of Blast Soft Drink Corporation, as well as the entire community within a one-mile radius of the place where the videotape is eventually found.

The only thing Strong Bear is concerned about is the possibility that someone made a copy of the videotape. If that is the case, he may have some more work to do. Fortunately, he knows what the next steps are and believes he will have the matter resolved by February 1st.

Strong Bear recommends that this incident be upgraded to Moderate Risk as of now. Once the possibility of multiple copies of the tape is dealt with, however, he expects that it will be able to be downgraded back to Low and eventually closed.

The next update on this case will be due on January 30th, 1996.

[Also known as two days after the Super Bowl. Too late, dude...]

To be continued...
-----------------
Update #9
------------
January 28, 1996
Sun Devil Stadium
Tempe, Arizona
United States of America
------------
David Stern would have never guessed that he would eventually wind up in a luxury box for the Super Bowl. Yet here he was, high above the field, along with his son and several other Blast executives.

The box must have cost hundreds of thousands of dollars, if not more. However, when you're already spending $3 million on a Super Bowl commercial, what's another hundred thousand or so?

He could see several other boxes with advertisements beneath them. He suspected that they corresponded to the other companies which had sponsored the game: Budweiser, Fedex, Pizza Hut, and so forth. As far as he could tell, Blast was the only small company gambling on a Super Bowl ad to bolster its revenue.

Revenue, as it turned out, was not the only thing Blast was gambling with by filming the commercial. There was another as well. One which likely had far worse repercussions than a few million dollars.

Stern hadn't told anyone else about the witches yet. It was only appropriate given the situation. Besides, who would have believed him, anyway? Had he not received the report from McArthur and listened to the poor man being Obliviated over the phone, he wouldn't have believed it himself. He had shot the commercial himself and had been convinced it was a bird.

He looked around the luxury box. Three TV's were covering the pregame show. Another one was turned to ESPN. Two more were covering the teams' locker rooms. There was enough technology here to outdo a science lab.

Comfortable chairs and couches were strewn throughout the area. The room had its own bathroom. A coffee machine was sitting on a table next to bowls of pretzels, fine cheeses, and soft drinks (including, of course, Blast).

There was a full bar as well. Behind the bar was an attractive Native American man -- Navajo, it seemed like -- in an expensive cashmere suit. The bartender was wearing two medallions on his suit. The first sported an image of a fierce bear inside a circle. The second was simply a nameplate reading A. PARKMAN.

Stern jumped as the CEO tapped him on the shoulder. "You OK? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Stern had to think fast. "I'm fine, Mike. To be honest, I can't believe I'm actually here at the Super Bowl. Had the Cardinals actually been in the game, I'd have probably fainted."

The CEO laughed as well. "Well, enjoy this moment, Dave. You'll probably never get another chance at this. Want some champagne? You've earned it, and it should cheer you up."

Stern sighed. "I suppose. I definitely need being cheered up. I've got a lot on my mind right now."

"It's understandable, Dave. You're concerned no one will like the commercial. However, judging from what I've seen of the it, you'll do fine. The London shoot was exceptional, timing the script to discuss phantoms just as the bird flew past. This ad should be a hit. To be honest, even an awful Super Bowl commercial will advertise Blast all over the world."

Stern caught a motion out the corner of his eye. The bartender, en route to Stern with the drinks platter, was staring at him intently, a thoughtful expression on his face. The Navajo's hand was slowly reaching into his pocket, as if he were trying to pull out a gun...or a wand. Eventually, the bartender changed his mind and continued walking towards him with the drinks.

Stern rolled his eyes. Damn it, Dave, he thought to himself. You're getting paranoid. If the witches were trying to Obliviate you, they'd want to do it in a place without any witnesses. After all, they don't want their world exposed.

The CEO slapped him on the back. "Believe me, we're going to recoup our investment easily. Don't be surprised if you get a promotion out of this."

This actually cheered Stern up enough to bring him back to his senses. Picking up a drink -- the bartender was still studying him -- he sank down into a recliner and began watching the pregame show.

After what appeared to be an eternity, the game began. Soon, the Cowboys and Steelers were forcing their way up and down the field. Fans cheered as the TV commercials were shown during breaks. Stern recognized most of them: the Budweiser frogs, Pizza Hut, Coke, and so forth. Some of them were good, some of them were mediocre, and some of them were downright awful. Judging from what he recalled of Blast's own commercial, he figured Blast's would probably rank in the mediocre range. But it would be good enough. After all, it was the Super Bowl.

By the end of the first quarter, Stern had finally relaxed. Turning to the CEO, he asked: "Hey, Mike! You've got a strong vocabulary, don't you?"

The CEO nodded. "Yeah, Dave. Why do you ask?"

"What does the word `Obliviate' mean?"

The bartender turned to him, put down his drinks, and put his hand in his pocket once more. He brought out a long stick which looked like a laser pointer and pointed it at Stern.

"It means, Mr. Stern, that you're in a hell of a lot of trouble."

To be continued...
-------------
Update #10
------------
January 28, 1996
Sun Devil Stadium
Tempe, Arizona
United States of America
------------
For a few seconds, nobody moved. The bartender kept his laser pointer aimed at Stern, who was now convinced that it was some kind of magic wand. The CEO glanced back and forth from Stern to the bartender as the other Blast executives' eyes widened in confusion. Down below, on the field, the Cowboys made a first down. No one noticed.

Finally, the CEO broke the silence. "Uh...Dave, what's going on here? Who is this guy? And why is he pointing a laser pointer at us? Is he going to blast us with a ray gun or something like that and consign us into oblivion?"

The bartender shook his head. "God forbid, sir. It is against our code of conduct to kill for any reason. There are three crimes which are unforgivable and murder is one of them."

The CEO continued looking at Stern. "I'm glad to hear that, Mr...Parkman, is it?"

The bartender nodded. "Yes, sir. My name is Alexander Parkman. I go by my Dine name, Strong Bear."

The CEO was now looking at the bartender. "Dine?"

"You know us as the Navajo, sir. However, the proper term to use to refer to our people is the Dine."

The CEO grunted and turned back to Stern. "What did you do, Dave? Did you interrupt one of their sacred ceremonies or something like that?"

Strong Bear shook his head. "He did not, sir. However, he witnessed something which should be kept secret. He cannot be allowed to spread this knowledge further."

Stern finally managed to untie his tongue. "Guys, let me explain what happened, to the best of my knowledge. This man belongs to a secret society which we have been coexisting with peacefully for many, many years. I have reason to believe we accidentally recorded footage of one of its members in action while we were working on our commercial. They're trying to prevent the world from learning about their society."

The CEO frowned. "What type of society is this?"

Stern shook his head. "It would not be appropriate of me to say any more. I don't want to make the leak any worse than it is."

Strong Bear turned to Stern and nodded, though the wand/laser pointer was still pointed at him. "I appreciate that, Mr. Stern. Thank you."

The CEO braced himself. "Dave, did you know about this? What did you do?"

Stern sighed. "Like I said, we accidentally filmed one of their members in action. I noticed something unusual and hadn't thought much of it until someone who had seen the footage processed the film further and noticed something...even more unusual."

"What did he notice?"

"Again, Mike, it would not be appropriate for me to say. However, judging from this man's reaction, this footage may be enough to expose their society to the world. I have a suspicion that I know what this society is, and I am fairly certain that the world as we know it will be in for a bit of a shock."

The CEO was now joined by several other executive. "What society is this?"

Stern shook his head and turned to the bartender. "I'm not saying. However, I suspect I know what our Navajo -- sorry, Dine friend is here for. If my guess is right, I know what that thing in your hand is. You're going to make it so we don't remember anything about your people, right?"

The bartender nodded. "I'm afraid so, Mr. Stern. In my trade, I am known as an Obliviator. Rest assured, the procedure will be painless and humane. It will not cause you any harm. However, there's something I need to know first. Who else has seen this footage? We're going to have to plug our leaks there as well."

Stern tensed. "Two extra copies were made of the tape. One was sent to an ornithologist friend of mine who is a student at the University of Phoenix."

Strong Bear nodded. "I've gotten that one. The tape wound up in the anthropology lab. The people there have no recollection of our society. In fact, judging from your comments, you actually witnessed an Obliviation over the telephone and managed to keep your memories. We'll need to add telephone and email checks to our Obliviator training documents."

The CEO threw his hands up in the air. "Who are you? CIA? FBI? James Bond?"

Strong Bear shook his head. "I cannot confirm or deny any of those. At any rate, where are the two other copies?"

Stern nodded. "I had one in my office in Tempe. As soon as I realized what had happened, I destroyed it. Only one other person is aware of your existence, a technician named Isaac Sanders. If you wish to Obliviate him, you may. He is also keeping his mouth shut. Trust me. I convinced him."

Strong Bear fiddled with his wand/laser pointer. "That's not enough, Mr. Stern. Standard policy requires that he be Obliviated. I'm sorry. You are to be Obliviated as well, I'm afraid, though I must confess you deserve knowing the truth as it's obvious you're trying to help us. If this gets out of control, we'll need someone in society at large who's going to help us adapt once we are exposed. However, back to the matter at hand. We've gotten two of the tapes. Where's the third?"

Stern winced. "Mr. Parkman, you're not going to like this."

The bartender grinned. "Mr. Stern, don't worry about it. My society has some rather unusual abilities, as you have probably deduced. We can handle this. Where is the last copy?"

Stern paused. He had no idea how the man would react to this. Yet he deserved to know the truth. He drew a deep breath.

"In the archives of NBC Studios. The footage was part of our company's Super Bowl commercial."

Strong Bear blanched at this. "Super Bowl commercial? Ancestors take me! Has the commercial aired yet? Please, say no! NO!"

Stern looked out from luxury box into the field. There were seven minutes left in the second quarter and one of the teams had just punted. This forced a television timeout, which in turn meant --

It didn't take long. One of the main monitors had been showing the commercials. The Budweiser frogs showed up for a few moments, followed by a Dr. Pepper commercial.

Then came the first shots from Blast. He recognized Jake and Rebecca immediately with the Blast bottle in their hands.

Stern pointed a trembling finger at the monitor and sighed. "There it is."

Strong Bear spun to face the monitor. Sure enough, the shot turned to London. Jake and Rebecca were once again chatting at the railing of the boat. And once again, the bird known as Harry Potter flew through the field of view.

Stern couldn't catch a clear image of the boy in real time. However, apparently the wizard could. The Obliviator let out a shriek of horror. Brandishing his wand -- it was obviously a wand, Stern could tell at this point -- at the crowd, he howled two arcane words.

"Obliviatus maximus!"

A cone of white light issued from the end of the wand and sped off into the night. From Stern's perspective, in the box, it looked like a stream of fireworks. Which was just as well given what it was trying to do. The fireworks could be passed off as non-magical.

The CEO whistled. "What the hell was that?"

The Obliviator then spun and pointed the wand at Stern. Stern raised his hands in self-defense.

"You still need to get everyone who watched the broadcast! Simply erasing the memories of those in the stadium won't help! I --"

The white light flashed, and suddenly Stern had no idea what he had been talking about.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Update #11
------------
January 28, 1996
Dine Center for Shamanism and Sorcery
Fourth Mesa, Navajo Reservation, Arizona
United States of America
------------
DINE CENTER FOR SHAMANISM AND SORCERY
STATUTE OF SECRECY VIOLATION REPORT

Case File: US-SW-003266
Obliviation Agent: Alexander Strong Bear Parkman
Date Opened: 1/17/96
Risk Level: Critical

LATEST UPDATE -- 1/28/1996 1958 MST
------------------
We have just received an urgent report from Strong Bear. This breach has just come much more serious. It appears that although he successfully managed to track down the two extra copies of the incriminating footage and destroy them, one of them managed to last long enough to generate a much more dangerous leak.

The footage showing Potter, Moody, and Lupin was used as part of a commercial for Blast Cola. It was shown during Super Bowl XXX. Strong Bear claims he saw the ad air live on the TV monitors in the stadium.

For those of you unfamiliar with Muggle sports, the Super Bowl is the championship match for the American National Football League. This event is watched all over the United States and quite possibly beyond. Current estimates for the number of people who are watching the game range from 70 million to 100 million. In the Wizarding world, it would be the equivalent of someone launching an ad during the finals of the Quodpot Playoffs. Everyone in North America going to see it.

Strong Bear reports that Mr. Stern (see the previous report) realized what had happened and was genuinely surprised and sorry for what had transpired -- the filming had been entirely accidental. Stern appears to have been doing what he could to plug the leak on his end, going so far as to refer to the Wizarding world as a "secret society" without giving any details. Several other Blast executives seemed to be under the impression that the aforementioned society was the FBI or the CIA, which is good to know.

The Obliviator reports that he was able to modify the memories of virtually everyone in the stadium, including Stern and the rest of the Blast Soft Drink Corporation executives. He had to Apparate in and out of various luxury boxes and places in the concourse, a difficult task, but he was up to it. Strong Bear estimates that at least 95% of the people who were in the stadium now believe that the image which flew by the boat in London was an exotic bird which happened to fly by during the shoot.

This does not plug the breach entirely, however. Not by a long shot. A man named Isaac Sanders, a co-worker of Stern, is still convinced that the anomaly was a witch. He was not at the game, so he was not Obliviated. There were likely reporters from ESPN, NBC, and other networks recording the game. Although the human operators themselves were Obliviated, their films very likely picked up the glow of the Obliviation cone and/or the monitors showing the commercial. The Obliviate spell does not work on inanimate objects, and professional TV reporters likely have film of high enough quality that an outsider would be able to use it to identify the "bird" as a wizard. The TV reporters would inevitably report on the disappearance of their films as a sign of a conspiracy -- after all, shock sells.

In order to modify the reporters' film, Strong Bear would have had to cast an Accio to summon all of the films to him. This spell would have either destroyed the films or at the very least would have caused them to start flying through the air. Both of those possibilities would have raised suspicion and triggered an investigation, so he was unable to do either.

These issues pale before the main issue, which is getting everyone who watched the game. Stern himself tried to warn us about this complication just before he was Obliviated. Judging from what he has seen, he estimates than 1% of the viewers will be able to identify the object as a wizard. In order to do so, they would have to be recording the commercials on some VCR or other device (20%), be curious about the anomaly (50%), have wherewithal to try to review which was seen on their VCR at 24 or 30 frames per second (50%) and find some way to process the film to improve contrast and visibility (20%). The procedure seems to be very similar to that used by Professor McArthur when he was able to conclusively identify the anomaly as a boy on a broomstick.

1% does not sound like a large number of people. However, that can be one million people, spread out all over the United States. It will take time for the Obliviators to get to them all, during which the suspects will inevitably start gossiping to other people and showing them the wizards on the video. There is a distinct possibility that this will not be able to be contained without federal support -- or possibly international support.

RECOMMENDATIONS
-----------------------
The first thing we have to do is make sure this doesn't leave the United States. The Wizarding community is fortunate in that American football is not very popular outside the United States, so if we are on our toes we may limit the violation to one country. To this end, here is what Strong Bear recommends.

1. Make sure nothing gets on the Internet. If it gets on the Internet it is going to go international and nothing will be able to stop it. This can be accomplished by a virus on the Internet tagged to the words "wizard" and "Super Bowl".

[Great idea, dude. Now how do you handle typos like SPUER BOWL and alternate languages like COPA DE SUPER?]

2. Send all Wizarding communities in the United States into lockdown for their own safety. If word does leak out, the Muggles may attack, or be too curious, about our community.

3. Start monitoring all telephone lines in the United States, especially those in large cities like Los Angeles, New York, and Chicago. The site of the Super Bowl (the Phoenix metropolitan area) and the cities represented by the two teams (Pittsburgh and Dallas) must also be monitored. Have teams of Obliviators ready to step in and interrogate anyone involved in a conversation.

4. Escalate this incident to Critical Risk and inform the Secretary of Magic in Greenwich. The Secretary of Magic may want to consider warning President Clinton.

5. Inspect all international mail. We cannot allow any information -- or worse, tapes -- of this incident to spread outside the US.

6. Tell all wizards and institutions to review their plans in case the Statute of Secrecy is breached. Strong Bear fears that there's at least a 30% chance that Statute of Secrecy will be permanently compromised by this incident. If the video gets onto the Internet, the risk of a permanent breach rises to about 60% as all a hacker needs is Photoshop and a keen eye. If film itself makes it out of the US, the risk goes up to 90% or higher, high enough that we may seriously consider speaking before the United Nations.

7. Keep an eye on Voldemort and Sirius Black. They may take advantage of the manpower diverted to plugging the breach to commit atrocities against Muggles or Muggle-borns.

More information will come in as it becomes available.

To becontinued...
--------------
Update #12
------------
January 28, 1996
Sanders Household
Prescott, Arizona
United States of America
------------
Melissa Sanders screamed into her husband's study. "Izzy, hurry up! Your commercial is coming on! I can't believe you aren't watching!"

Isaac Sanders shook his head. "I've got stuff to think about right now, Melissa. I know what the commercial's going to show. I'll be by in a little while. Tell me if you see anything strange in the final production, however -- we're concerned something may have gone wrong and we're hoping most people won't notice it."

"All right, Izzy. We'll tell you."

Sanders had a lot on his mind. It was fairly obvious that the witches' secrecy would be compromised by the airing of the commercial. Everything would depend on how many of the viewers would be intrigued enough by the object flying past the boat in London to consider taking a closer look.

He and Stern were both convinced that they had to do something to help the witches in case their society was exposed. Both of them had agreed not to divulge any more information than was absolutely necessary. They had also agreed to stick to the party line: the anomaly was an exotic bird that had escaped from the zoo, at least as far as the people could tell on the set.

He wondered how Stern was reacting to the airing of the commercial. As a high-ranking Stern executive (and producer of the commercial), he had been invited to join the rest of the Blast brass in the luxury box to watch the game. Stern had told him that he'd be paying attention to the reactions of the people in the stands. If everything went as he had hoped, no one would notice the anomaly or, if anyone did, pass it off as a bird or a plane. Stern had agreed to call him during halftime and compare notes.

Thirty seconds went by, and the commercial had finished. He could hear the television in the living room switching to an ad for Pepsi. He took a deep breath. Was he worrying in vain?

His wife's voice floated in through the doorway. "Good job, Izzy! Well done! It's not the best commercial, but it's not the worst either. You're going to get a lot of business out of this, I suspest. Even an awful commercial will have an impact when a hundred million people are watching it."

Don't remind me, Sanders thought. Aloud, he asked. "I hope so. I take it everything looked OK to you? You didn't notice anything wrong?"

"Not that I can tell, Izzy. The shots from the various countries were impressive. What was the thing that flew past the camera in London supposed to represent?"

Damn, Sanders thought. Aloud: "I think it was a bird -- some exotic waterfowl, maybe a swan or a goose. We couldn't tell the species because it didn't stay illuminated long enough for us to find out. The presence of the bird was sheer coincidence. We left it in because it would represent the problems flying away when people drank Blast."

"Nice touch, Izzy. I don't see any problems. The only thing I'd have changed is add a few sound bites here and there, sort of like what Budweiser and Coke tend to do. It should suffice, however. It will be a credit to your company."

"Thanks, Melissa. Let's hope your predictions are right on. What's the score? Maybe I'll come in for the second half if things work out the way we hope."

"It's 13-7 Cowboys, late in the second quarter. Do you know who's doing the halftime show? Did they tell you when you submitted the commercial?"

"Not really. We'll find out soon enough, I guess."

With that, Melissa ended the conversation and switched back to watching the game. The results had been more or less as he had expected. Assuming Melissa represented a typical American viewer, people had liked the commercial, which was good for him and for Blast. The fans would notice the anomaly in London, but they would be easy to convince that it was something mundane like a bird. This would reduce the number of potential people aware of the wizards' world a great deal.

The question was: would it reduce it to zero? Everything would depend on that.
---------
Half an hour later, the halftime show was in full swing. There were the typical music acts and over-the-top choreographed dancers. What was unusual, however, was the fact that Stern hadn't called him back.

Stern was usually very good with phone calls. He was prompt as well. If he had agreed to call someone at a certain time, you could count on the call arriving within five minutes of the scheduled time. It was most unlike Stern to be twenty minutes -- or more -- late for a call.

Had something happened to him? Desperate, he called Stern's cell phone. The phone rang a couple of times. Finally, someone picked up.

"Stern!"

Sanders breathed a sigh of relief. "Dave, is that you?"

"Izzy? What's going on? You watching the game?"

"I was a bit preoccupied, but I'll probably get to it later on. You were supposed to call me shortly after halftime began, Dave. What happened? You usually aren't late with phone calls."

There was a pause. "I was supposed to call you?"

"Yup, Dave. Did you forget?"

"I must have, Izzy. I apologize. What do you want to talk about?"

"How did people react to the commercial? Did they notice anything unusual about it?"

"Not that I can tell, Izzy. Most people liked it."

"That's good to hear, Dave. Is our secret still safe?"

The next two words sent shivers down Sanders's spine. "Secret? What secret?"

Carefully, in case the line was tapped: "The thing flying past the boat in London during the commercial. You do remember that?"

"I do indeed, Izzy. What's so secret about it? A bird is a bird. I don't know what species it was. Did you know what species it was? Why would that be secret?"

Sanders didn't like the sound of this at all. He thought for a second and asked a question. "Dave, what happened? Were you Obliviated?"

Stern paused on the other end. "Obliviated? What does that mean? I thought I was a smart person, but I must admit I've never heard that word before in my life."

Sanders swore to himself once more. This supported his theory. Aloud: "Obliviation is the process of having one's memories erased. A certain group we are familiar with has been erasing memories to maintain its privacy and integrity."

Stern laughed. "You know people who can erase people's memories? Who are you talking about? Vulcans? The FBI? Some nutty shrink or mad scientist who wants to make money off an Alzheimer's epidemic?"

Sanders thought a homonym would help. "You know which group I'm talking about, Dave. You know which."

"Actually, Dave, I don't. I can tell you it's not a group of witches either, if that's what you're thinking from the use of the homonym. If you think there are witches running around, you've probably been drinking too much beer or spent too much time watching Wizard of Oz. What have you got down there? Amstel? Bud? Save some for me when I get back, OK?"

This basically confirmed Sanders's worst fears. Stern had clearly been Obliviated, and Sanders himself was probably not far behind. He hoped the witches knew what they were doing: Obliviating everyone who was willing to help them adapt to their new circumstances didn't seem to be a very good idea. Now that the commercial had been aired, it was only a matter of time until the world found out about the witches, for good or for ill.

Resigned, Sanders forced a laugh and finished the conversation. "I must be the one who's confused, Dave. I apologize. I'll see you tomorrow, all right? And I'll bring the beer."

Stern laughed. "Good idea. We'll get drunk and think about what we'll do with all the money we'll make off this commercial. Stern out."

Sanders hung up the phone and stared into space in shock. A few doors away, in the living room, the third quarter was about to start. Melissa was calling him into the room to get him to watch the game.

A few beers didn't seem like a bad idea at this point...

To be continued...
--------------
Update #13
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January 28, 1996
Alpha Chi Gamma Fraternity [which does not exist -- I'd know, I'm MIT '94]
Massachusetts Institute of Technology
Cambridge, Massachusetts
United States of America
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Harold Francis Chu grinned as he looked at the grid. Almost half of the men in his house had participated in the Super Bowl pool. One of the walls in the had covered with a 10x10 grid of squares, where each brother could spend $5 to put his name in a square. Multiple entries were permitted, so someone could spend $10 to take two squares. Once all 100 squares had been filled in, the rows and columns were marked with random permutations of the numbers 0 through 9.

The contest was simple. The last digit of the Steelers' final score marked out a column, and the last digit of the Cowboys' final score indicated a row. The man whose name appeared at the intersection of these two blocks of squares won the $500 prize.

Harold's two squares had worked out to be Dallas 4, Pittsburgh 4 and Dallas 3, Pittsburgh 7. The first square probably wouldn't work out all that well: after all, the game couldn't end 14-14 or 24-24. On the other hand, 3-7 was much more reasonable: 13-7, 7-3, and so forth were not uncommon football scores.

Regardless of who won, the pool, however, Harold would come out ahead. He was a hot-shot computer geek who owned programs which would allow people to convert film to digitized images. Once the game was over, he'd digitize the film and put it on his Web site. He found the Internet amazing, with the entire world at his fingertips. Most elite universities had Web access, as did a few big companies.

About two-thirds of MIT consisted of men. A 2:1 ratio of men to women made it difficult for guys to get dates. Harold's roommate had managed to pick up a girl, much to Harold's envy. When Harold asked him for help, the roommate had told him that he needed to try to think of ways which would make him different from all the other guys. Something which would make him appeal more to girls.

Most of the girls Harold knew weren't as interested in sports as the guys. However, they were interested in humor, technology, and to some extent pop culture. The Super Bowl would be a perfect excuse for him to attract women: he'd be showing off his computer know-how and would be using his skills to provide material which would allow the women to review the always-noteworthy TV commercials which accompanied the game.

Harold had offered to record the game so that the men of his fraternity would be able to watch it at a later date. There were a couple of guys from Dallas and one from Pittsburgh, and they'd been REALLY happy that the game was going to be recorded. Little did the guys know that he'd be taking advantage of the recording to help bolster his credentials as a dateable geek. And if the recording didn't serve him well at MIT...well, he always had Wellesley and Harvard.

He knew he'd find a girl at some point. The Athena computer system required that the students master UNIX. That was UNIX. Not EUNUCHS. For the time being, however, all he could do is record the game and hope for the best.

He pressed RECORD, settled back into the chair, and began watching the game with the rest of his house.
---------------
Sixty minutes of football later, the final score was 27-17 Dallas. Eric Muencher, who had filled in the winning square, started whooping it up as soon as the final whistle had sounded. One of the few men over 21, he offered to buy all 21+ students drinks at the Muddy Charles Pub. This set many of the seniors to cheering.

Harold took the videotape out of the VCR while everyone else was distracted. This would give him the chance to digitize the film before anyone else found out. Once he was done, he'd put the videotape back in the videocassette rack so no one would miss it. This was his chance, he thought. He'd better not miss it.

He would have been horrified to know that three of his brothers were all thinking the same thing.

To be continued...
------------------
Update #14
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January 29, 1996
United States Department of Magic
Greenwich, Massachusetts
United States of America
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***URGENT***

STATUTE OF SECRECY POTENTIALLY COMPROMISED
FOR MOST UNITED STATES WIZARD COMMUNITIES

FOOTAGE OF WIZARDS IN FLIGHT ON BROOMSTICKS ACCIDENTALLY RECORDED DURING SUPER BOWL AD

It is the somber duty of the United States Department of Magic to report that a potentially serious breach of the Statute of Secrecy has just taken place. Blast Soft Drink Corporation, of Tempe, appears to have accidentally recorded footage of British wizards flying over London during the production of their recent Super Bowl advertisement. The clip with the wizards appears to have survived the editing process and made it into the final version of the commercial, which aired at approximately 2130 EST/1930 MST.

The violation appears midway through the commercial, at about the 19 second mark. It occurs when the actors are enjoying Blast Cola in London. Shortly after "Jake" -- the male star -- starts touting his product on the cruise liner, an object flies directly behind him from the vantage point of the camera. The object is poorly illuminated, lit only by the boat's running lights. However, additional processing of the film will show that it is in fact a teenage boy flying on a broomstick.

Due to the fact that the wizard in question is underage and well-known, the British Ministry of Magic is not releasing his name. However, it should be noted that the boy had actually been concerned that the Muggles might see him and had asked an exceptionally skilled adult wizard -- an Auror, in fact -- if the man was dealing with the problem. The Auror, having misunderstood the unspoken request, had thought that the boy had asked a completely different question and had nodded. As a result of this confusion, the Blast Cola employees were left with their memories and footage intact.

Most of the Blast employees originally thought that the object in question was a bird. However, two of them, curious about the bird's species, did additional processing and determined that it was a boy on a broomstick. They did not believe it at first. However, one of them had the misfortune to be speaking with someone on the telephone when the person on the other end was Obliviated. This left the employee with knowledge both of the Wizarding community AND of the fact that Muggles could be Obliviated.

To their credit, these employees realized that they had stumbled across something they should not have known and did what they could to prevent the news from spreading, using vague words like "secret society". In fact, when confronted by an Obliviator, one of them told the agent that he would be more than willing to help our community adjust to a new way of life in case the secret was leaked to the point where it became common knowledge in the Muggle world.

The Obliviators went to work trying to repair the damage. As of this report, they had gotten all of the witnesses save one, who will likely be visited by an agent within 24 hours. Unfortunately, the Obliviators were unable to keep up with modern communication technology and found out about the advertisement too late to prevent it from being shown during the Super Bowl.

The Department of Magic would like to remind the Wizarding community of two things. First, the odds of any one individual mistakening the object for a wizard (as compared to a bird, the most likely explanation and the one being propagated by the Obliviators) are relatively low, maybe 1%. Unfortunately, there is a second issue: the sheer number of fans who watched the Super Bowl and saw the commrecial. The Obliviator is estimating that up to a million people will realize that the object in question was a boy on a broomstick. These million people will be spread out, more or less randomly, all over the United States.

This is the first major Statute of Secrecy leak in over a hundred years. More importantly, however, it is the first major leak in the era of television, telephones, and computers. These new technologies will make containment much more difficult. Although the Obliviator himself is working long and hard on this case -- among other things, by Obliviating the vast majority of the spectators at the Super Bowl itself -- he has raised the distinct possibility that it may not be possible to prevent the leak from spreading out of control. The issue is no longer whether we can prevent it: it is how well we can limit the damage. If we are lucky, we may be able to limit it to certain cities or to the United States as a whole. The alternative is too horrible to consider.

For those of you who want more information, the case ID number is US-SW-003266.

What it means to ordinary men and women of the American Wizarding community:

1. Review your contingency plans in case the Statute of Secrecy is permanently breached. If you do not have plans for this, develop some as soon as you can.

2. Make all sensitive areas and sanctuaries Unplottable for Muggles. Muggles will not be able to enter these safe houses even if they do learn that the Wizarding world exists.

3. Although you may be somewhat afraid of the Muggle world, do not assume that the Muggles are malicious. Most Muggles are well-meaning, conscientious individuals, just like you. They are far more likely to help people than hurt them. Be nice to them and they will likely be nice to you. You should still not use magic in their presence, however, as the magic may scare them or surprise them. And it will confirm your existence to the Muggle world, spreading the leak further.

4. For those of you familiar with modern technology, be advised that there will be computer viruses combating all files mentioning the Super Bowl. No files concerning the Super Bowl will be able to be posted to the Internet. The reason is obvious: the Internet is visible worldwide, not just to the United States. If the leak does get out of hand, we do not want it spreading outside the United States.

5. Do not discuss the Super Bowl or any magical subject over the telephone or email.

6. Do not usage familiars such as owls to deliver messages unless the animals will be behaving in a way normal for their species.

7. If you need to travel from place to place, use Muggle transportation methods or Apparation. Do not fly broomsticks. If you are too young to receive an Apparation license, ask your parents to transport you using Side-Along Apparation. Whenever possible, Apparate into unpopulated areas or under cover of darkness.

8. If you see any evidence that the Muggles are aware of the Wizarding world, do not confront them. Contact your town's local authorities and they will get in touch with an Obliviator or other trained professional.

9. Keep an eye on any Muggle outside the American Southwest who is drinking Blast Cola. This indicates that someone has paid attention to the advertisement and has bought the product; Blast had very few sales outside the Southwest before the Super Bowl. Ask them how they heard about Blast and steer them towards the commercial. If they don't mention the anomaly in London, fine. If they do, however, try to convince them it was a bird. Odds are that they will believe you. However, if they have evidence to the contrary, contact your local town authorities.

10. If you're unsure what to do, are scared, biased, or do not know how interact with Muggles, stay away from the Muggles.

11. Wear Muggle dress whenever you are in public. Your town authorities will instruct you on your area's customs.

Rest assured that the Department of Magic is working extra hours to deal with this incident. More information will be provided as soon as it comes in.

The Wizarding community has dealt with several issues like this over the years. We have experience and we have the people. We at the Department of Magic believe that we will be able to resolve this incident without serious problems.

***END MESSAGE***
----------------
Update #15
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January 29, 1996
Potions Classroom
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Great Britain
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Harry Potter suspected that the only person who liked double Potions was the instructor, primarily because said instructor took special pleasure in tormenting students who were not from Slytherin.

Right now, the instructor was staring down his prominent, aquiline nose at the green fluid which had materialized in Harry's cauldron. Harry braced himself for the inevitable critique.

Severus Snape glared at him. "Potter, what is this?"

Harry cringed but managed to keep a straight face. "It was my attempt at a Shrinking Potion, Professor. I think something went wrong, but I'm not sure what."

"OBVIOUSLY something went wrong, Potter. Either that, or it's obvious that you don't know how to identify your colors. I specifically said that the potion was supposed to be yellow. Does this look yellow to you?"

He dipped a flask into Harry's cauldron, filled it with the green fluid, and showed it to the rest of the class. Hermione rolled her eyes. He could hear Draco Malfoy snicker on the other side of the room.

Harry sighed. "No, sir. I'll do better next time."

"I suspect you will, Potter. After all, you couldn't do any worse. Five points from Gryffindor."

The crowd grumbled as Snape Vanished the flask and headed to the front of the class again. Harry couldn't imagine the day getting any worse.

Snape was about to resume the lecture when Professor McGonagall's voice broke into the room. "Excuse me, Professor Snape, but may I speak with Potter for a few minutes?"

Snape hesitated a moment. Harry could imagine the gears churning in the Potion master's mind as the man tried to think of an appropriately biting rejoinder. Eventually, Snape shrugged and nodded. Breathing a sigh of relief, he got up and followed Professor McGonagall out of the room.

The woman looked extremely troubled. Had Voldemort done something nasty? He'd never seen her this nervous before. Harry needed to know more.

"Professor, what's going on? Has something happened?"

McGonagall nodded. "I'm afraid so, Mr. Potter. Something very serious. Dumbledore would like to see you."

It had to be Voldemort, Harry thought. On second thought, however, he changed his mind. Had it been Voldemort, Professor McGonagall would have told everyone. Could the Ministry have caught Sirius Black? That was the only other option he could think of.

He followed in silence as Professor McGonagall led him over to the headmaster's tower and opened the door for him. Harry stepped into the tower and allowed the spiral staircase to carry him up.

Dumbledore's study was packed. At least half of the Order of the Phoenix was there, as was Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic. Harry recognized the Minister from Harry's ordeal last fall. Long faces filled the room.

Clearly, something terrible had happened. He couldn't tell if it involved Voldemort or his recent trial at the Ministry of Magic. He'd find out soon enough, however. McGonagall put her hand on his shoulder for reassurance and ushered him into the room.

Dumbledore seemed to have aged. His hair appeared to have gotten whiter, and the old body looked much more frail. It looked as if he hadn't slept for days.

Harry turned to Dumbledore. "You asked to see me, Professor? What's wrong?"

Dumbledore sighed and tried to cheer himself up. "Good morning, Harry. Please, be seated. Some butterbeer?"

Harry shook his head. "No thanks, sir. Right now, judging from my latest lesson with Snape, no liquids appear to be agreeing with me."

"Fine."

Dumbledore then turned very serious and looked at Harry. "Harry, a very serious incident has taken place in the United States. We have reason to believe that the Statute of Secrecy has been breached, possibly irreparably."

Harry didn't like this at all. Had someone seen him cast the Patronus at the dementor which had been attacking Dudley? He didn't think so. Besides, how would his use of magic in Little Whinging have caused the Statute of Secrecy to be breached in a country thousands of miles away?

He needed to know more. "The Statute of Secrecy? Breached? How so?"

Minister Fudge answered this question. "Six months ago, after the dementor attack in Little Whinging, members of the Order of the Phoenix flew you to our safe house on Grimmauld Place. Do you remember that, Harry?"

All too well, Harry thought. "Yes, Minister."

"I'd like you to think back to that experience, Harry. Do you remember flying down the Thames and passing a boat along the way?"

"Yes, Minister."

Dumbledore stared hard at him. "Harry, now this is important. Did you see unusual activity on the boat?"

Harry had a suspicion where this was going. NOW they were asking him? "Yes, Minister. I believe I saw some people filming a movie from a location near the back of the boat. I remember thinking that was odd at the time, flying so close to Muggles, but I had assumed that some of the people accompanying me were Obliviating the Muggles along the way. I looked at Professor Lupin for confirmation, and he nodded yes."

Professor Lupin stared at him. "Damn! I remember you looking at me. I thought you were asking me if we were hiding you from Voldemort! That's why I nodded! You thought that I was checking to see if the Muggles were being Obliviated?"

Harry turned to Lupin. "Yes, Professor. Once you nodded to me, I figured the issue had been dealt with so I didn't think much more about it. Who did the Obliviation?"

Lupin turned to Moody. "I thought you were doing it, Alastair."

Moody shook his head. "I was too busy thinking about our escape to deal with it. I figured someone else did!"

Harry turned to Moody. "Who did, Professor?"

There was a long silence, broken finally by Dumbledore. "No one, Harry. No one Obliviated the film crew. We were so busy dealing with you and the dementors that we completely forgot about Obliviating everyone."

Harry nodded. "I see. Can you track down who it was and Obliviate them now?"

Minister Fudge responded once more. "We did. Unfortunately, we did so too late. The footage filmed on the boat was made into an advertisement seen during a very popular American sporting event. It was likely seen by millions of Americans. The Obliviator in charge of the case isn't sure he'll be able to keep this under wrap much longer, and he's starting to take more and more drastic measures."

The Minister paused. "It appears, Harry, that you're going to be pretty popular in the United States. Particularly given your ability to fly a broomstick."

Harry stared at the Minister in horror. He knew how aunt and uncle reacted to wizards. If the rest of the Muggle world was like that, the wizarding community was in deep trouble.

He turned to Dumbledore. "That's terrible, sir. What are we going to do?"

Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "I don't know, Harry. I honestly don't know."

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Update #16
------------
January 29, 1996
Gryffindor Common Room
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Great Britain
------------
Hermione and Ron stared as the portrait door opened and Harry entered the room. They hadn't liked the look on Professor McGonagall's face when she had come to retrieve Harry from Potions. Granted, an angry McGonagall would likely be nicer to Harry than a neutral Snape. But they'd never seen McGonagall that troubled, even during the Chamber of Secrets crisis.

Harry had been crying. He had done what he could to cover his tears before entering the common room, but Hermione and Ron knew him well enough to know the truth. His eyes were glazed over, as if in shock. Clearly, something horrible had happened.

Harry turned his moist eyes to Ron and Hermione, and they followed them into an empty corridor. Apparently this information was for their eyes only. Hermione could only think of one thing: the Ministry had caught Sirius Black, very likely due to Professor Umbridge's help. Harry had lost the only father he had ever known. He would be forced to spend the next few years with the Dursleys.

Hermione asked him first. "Good grief, Harry! What's wrong? You look a mess!"

Harry told it to her straight and simple. "I've been suspended from Hogwarts by the order of Cornelius Fudge himself. I'm going to be taking the next train back to civilization, where I will be placed under house arrest at the Burrow for the foreseeable future."

Harry looked down at his wand. "At least I get to keep my wand and Hedwig. I may be imprisoned, but I'll still be a wizard. And the Burrow is significantly a better prison than the Dursleys'."

Hermione stared at him. "How could he arrest you? You were acquitted of all charges in the dementor incident!"

An angry looked flashed into Harry's face. "I was acquitted, all right. Fat good that does me, however. I'm being arrested because dear old Fudge is using me as a scapegoat so he can salvage his political career and make a statement. Dumbledore's been forced to resign as well, incidentally. He'll be leaving Hogwarts at the end of the year. Professor McGonagall will be the new headmistress."

Ron stared at him. "DUMBLEDORE'S been sacked?"

Harry shook his head. "Technically, he hasn't. He was just convinced to retire. However, everyone knows that Fudge is pulling the strings here."

He paused once again. "And believe it or not, that's not the worst of it. There will be ramifications to this which will go far beyond Vold-"

"HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED!"

Harry glared at him. "Ron, don't irritate me right now. I've got enough stuff to worry about."

Hermione summoned some chairs from the common room into the corridor. "All right, Harry. Tell us everything."

They all sat down and Harry took a deep breath. "You may recall that shortly after the dementor incident, the Order of the Phoenix whisked me off to 12 Grimmauld Place, the Order's headquarters. En route to Grimmauld Place, we flew down the Thames."

Hermione nodded. "Yes. I remember that."

Harry braced himself. "Well, it appeared that an American soft drink company was recording a television commercial from a boat on the Thames. The commercial recorded footage of me on my broomstick."

Ron stared at Hermione. "Television? What's that?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "A method Muggles use for mass communication through pictures communicate. Programs transmitted using this device often include advertisements, or commercials, in order to pay the costs of the transmissions. Some Muggles were making an advertisement on the boat and accidentally filmed Harry."

Ron stared at him. "You mean the Statute of Secrecy was breached after all, albeit for a completely separate reason?"

Harry nodded. "I'm afraid so, Ron. Needless to say, the American Obliviators got to work trying to contain the leak. Unfortunately, they found out too late to plug it completely. For a long time, it looked like the Obliviators would eventually gain the upper hand and suppress knowledge of the wizarding world."

He took a deep breath. "Everything changed, however, approximately 12 hours ago, when this advertisement was shown during the Super Bowl."

Ron didn't know what the Super Bowl was. Hermione, however, did. The blood drained from her face. "Oh my God. Oh my God..."

Ron turned to her. "What's the Super Bowl?"

Hermione put her head in her hands. "It is one of the biggest sporting events in the United States. It's the championship match of American football, and it's well known for having unusual commercials. These commercials are often watched by a hundred million people, if not more."

Ron stared at her and then at Harry. "You mean to tell me that a hundred million people just found out that wizards exist?"

Harry nodded. "That is quite possible. The only good news is that the Muggles couldn't see me all that well, and the official notices claim that I was actually an exotic bird. Unfortunately, latest estimates indicate that of those hundred million people, about one million people will eventually notice that this bird is actually a boy on a broomstick."

Hermione shook her head. "Please tell me that the American Obliviators will be able to contain this."

Harry shook his head. "They're not optimistic, Hermione. These million people are scattered all over the country. It's reached the point where the Obliviators are trying to minimize the damage: there's no way to stop the breach. However, right now they're predicting a 30-40% chance that there is going to be no way to stop it. The Statute of Secrecy may be gone for good, and the Wizarding community will be at the mercy of the Muggles all around the world."

Ron and Hermione couldn't believe what they were hearing. They were struck speechless as Harry continued.

"Right now they're trying to restrict the outbreak to certain American cities and towns. Everything is going to depend, however, on whether the leak is going to be able to get out of the country. In particular, the Obliviators are worried that information is going to leak out onto the Internet. Once it's on the Internet, it's in the public domain -- and it's on a machine. Obliviation won't work on a machine. Once it's on the Internet, we might as well introduce ourselves. Nothing will be able to prevent worldwide exposure at this point."

Ron stared at Harry again. "The Internet?"

"A linked network of computers -- powerful machines -- which connect to each other all over the world. Once information is put on one of them, virtually anyone with another computer in the network can read it, regardless of which country he or she is in."

Hermione stared at him. "This is terrible! Are you sure it isn't because of...You Know Who?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Something tells me it's not You Know Who. He doesn't seem to be interested in Muggles, especially outside of Britain. The soft drink company making the film is American. From what the Wizarding brass gather, the re-emergence of Voldemort and the Statute of Secrecy breach just happened to occur at the same time by sheer coincidence."

Neither Ron nor Hermione could say anything. "Here is how Dumbledore and I figure into this and why I'm getting punished. The American Secretary of Magic is furious at Fudge for not Obliviating the film crew on the moment. However, it is more than obvious that there was nothing the people accompanying me could have done. I had thought Lupin was taking care of it, Lupin thought Moody was taking care of it, and Moody thought Lupin was. Everything thought someone else would handle it, so it fell through the cracks. And I couldn't ask who was handling it because the Muggles might hear us."

"Fudge, as you know, isn't particularly fond of me and Dumbledore. He isn't a strong leader. He's also trying to convince himself -- and the rest of Britain -- that You Know Who has not returned. He needs to do something to appease the Americans and to show the people of Britain that he can still be trusted.

"What does he do? He takes advantage of the fact that I've been known to flaunt the Statute of Secrecy and blames me, even though I didn't do it. This buys off the Americans, and it will make him look like he's working on solving the problem if the breach spreads to this side of the pond. He basically throws me to the wolves in order to save his own skin. Typical politician."

Hermione stared at him. "He can't do that! Dumbledore will protect you!"

"He tried, Hermione. He tried. Unfortunately, Dumbledore's demands just pushed a panicking Fudge to the breaking point. Fudge forced Dumbledore into retirement, threatening to send me to Azkaban if the headmaster persisted in his defiance of the lawfully elected leader of the British wizarding community. McGonagall will take over as headmistress. Dolores Umbridge will be promoted to deputy headmistress. We both know that Umbridge and McGonagall hate each other's guts. Life at Hogwarts will likely become a lot more interesting. It's a pity I won't be there to see it."

"How will the D.A. and the struggle against You Know Who -- and Umbridge, for that matter -- survive without your leadership?"

"I don't know, Hermione. I don't know. However, if there's anyone smart enough to figure out how to get out of this mess, it's you, Hermione. I'm putting you in charge, with Ron as your second. Do what you can. Hopefully, the breach will be contained and I will be allowed to return to school."

Hermione was about to respond when she saw a flash of pink out of the corner of her eye. An intimidating "Hmm...hmm..." filled the air. It didn't take a wizard to realize that Dolores Umbridge had walked into the hall.

The toadlike woman smiled at Harry. "Ready to go, Mr. Potter? You should hurry up and pack your things. The train to back to London leaves in half an hour. I'll be accompanying you back to the Burrow just to make sure you don't get lost along the way."

Harry closed his eyes and turned away from Umbridge. "In a moment, Professor. In a moment."

He shook Ron and Hermione's hands. "Keep everything going, my friends. And wait for the time when I'll be able to return and free you from all forms of injustice" -- he nodded slightly at Umbridge -- "forever."

Hermione tried to say something, but never got the chance as Umbridge shoved Harry back out into the common room, possibly never to be seen again.

To be continued...
--------------
Update #17
------------
January 29, 1996
Sung's Tropical Bar
Outside Camp [classified]
US Army Base [classified]
South Korea
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James L. stood at attention, absolutely speechless. What a wonder! For the first time, Colonel J. had actually DONE something to cheer up the troops. The man had a reputation of being an absolute martinet, maintaining military discipline at all times. The Colonel had earned several colorful nicknames, such as "King David", "J. The Barbarian", and "Davey Owns Lockdown".

However, apparently even the Colonel couldn't deny that the Super Bowl was an American tradition. When you were trying maintain morale all the way on the other side of the world, you needed to provide enough reminders of home to keep your men sane. Football was popular among the men at his base; James was actually a halfway decent wide receiver. As a result, it was only natural that the Colonel would allow the men to watch the game at night.

The game had started at roughly twelve hours ago, around 0830 local time. With access to the Internet and telephones restricted in the unit, James had no idea who had won. Speculation was rampant, but the Colonel had planned well. As a result, the men were absolutely stunned when the Colonel called them into a meeting and told them that they were going to be watching a tape of the game tonight.

It was now 2100 hours, and Sung's Tropical Bar was packed. Men in uniform were everywhere. Mr. Sung was there was, serving beer until halftime. Several of Miss Hao's women were there as well in case several of the men wanted to celebrate a victory...or wanted to get their mind off a defeat. Miss Hao knew that everyone liked a man in a uniform. Normally, the Colonel did not allow his men to enjoy "camaraderie" while on deployment. For one night, however, he figured he'd let everyone celebrate.

The bar was also filled with parrots, macaws, and other tropical birds. Some flew around the room freely, occasionally perching on patron's shoulders. Others strutted around in cages. The building had been equipped with a virtual airlock -- a pair of doors of which only one could be open at a time -- to prevent the birds from escaping. Apparently the proprietor, Mr. Sung, was a fan of unusual wildlife and had a respectable collection of tropical birds and beasts.

James had already tricked Eric into betting $50 on the Steelers. It was fairly obvious that the Cowboys were going to win -- even Las Vegas admitted it. However, Eric was from the Pittsburgh area and refused to admit defeat. James remembered smiling as he shook Eric's hand after the bet. He knew he'd be smiling much more once Eric handed over the $50.

He called over the bartender and asked for a local microbrew. Sung had several local favorites on the shelf, selected one at random, and handed it over. Unlike many of the people who ran bars for the soldiers, the bartender spoke a decent amount of English. It was slightly accented, but it could have been a hell of a lot worse.

James couldn't figure out how much he was permitted to relax. The Colonel was here, sitting in the back. He seemed stone-cold sober. This probably put a few limits on what James could do: he'd have to stay in uniform (not that he wouldn't have wanted to show off the uniform to attract girls) and not do anything that he would regret once the Colonel came back to his old self the next morning.

The crowd roared as the Colonel reached into his attache case and withdrew the precious tape. Smiling -- James hadn't realized that the Colonel even knew how to smile -- he presented the tape to Mr. Sung. Mr. Sung bowed in acknowledgement and headed over to the VCR.

The tape began with the Star Spangled Banner, the first few notes of which were drowned out by half-drunk soldiers jumping to their feet and saluting sharply. The first few commercials went by and the game began.

James was interested in both the commercials and the game. Granted, he'd have to keep an eye on the game as he had $50 riding on it. The commercials, however, served as a good humor break. Some of the commercials were actually funny. Others had well-known jingles and themes which allowed all of the men to join in.

"We're talkin' bout Budweiser..."

James had thought about joining in. However, he had to spend his time trying to plug his ears. The people who had recorded the commercial could sing. 200 drunk men, however, could not. Even worse was the fact that they couldn't sing on key, either. He caught a glimpse of the Colonel out of the corner of his eye and was amused to find that he was wincing and had fingers in his ears as well. Apparently the Colonel had more brains in that bowling-ball bald head than James had expected.

Midway through the second quarter, he saw a commercial for a product he'd never seen before. Blast Cola? What the hell was Blast Cola? He'd have to look into trying it out when he got home. He doubted that they served Blast Cola all the way out here.

The Blast Cola commercial featured a hot couple traveling all over the world, drinking Blast wherever they went. James would sleep with the girl in a heartbeat. Judging from the reactions of the other men in the room, he wasn't alone. Several men hooted loudly, only to find their hoots muffled quickly by a resigned -- yet stern -- glance from the Colonel.

Halftime was punctuated by a rush of people heading to the bar asking for Blast Cola. Poor Sung, James thought. James watched as the bartender tried to explain that he'd never heard of the cola before and as a result couldn't offer any. Several men booed loudly, James included. The boos eventually turned to cheers as Mr. Sung promised to take a closer look at the new soft drink's commercial and figure out where to get it from. James giggled as Mr. Sung added that he wanted to take a better look at that bird which had flown by during the London segment: he hadn't recognized the species at first glance, and he was considering adding a specimen to his collection.

Mr. Sung might actually be able to do that, James thought. The Colonel wasn't stupid enough to allow the men to keep the Super Bowl tape -- they'd spend all their time replaying it instead of drilling. Instead, the Colonel had given the tape to Sung to whatever he wanted with it.

Grinning, James turned back to the game. He was determined to make the best of the one day the Colonel actually let boys be boys.

To be continued...
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Update #18
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January 29, 1996
Alpha Chi Gamma Fraternity
Massachusetts Institute of Technology
Cambridge, Massachusetts
United States of America
--------------
[P.S. Alternatehistorybuff5341 -- you've got Update #20, the Secretary of Magic briefing the President. #19 is going to be an exhausted Strong Bear acknowledging he's screwed and trying to get Sanders to help prepare the wizards for exposure]

Howard Chu was furious. He'd been able to digitize the commercials without a problem. That had been the hard part. He had been able to link the files to his Web page. Yet every single time he had tried to view the files after reloading the Web page, the files had disappeared!

What was going on here? The only thing he could think of was that NBC or the NFL didn't want footage from the Super Bowl running around on the Internet for some reason. Maybe they were trying to get people to buy tapes of the game and wanted a monopoly on Super Bowl videos, including those of its commercials. If that were the case, however, they could be outwitted. They hadn't counted on hotshot software engineers desperate to pick up a girl.

Howard liked studying linguistics as a hobby and had learned a lot of interesting trivia about languages and the way the mind processes words. He was already fluent in three languages: Korean, Chinese, and English; he had compiled a long list of the similarities and differences between the three languages which, he hoped, could eventually be turned into a paper or thesis.

One of the more unusual quirks of the human mind was that more often than not, people fluent in English would be able to understand a written sentence if all of the words were replaced with their anagrams, provided that the first and last letter stayed in their proper place. For instance, most readers would be able to process sentences like "msot rdaeres wloud be albe to prcoess sctneenes". He had a sneaky suspicion that computers did not have this ability.

He tried once more to store the video on the computer. This time, however, he changed the caption from "SUPER BOWL 1996 COMMERCIALS" to "SUEPR BOWL 1996 COMMERCIALS", deliberately introducing a typo which would confuse a computer but not a human. He held his breath, saved the page, and hit Reload.

Bingo. That did the job. He had successfully bypassed the NFL's tricks and managed to post the video. It was now time to spread the news to the sororities.

He had friends in Alpha Phi, Alpha Chi Omega, and Sigma Kappa. He'd often wanted them to be more than friends, but for some reason they didn't seem to like the idea. He prepared an email telling them about the video and sent it off, copying himself.

Ten minutes later, he hadn't received his own email. What the hell? Curious, he zwrote [used the UNIX instant messaging service] one of the AXO girls, who happened to be online, and asked her if she'd received his email. She said he hadn't, so he tried sending it again. Same result.

This was getting ridiculous, he thought. He knew that the NFL didn't like people retransmitting video of the Super Bowl. However, preventing people from sending emails was a bit much. On the other hand, the NFL was wealthy enough to ensure that elite players earned millions of dollars per year. Howard had a suspicion that they had purchased technology which even he hadn't been aware of.

Exasperated, he examined his znol window [utility which showed which machine each online friend was using] and walked over to his roommate, who had happened to be a few aisles of computers away on the top floor of the Student Center.

He tried to not let his exasperation show. "Kevin, I've got a problem. You know the plan I had to post the Super Bowl commercials online to try to attract women? The NFL seems to have a lot of safeguards in place to prevent people from posting pirated copies of the game. I was able to work around them, however, by saving the file using an intentional typo. Now I'm having trouble emailing Anna, Michelle, and Marcie -- and myself -- reporting that I've managed to get the stuff online. I don't want to have to throw in random typos everywhere to circumvent the NFL's viruses."

Kevin nodded. "I see. Here's what I suggest. I'll ask my girlfriend to post a written note on the bulletin boards in McCormick [the primary all-women's dorm]. The note will include the link, typos and all. If you want to attract girls, that's a good place to start. What's more, she told me she knows someone in Alpha Chi Omega. I'll see if I can get her to tell the AXO girl so she can forward the message off to the Panhellenic organization [the union of MIT sororities]. Hopefully that will get the message across. And don't forget Wellesley and Harvard, of course. You can just take the #1 bus to get to Harvard, and you can always hop on the shuttle to Wellesley. You can post notes everywhere you go."

Howard smiled. "That should work. Thanks for your help."

"No problem, Howie. How'd you make out during the game?"

"I won $50 from poor Eric. You?"

"I made out pretty well myself. However, I didn't win any money."

Howard frowned. "Then how -- "

Then it hit him, and he rolled his eyes in frustration. Kevin meant well, but it was obvious that he had to go to Charm School [a "seminar" at MIT teaches proper social etiquette to geeks who tend to be oblivious to it]

To be continued...
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Update #19
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January 29, 1996
International Confederation of Warlocks Headquarters
Atlantis
Aegean Sea
Greece
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The situation room was packed. Virtually every staff member, Obliviator, and Auror had been called in on short notice to deal with the crisis. Most of the staff had come with their wands at the ready and spells on their lips, thinking that Voldemort's forces had tried to take over the ICW headquarters. They had been relieved to know that Voldemort was still keeping a low profile for the time being. Unfortunately, the relief lasted just as long as it took for the Grand Coven to brief the visitors as to what had happened.

The Super Bowl crisis was serious enough that several people had been pulled off Voldemort-related projects to deal with the the problem. Grand Mugwump Dialonis had been leading the International Confederation for a good fifty years, and even he couldn't think of a time when a crisis had been serious enough to warrant understaffing of departments dedicated to finding, and incarcerating, Dark wizards.

He doubted that there would be another crisis of this magnitude for a good two hundred years, if not more. Things already looked bad, and the incident had only taken place less than 24 hours ago.

The center of the room had been cleared out and replaced with a huge, three-dimensional illusion of the Earth's surface. Places which had reported Statute of Secrecy violations had been marked in yellow, and cases where Obliviators were having trouble contain the leak were marked in red. There were a few gray areas marking possible Death Eater safe houses but those were unimportant for the time being.

There were yellow dots up all the way up and down the American Eastern Seaboard. Dallas, San Antonio, Austin, Philadelphia, and Pittsburgh were easily identifiable thanks to the large red coronas surounding them. Denver had a few dots, as did St. Louis and Houston. Blocks of red and yellow were spilling out of the Phoenix area, undoubtedly people who had managed to evade Strong Bear's attempted Obliviation at the stadium itself.

Dialonis looked nervously at the clusters of dots in New York and Los Angeles. He didn't want breaches in the big cities. Eventually, the news broadcasts would find out and announce it to virtually everyone in the neighborhood...and then some.

Someone behind him swore and turned to him. "Sir! We've got a breach in South Korea now! Someone's got a videotape and showing it to his friends!"

Dialonis stared at the technician. "South Korea? What? How?"

"I'm not sure, sir! We're working on it!"

This was bad news, Dialonis thought. If the breach went international there was virtually no hope of containing the leak. "Have the Obliviators there been notified?"

"Yes, sir! They've managed to pinpoint the source of the breach and are closing in on him now. It appears to be a bar near a US Army base."

Dialonis swore. The American soldiers had probably watched the Super Bowl in the bar. Now he had to deal the possibility of drunk soldiers as well as several excitable Koreans calling each other.

"Does Seoul think the Obliviators are going to be able to contain it? If this leaves the United States we're sunk."

The technician threw his hands up in the air. "They're not sure, sir. There's evidence of a great deal of telephone traffic. Some of it appears to be in Korean."

"How many copies of the tape does the bar have? Are they giving multiple copies out?"

"I don't know, sir!"

"Find out and get back to me!"

"Yes, sir!"

He turned his attention back to the globe just as the cluster of yellow lights appeared on the Korean peninsula. Wizards all around the room gasped in surprise and horror. The spread of the breach to Asia meant that it was looking less and less likely that the wizards would be able to contain it. The Wizarding communities in Asia were not as organized as they were in Europe and the Americas.

Another technician turned to him. "Sir! We've just gotten an update from Greenwich. There are several sources in Massachusetts, Virginia, and Texas which are attempting to download Super Bowl commercial data onto the Internet. Most of them are in Massachusetts, in the city of Cambridge."

Dialonis swore. "MIT and Harvard. Smart kids. I assume the virus is holding up?"

"Yes, sir. None of them have made it onto the Internet. I'll tell you if anything gets through."

Dialonis nodded. "Please do, Giovanni. To be honest though, at the rate things are going, keeping it off the Internet isn't going to save us in the long run. It will probably give us a few more hours. If we're lucky, days."

The technician departed and Dialonis turned back to the slowly rotating globe. Another yellow light popped up in Germany. Ramstein Air Base, probably. More soldiers watching the game. It dawned on him that American soldiers deployed abroad may be doing more damage than the citizens living at home were.

The technician who had reported on the South Korea incident swore. "Damn! We've got something coming out of Taiwan! I think it's a news broadcast! Judging from what the translator is saying, apparently some Chu family in Taiwan just received an Internet link with the Super Bowl commercials on it from their son! I'm not sure how many of the Chinese believe it, though -- I hope they don't."

Dialonis wanted to scream. "I thought we were catching all the Internet leaks!"

"Well, it looks like we aren't. I don't know how it got through, but it did. The Obliviators in Beijing are already en route to Taiwan [yes, politics don't matter to these guys] but if it's on the Internet -- "

It was time for drastic measures. "Tell Taiwan that if they don't get that thing off the Internet in thirty minutes they're going to be Avada Kedavra'ed."

The technician stared at him. "Sir?!"

"DO IT!"

The technician hestitated and gulped. "Yes, sir."

Dialonis had no intention of actually executing the Taiwanese agents. However, he really needed to get them to focus on the problem and resolve it quickly. There wasn't much time left to salvage the issue. In fact, he had an awful suspicion that situation couldn't be salvaged.

He squared his shoulders and sighed. It was time to prepare the wizards for a brand new world. And thanks to the agents in Greenwich and Fourth Mesa, he knew exactly where to begin.

To be continued...
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Update #20
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January 30, 1996
Sanders Residence
Prescott, Arizona
United States of America
--------------
Isaac Sanders knew that it was only a matter of time until the wizards came for him. They'd gotten all of the other Blast employees who had figured out that the "bird" was actually a person. Perhaps he'd lucked because he'd been living in the suburbs.

The commercial had been a great success. Several new companies had begun ordering Blast, at least in small quantities. The Stop and Shop chain had decided to carry it as well. And in perhaps the most bizarre twist of fate, a bar in South Korea, of all places, had ordered 300 bottles of it!

Blast was now on the map. The company wasn't ready to compete with Coke or Pepsi just yet. However, they were probably going to be able to make some decent inroads into Sprite and Dr. Pepper's territory. The $3 million investment was likely going to produce a good $20-$30 million in profits, an amount which had surprised even the CEO.

What no one had anticipated, of course, was the fact that Blast would get a lot of publicity simply for filming those wizards during the commercial. The company, at Sanders's urging, had repeatedly issued statements that the object flying past the actors in London had been a bird and that was that. Unfortunately, it had reached the point where the evidence was overwhelming. The receptionist had already fielded no fewer than 50 calls asking them to double-check their records to make sure that it was really a bird; judging from the tapes the callers had made of the game, it was clearly evident that under the right circumstances, the viewers could see that the object was in fact a boy on a broom. As if that were not bad enough, three people had called and had the audacity to ask if Blast was part of a conspiracy to pretend the wizards didn't exist!

Melissa still believed him, however. Unfortunately, her friends begged to differ. From what he'd heard, half of her knitting club had picked up and hightailed out up north to Sedona to see if any of the witches were there. Everyone knew that there was SOMETHING going on there, what with all those vortices and stuff. Sanders suspected that those vortices were completely fictitious: the wizards wouldn't have done anything which would have allowed ordinary people to detect them.

Then again, how did he know? Maybe the vortices had been wizard work all along and they'd been Obliviating him every time he went there.

His coworkers had already been divided into two camps, those who believed that the object was a person and those who believed that it was a bird. He knew it was a wizard, of course. However, he couldn't actually say that. He knew how the wizards would be affected by exposure to the world. People would ask them to produce love potions and try to force them to rescue people out of burning buildings. He had no idea if the wizards even had those abilities, and even if they did have those abilities, whether they would even be willing to use them to help ordinary people like himself. He suspected that if a wizard saw someone in distress and was allowed to use magic in public, he would almost certainly help the victim. If he were forced to work for ordinary folk, however, he would probably get angry and start casting spells around.

He wondered what Obliviation was like. Would he suffer greatly? He could imagine the wizards being quite upset over the events of the past 24 hours. Especially since it was becoming increasingly obvious since Stern had been Obliviated that all of the attempts to stop the rumors from spreading had failed.

He had the horrifying notion that the entire Wizarding community would be lining up to punish him -- and the rest of Blast -- for their accidental discovery. He headed into his bedroom to think about this and try to calm down.

It was only then that he noticed that someone had entered his bedroom.

The man appeared to be a full-blooded Navajo. He looked to be in his late thirties and was quite handsome. He was wearing an expensive cashmere suit and a watch of an unusual design.

He also looked extremely tired, as if he hadn't slept in 48 hours. There were circles under his eyes, and his suit appeared to have contracted a few wrinkles. The man looked like he was about to fall over, and he had to brace himself against the doorframe to keep himself up. However, his eyes betrayed an even stronger emotion: resignation and fear, as if something had happened which had ruined his life.

The visitor sighed and turned to face Sanders. "Good evening, sir. I apologize for the inconvenience, but are you Isaac Sanders?"

Sanders had a suspicion he knew who this was, especially since he hadn't seen the man enter the room. "I am, sir. How can I help you?"

"My name is Alexander Parkman. You may refer to me as Strong Bear."

"Pleased to meet you, Strong Bear. Am I correct in thinking you belong to a certain society which my group inadvertently exposed?"

Strong Bear nodded. "I am, Mr. Sanders. May we speak freely? Are there any recording devices around or other people?"

Sanders nodded. "No, Strong Bear. My wife is en route to Sedona trying to get her knitting club to come to their senses."

"Good. That will make things easier."

Strong Bear paused for a moment. "As you undoubtedly suspect, I am a wizard, Mr. Sanders, and a fully trained Dine shaman. My specialty is Memory Charms, a spell which can be used to alter someone's memories so that they forget a certain event or events."

Sanders nodded slowly. "The Obliviation spell. Stern told me about it."

"That is correct, Mr. Sanders. Several days ago, before the Super Bowl advertisement was aired, my supervisors received word of the fact that several employees at Blast Soft Drink Corporation may have accidentally filmed wizards flying on broomsticks. I have been busy since then tracking down everyone who has seen this footage and tampering with their memories so that they no longer have any evidence of our existence. I take it that you witnessed an Obliviation and managed to keep your memories. If I may ask, how can that be? That would be a serious oversight in our training."

Sanders paced around the room. "It was fairly obvious, Strong Bear. One day I spoke with Stern about the wizards. It was he, in fact, who convinced me that the anomaly was in fact a boy on a broomstick. When I called him back during halftime of the Super Bowl, he seemed to have no recollection of any wizards. I take it you or someone else must have erased his memories at some point in between."

Strong Bear nodded. "Indeed, Mr. Sanders. That is correct. I casted the Obliviation spell shortly after the commercial was aired. I actually had to Obliviate the entire stadium that night, Mr. Sanders, without being seen. It wasn't easy, and I think maybe 5% of the people got away. However, I had to do my best."

Sanders frowned grimly. "And now you've come to Obliviate me."

The Obliviator hesitated for a moment, drew a deep breath, and replied. "Correct. I am under orders to Obliviate you and anyone you know who has seen this video."

Strong Bear paused once more. Sanders wondered whether it would all be for the best. He'd survived for almost thirty years without knowing about wizards. He wouldn't lose much. He was surprised, however, when Strong Bear shook his head.

"These are orders, however, which I do not think it would be prudent to fulfill. When I received these orders a few days ago, the goal was to prevent the knowledge of our community to reach the outside world. It is clear at this point that we will be unsuccessful in this endeavor, now that computers and television have become so prevalent. Consequently, I believe a new approach is needed."

Sanders stared at the Obliviator. What was going on. He was then floored when the Obliviator paced around the room for a bit and then looked back at him with desperation on his face.

"Son, I need your help. We need your help."

Sanders blinked. "I'm more than willing to help you, Strong Bear. However, what can I do? I'm not a wizard."

"It is now fairly obvious that it is only a matter of time until the world of Muggles -- that is, nonmagical people like yourself -- will have to come to terms with a fact that there is a community of wizards living in their midst. We wizards will have to learn to deal with Muggles more openly. We cannot afford to have a confrontation between the two groups as inevitably that would lead to worldwide conflict and very likely the genocide of the Wizarding community. Many people are considering the exposure to be a fait accompli and are advocating that the Secretary of Magic contact President Clinton.

"It is obvious that both you and Stern were horrified by what you had done to our community and that both of you were dedicated to preventing the knowledge from spreading any further. I regretted Obliviating Stern as soon as I did it, and I fully admit that I may have overreacted there. I'm not going to make the same mistake with you, however."

The wizard came up to Sanders's side and put his hand on Sanders's shoulder. "I would like to offer you a position as special advisor to the Dine Center for Sorcery and Shamanism in Fourth Mesa, Arizona. It's in the Dine reservation."

Sanders frowned. "Fourth Mesa? There's no Fourth Mesa. I only know First, Second, and Third Mesa."

Strong Bear grinned. "I'm aware of that, Mr. Sanders. Fourth Mesa is not visible to Muggles. Most important Wizarding locations have spells cast upon them so that ordinary people cannot see them or know they exist."

Sanders whistled. "Impressive. You must be very powerful."

"We can do things most Muggles can't. That is definitely true. However, there are limitations as to what we can do. I can't get into them right now, but you'll learn over time. At any rate, back to the job. Your task will be to describe would life is like in the Muggle world and how the wizards can learn to adapt to such an environment. In return, the wizards will learn how to interact with you and by extension most other Muggles. Hopefully your lectures will be convince both Muggles and wizards that one side does not have anything to fear form the other."

Sanders nodded. "I'm flattered, Strong Bear. I'd love to do this. Unfortunately, I have a full-time job."

Strong Bear smiled. "Your salary will be $150,000 American dollars per year, paid in pieces of gold bullion known as Galleons. In addition, you will have the satisfaction of having helped a threatened minority adapt to a new way of life. Your work could very well save our people and our culture from destruction."

Sanders stared at him. "Wow! $150,000! I'll take that anytime! I'll have to discuss this with Melissa, but I suspect she'll be happy. It's better than a dead end job designing soda cans."

"Melissa is your wife, is she?"

"Yes, she is."

"Is she employed?"

"Not at the moment."

Strong Bear nodded. "She is also welcome to lecture as well, particularly to the women. However, she must not reveal anything she discovers about our community without express consent of me or one of my superiors. You will be under the same restriction as well. Do you accept?"

Sanders smiled. "Absolutely, and I think she will as well. Will we have to relocate to Fourth Mesa in order to work for you?"

"No, Mr. Sanders. You won't. All you need is a fireplace."

Sanders stared at him. "A FIREPLACE?"

"That is correct, Mr. Sanders. A fireplace. And judging from what I see here, you have one, albeit an electric one. That should be good enough however."

"Great! I'll have to give my manager two weeks notice and think of an excuse for leaving. I won't need to think hard for one, however. I'll start three weeks from today."

Strong Bear looked at him, and it was impossible to miss the gratitude in the Navajo's face. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Sanders. Our community will be in your eternal debt. Now, if you would excuse me, I have business to attend to."

With that, the man left, and Sanders began wondering what life would be like among the wizards.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Update #21
--------------
January 30, 1996
Morgan Residence
Washington, DC
United States of America
--------------
This update comes courtesy of Alternatehistorybuff5341. Remember, anyone can provide updates.
--------------
Michael Anthony Morgan was sitting in his living room, his eyes glued to the television. He replayed the tape over and over again. For the first time in his life, the fifteen year old boy cursed himself for studying in his room instead of watch football with his dad and brothers.

Michael was, for lack of a better word, a geek. He played Dungeons and Dragons, had read and reread all the Lord of the Rings saga, had watched every episode of Star Trek, and had a collection of Tarot cards. He loved the idea of magic and fantasy, and wished that some day some wizard or alien would come and whisk him away from this miserably boring place.

During the game, he had been studying for a test. After the game, he got a call from his friend. Michael picked up the phone, and was asked to come over.

When Michael arrived, his friend, Zack, showed him a tape. Michael had no idea why Zack was showing him a recording of the Super Bowl…until Zack showed him the commercial.

Zack paused the tape suddenly during a commercial for some soda company. “See that!?” Zack asked as he jabbed his finger against the TV screen.

Michael leaned in and shrugged. “Looks like a bird."

Zack shook his head and grabbed the remote. “Not exactly. See what happens when I clear up the picture."

The image came into focus and Michael gasped in shock. “Is that…?”

Zack answered before the question was done. “Yes my friend. It is…”

Arnold, Michael’s father, walked into the room. He sighed as he saw his son sitting there watching that damn VHS over and over again. He had been watching it for all day!

Arnold was a large man, muscular. He had been on the high school and college football teams. His first son was everything he wanted. Star quarterback, ladies man, the works. Michael, however…

Arnold did not care that Michael had straight A's. He did not care that he was home studying while his older brother was off getting high or drunk with some girl. He saw his younger son as a disappointment.

“Michael, enough of this.” He walked over and grabbed the remote control.

“NO DAD!” Michael jumped up and pried the remote from his father’s hands. “This is important! Everything we know…everything…is about to change.”

Arnold glared at him. “This is just a delusion brought on by your Dungeons and Dragons Magic bull!” He tried to grab the remote from his son’s hand. Michael held tight, and a tug a war began over the remote. Due to the hitting of buttons, the tape ejected itself and the television flipped through several channels.

Michael finally was able to pry the remote away from his father a second time. Michael shook his head. “You’re wrong, Dad. You’re wrong.”

Arnold was about to knock some sense into Michael (literally) when he heard a noise. A long and annoying beep. Michael and Arnold turned their heads to see that the screen had changed. Now it was blue, but with a white circle in the center. Inside the circle was a bald eagle grasping arrows and olive branches. Around the side read “Seal of the President of the United States of America”.

“We interrupt your scheduled program for an emergency announcement from the White House. Please stand by. We interrupt your scheduled program for an emergency announcement from the White House. Please stand by.” The message repeated it self over and over.

Arnold began to worry. Were the Russians attacking? Yeah sure they weren’t commies anymore, but they still had reasons to attack. “Julia! Devin! Get in here!” He called to his wife and elder son as he sat down. Within moments, Julia walked in. She was wearing an apron from cooking. Then Devin walked in. he wore his high school jacket. “What’s up, pops?”

“SHH!” Michael hushed as the Television said “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States”

The screen cut to the Oval Office. William Jefferson Clinton sat there behind the desk where so many former Presidents have given addresses to the nation. However, this address would be unlike any other.
---------
The President looked tired. He had been up most of the night. He had watched the game, seen the ad. Then he had been briefed by advisors and experts. One of their relatives had seen the ad and noticed something was wrong. They examined it themselves and decided to brief the President. As they spoke…he wasn’t that surprised. For you see, four years ago, on January 21st, 1992, the day after he took office…he was visited by a special guest.

Clinton had sat down in the Oval Office all those years ago. He had won the election against Bush,
become leader of the free world, and spent most of the previous day attending inaugural balls. He smiled to himself and leaned back in his chair. He closed his eyes, willing himself to relax after a harsh campaign.

WHOOSH! Just then, the famous Oval Office Fireplace burst into flames. Clinton opened his eyes and peered at the flame. He didn’t know the Oval Office Fireplace was gas…or automated, for that matter. He shrugged his shoulders and was about to close his eyes again when he noticed something.

The flame was green. Yet that was nothing compared to what had happened next.

WHOOSH! WHOOSH! Clinton almost fell out of his chair as two men walked out of the flames and into the office. Clinton immediately hollered, “SECURITY! SECURITY!” but no one answered. Little did the new president know that the room had been sealed off of sound coming in or going out by magic.

He looked at the visitors more closely. Standing before him was a man in a velvet blue robe, and next to him, a man in a black robe. Odd dress, to say for sure.

The man in the blue robe smiled and addressed. “Good Evening, Mr. President. Please sit down". Clinton shook his head “I’ll stand, thank you. What the hell is going on here!?” The man in blue sat down in a chair and said “Mr. President, calm down, and we will explain everything.”

Over the next several minutes, the men introduced themselves. The man in blue was the Secretary of Magic, Travis Radner. The man in black was Radner's security guard. Clinton asked what they meant by “Secretary of Magic”. Radner explained to President Clinton of the existence of Magic and Sorcery.

At first Clinton was, well, skeptical…”You can’t honestly expect me to believe this.”

Radner sighed as he reached into his robe and pulled out a small wooden rod. Embedded into the rod was the hair of a coyote (not the normal coyote that Muggles know of, but the magic shape shifting Coyote of Navajo Legends). He examined the contents of the room, waved his wand, and muttered a transformation spell under his breath.


In that instant, Socks the cat became a lion.

Clinton almost had a heart attack. “AHH!” He jumped away from the lion as she roared and swiped her paw. Radner waved his wand and returned the cat to its true form.

Clinton looked back at his guests. He was amazed, shocked, and terrified all at once “You two are actually real wizards!?”

The Guard motioned to himself and the Secretary. “Yes, Mr. President."

Clinton was then told of the Statute of Secrecy. They explained that if anything within Wizard America were to cause a threat to Muggle -- that is, nonmagical -- America, then Clinton would be notified. Also, one every six months, the Secretary of Magic would report to the President.

Clinton didn’t understand. “There is another American Government…run by wizards?”

"Yes, Mr. President. We cover wizard-related issues in a world effectively parallel to yours.."

"Why do you report to me then?"


Radner shrugged. “We might not be Muggles, Mr. President, but we are all still Americans."

So, several minutes of explaining, talking, and agreeing later, the two wizards stood up to leave. As they left, they kindly shook Clinton’s hand…and disappeared the way they had come, leaving the poor Head of State baffled and confused.
---------------
Now the Secret was out. He had thought the anomaly a bird. However, then the advisors asked him to come to the situation room. They showed him the irrefutable proof what was on the ad, and that this was without a doubt real. They also pointed out the fact that there was a strange firework-like explosion at the Super Bowl that was unplanned, followed by mass accounts of amnesia. Clinton simply nodded and occasionally said things like “Continue” and “I see”. However, his Vice President, Albert Gore, leaned over. He said “Bill…we might have to address the nation.” Clinton had been very uncomfortable with this. Yet Radner had been adamant that there was nothing that could be done at this point, at least in the US. The Secretary of Magic had stated quite bluntly that there was virtually no way to put the cat -- or lion -- back in the bag.

So now here he was. After hours of internal debate, he had come to his decision. He was about to introduce America to a new society which they'd been unaware of for centuries. He hoped that the two civilizations would get along OK and not have one attempt to discriminate against or attack the other.

He drew a deep breath and began.

“My Fellow Americans. Today...I must reveal to you a shocking discovery. A discovery that may very well change the world as we know it.”

Arnold heard his son’s voice say, “Told you so.”
-------------
Update #22
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January 30, 1996
The White House
Washington, DC
United States of America
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TEXT OF PRESIDENT CLINTON'S TELEVISED SPEECH, JANUARY 30, 1996

My fellow Americans.

Today, I must reveal to you a shocking discovery. A discovery that may very well change the world as we know it.

Five years ago, shortly after my inauguration, I found myself face to face with two strange men in the middle of the Oval Office. These men had not been invited, and I was initially quite disturbed when I found myself in their presence. Normally, the White House security staff and the Secret Service would prevent intruders like these from entering. However, no one in the Secret Service had even considered the means by which these two people entered the room.

I had been performing my duty as your President when the fireplace suddenly sprouted green flame. Yes, you heard me right, green flame. Needless to say, I was puzzled. Curiosity turned to absolute disbelief, however, when two men suddenly appeared amidst the green flames and stepped into the room.

The men introduced themselves as Travis Radner and Roderick Grissom. Both were members of a secret society which even I, as your president, had not been aware of. They belonged to a society of wizards. Radner held the position of the United States Secretary of Magic. Grissom was a bodyguard, armed only with a small wooden stick I came to recognize as a wand.

Needless to say, I was skeptical. However, Secretary Radner assured me that he was in fact an honest-to-goodness wizard and not some charlatan. He performed a most astonishing feat in my presence, one which completely proved his claim beyond a shadow of a doubt.

My fellow Americans, you are probably thinking that I have lost my mind, and that the work I have done during my five years of service as your President have managed to unhinge me. This is not the case, however. My faculties are still intact, and I intend to prove this to you. And there is only one way to do so. It is my pleasure to introduce the American Secretary of Magic, Travis Harold Radner.

Secretary Radner was born in Knoxville, Tennessee, in 1918. He studied magic at the Smoky Mountain Institute of Magic, a secret magical school which I had no knowledge of until this man entered my life. He graduated in six years instead of the customary seven and did so with highest honors. Immediately upon graduation, he began working in the Department of Magic, which he currently supervises. He has a strong track record of diplomacy and understands a great deal about the Muggle, that is nonmagical, world. He served in the Allied Magical Corps during the Second World War and helped defend our nation from the threat of the evil wizard Grindelwald. Were it not for the Allied Magical Corps, the war could have concluded in a much more unpleasant manner.

So, without any further ado, I give you Secretary Radner.
----
Thank you, Mr. President, for that warm welcome. It is good to see you again. Now that the Super Bowl commercial with the wizard has been aired and America has discovered our community, I hope we will have more time to speak in the future. I believe we have a lot to learn from each other and that our cooperation will make America a much better place.

My fellow Americans, I am Wizard Travis Radner. Yes, I am a wizard, and I will prove it right here and now.

First things first. Take a look at this object in my hand. It is a magic wand. It is made out of ordinary wood, in this case maplewood. It is powered by a hair by of a magical animal, one which you likely either have never heard of or believe to be mythical: the Navajo Coyote. Most wizards carry wands like this.

Of course, you may be thinking that it is just an ordinary stick. However, this stick will allow me to do things which most of the magicians you know would not be able to do. Such as this.

Engorgio

You will notice that Socks has grown in size and has not suffered any bad side effects. According to the physics you are familiar with, this is supposedly impossible. The animal's mass has increased, something which cannot be done without consuming an impractical amount of energy. Furthermore, scaling an animal up by a factor of four in each dimension causes the stress on the animal's legs to increase by a factor of four. According to physics as you know it, this square-cube issue would make it so the cat's legs will break as its size increases. This has clearly not happened.

I will now allow people to take photographs of the enlarged Socks to prove that I have done what I have claimed and that I am a wizard.

All ready, now? Now, allow me to revert the cat to its original size. Reducio. There, you see. Now Socks is back to her normal size.

My fellow Americans, this should prove to you that wizards exist. We have been living among you quietly for centuries, protecting you from magical threats and helping you live in peace.

You may wonder why we have not announced our existence until now. The reason is simple. There are very few of us -- roughly one in every ten thousand humans is capable of being trained as a wizard -- and we feared that revealing ourselves will cause nonmagical people like yourselves to come flocking to us in droves to fix things, create love potions, and so forth. Although we would be more than willing to help you create these objects if they are for a good purpose, there simply are not enough of us to go around and make everyone's dreams come true. How can we choose some people and not others? All of your dreams are worthy of our assistance. We cannot allow ourselves to show favoritism. Furthermore, there are several feats which we are incapable of performing even with magic, and we don't want to get everyone's hopes up that magic can fix everything.

We have also hidden our community because people have often feared wizards and witches in the past and persecuted us because of the actions of a few, misguided wizards. You are probably aware of the Salem Witch fiasco. This occurred after someone made a mistake in colonial America and accidentally let slip that she was a witch. The authorities immediately started fearing and executing witches and wizards. We are only revealing ourselves now because it is only a matter of time until you find out now that the Super Bowl commercial with the wizard -- yes, the bird is in fact a British youth wizard on a broomstick -- has been aired.

I would like to emphasize that this filming was completely accidental. Normally, wizards try to make sure that they are not being recorded while they are casting spells. In some cases, we are forced to modify people's memories to think that they were actually birds, aircraft, and other nonmagical objects. In this case, however, we were overtasked with other duties and unaware of the Blast commercial until it was too late to stop the leak.

My fellow Americans, you have nothing to fear from us. We are ordinary human beings, just like you. We have our own lives, hopes, and dreams. We follow a strict code of ethics and have a correctional facility for dealing with wizards who hurt people. Yes, we have a few bad apples. However, doesn't every community? That's what jails are for.

Think of wizardry as a profession. We have software engineers to program computers, a feat which other people think is extremely difficult. There are professional athletes who perform feats no one else thinks possible. We wizards are like that as well. We use magic to do things no one else thinks possible, just different things from the software engineer and athlete.

Now, my fellow Americans, I will show you a magical creature. Let me get the cage out -- here it is. Can you give me a hand with this? Thank you, sir. What we have here, my friends, is a juvenile dwarf unicorn. This is a female about a couple of years old. Note the nub on the top of her head -- this will eventually become her horn. When fully grown, she will be about half the size of an adult horse. Her name is Deirdre. Isn't she cute? With your permission, Mr. President, I will take a sample of her DNA so that scientists can confirm that she is of a species unknown to Muggles. Thank you, Mr. President. All right, Deirdre, this won't hurt a bit. Anesthesio. See? All done. Mr. President, here it is. Take good care of it. You can keep Deirdre as a pet -- she's quite tame and will eat virtually every vegetable and leaf she'll get her hands on.

I think that's all for now, Mr. President. With your permission, I'll get out of here and get back to work. Thank you, Mr. President, and I hope to see you soon. Now, if you would turn that camera to the fireplace, you will be able to see me leave. Thank you, my fellow Americans, for your attention. If you need the service of a wizard, just ask for it. If we are around and believe your request is justified, we will try to help you. For the time being, farewell.
----
There, my fellow Americans you have it. A wizard vanishing from the Oval Office in a blast of green fire. And a mythical animal sitting in a cage on my desk.

As your president, Secretary Radner reports to me. The president is very likely the only nonmagical person who was aware of the magical community's existence, at least until the airing of the Super Bowl ad. This will very likely change over the next few weeks as wizards slowly begin to come out of the closet.

I have met several wizards and assure you that they are decent people. They will not turn you into frogs or hit you with lightning bolts. Many people you know, including famous religious figures, were actually wizards and used their skills in magic to perform miracles. They want to live their lives in peace, just as you do.

As your president, it is incumbent upon me to ensure that they get a chance to do so. There will be no discrimination against wizards in the United States of America. They are Americans, and human beings, just like you and me. The wizards, as Secretary Radner says, comprise a tiny minority of the population. Attacks on them could be a sentence of genocide and would be covered under the Nuremberg war crimes code.

Most of you will never see a wizard or witch in your entire lives. They keep to themselves for the most part, and when they do come into our world they try to leave as little evidence as possible. You have been living with the wizards all these years and have felt no ill effects. They intend to continue this policy. The only difference is that you know they exist.

It is my hope that one day, we will be able to combine technology and magic in ways which will result in the improvement of the life of Americans and people all over the world.

And now, with no further ado, we will show the commercial which exposed the community, this time with enhanced video. In the commercial, a juvenile British wizard is flying behind the actors in the Blast commercial on a broomstick. The picture is clear and there is no mistake. There will be a lot of discussion on this, I'm sure, in the near future. However, one day at the time.

Thank you for your attention.

To be continued...
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Update #23
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January 30, 1996
Great Hall
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Great Britain
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The Statute of Secrecy had been breached beyond any chance of repair.

Rumors had been swirling throughout the school for hours now. Harry Potter had been expelled for causing the breach. Muggles were about to attack Hogwarts. Dumbledore had been expelled and had been succeeded by Professor Umbridge. The rumors got wilder and more sensational by the telling and had reached the point where all they were doing was getting the student body more frightened.

Professor Dumbledore had called the staff into his tower a few hours ago. There had been no word from the teachers since. At first the students were pleased at their unexpected free time. However, as the meeting dragged on and on, even students who didn't interact much with Harry knew that something quite serious had occurred.

Hermione had gotten one glimpse of Professor Umbridge rushing out of Dumbledore's tower heading into the women's bathroom. The hated woman looked absolutely mortified. Hermione actually pitied her. Cornelius Fudge was probably going berserk over the Super Bowl ad, and as a result his agent at Hogwarts would likely be under the microscope as well.

Right now Hermione and all her schoolmates were crowded into the Great Hall for an emergency meeting. The nature of the emergency had not been communicated, which caused most of the school to speculate that the meeting was due to the breaching of the Statute. The meeting was considered mandatory for all students, something which had not happened ever since Cedric Diggory's death during the Triwizard Tournament.

The meeting had been called for 7:30. It was now 7:45 and there were still no teachers in sight. Harry Potter was not at the Gryffindor table, which occasioned worried comments from three Houses and sneers from Slytherin. It appeared, at least from what was visible to the students in general, that the rumors about Harry being expelled were true.

Finally, at about 7:55, the teachers filed into the room. There wasn't a happy face among them. Dumbledore's usually confident, calm face was actually ruffled. McGonagall was crying. Perhaps even more surprising, the Slytherin snickers about Harry Potter were squelched by none other than Severus Snape himself, "Saint Potter"'s worst enemy. The Potions master even went so far as to dock five points from his own House.

Whatever had occasioned this meeting went far beyond internal Hogwarts politics.

Finally, Dumbledore came to his feet and walked to the podium. All of the students cut off their conversations and stood to face the headmaster.

Dumbledore took a deep breath and slowly shook his head. "Good evening, students of Hogwarts. I apologize for the short notice, but I have important information to relay to you, information which will likely change life at Hogwarts -- and in all likelihood the entire Wizarding community -- forever."

The headmaster paused for emphasis. "The Statute of Secrecy has been broken beyond repair. Word of the existence of the Wizarding world is rapidly making its way throughout the Muggles. I have it on good authority that the President of the United States has issued a press release confirming the existence of wizards. This press release included a demonstration of magic by the American Secretary of Magic, Travis Radner. Secretary Radner is the American equivalent of our own Cornelius Fudge. This announcement was seen by millions of people all over that country. The Obliviators in the United States, and increasingly all over the world, are beginning to admit that there is nothing they can do to prevent the leak from spreading.

"A little under half a year ago, several members of the Order of the Phoenix were escorting our own Harry Potter from his safe house on Privet Drive to a secret location in London. The convoy's course took them over the Thames at night. By sheer chance, an American Muggle beverage company was recording footage for an advertisement from a boat on the Thames. The recording devices picked up images of Harry and two other wizards on their broomsticks. The various Order of the Phoenix members all thought someone else in the group was going to handle the Obliviation of the recording crew, so no one actually did it. This allowed the Muggles to keep their memories and the recorded images.

"By the time the Obliviators caught up with the people who had witnessed Harry flying by on the broom, the secret was out. The advertisement had been aired at an extremely popular American Muggle sporting event. It was as if the advertisement with Harry on the broomstick had been shown during the finals of the International World Cup. As a result, everyone saw him. Everyone."

People started muttering at this. Hermione watched the horror spread across the faces of her classmates -- including those of Draco Malfoy and the Slytherins -- as the scope of the breach became evident.

"This violation of the Statute of Secrecy -- now known as the Super Bowl Breach -- nearly triggered an international incident. The American wizards were furious that we in Britain didn't catch the leak before it spread across the pond. Cornelius Fudge was pestered to do something to save his image. What he did, unfortunately, will have ripple effects on our community here at Hogwarts."

The students stopped talking at once.

Dumbledore sighed. "First and foremost, Cornelius had to show that he was intent on punishing the people responsible for the leak. He has already shown animosity to me and to Harry Potter, so he took this opportunity to cast the two of us as scapegoats."

No one spoke.

"Cornelius demanded that Harry be punished for this crime even though Harry never did anything wrong. An innocent boy would be sacrificed just to make a political statement."

The students started screaming at this, even a few of the Slytherins. The teachers looked on with horror, with one exception: Umbridge. The Defense against the Dark Arts teacher just stared at Dumbledore with loathing in her face.

"Needless to say, I care about all my students, and as a result I argued with him vehemently about his proposal. He then took advantage of the situation to attack me. He said that I was also somewhat responsible, and that if I did not resign from Hogwarts he would have Harry sent to Azkaban even though he was underage and therefore not eligible for Azkaban."

Dumbledore paused. "I could not allow myself to stand by while one of my students suffered. So, I agreed. I will be retiring at the end of this school year. Professor McGonagall will be taking over as headmistress, with Professor Umbridge as her deputy. In response, Harry's sentence was commuted from Azkaban to house arrest."

The students erupted. Hermione, of course, let her bravado get in the way.

"Professor Dumbledore, you can't leave us! You've done wonders for our school!"

The students roared their approval, including many of the Slytherins.

Dumbledore stared sadly at her. "Miss Granger, I am flattered by your support. I have done my best to help my students, and if my resignation is necessary to help improve their lot in life, then so be it. Besides, I'm not resigning yet. We still have work to do."

The students cheered, as did most of the staff. The sole exception, of course, was the vulture in the pink blouse.

"We have to start preparing ourselves for exposure to the Muggle world. Effective immediately, Muggle Studies will become a mandatory part of our curriculum. Potions and Muggle Studies will swap places in the weekly schedule, so that Double Muggle Studies classes will take place every day. It is our hope that these additional classes will help train you to deal with Muggles once they come to visit us."

Dumbledore paused once more. "I expect you to be on your best behavior, my students. Our first guests will none other our Prime Minister, the Honorable John Major; and Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. These two people need to know us better to understand our needs, and we need to know them better as well if we are to interact with them.

"We will likely be visited by other dignitaries as well. I have it on good authority that the Grand Mugwump himself, His Excellency Iovannis Dialonis, will be coming here to speak with us."

Dumbledore leaned over the podium. "Students, this is quite possibly the gravest crisis the Wizarding world has faced in a millennium. Life will never be the same after the Super Bowl Breach, for either us or the Muggles. Regardless of what happens, I will ensure that you will be ready to face whatever our new world has to offer.

"That is all for now, my friends. Good night, and I will see you on the morrow."

To be continued...
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Update #24
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January 31, 1996
His Holiness Pope John Paul II's Balcony
St. Peter's Basilica
Vatican City
Rome
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Good afternoon, my flock. I hope you are doing well today.

I am here to comment on the remarkable events which have recently taken place in the United States. As most of you know by now, or have suspected, footage of teenagers flying on broomsticks was aired during a commercial during the Super Bowl, the championship match of American football. President Clinton himself has acknowledged that these individuals are in fact wizards. Furthermore, he allowed a wizard to demonstrate his magical abilities on television.

My friends, I would like to inform you that we have known about these individuals for a long time. We all know that God gives out gifts to every single individual. The nature of His gifts may change from person to person. In some cases, it may be superior strength. In other cases, it may be great intellect. And in a few, exceedingly rare, cases, it may be magic.

Yes, I know the quote. Exodus 22:18 clearly states that God's chosen people must not suffer a witch to live. Indeed, there have been times where individuals with this ability have been persecuted ruthlessly. Whether or not persecution occurred often depended on who sat on the throne of St. Peter. This is what triggered the Statute of Secrecy to begin with, in all likelihood. Depending on the beliefs of my predecessors on the throne of St. Peter, these innocent men and women may have experience years of pain and suffering at the hands of the Church.

Here is my opinion on this matter. The witches God was concerned about were those who deliberately use their abilities to hurt other people. I believe that the Almighty may have also intended the decree to include those beings who worship primitive idols.

With this in mind, let me telling you what we know about these wizards. These witches are God's creatures, just like us. They have lives, hopes, and dreams. God has endowed them with a gift and given them the judgment and courage to use it wisely. For the most part, these people have done so. I must acknowledge that there are a few Dark wizards here and there, people who are in fact a danger to the community. Rest assured, however, that the Holy See has a long tradition of working with international authorities to ferret out and capture these witches.

Some of you may argue that these witches are pagans, which in turn forces them to be persecuted under the Almighty's second interpretation. This is not true, however. The vast majority of these individuals worship the One God, not the Molech or Ba'al of the Canaanite traditions. Many of them have quotes from God's great works on their tombstones. Most of them are keenly aware that He provided them with this ability and thank Him routinely for this gift.

Does God seriously expect us to execute someone who used magic to help save a drowning man? Does He demand that we kill someone simply because he used unusual means to get a frightened cat out of a tree? I suspect that He would be most distressed if we allowed people to repay good with evil, especially in His name.

The branch of the Vatican studying witches and wizards has reason to believe that many of the people we revere today as religious heroes, prophets, and seers may have in fact be wizards. Not all of them, certainly, but many of them. God has providing people with these gifts ever since society began, and for the most part these fortunate individuals have used their gifts for good.

Consider the Biblical character Baalam. This man actually was a Canaanite wizard, one which normally would have subjected to God's decree that witches be exterminated. However, God had other plans for him. Baalam eventually used his ability to bless the nascent Israelite community, even though he had been instructed to curse the Israelites. Without Baalam's intervention, the Israelites may not have made it to the Promised Land.

The key here is that even in cases where a pagan witch would nominally be covered by Exodus 22:18, God's people should not automatically assume that these individuals must be harmed. What would have happened to our community had Baalam been executed on the spot? If the pagan witches are doing good deeds, they are doing God's work and must be spared. If they are doing evil deeds, they should be seen as sinners and given a chance to redeem themselves in the eyes of the Lord. Remember that God always has His hand open as long as a sinner is alive. All the sinner has to do is take His hand.

I will now prove to you that wizards can be benevolent. There are forces of spiritual chaos and discontent in the world, as we all know. God is aware of this, however, and has given us these powers to help deal with this better. It is therefore not uncommon for wizards to be given priority over non-wizards for high religious office. If you think about it, who would you have face the Evil One, a wizard or someone with no magical powers?

With this in mind, I am about to divulge an amazing fact which has been hidden in the Church for centuries. In order to become Supreme Pontiff, you should be a practicing wizard who successfully graduated from a magical training academy somewhere on Earth. In order to be a cardinal, you should be at least capable of learning magic. Part of the rituals for nominating a candidate to the papacy involve asking for him to demonstrate that he can indeed control magic to the point where they can fight off evil creatures such as demons and dragons. This is the reason for the secrecy of the Conclave -- doing this check out in the open would expose the existence of wizards.

The ideal requirement for the papacy is that the candidate be a Catholic male wizard. If there are no wizard candidates available in the Conclave, any Catholic male may be nominated.

In theory, a Catholic female wizard takes priority over a Catholic male non-wizard. However, the rarity of wizards and the longstanding custom that the candidate already be a leading Church official has made it virtually impossible for a woman to become pope. There has only been one female Pope, a Pope Joan. Her election surprised many people, and the Church overreacted and had her deposed. I am reminding people of this fact to make sure that this deposition does not happen again in case a future female pope is elected.

This requirement is not unique to the Catholic Church. Most other religious communities require the same ability for their supreme leaders. Again, not all, but most. I suspect that these spiritual leaders are busy explaining this surprising fact to their worshipers right now.

And as for your proof, I will give it to you right now. Right before me I have a dove, the universal symbol of peace. Now watch this.

Engorgio.

As this bird flies away, let this beautiful creature remind us all that wizards are peaceful people and should not be persecuted under any circumstances lest the persecutors defy the will of God.

May God bless you all and keep you. Thank you for your attention.

To be continued...
--------------------------
To sum up -- preferences for the papacy:

FIRST: Catholic male wizard. Maybe 10% of the popes in history.
SECOND: Catholic female wizard. Only one pope.
THIRD: Catholic male Muggle: 90% of the popes in history.
FOURTH (but realistically impossible as it would only happen if all Catholic men were dead): Catholic female Muggle.
----------

Update #25
--------------
January 31, 1996
Death Eater Safe House
Colombo
Sri Lanka
--------------
Damodharan Dilmi was all set. Everything was in place for the attack. He'd managed to get his hands on a Tamil Tiger armored car and had filled it with fake explosives. If everything went as planned, he would execute his curse, Apparate away, and watch as the Central Bank blew up from a safe distance. The Tamil Tigers would naturally be blamed for the attack. The authorities would never realize that the strange, skull-looking cloud hovering over the crime scene would show who the culprit actually was.

He was about to get into the car and drive off to the bank when he caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. That was more than disturbing as this people other than Death Eaters were supposedly unable to Apparate into the safe house. The few other Death Eaters who had been living in the building were away, and Dilmi had not been expecting them to return anytime soon.

He turned to look at the visitor, words to a curse on his lips. When he saw who it was, his eyes widened and he sank to his knees before the pale, noseless face.

Voldemort was putting on a confident outward appearance. However, he still seemed a bit disturbed, nervous, and confused. Dilmi could see his mentor fighting to maintain control. What on earth had happened? Could the Aurors have figured out where he was, forcing him to start running all over the world? Could that be why he was here, in this safe house? He'd find out soon enough, he supposed.

"My lord, welcome to Sri Lanka. How may I serve you?"

Voldemort looked at him for a moment and frowned. That didn't seem good, Dilmi thought. Finally, the great wizard spoke.

"Mr. Dilmi, if I remember correctly, you are about to perform an attack on Muggles as the Death Eaters' opening salvo in the Second Wizarding War. I see here that you have acquired a Tamil vehicle and will be attempting to frame the Tigers when you cast your curse."

Dilmi nodded. "I am, my lord. Would you like me to change the plans?"

Voldemort paused for a moment. "Circumstances have changed which will affect the Wizarding community all over the world. Due to these changes, I am ordering you to call off the attack. We are going to be biding our time, marshaling our forces until the time comes to strike."

This was most unexpected, Dilmi thought. Aloud: "As you wish, my lord. May I ask what has changed?"

Voldemort stared at him. "You don't know, Mr. Dilmi?"

"No, my lord. Should I have? I've been spending most of my time here in the safe house finalizing my plans. What happened?"

Voldemort put it bluntly. "Last Sunday night, the Statute of Secrecy was breached in a way which the Obliviators could not handle. The pope, the president of the United States, and several other Muggle leaders have all acknowledged the existence of the Wizarding community. Several wizards have since advertised their powers on public media. There is no way the Obliviators will be able to recover from this, Mr. Dilmi. The Statute of Secrecy has been permanently breached. Within a matter of weeks, if not days, six billion Muggles all over the world will be aware that they are sharing this planet with wizards."

Dilmi couldn't believe this. "What? How could this be? What happened?"

"An advertisement shown during a very popular American football game inadvertently picked up footage of a boy flying on a broom. A boy which I have had...several encounters with."

Dilmi gaped at him. "You mean...Harry Potter?"

"Yes, Mr. Dilmi. Our dear friend Harry Potter. I should have killed him when I had the chance, maybe using another Death Eater's wand once my weapon triggered the Priori Incantatem. There's nothing we can do about that now, though. This advertisement was aired all over the United States before the American Obliviators could eliminate everyone's memories. Once that happened, the Statute of Secrecy was dead."

Dilmi nearly fell over in shock. This was impossible! How could the Americans have screwed up so badly? It must have something to do with Harry Potter. He must have some strange abilities which not only allowed him to survive Voldemort's Avada Kedavra but to interfere with other wizards' work as well. He steadied himself, however. It would not be appropriate to show signs of weakness before his lord.

Turning back to Voldemort, he asked, "How does this change our plans? The Muggles will not know that wizards attacked them. And even if they did, they wouldn't be able to do much about this."

Voldemort looked down at the floor. "With the Muggles aware of the Wizarding community, the authorities conducting the investigation will very likely pore over the debris from your attack with a fine-toothed comb. If they see stuff which doesn't make sense, they will likely suspect wizards. Pureblooded wizards all over planet will be persecuted and hunted down. If there were a way to frame Mudbloods and half-breeds, them it would have been worth it. Otherwise, it would be too risky."

The Dark Lord clenched his fists. "The only thing we can do is perform an attack which will take out the power base of both the Muggles and the undesirable wizards, leaving the purebloods in command. This attack will take a long time to organize, however. We cannot tip our hands beforehand with small attacks like this one."

Dilmi couldn't believe what he was hearing. "My lord, I can understand getting rid of the Mudbloods, and I fully agree with you that the Muggles should be ruled by their superiors, the wizards. But how would you perform an attack powerful enough to incapacitate the Muggle forces? There are so many Muggles on this planet that it would have to be extraordinary powerful, not to mention dangerous in case we fail. Furthermore, if we kill all the Muggles, whom will we rule?"

Voldemort shrugged. "We just kill enough Muggles to make them swear loyalty to us and enforce it with an Unbreakable Vow. I suspect that it won't take any more than a few hundred million people to get the job done. That's less than ten percent of the population of the world."

Dilmi shook his head. "That's good to hear, my lord. However, a few hundred million people is still a lot of people. I don't recall anyone in history killing that many people in one blow. Even Hitler and Stalin didn't reach that casualty total with the weight of a powerful regime at their back."

Voldemort glared at him. "You forget that I am probably the most powerful wizard who has ever lived, Mr. Dilmi. Furthermore, the damned IQ tests they gave me at the orphanage came back with a score of 173, indicating that I was extremely smart even before I became aware of my magical abilities. If there is a way to do this, Mr. Dilmi, I will find it. That I swear to you. The fact that the Muggles and wizards will start interacting more may give us access to Muggle technology, which will help a great deal, especially if we enhance some of the Muggle technology with magic."

Dilmi nodded. Voldemort had a point. "I understand, my lord."

"Good. Now give back the Muggle vehicle and stand by until I've got more information on how we're going to pull this off."

"I will, my lord."

Voldemort smiled grimly. With that, he disappeared in a flash of Apparation, leaving behind a troubled, yet confident, Dilmi.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Update #26
--------------
January 31, 1996
Daily Prophet Publication Headquarters
London, England
--------------
Daily Prophet Extra Edition
Wednesday, 31 January 1996
STATUTE OF SECRECY BREACHED!

Super Bowl Commercial Captures UK Wizard on Broomstick

Blast Cola Ad Shown to Millions Before Obliviators Could Complete Job

President Clinton, Pope Admit Existence of Wizards to World

HRH Queen Elizabeth II To Speak at Hogwarts with PM Major

[OOC -- Note who's writing this article. It's naturally going to have a Fudge bias]

MINISTRY OF MAGIC, LONDON -- It all began half a year ago with a simple flight of wizards through a dark London night. These trained men and women were escorting the young Harry Potter to a Ministry-sponsored safe house after what appears to have been a misguided dementor attack in the village of Little Whinging. The wizards flew under the cover of darkness over the Thames, far away from any prying eyes.

Unknown to them, some Muggles filming a commercial for the championship match of the American National Football League from a boat on the Thames. For some reason, Harry Potter, a child with the flair for the dramatic and a tendency to flaunt the Statute of Secrecy, flew too close to the boat and was caught on film. Whether it was intentional or accidental is unknown. Regardless of how it happened, however, footage of the Chosen One made it across the pond to the United States despite the valiant efforts of our Obliviators.

The American Obliviators did their best to stop the leak. However, additional copies of the footage began propagating through the country. Although the Obliviators managed to get most of the copies, the original footage eventually made it to the headquarters of the National Broadcasting Corporation in time for the Super Bowl. The commercial was then aired to millions of Americans with Harry Potter and his broomstick clearly visible on the screen.

Once the commercial was aired, stopping the leak became impossible. The Obliviators would have had to travel all over the country, erasing the memories of virtually everyone they saw. To make matters worse, US Army soldiers watching the match outside the country spread the leak outside the United States. These two incidents, combined with the posting of the Potter footage on an international network, forced the Ministry to shift its focus from preventing the leak to minimizing the damage and preparing the wizards for inevitable discovery by the Muggle world.

Rest assured that we at the Ministry of Magic are doing everything possible to prepare the magical community of Britain for its introduction to the Muggle world. The Queen and Prime Minister will be speaking at Hogwarts, explaining what life is like in the Muggle world and quite possibly how the two communities can benefit from interacting with each other. I would like to emphasize that the Muggles are NOT all out to kill every single witch they see. Far from it. The anti-witch Muggles are few and far between. The vast majority are ordinary human people like you and me who are very likely curious about this odd new community in their midst.

We at the Ministry are also making sure that a breach of this magnitude never happens again. The perpetrator, Harry Potter, has been sentenced to house arrest. His mentor and accomplice, Albus Dumbledore, has decided to retire at the end of the year, leaving Hogwarts in the able hands of Minerva McGonagall and Dolores Umbridge.

Hogwarts has already modified the curriculum to prepare our young witches and wizards for interaction with the Muggles. Muggles Studies courses have become compulsory, with two lessons occurring per day. Various Muggle speakers, starting with the Queen and Prime Minister, will be coming in to visit Hogwarts several times over the next few weeks. The schedule will be posted to all Wizarding homes by Ministry owls. Anyone who wishes to attend may do so. Remember that it is not possible to Apparate into Hogwarts.

In return, several Hogwarts students will be accompanying older wizards into Muggle London to see some of the important Muggle sites. All of you are welcome to join up on these expeditions. We expect that this introduction to the Muggle world will help you immensely in the weeks and months to come.

Thank you for your cooperation, and we will update you when any new information becomes available.
--------------
February 1, 1996
New York Times Publication Headquarters
New York, New York
United States of America
--------------

WIZARDS AMONG US


ASSOCIATED PRESS -- Son of a gun. "IT" was a wizard after all.

In a pair of astonishing announcements over the last couple of days, President Clinton, Pope John Paul II, and several other influential figures confirmed the rumors that wizards have been living among humans as we know them since time immemorial. Furthermore, His Holiness demonstrated unequivocally that he himself is a wizard, magically increasing the size of a dove before setting it forth to freedom.

The announcements elicited reactions from people all over the world. Stephen Hawking, the famous scientist, stated that "the discovery of magic will likely transform science and lead to future revolutions in physics and technology". Carl Sagan waxed eloquently about "a new way to imagine and view the universe". Even Vice President Gore praised magic as possibly providing a means to provide humanity with an unlimited supply of energy, one which could be tapped without using fossil fuels and ruining the environment.

The Secretary of Magic, Travis H. Radner, explained that the wizards have traditionally hidden themselves because in the old days, uninformed villagers and peasants were afraid of magic and persecuted those with the gift. Furthermore, Radner had been concerned that Muggles -- nonmagical people like you and me -- would begin overwhelming the wizards for requests to do fantastic things, some of which were impossible even for wizards. There have been times, Radner reports, where ordinary people attacked wizards for refusing to do something, not realizing that the wizards physically could not do it.

Take, for example, raising the dead. Secretary Radner recently reported that the dead cannot be raised through magic any more easily than they can be raised through medicine. Food cannot be created from nothing, nor can money. Radner explained that although magic is good at making difficult tasks easier, it does not allow the caster to perform tasks which are inherently impossible.

Radner claims that the wizards live among us in secret communities known only to the members of the Wizarding community. To prove his claim, he is willing to take a television crew into one of these Wizarding sanctuaries to show how the wizards work and live.

At the request of several members of a secret Wizarding community in Arizona, a Blast Cola representative who had been involved in filming the wizards in the first place has been allowed to serve as the community's first Muggle-Wizard ambassador. Mr. Isaac Sanders, 29, of Prescott, has offered to help the wizards acclimate themselves to the outside world. Mr. Sanders was horrified when he realized what he had done, and he [continued, p. 2]


To be continued...
-------------
Update #27
--------------
February 2, 1996
Sanders Household
Prescott, Arizona
United States of America
--------------
Melissa Sanders stared at the odd-looking powder and then back at Strong Bear. "You want us to do WHAT?"

"Throw the powder into the fireplace and wait for the green fire to appear. Once it's there, walk into the flames and speak the words "Fourth Mesa" quite precisely. The spell will then transport you to Fourth Mesa."

"You want us to walk into a patch of green fire? Is this powder going to explode?"

"It won't explode, Mrs. Sanders. The fire is magical and will not harm you. It is designed to make transportation easier."

Isaac "Izzy" Sanders put a hand on his wife's shoulder. "Don't worry, Melissa. He's told me about this means of transport."

Turning back to Strong Bear, he asked, "Are you sure that this method can be used to transport Muggles?"

Strong Bear nodded. "Yes, Mr. Sanders. Once the Floo powder has been created, anyone can use it, even Muggles. If you think about it, it's just a tool. You don't need to know how to create a tool in order to use it."

Izzy whistled and looked at the powder again. "This could be very useful in the Muggle world -- a cheap and instantaneous means of transportation. Can I show some to the people at the University of Phoenix? Can you go anywhere you want?"

"Certainly, take some over to the university. As for the other question, the Floo powder connects you to what is, in effect, a magical highway system. It gets you onto the highway, but it won't do you much good unless there is an exit ramp where you want to go. Fireplaces and caves make good exit ramp locations; if you want to connect your fireplace to the system, contact me or another wizard. We'll hook you up and give you an ample supply of powder."

Izzy nodded, spilled some of the Floo powder into one of his wife's old lipstick tubes, and pocketed it. "All right. Now let's see how we do this. I need something to look forward to after a long day at work."

Strong Bear nodded and poured a handful of the powder into his hand. He then tossed it nonchalantly into the fireplace.

The fireplace filled with green flames. Both Muggles gasped, and Izzy told Strong Bear to hold off so he could get a video camera. Once the film was rolling, Strong Bear walked into the field of view, showed the viewer the Floo powder, and explained what was going to happen.

He then turned back to the Muggles. "Remember. Enter the flames, state your destination precisely -- Fourth Mesa -- and the magic will send you there. I'll see you on the other side". With that, Strong Bear walked into the flames, spoke the words "Fourth Mesa", and vanished.

Melissa stared at her husband. "Uh...that's different."

Izzy laughed. "Indeed it is, Melissa. Go ahead, go on through. I'll videotape you."

Trying to convince Melissa to appear on a videotape was about as difficult as convincing water to run downhill. Drawing a deep breath, she walked into the flames, said the words "Fourth Mesa" and vanished. Making sure the camera was still running, he followed her into the flames and spoke the words.

He yelped as he was wrenched off his feet and felt himself flying in various strange directions. Strange lights whizzed by him in a scene reminiscent of the stargate scene at the end 2001: A Space Odyssey. A brief look at the camera indicated that it was still operational. He couldn't wait to show this film to his friends -- and to the people at the university who'd be working with the Floo powder.

The "wormhole" ended abruptly, and Izzy suddenly found himself sliding out of a fireplace in a building he'd never seen before. One glance around the room made him whistle in surprise.

He most definitely was NOT in Kansas anymore.

The room was filled with strangely dressed men and women. Some were in purple robes, some were in blue robes, and some were dressed in hues which looked like they had been developed in by someone on an LSD high. Strange symbols lined the walls, which were covered with Native American decorations. Paper airplanes flew throughout the room, moving apparently by themselves. He barely had the wherewithal to bring up the video camera and start recording. His wife was looking around as well, also completely stunned.

He was about to say something when a hand suddenly grabbed him and pulled him out of the fireplace. Glaring at Strong Bear, he was about to complain when a short, stout woman materialized in the fireplace. That would have been messy, he thought. Good thing Strong Bear pulled me out of the way.

He brushed off his pants as several people surrounded him, his wife, and Strong Bear. They were all dressed in matching robes and had wands in their hands. The leader, a tall man who appeared to be Zuni, stepped forward and shook his hand.

"Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Sanders. I'm Two Bear Lance, head of this facility. We at the Dine Center for Shamanism and Sorcery are more than grateful for your assistance in helping acclimate the Wizarding to its new circumstances. One thing that I do request is that although you may use your video camera during this visit, please follow our instructions as to what areas of the facility you can film. There are sections of this facility which are considered classified, even to several ranks of wizards, and we would prefer that you not film those.

"In return for your help, we'd like to provide you with a few gifts. First, allow me to present you a case of Green Eagle Butterbeer, a drink popular in the Wizarding world. It is mildly alcoholic, so please don't drive after drinking it. Mrs. Sanders, as you are two months along, we don't want you drinking it either."

Melissa stared at him. "You realized I was pregnant?"

"Yes, Mrs. Sanders. Magic can do amazing things. At any rate, here's our second gift: an old broomstick. It is in perfect working order, though I highly discourage you from experimenting with it. Magical items which require active manipulation will not work when used by Muggles. You will not be able to fly a broom unless it is being piloted by a wizard."

Izzy smiled and accepted the gifts. "Thank you, Two Bear. In return, I've got some gifts for you. First, I've got a case of Blast Cola for you, courtesy of my current employer. It's a typical example of soft drinks used by Muggles. Second, I've got a digital wristwatch, complete with countdown and stopwatch routines. Muggles use it to tell time. What do you use?"

Two Bear nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Sanders. The more Muggle artifacts we have to work with, the better. Now, if you'd please follow me, we can begin the tour."

To be continued...
-----------
Update #28
------------
February 3, 1996
Collective Farm PX-311
Outside of Pyongyang
Democrat People's Republic of Korea
------------
Choi Yeon Mi couldn't believe what had happened. The Statute of Secrecy had been breached. The North Korean government hadn't mentioned anything about it her country's wizards, which made sense to some extent. After all, the Dear Leader was the only real source of power in the land. He probably wouldn't like to advertise the possibility that there may be other means by which people could exercise power.

Yet the news had spread. She had received several owls from wizards in South Korea. The Dear Leader thought he had the government under control, which he did, for all practical purposes. However, he was a Muggle, and Muggles never realized that owls could be used to send messages.

Supposedly the leak had begun when an British wizard had appeared on a commercial filmed for an American sporting event. A tape of this event had made it into the hands of a South Korean bartender, a Mr. Sung, and the bartender had nearly had a heart attack when he realized that the footage had managed to record a boy flying a broom. Bartenders like to tell stories, of course, so inevitably copies of the film (along with increasingly exaggerated descriptions of the wizard) started spreading throughout the area.

The South Korean Ministry of Magic had eventually managed to Obliviate all of the leaks in the country. Unfortunately, the leaks continued to worsen all over the world, and eventually the footage began to reappear in Seoul. The Ministry, forced to admit that this leak wouldn't go away, had eventually come out to the Chief of State. The Chief of State had made a speech to the people, explaining that wizards existed and they were to be treated with respect, like honored ancestors and wise men. Pyongyang, of course, boasted that the South Koreans were so nervous about the North Koreans' military strength that they were relying on fantasy figures to keep up with the DPRK.

Choi Yeon knew the truth, however. She was in fact a witch, though no one outside the Wizarding community knew. She had toiled for years in the fields, working in the rice paddies with her bare hands, knowing that all of this could be done with magic. Unfortunately, due to the Statute of Secrecy, she could not use her gifts to help make work easier for her and the rest of the women in her paddy. She had been forced to watch as several old women died of exhaustion and malnutrition in the fields.

Things would change now that the Statute was obsolete. Every single injury, cry of fatigue, and death in the paddies had torn at her heartstrings. She had prayed to see the day when the Statute of Secrecy had been removed and she would be able to magic to help people. She would do whatever she could to improve the typical North Korean peasant's way of life.

Reaching into a pocket of her robe, she pulled out an object which looked to the Muggles to be an ordinary piece of wood. It wasn't, however. Supposedly the wand had been made at Ollivander's hundreds of years ago and was still in good working order. It had held up to years of toiling in the fields. Now it was time to bring that toiling to an end.

Whom would she help first? Certainly she can't help herself while others were suffering. That would have been morally reprehensible and more suited to the Dear Leader than a normal person.

The decision was made for her a few minutes later, when she heard a scream followed by a splash. Brandishing her wand in front of her like a weapon, she raced towards the sound. An old woman had been carrying some baskets and tripped on a root. Several bowls of rice were floating away down a river, where the old woman was crying in pain.

She knelt down next to the old woman. "Madame, are you OK? Do you need help?"

The woman just howled and pointed at her leg. The leg was clearly broken, and water festering with parasites was in the process of infiltrating her system. This could be a serious injury.

Choi Yeun took a deep breath and took the plunge. "Madame, hold still. I think I'll be able to help you. However, I'm going to have to do something a bit unusual. Is that all right with you?"

The woman managed to stop sobbing long enough to nod. "Please, young woman! Anything to stop the pain! It hurts! Ancestors, it hurts!"

"All right. Hold still and let me work my magic."

"Please! Help me!"

Choi Yeun put one hand on the injured woman's shoulder and brought out her wand with the other hand. It was now or never. Focusing on her patient, she muttered the incantation.

The old woman let out a shriek of surprise and looked at her leg. "Ancestors take me! The pain is dissipating! It looks healthy! What did you do? How did you do it?"

"Madame, I can tell you, but it's going to be a bit of a shock."

"Tell me! I an in your debt!"

Choi Yeun took another deep breath before she continued. "I am a magician, madame. I belong to a society of magicians who can actually cast spells to help people. We have kept ourselves secret for most the most part because people are often frightened of us, even though we mean you no harm."

The old woman stared at her. "You actually cast a spell to help me? I find it hard to believe!"

"Yes, madame. I can understand your skepticism. If you want more proof of my good intentions, here it is."

Choi Yeun waved her wand, and several rows of rice plants suddenly shucked their precious grains and deposited them in a bowl. She then cast another spell to carry the bowl back to the old woman.

She handed the bowl to the old woman. "Here is some more rice to make up for what you lost. If there is anything you or anyone else who knows me need help with, just ask. Now that I will be able to use my magic in public, I will be able to do much more for you."

The old woman looked at the bowl in disbelief. "I can't believe this! My prayers have been answered! Are you a spirit?"

"No, madame. I am just another human being, like yourself. However, I have a gift which allows me to help people in unusual ways, and it is incumbent upon me to use this gift wisely."

The old woman got to her feet and gingerly put her weight on her formerly hurt foot. It held her weight easily and she let out an excited laugh. "I am indeed in your debt! I apologize that I made you reveal your secret."

Choi Yeun shook her head. "It's not a secret anymore. The existence of magicians has been revealed to the world. We will now be able to help people without worrying about anything."

The old woman gave her a hug and started running towards another part of the paddy. "Thank you so much, madame! Now, if you could come with me, I've got a sister who's got arthritis and a husband who can't lift rocks anymore!"

To be continued...
-------------
Update #29
------------
February 3, 1996
Dine Center for Shamanism and Sorcery
Fourth Mesa, Arizona
United States of America
------------
Mark Willis winced and glared at the half-empty can of Blast Cola. "They call THIS a soft drink?"

Strong Bear nodded. "They do indeed, Mark. What do you think of it?"

"I can't stand it. It has no taste. I like butterbeer a lot better. Do all Muggle soft drinks taste like this?"

"No, Mark. This is just one brand of soft drink, Blast Cola. There are others as well: Coca-Cola, Pepsi, Sprite, and so forth. Each of those has their own taste. Would you like to try some of those? Next time we see the Sanderses, I'll ask them to bring some."

Little Cloud shook his sparkling white head. "I don't think that's a good idea, Strong Bear. They might be offended. After all, Isaac works for Blast Cola. This Coke or whatever it is must be a competitor. I think you should let him send you more Blast even though you don't like it all that much. Maybe some other people in the building may like it."

Mark grimaced. "You're a ghost, Little Cloud. You don't need to worry about being forced to drink it."

Little Cloud nodded. "True. I do have a bit of an advantage there. Do they have any other products which you can sample?"

Strong Bear thought for a moment. "They've got Diet Blast, Caffeine Blast, Spice Blast, Passion Fruit Blast -- "

Little Cloud stared at him. "Passion Fruit Blast? The Muggles have developed the equivalent of a fruit drink that induces passion in people? They've invented a love potion?"

All heads turned in unison as a laughing Two Bear walked into the room. "No, Little Cloud. There is actually a fruit known as a passion fruit. It's found in tropical climates in Central and South America. Despite its name, it is not capable of inducing passion in humans. Rest assured, my sparkling friend, that the secret of love potions remains safely part of our domain."

Little Cloud smiled. "That's good to hear, Two Bear. How was the rest of the Sanderses' tour of the facility? They seemed completely stunned at half the stuff they saw. Mrs. Sanders nearly fell over when she saw me."

Strong Bear chuckled. "I remember that, Little Cloud. Muggles tend to do that whenever they see ghosts. I suspect that when this video becomes public, you are going to become a rather popular topic."

Little Cloud frowned. "How so?"

Mark Willis explained. "Muggles, from what I learned in Muggle Studies, have never had documented proof of an afterlife before. Sure, they've had legends of haunted houses, but you're the first ghost they have ever actually recorded a conversation with. Believe me, they're going to be floored. Religious leaders all over the planet are going to have to do some fast thinking."

Two Bear laughed even harder. "They will indeed. At any rate, back to the Sanders's tour. We basically gave them the tour we usually give to top-secret government officials and other wizards. They saw the school, the potion-making facility, the peyote garden, and conducted some interviews with the staff. They tried to get into a Dine-only powwow, but we blocked access before they could reveal any of the tribe's secrets. We finally showed them a few magical items and let them go with a broom and some butterbeer."

Little Cloud was incredulous. "You gave them a BROOM? They can't fly brooms!"

Two Bear nodded. "That's what I'm suspecting, Little Cloud. Had our theorists believed that they would actually be able to use the broom, we wouldn't have given it to them because it would have been extremely dangerous. They don't want to fall off at 5000 feet. They'd make a really big mess. Ancestors take me, I still don't like it when my nephew flies around and he's had a broom for a year already."

"I see. Did they like the butterbeer?"

"They did indeed, they did indeed. Maybe this will be our contribution to Muggle society -- something that people can actually drink. Which reminds me -- I believe the Sanderses' other contribution from the Muggle world is actually of some use to us."

Strong Bear was intrigued. "The wristwatch?"

"Yes. If you'd follow us, we can show you what we've been doing with it."

Strong Bear, Little Cloud, and Willis headed down the corridors after Two Bear. Little Cloud amused himself en route by flying through people, much to their chagrin. He'd been a bit of a practical joker in real life, and nothing much appeared to have changed.

The four men headed into a small laboratory and walked over to an examination table. There was the wristwatch, sitting on the table. Next to the watch was a wand and an area which appeared to have been burnt slightly. The rest of the table was empty.

Two Bear pointed at the watch. "This device has a countdown feature as well as an alarm. When the countdown reaches zero, it starts beeping. We've managed to concoct a magical field which will keep a spell in suspended animation until triggered by a sound. Link it to the beeping from the watch, set the timer or alarm, and you can have the spell cast whenever you want, even if you're not there. Watch, no pun intended."

Everyone watched as he cast a couple of spells in preparation. When everything was ready, he picked up the watch and set it for a one-minute countdown. He started the countdown, put down the watch, and picked up the wand.

He waved it at the table. "Incendio minimus."

Nothing happened, and he picked up the wand. Normally, a small flame would have burst from the end of the wand. However, due to the stasis field, the spell was placed in suspension.

Strong Bear whistled. "I can sense the magic in the air. The field definitely seems to have recorded the spell. Impressive. Can the same field shoot off multiple spells at different times?"

Two Bear frowned. "In theory, yes. In practice, however, it's not that easy. The spells are activated by the sound, not the time. As a result, all the spells will go off when the alarm goes off. Now, look. The countdown is about to end."

Everyone was silent as the countdown reached zero. The watch started beeping. A fraction of a second later, a burst of flame appeared over the table. It seemed to have originated from where the wand had been before the wand had been removed from the stasis field.

Willis whistled. "Impressive. Very impressive."

Two Bear beamed. "I thought you'd like it. Give us a little more time, and little gadgets like this will be able to work wonders for our society. You'd be amazed at what functionality these new digital devices has that our traditional pocket watches don't."

To be continued...
--------------
Update #30
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February 4, 1996
Outside H-Entry
MacGregor House
450 Memorial Drive
Cambridge, Massachusetts
United States of America
------------
The dorm's central courtyard was filled with reporters, students, parents helping undergrads move back on campus after intersession, and various people associated with the Society for Creative Anachronism and Assassin's Guild. For the first time the history of the MIT, I-Entry was going to be shown to the Muggles.

MacGregor House consisted of a sixteen-floor tower attached a an L-shaped low-rise building. The dormitory consisted of nine major living areas, better known as "entries" as each area shared a common entry. Entries A, B, C, D, and E were in the tower. Entries F, G, H, and J comprised the low-rise. Each entry had its own personality and intramural sports teams, such as the E-Entry Executioners and F-Entry Vigilantes. Originally an all-male dorm, eight of the nine entries had gone co-ed over the past few years. When C-Entry went co-ed in the fall of 1994, F-Entry found itself as the only entry left which did not include women.

The fact that I-Entry was missing from the list was obvious to even the most casual observer. The only reference to an I-Entry stood in an internal corridor connecting H and J entries. It consisted of a brick wall with a big capital letter "I" painted on it. Many people believed that the letter "I" had been omitted from the list because it could have been confused with J.

That explanation, however, had gone out the window less than 48 hours ago, when a shocking announcement echoed through the Institute. I-Entry existed, just like the other ones. It even had its own sports team, the I-Entry Incantations. The only reason it didn't compete with the other nine entries was simple: no one else at MIT played Quodpot or even Quidditch.

I-Entry housed the magical technology division of the United States Department of Magic. The place was chock-full of wizards which had been operating under the Muggles' noses since time immemorial. The entry had a special portal linking it to the headquarters of the Department of Magic in Greenwich.

Since Greenwich was hidden under the waters of the Quabbin, ordinary wizards and witches living outside the Four Towns often found it difficult to access the Ministry headquarters. Employees could Apparate into it. Visitors, however, could not, which necessitated a visitor entrance. I-Entry lived up to its name, dutifully allowing Wizarding visitors access to the Ministry through the experimental technology section.

I-Entry had handled its affairs quietly and in secrecy for years on end. That period of tranquility had ended, however, a few days ago, when the President had revealed the existence of the wizards to the world following the Super Bowl Breach.

Requests had been coming in from all over the country to send a camera crew into a wizard stronghold to show the Muggles how the wizards lived. After a brief hesitation, Secretary Radner had agreed. After a hasty consultation with Professor Nagle of the Quabbin Academy for Sorcery, arrangements were made to allow a news crew into wizard territory -- at the very least, I-Entry and one of the submerged towns. Radner had refused to allow them into the department headquarters itself for security reasons. However, the civilian areas were fair game.

The authorities had tried to keep the visit secret. However, a whole bunch of Alpha Chi Gamma hackers had joined forces, led by the kid who had introduced the leak to the Internet to begin with, to break into a government Web site and the secret was soon out. Needless to say, MIT was furious at being hoodwinked. Harvard, with its powerful alumni and large endowment, complained that all the schools in Cambridge should have known about this. As if that were not bad enough, various octogenarians who had been evicted from the Four Towns back in 1938 started shouting at everyone strange-looking that they wanted their houses back.

At precisely 12:00, Travis Radner and his bodyguard Apparated onto the walkway leading to the entrance to G-Entry, above the former cafeteria. His arrival was noticed immediately by the crowd, who started clapping, chattering, cheering excitedly. Several students started making Star Trek jokes and transporter noises. Radner, however, had been expecting this. He waved to the crowd and told them to join them. This resulted in a stampede out of the courtyard, past the entrance to the high-rise, and around the 180 degree turn up the staircase. The television floodlights reflected off the bald Secretary's head as he proceeded down the hall to the entrance to H-Entry.

Two people, a man and woman, met him at the door. The man looked to be a graduate student, maybe in his mid to late twenties. The woman, a striking blonde, appeared a few years younger than him, perhaps only a year or two older than the seniors.

Radner bowed to the two people. "Good afternoon. I take it one of you is the master for H-Entry?"

The man nodded. "I'm the graduate residence tutor, if that's what you mean. I take it you're involved with the Department of Magic and are going to be conducting the tour of I-Entry?"

Radner nodded. "We are, sir. You two are more than welcome to come along."

He then looked a bit closer at the woman. He had a knack for finding veela features in people, and the woman's features screamed veela to him. Sure enough, the features were there -- faint, but there. She was probably only 1/32 veela or less -- to the point where it was quite possible she didn't know her veela ancestors -- but veela traits tended to be dominant and as a result took a long time to die out completely. Very interesting, he thought. Here was a descendant of a veela who probably didn't even know what a veela even was. A pity, he thought. Hopefully the mingling of the wizard and Muggle societies would help correct this mistake. However, it made him wonder if there was a continuum between wizard and Muggle -- or in general, between any magical species such as veela and Muggle. Judging from what he knew of evolution, it was quite possible, especially since most wizard families were not purebreeds.

A comment from the GRT interrupted his musings. "Sure, we'll come along. We've seen that I painted on the bricks for all these years. I am kind of curious what's back there."

"You'll find out soon enough, young man. Now, follow me, and we'll head over to I-Entry."

The grad student and his consort joined the crowd as Radner led them through the halls towards I-Entry. Or at least tried to. The halls were narrow, as was often the case with dormitories. Crates and boxes from people moving in were littering the way. Radner cast some Hovering Charms to make them hover temporarily in midair so that the crowd could walk by. This effected a huge cheer from the crowd, followed by a bunch of photographs.

The reporters and Radner caught sight of the painted "I" on the wall about the time the last few members of the mob had made it through the door leading to H-Entry. The line snaked all the way through the living group, trapping several students in their dorm rooms. As if that were not bad enough, several of the students had started racing in through J-Entry and were closing in from the other side. The entire west side of the low-rise was paralyzed.

Travis raised his hand and the crowd fell silent. Slowly, respectfully, he walked up to the painted "I". He pulled out his wand. Cameras went off everywhere as all the reporters turned their cameras in his direction.

He reached out with the wand, tapped the four corners of the "I", and then traced his wand down the central spine. For a few seconds, nothing happened. People began to mutter.

Then the two halves of the "I" began to pivot back into the brick wall. What had been the central spine of the I was widening into a passageway beyond what was an obvious double door. More cameras flashed as the students roared.

Radner turned back to the crowd and beamed. "I-Entry. Shall we?"

The students cheered as he began leading the crowd down the corridor. This lucky group of 500 Muggles would be boldly going where no one had gone before.

It took about five minutes for everyone to make their way through the corridors and into the passage. Ten seconds after the last Muggle entered, the double doors pivoted closed and the painted "I" was an "I" once more.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Update #31
------------
February 4, 1996
I-Entry
Dana, Massachusetts
United States of America
------------
It was only a matter of time now, thought Daniel Meeks. Sorcerer First Class Meeks was the head of the Department of Magical Technology, often known by its Muggle name I-Entry. It would be he who would be leading Secretary Radner and the reporters on a tour of the facility, showing the Muggles wizards at work and what exactly they did for a living. He would then hand the tourists off to Professor Nagle, who would take them on a tour of the QAS. Finally, the Muggles would be allowed to wander into the community, speak with a few people who had volunteered to talk to them, and watch an intercity Quodpot match between Prescott and Enfield.

He hoped that this first contact -- or at least very early contact -- would be relatively straightforward and peaceful. Secretary Radner had done his best to make the tour low-key. Ideally, only five or six reporters would be taking the tour. If other Muggles found out, they would be allowed to come along. However, Sorcerer Meeks didn't think they would find out until it was too late. It was a good thing, however. The more Muggles on the tour, the more likely things were to get out of control. There were things here Muggles shouldn't mess around with, especially wands, which REALLY did not like being handled by nonmagical beings.
-----------
The aforementioned Secretary, meanwhile, had his hands full. He hadn't expected all these people, to say the least. His hopes for a small audience had been dashed, and he'd probably have faced a riot had he told them they couldn't go. A riot during a first contact situation was never a good idea, particularly where most of the people were young men with a penchant for mischief. The fact that there was evidence of a possible veela descendant in the group didn't help, either.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. There wasn't much he could do about it now. All he could do is hope for the best.
-----------
Meeks focused his attention on the door as he heard voices on the other side of the door. He recognized Radner's voice, as well as a general background hum which he assumed was the reporters talking to each other.

Radner was giving final instructions. "All right, everyone. This is the main entrance, right here. It's wizard-locked, so stand back while I open the door. Remember, DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING, particularly wands. Several of our magical items can be dangerous if used improperly. You are free to interview anyone or record anything unless we say otherwise. However, do not touch anything. Got it?"

A chorus of "Rights!" echoed into the room. Meeks frowned: there were at least 15-20 people in there. A bit more than he had hoped, but probably still manageable.

Radner's voice then returned. The Secretary cast a spell, and the door slid open to reveal Radner surrounded by what appeared to be television cameras.

Alarm bells went off in Meeks's head. The Secretary seemed a little frazzled. It was understandable, however. Controlling a group of 20 excited tourists would probably be more difficult than controlling a group of 5 or 6. He didn't let anything show, however, as he walked up to Radner with the television cameras rolling. He shook the Secretary's hands, followed by those of a few of the Muggles in the first rank. He had a strange suspicion that this set of handshakes would be shown all over the world in the months to come.

"Good afternoon, Secretary Radner and our new Muggle friends. Welcome to the Magical Technology Division of the American Department of Magic. My name is Sorcerer First Class Daniel Jonathan Meeks. I'm the head of this facility and I'll be taking you on your tour. Whatever you do, don't touch anything and don't wander away from the group. If you need to use the restroom, tell us and we will find someone to accompany you. As the Secretary said, there are several objects here which don't work well with Muggles. Now, if you reporters could come in, you can start looking around the room so the rest of the tourists can come in."

There was a loud cheer from the corridor, and Meeks's alarm bells began clanging more loudly. That sounded like a lot more than 20 people. He'd know for certain soon, however.

A few seconds later, the last television camera and spotlight moved out of the way, allowing Meeks to look into the corridor. For the first time, he could see how many people were going to be taking the tour.

Uh-oh, he thought.
----------
The group was just too large for one person to lead properly. There were Muggles everywhere, gaping at all of the flying letters and moving photographs. There were at least a hundred people in the first three rooms already, and a glance down the corridor heading back to MacGregor seemed to show no end in sight to the stream.

Meeks had to do something, and do it fast. He grabbed several low-level workers and drafted them into service as tour guides. This done, he shoved his way over to the door and started waving off the people. That didn't work very well, so he found himself forced to cast an anti-Muggle shield across the door, much to the guests' chagrin.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry, but we can't handle any more visitors right now. We were only expecting 10-20 people and so far we've got maybe 150. The rest of you will have to come back later."

The Muggles grumbled for a while. However, Meeks wasn't worried as he had a backup plan which would be a very good booby prize. "If you would be so good to return to MacGregor House, you will find that I have sent my house-elf Thomas to the far end of the corridor, just inside the door leading to the dormitory. He will give each of you a magical token allowing you to enter I-Entry one week from now. You'll like Thomas -- I doubt you've ever seen a real life elf before."

He then gave them the bad news. "Once I've gotten all of you out of the corridor and back into MacGregor House, the I-Entry door will be closed. I'm sorry, but we just can't handle anyone else right now. To use your colloquialism, we're sold out until next week."

The Muggles murmuring turned to excitement, littered with comments about Santa Claus, J. R. R. Tolkien, and Dungeons and Dragons. Meeks groaned. Muggle stereotypes about elves were not particularly realistic. They probably were expecting cute creatures like in movies and were going to be disappointed when confronted with reality.

This last set of comments did the trick, and the Muggles began to head back up the corridor towards the dormitory. He could hear a rather surprised Thomas trying to explain what was going on in the distance while simultaneously trying to fend off probes from at least six biology majors.
----------
Meanwhile, Radner was leading one of the various smaller tour groups through the compound. Some of them guides were accompanied by video cameras and some weren't. The Secretary and his bodyguard, of course, warranted a camera.

There was nearly an incident when the Muggles almost broke out laughing when a potion manufacturer couldn't identify the mysterious Muggle object as a television camera. One of the Muggles -- a blonde woman who looked like a half-veela, of all things -- told them to be more polite, and they did. Meeks turned to her and thanked her for her assistance. Of course, he never saw the mischievous hacker dip a test tube into a cauldron and pocket something which would eventually prove to be a Hair Restoration Potion. He did, however, manage to catch someone trying to make off with a broom.

His tour was fairly comprehensive. He showed the Muggles the potion development cauldrons and several magic items (seen from a distance). He transformed teacups into mice, much to the crowd's amazement. He demonstrated a few basic spells, such as Lumos and Wingardium Leviosa. The reporters, of course, took it all in. They interviewed him, Weeks, and several other people extensively.

Finally, it was over. He led his charges out of the building and towards the school, where Professor Nagle awaited them. The headmaster seemed a bit concerned at the size of the group, but Nagle assured him that he'd manage.

The mob had been remarkably well-behaved. When the damage report came in, all the Muggles seem to have run away with were a Remembrall and a self-cleaning plate. Not surprisingly, the biology students had taken a DNA sample from Thomas. Thankfully, no wands or brooms. It could have been worse. A lot worse.

All in all, a not unreasonable first contact.

To be continued...
--------------

Update #32
------------
February 4, 1996
Quabbin Academy of Sorcery
Dana, Massachusetts
United States of America
------------
Steven Reynolds watched as the mob approached the school gates. He considered himself to an expert on Muggles. He had been serving as the Muggle Studies teacher for eight years now and was admired by most of his students. He described Muggle customs to him the best he could. Some of them, such as the airplane, were rather surprising. Many of the boys, including the 11th and 12th graders, couldn't imagine what life would be like if you couldn't Apparate or fly a broom.

Everything had changed over the past week. Everything. For the first time in his life, his students would be able to grade him on his lessons much like he had graded theirs. He would be in big trouble if the Muggles approaching the gate with the headmaster didn't act the way he was expecting them to.

The QAS had found out about the Super Bowl commercial relatively quickly. To his credit, Professor Nagle had responded quickly and decisively, explaining to the students what had happened and quarantining the school from possible exposure to the Muggles. The three hours which had been cleared for watching the Super Bowl tape instead hosted a mandatory Muggle Studies class focusing on the history of interaction between Muggles and wizards.

By now, of course, the Obliviators had given up. There was no way to stop the leak at this point. The Muggle and Wizarding worlds were about to collide and the important thing now was to make sure that the collision didn't destroy one, or both, of those cultures.

Reaction among the boys was mixed. Some of them had heard frightening rumors about the Muggles. The fact that Dana had originally been founded by refugees from the Salem witch trials didn't help. On the other hand, the school included several students with Muggle parents. These kids seemed just like their Wizarding counterparts. Furthermore, several Wizarding students who had visited these children at their parents' homes out in Greenfield and Northampton had reported that the family seemed just like any Wizarding family. The only exception, of course, was that they never used magic, replacing it with technology.

The headmaster and staff had prepared for this moment as soon as the commercial had hit the air and double-checked them as soon as word came down that the Muggles would be having a tour of the school. Reynolds just hope that they would be enough.

Drawing a deep breath, he walked down to the gates, reaching them just as they opened to admit Secretary Radner, Professor Nagle and the reporters. Several brave students followed him. Reynolds noted that the vast majority of the mob consisted of college age students, only a few years older than the seniors. There were also young women among them, something which the QAS students noticed almost immediately. He'd have to keep an eye on this.

He reached out and shook the Secretary's hand. "Welcome to the men's campus of the Quabbin Institute of Sorcery. I'm the Muggle Studies teacher, Professor Reynolds. I'll be taking you on a tour of our facility today so you can see what a Wizarding school looks like.

"Before we begin the tour, there are some things I should say. Many of the students have never met Muggles before, so they may be a little shy or awkward around you. Then again, I suppose you're going to be feeling us out as well. Now, with that out of the way, I should warn you that you should not touch anything without permission of myself, Professor Nagle, or Secretary Radner. There are several things here, such as wands and brooms, which can hurt people if they are used improperly.

"First, some background. The Quabbin Institute of Sorcery was founded in 1695 in the wake of the Salem witch trials, when a breach of the Statute of Secrecy -- a temporary one, unlike this -- turned the Muggles against the wizards and resulted in the death of many wizards. The survivors were forced to move west into the towns now known as Dana, Enfield, Greenwich, and Prescott. This building is in Dana. To further protect the Wizarding community from prying eyes, a wizard convinced a Boston magistrate to create the Quabbin Reservoir so it could not only slake Bostonians' thirst but also to make it impossible for visitors to the area to find our homes without extensive scuba gear. You may be interested to know that you are currently standing in a magical air bubble under about 300 feet of water."

The Muggles started murmuring in surprise an admiration. Reynolds did, however, hear a few old people complaining that they'd been evicted from their homes just to pacify some crazy lunatics.

He continued. "This school goes from 6th grade to 12th grade. The seven-year curriculum follows the standard set down in Britain by the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, one of the most ancient institutions on the planet. Students take a wide variety of classes, including Potions, Divination, Muggle Studes (my class), Arithmancy, Astronomy, Transfiguration -- "

One of the Muggles smirked. "What's the point of astronomy if you're underwater and never see the sky?"

Reynolds smiled. "Simple. The astronomy is used in conjunction with astrology lessons. I believe you are familiar with astrology, the ability to foretell events based on the positions of the stars and planets."

The Muggle shook his head. "That doesn't work. I'm an engineer, and I know it doesn't work."

"That's because your signs are all off, my friend. Do you know your sign? What's your birthday?"

"I'm a Libra. October 9."

Reynolds shook his head. "I'm afraid not, sir. You are a Virgo. That's why your astrology doesn't work -- your signs are all off by one due to the Earth's precession. You'll need to pay more attention to the actual constellation boundaries and invoke more stars and planets to get an accurate reading. You'd be surprised to know that many people in this crowd likely fall under the sign of Ophiuchus, the Serpent Bearer."

The Muggles stared at him. Several of the young men -- presumably astronomers -- nodded, though. At least he'd gotten through to a few of them. It was a good start. He then pointed down the corridor towards the Great Hall.

"Now, if you'll follow me, we'll head into the Great Hall, where we have prepared a meal for you. I apologize that we don't have enough food to feed this many tourists -- we'd only been expecting 20 or so -- but we'll do whatever we can."

Needless to say, the Muggles were awed by the sight. Floating candles littered the air, and the tables of the four Houses were laden with gold and silver plates. All of the students were there, dressed in robes. Reynolds had the distinct impression that several of those plates would disappear before the tour ended.

Staring up at the ceiling was like looking into an aquarium. Fish swam around peacefully. The Muggles were floored when they were told that they were looking up at the waters of the Quabbin. At least two ocean engineering students started barking at each other about the impossibility of such a feat.

It didn't take long for the presence of the MIT co-eds to break the ice between the two groups of students, especially the QAS seniors. The food didn't hurt, either. Here and there, the word "veela" appeared, capturing all of the adults' attention. Judging from the locations where the word was being spoken, there were at least four veela descendants in there.

After the meal, the now-mingling groups of students took a tour of the building. As it was a Sunday afternoon, most of the classrooms were empty. However, Reynolds was able to point out several utensils and magical items.

The group was about to leave the school when one of the Muggles screamed. The staff turned to find the crowd milling around in confusion -- and excitement. The Muggles were repeating one word. Ghost. A few of the college students were talking about Jed Eyes and Obee Ones. What the hell were they?

Nagle looked at Radner and shrugged. They were going to find out at some point. Might as well get it over with.

Within maybe thirty seconds, the Muggles had cleared maybe a ten-foot-diameter circle around a shimmering white figure. The figure appeared to be a woman in her sixties or seventies wearing a demure Puritan-style frock and bonnet. What was even more unusual was the fact that she was floating maybe a foot above the ground, something the reporters could not fail to miss.

One of the Muggles found his voice. "Who are you? Are you a ghost?"

The figure spoke. "Yes, Goodman. In life, I was Goody Rebecca Nurse, of Salem, Massachusetts. I was convicted on a charge of evil witchcraft in the year of Our Lord 1692, even though I was a good Christian and made no pact with the devil. All the magic I performed was in the name of the Lord to help people. I have returned to make sure that such a tragedy never happens again."

The Muggles stared at her and at each other. Anyone familiar with The Crucible would recognize the name. Especially students who had been forced to read the book for summer reading.

The rush of reporters heading towards the figure nearly masked a brief clatter as a gold plate fell from the hand of a stunned Muggle.

To be continued...
---------------

Update #33
------------
February 4, 1996
Quabbin Academy of Sorcery
Dana, Massachusetts
United States of America
------------
[NOTE -- Remember that this is an interview of very pious Puritan woman. As a result she will be seeing things from a very religious point of view. I hope this comes across as dignified and respectful. I will delete it if it is not]

Rebecca Nurse didn't think she'd seen this many people staring at her before in her entire life, either as a ghost or as a human. She also found it hard to believe that they didn't realize she was a ghost. Everyone in the Four Towns knew she existed. Granted, the Muggles didn't know she had survived the execution, but she didn't think Muggles would be allowed into the school regardless of this so-called Super Bowl Breach (what in Christ's name was the Super Bowl?)

These people were wearing most unusual -- and provocative -- clothing. Several women were wearing trousers and form-fitting clothing. Had they worn that in her day, they would very likely have been burned as rebels or witches regardless of their magical ability.

Had she done something wrong? She didn't think so. She'd just been going about her business when she'd heard lots of people in the Great Hall. Curious, she'd come over and become the center of attention. It was as if they'd never seen a ghost before.

She looked around at all the people. "God's wounds, ladies and gentlemen. What is the matter? Have I done something wrong? Why are you all looking at me? I swear by our Lord Jesus that I did not perform any evil magic. And what exactly are those odd metal contraptions those people are holding?"

Professor Nagle explained. "These people, Goody Nurse, are Muggles. You are the first ghost they have ever seen. They're curious about you."

She stared at him. "Muggles? In here? We have been discovered and betrayed! We are lost! By Our Lord Jesus Christ --"

Professor Reynolds chimed in. "Goody Nurse, you need not fear. The Muggles have found out about our world and the Statute of Secrecy has been breached to the point where it cannot be repaired."

The Muggle Studies teacher raised a hand to forestall her panicked scream. "However, times have changed. The witch trials are over, and we believe that these Muggles have come because they want to learn about our people. If we are to co-exist peacefully, we will each need to learn about each other's customs. Right now the Muggles are touring our world. Once we finish the tour, we will be sending some of the wizards into the Muggle world, into Boston and Cambridge."

She didn't know if this was good or bad. "Have the Muggles tried to execute any of our people yet?"

"No, Goody Nurse. They have not, and they will not. Like I said, times have changed. If you wish, you can come with us on our tour. When was the last time you were outside the Four Towns? Hundreds of years ago, I suspect. You probably want a change of scenery."

Secretary Radner stared at Reynolds. "Is that wise? They've never seen ghosts before. I don't want them overreacting. Remember this is a first contact situation here."

She really wanted to see what the world was like outside the Four Towns. However, better to be safe than sorry. She'd been betrayed by Muggles once before. She was concerned some things never changed, however. Shaking her head, she replied. "I will stay here for the time being, Master Reynolds. I do not want to cause anyone to suffer because of something I did. Like Our Savior, I am willing to undergo difficulties for the sake of others."

Reynolds shrugged. "As you wish, Goody Nurse. Now, let me explain what I suspect is going to happen next. Like I said, you are the first ghost they have ever seen. These contraptions you mentioned are Muggle recording devices. They will allow other Muggles to witness these events. Muggles will very likely be interested in your experience as a ghost. They will likely ask you questions about religion and the afterlife. Would you be willing to answer them? Remember that they have never had proof of an afterlife before."

She looked at the Muggles, puzzled. "They doubt the Bible? The Bible clearly mentions an afterlife."

"There are several ways to interpret that passage, Goody Nurse. And the Bible isn't as well read as it once was."

She stared at him, surprised. "Indeed, times have changed. Well, I will do what I can to answer their questions."

With that, Reynolds bowed to her courteously and backed off somewhat. Several of the people with the metal contraptions walked over as the Muggles began talking excitedly among themselves. After a few moments, one of them spoke up.

"How do you become a ghost? Are ghosts common? Do you have to be a wizard to become a ghost?"

She shrugged as the man pointed some kind of metal object at her. "To be honest, I cannot remember. What I do remember is being executed for a sin I would have never committed. As my spirit was floating away, I felt a Presence asking me if I had anything else to do in this world. If I so chose, I could stay behind as a ghost to continue my mission. I would be able to leave at a future time if I so chose. I would not be able to return to a corporeal body, but I would be able to manifest myself as a ghost."

"You spoke with God? You have seen God?"

She thought for a moment. "I do not know, good sir. I pray that it was God. However, this Presence seemed very caring yet powerful."

The man with the machine pressed her further. "Can you say God exists?"

She looked at him sharply. "I have always believed He exists, good sir. I did not need this experience to support my beliefs."

"But did this experience give you conclusive evidence that God exists? That is, would it something that a scientist would have accepted as proof of God's existence? Something that would convince everyone?"

She considered this and sighed. "It shames me to admit this, but I would say no. If I were a heretic or a heathen, I would not be convinced that God contacted me. From the little I know of science, I would believe that my experience would not be enough prove God's existence to an unbeliever."

The reporter nodded. "Sounds like a powerful spiritual experience, Goody Nurse. You felt a sense of peace, yet one of urgency, and you couldn't figure out where it came from. As a religious person, you believed it was God. However, you couldn't prove it, just like most of our other experiences when it comes to the existence of God."

She flared at him. "Where else would it have come from?"

One of the other reporters broke in. "Goody Nurse, do you believe yourself to be in heaven? Have you seen heaven?"

She shook her head. "I never witnessed the pearly gates or the fires of hell. From what I have been told, ghosts like myself abide in Sheol, the underworld. All ghosts reside in Sheol regardless of how good or bad they were in life. Even the great prophet Samuel was sent to Sheol, and not to heaven, when he spent time as a ghost before he was summoned by Saul and the witch of Endor. When they choose to move on, they then go to heaven or hell."

[For more on the Witch of Endor, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Witch_of_Endor]

"But have you seen proof of heaven or hell?"

"No. However, is there any doubt they exist?"

Reynolds, who had apparently been expecting this, nodded and turned to the Muggles. "Keep in mind that this woman was very pious during her life. She lived during the time of the Puritans, remember."

Another reporter raised her hand. "How do you reconcile your belief in magic with your religious traditions?"

"Simple, milady. God gives various people various talents and gifts according to His divine plan. He decided to give me magic as a gift, and it is not up to me to question His decision. It is our duty to use His gifts to help improve the world."

The first reporter spoke up again. "Are ghosts common? Can people who are not wizards become ghosts?"

She shook her head. "I know a few other ghosts, good sir. There aren't many, but they exist. They were all wizards."

"Must you be a Christian, or at least a worshiper of the God of Abraham, to become a ghost?"

"No. There are several Indians in the ghost realm, victims of the terrible diseases which spread through the Indian communities shortly after our arrival in 1620. They, like I, have stayed behind to try to help their communities. This leads me to believe that God, in His infinite mercy, has provided the ghost realm as a last chance for people to atone for their sins and accept the Savior before God judges them."

Some of the Muggles not holding contraptions began speaking. "Madame, if you've come back as a ghost, why couldn't you come back to life completely? Can wizards raise the dead?"

"No. They cannot. Only God and Our Savior could."

"How about providing eternal youth?"

"Not easily. There is an Elixir of Life which can prolong life, but it must be drunk consistently to prevent aging. Furthermore, this Elixir will not prevent the drinker from being injured or killed."

The Muggles sounded excited as the reporter continued. "Do you have any of this Elixir? Do you know how to make it?"

"No, good sir."

Another reporter broke in. "You have been a ghost for the past three hundred years. How does our world seem to someone who was born almost four hundred years ago?"

"Very different, milady. Very different. The women's clothing would have caused them to be burned as witches or prostitutes in my day. However, I am optimistic. It is clear that nowadays people are much more tolerant. These women can wear trousers and not be burned, and they can keep their hair uncovered and not be stoned. Muggles have reached the point where they are willing to be tolerant of wizards. From the little I know, I'd be optimistic about the future. I suspect I would have not been accused of evil magic nowadays."

She thought a little longer. "Had this era not been so secular, I would say that we were close to entering God's Kingdom. We may not be there yet, but I would suspect that we are much closer than I first thought possible. I suspect that we need no longer fear His Final Judgment."

To be continued...
------------------
Update #34
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February 4, 1996
H-Entry/J-Entry Corridor
MacGregor House
450 Memorial Drive
Cambridge, Massachusetts
United States of America
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The corridor was deserted by the time the I-Entry doors swung open. It was now almost 6:00, and most of the students were either heading to the Student Center or the convenience store to eat dinner. As a result, no one immediately noticed the most unusual precession which suddenly began trooping out of what was supposed to have been a brick wall.

But it didn't take the remaining H-Entry and J-Entry students long to figure out something was up. It wasn't often that 500 people suddenly appeared out of nowhere, blocking the corridors. Inevitably, word leaked out that these were the tourists who had entered the wizard realm. People made phone calls, and by the time the last students had made it out of the I-Entry doors there were representatives from the Tech, Tech Talk, and Technology Review. Harvard students were on their way as well. A woman with a Russian accent led a large group of Wiccans over to the building from the dormitory next door.

Curiously, a large wizard's hat had appeared on the 77 Massachusetts Avenue dome, complete with lighting so it could be seen at night. The students loved it, of course. No one knew where it had come from. The authorities looked at it nervously, however. For all they knew, real witches did not wear hats like this and could find it offensive. A heated debate ensued as to whether the new decoration should be removed.

The witnesses's eyes shot up as the parade of students was followed by several people in very strange dress. Most of them were wearing robes of odd colors. Ominously, none of them were wearing hats. A Campus Police officer barked into his communicator and turned to the dome just in time to see the lights turned off. The students groaned. Most of the cops understood the playful nature of the hacks, but in this case diplomacy was involved and it wasn't a laughing matter.
-------------
Maxwell Finch blinked as he emerged from the corridor. He found himself in an environment unlike anything he'd seen before. He was in a hallway of some sort. There were odd lights in the ceiling, wall-to-wall carpeting on the floor, and several doors with placards on them consisting of the letter "H" followed by a number. This must be an office of some sort, perhaps an area the Muggles had set up to welcome the wizards to their realm.

All of the wizards were moving forward down the corridor. The corridor continued in the opposite direction, however. Craning his neck to look behind him, he saw a door with a "J" placard and some men in uniforms who looked nothing like the Muggles he had seen. The men in uniforms seemed to be trying to keep other Muggles -- dressed like the people he had met -- under control.

He brought out his camera to take a picture of the corridor. Muggles gestured excitedly. He pushed the button, and there was a brief flash as the photograph started recording. So far, so good.

Half a second later, the lights adjacent to him in the corridor went out.

He winced. What did he do? He didn't mean to wreck the lights. He was just trying to take a picture. The Muggles in the uniforms suddenly started staring at him.

He had to say something. "I'm sorry, sirs! I don't know what I did! I took a picture with my camera and the lights went out around me! The camera seems to be working fine, though. Here, I'll help you out. Lumos."

The wand light turned on, but it didn't do anything to bring the lights back. He hoped he wasn't in trouble. He continued on until he was back into the lighted area of the corridor and pulled out his wand again. "Nox".

The wand light went out -- as did a few more lights.

Several of the wizards muttered nervously at this. Were these lights designed to detect magic? How had the Muggles developed such technology without knowing about the wizards? His thoughts were interrupted by a swear from beyond no fewer than three of the H-marked doors, followed by irritated comments that various somethings weren't working.

Oh dear, he thought. It appeared that his spells were wrecking the Muggles' equipment. He'd need to check his wand out. Discretion was the best part of valor, so he put his wand in his pocket, deactivated his camera, and followed the rest of the wizards down the corridor. He passed through another area of broken lights -- apparently someone else had tried to cast a spell. Odd, he thought. It wasn't his wand then. It sounded like something about magic broke Muggles' technology.

Wait a minute, he thought. The Muggles' recording equipment had worked during their half of the tour, and everyone had been casting spells there. Shouldn't their equipment have broken there as well? Maybe the wizards knew how to prevent the Muggle's machinery from breaking.

The corridor twisted and turned, passing many more H-marked doors. Progress was slow with all the people passing through the narrow space. Eventually, though, they came to a door leading outside.

He walked through the door. It was evening. He was on what appeared to be a platform or walkway attached to a building surrounding a central courtyard. The building was four stories high near him. However, there appeared to be a much taller, box-shaped tower, across the courtyard from him. He whistled. He didn't think he'd ever seen a tower that tall before. The Muggles seemed to have very impressive technology.

The central courtyard was filled with Muggles chatting excitedly and clapping as the wizards emerged from the building. He wanted to look around more but there were people still coming out behind him. He stepped aside so that the rest of the wizards could come out. Several of them had pieces of parchment in their hands. Others had recording devices.

The wizards walked down the corridor and down some stairs, where they were greeted by some impressive-looking Muggles in suits. One of the Muggles shook Secretary Radner's hand.

"Welcome, Mr. Secretary. I'm the mayor of Cambridge, and this fellow here is the president of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. It's been an honor to meet your acquaintance, and I hope we will be able to work together and learn from each other in the future."

Everyone cheered as Radner nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Mayor. The feeling is mutual."

"How many people do you have on the tour?"

"About fifty, sir. They're all excited -- I've seen evidence that a few have tried to cast spells. Muggle technology tend to not work well when wizards are casting spells. I'm going to have to tell everyone not to cast spells while near Muggle technology."

The Mayor scratched his head. "But didn't our television cameras work? I was able to watch the tour from my office. Most fascinating, especially the interview with Mrs. Nurse."

"They did, Mr. Mayor. And yes, there is a way Muggle equipment can be protected from magic. However, it requires that we release a colorless, harmless gas into the air surrounding the equipment to be protected."

The mayor was intrigued. "Intriguing. Is the gas magical?"

"No. It is normally part of air, but at too low a concentration to help your equipment. We extracted some and spread it throughout the Four Towns in preparation for your arrival. I believe the term you use for it is argon-38."

The Muggles chattered excitedly at this. Apparently they knew what this gas was. This was a good sign. He'd be able to cast spells again soon.

The Mayor nodded. "Argon-38? That's a noble gas, isn't it? Intriguing. I'll see what can be done. In the meantime, here's the plan.

"You are on the campus of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, a Muggle center for the study of science and technology. We're going to walk down to the Student Center, where we have prepared a meal for you. After that, we're going to head down into the school itself and I'll show you some of the laboratories and so forth. We'll then take you over to a hotel, the Cambridge Marriott, where you can relax. Tomorrow, we're going to take you on a tour of Cambridge and Boston and show you some of the sights. I hope you'll like it. Our party will be much smaller, though, as most of the people you see around you are students at the Institute."

One of the other wizards smiled. "Interesting. Is Harvard College still in business? It was a great center of Muggle learning at the time our community was founded."

The Mayor nodded. "It's still here, sir, maybe three miles away or so. It's probably the most prestigious school in the United States. They are already expecting you tomorrow."

Several of the younger Muggles grumbled at this. Apparently these young Muggles did not like Harvard very much. Maxwell frowned. If these people were students, wouldn't they revere Harvard as much as this school?

Radner nodded. "Sounds fine with us. Lead the way."

The Mayor nodded. "As you wish, Mr. Secretary. Follow me. And please do not use magic for the time being."

With that, the men started walking around the corner and down the street, past the high tower. Maxwell was a bit sad he couldn't record everything he was seeing. Look at these towers! Look at all these strangely-dressed people!

Up ahead, the Secretary of Magic narrowed his eyes and started. "Ha! Am I imagining something, or is that a wizard's hat on that fine building over there? It is difficult to see."

The president of the Institute paused for a moment. He sighed and put his head in his hands. Finally, he nodded. "Yes. That is what we Muggles believe a wizard's hat looks like. We did it to welcome you to our world. Is it accurate?"

Radner looked at it more carefully. "Actually, no. It doesn't look at all like a wizard's hat. However, that's understandable, Mr. President. At the time you made the display, you hadn't taken the tour and as a result didn't know what a wizard's hat truly looked like. We appreciate the gesture, though. It shows that you are sincere about your desire to blend our communities."

The President stared at Radner and breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good to hear. Now, let's go. This building here is the Delta Psi fraternity, also known as the Number Six Club."

Maxwell smiled. A place with no fewer than six clubs? A place which tried to welcome wizards with a hat on one of their buildings? The Muggles seemed very friendly. The wizards had nothing to worry about.

To be continued...
----------------
Update #35
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February 5, 1996
Dursley-Burgess Household
Westboro, Kansas
United States of America
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Patrick Dursley-Burgess stared at the monitor in disbelief. The wizards were about to take over the world and no one knew it. Why else would they have conveniently "exposed" themselves at this point? Had he been one of the wizards, he would have waited until they had developed a foolproof plan for world domination before announcing their existence to the world.

The Bible clearly stated that the faithful were not allowed to let a witch live. God had decreed that the witches be destroyed, and one did not question His words. They were right in front of him, in black and white. They weren't going to fool someone who read the Bible a lot.

He had watched as President Clinton and the minion of the Antichrist appeared on live TV and tried to convince America that these witches could be trusted. Most of the people believed him. However, Nigel didn't. In a debate between God and a secular leader, whom was he supposed to trust?

The explanation for the President's behavior was simple: this so-called Secretary of Magic had ensorcelled him before the interview. Although he had personally not voted for Clinton in 1992, and planned to vote against him in November, he was still the president and had to be obeyed and respected as such. Yet how was he supposed to obey a president who was no longer acting in the best interest of his people? How was he supposed to follow the laws of someone who was but a front for a wizard army?

The signs pointing to the wizards being agents of the devil were everywhere. For Christ's sake, the Pope had come out as a wizard! He had never been particularly fond of Catholics. Now he had good reason to be even less fond of them. How many Catholics could be wizards in disguise, waiting to unleash their spells on an unsuspecting population?

He had thought the president's original speech had been problematic. It paled, however, in comparison to the footage currently being shown on the prime-time news. Not only were schools supposedly dedicated to science linked to the witches, but secret witch enclaves were hidden all over the place. One of them had been situated under Boston's primary water supply. It was perfectly positioned to poison the city's drinking water or cast a spell on it which would turn all of the residents into zombies.

Patrick had been troubled by the interview with the ghost most of all. Not only was it possible for the wizards to stop aging -- this Elixir of Life she had referred to -- but once you killed them they wouldn't stay dead! What were mortals supposed to do against a threat like what? The only person who'd be able to deal with people who could rise from the dead would be the Lord Jesus Christ, who had done so himself. This meant that the world would be in deep trouble until that happened.

The Bible had several clear passages referring to the Mark of the Beast. Wizarding ability seemed to fit the bill pretty well. It was easy to identify and, in theory, could have been used for good. Sure. And the Antichrist was supposed to be a very popular and charismatic figure before he turned on the world.

He made a mental note to start watching the missing persons lists. If lots of people disappeared all at once, the Rapture had taken place. He was a righteous man, and therefore he believed that the Rapture would take him. However, he could not rely on miracles. As a result, he had to consider the possibility that he would be left behind and be forced to deal with the Tribulation. Although someone like him would almost certainly make it through the Tribulation and be present at the Second Coming, he at least wanted to be prepared so he wouldn't suffer all that much. Perhaps Christ would ease his burden if he joined the fight against the agents of darkness.

He had tried to warn several people. However, very few people had believed him. They had argued that the wizards had shown no indication that they harbored ill will towards their fellow Americans. Poor souls, he thought. Perhaps they had been ensorcelled as well. They were not strong enough in Jesus to be able to survive the devil's brainwashing.

His cousin Vernon had described several of the horrors wizards could do. Vernon was still in England, raising his precious son Dudley -- along with that cuckoo egg Harry Potter. Vernon had explained that Harry had always been a bit strange and had hoped that Harry would never be trained as a wizard. The wizards had found him, however, and begun training him four years ago.

The results, of course, had been ghastly. Vernon's sister Marge had been inflated like a balloon and floated out the window. Birthday cakes had gone flying on magical propulsion. And worst of all, Harry had repaid Dudley's brotherhood by using magic to seal him in a zoo exhibit with a snake.

Later on, after Harry had learned how to use his wand, the budding warlock had tortured Dudley with some horrible sight under a bridge in England. Patrick didn't know what it was, but what ever it had been had scared the hell out of Dudley. There had been weird lights flying around and an awful chill in the air. The infraction had been serious enough for the Antichrist's officers themselves to tell Harry to cool it for the time being -- the time had not yet come for them to spring their trap.

That had been in August or thereabouts. Fast forward to last week, when a commercial featuring none other than Harry Potter aired during the Super Bowl. The time had come for the wizards to act. They had finally released Harry Potter and his agents upon the world of normal people.

Patrick could understand why everyone had been so easily fooled. He probably would have been fooled himself ten years ago, when he had moved from England to the Gulf Coast to be closer to his girlfriend, who had been a teacher there at the time. Shortly after his arrival, Yolanda, now his wife, had discovered Reverend Pitmoss and been saved. She had immediately tried to convince him of God's word -- after all, his soul had been at stake. Caught off guard, the devil had managed to fend off the messenger's first few attempts. Eventually, though, Jesus came to him and allowed him to hear his wife's good news. Patrick was now saved and aware of the truth. He would not be fooled again, for God was with him.

Tomorrow, he would get in touch with the other people who knew the truth and found the inaugural chapter of America for Muggles, or AFM. God had chosen him to get the word out, and he would do so.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Update #36
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February 6, 1996
The White House
Washington, DC
United States of America
------------
It was fairly obvious now that the unicorn was pretty. Pretty good at getting the gardner into trouble, that was.

Secretary Radner had been correct saying that Deirdre was vegetarian and would eat everything with leaves. Unfortunately, the White House garden was filled with trees and bushes. These plants had shed many leaves during the winter, covering the ground with a carpet of brown. The ground was now missing many of those leaves, and at the rate things were going there President Clinton's successor would likely inherit a garden with maybe 2/3 of the trees it had had only a few weeks ago.

As if that were not bad enough, the cute little animal had just discovered that the dry grass under her feet was almost as tasty as the bushes. A large section of the garden looked as if it had been mown by a professional gardening operation, with the grass a good inch or two shorter than it was on the rest of the grounds.

The arrival of Deirdre had pushed Socks into the background, something the poor cat was not particularly thrilled about. Virtually all of the foreign dignitaries visiting the White House had wanted to be photographed with the unicorn.

The Secret Service hadn't been particularly fond of the idea. Deirdre seemed to be relatively tame, at least at the moment. How long she would remain so, however, was anyone's guess. No one on the White House staff knew anything about unicorns. For all they knew, the animal would go through a more aggressive phase as she got older. Radner had refused to spay the animal, arguing that the species was endangered and that fixing animals was cruel. All she had to do was ram her rapidly-growing horn into the guts of the ambassador from Japan and the United States would have an international incident on its hands.

Deirdre's blood sample had been forwarded to scientists at Johns Hopkins University. Although the testing was still incomplete, it appeared that unicorn was indeed an equine, part of the horse family. However, there unicorn had several traits which didn't seem remotely equine. The single large horn wasn't at all horse-like. Neither was the bluish-white blood -- no one could make any sense out of that. And who would have thought that the animal would be evolving what appeared to be a pure gold coat? There weren't any gold horses!

Preliminary DNA testing had revealed that there were parts of the animal's genetic sequence which involved nucleotides other than A, T, C, and G. The scientists had no idea what to make of them and began calling them Q and Z. Biologists suspected that they had to do with magic ability but they had no way to prove it. After all, Muggles had no way to cast magic spells at Q an Z cultures to see how they reacted.

Right now, the owner of the aforementioned Q and Z complexes was busy munching away on an apple tree which had been there for over a hundred years. The gardener threw his hands up in the air. That animal had to go. This was the White House, not a zoo. He could understand keeping the cat in the building. That made sense, and it didn't wreck the garden --

The zoo.

The gardener smiled as an idea came to him. The National Zoo probably knew how to take care of animals like this. They had lions, bears, and more than enough kinds of horses. Granted, Chelsea would probably have a fit -- she had grown quite attached to the unicorn. He suspected, however, that the president would agree with him and have the zoo adopt the animal. First, the zoo could take care of her more than the White House staff. Second, she would likely be placed with other horses, who would likely be able to relate to her better than humans.

Excited, he hurried back into the White House and called the Oval Office. It took a while, but he eventually got through to the president.

The gardener cleared his throat and explained. "Mr. President, I was wondering if I could make a suggestion concerning the unicorn. Is now a good time, sir?"

The president laughed. "Mr. Rourke, there's never a good time when you're president. I'm swamped most of the time. However, I think I can take a few minutes. What's wrong with her?"

"I don't think we're going to able to take care of her much longer, sir. She's a growing animal and is very hungry. She's already made it through most of the fallen leaves and is starting to work on the grass. At the rate things are going, you're going to wind up with a barren wasteland back here by the time your term is over. Dole, or whoever your successor is, won't be happy."

The president thought for a moment. "Can't you import some hay or something like that? What did our predecessors do in the age of horses and buggies?"

"We could, sir. However, that's just part of the problem. I don't know how to take care of animals, and the White House doesn't have stables anymore. I'm the gardener, not a zookeeper. And I doubt even a zookeeper would know exactly what to do with this animal. Is he supposed to treat her like a horse? Is he supposed to put her with the rest of the horses?"

The president paused for a moment. "I see your point. What are you thinking?"

The gardener took a deep breath. "This animal is a gift to the American people, sir. It belongs in the National Zoo. They've got people who know how to take care of all difference sorts of horses, so she'll have a decent shot there. Furthermore, everyone will be able to see her there and relish in her beauty. The people will be happy, you'll be seen as doing a good thing for the country in an election year, and Deirdre will have a better chance at survival than she would have if we cared for her."

He continued. "There's more, sir. Unless I'm mistaken, the wizards have many other animals running around which we find mythical. How much would you be willing to bet, Mr. President, that fairies, the Loch Ness Monster, dinosaurs, dragons, Bigfoot, and various other cryptozoological specimens actually exist but have been hidden up to this point by the wizards' Statute of Secrecy?"

The president conceded that. "Judging from what I've heard from Secretary Radner, that is a distinct possibility."

"My thoughts exactly, sir. My recommendation is that we have someone talk to the National Zoo and have them set up a wing devoted to magical creatures. The unicorn could be the first exhibit in this wing. Next time you see Secretary Radner, ask him for more creatures. If the purpose of the zoo is to show the guest the wonders of the animal kingdom, there isn't a better place for her or any other magical creature."

The president thought about it. "You know, Mr. Rourke, that's a damn good idea. My daughter won't be happy about it, but I think I'll be able to convince her. As far as the Zoo goes, I doubt they'd be willing to house dragons. But cute little animals like Deirdre should be a big draw. What's more, I've been told that several magical schools have Care of Magical Creatures courses which train wizards on the handling of magical creatures. The zoo could hire one of their wizards."

The gardener smiled. "A wizard trained in dealing with magical creatures? That would be even better than an ordinary zookeeper, sir. He may have creatures of his own to put on display."

The president laughed. "I can't agree more, Mr. Rourke. Furthermore, from what Secretary Radner has told me, the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in England has a Care of Magical Creatures instructor who will fit quite well."

"Really? How so?"

"He's a half-giant. Now, if you'll excuse me, duty calls. I'll forward your suggestion off to the appropriate people."

The president hung up, leaving the gardener wondering if Clinton was joking or not about the half-giant. It was plausible, however. Those half-giants could have been a species of Bigfoot. Very interesting.

A soft crunch next to him betrayed Deirdre the unicorn munching on a tree root.

To be continued...
------------
Update #37
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February 6, 1996
Harold-Green Pharmaceutical Corporation
Charleston, South Carolina
United States of America
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The chairman of the board switched off the VCR and turned to the rest of the company's presidents. "There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. The Elixir of Life. If we manage to secure the rights to this substance we're going to be multibillionaires within the year. We've been making so much money on hemorrhoid medicine, wrinkle cream, and diabetes pills. Can you imagine how much money we'll make if we're able to stop aging altogether?"

The president of the company shook his head. "A hell of a lot of money, Mr. Green. As Luke Skywalker said to Han Solo, even more than you can imagine, especially if we get a monopoly. There's only one problem, however."

The chairman stared at the president. "And that is?"

The president pointed at the now-bank television monitor. "She didn't know how to make it. You heard it yourself. What's more, how good can this Elixir be if the person who's advertising it is DEAD?"

"She was hanged, Michaels. She admitted that it won't prevent people from being killed. All it will do is prevent aging."

The president stared him down. "And if that's the case, how come she looked like she was in her seventies? If she really had access to the Elixir of Life, would she have allowed herself to look an old crone? If women in the 1690's were like the women of today, they'd be going berserk the moment they saw a single gray hair."

The chairman shrugged. "Perhaps she knew about it but couldn't afford the treatment. Another thing to keep in mind is that Goody Nurse was a member of a small British colony in what is now Massachusetts. How many people were there, a few hundred maybe? It's not like they had major research laboratories in the colonies at the time."

"They had Harvard."

"Whoopee-do, Mr. Green. Do you honestly think that a Puritan colony would allow magical subjects to be taught at Harvard? You heard her as well as I did. The witches accidentally revealed their magical abilities and were persecuted. Trust me, sir. Harvard wasn't making any of the stuff."

The chairman folded his hands across his chest. "Then I suppose she heard about it from someone who had seen the substance in England before 1620."

"That's possible, of course. Then again, she could be completely barking up the wrong tree. This whole Elixir of Life thing could be a myth. She may be simply talking about it because she was misled to believe that it exists. They believed lots of strange things in those days."

The chairman smiled. "I still think it's worth our while to check it out given the stakes -- and the fact that Pfizer, Merck, or someone like that will beat us to the punch. So, here is what I'm thinking. We will operate under the assumption that someone in England has managed to not only create this Elixir but prove that it works as designed. In order for that to happen, the scientist must have lived to an old age. A VERY old age."

The president's eyebrows shot up. "Hmm. You're thinking of going through the obituaries to find someone who lived to, say 150? That may actually work. However, there's something you'll want to consider. What happens if the person is still ALIVE? If the guy is 500 years old but looks like he's 30, he won't stand out at all unless you start probing his memories."

"Not if we go through the city records and see if one person keeps on showing up in the town meetings and news reports for, say, 200 years. If the person's personality and description hasn't changed for 200 years, then I'm pretty certain we've got our guy."

The president shook his head again. "And how are you going to convince him to tell you how to make it?"

"Money talks. We tell him we'll give him 20% of the profits if he gives us exclusive access to the Elixir."

"That's not going to work if he's already trying to make a business out of selling the stuff for himself."

The chairman laughed. "If he's selling the stuff, not many people know about it outside the magical community. I'd say he's got a public relations and advertising problem. This guy's probably operating out of some house or castle somewhere. We're a decent-sized corporation with sales all over the world. Trust me. The world will hear about our product more than it hears about his."

The president then delivered the coup de grace. "And what happens if you have to be a wizard in order to make the stuff?"

The chairman frowned and looked at the wall for a moment. He hadn't thought of that. Perhaps the ingredients required for the Elixir of Life were common medical compounds which would only stop aging if a spell were cast on them. Fortunately, a solution presented itself.

He turned back to the president. "Simple. We hire a wizard as a consultant. Once this man finds someone who can create the Elixir, we hire this second guy for good and get rid of the first one. A wizard would work well in that it would probably take magic to sort through centuries' worth of English documents."

"I see. You're going to lay off a guy who will want to cast spells on you when he's fired."

"Not if we promise him a pension in gold coins and free access to the Elixir for as long as he wants it."

The rest of the board of directors began muttering to themselves. Some people liked the ideas. Others, however, didn't. The president began by mentioning one of the most obvious problems. "That may work, I must admit. However, one more question. Where do we find a wizard?"

In response, the chairman pointed at the television screen. "Just go up to Boston and take one of the kids once they graduate from that underwater school. They'll be more than happy to stop their aging in their 20's, and they'll need to find a job. I suggest hiring a woman as having a 20-year-old bombshell advertising an anti-aging product can't hurt. We can also pass this off as a public relations coup in that we're going out of our way to hire our new Wizarding friends."

Silence ensued for a few moments. Then, slowly, people began nodding around the table. It sounded like the company was coming to an agreement here.

Eventually, it was decided. The company would shell out $50 million over the next two years to try to find a wizard who could create the Elixir of Life. If the search came up try or the company became convinced that the Elixir could not be created (or never existed to begin with), they'd eat the money. However, if the Elixir did in fact exist they secured a monopoly, they'd all be able to live forever and STILL not run out of funds after thousands of years.

The chairman had a very good feeling about this.

To be continued...
----------------
Update #38
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February 7, 1996
Collective Farm PX-311
Outside of Pyongyang
Democrat People's Republic of Korea
------------
A week ago Choi Yeon Mi couldn't have gotten a date to save her life. She didn't think she was all that attractive, and all of the time working in the fields had sapped at the little beauty she had left. She was almost thirty-one and was already starting to grow prematurely gray.

Now, however, she had to fend off suitors with everything short of an Avada Kedavra. The entire farm had fallen in love with her once she had demonstrated the ability to harvest the rice paddies with minimal menial labor. Two of the three major greenhouses had already been harvested, and she had told everyone that she'd get around to the third tomorrow.

Thanks to her magic, the collective suddenly found itself with more free time than it knew what to do with. Many of the younger workers, who had grown up under Communism, hadn't even considered the possibility of prolonged freedom from work. Several of them sat around, confused and in disbelief. Others joked around and started up an impromptu soccer match.

The older residents couldn't decide what made them happier: their renewed health and vigor or their first true vacation since the 50's or 60's. Hugs and jokes were spreading through the farm for the first time in God knew when.

Several of the farmhands had come to her and asked her if they could use magic as well. Choi Yeon had then performed a few experiments which would help her determine if there were any other wizards in the group. At the rate things were going, other farms would likely learn about her and start asking her for help. She was going to need apprentices to serve all these people.

The search had uncovered something most remarkable. There was one man in his early- to mid-twenties who did not experience a mild electric shock when she had asked him to touch her wand. This indicated that he had the potential to become a wizard even though he had been raised as a Muggle. However, that had not been the surprise. The surprise had come during the next experiment, when she had conjured something visible only to wizards and asked him to identify it. He had told her that he didn't see anything.

Puzzled, she asked him to touch the wand again. When he didn't respond, she asked him to hold it. Neither he, nor the wand, reacted.

This didn't make sense. This man was a wizard who couldn't see magical entities? What on earth was this?

[OOC -- this man is the first known half-wizard: remember the concept from the earlier discussions. Half-wizards are effectively people in between a Muggle and wizard. They are more common (1% of the population) than full wizards (0.01%). There are enough people on the farm to probably get a half-wizard but not likely another full wizard. From the DNA perspective, he has Q active but not Z. Each of these genes has a 1% probability of activating]

Mr. Wong had been absolutely floored when she had informed him that there were signs, albeit inconclusive ones, indicating that he could be trained as a wizard. He had told her that he had no idea, and she believed him. Who would have thought there were people who had more magical aptitude than Muggles but less of it than wizards? Could there be a whole continuum of magic ability ranging from pure Muggle to Merlin the Wise? It was an amazing hypothesis, and it explained the existence of Squibs and Muggle-borns to some extent.

Now that she had more free time, she knew what she had to do. She decided to take Mr. Wong as her apprentice and began teaching him basic wandless magic. Ideally, she'd have taught her some of the more powerful spells, most of which required a wand to cast. Unfortunately, Mr. Wong would have to get his hands on a wand first; more accurately, a wand would have to choose him. Her wand hadn't reacted strongly enough when he had touched it for her to conclude that it liked him enough to let him use it, and there weren't any other magic wands in the general vicinity to test out.

Right now, the farmers were all sitting around in a circle singing songs and eating their lunch. The weather was beautiful, and people kept on insisting that Choi Yeon must have cast something to change the weather. She insisted that she hadn't and suggested that the unusually good weather was a psychological effect as happy people tend to see things in a better light.

For the first time in a long while, people thought that it might be possible to make the best out of a despotic dictatorship. People had always joked that fulfilling the Dear Leader's plans for the harvest and for economy would have required a whole cadre of magicians. Little had they realized that magicians actually existed among them, and that one of them had actually worked wonders for PX-311.

All of the workers had one hope that they dared not voice out loud. If all wizards were like Choi Yeon, they would be able to rule North Korea as benevolent rulers, using magic to fix everything. Could people like Choi Yeon actually organize enough to overthrow Kim Jong-Il and become leaders whom everyone in the country would actually CONSIDER to be dear?

After lunch, Choi Yeon cleared the plates away with a wave of her hand (astonishing the crowd once again) as several musicians brought out some instruments. The folk songs had just started up when the overseer came into the room.

The overseer stared at the people in shock. "What are you doing down there? Get to work! The country needs to be fed!"

Choi Yeon answered. "The work is done, overseer. We've already harvested two of the three greenhouses. You may check for yourself."

The overseer looked at her suspiciously. "You've harvested two greenhouses in less than a week? Why do I find that hard to believe, considering that it's taken you weeks in the past to do even one of them?"

Choi Yeon shrugged. "I'm aware it's hard to believe, overseer. However, we stand by our claim and will swear to it upon the Dear Leader."

The overseer grunted and started heading in the direction of the greenhouses. Fifteen minutes later, he returned with an astonished look on his face.

"I stand corrected! You HAVE harvested everything! Well done! How did you do it so quickly? You should tell me so I can relay your procedures to the Dear Leader. Your method will likely become widespread throughout the land, bringing us all to prosperity!"

Choi Yeon hesitated -- she wasn't sure how to explain this. "The method is difficult to believe, overseer. Furthermore, there are only very few people who are capable of learning it."

The overseer shook his head. "People will learn it if encouraged enough."

"No, overseer. Encouragement won't help. You see, I am a wizard. I am able to cast magical spells. I helped harvest those plants with magic."

The overseer rolled his eyes. "Likely story. Fine. If you're a wizard, prove it."

Choi Yeon nodded. "I have already done so, overseer. The greenhouses are done."

"No, Choi Yeon. Prove it to me right here and now. Cast a spell for me."

Choi Yeon bowed. "As you wish, overseer. Allow me to demonstrate."

She brought out her wand and pointed it at the soccer ball, resting on the ground after the game. She had wanted to demonstrate this on the overseer himself but had been concerned that she would just scare him and get herself shot. The ball, however, would do as well. She took a deep breath and uttered the incantation.

"Wingardium Leviosa"

Both workers and overseer gaped as the soccer ball began hovering five feet off the ground. Directing the ball's movement with the wand, she pushed the ball over to the overseer, who picked it up.

She kept the spell on the ball as he held it. "You may now examine the ball. You will see that I was able to move it without any obvious means of support. Furthermore, note that I am still pointing this wand at the ball. Can you feel it trying to lift out of your hands?"

The overseer's eyes widened. "Yes. It does feel like the ball is trying to fly away! What a wonder!"

She nodded. "I will now remove the spell from the ball. You will feel the ball's weight return to normal."

She pocketed the wand, and the overseer nodded. "The ball has regained its normal weight."

With that, Choi Yeon bowed. "That is my demonstration, overseer. Does it meet with your satisfaction?"

The overseer grinned. "It certainly does. Now I have a question for you. Are there any other wizards in the country?"

"I do not know, overseer. However, it is very likely."

"Would you be able to train these wizards in the use of arts such as this?"

Choi Yeon frowned. "I do not have formal training as a teacher, overseer. However, if it would benefit the people to have me train wizards, I will do so. I've actually found a man here who may benefit from the training as well, Mr. Wong over here". She pointed at her new apprentice, who stared at the overseer awkwardly.

The overseer clapped his hands. "By all means, Choi Yeon. I'll speak with my superiors, but I suspect the Dear Leader will find that you will be much more useful as a magic teacher than a farmer. Now that most of our work is done, I have some free time as well, so I'll take advantage of it to go to Pyongyang and suggest that a magic school be established."

Choi Yeon smiled. "A wise move, overseer. The people can benefit so much from these abilities."

The overseer laughed. "All right. For the time being, you can spend as much time as you want training Mr. Wong. I would be truly shocked if the Dear Leader doesn't summon you at some point ask you to set up the magic school personally."

She beamed. "It would be my honor and duty, overseer."

The overseer smiled. "Thank you for your assistance, Choi Yeon. You are a true patriot."

The overseer smiled and walked away. Just before he was out of earshot, Choi Yeon picked up an excited comment.

"We'll be in Seoul within a year! Those capitalists don't have a chance!"

Uh-oh, she thought.

To be continued...
---------------
Update #39
------------
February 10, 1996
4 Privet Drive
Surrey, England
------------
Vernon and Petunia Dursley were both ecstatic and worried. It appeared that there would be many people coming over tonight to listen to their ideas. Unfortunately, it also meant that they'd have to cook and clean things up in a hurry.

They had gone so far to force Dudley into chores. The boy had complained bitterly about it, but Vernon had told him that if their plan was successful, he would never have to worry about Harry or the dementors ever again. Normally, Harry would have been forced to do all the dirty work while Dudley indulged himself in chocolates and sweets. Harry was gone, however.

The family was happy that Harry was out of their lives for good. From what Vernon had heard, the brat had been placed under house arrest in a wizard's safe house. He didn't understand why this Ministry of Magic hadn't executed him or handed him over to Lord What's-His-Name. It didn't matter, however. Harry was no longer his problem, wherever he was. And it pointed to some very stupid running the Ministry. Both of these would work to his advantage.

He thought back to the phone call with his cousin in the States. He hadn't thought Patrick had been particularly bright, having left a secure life in England to go after some graduate student. However, this plan reeked of genius. Patrick had argued that the wizards were going to take over the world -- that was the only reason they had allowed themselves to be seen by the Muggles. He had insisted that the Muggles had to destroy the magical population, doing to the wizards what the wizards had planned to do to them. They would take the wizards by surprise and defeat them before Harry's "friends" knew what was going on.

Patrick had gone on to say that the wizards were tools of the devil and minions of the Antichrist. Vernon didn't buy that, however. Patrick had gotten bloody strange once he had met Reverend Pitmoss and been "saved". Both Patrick and Yolanda claimed to spend more time communicating with God than with their fellow man now. Vernon had no idea why God would single out Patrick for any reason, or why He would even communicate directly with humans to begin with.

Bloody hell, Vernon was still iffy on whether or not He actually existed. His intellect told him that God didn't exist. However, with all these wizards and myths running around in real life, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that He was running around out there as well.

Regardless of Patrick's bizarre religious beliefs, he had brought up a good point. Someone had to warn the world that the wizards were coming. The Dursleys had suffered torment at the hand of a young -- and barely trained -- wizard. Vernon could just imagine what a fully trained wizard could do to people he didn't like.

He had spoken with Petunia and Dursley and they had both agreed. So, he had asked his relatives to start spreading the news. Meanwhile, he had posted a discreet sign in the supermarket:

Attention, Britons!

Are you worried about these wizards?
Do you think that these people are going to wreak havoc on our world?
Are you convinced that it is only a matter of time until they betray us?

If so, you are not alone. There are others out there who know the truth.
We of Britain for Muggles are among them.
We have seen children ensorcelled and terrified against their will.
And we have decided that something has to be done to save us from their schemes.

Are YOU willing to help with our noble cause?
If so, contact us at 555-MUGGLES.

Join us for our inaugural meeting this Friday night, at 7:00 PM,
at a location disclosed over the telephone.

Do your part to save our country.

Thank you for your attention.

God save the Queen.

The first phone calls had come in a few hours after he had posted the sign. By the end of the day, fifteen people had signed up. His relatives, especially poor old Marge -- now deflated to normal size, though that itself was still rather inflated -- had done their best to advertise the meeting as well. He expected fifty people tonight. That was maybe forty more than he had planned for. Oh well, he thought. Success didn't come without a price.

The food had just come out of the oven when the doorbell rang. Admonishing Dudley to be on his best behavior, he straightened his tie and opened the door to admit a short, red-haired woman.

He bowed to her. "Good evening, ma'am. Welcome to 4 Privet Drive. How may I help you?"

He and Petunia had argued over how exactly to greet the guests. The government probably didn't want people organizing groups against the wizards, so the Dursleys had to be rather circumspect about things. They also had to make sure that everyone who stopped by had actually contacted one of the organizers directly. Living with a budding wizard had taught them the value of paranoia.

The woman shook her hand. "I'm here for the Britain for Muggles meeting."

Vernon nodded and turned to the list of guests. So far so good. "Your name, madame?"

"I'm Isabel Miller, sir."

Vernon checked on the list. "Miller...yup, there you are. Welcome, Ms. Miller. I'm Vernon Dursley. I'm your host for tonight. How did you find out about us?"

"We got in touch with a woman named Marge who supposedly was hexed by a wizard and inflated like a balloon."

Vernon winced. "That was my sister, Ms. Miller. The culprit was a young sorcerer named Harry Potter, my nephew. We had tried to raise him like a normal person and wean him from any ties to magic, but the wizards tracked him down and brainwashed him anyway. He then repaid us by hexing Marge. Quite an ingrate, if I must say so myself."

The woman stared at him. "He attacked his own aunt?"

"Indeed he did, Ms. Miller. Needless to say, she was more than surprised."

She whistled. "These wizards are worse than even I imagined. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Vernon smiled. "That's what this meeting is for, Ms. Miller. We'll discuss strategies and ways to attract other people. And we'll figure out how to end the scourge of the sorcerers once and for all."

Isabel frowned. "You plan to kill them?"

Vernon shook his head. "Ideally, not. We just want them out of our lives as they had been for the past few hundred years. They don't bother us, and we don't bother them. Everything would have been fine had that idiotic nephew of mine flaunted his broom on that American football commercial."

Isabel stared at him. "That was your nephew?"

"Indeed, it was. He's quite a troublemaker. At any rate, we have no plans to kill anyone. However, if the wizards DO attack us, we reserve the right to defend ourselves, our country, and our queen. We won't do anything unless it's in self-defense. We're also considering trying to train the wizards in better manners and redeem them from their evil ways."

Isabel breathed a sigh of relief. "That makes me feel a little better. What can I do now?"

Vernon smiled and pointed at the food. "What you can do now, Ms. Miller, is relax and eat some of my wife's delicious food. And while we're at it, sample some of those canapes my son Dudley is bringing over. They're delicious."

Isabel tried a bite. "They are indeed. Thank you. Give my compliments to the chef."

The doorbell rang once more. "I'll do so, Ms. Miller. Now, if you will excuse me, I have other guests to greet."

To be continued...
----------------

Update #40
------------
February 10, 1996
Room 6-120
Massachusetts Institute of Technology
Cambridge, Massachusetts
United States of America
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[Errata -- Thomas was made into a goblin shortly after this episode, and America for Muggles became America for Humans]

The scientist checked the air sample again. "I think we're getting close now, Professor. Judging by the mass of the sample, the average mass of the argon in the atmosphere is definitely going down by about 2 AMU."

The Professor nodded. "That means the argon-40 is being replaced with the argon-38. Good work. Where are you getting all the 38 from?"

"I-Entry. Where else? They've got loads of it down there now that some of our people are starting to visit them more often. I must say, Professor, I'm a bit surprised that we didn't have this talk down there. It would have been a hell of a lot more convenient."

"There's a good reason, Charles. This discovery is more for the Muggles than for the wizards. Thomas is a new creature to us, so we're going to need to do the presentation in a place easily accessible to Muggles. I take it Thomas is going to teleport in and surprise the guests?"

"That's what he's planning on doing, Professor. He always wanted to come in with a bang."

The Professor chuckled. "Given what I've heard about this form of transportation, he's definitely going to come in with a bang. Judging from my watch, he'll be arriving in about 15 minutes. Keep the space around the destination clear -- we don't want any transporter accidents with him teleporting into an object. Those make a mess on Star Trek, and in this case it would make for a diplomatic nightmare."

Both men fell silent and watched the meters as the guests filed into the room. There were several reporters, of course, anxious to hear about the latest findings from the Wizarding world. Most, however, were biology students and various MIT/Harvard geeks.

Three minutes prior to the expected arrival of Thomas, the Professor walked up to the podium. A quick glance at the scientist indicated that the argon-38 concentration was now high enough to permit technology to work. Everything was all set. It was time for the speech.

The Professor cleared his throat. "Good evening, and welcome to this meeting of the Genome Project Division. I'm Professor Eric Studebaker, and I'm from Course 7 -- or, as the rest of the world knows us, the biology department.

"On January 28th, the world was treated to a most remarkable discovery. Wizards, right out of legend, live among us. They have been doing so for time immemorial in peace and tranquility, protecting us from magical threats so that the rest of us could live our lives.

"These wizards are wonderful and amazing people, as we now know. They are capable of great feats. However, there is something which very few people have studied before. Namely, the cryptozoological animals which we now know as magical creatures. Most of you are aware that President Clinton was given a unicorn as a gift by Secretary of Magic Travis Radner. This unicorn is now on display in the National Zoo and is drawing crowds from all over. She looks like something just out of a fairy tale.

"Although the unicorn is cute and cuddly, at least for now, we have come to discuss an even more fascinating creature, the elf. We have called a meeting to present some information on the elf's genetic sequence. Now it would be only be appropriate to have an elf with us to answer questions. So, it would -- "

There was a snapping sound and a flash of light. When it had faded away, Thomas the elf was standing in the room, staring at all the people. Damn, the Professor thought to himself. I was off by a few seconds. Oh well.

The crowd started chattering excitedly and taking pictures. Thomas stared at the audience in genuine curiosity. "Muggles! Even more Muggles! This time, I may be able to get a chance to talk to them! Have you ever seen a house-elf before?"

A resounding "NO" echoed from the audience. The remark was followed by several overlapping attempts at questions which neither Thomas nor the Professor could make out.

The Professor banged his fist on the podium. "Hold on a minute, guys. You can talk to Thomas later. First, we need to present our report."

He turned on a video projector and started displaying slides on the screen. "We obtained a sample of Thomas's DNA during our tour of I-Entry. We've got preliminary results here, results which you find most fascinating and thought-provoking.

"The house-elf appears to be a newly-discovered member of the Homo genus. Its genes are 99% identical to those of Homo sapiens. It's clear that the house-elf and human shared a common ancestor not too long ago. Were it not for the magic ability, I would have seriously considered the possibility that the house-elf is a pygmy version of an existing Homo. species. However, there's only one problem."

The Professor pointed at the elf's head. "As you can tell, the elf's face has rather distinctive features. Take, for example, the doglike ears. To the best of our knowledge, there are no known species of primates with doglike ears. Even if there were, they wouldn't be close enough to Homo sapiens to share 99% of their genes. To be honest with you, we've been doing something thinking and have no idea how he came to be."

One of the audience members raised his hand for a question. The Professor nodded. "Yes?"

The audience member stood up. "Could one of our ancestors have mated with a member of the canine family?"

Thomas blanched and had to answer that. "Absolutely not, good sir! We do not mate with animals! I am quite familiar with our history and we do not have ancestors which were not like gorillas!"

[OOC -- elves are from a parallel universe where evolution was different. Humans as we know them do not exist in the elves' home universe. Humans and elves had a common ancestor VERY far back, but there is no way humans could breed with elves. Sorry, Tanis Half-Elven.]

The Professor didn't like where this was going. "Ladies and gentlemen, please don't offend him. He is an intelligent, civilized being, just like you. Judging from what I've read up on the Geneva Protocol, he easily qualifies as close enough to human to be allowed basic human rights. Would you like it if someone asked you if your mother was a dog?"

That silenced the crowd pretty quickly.

The Professor nodded. "Thank you. At any rate, the only thing I can think of is that there is a whole branch of mammalian evolution which we've never seen before. For all we know, it's quite possible that magic can tinker with evolution to create species which would not necessarily be possible."

Thomas nodded and turned to the Professor. "That is indeed correct, sir. The basilisk can be created by hatching a chicken egg beneath a toad."

The Muggles got excited about that. An audience member said. "With or without magic?"

"With magic, sir."

"Intriguing, Thomas. Can you demonstrate if we get a chicken egg and a toad from the labs?"

Thomas shook his head. "No, sir. The basilisk is a dangerous creature. A specimen terrorized a Wizarding school in Britain three years ago to the point that it nearly forced the closure of the school. I cannot allow it to wreak havoc on an unsuspecting Muggle world. The consequences would be disastrous. I will not do it. We elves have code of moral conduct similar to other advanced civilizations."

The Muggles were intrigued by this as well. The Professor had the distinct impression that the anthropologists would be all over the poor elf.

He had to bang the podium again to resume the talk. "Ladies and gentlemen, please. We can talk with Thomas when this is over."

Decorum restored, he continued the lecture. "Most of the differences between Thomas's DNA and ours lie in coding for ear shape and height. Brain capacity and intellectual ability seem to be equal to, or exceeding, human values. I'd expect that this elf has an IQ of 150 or higher. He'd probably get into this school pretty easily. And he certainly has the moral conduct befitting an civilized species. He certainly deserves all rights reserved for humans."

The people cheered at that. Thomas bowed.

"No discrimination. No heckling. No slavery."

Thomas's eyes widened. "No slavery?"

The Professor nodded. "Yes. Have you found evil wizards who enslave your people?"

Thomas nodded. "I'm afraid so. Normally we are associated with a human and fiercely defend our masters. I take pride in my service to Sorcerer Meeks. However, there are a few unkind masters who enslave us and forces to do things we don't like."

The Professor didn't like that. "Slavery was outlawed in the United States in 1861."

Thomas shrugged. "Tell that to my comrades."

The Muggles started grumbling again in disgust and fury, and the Professor had to bang his podium to resume the lecture. Finally, the room silenced. "Thank you. One of the more curious features of the elf's DNA is several copies of the nucleotide chains known as Q and Z, shown here in the image. We don't know what they do, but they are as of interest in that they were also present in Deirdre the unicorn's DNA -- and nowhere else. More research is ongoing at this time, but we suspect they will have something to do with magic."

He tried to resume his lecture but gave up as the Muggles began inundating the poor elf with questions.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Update #41
------------
February 10, 1996
Nantius Laboratory [fictional]
University of Phoenix
Phoenix, Arizona
United States of America
------------
Martin Schmitt looked at the powder placed in the vial before him. "This is it?"

The dean nodded. "That's it. Izzy Sanders delivered it to me himself. He claims that it is capable of transporting people long distances. Sanders claims he used to visit a Wizarding hideout in the northeast corner of the state. He's got videotape to back him up. It seems that he saw the same type of stuff the people at MIT saw."

Schmitt stared at him. "A Wizarding hideout? Where?"

The dead shook his head. "Somewhere in the Navajo reservation. He didn't identify an exact location, however: only a name. Fourth Mesa."

Schmitt thought a moment. "I've heard of First, Second, and Third Mesa. But a Fourth Mesa? Never heard of it."

"That is intentional, Martin. Fourth Mesa is a secret hideout. Sanders refused to offer any other details, however, citing the wizards' need for privacy. What he did say, however, is that there is no way the Muggles can access it without the wizards' permission. Sanders got special dispensation because he will soon be working for the wizards as a Muggle liaison. He thinks it's all his fault that the wizards were exposed and is doing everything he can to help."

Schmitt grinned. "I bet he's feeding them Blast Cola to beat the band."

The dead chuckled. "He tried. They didn't like it. I kind of like it, though. We've got it in the cafeteria now -- the less the wizards drink, the more we get."

Schmitt laughed. "You can say that again. What have you found out so far about this stuff?"

The dean looked back at the vial. "It's got four components in equal proportion: a metal I've never seen before, silver, iodine, and carbon."

Schmitt's eyebrows shot up. "A metal you've never seen before? What is it?"

"No one knows. The people in the spectroscopy lab couldn't identify it. All we can tell is that it's a silvery-white solid at room temperature and quite heavy."

"What's its atomic weight?"

The dean stared at him. "Somewhere in the 340's."

Schmitt couldn't believe what he was hearing. "340's? Jesus Christ, that's off the end of the table! Even uranium has a mass of 238, and beyond that you're into radioactive stuff. Are you sure it's not radioactive?"

The dean nodded. "Positive. It's stable, and very heavy."

Schmitt shook his head. "It's got to be a compound then. That would explain its mass and the fact that the spectroscopy lab couldn't identify it."

The dean nodded. "I'm thinking that as well, Martin. Unfortunately, we can't seem to do anything which can break it up into its constituent atoms. We'll keep on working on it with our sample, though. In the meantime, here's your sample. See what you can make out of it."

Schmitt nodded and shook the dean's hand. "I'll get to it right away, sir. I was planning to focus on how people can use it for transportation. Have you been able to create the green fire with it yet?"

The dean shook his head. "Not yet. However, I'm confident that we'll be able to figure it out. Listen, I've got a meeting pretty soon -- I've got to go. Tell me if you've found something, OK?"

"I will, sir."

With that, the dean left the room, leaving the vial of Floo powder sitting on Schmitt's desk.

Schmitt sat down, opened the vial, and spread some of it out on his desk. The powder was fine shone with a brilliant silver-purple hue. The purple had to be the iodine, he thought. The color made sense, in some respects, given that it had silver, iodine, and another heavy metal or compound in it.

He turned to his computer and started running through his checklists of experiments. First, he tried reacting it with fluorine and chlorine. It didn't explode with a bang, much to his relief. What surprised him, however, was that it didn't do ANYTHING. Certainly the iodine would have been displaced by the chlorine and fluorine.

It obviously didn't react with oxygen or nitrogen -- otherwise, it would have gone bonkers reacting with the air and stored some of those elements involved in the formula. Rubidium and cesium didn't do much good either.

He started working on the acids. The material didn't seem to react with any of the common acids: sulfuric, nitric, acetic, and so forth. It just sat there as if nothing had happened. This seemed to be one inert compound. Nothing seemed to affect it. Even aqua regia didn't help.

He made a note to ask his colleagues how he was able to figure out that there was iodine, carbon, and silver in it. He certainly wasn't getting anywhere.

He tried dissolving it in water. Finally, something useful -- the substance was soluble in water and turned it a neon pink. He jotted that down in his notes.

He tried determining its melting and boiling points. He placed the substance in a vacuum chamber and began to heat it up the contents. Nothing happened until it got past 2000 K, at which point the silver, iodine, and carbon just disassociated away and promptly flashed to vapor. This must have been how the other labs figured out what the other components were.

This left the mysterious metal compound, just sitting there. The metal eventually melted into a silver sludge around 3500 K. He jotted down the temperature. He admitted to himself that he didn't know of any substance which had a melting point that high.

Suddenly, something occurred to him. He'd tried reacting it with oxygen, to no avail. He'd tried heating it up in vacuum, also to no avail. But what if he tried speeding up the reactive element reactions by performing them at a higher temperature?

Burn it, he thought.

He headed over to a cabinet and pulled out a Bunsen burner. He placed it under a small quantity of the sample. What happened next caught him completely off guard.

The powder burst into green flame seconds after the Bunsen burner was placed beneath it. What had surprised him was the fact that it had ignited without even him igniting the burner. Perhaps it had something to do with the light bulb nearby going out at about the time the flame appeared.

[What has happened is that the Floo powder sensed the burner approaching and interpreted that it was being thrown into a fireplace -- that is, something which could start a fire. The vacuum chamber didn't qualify because a fire cannot ignite without oxygen -- hence it could not be a fireplace]

Damn, he thought. This thing can ignite spontaneously. He'd better be careful with it and ask Sanders or a wizard for instruction here.

The green flame was very odd-looking. It didn't seem to produce much heat even though it looked quite lethal. He began wondering if the substance burned green in air. Lithium burned red in air -- perhaps this compound burned green.

He gingerly reached towards the flames and touched the powder. It was still at room temperature, though it was being consumed very slowly.

He hadn't expected to actually get the fire lit. However, now that it was lit, it was time to go to the next step. He placed a coin in the flame and closed his eyes, and said "I want the coin to go to the table next to me."

He opened his eyes. The coin was still there.

[That's because the lab isn't on the Floo network. Duh ]

Puzzled, he moved the Bunsen burner out of the way so he could get a better luck at the bottom of the coin. Was the fire doing something to the bottom of the coin? Melting it? Burning it?

As he did so, he got his second surprise. The fire died away as soon as the Bunsen burner was removed. This left a seemingly undamaged coin with a mostly-consumed pinch of Floo powder.

Schmitt picked up the burner and look at it closely. What the hell was going on with this burner?

It sounded like he had a lot more work to do.

To be continued...
-------------

Update #42
------------
February 11, 1996
Alpha Chi Gamma Fraternity
Massachusetts Institute of Technology
Cambridge, Massachusetts
United States of America
------------
Michael Osgood walked in with a big grin on his face and his hands behind his back. "You're right, Howard. That girl from Russian House is in fact a witch. I've got hard evidence."

Howard smiled. "Really? Let's see."

In response, Michael revealed what he had been hiding behind his back. It was an honest-to-goodness broom. It didn't seem as sophisticated as the one which had been captured in the Super Bowl footage. But it was a broom nonetheless.

The broom seemed simple enough. There were three Greek (or possibly Cyrillic) letters on it which he recognized as the name of a sorority. Apparently the witch was in one of the sororities. Most intriguing -- for all he knew, everyone in that sorority was a witch. It certainly sounded like the type of thing a sorority would want to keep as one of its secrets.

Howard frowned as a thought occurred to him. "Michael, I'm not sure this is a good idea. You can't just go and take her broom like this. We're going to be trying to see if Muggles like us will be able to fly it. What if we do something wrong and break or misplace it? She isn't going to be happy. And you DON'T want witches mad at you."

Michael looked at the broom. "But..."

Howard put his foot down. "Give her back the broom. It's not yours, and for all we know she doesn't want people finding out she's a witch. Something tells me she doesn't know you have it, either, which it makes it even worse. Guys have been kicked out of this frat for stuff like this. Besides, we have one we can experiment with. Steve managed to get his hands on one of the brooms we picked up during our tour of I-Entry. We'll work with that."

Michael thought for a moment. "I wonder if this sorority consists entirely of witches. Perhaps they have sabbats and covens after dark where they run around naked."

Howard rolled his eyes. "I highly doubt they do that. I actually know a couple of those girls and they don't sound like the type of people who would go for that stuff. Furthermore, all of the legends about nighttime gatherings and covens seem to have been inaccurate -- that Meeks fellow spent a good five to ten minutes debunking all of them."

"But are all the sisters witches or not?"

"It's possible. However, I find it highly unlikely. The odds of a person being able to summon magic are roughly one in ten thousand, according to Meeks. How many girls are there on campus? 1250? 1500? Do the math. If you got into this school, you're good at math. You'd need to have a group of girls seven times the size of MIT's before you had any reasonable shot of running into one witch. Hence there's at most one witch on campus, and that would be if you're lucky. Ergo, the odds of enough witches running around to necessitate the forming of a sorority are extremely low."

"But -- "

Howard groaned. "Michael, give her back the broom. You're not going to be part of the experimentation team until you do that. Do you understand me?"

Michael sputtered a little but cut his remarks short when he saw the look on Howard's face. Grabbing the broom with both hands, he turned around and headed out the door, back towards Russian House.

Once Michael was gone, Howard headed up towards the roof deck, where several of his brothers had gathered around another broom. This one seemed much more sophisticated than the Russian House girl's. Its handle was covered with runes which seemed to have been a cross between ancient Phoenician and Tolkien. He had no idea what they said. However, he didn't care. The goal here was to check if Muggles would be able to fly the brooms.

There was a big debate over whether or not magic was necessary to fly on a broom. Some people believed that the broom was a magical tool anyone would be able to use. One didn't need to know how a car worked in order to use it. On the other hand, it was possible that those runes on the shaft had to be spoken in a certain way to get them off the ground. If that were the case, Muggles would not be able to fly without the assistance of wizards.

Howard looked down at the broom and then at one of the brothers. "This looks like a pretty fancy broom, Steve. How'd you get it?"

Steve grinned. "I had been planning on using it for my physics lab project this semester. The course 8 [physics department] staff had been looking at it and I happened to walk by when they were discussing it. We all have to take a least one lab, so I went for the physics lab. I had originally decided to investigate chaotic turbulence in flowing water. Who'd have thought that I'd wind up trying to figure out what makes a broom fly?"

Howard sighed. "We can't do your work for you, Steve. You know that."

"No, but you can help. Besides, admit it. You want to ride this thing as much as I do."

"I admit it. I do. However, I'm not particularly fond of falling off at high altitude. And I get the distinct impression that the teachers aren't going to be happy if we lose control of it and it wrecks itself crashing into a building."

"Don't worry, Howard. I'll be careful. Now, stand around. I'll show you how all this stuff works."

Steve placed the broom between his legs. "Judging from what we saw in I-Entry, the rider straddles the broom like this. All I need to do is kick off from the ground and I'll start flying."

Howard frowned. "It can't be that easy. What's making it fly? Don't you need to turn it on first?"

Steve shrugged. "Possibly. However, we won't know for certain unless we try."

One of the other men shook his head. "Steve, you're going to get yourself killed if you try this without further investigation. I foresee one of three things: you crashing into a building at relativistic velocities, you falling off and crashing into the ground at relativistic velocities, or you being turned into a toad by whoever that broom's rightful owner is."

Steve smiled. "I'm prepared for that. You know I'm in ROTC Air Force, right? Well, I managed to get myself a backpack with a parachute." He pointed. "If I lose control, I'll activate the chute and let the broom fly away. No problem."

Howard winced. "Great. Now how are you going to get the broom back?"

Steve pointed at an oddly-shaped piece of fabric on top of the shaft. "It's got its own chute, one which will go off seconds after mine. It's not going to be able to fly very far if it's got a parachute holding it back. One of us will just follow it and pick it up."

A fourth brother chimed in. "I don't like this. I think we should get the Russian girl to show us how to use this."

Howard shook his head. "Don't bother. From what I've been told, she can have a bit of a temper, and good old Michael just took her broom not knowing we have one of our own."

Several men chuckled. "We should probably warn people not to step on any bugs or toads after this. They could be Michael."

Howard smiled. "I wouldn't be surprised. I told him to return the broom posthaste, which will probably mean he's being transformed as we speak."

Steve laughed. "Probably. All right, guys. Stand back and let me try to take off. I've already done all the preflight checks and should be good to go."

Howard, still uncertain as to whether Steve was out of his mind, backed off. Steve put on some sports goggles and grinned. "This is Wizard Airlines, Flight 101. I'm your captain. Our flying time will be hopefully less than 30 seconds. Due to the short nature of the trip, there will be no snacks, movies, or bathroom breaks. We're No. 1 for takeoff, so here we go!"

He kicked off the ground. And went absolutely nowhere.

Steve frowned as several of the other brothers nodded as if sharing an inside joke. "Looks like we have some technical problems. There's going to be a slight delay."

Steve looked at the shaft. Some of the runes were glowing, others weren't. Odd, he thought. He wondered what the glowing runes meant. He reached out to touch one.

The broom suddenly burst out from under him, dropping him unceremoniously on his parachute pack. Howard watched as it flew off, unmanned, into the sky in the general direction of the Great Dome.

Steve gawked at it and started swearing. He pressed a button on his parachute pack and the chute deployed, covering him with fabric. Seconds later, a second chute appeared over the Green Building. Howard watched as the parachute slowly lowered the broom to the roof. The broom landed safely, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Then the half-deflated parachute caught some air, took off again, and managed to drape itself around the geodesic dome that housed one of the weather stations. Howard could see the broom dangling over the side of the building, sixteen floors up.

Oops.

To be continued...
--------------
Update #43
------------
February 11, 1996
Main Student Dining Hall
Arizona State University
Phoenix, Arizona
United States of America
------------
Laurence Montoya shook his head as he pushed his six-month-old daughter through the corridors. Those MIT students thought they were so smart, they could try fiddling with stuff which didn't follow all of their vaunted scientific principles. Judging from the rumors coming out of Massachusetts, some mischievous students had managed to get their hands on an authentic wizard's broomstick and had actually tried to fly it. Needless to say, it hadn't worked out all that well. The broom had taken off, all right. Unfortunately for the hackers, it had taken off immediately after dislodging its rider.

The students had attached a parachute to the broom to make sure that it wouldn't fly away. All the parachute managed to do was catch the top of a skyscraper on campus and dangle the broom sixteen feet above the ground, much to the amusement of the students. Boston's Channel 4 had a field day covering the dangling broom.

Not everyone had been amused, however. The Department of Magic found out about the incident within a matter of minutes, as an appalled graduate student had headed down through the now-open portal to I-Entry and reported it to the Secretary of Magic.

Travis Radner had been absolutely furious. He demanded that all Muggles return their brooms at once. Brooms were not toys, he said. They were vehicles, just like cars and trucks. If they were used improperly, they could kill a human.

Radner had promptly promulgated two new laws, which were immediately approved by the President. First, anyone who wanted a broom had to submit a request to the Department of Magic stating exactly what they would be doing with the broom. Second, no Muggle would be permitted to operate a broom. They would only be able to fly if they rode behind a trained operator, one who would almost certainly be a wizard. Violators would be punished by a 150 Galleon fine. Considering the price of gold in the Muggle world, that was a very high price to pay for a few minutes of excitement.

Radner had also reported that he had cast a spell which would be keeping track of the locations of all brooms given to the Muggles. Laurence had no idea if it was possible for him to actually do such a thing. Then again, who knew how powerful these wizards were? Hell, there were stories of biblical characters who had stopped the sun. Since it was now known that several characters were wizards, some of them must have had immense power.

On the flip side, Radner had taken the opportunity to report a possible medical breakthrough. The student who had reported the incident had toured I-Entry earlier with his significant other, and the wizards had noted that the aforementioned significant other had a parting resemblance to a magical humanoid female known as a veela. After issuing the orders to confiscate the brooms, Radner had sent the man to bring the woman down to I-Entry, where they took a blood sample. His next step would be to go to France to get in touch with some full-blooded veela and get a blood sample from one of those women.

Once that was done, both blood samples would be sent to a biology lab to determine if there was much of an overlap in the DNA sequences. Radner suspected that the significant other was maybe 1/32 veela. That didn't sound like much. However, the implications of such a discovery would be quite profound. After all, the significant other (known only as "Subject H") was a Muggle. Could veela and other magical creatures have been breeding with Muggles all these years and no one known about it? The wizards certainly wouldn't have tested the Muggles for veela genes, and the Muggles certainly wouldn't have known what to test for since they didn't know what veela were.

Several people had asked to interview Subject H and her consort. Radner had foreseen this, however, and Obliviated both halves of the couple. As with any medical experimentation, particularly one as potentially groundbreaking as this one, everything had to be done impartially and confidentially. The media had to respect the couple's right to privacy, and the wizards had ensured this by not releasing the identity of the couple and ensuring that the couple wouldn't be able to spill the beans themselves.

Shaking his head at the hubris of the MIT students, Laurence headed towards the cafeteria to get dinner. Little Kayla slept peacefully in the stroller as she drew funny faces and cute comments from the onlookers. About three people asked him how old she was in a span of five minutes.

Laurence smiled as he recalled Goldish's First Rule: Babies Make You Popular. He was thankful that she was asleep: given the amount she tended to cry and throw things around, he'd have become popular for all the wrong reasons had Kayla actually been awake.

He and his wife were living in married student housing on campus. She was working on a doctorate in astrophysics and was hoping to get a chance to use one of the powerful telescopes in the southeast corner of the state. She hadn't gotten much luck yet, however, as her first observing run had taken her down to Chile. She had completely forgotten that the Large Magellanic Cloud couldn't be seen from Phoenix.

He entered the cafeteria and grabbed some pizza for him and a salad for his wife. He had just entered the checkout line when he saw something unusual. A man dressed in a suit and tie was sitting behind a table covered with small cups of a golden-brown liquid. The sign behind him read, "Get Two Free Bottles Of Blast Cola! Must Be 21 Or Older."

Laurence's eyebrows shot up. He liked Blast, and so did his wife. This was too good an opportunity to pass up. He stepped out of line and headed over to the table.

The man looked at him and smiled. "Good evening, sir. How can I help you?"

Laurence smiled. "I saw the ad for Blast Cola and was wondering if I could try my luck."

"Certainly. All you need to do is try a glass of one of our new products. You can see it right in front of you."

Laurence looked down at the cups. "What is it?"

"It's a possible new product of ours. We call it Project B. We've gotten to the point where we're beta testing it and are trying to see what customers think of it. Are you game? All testers get two free bottles of Blast Cola."

Laurence nodded and began reaching for a glass. "All right, I'll check it out."

The salesman laughed and shook his head. "Hold your horses, fella. This stuff is mildly alcoholic. Got an ID on you?"

Laurence rummaged around in his wallet, withdrew his driver's license, and handed it to the salesman. "There you go."

The salesman looked it over for a few moments. "Looks OK to me. Did you drive here?"

Laurence shook his head. "Nope. We walked. Well, I walked and she slept. We live nearby."

"Good. Go ahead, take a drink. Tell me what you think about it."

Finally. Laurence picked up one of the cups and drank it. It tasted magnificent. He could have sworn he tasted both butter and alcohol. He'd never even conceived of something like this before. He smiled and wiped his lips. "Tastes really good! What is it!"

"Project B. If it gets popular enough and gets good enough reviews, we'll start selling it all over the country. You know anyone else who'd want to give it a try?"

Laurence shrugged. "A couple of people. My wife will probably want to try it out."

The salesman frowned. "It's alcoholic. Is she nursing the baby? If so, I can't let her have it."

Drat, Laurence thought. His wife would kill him. However, if everyone else liked it as much as he did, it would probably be in the stores by the time Kayla was weaned. He nodded gravely. "Yup, she's nursing. And you have a good point. We don't want this little girl to grow up hooked on alcohol."

"Don't worry. At the rate things are going, it will be in the stores by the time she's done nursing. At any rate, let me jot down some notes. What do you like about this product? Is there anything you don't like? Comments? Suggestions?"

Laurence rattled off a few comments. The taste was pretty good. In all fairness, he couldn't think of anything bad about it. Maybe it was a bit warm, but that was to be expected given the fact that it had been sitting out in the open.

The salesman jotted down the notes. "Very good. Thank you for your time, sir. And, as promised, here are your two bottles of Blast Cola."

The salesman reached behind him and produced two one-liter bottles of Blast, which Laurence accepted eagerly. "Thank you so much, sir. We'll look for this in the supermarket the next time we shop."

The salseman nodded. "Don't mention it. Have a nice evening!"

"You too."

With that, Laurence pushed Kayla away from the table and back into line. He placed the two bottles of cola in a pouch in the stroller behind the baby.

The vibrations from bottles being placed in the pouch shook the baby enough to wake her. Five seconds later, she was crying.

Laurence groaned. There went Mr. Popularity.

To be continued...
--------------
Update #44
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February 11, 1996
Church of the Right Wing
Westboro, Kansas
United States of America
------------
Patrick Dursley-Burgess waited with excitement in the front pew of the church. He'd spoken to Reverend Pitmoss before the sermon and told him about America for Mugles. The minister had thought it was a great idea and would advertise it during this week's sermon.
-----
Stephen Pitmoss saw himself only as a messenger, sent by God to help America be the best it can be. Part of his mission was to rid the country of undesirable elements, which he believed were only going to get the United States into trouble later.

Pitmoss had a large following, thanks to charisma and fiery sermons. He was well known. Unfortunately, fame carried a price. Many countries disagreed with his policies and considered him a terrorist, criminal, or worse. Several would not let him enter, turning him away at the border or forcing him to fly back home. He endured this, however, as he knew that the inconveniences would only be temporary. God had selected him for this mission, and Pitmoss knew that He would make things work out in the end. After all, how could humans compete with the Almighty?

Abraham had been tested by God and had worked out all right in the end. Moses had been tested as well and failed only once. Jesus had suffered crucifixion with His name on his lips, only to be rewarded with resurrection and reverence throughout most of the Western world. As long as Pitmoss stayed the course, God would make sure everything would turn around.

The church was packed today. This congregation was one of the largest in the area, and virtually everyone had shown up. Patrick Dursley-Burgess had apparently been spreading America for Muggles pamphlets throughout the community, along with more recent ones indicating that the good reverend would be discussing the wizards in his upcoming sermon. This speech would have a lasting impact, Pitmoss suspected. It was another test, however. With God's help, he would be able to pass it.

Pitmoss raised his hand, and all of the side conversations faded away. Every single worshiper was now looking at him expectantly. Down in the front row, Patrick Dursley-Burgess had a big grin on his face.

Pitmoss took a deep breath. He'd been a pastor for thirty years and still got stagefright before each sermon. He squelched it firmly and began to speak.

"My fellow Americans, it is my duty to inform you that our country is under attack by an enemy more insidious than anything it has seen before. We're not dealing with the Russians here, guys. We're not dealing with foreigners or people from minority ethnics groups. We're not even dealing with Democrats. We are dealing, of course, with the scourge of the devil himself."

He paused.

"We are dealing with witches."

The congregants began talking to each other in worried tones. Pitmoss had to wait a moment for the conversations to subside before continuing.

"You know the quote from the Bible as well as I do. Exodus 22:18 states quite unequivocally that "thou shalt not suffer a witch to live". Some of you may feel that killing people is distasteful, and it is understandable. After all, the Ten Commandments tell us that we aren't allowed to kill. How can God contradict Himself? It makes no sense.

"Well, He's not contradicting Himself. There are several cases in the Bible where God promulgates a general law and then mentions exceptions to it later on. Take, for example, the case of the daughters of Zelophehad. According to the Bible, ancient Israelite inheritance laws required that the eldest son inherit the land. The daughters of Zelophehad, however, found themselves with a problem in that Zelophehad had fathered only daughters. Who gets the land then? Moses asked God for help, and He responded that daughters can serve as caretakers for the land until they marry someone within their tribe. Once they marry, ownership reverts to the husband. As you can see, God explained that there are certain exceptions to the rules, only to be used in unusual circumstances.

"The demand that we kill witches is quite reasonable given the circumstances. God knows everything, as we all realize. He knew that the witches were extremely powerful, seduced by Satan himself. The faithful punished the witches a long time ago, forcing them underground. Yes, they claim that there was a Statute of Secrecy. However, we all know that's a lie. They've just been biding their time, waiting for America to forget they existed. Nowadays, with the soldiers of God being persecuted and ridiculed by the government and the populace in general, they've figured the resistance will be weak enough for them to re-emerge and wreak the havoc of the Apocalypse on an unsuspecting America. Will we let them do that?"

He raised his hands as the crowd shouted, "No!"

Pitmoss continued. "Let me tell you the story of Simon Magus. Let me read from Acts, Chapter 8, verse 9. 'But there was a certain man called Simon, who previously practiced sorcery in the city and astonished the people of Samaria, claiming that he was someone great, to whom they all gave heed, from the least to the greatest, saying, “This man is the great power of God.” And they heeded him because he had astonished them with his sorceries for a long time. But when they believed Philip as he preached the things concerning the kingdom of God and the name of Jesus Christ, both men and women were baptized. Then Simon himself also believed; and when he was baptized he continued with Philip, and was amazed, seeing the miracles and signs which were done.'

"What do we learn from this? Witches are extremely powerful and charismatic. They can use their hideous abilities to win over converts. However, the power and the words of Jesus Christ can help not only save the people ensorcelled but possibly cause the witch himself to mend his ways and forsake magic.

"Fast forward from the time of the Savior to today. Just last week, President Clinton made joint announcement with this so-called Secretary of Magic, Travis Radner. I don't know about you, but I didn't realize the United States even had a Secretary of Magic. Did you?"

The congregation roared. "No!"

Pitmoss smiled slyly. "It seems like a bit of an oversight for the American people to not be told about a whole branch of their government, wouldn't it?"

The congregation laughed at that.

Pitmoss chuckled. "I must say, though, that it explains where all of those extra government funds are going to. Who'd have ever thought that we'd be paying all those taxes to support wizards in the government?"

There were angry mutterings at this.

Pitmoss raised his hands and shrugged. "The only possibility that I can think of is that this Secretary Radner and his band of Houdinis have been embezzling money from the government since time immemorial. They're not content with that anymore, it seems. This time, the want real power.

"I personally didn't vote for President Clinton, and I doubt many of you did. However, he is still the leader of our country and we have to respect him. It's not his fault that his brains have taken leave of his body. After all, it's obvious Secretary Radner has ensorcelled him and is now running the show with the president as a pawn."

Pitmoss continued. "A pawn he is, my friends. From what we've been told, there are three spells which can land a wizard in jail. One of them is the Imperius Curse, which allows the wizard to take control of other people and force them to do his bidding. It's obvious that this Radner has cast this Imperius Curse on the president. Yes, he says that this type of spell is forbidden. But why should we be taking his word for it? I doubt he's the type of person who's all that trustworthy."

The crowd roared at this.

Pitmoss smiled as he brought up the coup de grace. "I assume you have watched, or at least heard of, that tour the misguided students of MIT took of that 'wizarding headquarters' in Massachusetts. I think the forces of evil made a mistake there, my friends. They showed everyone evidence of their true forms -- ghosts and goblins. You remember the goblin, right? His name was Thomas. He was the ugliest thing I'd ever seen before. God wouldn't create creatures that ugly. Guess who must have then?"

The crowd roared again.

"How much would you be willing to bet that's what's left of Doubting Thomas? Look what God did to him for doubting the Savior!"

The crowd shouted lots of things simultaneously. Pitmoss couldn't make out what they were saying, but the tone was obvious.

Pitmoss raised his voice. "My fellow Americans, it is our duty as citizens of this country to help America be the best it can be. I tell you today, ladies and gentlemen, that we must begin working for the overthrow or conversion to Christianity of all of these evil wizards. You are to not attack Clinton or any other government official, however. Overthrowing the president won't do any good because the wizard will just ensorcel his successor. Besides, overthrowing the president would be high treason and most un-American.

"I encourage you to spread the word about these evil witches. You now know the truth, something the government has been trying to cover up. I've got the Bible to back me up. What does Clinton have? Radner?"

The crowd roared.

Pitmoss looked down at Patrick Dursley-Burgess, who was glowing with pride. "Allow me to introduce one of our flock, Mr. Patrick Dursley-Burgess. He's got some news for you which you might find interesting. Please give him your undivided attention."

The crowd applauded as Pitmoss sat down and Patrick ascended to the podium. Patrick looked around at the crowd, his eyes a bit wide. He hadn't expected it to come so soon. But God worked in mysterious ways.

Patrick nodded to the minister. "Thank you, Reverend Pitmoss, for allowing myself to spread my message."

Pitmoss shook his head gravely. "It's not your news. It's God's news and God's help. Give credit to Whom it is due."

Patrick smiled, looked up to the heavens, and turned to the crowd.

"Good afternoon, fellow believers. My name is Patrick Dursley-Burgess. I believe that God has chosen me for a great and noble mission: leading a movement that will take America away from the wizards and return it to us normal people where it belongs."

Everyone cheered at that.

"I have actually personally heard of several cases where wizards have attacked hardworking people in England. My cousin, Vernon Dursley, was appalled to find out that he has a nephew who has fallen to wizardry. The child had been a brat before he'd picked up that nefarious wand. With magic, however, everything got worse. By the age of fifteen, the child had inflated his aunt like a balloon and floated her out the window, terrorized his own cousin with a light show, and tried to kill that same cousin by sealing him in a cage with a venomous snake. Imagine that -- by the age of 15, he has begun attacking a family which has raised him since infancy. The tools of the devil, indeed."

Patrick paused and shuddered. "I hate to think what will happen when this kid gets fully trained as a wizard. Right now he's just an apprentice, a teenager."

Frightened titters began echoing through the crowd.

"We need to do something to stop these monsters pronto. I've done some work to get a resistance movement off the ground. My wife and I have founded a new group, America for Muggles, which will resist the wizards and hopefully kick them out of positions of authority. You now know what's at stake. Who's with us?"

The crowd screamed as one. "We are!"

Patrick beamed. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen for your support. We'll be handing out pamphlets later on this week in the town common. In the meantime, Reverend Pitmoss will be passing around the collection plate for anything you'd be willing to donate to support our cause. Normally it would be reserved for charity, but since this is also a mission ordained by God it would be appropriate to handle this in church."

The first parishioners snatched the plate out of Pitmoss's hand as soon as it got within arm's reach of the congregation. By the time it had gotten to the end of the first pew, there was $35. By the end of the second pew, there was $60.

Patrick and Pitmoss looked at each other. This was a very good start. With God's help, it would continue.

To be continued...
--------------
Update #45 (warning, another religious nut job is speaking, this time of a different faith. I hope I don't offend anyone)
------------
February 12, 1996
Al-Jazeera Offices
Doha, Qatar
------------
The blood drained from Ali's face when he saw the package on the chair. Once again, You-Know-Who had spoken.

The station had received several packages like this before. All of them had contained videotaped recordings from the evil mastermind. The station had once tried to figure out where they had been coming from, but its efforts were of no avail. The bad guys covered their tracks very well, and many people backed off lest they be killed for discovering something they should not know about.

Ali wanted the man dead and buried. He'd like to see the reaction on the guy's face when the man found himself face to face with seventy demons instead of seventy virgins. Because of this man's message, the world had come to believe that a peaceful religious tradition condoned violence and hate crimes. The repercussions of this man's actions would echo for years to come.

There was nothing Ali could do about it now. All he could do was play the tape and deliver the message to his boss.
-----------------
Good afternoon, and may Allah grace you with His blessing. Once again, I, Osama bin Laden, have recorded a message to be broadcast on al-Jazeera. Allah willing, this message will be received and analyzed before the six o'clock news.

We of al-Qaeda have received disturbing news over the past few weeks. It appears that many countries in the West have allied themselves with witches, in direct violation of Allah's directives. I urge all devout Muslims to take action against these individuals before the Great Satan becomes even greater.

Some of you may fear that you will not be able to stand up to these so-called wizards. You may be afraid that they will cast spells on you and ruin your lives. This is not the case, however, as we have Allah on our side. You may rest assured that He does not care for these people whatsoever. Not only that, He has decreed that we do what we can to eliminate these individuals. In a battle between our troops, sanctioned by Allah, and these evildoers, it is obvious who is going to emerge victorious.

We of al-Qaeda are currently in the process of planning operations which will, Allah willing, eliminate these wizards before they can strengthen the West too much. As usual, any volunteers or donations will be more than welcome. If you want more information on volunteering, don't hesitate to contact us through the usual channels.

Reports of wizards in high places are appearing all over the world. Not surprisingly, the Pope is a wizard. What would you expect? He's the head of a community which has been crusading against our people for many years. Satan could not have picked a better place to put one of his minions. We'll deal with him eventually. However, we'll deal with the West first.

While we're in the area, we shouldn't forget West Palestine, commonly referred to as the illegal state of Israel. I will bet any of my listeners $100 US that at least one member of the Knesset, the Israeli cabinet, is a wizard. Like all wizards, they are intent on taking over the world. I suspect that he will soon reveal himself to the world along with his accomplices.

Why would he reveal himself now? It's obvious. Because of the work of groups like ours, Israel now realizes that its purported nuclear deterrent is no longer enough to save it from the rising might of our people. As a result, the Lesser Satan made a deal with Satan himself to get reinforcements before the final battle.

In the battle between Satan and the godly, you are on one side or on the other. If you are not with us, you are against us. Those of you who side with us and Allah will be rewarded. Those of you who side against us will, Allah willing, face our wrath. We will be His destroying angel and ensure that His word shall prevail on earth.

I call upon all of the "wizards" in the United States and the other Western countries to submit to the will of Allah. Unlike most people, who have been tricked into believing there was a Statute of Secrecy, Allah has shown us the truth in a vision. You may have fooled them, but you won't fool us. We know you came from hell, and we demand that you go back there. If you do not do so, you and anyone who shelters you will be subject to future terrorist attacks.

We will recognize four levels of submission to Allah for wizards. The first, lowest level will require that the wizard cease all paranormal activities and either return to hell or live out his life like the rest of us, without magic. People have lived without magic for many years and have lived happy, meaningful lives. Wizards who reach this level will be treated with as much dignity as any other members of their country.

The second level will require that the wizard stop all magic use and adopt the teachings of the Prophet and become a Muslim, adopting the Qu'ran as the Law and word of Allah. We will welcome such individuals like any other converts to the True Faith.

The third level will require that the wizard use his powers for good and not for ill, using the powers of hell on behalf of Allah. In order to do so, he must become a Muslim and then use his abilities to help other people. He must use his magic to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, heal the sick, and do other good deeds. These individuals can be the bedrock for the Pillars of Islam. We will be eternally grateful to such individuals and reward them financially.

The fourth level is an extension of the third in which the wizard not only becomes a Muslim and does good deeds, but he also joins us in our struggle to evict the rest of these demons. Satan will find the struggle much more daunting if half of his soldiers return to Allah and start fighting their former allies. We will be more than willing to provide them with training and equipment, and we will be more than happy to listen to any new battle tactics which can take advantage of their unusual powers.

I now have a request for President Clinton and Prime Minister Major. Word has reached me that movements are arising in your lands which are based on the destruction of these wizards. Your people want the wizards out. If you truly wish to follow the dictates of your citizens, you should follow their lead and help us eradicate this threat. Do not ally with these wizards. If you were to issue decrees that turned the country against the wizards, we would all be better off. It is up to you, however.

May Allah have mercy on you all. May He give you the wisdom to follow the advice I have set out for you.

Thank you for your attention.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Update #46
------------
February 11, 1996
Anthony's Pier 4 Restaurant
Boston, Massachusetts
United States of America
------------
Jason Morgenstern grinned. For the first time in many years, luck had been with him for an extended period of time.

He had been one of the last people admitted to I-Entry before the overwhelmed Sorcerer Meeks had ordered the door sealed shut. It was good thing he hadn't waited to use the bathroom before heading over to MacGregor. Had he arrived a couple of minutes later, he wouldn't have made it in.

The fact that he had held off going to the bathroom had proven to be a blessing in more ways than one. The urge to empty his bladder overcame him about a few minutes into the tour, and he had told Sorcerer Weeks that he needed to use the men's room. Weeks had told him that he would require an escort, which had initially irritated him as he wanted to look around. However, everything had changed when the escort walked into the room.

Her name was Guinevere de Mornay. She was twenty-one, only a year older than he was. She had graduated from the Salem Witches' Academy -- the women's section of the Quabbin Academy of Sorcery -- a few years ago with high honors. These qualifications had been strong enough to get her a plum position in the Department of Magic right out of the Academy.

Jason remembered what his thoughts had been at the time. Cute girl. Has lots of interesting abilities. Is going to be escorting me to the bathroom. Is probably interested in Muggles -- otherwise she wouldn't have volunteered for escort duty. This means she's probably going to be interested in the tour of Muggle Cambridge and Boston. Hell, yeah. I think I've got myself a date. One of the disadvantages of living in Zeta Beta Tau is that I've only guys in my house and said house is in the middle of nowhere. This should help liven things up.

Then his rational mind took over. Stop fantasizing, Jason. She'll never be interested in you. And if she gets mad at you she'll probably turn you into a frog.

Guinevere, however, proved to be interested in Muggles and was indeed going on the trip. This had given him a lot of time to talk to her. She was intrigued about life as a Muggle and wanted to learn more. After all, if the two worlds were going to mingle, she would have to learn to deal with Muggles at some point.

Jason was surprised to find that she was in fact related to the Guinevere of the King Arthur stories. She explained that Arthur had in fact been a wizard-king and had spent a long time apprenticed to the famous Merlin. The Sword in the Stone legend had been an old test to check to see if the candidate was a wizard; the sword had been embedded so tightly that only magic would be able to free it.

They had several common interests. Both were very curious about new things, which gave them a perfect opportunity to learn about each other. She had an amazing sense of humor, though many of the jokes had involved Wizarding punchlines ("What device can be used to make a guard stupider? A dementor dementor!"). She had to explain most of the Wizarding references to him: for instance, a dementor was a dangerous creature used as a security guard in Wizarding prisons.

As if that weren't enough, she was a big sports fan -- but not of any sports he'd heard of before. She hadn't heard of the Bruins, though she had heard of the Celts from her history lessons (huh? And why did she correct his pronunciation?). She was big on Quodpot though. This was some kind of game with an exploding ball, judging from the little he understood. Jason grinned when he heard that. Wait until his brother learned that the Hot Potato game had probably been developed by wizards.

He spent so much time talking to, and thinking about, Guinevere that he missed a lot of the tour. When he was separated from Guinevere during his visit to the QAS (unmarried women under 30 were not permitted in the building, and the corresponding restriction held for the Salem Witches' Academy), he became so distracted that he nearly walked right into a cauldron brewing some kind of green potion which looked like something out of a toxic-waste dump. The teacher and student both glared at him, telling him that if had fallen into that he'd have grown scales all over his body. He remembered Headmaster Nagle rolling his eyes.

Guinevere had rejoined him after the tour emerged from the QAS. She'd come out the I-Entry corridor with him and had taken part of the tour of the MIT campus. Whenever she saw a machine, she gawked at it and wondered how it worked. He remembered her trying to fiddle with an Athena computer workstation, though she never managed to get past the login screen.

Jason whistled to himself. Cute girl who's a wizard AND a nerd? Ooh yeah!

A tour of Boston and Cambridge later, the wizards were escorted back to the brick wall with the painted letter I. Travis Radner had made some final statements and had started leading everyone back into the corridor. Bracing himself, he asked Guinevere if she would want to meet him again later on.

She said yes. She told him to be at the entrance to I-Entry Sunday evening, February 11th, at 8:00.

He made it a point to get there early -- 7:30. Several of the people had wondered what he was doing there. When he told them he had a date with a wizardess, they'd laughed at him. The laughs had melted off their faces at 7:50, when the panels of the I opened to admit Guinevere.

Jason shook his head in disbelief. He'd had been expecting to see her in some kind of slinky dress or something like that. If she wasn't comfortable in a slinky dress, she'd have probably worn a nice blouse or something. What he hadn't expected, however, was some kind of robe with a strange insignia on it. She had explained that it the formal Wizarding robe worn by students at the Salem Witches' Academy and it was only used on special occasions.

Special occasion, he thought. This was getting better and better.

He had told her that he had cobbled together a lot of his loose money and managed to secure a table for them at the famous Anthony's Pier 4 restaurant on the waterfront. He figured that she'd remember the place -- she had told him that she had liked the ambiance. She had indeed remembered the restaurant and had offered to take him there.

Jason had stared at her. How was she going to take him there? Did she have a car? Did wizards even HAVE cars? Did she have a broom on her somewhere?

In response, Guinevere had held onto his hand and told him not to let go. Before he had a chance to open his mouth, everything went black for a moment and he felt himself being squeezed through a small opening. What the hell --

Suddenly light reappeared, and he found himself in the middle of the sidewalk outside Anthony's Pier 4. He stared at her. Several passersby looked at them momentarily before convincing themselves that they hadn't appeared out of nowhere. Jason knew better, however.

He started jumping up and down in excitement. "You teleported us! Wow!"

Guinevere nodded. "Close enough. The correct term is Apparation. It is a method of transportation wizards often use to go from place to place. It's faster than brooms, but you need to be of age in order to use it. And it lets you bring people with you."

Jason whooped it up. "Beam me up, Scotty!"

Guinevere frowned. "Scotty? Who's he?"

Jason rolled his eyes. She may be a nerd to some extent, but there was at least one thing she HAD to learn about in order to be a true nerd.

Grinning, he led her to the entrance, opened the door and ushered her into the restaurant. "He's a character on a television show called Star Trek. He's good at...Apparating people."

Guinevere stared at him. "He's a wizard?"

Jason stammered. "Uh...not exactly. He's an engineer."

An opening, he thought. "I'm going to be an engineer when I grow up. I'm in the electrical engineering program."

Guinevere nodded. "Interesting. We'll have plenty of stuff to talk about. Oh, by the way, the meal's on me."

Jason stared at her. "What? No, you don't have to --"

In response, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of gold. Jason's eyes bulged. "Is that...GOLD?"

She nodded. "It's called a Galleon. Judging by its gold content, it should fetch a couple of hundred dollars at least in the Muggle market. Will that be sufficient?"

Jason shook his head. "Guinevere, they don't take gold coins here."

She shrugged. "Here, you take it then. You can bring it to the bank and exchange it for more acceptable currency. Next time, the meal's on me."

This was looking very promising. He was now going out with a rich nerd who happened to be a wizard with common interests. What's more, she wanted to see him yet again.

Trying to keep his emotions under control, he went up to the greeter and told him about his reservation.

To be continued...
-------------
Update #47
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February 12, 1996
5 Canada Square
Canary Wharf District
London, England
------------
Nigel Marcellus was already tired, and it was only 3:26 according to his watch. It must have been the four hours of sleep he got last night. Either that, or he wasn't really up to facing another week of work after the wonderful weekend he'd just had.

He had to take a break. At the rate things were going, he'd tell the customer to sell a billion shares instead of a million and only find out about it when the lawsuit notice appeared in the mailbox.

He put on his jacket and marched over to the elevator. A few minutes later, he was outside -- thankfully it was above zero degrees Centigrade -- and walking around the building, trying to clear his mind. Hopefully the cold air would wake him up a little.

It woke him up a little, but not much. He tried kicking snow around to no avail. At the rate things were going, he wouldn't be able to think coherently until he got ten hours or sleep or more. He doubted he'd be able to do anything useful the rest of the day and began thinking about going home. Somewhere, off in the distance, a clock began chiming 3:30. The little bells didn't help, either.

The tremendously powerful explosion did, however.

There was a huge flash of light next to the building. His old SAS training kicked in instinctively and he hit the deck, planting himself face down in the snow as the deafening noise of the blast tore through the air. Debris flew over his head. Something nicked his leg, causing it to sting.

Sound traveled one mile in five seconds. Judging from the direction he'd seen the flash and the amount of time it took for the sound to reach him, the explosion had occurred somewhere in the parking lot next to the main entrance. Probably a truck bomb, he thought. He'd seen a big moving van in the lot a few hours earlier. Curiously enough, it had had Irish plates on it. It made him wonder if the IRA had been behind it. He doubted it was bin Laden -- the terrorist had just issued an order to attack wizards, and there weren't any wizards around here.

He doubted it was a wizard. For one thing, the attacker would have likely used magic and not a truck bomb. For another, the wizards had not shown any ill will towards the rest of Britain's citizens. They didn't seem the kind to go about attacking people.

A creaking sound above his head caught his attention. He clambered out of the snow and looked up just in time to see the top few floors start crumbling. Bloody hell, he thought. The damn building was about to fall on top of him. He had barely tucked himself into a fetal position when something hit the ground with a metallic clank and toppled onto his back. He was trapped. More rubble fell around him, pinning him further. Fortunately, he seemed to have escaped without any serious injuries.

Had he still been in his 20's and in prime physical condition, he'd have been able to push off the rod and get out of this. He was 52, however, and he'd been out of the SAS for a while. He looked around at the snow and began wondering if he'd be able to dig himself out. At least he had snow to drink if he became trapped.

He began working on his tunnel as panicked screams began emanating from inside the collapsed building. He started hollering at the top of his lungs as well. Not that it would do any bloody good with all these other people shouting.
----------
Arthur Weasley was startled as Cornelius Fudge's voice boomed throughout the Ministry. "Attention, please. Attention please. There has been a terrorist attack in the Canary Wharf district, centered on 5 Canada Square. At least one building has partially collapsed and there are people trapped everywhere. There is at least one casualty and dozens of injured Muggles.

"In the old days, I wouldn't have alerted you to this fact lest you start heading over there on stubborn moralistic crusades and rescuing people, in violation of the Statute of Secrecy. However, the Statute of Secrecy is no more. We can now use magic among Muggles. These Muggles need help, and we're the only people who will be able to deliver it.

"I want all of you to pair up and Apparate over to the Canary Wharf district, no closer than 100 meters from 5 Canada Square. You are to stay with your partner at all times, rescuing survivors and healing people who are injured. The Wingardium Leviosa charm will be good for lifting objects off of trapped people, and the Arresto Momentum spell will prevent falling pieces of debris from hitting the ground. Evanesco can be used to make pieces of debris go away completely.

"You should ask the Muggle authorities if the situation is such that it will be safe to cast your spells. Casting a Vanishing Charm on something which is underneath another piece of debris will just cause the thing on top of it to fall onto the victim, making the situation even more serious. If the Muggles don't want you to cast spells simply because they're not comfortable with magic, do it anyway if it's obvious that Muggle technology will not work. Saving lives is much more important than offending other people. With luck, the aggrieved Muggles will realize that we're only there to help.

"That's all, everyone. Hurry up, please!"
----------
Arthur's momentary disorientation was pierced by a blaring honk. Spinning in place, he saw that he had Apparated into the middle of a road and a vehicle with flashing blue lights was heading at him at a high rate of speed. He barely had time to jump out of the way as it went by.

The entire area was in a panic. Several people were running away from the building. Others were hurrying to help. He followed some of these individuals towards the collapsed building. People looked at his unusual clothing for a couple of seconds but that was it -- rescuing the survivors was much more important.

The rescuers spread out as they approached the rubble. Arthur and his buddy, Reginald Cattermole, headed towards the sound of a man's voice. The sound appeared to be coming from a large mound of debris in a deep snowbank.

Arthur nodded to Cattermole and nodded. Both men brought out their wands and pointed them at the pile of debris. Cattermole cast a spell which made sure that the second-highest piece of rubble in the pile didn't move. This gave Arthur the opportunity to cast the Wingardium Leviosa spell without worrying about collapsing the rest of the debris pile.

The crowd gaped as the first piece of debris rose into the air. By the time Arthur had lain it gently on the ground, the two wizards had drawn a bit of an audience.

Arthur just had time to stabilize another beam when Cattermole cast his own Levitation spell, this time on the beam he had stabilized earlier.
----------
Nigel had dug maybe three feet of his tunnel when he heard some strange words nearby.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

What the hell was THAT? Whatever it was, it wasn't the Queen's English. It certainly didn't sound Welsh or Gaelic or anything like that. Hell, that Wingardium sounded Latin. The language was irrelevant, however. The important thing was to keep on digging.

Suddenly, he felt the weight lift off his back. Surprised, he looked up and saw a most amazing sight: the metal beam which had pinned him floating up into the air with nothing to support it!

Nigel's jaw dropped. He must be hallucinating. This probably meant he was more injured than he thought he was. He'd better sit tight and ask for help. Something about that didn't make sense, however. If he were that injured, how come he'd been able to dig at least a small section of tunnel? And how come he'd been only hit in one place, the leg, and that had been but a flesh wound as Monty Python would have liked to say?

There was one way to find out. He tried standing up and, much to his surprise, was able to do so. He was free! People all around him were cheering and staring at two strangely dressed men. He didn't recognize the men's uniforms, even from his time in the SAS. They must be from some kind of secret division which dealt with terrorists.

The two men walked up to him. One of them, a man with fading red hair, spoke. "You're free, sir. Do you need any help? Are you injured? Do you know if other people are still trapped?"

Nigel shook the speaker's hand. "I think I'm OK, Mr..."

The speaker nodded. "Weasley. Arthur Weasley. I'm with the British Ministry of Magic. This is Reginald Cattermole, my colleague. We were using Levitation charms to get those beams off of you."

Nigel's eyes went wide as saucers. "Ministry of Magic, eh? Never heard of you chaps before, but you sure seem to know what you're doing. Impressive trick, by the way. I'm Nigel Marcellus, and I work in this building. I'm also a former SAS man, and thanks to my army background I have a suspicion as to where the explosion came from."

Cattermole looked puzzled for a second. Apparently the wizards didn't know what the SAS was.

Weasley explained. "Reg, the SAS is a unit of elite British soldiers, highly skilled and highly trained. This man may be able to help us."

Cattermole nodded. "I see. Well, Mr. Marcellus, what do you think happened?"

Nigel pointed at what was left of the parking lot. "Judging from the direction the blast wave came from and the amount of time it took for the sound to reach me, I suspect that the explosion was delivered by a truck bomb with Irish plates. I remember seeing it in the parking lot roughly where the center of the explosion should have been. I think the IRA was behind it."

Weasley explained for Cattermole. "The IRA is a terrorist group operating out of Ireland. They call themselves the Irish Republican Army."

Arthur told Cattermole to summon a police officer to take Nigel's testimony. He turned back to Nigel as the other wizard ran away.

"You're sure that it wasn't Voldemort or a Death Eater?"

Nigel stared at him. "Who?"

Arthur have himself a face palm. "Oh, right. You're a Muggle. You don't know who Voldemort is."

Nigel shook his head. "I don't know WHAT a Voldemort is. Are they something you chaps are more familiar with?"

Arthur nodded bleakly. "I'm afraid so. Voldemort, also known as Tom Marvolo Riddle, is an evil wizard. He's very powerful, and he has just apparently returned after a long hiatus. He and his followers have been known to attack Muggles."

Nigel stared back at the wrecked building. "Sounds like the type of thing an evil wizard would do. However, I doubt it was this Voldemort person. This has all the hallmarks of a classic truck bomb plot. Now that I'm out of my hole, I can even smell the residue of the explosives in the air. Trust me, Mr. Weasley. It was a truck bomb. I can show you roughly where it went off."

Arthur nodded as Cattermole returned with one of the cops. "That would be most helpful, Mr. Marcellus. Once we've rescued all these people, we'll handle the evil wizard and you'll handle Muggle matters. Don't worry about the wizard, sir. I'm part of a group which is trying to chase him down."

Nigel nodded. "We appreciate that. Thank you."

Arthur smiled. "Don't mention it. I see you're injured slightly. Do you want me to heal you with magic?"

Nigel stared at him. "You can heal people with magic? Sure, why not. If you're good at making things fly, I figure you can probably heal people."

Arthur nodded, pointed something which looked like a wand at Nigel's leg, and said some strange words. There was a flash of light, and the leg suddenly stopped hurting. The crowd cheered once more.

Nigel reached for his leg and felt no injury. "Damn, you're good. I want one of those wand thingies."

Arthur shook his head. "I'm afraid that's impossible -- wands and Muggles don't mix."

"Oh well. At any rate, follow me, and I'll take you to the epicenter of the blast."

After a brief discussion, Nigel led the cop to the epicenter while the two wizards hurried deeper into the rubble to rescue more people.

To be continued...
--------------

Update #48
------------
February 12, 1996
5 Canada Square
Canary Wharf District
London, England
------------
From the London Times, Extra Edition:

IRISH REPUBLICAN ARMY DETONATES TRUCK BOMB IN LONDON

1, 5 CANADA SQUARE SERIOUSLY DAMAGED

8 KILLED, 224 INJURED, 73 MISSING

WIZARDS, MINISTRY OF MAGIC PERFORM HEROIC RESCUES

The ceasefire with the Irish Republican Army was disrupted abruptly at 3:30 this afternoon, when a van filled with high explosives detonated in the Canary Wharf district. Half of 5 Canada Square collapsed, trapping hundreds of people in the rubble. 1 Canada Square suffered serious damage, and all of its occupants were evacuated for their own safety.

Eight people were confirmed dead, with well over two hundred injured. Seventy-three people are still unaccounted for, and the search is still ongoing at the time of publication.

Nigel Marcellus, a former SAS operative who had left the service and been employed at 5 Canada Square, witnessed the explosion. "I had been walking around outside, hoping to take a break and wake myself up with in the cold air. There was a big flash and my SAS training instinctively kicked in. I hit deck as debris flew over my head. When I saw the building collapsing, I folded up into a fetal position and was barely missed by a falling beam. Unfortunately, the beam bounced and landed in a position where I was trapped underneath it. I found myself in a position where I had to dig myself out with my own hands, something which reminded me of my old SAS days.

"I had traveled about four feet when someone started speaking in a language I'd never heard before. I was then shocked to see the beam rise up into the air of its own volition, with nothing supporting it. Then these two blokes in strange uniforms came over to me, told me they were wizards, and asked me what had happened. Those two men rescued me, and had it not been for them I would likely still be lying under those beams.

"The two wizards made sure I was OK. They asked me if some bloke named Volde-Something could have done it. Volde-Something supposedly is an evil wizard who's been known to attack Muggles like us. I have no idea who this person is, but I argued that if it were a wizard, he wouldn't have used a truck bomb.

"My SAS training had allowed me to pinpoint the center of the explosion. Once the wizards freed me and began rescuing other people, I led the police over to where I believe the explosion had taken place. It was in the middle of the main 5 Canada Square parking lot. I recalled seeing a moving van with Irish plates in there, one I'd never seen before. I had told the wizards that it had all the hallmarks of an IRA truck bomb, and by Jove I was right. Pieces of the van were everywhere, and I could smell the explosives. The cops eventually found the license plate and took it from there."

Mr. Marcellus made a suggestion in closing. "These wizards seem to be pretty powerful. I wouldn't mind having some of THEM in the SAS with us!"

The Prime Minister cut short his vacation and hurried back to town, where he surveyed the damage. "This attack is a national tragedy. My heartfelt condolences go out to people who lost their loved ones, and our prayers go out for those whose loved ones are injured or have gone missing. Rest assured that finding the perpetrators will become our utmost priority. Although preliminary investigation seems to agree with the SAS chap's assessment of the situation, we will not jump to any conclusions. My office will update you with more information as it becomes available."

Several of wizards were present at the scene. One of the wizards who had rescued Mr. Marcellus, a man named Arthur Weasley, described his experiences. "I had been working in the Ministry of Magic when Minister Cornelius Fudge announced that the city had been attacked. All of us headed out to the site of the explosion to see what we could do. My colleague and I used Levitation spells to free victims from the debris.

"We first thought that the attack could have been orchestrated by an evil wizard known as Voldemort, who has recently returned after a long time in limbo. After further investigation, however, we decided against it. This seemed like an ordinary Muggle-on-Muggle terrorist attack, and [continued, Page 2]
----------------
From the Daily Prophet:
EXTRA! EXTRA! EXTRA!
LONDON ATTACKED!


WIZARDS HELP MUGGLES RESCUE TRAPPED VICTIMS AFTER EXPLOSION

PERPETRATOR BELIEVED TO BE MUGGLE TERRORIST GROUP, NOT BLACK OR A DEATH EATER

MINISTRY OF MAGIC DENIES EMPLOYEE RUMOR THAT YOU-KNOW-WHO HAS RETURNED

In an unprecedented act of kindness and mercy made possible for the first time by the accidental exposure of the Wizarding world to the Muggles, the employees of the Ministry of Magic assisted the Muggle authorities in helping rescue people after a terrible explosion shook downtown London and damaged several Muggle buildings.

Reginald Cattermole, an employee in the Magical Maintenance Office, described what he saw when he arrived on the scene. "It was horrible. There was rubble everywhere and people crying out for help. It looked as if a dragon had attacked the building. I wish I could have done more to help those poor people. As it was, my colleague and I were only able to rescue five or six of them."

Knowing that Sirius Black, an escaped prisoner from Azkaban, is on the loose, the Ministry looked for signs indicating that the Death Eaters were behind the attack. Sirius had been imprisoned for Death Eater activities, and the Death Eaters had ravaged the Quidditch World Cup less than a year ago. It soon became obvious, however, that wizards were not behind this attack. There were no Dark Marks in the sky, and a Muggle special forces agent rescued by Cattermole suspected that an Irish Muggle terrorist group was responsible for the attack.

Cornelius Fudge issued a statement after the successful rescues. "The Wizarding community of Britain would like to issue its most sincere condolences to everyone who lost their loved ones and was injured in the attack. Had it not been for the help of the Ministry employees, the situation could have been much worse.

"Wizards may rest assured, however, that it is unlikely that these terrorists will attack us. We have not done anything to harm Ireland and its people. As the Quidditch World Cup showed -- at least before the Death Eaters attacked the final -- wizards all over the world have been living peacefully together for many years. The Irish wizards won't harm us, and the Irish Muggles have no reason to. Don't worry about the terrorists -- they won't bother us.

"When word of the attack came in, most of us suspected that Sirius Black, Bellatrix Lestrange, or one of the other escapees from Azkaban was at it again. Fortunately, that was not the case. Had it been a Death Eater, he or she would likely have left behind a Dark Mark as a calling card. No Dark Marks appeared. This appears to have been a Muggle-on-Muggle attack.

"This reminds me. There is one thing I must make clear. There are rumors circulating in both the Muggle and Wizarding communities that the Dark wizard we know as You-Know-Who has returned. That is not the case. Rest assured, wizards of Britain. Had You-Know-Who returned, we'd be the first to know about it. He hasn't. End of story. If you hear the rumors, don't pass them on. We don't want to scare people for no reason. Anyone who is caught spreading this rumor will be reprimanded severely and possibly fined.

"At any rate, back to the attack. We were able to rescue several people and heal several serious injuries. We got a lot of good Muggle television and newspaper coverage. This should help Muggles and wizards get along better in the future and show that neither group has anything to fear from the other.

"Perhaps one of the most interesting developments is the fact that one of the men rescued was a former member of the SAS, an elite Muggle military special operations unit. These men are highly skilled and highly trained and are extremely good at secret missions designed to eliminate enemies. This man recommended that the SAS begin accepting wizards into its ranks.

"I believe that is actually a very good idea and would recommend a further step: combining the SAS and the Aurors into a joint special operations unit. The SAS's tactics could catch Sirius Black and the other Death Eaters off guard, and the Aurors could take out Muggle terrorists who have no defense against magic. These [continued, Page 3]

To be continued...
--------------
Update #49
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February 15, 1996
Office of the President
Massachusetts Institute of Technology
Cambridge, Massachusetts
United States of America
------------

TENTATIVE COURSE CATALOG FOR COURSE XIX, MAGICAL TECHNOLOGY
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
NOTE: Unless stated otherwise, all classes will be held in locations accessed through MacGregor I-Entry. Lettered codes will refer to locations in the Four Towns: D - Dana Town Hall, E - Enfield Town Hall, G - Greenwich Town Hall, H - Department of Magic Headquarters, P - Prescott Town Hall, and QS - Quabbin Academy of Sorcery/Salem Witches' Academy (segregated by gender, two instructors).

Classes will be offered starting in the 1996-1997 academic year.

19.00 - Muggle/Wizard Relations and Diplomacy (HASS-D [humanities distribution elective])
REQUIREMENT FOR ALL STUDENTS FROM THE CLASS OF '01 OR LATER
Units: 12 units,3-0-9 [3 hours lecture, 0 hours recitation, 9 hours homework estimated per week]
Prerequisites: None
Lecturer: [Russian House Witch's real name]
Location: 26-100 [a large lecture hall]
Description: A discussion of the history of wizard/Muggle relationships over the years with lots of readings.

19.01 - History of the Magical World (HASS-D)
Units: 12 units,
Prerequisites: None
Lecturers: Nagle [men]/Demeter [women]
Location: QS
Description: A labless history of magic course derived from the Wizarding course History of Magic.

19.02 - Magical Physics
Units: 12 units, 3-0-9
Prerequisites: 8.02 [electromagnetism], 19.01
Lecturer: TBD
Location: 6-120
Description: This course will cover what is known of the laws that govern magic.

19.03 - Magic and Technology
Units: 12 units, 3-0-9
Prerequisites: 19.02
Lecturer: TBD
Location: E
Description: The course will explain what happens when magical forces interact with modern technology and why.

19.04 - Magical Spells and Formulae
Units: 12 units, 3-0-9
Prerequisites: 19.02
Lecturer: [Russian House Witch's real name]
Location: 2-190, at least one foreign language course
Description: Goes into the details various of various spell pronouncement and their history.

19.05 - Magical Focus
Units: 12 units, 3-0-9
Prerequisites: 19.01
Lecturer: TBD
Location: 2-190
Description: Discuss practices wizards use to improve their focus and concentration. Some of these techniques can be used in the nonmagical world as well.

19.06 - Magical Transportation
Units: 15 units, 3-3-9
Prerequisites: 19.02, 8.03[quantum mechanics]
Lecturer: TBD
Location: D
Description: Gives an overview of means of magical transportation such as Portkeys and Floo powder. It will cover what can and cannot be done with magical transportation.

19.07 - Brooms and Flight
Units: 12 units, 3-3-6
Prerequisites: 19.06, 16.004 [unified engineering, the culmination of a series of four difficult courses imposed on aerospace students]
Lecturer: TBD
Location: 54-100 [another lecture hall]
Description: Goes through the aerodynamics of flight on brooms and gives further details on the history of the broom.

19.08 - Magical Items and Muggles
Units: 12 units, 3-0-9
Prerequisites: 19.02
Lecturer: TBD
Location: G
Description: Discusses situations where Muggles and magical items come into contact with each other under unusual circumstances. For instances, why is it difficult for a Muggle to control a broom?

19.11 - Wizarding Lab
COUNTS FOR LAB REQUIREMENT [each student must take at least one lab course]
Units: 18 units, 3-3-12
Prerequisites: 19.03
Lecturers: TBD [men]/Ariadne [women]
Location: QS
Description: This is a lab to create magical compounds with the assistance of a student of the appropriate gender at the Quabbin Academy of Sorcery or the Salem Witches' Academy.

19.15 - Enchanting Everyday Objects
Units: 12 units, 3-0-9
Prerequisites: 19.08
Lecturer: TBD
Location: P
Description: Instructs the student in enchanting everyday objects safely and in a way where interaction with Muggles will not wreck the object.

19.18 - Magical Energy and Physical Energy
COUNTS FOR LAB REQUIREMENT
Units: 18 units, 3-3-12
Prerequisites: 19.08
Lecturer: TBD
Location: H
Description: This course will train the student in the methods needed to cause a magical object to work off of electricity and a piece of modern technology to work off of magic.

19.19 - Magical Enhancement
Units: 12 units, 3-0-9
Prerequisites: 19.03
Lecturer: TBD
Location: G
Description: This course will teach the student how to use magic to strengthen objects and enhance their behavior.

19.20 - Magical Item Creation Laboratory
COUNTS FOR LAB REQUIREMENT
Units: 18 units, 3-3-12
Prerequisites: 19.19
Lecturer: [Russian House Witch's real name]
Location: TBD
Description: Students will create their own magical items under the close supervision of a trained wizard.
NOTE: Course may be taken more than once.

19.90 - Special Studies in Magical Technology
Units: 12 units, 3-0-9
Prerequisites: 19.20, innate Wizarding ability
Lecturer: TBD
Location: TBD
Description: Independent research project for a wizard.

REQUIREMENTS TO GRADUATE WITH A BACHELOR'S: 19.05, 19.06, 19.15, and 19.20. Two of the other courses may be chosen as electives.
---------------
To be continued...
--------------

Update #50
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February 18, 1996
Sedgwick Hotel
New York, New York
United States of America
------------
Karen Stickney looked around the room. It only took a few seconds for the song to pop into her head.

"If there's something strange...in your neighborhood..."

The ballroom was packed with religious scholars and professors of all traditions. There were Muslims, Jews, Christians, Buddhists, and believers of traditions she had never seen before. She could have sworn that one of the men was a full-blown Native American shaman.

At first glance, the crowd looked like a typical gathering for a convention related to interdisciplinary religious studies. However, one thing soon stood out.

About a third of the guests existed only as translucent outlines floating in midair.

The televised interview of Rebecca Nurse had turned religious studies on its head. For the first time in history, the world had witnessed evidence of an afterlife. Not only that, but the ability to become a ghost was not influenced by a person's religious beliefs or piety. All the candidate needed to be -- at least according to Goody Nurse -- was a wizard.

The Salem witch trial victim -- who had just arrived and drawn a large crowd -- still insisted that God had created the ghost realm to give wizards a last chance to accept the Savior before moving on. Most of the religious scholars didn't believe her, however. Why would God give wizards preferential treatment? Wouldn't He give everyone an equal chance at redemption? After all, everyone was equal in His eyes. Furthermore, if Goody Nurse's theory was correct, why would devout Christians linger in the ghost world once they had accepted the Savior?

It was obvious that several traditional views of religion would have to be revamped. Several of the ghosts had been dressed in garb appropriate for the Big Three religions. One of the Native American spirits, on the other hand, apparently hadn't even heard of Mohammed.

The program would consist of a series of question and answer sessions. Rebecca Nurse, as the best known-ghost, would get the first session. The ghost would discuss his or her experiences in the afterlife, along with anything he or she knew about the ghost realm and whether it was possible for corporeal beings to make contact with the ghosts of their loved once and revered spiritual leaders.

She would be followed by a Native American spirit named Little Cloud (who had muttered irritably about the second-tier status of the Native American peoples when told he'd be speaking after Goody Nurse. He was followed by an Aztec witch doctor who had been felled by disease during the Spanish conquest of the Americas (and who had barely managed to restrain himself from trying to throttle the spirit of a Spanish missionary who had fallen trying to Christianize the Aztecs). There would be lots to learn at this session, needless to say.

Rumors had been circulating for several hours, however, that a VERY important figure would be joining the conference. He was supposedly going to speak at the end. All Karen knew was that it was a man from the Bible. He had come all the way from Israel to join this meeting. The Christians, of course, proclaimed that the Second Coming of Jesus had finally taken place. Karen was skeptical, however. Judging from what she'd heard, the man was supposedly in his seventies. Jesus been executed in his thirties. It couldn't be him.

Once the last -- and most mysterious -- speaker had left the podium, all of them would be called back onstage for a communal chat with the audience. More questions and answers would be posed. Once that was done, each ghost (along with any of his friends who had happened to come with him or her) would be sent to a different ballroom to have one on one sessions with the participants. The status of the last speaker was apparently such that he'd been given the primary reception area as his chat room.

Her thoughts were interrupted when there was a spark of flashing white light and an irritated voice burst out, "Bloody hell, madame, watch where you're going. You walked right through me."
------------
The penultimate speaker flew off the podium to tumultuous applause. His name was Peeves, and he had taken to haunting a British school of wizardry. He was notorious for goofing around with other ghosts and with the students. Supposedly he knew Harry Potter, the juvenile wizard who had been caught in the Super Bowl commercial.

The scientists still couldn't make out what or were exactly Sheol was. All they knew is that although the ghost realm had several different names, Sheol was the most popular, primarily because that was how it was referred to in the Bible, which many of the ghosts revered. The ghosts seemed to agree with Goody Nurse in that the ghost realm was an extension of, or perhaps parallel to, the corporeal world. It had nothing to do with heaven or hell, and a couple of the ghosts mentioned -- quit ruefully -- that they had done things in their lives on Earth which they had regretted. These ghosts had conceded that they would wind up in hell, and the ghost realm seemed much too pleasant to be hell.

Several of the ghosts had allowed themselves to be scanned by scientists. The various voltmeters and other equipment picked up some unusual traces of energy, but that was it. They couldn't make head or tail out of it. They hoped that it would be of use at some point in trying to allow people to speak with their dead relatives and/or to allow people who were not wizards to enter the ghost realm.

There was one speaker left, however. The room was packed. Television cameras were rolling. References to Jesus filled the room.

Then a bald man with a short mustache and beard floated onto the stage. He appeared to be in his seventies and looked Semitic. The people who had been expecting Jesus looked at him, perplexed. This man appeared to be uninjured and had not suffered the trauma of a crucifixion. As far as the crowd could tell, he had died of natural causes.

The man looked around the room and began muttering something in a language which sounded like a cross between Hebrew and Arabic. It suddenly dawned on people that this speaker was from so far back that he'd need an interpreter in order to communicate effectively with the crowd. A few moments went by, and person fluent in ancient languages walked onto the stage. The ghost looked at him for a moment, perplexed, and then pointed at the crowd in confusion. Apparently the ghost had been surprised that no one understood him.

The interpreter, still a bit in shock, started speaking in the ghost's language. The ghost suddenly understood what had happened and accepted the newcomer's services as an interpreter.

With the translation mechanism in place, the ghost pointed at himself and started speaking. Karen could have sworn that he had heard name "Endor" mentioned. Don't tell me the guy was a Star Wars fan...

The ghost finished speaking and turned to the interpreter. The interpreter's eyes widened and he took a deep breath. Cameras flashed everywhere.

The interpreter spoke. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have the honor to introduce the prophet Samuel. Normally he doesn't give audiences. However, the end of the Statute of Secrecy worried him enough that he consented to join us. He says this is the first time he's spoken to people since King Saul summoned him through the Witch of Endor."

Everyone started talking at once. Christian, Muslim, and Jewish leaders all tried to outshout each other. Samuel looked a bit peeved and barked something at the crowd.

The interpreter explained. "He's asking you to shut up and behave properly. He doesn't like being woken up, as Saul and the Witch of Endor found out. If you can't behave, he's going back to bed."

All of religious leaders shut up simultaneously. Eventually, the interpreter tore up some paper and made them draw lots as to who spoke first. The first person was a Muslim imam.

The first question was obvious. "Does God exist, and have you met Him?"

The interpreter relayed the question, and the prophet responded. "I believe He exists. Where else would my prophetic ability have come from? It is certainly not of this world. Or my magical abilities in general?"

"But have you met Him?"

Samuel shook his head. "I have not physically met Him, if that is what you mean. Only Moses saw Him face to face, and I am nowhere near Moses in ability. However, I believe He has inspired me several times. I would have preferred that the children of Israel stay under His care and not under a unified temporal ruler, but as we all know people can be stubborn and won't take no for an answer. The result, as we all know, was disastrous."

A rabbi got the next question.

"What do you mean by the children of Israel?"

Samuel looked at the interpreter and then looked at the rabbi in puzzlement. "Those who believe in the One God, of course. Why do you ask?"

The rabbi explained. "Holy One, over the past thousand years several different sets of customs have evolved for worshiping the One God. They correspond to the modern religions of Judaism, Islam, and Christianity."

Samuel stared the rabbi. "How can they be different religions if they worship the One True God? As long as they worship God and live a lifestyle derived from His teachings, they can do whatever they want. Customs can differ from place to place, but as long as worship is directed towards God it's OK."

"But what happens when these three sets of customs fight among each other as to which one of them is the right way to worship Him?"

Samuel shook his head sadly. "Then the people who participate in these fights do not do so in the name of God. All these sets of customs have the same Father. Cain killed Abel out of jealousy once. God will be very angry and punish anyone who tries to do it again. In the name of God, I urge everyone fighting in this manner to reconsider."

There was dead silence for a minute, and Karen knew why.

Finally, Samuel sighed. "I didn't come here to try to discuss religious minutiae, however. We can discuss that later if you want. I came here to discuss life as a ghost and what the ghost realm of Sheol symbolizes. I'll get into that now."

Samuel spent the next ten minutes discussing the ghost realm and saying roughly the same type of stuff the other ghosts did. However, Karen -- and a lot of other people -- were already jockeying for position to ask Samuel more questions in the one-on-one sessions.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Update #51
------------
February 19, 1996
Flamel Residence
Devon
Great Britain
-----------
Nicholas Flamel felt old.

Granted, he had good reason to feel old. He had been born in -- what was it, 1326? He was now 670. Granted, he'd stayed at age 72 for God knows how long. He still couldn't believe how the world had changed during his lifetime. The discovery of a new continent. English spanning the globe. Men walking on the moon. He thanked God every day for allowing him to witness such wonders. He had already agreed to donate his diary to the British Museum and publish an electronic version of it -- with the notes on the Philosopher's Stone edited out, of course -- when he died. It would be passed off as a diary which was continued generation after generation. He expected it to be the centerpiece of their collection, and had already spent a few years translating six centuries of Middle English into modern English. For most people, seven years of boring translation would be a waste of time. For Flamel, however, it was but the blink of an eye.

He wouldn't have much more time, however. He couldn't hear as well as he used to a couple of years ago, after he'd gone off the Elixir. His wife was complaining about arthritis. At the rate things were going, he'd be dead and gone before the turn of the millennium. He'd expected to have a good fifty or so years ahead of him, given the fact that wizards tended to live longer than ordinary folk. The various aches and pains worried him, however. Perhaps he had been unlucky in this regard and would die young.

He rolled his eyes at that last expression. Him? Die young? What seemed wrong here?

There was a diffident knock on the door of his study. Putting down his pen -- he'd finally given into modern technology and traded in his quill and parchment for a pen and paper -- he looked at the door.

"Yes?"

"Dr. Flamel, it's me, Hugh". Hugh de Bartolome had been his apprentice a long time ago. Hugh had been part of the team which had developed the Philosopher's Stone, and he had immediately taken advantage of the discovery to convince his master to let him take advantage of it. Hugh had been born in 1349, which made him the third-oldest person on the planet. Quite a reward for a mere apprentice.

Hugh continued. "Sir, we've got another one coming in. This one is from some firm in South Carolina. They say they've got a proposal for you."

Flamel rolled his eyes. Some cultures did not take NO for an answer. In the old days, the king or pope could have just issued a decree and everyone would have listened. Unfortunately, people were much more...stubborn now. And neither the queen nor pope had real power anymore.

Fortunately, living for six hundred years and looking like he was still in his seventies gave him a lot of ideas. He'd honed his deception skills to a sharp point over the past few centuries. He'd fooled everyone before, and expected to fool the world this time as well.

He nodded. "Offer him some refreshments and let him in. Remember to tell him that you're the butler, not my apprentice. And whatever you do, lie about your age. Your wife used to do that a lot, if I recall correctly."

Hugh grunted, nodded, and left the room. Flamel swore at himself. He had allowed his apprentice's wife access to the Elixir as well, primarily to stop Hugh from pestering him about it. Unfortunately, Mary de Bartholome died in childbirth in 1402. He had told Hugh several times that all the Elixir could do was prevent aging, not other forms of death. Yet Hugh still tended to blame him for allowing his wife to die.

A few minutes later, Hugh returned and led a man in his fifties into the room. "Sir, this is Lawrence Green of the Harold-Green Pharmaceutical Corporation. Mr. Green, this is Dr. Nicholas Flamel, my employer."

Green shook Flamel's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. I've heard a lot about you."

Flamel feigned surprise. "Really? You've studied Middle English literature? How fascinating! An interesting combination, pharmacology and medieval literature."

Part of Flamel's disguise was to serve as the dean of the Department of Medieval Literature at a local community college. It was a clever ruse. It explained all of the old books and scrolls littering his house, and it explained his unusually good command of Middle English.

Green stared at him for a moment but eventually regained his composure. "Actually, for the time being medieval literature is but a means to an end. There have been rumors over the years of something called the Philosopher's Stone. Supposedly it's capable of producing something called the Elixir of Life. We hope to bottle it as a cure for aging. Supposedly the Stone can also be used to turn lead into gold."

Flamel barely suppressed a laugh. They were still thinking it could turn lead into gold? Where did they get THAT idea from? He'd never gotten that part of it to work. Had he been able to turn lead into gold, he'd be vacationing all over the planet.

Flamel shook his head and rolled his eyes. "I'm familiar with that myth. It's just a myth, however. Alchemists had been working on it for years, including a distant ancestor of mine. No one ever succeeded in producing the Philosopher's Stone."

Green shook his head. "That's not what I heard, Dr. Flamel. One of the ghosts interviewed in the United States claimed that an Elixir of Life existed which could prevent aging. It actually existed, sir. She was adamant about that. And the name Nicholas Flamel came up in my research."

Flamel shrugged. "I freely admit that an alchemist named Nicholas Flamel existed. I have some of his documents". That was an easy thing to admit. "He was one of my ancestors. Our family has reused the names John and Nicholas for a good nine or ten generations of men. I'm just another Nicholas. As far as the Elixir of Life and his alchemy career went, I'm afraid that from what I've seen of my ancestor's documents there is no reference to a working Philosopher's Stone. I'm sorry."

"But the witch was convinced it existed! She was sure of it!"

"She probably WAS convinced it existed. Unfortunately, the documents here state otherwise. She was told something in error. And as you know, I'm a well-known scholar on medieval literature."

Green frowned. "May I see his documents?"

Flamel nodded. "Certainly. I assume you can read Middle English? These documents date back to the fourteenth century."

Green stared at him. Aha, Flamel thought. I didn't think so. Eventually, the pharmaceutical representative nodded. "I can't, but someone in my office can. He was the one who suggested that I contact you."

Flamel shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't let them leave my office. The documents are quite fragile. They are also a family heirloom."

The next question was obvious. "May I make a copy of them?"

Flamel paused a minute. "That will probably be OK. Let me get them. I must warn you, though, that you're not going to find anything about a working Philosopher's Stone. Are you sure you want them?"

Green nodded. "Yes. Considering the payoff if we get this working, it's worth it."

Flamel bit back a swear. He hadn't invented the Stone for financial gain. Calming himself, he nodded. "Well, if you insist, let me go get them. It may take a while to find them, so please be patient."

He walked past an excited Green. Once Green was out of view, he conjured up an old piece of parchment and wrote some Middle English gibberish about the Philosopher's Stone on it. He wrote down some instructions -- completely wrong, of course -- and added something about an attempt to create the Stone which caused it to blow up and burn the alchemist badly. Double-checking the document to make sure it looked authentic, he aged it a bit with an Aging spell and brought it back into the room.

He laid the piece of parchment gingerly on the table. "Do you have a portable scanner? I'd prefer that you scan it here. Look how old it is. I don't like carrying it around too much, and the copier has been on the fritz of late."

As it turned out, Green did have a scanner. He scanned the document and packed the scanner up. "Thank you, Dr. Flamel. You've been most helpful."

Flamel shrugged. "Don't mention it, Mr. Green. I don't think you're going to find anything useful here, but maybe there's something which I've overlooked. Best of luck to you. Tell me if you find anything."

Green nodded. "I will, Dr. Flamel. Thank you for your time. Oh, one more thing -- before I forget. My uncle claims to remember you from college. Where did you go to school, and when did you graduate?"

Flamel nearly laughed again. Another attempt to try to get him to reveal his age? Well, that wasn't going to work. "Oxford, class of '46. I barely avoided being drafted for the Second World War."

Green grinned. Flamel knew exactly what Green was going to do -- look up the Oxford class list somehow and check if Flamel was on it. Flamel would be on it, of course. His wife had modified the class lists so he appeared to be class of '46 and Hugh came out as class of '69. He kept his face steady, however, as Green spoke once again. "Ever heard of someone named Herbert Wrexham?"

Flamel shrugged. "I can't say that I remember him. Then again, I'm getting a bit old, and we old people start to lose our memories here and there. Where exactly did I meet Mr. Wrexham?"

Green looked flummoxed for a moment and eventually shook his head. "Not sure. I'll have to go ask him."

Flamel nodded. "Do that. I'm kind of curious about it now. I'd like to talk to him again -- maybe if I saw him face to face I'd recognize him."

Green looked even more rattled. Now Green had to try to concoct a story about a fake uncle. "I'll get back to you as soon as I can. In the meantime, I've got to take off. Thank you for your time, and I'll tell you if I find anything in these documents."

Flamel shook Green's hand. "Please do. It would be a great benefit to literature if you do. And good luck with the Philosopher's Stone, if it really existed."

With that, Green took his leave and Flamel sat down again. A few minutes later, he heard the door slam. Hugh then walked into the room.

The two fourteenth century men looked at each other and smiled. The word came unbidden to their mouths simultaneously.

"Sucker!"

Both men started laughing like there was no tomorrow.

To be continued...
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Update #52
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February 19, 1996
SAS Division C Headquarters
[location classified]
Great Britain
-----------
"Bloody hell, it's Uncle Nigel!"

Special Agent 018, Jacob Gold, spun in surprise at the announcement. Sure enough, Special Agent 008 -- better known as General Nigel Alexander Marcellus -- had returned to visit his old stomping grounds. Nigel had been a legendary operative in his day and had done yeoman work infiltrating the Soviet infrastructure during the Cold War. Last Jacob knew, Uncle Nigel had retired and had been working in an office somewhere downtown near where the IRA bomb had gone off.

Normally, there would be a good 30-50 men in the building. Half of them were away, however, trying to snoop on the IRA without being caught. A couple of them were busy interrogating someone who appeared to have been an IRA plant inside their unit. Dear old Seamus wasn't going to have a pleasant day, Jake feared.

Of the twenty agents in the building, nine of them immediately headed over to Uncle Nigel and started talking shop with him. Uncle Nigel had trained many of these agents, and he was respected by all of them.

Nigel held up his hand to forestall the inevitable reminiscence. "I'd love to catch up with you chaps, but duty calls. I've come to brief you on something which may be quite important at some point down the line."

At this, everyone stopped speaking. Nigel took a deep breath and began his report.

"Many of you may know that I work downtown, in the Canary Wharf district. What you may have not known was that I was actually working in 5 Canada Square, which was badly damaged in the attack. I had was fortunate enough to be outside when the truck bomb went off. Had I been in the building at the time, I would have likely fallen to my death. As it was, I was pinned by debris and began clawing myself out."

Nigel hesitated a moment. "That's when a couple of blokes started waving wands and lifted the heavy beams off of me, freeing me."

Jacob whistled. "You actually met some of those wizards? I thought the wizard stories were some kind of misunderstanding or joke!"

Nigel shook his head. "They're real, all right. I will vouch for them myself. Needless to say, I was surprised at first. However, they soon convinced me. I'll never forget that metal beam rising away from me with nothing supporting it."

Another agent gasped. "They can actually make objects levitate and do things like that?"

"You got it, Banks. They seem to have amazing powers. Until they bring out their wands, they'll look like any other human being. Once they bring out their wand, the bad guys are going to be in big trouble. After I was freed, it occurred to me that wizards could be quite an asset in protecting queen and country."

Jacob put two and two together. "You're thinking of having them join the SAS as special agents?"

A new voice answered. "Exactly, my dear fellow. The wizards have their agents, and the Muggles have theirs. Both are on the same side. It only make sense to have them train together as a unit."

Heads turned as the new person walked into the room. It was a middle-aged man in strange clothing. He was carrying a staff of some sort and had a metal VISITOR badge on his suit. Underneath it was his name: C. FUDGE.

Nigel indicated the newcomer. "Fellow agents, this is His Excellency Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic."

One of the agents looked a bit skeptical. "There's a MINISTER OF MAGIC?"

Fudge nodded. "Indeed there is, young lass. Allow me to demonstrate."

He brought out his wand pointed it at the ceiling. Waving it around with a flourish, he uttered one word. "Avis"!

A flock of birds suddenly burst from the end of the wand. The agents began babbling excitedly. One of the men swore and put his hand to his head. When he removed it, there was a white stain on it. Jacob could barely restrain a laugh. He could have sworn he heard a laugh coming out of empty space, but passed it off as an echo.

Minister Fudge gestured once again with his wand, and a window opened. The birds flew out of the building and perched themselves in a tree. He then blushed slightly and pointed his wand at the targeted man's head. There was a flash, and his hair was clean.

Nigel nodded and gestured once more at Fudge. "Thank you, Minister, for the demonstration. Needless to say, agents, someone like Minister Fudge here would be a great asset in our reconnaissance missions, wouldn't you say? I doubt the target would have ever expected to deal with wizards."

Jacob answered for the group. "Hell, yes!"

Fudge nodded. "My thoughts exactly. We wizards are capable of great things. You've only seen a fraction of what a trained Auror -- that is, wizard trained to spy upon and catch enemy wizards -- can do. I'm nowhere near powerful enough to become an Auror and even I can cast simple spells like this. Put together some Aurors and a bunch of you guys and missions are suddenly going to become much safer and much easier."

Nigel looked around the room. "I spoke with several of the wizards before coming here and recommended that Division C be assigned an Auror as an experiment to see how well the Auror and traditional units complement each other. With your permission, I'll introduce you to your Auror. I assume you're all right with your role in this project?"

Everyone shouted their agreement. In response, Minister Fudge snapped his fingers, and nearly fell over as a third man suddenly materialized in the room. Grinning, he saluted the agents and pointed at a piece of fabric in his hand.

"Invisibility Cloak, gentlemen. I was there the whole time. I must say, Cornelius, I've never seen one of the birds relieve itself on a person's head before. Dawlish is my name, and justice is my game."

Jacob couldn't believe it. An Invisibility Cloak! Spying would become so much easier!

Fudge clapped his hands and indicated the newcomer. "This chap here is John Dawlish, a trained Auror. He'll be working with you guys. Nigel and I have developed some training exercises and we'll see how well they work out.

[Note that this particular Auror is NOT part of the Order of the Phoenix. I deliberately chose him for that reason. He was part of the group Umbridge sent to arrest Dumbledore in book 5.]

Judging from the reaction Dawlish was getting from the rest of the agents, Jacob doubted that there would be any problems making the Auror part of their fellowship.

Nigel raised his hand once again, and all of the agents stopped talking, including Dawlish. "There is another thing to consider, however. These combined wizard/SAS task forces are going to be spying on both wizards and Muggles. Your opponent may attempt to use magic against you now that their world is out in the open. The Auror will help defend you against this magic. I suspect that you will still have an advantage, on the other hand, as wizards aren't expecting to be shadowed with Muggles and their fancy technology. Combine magic and technology and you'll get an unbeatable combination. Please keep this in mind when you go about your missions.

"There are at least two wizards around who have been known to kill Muggles. We're going want to go after them at some point. Their names are Sirius Black and Tom Marvolo Riddle. The latter often goes by aliases, such as Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord, You-Know-Who, and He Who Must Not Be Named. Of these two men, Riddle is much more dangerous."

At the mention of Riddle's name, Minister Fudge blanched and shook his head. Clearly, Fudge recognized the evil wizard's name.

Nigel continued. "Both of these men have been seen recently. Sirius Black escaped from prison two years ago, and Mr. Riddle was spotted back in May or thereabouts."

Minister Fudge cleared his throat as Dawlish's eyes shot up. "Mr. Marcellus, where exactly did you get this information? It appears to be in error. Last time I checked, You-Know-Who was out of the way permanently."

Nigel looked at the Minister, confused. "Why, the blokes who rescued me told me. Chaps named Weasley and Cattermole. Are you saying that this Riddle fellow has already been dealt with?"

Fudge nodded. "As far as I know, yes. However, to be fair to Messrs. Weasley and Cattermole, he was an extremely dangerous wizard. When you're dealing with people like him, people tend to spread rumors and even the best can fall victim to them. Rest assured, Mr. Marcellus. You-Know-Who is out of the way."

Nigel nodded, and Jacob breathed a sigh of relief. One fewer enemy to deal with. "That's good to know. All right, forget Riddle. However, Black is still out there, and you're going to have to deal with him. Dawlish here has some information on this particular wizard which will help you track him down and hopefully catch him. Keep in mind, however, that he can turn into a dog."

The agents stared at him, John included. "A DOG?"

"Yes, a dog. Wizards often develop the ability to transform into an animal. It's good for disguises."

The agents perked up at this again. Jacob wondered what it would be like to walk around as a dog. It would help his career a lot.

Fudge looked at his watch. "Blimey, I've got to go. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to talk to Dawlish. Nigel has also volunteered to return to work as well, at least until the damage to 5 Canada Square is repaired and his brokerage reopens. Good luck with your new mission, and may the magic be with you as you hunt down Sirius Black."

With that, the Minister disappeared and all eyes turned to Dawlish.

To be continued...
----------------
Update #53
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February 19, 1996
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
England
------------
The word had gone out from Dumbledore's office a few minutes ago. The Muggle surprise was ready, and all prefects were going to be allowed to visit the headmaster's office to see it in action.

There had been rumors circulating about the nature of the surprise for a long time. Supposedly it was a piece of Muggle technology which Dumbledore had adapted to work off of magic. Hermione had to manually restrain Ron from telling his father as it was likely that, given Arthur Weasley's infatuation with Muggles, the man would not be able to sleep until he got his hands on the object.

For the first time in a many a moon, Ron didn't mind being called a Weasley. His father had rescued several people during an attack on a Muggle building in downtown London. The mayor had personally thanked him and had given him and his fellow rescuers the keys to the city.

The Muggles were slowly realizing that the witches would be a great boon to human society general. Apparently one of the men who had been rescued by Ron's father had been a former elite soldier. This man, someone named Nigel Something-or-other, had realized that wizards could use their abilities to defend Britain from terrorists and other attackers. Supposedly plans were being made to merge the Aurors into the British constabulary or something like that. Ron's father had had Nigel over for meals several times since the attack, and the old warrior had been floored by the power of magic each time he'd come.

There was trouble in paradise, however. Supposedly his father had blurted out the fact that Voldemort had returned to Nigel -- while he was effectively operating as a member of the Ministry of Magic. Cornelius Fudge hadn't been particularly thrilled about that. Fudge had reprimanded Arthur Weasley several times. The only thing that had kept his father out of Azkaban was the fact that he had become a Muggle hero. If word were to leak out that London's favorite son had been incarcerated for disagreeing with the Minister of Magic, the fallout would likely make an attack by the Death Eaters look tame by comparison.

Ron never thought that he'd have a father who was loved by the Muggles, respected by Dumbledore, and hated by the Ministry. It was enough to give him a headache.

He'd received several letters from Harry over the past few weeks. Unable to attend lessons at school, Harry was being home-schooled by Ron's mother. He was a bit peeved that he couldn't visit his friends, but house arrest was house arrest, regardless of how specious the accusation had been. She wasn't as good a teacher as McGonagall, Hagrid, or even Snape. However, it was better than nothing. The only thing Harry was concerned about was the possibility of OWLs. Home-schooling by a housewife did not prepare a student for a possible career as an Auror.

Ron and Hermione were far too busy to visit Harry. The lecturers were overdosing them with homework, Dolores Umbridge had effectively installed herself as dictator, and the Inquisitorial Squad was watching everything they did. As if that were not bad enough, Harry's departure forced the leadership of Dumbledore's Army onto Ron and Hermione.

Both Hermione and Ron had asked McGonagall to let them borrow some Time-Turners. McGonagall had refused, however, saying that Hermione had overworked herself two years earlier and Ron was a bit too mischievous to be trusted with such a powerful item. This forced them to make do with what they had. A five-hour sleep was a blessing for both of them.

They had to add to this their prefect duties as well, which were plentiful. Yes, they got to use the special prefects' bathroom. But it wasn't worth all the hassle.

Both Ron and Hermione wondered if getting a chance to see the Muggle surprise was worth all the stress of being a prefect. Hoping for the best, they headed over to the headmaster's tower and let the staircase carry them up to Dumbledore's office.

All of the professors were there, as well as the six other prefects. Snape glared at them and started trying to take points from Gryffindor because they were late. Dumbledore glared at him, however, and he wisely shut up.

The headmaster had cleared all of the little machines off of his desk. Or had he? Gingerly, Ron reached over to the desk and touched where the machines would have been.

He felt cloth, and suddenly thinks clicked into place. Dumbledore, noticing this, grinned but shook his head. So, Ron thought. That's what happened to Harry's Invisibility Cloak.

The portraits on the wall had apparently seen the object and were moving around excitedly. Dumbledore told them to keep quiet so that he could surprise the rest of the staff. The warning was unnecessary, however. A few of the portraits mentioned that they'd never seen anything like this before. This made sense, Dumbledore replied, since the object was created by Muggles.

Looking around the room one last time, he made sure that everyone was here. He clapped his hands a few times to get everyone's attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming and helping us celebrate the addition of this new object to our school. From what I've been told about it, it will be quite useful in helping us solve problems and remember things. I must say, however, that I still have absolutely no idea how to use the fool thing. However, we are fortunate in that we have Miss Granger here. I believe that she is specially qualified to teach us how to use this object."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Headmaster, we know she is a bit of a know-it-all, but I doubt that she -- "

Dumbledore turned to Snape and responded in an even tone of voice. "She was raised by Muggles, Severus. She has probably used objects like this before. If anyone can show us how to use this object, it's Miss Granger."

Hermione stared at Dumbledore with mixed emotions. "Sir, I'm flattered by your suggestion, but I'm a bit swamped right now. I don't think now would be a good time for me to do this. I've got some extra work I have to catch up on."

Dumbledore smiled. "Mr. Longbottom will help you with your extra work. I've spoken to him about it. You can spend time training us how to use this."

Ron assumed that Dumbledore was referring to Dumbledore's Army. With Umbridge in the room, however, there was no way he would be able to admit it and get away with it.

Snape snorted, and Umbridge joined him. "Longbottom? Helping Granger? What? Get D's?"

In response, Professor McGonagall smiled. "I don't think Longbottom will be able to help her get D's. I doubt that his assistance will reduce her grades to anything below an E."

Hermione ignored Snape's comment and continued staring at Dumbledore. "Sir, there are lots of instances of Muggle technology which I am not familiar with. I haven't driven a car before, for example."

Dumbledore shrugged and got up. "I suspect you'll be familiar with this, however. Now, Miss Granger, would you be so good as to sit behind the desk, in the operator's position?"

He gestured to the chair he had been sitting in. Nervous, Hermione sat down and faced the empty area on the desk. She tried to calm herself and told Dumbledore she was ready.

With that, Dumbledore put his hand on the Invisibility Cloak, counted to three, and pulled it away. For the first time, the staff and students of Hogwarts got to see what had been under the cloak.

Most of the staff couldn't identify it. It consisted of five pieces: a large standalone object with a black panel in front, a large box, a small object about the size of a fist, something which had a piece of paper coming out of it, and a small tablet with images of letters and strange symbols on it. Ron had never seen anything like this before and scratched his head. "What the hell is this?"

Hermione, however, just looked at the object. A few seconds later, a huge smile spread across her face.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Are you familiar with this type of object, Miss Granger?"

Hermione pulled up closer to the object. "Indeed I am, Professor! Where did you get it?"

"It was a gift from the Prime Minister. He delivered it to me after he visited. It's been configured to run off magic instead of electricity. Start using it -- it should work fine."

Grinning, Hermione started pushing buttons on the various pieces of the object. Various lights turned on, and the black panel suddenly flickered and began displaying a word.

McGonagall looked at the word and then outside. "Windows? What do windows have to do with this?"

Hermione explained. "Professor, let me explain what this is. This object is called a computer. It can be used to store information electronically, without use for scrolls or other physical forms. If you want to retrieve the information, you can have it bring it back for you so you can see it again. You can then write out multiple copies of it using this object over here, called a printer. In theory, you should be able to store your entire library on this box."

Filch stared at it. He may have been a Squib, but he hadn't grown up with Muggles. "Amazing!"

She grasped the object the size of a fist, moved it around, and pushed some buttons. "This is a word processor. You can write little notes in here and save it so you can retrieve them later. See? I'm going to write my name. Watch this."

She pressed some buttons, and the word "HERMIONE" appeared on the word processor.

Hermione pointed at the panel and continued. "This will be useful for storing the steps required to cast complex spells. That way, you will be able to bring them up even if you don't have a Remembrall or a Pensieve."

McGonagall frowned. "That sounds dangerous. Won't people start using this device as a crutch, entrusting all their memories to this object? What happens if they have to cast a complex spell without this object at their side?"

Hermione shrugged. "Keep the computer in this office. That way, no one will be able to cheat. Ladies and gentlemen, I truly believe that this will be a great asset for -- wait, what is this?"

Unbidden, buttons on the tablet with the letters and symbols suddenly began moving up and down. Soon, additional letters appeared on the word processor.

HERMIONE

umbrid

Hermione lifted her hands from the keyboard, but the letters kept on coming. The screen now read

HERMIONE

umbridfgeisatoasdfacedgit

Dolores Umbridge, however, was not particularly pleased. Gritting her teeth, she reached behind the computer, felt around for a little, and suddenly grabbed something.

Fred Weasley suddenly appeared as his Invisibility Cloak was removed. He had been pressing the buttons on the tablet. He smiled and pointed at the computer. "Yes, its use seems obvious. Press the symbols on the tablet and the equivalent symbols appear on the word processor. Even a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher can figure that out."

Furious, the High Inquisitor pointed her wand at Fred and shoved him out of the room. As soon as she left, the rest of the staff began nodding in quiet agreement.

To be continued...
-------------

Update #54
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February 19, 1996
Sanders Residence
Prescott, Arizona
United States of America
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The air punctuated by a sharp crack, followed by a deep "Good morning, Mr. Sanders."

Isaac Sanders jumped and raised his hands in surprise. The coffee spilled out of his mug and onto his hand. It didn't scald him, but it was still quite hot. He put down the mug, rushed over to the sink, and washed it off.

Swearing, he spun around see where the voice had come from. He rolled his eyes when he saw who it was.

"Strong Bear? Where the hell did you come from? The fireplace isn't in this room!"

Strong Bear shrugged. "I Apparated in."

"You what?"

"Apparated. You call it teleportation. I just transported myself from Fourth Mesa to here. It's another method wizards use to travel from place to place. I thought you may be interested to see how it worked and come along with me for your first day at work."

Sanders gritted his teeth. "I'm definitely interested. However, next time, please don't catch me off guard like that. I nearly burned my hand there on my coffee."

Strong Bear smiled. "I will. Where's your wife? Is she ready to go?"

"She's in the bathroom. She'll probably be fascinated by teleportation as well."

Strong Bear shook his head. "She's pregnant. Apparation is not recommended for pregnant women as the subject often experiences compression which could harm the baby. I'll send her over via Floo powder. Which reminds me, I've brought over a whole bucketful of the stuff. It's next to the fireplace right now. I've modified it so all you have to do is toss it in -- you don't need me to activate it. It should allow for a good six months of trips from here to Fourth Mesa."

"I see. In that case, I think I'll pass on the teleportation -- I don't want the two of us separated over there. Particularly since we're going to be teaching the class together."

"Understandable, Mr. Sanders. We'll do an Apparation after she's had the baby. In the meantime, we'll wait for your wife and then Floo ourselves over there when she's ready."
---------
Both Sanderses walked out of the fireplace together. Strong Bear had preceded them to tell the wizards they were coming. Sure enough, the wizards were there to welcome them, Two Bear in the lead. The man in charge of Fourth Mesa stepped forward and shook their hands.

"Welcome to Fourth Mesa. Are you excited to be doing this? Nervous?"

Izzy nodded. "Both, to be honest with you. I've never taught before."

Melissa put her hand on his shoulder. "I'll be there with you. If you need help, I'll try to back you up. I'm pretty good with kids, as you know."

Izzy looked at her. "I sure hope so, because in a few months you're going to have to deal with one."

He then turned to Two Bear. "Well, sir, we're here. When's the first class?"

Two Bear started leading them through the complex. "The first class is at 10:00 in the Coyote Room of the Dine Center for Sorcery and Shamanism. It's going to be a bunch of seventh graders, eleven girls and twelve boys."

Melissa frowned. "Kids going through puberty. That's not going to be easy."

"Don't worry about it. One of the things our school focuses on is conduct and good behavior. They should not be very disruptive. If one of them misbehaves, tell us and we'll Transfigure him into a chicken for five minutes."

Izzy stopped in his tracks. "You'll WHAT?"

Two Bear explained. "Transform him into a chicken. He'll wind up clucking and cackling around for a few minutes in front of his classmates. It's quite embarrassing and serves as a good deterrent. After he's learned his lesson, we turn him back into a person."

Melissa gaped at him. "You turn him into a CHICKEN? You mean those myths of witches turning people into frogs are REAL?"

Two Bear shook his head. "No, Mrs. Sanders. At least not in this facility. We do not turn people into frogs. The choices are chickens, pigs, foxes, and armadillos. The instructor can choose which animal is appropriate given the nature of the infraction."

Melissa closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. "That really makes me feel better."

"It should, Mrs. Sanders. The policy almost guarantees that you are going to have a well-behaved class. However, if a child does misbehave, just jot down his or her name and we'll deal with it after the class. Now, if you'll come with me, I'll show you to the classroom."
---------
Twenty-three students looked at Izzy as he stood on the dais at the front of the room. He turned to his wife, who shrugged. "I don't know what to tell them. How can we describe our whole way of life in a few short lectures?"

Izzy rolled his eyes and drew a deep breath. "Hello, kids. I'm Isaac Sanders. This is my wife, Melissa. We're Muggles -- supposedly that's what you guys call people who do not have magical ability. Strong Bear has hired us to introduce you to the Muggle world now that our world has found out about yours. What are your names?"

The students then went around the room, giving him their names. Several of them were Hispanic. One looked distinctly Mexican -- Izzy wondered if he had come over the border illegally. That teleportation trick could easily fool some of the border guards.

Some seemed to be run of the mill American. Most, however, were Native American. There were four Zuni, three Apache, six Dine, and two from some tribe with at least six O's in its name which Izzy was supposed to associate with telescopes.

The students were dressed in what appeared to be the equivalent of school uniforms. The Native Americans were dressed in formal clothing which seemed be reserved for shamans of their individual tribes. The Americans and Mexican were wearing what appeared to be matching robes with various symbols embroidered on them. Supposedly the animals represented Native American tribes whose names served as homerooms.

Izzy jotted down the students' names as they went around. He then recommended that they sit in the same places for the next few days so he could figure out who was who. Shockingly, the students agreed. This was indeed a well-behaved class...or at least a careful one.

He then started describing his way of life. Hopefully, that would break the ice.

"Well, that's you. Now, I'll talk about myself. I live in Prescott, Arizona. That's between Phoenix and Sedona. You know Sedona? The place with those vortices?"

Several of the students nodded. One actually chimed in. "I can explain the vortices, Mr. Sanders. There's a branch office of this institution there where they sometimes train wizards. The effects sometimes break out your world and manifest themselves as vortices."

Melissa stared at him. "So the vortices really exist?"

The student shook his head. "Yes and no, Mrs. Sanders. Sometimes they're there, sometimes they aren't. It depends on what the wizards are doing there. Usually, the wizards are careful and don't let anything show."

Melissa whistled. "I've got to tell my friends that. They'll be excited."

The student shook his head. "I'd discourage that if I were you. Objects in these so-called vortices can have strange things happen to them. It could be dangerous. Furthermore, Muggles walking around in these magical fields could cause spells to backfire, potentially harming both the Muggles and the wizard. It's extremely rare, but it does happen."

Izzy nodded. "That's good to know, and it may save lives. I'm going to give your house five points. If there's anything else you guys know which can help save Muggle lives, tell us before we accidentally fry ourselves."

The students talked excitedly for a few minutes. When the din had subsided, Izzy continued with his introduction. "Less than a month ago, I was working for Blast Cola Corporation."

Another student spoke up. "You were part of the group that created that disgusting drink?"

Izzy stared at him. "What? You didn't like it? Muggles seem to like it a lot."

The student laughed. "We don't really like it much. Do Muggles have different mouths from wizards?"

Izzy chuckled. "Look at my mouth. Does it look weird at all?"

The student looked at him. "Not really. It looks more or less normal. Perhaps it's an acquired taste."

Izzy nodded. "Perhaps. Maybe we can try an experiment where we serve Blast Cola a lot in the school cafeteria and see if the wizards learn to like it."

The Mexican started speaking. "I doubt it. We like butterbeer."

"Ah, the stuff that we're pilotig in the ASU cafeteria. Muggles seem to like that too. However, due to the alcohol content we can't serve it to people under 21."

The students started muttering to each other. Finally, the first student who spoke up laughed. "So that's why you're trying to feed us this Blast Cola instead of butterbeer. We're under 21. Good to know -- we won't drink butterbeer too much around Muggles. I suppose we can always enhance the flavor of the cola with those peyote extracts."

"The WHAT?"

"Peyote extracts, Mr. Sanders. They cause us to have visions. They're often used for religious ceremonies."

For some reason, Izzy decided that this was not the time to tell them that most American authorities banned peyote as a hallucinogenic drug...

To be continued...
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Update #55
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February 21, 1996
North Side of the DMZ
Democratic People's Republic of Korea
------------
Choi Yeon Mi hushed her apprentice as she looked out into the distance. There, spread out before her, was the infamous Demilitarized Zone separating her homeland from the refuge in the South. All she had to do was get across there and she would be able to blend in with the rest of the population.

She had done it several times before -- the army wasn't exactly equipped to handle wizard transportation methods. It had been South Korean wizards, after all, who had first alerted her to the breach of the Statute of Secrecy. But she had to be very careful about it. Especially with Mr. Wong at her side, who had never done it before.

She pulled Mr. Wong to her and pointed into the distance. "See that little hill over there? We're going to Apparate over there. Grab onto me and get ready."

Wong shook his head. "I wouldn't, Mistress. If I were a soldier, I'd have a patrol stationed up there to have good view of the DMZ. In fact, I'm surprised that this vantage point isn't taken by our own troops."

"Don't worry about it. I've done it before. Now, on the count of three. One, two, three!"

She willed herself into the void holding Wong's hand. Moments later, the two of them rematerialized on top of the hill on the south side of the border. Wong whistled and was about to say something, but Choi Yeon shook her head and mouthed the words: "Too close. Let's head over to that hill over there."

Wong nodded and grabbed onto her again. She Apparated once more and brought them over to the second hill. The DMZ was out of sight behind them. Only then did she breathe a sigh of relief.

"We're safe now. We've made it into South Korea."

Wong laughed. "That was so easy! No one suspected a thing!"

She laughed as well. "Like I said, those Muggles weren't expecting people to do this. Come on, let's head over and catch the bus."

Wong's eyebrows shot up. "A BUS? Won't they ask us for identification or something like that? I doubt they'll accept North Korean currency."

She grinned, reached into her purse, and brought out a Galleon. "They definitely won't accept North Korean currency. However, they'll probably accept this."

Wong looked at this. "Is that GOLD? Ancestors take me, where did you get gold?"

"It's wizard currency. It's accepted by wizards all over the world. Where do you think the gold standard came from? Now all we have to do is head down to the road, where the bus will pick us up."

The two refugees headed down the hill. Wong frowned for a moment and thought of something. "Do you think the Dear Leader is going to be able to find us? What's more, I suspect our farm is going to be punished if the overseer comes back with an invitation to meet with the Dear Leader and we'll have fled the coop."

Choi Yeon shook her head. "I don't think he'll be able to find us. However, we're still going to have to go back at some point. The farm will suffer if we don't."

"But he's going to demand that we use our abilities for the army, to kill people! You heard him! That's why we left, right?"

"Yes. That's why we left."

"So why go back?"

She smiled. "Because we're going to have to do cast some spells to make it so the farm can experience increased productivity even with us gone. The overseer will probably be expecting it now, especially if the Dear Leader holds him to it."

She hesitated for a moment. "There's another reason as well which recommends that we return. We tell the South and have South Korean wizards at our side, under Invisibility Cloaks, when we visit the Dear Leader to discuss militarizing the wizards. Once we're close, the wizards can assassinate him in a way which will make it look like an accident. As long as they're protected by the Invisibility Cloaks"

Wong stared at her. "That's dangerous!"

She shook her head violently. "I agree, it's dangerous. However, getting yoke of the Dear Leader off our backs -- and ensuring a permanent peace -- is worth the risk."

Wong looked at her pleadingly. "Can I help?"

"Absolutely. However, we're going to have to get in touch with the Southern wizards first. And to do that, we're going to have to reach the road."

The two continued in silence through the forest. Eventually, the forest opened up into a clearing with a small roadway running through it.

Wong grunted. "Where's the bus stop? I don't see any bus stop here."

She smiled. "Don't worry, my apprentice. The bus will be there."

The breeze suddenly whistled through the trees. Wong, curious, headed out into the road to check to see if the bus was coming. He was surprised however, when his mistress suddenly screamed out of her to get out of the road.

Wong stared at her. "What are you nervous about? There's nothing -- "

There was a loud honk, and a bus materialized out of nowhere, heading down the road. Wong cursed and spun around to look right at the bus barreling down on him.

He didn't move and turned to her with a puzzled expression on his face. The bus honked again.

She cursed herself -- he was a half-wizard! He could cast spells but not see magical entities easily! If he couldn't see the bus --

There wasn't any time to lose. She brought out her wand and pointed it at him.

"Levicorpus"!

Wong shrieked as he suddenly flew into the air just in time to prevent being hit by the bus. "What the hell did you do that for? I heard a honk, but there was no bus!"

She pointed at the road as she gently lowered him to the ground. "The bus is here -- you couldn't see it because it's a magical entity."

Wong stared at her and started walking towards her -- only to walk right into the side of the bus. He rubbed his forehand. "What the hell?"

She ignored him and continued on smoothly. "I'll help you on. They have a charm which will allow people like you to see it."

She directed him around the bus and over to the curb next to her. Meanwhile, the door to the bus opened and a short man looked out at them.

"Welcome to the Ancestor Bus, transportation for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Shi Hsao and I'm going to be your conductor for this evening. Is it just the two of you?"

Wong just stared at him for a moment and turned to her. "Who said that?"

The driver grinned and pointed at Wong. "Let me guess. He's a Squib. He couldn't see us on the way in. Thank the ancestors we didn't hit him. Fortunately, we're prepared for people like him. We'll cast a charm on him so he can see us."

Wong grinned and nodded. "That would be most helpful, kind sir. And what is a Squib?"

The conductor muttered something and pointed his wand at Wong. Wong's eyes went as wide as saucers as he took in the bus that nearly hit him. Wong apologized profusely for not getting out of the way.

The driver shook his head. "Don't worry, sir. It sometimes happens with Squibs."

Wong rolled his eyes. "And what is a Squib?"

Choi Yeon answered for him. "A child of Wizarding parents with no magic of his own. It's the reverse of a Muggle-born."

Wong scratched his head. "But I can do magic. Why couldn't I see the bus?"

The driver frowned as well. Apparently he was confused as well. Turning to Wong, he said. "I'm not sure, sir. Maybe you've been cursed in some way. Hop on in and we'll take care of you."

The two refugees got on board and the driver took off again. "Where to?"

Choi Yeon responded with the utmost seriousness. "The Seoul Wizarding headquarters. A lot of interesting things have just taken place...and a couple of serious ones as well."

The driver grinned. "I should say so. Did you hear the Statute of Secrecy has fallen and the Muggles have found out about our world?"

Choi Yeon smiled. "Absolutely."

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Update #56
------------
February 22, 1996
Dine Center for Sorcery and Shamanism
Fourth Mesa, Arizona
United States of America
------------
Hidden behind his Invisibility Cloak, Strong Bear watched the Sanders speak to the students. So far, everything had gone more or less as expecting. The students were as curious about the Muggles for the most part as the Muggles were about the wizards.

The Muggles had never heard about Quidditch or Quodpot before. Both Muggles seemed like Quidditch and wanted to watch a match. Quodpot, on the other hand, was something else entirely. Mrs. Sanders had nearly had a heart attack when the students discussed the exploding ball. Izzy himself had gasped and asked: "And kids think this is a GAME? Don't people get hurt? The Department of Social Services would have a field day with this."

The student responded accurately and concisely. "Yes, Mr. Sanders. People occasionally get hurt. However, the wizards have lots of good spells for putting people back together."

Shaking his head, Sanders recommended that the wizards try out a Muggle game: baseball. The standard Quidditch set had "those bats" and "the little gold ball". He told the wizards that you didn't need brooms for this and it was much less likely to hurt people than Quodpot. The students hadn't been particularly thrilled that they couldn't fly around.

That's when Mr. Sanders got creative. He asked the class to think of a way to change the game of baseball in a way which would work for wizards. He discussed things such as outfielders chasing down fly balls on brooms. The kids, of course, got all excited and started suggesting new rules. It looked like the new instructor had caught on pretty well.

Grinning, he left the room and started heading back to his office to deal with the day's latest issues. With the Statute of Secrecy gone, his job as an Obliviator had been rendered obsolete virtually overnight. Instead of laying him off, however, Two Bear had realized that the people had to learn to interact with Muggles more and had tasked the former Obliviators to serving as liaisons between the Muggles and the wizards in the area. The Obliviators were already familiar with Muggle customs to some extent, and Strong Bear had already taken the lead in advocating that Fourth Mesa hire the Sanderses.

It hadn't taken long for Strong Bear to become president of the new organization. The Muggles knew him from the Sanderses' videos, and he had done yeoman work trying to stop the Super Bowl Breach. He was fairly certain that he would have stopped it completely had that damned videotape not made it to NBC.

Strong Bear's work had not gone unnoticed. Several of the other regional centers of the Department of Magic, finding themselves with out of work Obliviators, had immediately started copying his idea. Radner had eventually updated the headquarters in the Four Towns. Rumor had it that Grand Mugwump Dialonis was even debating making the change to the international headquarters on Atlantis.

Two Bear had informed him that Radner was seriously considering inviting Strong Bear to go to the Four Towns and start heading the new Muggle liaison wing. Strong Bear didn't think he was ready for that yet, but he would do his best.

He was still lost in his thoughts when he entered his office and nearly collided with a tall man in a suit. The man looked like a Muggle and towered over the five-foot-five Two Bear.

Strong Bear looked at his boss and at the Muggle in confusion. "What's going on here?"

Two Bear indicated the Muggle. "Strong Bear, this is Marc Popovich. He works for the National Food and Drug Administration. Dr. Popovich, this is Alexander "Strong Bear" Parkman. He's the head Muggle liaison here."

Popovich shook Strong Bear's hand. "Pleased to meet you, Strong Bear. Full-blooded Navajo, I gather?"

Strong Bear nodded. "Yes, Doctor. Although we prefer to be called Dine, not Navajo."

"I apologize, Strong Bear. At any rate, you may wonder why I'm here. We have heard some disturbing news from some of the Wizarding communities in the area. Are you familiar with the beverage known as butterbeer?"

Strong Bear nodded. "I am. It's very popular in our community, and from what the Sanderses have been telling us it's becoming popular in the Muggle world as well. Have you ever had it?"

Popovich shook his head. "I'm afraid not. I'm not really big on exotic drinks."

"You should, Doctor. It tastes really good."

"I'm sure it does, Strong Bear. Unfortunately, I don't have much time and we have to get down to business. We recently caught a bunch of Muggle children drinking some of this beverage during a party with some wizard children in Sedona."

Strong Bear frowned. "How old were these children? Don't Muggles have an age limit of 21?"

Popovich nodded. "Yes, they do. However, word has been leaking out that there is no age limit in the Wizarding community. Muggle children have been starting to complain that Wizarding children can drink before they're 21 and Muggles can't."

Strong Bear shook his head. "Our rules only apply to the Wizarding community, Dr. Popovich. Muggles follow their own rules. We have no jurisdiction over how you govern your community, and you have no jurisdiction over how we govern ours. That's the way it's always been."

"Indeed. However, the policies we have in place hadn't considered the possibility that Muggles and wizards would be doing something together. In the situation I've explained to you where underage Muggles and wizards are drinking butterbeer together, who is liable for underage drinking?"

Strong Bear frowned. "I see your point. The wizards would complain that they'd never been told that they weren't allowed to drink, and the Muggles would complain that they were doing it because the wizards were and they need to be treated the same way as wizards. How did you handle it?"

"We all of the children off with a warning. The wizards didn't like it all that much, though. What I suspect will happen is that the wizards will just invite the Muggles into their domain and say that their rules will allow the Muggles to drink while in the wizards' domain.

"This is probably the first case I can think of where Muggles and wizards would be competing over jurisdiction issues. I spoke with a government official about this, and he suggested that I talk to a Muggle liaison officer like yourself. The official recommends that in cases like this, the more stringent rule should apply to both groups."

Strong Bear nodded slowly. "That makes sense. Unfortunately, it will inconvenience a lot of wizards who do not interact with Muggles and have no plans to interact with Muggles. Why should they suffer because something they wouldn't be involved with?"

"Don't worry, Strong Bear. The rule would only apply to public locations in Muggle territory. Are you familiar with American baseball?"

As of half an hour ago, he was. "As a matter of fact, I am."

"Good. There are two baseball leagues, the National League and American League. They have slightly different rules. National League rules apply to both teams when interleague games are played in National League parks, and American League rules apply to both teams when the games are played in American League parks."

Strong Bear caught his drift immediately. "I see where you're going. Muggle rules apply in Muggle territory and Wizarding rules apply in Wizarding territory. If that's the case, the wizards should be cited for underage drinking under Muggle laws. And in the subsequent gathering in Wizarding territory, the Muggles don't get cited."

Popovich nodded. "That's what I'm thinking. Does that sound all right with you?"

Strong Bear thought for a moment. "I'm not sure if it will apply to every single case of Muggle/wizard legal issues. However, it's a good start. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Yes, Strong Bear. Inform the wizards that underage wizards cannot drink outside Muggle territory. Furthermore, warn underage Muggles entering Wizarding territory that although they can drink during their visit, they cannot do so once they return to Muggle territory."

Strong Bear nodded. "I'll do that. It's probably a good thing in general to think about when it comes to Muggle/wizard jurisdiction, at least for now. I have one more question, however. What happens with an 18-year old wizard in Muggle territory?"

Popovich frowned. "He gets cited. Why not?"

"Because wizards consider a person to have come of age at 17, not 21. Anything which requires that a wizard be an adult becomes available when the wizard turns 17. According to this, an 18-year-old wizard is considered an adult and should be able to drink in Muggle areas."

Popovich shook his head. "That could be an issue somewhere along the line. However, we luck out here. First, since it's Muggle territory and it specifically states the age of 21 instead of adulthood, the 21 applies. Second, Muggles usually consider a person to have reached adulthood at 18. The drinking age is a special case."

"So what happens if the wizard is 17 1/2?"

Popovich laughed. "I see you're going to make a good official. You're bright and have the mind of a lawyer. Unfortunately, my time is limited, and I think we've gotten ourselves an agreement here."

He picked up his briefcase and shook both wizards' hands again. "I hope to see you again sometime. May all our negotiations be this easy."

Both Two Bear and Strong Bear nodded. "I agree, Dr. Popovich."

With that, Two Bear put his hand on Popovich's shoulder. "Now, if you'll follow me, I'll show you how to get home."

Seconds later, Strong Bear was alone in his office. Damn, he thought. That had been much easier than he had anticipated. Maybe he didn't have to be as nervous about his new position.

To be continued...
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Update #57
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February 22, 1996
Death Eater Safe House
England
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Nagini was hungry. She liked her master a great deal. It wasn't often that she could actually talk to one of these Two-Legs. Furthermore, unlike most Two-Legs, her master and his friends were actually respectful of snakes.

Several smaller snakes had told her that they were afraid of humans. Humans seemed to always have this insane notion that snakes thought of them as a prey animal. That was not true. Most small snakes could not swallow a human, and most of them generally hid when humans came close. It was only when a snake was trapped that he was forced to defend himself. Nagini suspected that the occasional encounter between a human and a cornered venomous snake was responsible for most of the fear humans had of snakes.

Large snakes like Nagini, however, were an entirely different matter. These animals could in fact swallow humans whole, venomous or not. Nagini herself was twelve feet long and had disposed of several of her master's enemies. They hadn't tasted all that great, but when you've been living off of meager rodents for a few months a large meal like that was more than welcome.

She was sick and tired of hanging around this house. She had cleared out the local rodent population several days ago and was getting quite hungry. The last time she had been sent on a mission to attack a human, a man named Arthur Weasley, she had not been permitted to eat him. What's more, apparently the human had survived the attack. Her master had been furious when he had found out about this. Nagini shook her head. Had she just eaten the man after biting him, her master wouldn't be in all this mess.

Sometimes she felt like she can hear her master talking to her even when he wasn't physically around. She didn't know that this was possible, but it had been happening routinely ever since she had assisted in the neutralization of one of her master's enemies, a woman named Bertha something. Her master had told her something about his soul being embedded with hers, like lovers.

A human in love with a snake? She didn't know whether to be amused or flattered. How could a human and a snake breed? She'd lay an egg and one of the Two-Legs would pop out?

At the moment, her favorite Two-Legs was speaking with the short, ugly-looking man in the unintelligible language of humans. She didn't understand what they were saying, but the short man looked frightened and her master looked very angry. Hope surged through her. Generally, when this happened, her master allowed her to kill and eat the frightened person. About time, she thought. At the rate things were going, she'd have to start chewing on the furniture.

Her master closed his eyes for a second, turned to face her, and opened his eyes. She looked at him in anticipation.

He called her over. "Nagini, I was wondering if you could do something for me."

Nagini slithered over excitedly. Did she finally get her meal? Her hope faded a little when she realized that the short man had left the room. She didn't mind chasing down her prey, but she was very hungry right now and didn't feel in the mood for it.

She crawled on her master's lap. "Yes, Master. How can I help you?"

"It's occurred to me that you haven't eaten for a while. You're probably pretty hungry, I'd expect."

Dinner bells rang in her head. "As a matter of fact, Master, I am. I finished off the rats in this building several days ago. Do you have more food for me? I hope you do."

"Indeed I do, Nagini. A human. However, you're going to have to leave the house to look for him. Would you be up for that? You'll be able to eat rats and stuff while you're trying to find him."

Nagini didn't particularly like being tempted with humans only to find herself eating more rats. However, she didn't question her master's orders. "Yes, Master. Who do you want me to eat? The short person you were just talking to?"

"No, Nagini. Not him, at least yet. I want you to go after someone who was very mean to me. I want him dead, and you want to eat. If you eat him, we're both happy."

Nagini slithered around excitedly. "I'll do that, Master. Who do you want me to go after?"

"Are you familiar with a friend of mine named Igor Karkaroff?"

"I believe so. He is a male, tall, and has a triangular patch of hair on his chin. Why? Do you want me to eat him?"

"Yes. I want you to eat him."

Nagini looked at him, confused. "Why do you want me to eat your friend?"

"Because he did something I don't like and doesn't want to be my friend anymore. I've asked him for help several times, but he refused to come. He's not a very good friend if he doesn't help, right?"

"No, he is not, Master."

"Exactly. That's why I want you to eat him. I'm concerned that he may be in the process of transforming from my friend to my enemy, and I want him out of the way before he does that. If he's my enemy, he may hurt me when I'm not expecting it."

Nagini reared back, horrified. "I don't want anyone to hurt you! Now I'm mad at him. I'll be more than happy to eat him now!"

"I'm sure you would, Nagini. However, there's only one problem. I'm not sure where exactly he is. I've heard rumors that he's up in the north of England somewhere, but that's it. I'll send you up there so you can look around. If you smell him, go after him immediately. Meanwhile, I'll keep on trying to find him. If I get more information, I'll tell you and transport you over there. You'll be able to eat soon enough."

Nagini looked at him. "Does this human know that I'm going to be trying to eat him? He may run away or try to hurt me if he does."

"He may, Nagini. That's why I want you to be careful and make sure no one sees you. If he sees you, he may attack you, and you don't want that to happen. Come to think of it, I don't want it to happen either because our souls are intertwined."

"I'll be careful. What will you be doing in the meantime?"

"Trying to get more information about him and planning on how to take advantage of the fact that the Statute of Secrecy has been lifted and that people other than wizards now know about our society."

Nagini looked at him in amazement. "People other than wizards know about your society now?"

"Yes, Nagini. They may try to hurt me as well, so I want to lie low until I've got everything planned out. Once I've got everything planned out, I'll put myself in a position of power and surprise them. If everything goes as planned, I will put myself in a position to make myself the king of the Muggles. I'll also conquer a lot of the wizards who fought me in the past and get rid of wizards with Muggle pedigree."

Nagini stared at him. "You're going to be a king! Exciting!"

"Thank you, Nagini. However, I'm not going to be king if this friend betrays me. Are you ready for your mission?"

"Yes, Master. I am."

"Good. Now hold on a second while I set up the Portkey which will take you to your destination."

Nagini watched as her master pointed his wand at a nice, juicy, dead rat which she appeared to have overlooked. He muttered a word. The rat glowed for a second and flopped around.

"Good. We're all set. Swallow the rat. Once you've done that, I'll activate the spell and you'll be off. Good luck."

With that, her master turned back to his scheming. Excited, Nagini slithered up and swallowed the rat whole. The next thing she knew, she found herself flying through the air. She didn't particularly like the feeling all that much. However, it didn't last long. Soon she found herself lying on the floor of a forest maybe fifty feet away from a clearing.

She figured that the prey would likely be in the clearing. It would be the first place to check at least. She started heading towards the clearing with one thing on her mind.

That one thing on her mind changed about five seconds later as something suddenly caught her eye.

Rabbit! Rabbit! Rabbit! Damn, he got away!

Irritated, she resumed her stealthy progress towards the clearing.

To be continued...
--------------
Update #58
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February 23, 1996
SAS Division C Headquarters
[location classified]
Great Britain
-----------
Jacob Gold was impressed with Dawlish. For a guy who was just about old enough to be forced into retirement due to the SAS's age limits, the wizard was doing a bloody good job.

Granted, there was no way that the man was going to be able to put a bullet through an enemy's head from 100 paces or be able to climb mountains with a 30-kilo backpack on his back. However, he was able to use magic to do several of the equivalent tasks with great skill.

Take, for example, the sharpshooter requirement. Dawlish claimed that there was a curse which would be able to kill an enemy, and that the victim would be slain as long as he was hit anywhere on his body. He refused to divulge the exact nature of the spell. However, he was able to demonstrate its effectiveness by using the Expelliarmus disarming spell in its place. If the opponent's gun flew out of his hand before Dawlish was killed in the exercise, the opponent was considered dead. Who needed pinpoint accuracy with a spell like that?

Dawlish was able to climb mountains not with his feet but with his broom. As long as he got to the top quickly and stealthily, that was all that counted. The fact that he could carry lots of equipment along for the ride was a bonus, so instead of forcing everyone to carry 30-kilo packs everyone could get away with 10-kilo packs.

Dawlish was the only person who had an Invisibility Cloak at this point. However, the ex-Auror had asked for more. Jacob soon realized that invisibility was a double-edged sword: the commander nearly ran Dawlish over with his jeep because no one could see him.

Several other spells sounded like they would be of good use during stealthy missions. There was the Silencio spell, which allowed for silent tracking of an enemy. Combine that with an Invisibility Cloak and things would be really interesting. There was the Stealth Sensoring Spell, something which would help with guard duty. Dawlish had once pulled a Serpensortia during an exercise and managed to reach his objective while the guard was busy trying to deal with a snake which had appeared out of nowhere. Stupefy was good for incapacitating an enemy without harming him (provided that the person didn't fall off a cliff when he was knocked out). And those were only the S's. A quick Relashio would be good at getting you out of handcuffs. Jacob was sure that there were more surprises waiting for their group.

The only spell which hadn't worked as effectively as Dawlish had hoped was Protego. This spell, supposedly a shield charm, didn't work against bullets or tear gas. Fortunately, the quick-thinking Auror had compensated for it very quickly:

"Accio Uzi!"

He had then tossed the gun to the man covering him and started shooting jinxes at the enemy as the exercise continued. The opponent was eventually felled by a virtual bullet wound and a Petrificus Totalus.

Virtually everyone in the unit had thought that their group would be invincible and that this pilot program should be spread to other army units. Dawlish had shaken his head at that, however. This group was far from invincible. He explained that although these tricks may work against Muggles, they will likely be countered by wizards. An attack on a magical opponent would be far more dangerous. The only advantage the combined wizard/SAS unit had would be the fact that the wizards wouldn't be expecting an attack using technology.

Jacob looked down at the dossier in front of him, which Dawlish had conveniently provided to show what a unit like this would be up against. He had been horrified when he had read the reports on the two wizards and had wondered what he'd managed to get himself into. However, he focused on the positive. Demoralization could hurt performance, especially for an elite soldier like himself. He calmed himself and tried to memorize the information.
------
SUBJECT: SIRIUS BLACK III
GENDER: Male
Date of Birth: August 11, 1959 (current age: 36)
Alias: Padfoot

Current Status: At Large

Sirius Black is responsible for killing twelve Muggles and one wizard in cold blood. Without provocation, this evil wizard cast a spell which generated a tremendous explosion.

This incident occurred in 1981, well before the recent events which accompanied the exposure of Muggles to the Wizarding world. These Muggles were no threat to Black, yet he killed them anyway. In doing so, he murdered an old friend of his, a man named Peter Pettigrew. All that was left of Pettigrew was his finger. Furthermore, he endangered the Statute of Secrect which kept the two worlds separate. The Obliviators had to modify the memories of several Muggles who witnessed the explosion and pass it off as a gas leak.

Black was also responsible for betraying Lily and James Potter to Lord Voldemort (see the report on him). Not content with killing one friend, he convinced the Potters to use them as their Secret-Keeper to ensure that they would be safe from the Dark Lord. Black then revealed the Potters' hiding place to Voldemort, who then killed both Potters and nearly killed their infant son.

Black was convicted and sent to Azkaban, the wizards' prison, for these crimes. Against all odds, he broke out of Azkaban -- alone -- and returned to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, presumably to finish off the Potters' son, who was then a third-year student at the school. He was caught inside Hogsmeade and sentenced to be executed by Dementor's Kiss.

What happened after that is still uncertain. Suffice it to say, Black somehow managed to escape from a locked room inside Hogwarts. The Ministry suspects that he is still out there, waiting to finish the job. One wonders how long it will take him to take advantage of the fact that Harry Potter is currently under house arrest for permanently breaching the Statute of Secrecy.

DESCRIPTION: Sirius Black is tall and gaunt, with shoulder-length brown, curly hair. He has a thick mustache and a goatee. He has been known to take the form of a dog from time to time.
------
Jacob tried to digest what he read. This Black was a nasty piece of work. He had to be a powerful wizard to change into a dog, break out of jail, and create an explosion using magic. He wondered if Dawlish would be able to take him out.

Something didn't seem right, however. What was it? Jacob thought for a moment and it suddenly came to him. Nigel had mentioned something about Sirius Black which he had heard from Arthur Weasley. Something about Black having been framed by Pettigrew and imprisoned unjustly. Jacob shook his head. Weasley was presumably mistaken. The government knew what it was talking about.

Jacob then turned to the second dossier. This one was much longer. The first time he had gone through the dossiers, he had been able to make it through most of Black's dossier before losing his mettle. This second one, however...he barely got through the opening paragraphs. This second criminal made Sirius Black look like Mary Poppins. He just prayed that the Ministry was correct and the man was in fact dead.
------
SUBJECT: TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE
GENDER: Male
Date of Birth: December 31, 1926 (current age: 69)
Aliases: Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord, You-Know-Who, He Who Must Not Be Named

Current Status: Missing and presumed dead. However, disturbingly unable to confirm.
------
The closest thing to an evil genius to ever exist in the British Isles, Tom Marvolo Riddle is responsible for the deaths of countless wizards and Muggles. He and his band of Death Eaters terrified wizards all over Britain for many years and fought against the Ministry in the Wizarding War...
------
Jacob's hands were shaking by the time he gotten down to the fourth paragraph, and he had to put down the document simply because he could no longer read it. It was better than last time, however, as he'd barely gotten through the second before he lost his nerve.

He shook his head. He was a special forces soldier. He took a deep breath and continued to read.

There was a scream next to him. He spun only to see Banks shaking in terror. Banks's hand opened and Riddle's dossier fell out.

Jacob winced. He prayed the Ministry was right. If they weren't, and Riddle was still alive, the country was in deep trouble.

To be continued...
--------------

Update #59
------------
February 24, 1996
Headmaster's Tower
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Great Britain
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Jacob Gold looked over the man seated behind the desk. For someone who was supposedly 114, the headmaster looked in remarkably good shape. What's more, the wizard seemed to have kept his wits about him well enough to learn how to use a computer. Many old men found it difficult to learn new technology.

Dawlish had explained some of the headmaster's background to Jacob on the way to Hogwarts. It was clear that Dumbledore was widely respected in the Wizarding world and that he was an extremely powerful wizard. However, he was a bit of a loose cannon from time to time and often butted heads with the Ministry of Magic. Most of the (hopefully untrue) rumors that Tom Riddle had returned had been spread by people under Dumbledore's jurisdiction.

Jacob hoped that there weren't any problems here. From what he had finally forced himself to read in Riddle's dossier, one of the evil wizard's henchmen may have been hiding under Dumbledore's nose all this time. He had convinced Dawlish to allow him access to Hogwarts so that he could warn the headmaster about this possible threat. Dawlish had balked about it a little, but he had eventually given in.

Jacob stood and introduced himself. "Headmaster Dumbledore? My name is Jacob Gold. I'm with the British Special Air Services."

Dumbledore frowned. "Special Air Services? I'm not familiar with them."

"I'm not surprised, Headmaster. We're an elite unit of highly-trained British troops tasked with protecting the country. We're good at reconnaissance and black operations and we've just started some joint exercises with Auror Dawlish over here. One of my colleagues freaked out during one exercise where Dawlish here fired a snake at him."

Dumbledore store an accusing glance at the Auror, who squirmed a little but responded. "Serpensortia, Headmaster. The snake was a garter snake. It was nonvenomous, but the opponent didn't know that. I dismissed it once the exercise was over."

Dumbledore breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to Jacob. "Wizards supporting British special forces? Now that would be something to see. You have my full support in this endeavour."

"Thank you, Headmaster. However, that's not why we've come here. We have reason to belief that one of your staff members may be a wanted man."

Dumbledore looked at him sharply. "Really? Who?"

"A man named Severus Snape. He gives lessons in Potions. He has appeared on lists of Death Eaters. Death Eaters, in case you are wondering, are wizards associated with an evil mastermind known as Tom Marvolo Riddle. Riddle is believed to be dead, but the Death Eaters are still around. We also believe that the criminal Sirius Black may also be a Death Eater. Are you familiar with Riddle and these Death Eaters?"

Dumbledore paused for a moment. A troubled expression crossed the old man's face. Jacob was reminded of the scene in Star Wars where Obi-Wan Kenobi was thinking back to his training of Anakin Skywalker.

The headmaster slowly nodded his head. "I'm afraid I'm familiar with both Mr. Riddle and the Death Eaters. I actually helped train Riddle in the use of magic when he was younger, before he turned to the dark side. Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, is probably the most gifted student to ever graduate from Hogwarts. It is a pity that such power is being used for evil purposes."

Jacob was about to bring up Snape when he caught the verb tense in the last two sentences. His face blanched. Surely Dumbledore didn't mean what he said...

He had to ask. "Headmaster, I noticed that you refer to Mr. Riddle in the present tense. The Ministry believes that this man is dead, but has never been able to confirm it. Do you have reason to believe that he is alive?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I'm afraid so, Mr. Gold. I have reason to believe the Ministry may be mistaken here. And even if I didn't have evidence that he had returned, this man's power is so great that he should be considered your #1 priority until you have his body in hand."

Dawlish cleared his throat and shook his head. "Headmaster, you have to understand that the Ministry knows what's going on --"

Dumbledore interrupted him. "I would hope so, John. Unfortunately, we have among us a witness who saw Mr. Riddle less than a year ago. This witness reports a gathering of Death Eaters and a fully alive Lord Voldemort. Voldemort attacked two students from this school, killing one and nearly killing the second. The second is our witness."

Jacob stared at Dumbledore. "Bloody hell, I don't want this Riddle fellow coming back. We've already got a problem with Sirius Black."

Dumbledore looked like he was about to say something, but Jacob wasn't paying attention anymore. The SAS man turned to Dawlish, who looked as if he had swallowed something very sour. "John, I assume you've read Riddle's rap sheet. That man makes Hannibal Lecter look like Mother Teresa. This makes it even more important that we deal with the Death Eaters and do so quickly."

Dawlish nodded at this, though he didn't seem happy about it. Jacob couldn't tell if it was because the Ministry overlooked something or because the Auror, too, was afraid of this Riddle. If Riddle scared even the Aurors that would be even bigger trouble.

He calmed himself and turned back to Dumbledore. "Is there a way we can speak with this witness? Presumably he's at the school."

Dumbledore shook his head. "He's not at the school at the moment, unfortunately. He's under house arrest right now for completely different reason. His name is Harry Potter."

Jacob stared at him. "Wait a minute. Harry Potter? The kid who flew his broom during the Super Bowl?"

"The same. Riddle killed his parents and nearly killed him as an infant."

Jacob's mind reeled. Fortunately, Dawlish took over. "Gold, forget about Riddle for now. We'll deal with determining whether or not he's survived. Perhaps the witness doesn't remember what happened properly -- meeting evil wizards can do things like that. It's going to take a while to figure out. For the time being, let's get back to what we came to talk about. Snape."

Jacob looked at him blankly for a second. Snape? Oh right, Snape. The Death Eater. He cursed himself -- he was an SAS man, and he was supposed to be more focused than this.

Wincing, he turned to the Auror. "You are correct, John. Thank you for reminding me". To Dumbledore: "Headmaster, I'd like to get back on topic. Severus Snape is believed to be a Death Eater, a supporter of this Riddle. Our agency believes that he is on your staff. Is that correct?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, Professor Snape is here."

"Do you have any reason to believe that he would associate with the Death Eaters?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, Mr. Gold. It's because I told him to. He's actually a double agent. He used to be a Death Eater but changed his mind a while back. He is now working for us, reporting on the Death Eaters' comings and goings while outwardly appearing to be one of them. Snape, incidentally, also has reason to believe that Voldemort has returned."

Jacob stared at him. "You've got a man inside the Death Eaters' inner circle? Someone who has access to Riddle if he's come back?"

"Yes, Mr. Gold."

"Would this man be willing to help us plan an operation to attack the Death Eaters and possibly destroy Riddle if he has indeed come back? I would ask for him to join the SAS with Dawlish here, but I would expect that he is busy with his undercover activities and his duties as professor."

Dumbledore nodded. "I know Severus very well, Mr. Gold. He is one of the bravest people I have ever met. I can absolutely guarantee that he will be more than willing to alert the SAS and Ministry to Death Eater gatherings."

Dawlish broke in at this point. "If he can be trusted, that is. I'm still not entirely certain of his allegiances, Headmaster. Recall that you recently had one professor possessed by You-Know-Who and another one be forced to resign when he was exposed as a werewolf."

Jacob's jaw dropped. A werewolf? He didn't want to know.

Dumbledore glared at Dawlish, who cringed. "I trust Severus with my life. If you wish, we can give him Veritaserum and have him prove his allegiance."

The headmaster turned back to Jacob. "Advise your supervisors that Snape will be more than happy to support your cause. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a dinner to prepare. Both of you are welcome to join in the feast. Snape will be there, and rest assured that he will be able to convince you that he's on our side."

Jacob thought about it as Dumbledore escorted them out of the room. A double agent inside the Death Eaters. Quite useful.
------------
Update #60
------------
February 24, 1996
Care of Magical Creatures Class
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Great Britain
------------
Hagrid glared down at the diminutive woman. He was twice her height and probably five times her strength. Yet she acted as if she had all the power in the world.

"Hmm, hmm. If I recall correctly, unicorns are a Class XXXX creature. I highly doubt that unicorns are appropriate for underage wizards. Don't you agree, Professor Hagrid?"

All that Hagrid -- along with most of the other professors -- could agree on would be that Dolores Umbridge's clipboard should be shoved down her throat, her body should be pureed, and that the liquified remains should be fed to those cats decorating her walls. He couldn't say that, however, without him possibly jeopardizing his job. The woman had been paying close attention to Trelawney of late, which couldn't be good. Trelawney had told her several times that she could not prophesy on command. Hagrid knew this to be true for all seers. Yet Umbridge didn't seem to believe it.

He drew a deep breath and tried to steady his voice. "Professor, dear old Sleipnir here has been at Hogwarts since he was a foal. He's familiar with the grounds and considers the students to be part of his herd. Take a look now -- he's nuzzling Hermione Granger."

Umbridge shook her head and jotted something down on her clipboard. "I find it hard to believe that this animal thinks that a creature with half his legs is part of his herd."

Hermione glared at Umbridge. Virtually everyone in the room started muttering darkly. Hagrid, however, had the perfect rejoinder.

"Yes, and I often wonder whether human females with half my height are part of my herd. Now sit down and watch me teach."

The whole class cheered for a moment, but the cheers wilted as Umbridge cast an evil stare around the room. That done, the High Inquisitor turned back to Hagrid, her face full of fury. Hagrid frowned for a moment. Maybe he had gone too far. He didn't want to wind up in the same position Trelawney was in.

Fortunately, there was a knock on the door. Breathing a sigh of relief, he excused himself and opened the door.

It was Professor Dumbledore. He seemed quite happy, as if something very good had happened. Hagrid wondered what it was, but refrained from asking. He'd presumably find out with the rest of the teachers.

It was most unusual for the headmaster to interrupt a class like this, though. Confused, Hagrid shook his head. "Professor Dumbledore? Good afternoon. Is there a problem?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Not at all, Hagrid. I was wondering if you would be so good as to join me in my tower. You have a visitor with a most interesting proposal for you."

Hagrid stared at him. "A visitor? Who?"

"A representative of the United States of America."

Hagrid's jaw dropped. "An American? What's he doing here? How did he find out about me."

"I don't know, Hagrid. However, I believe you will enjoy what he is going to say."

Hagrid shook his head and gestured at the students behind him. Most of them were glaring at Umbridge. However, Draco Malfoy was asking if he use his authority as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad to put Hermione in "pre-emptive" detention.

"I can't right now, Professor. I'm in the middle of a lecture right now. We're doing unicorns, as you can see, and Professor Umbridge doesn't think they're appropriate for children."

Dumbledore suddenly grinned. "I'll handle this. Since they're going to kick me out anyway in June, I'd might as well go out with a bang."

His smile vanished from his face as he turned to face Umbridge. "Professor Umbridge, I'm going to have to take Hagrid for a few minutes to discuss something with him. He has an important visitor. Would you be so good as to take care of the unicorn while the teacher away?"

Umbridge stared at him. "Take care of him? He's a dangerous animal!"

Dumbledore shook his head. "He isn't, Dolores. As the only adult witch in the room, it is up to you to handle the unicorn. However, if you have trouble and need assistance, don't hesitate to call on the students for help."

With that, Dumbledore closed the door, blocking Hagrid's view of a short pink woman with her eyes virtually bulging out of their sockets. He then led Hagrid over to his tower to meet his visitor.

Hagrid had never seen this man before. He appeared to be a Muggle and was dressed in an expensive suit with an American flag on his tie.

The man took one look at Hagrid and his went almost as wide as Dolores's. He gasped and finally was able to croak a few words to Dumbledore.

"Jesus Christ! How tall IS this guy?"

Hagrid shrugged. "Eleven feet, sir. However, I'm not all that tall. After all, I'm only half-giant. My brother Grawp is sixteen feet tall. He's not very comfortable around strangers, though. I've heard of several giants who were taller even than that."

Dumbledore told everyone to sit down, which undoubtedly was to compensate for the fact that the Muggle was about to collapse into a chair in shock. "Gentlemen, allow me to make some introductions. Dr. Roach, this is Rubeus Hagrid, our Care of Magical Creatures instructor. I believe he's the one you've been looking for."

The Muggle nodded. "Indeed he is, Professor. I must say, sir, he's not easy to miss."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Indeed, he is not. Hagrid, this is Dr. Robert Roach. He works for the United States Fish and Wildlife Service. He has been sent here on the direct request of President Bill Clinton of the United States."

Hagrid nodded. "Dr. Roach, welcome to Hogwarts. Is this your first exposure to the Wizarding world?"

Roach paused for a moment while he considered his response. "Somewhat, sir. I haven't met many wizards before, and I certainly haven't been in a school like this before. Up to now, the only experience I have with the Wizarding world is what I've heard from Radner and Deirdre the unicorn."

A baffled Hagrid turned to Dumbledore, who explained. "Travis Radner is the American Secretary of Magic, similar to our Minister of Magic. Deirdre is a unicorn which he gave as a gift to President Clinton. She is now on display in the National Zoo in Washington DC."

Hagrid stared at Roach. "You put a unicorn in a zoo? That is a very bad idea, sir. Unicorns are difficult animals to handle unless you raise them from infancy."

Roach nodded. "That's what Radner told me when we were discussing putting her in the zoo. Don't worry, Professor Hagrid, Deirdre seems to be docile. She was also adopted as a foal. Originally, she was kept in the White House but she started eating all the houseplants and trees. So, she had to go to the zoo."

Hagrid stared at him. "You're bloody lucky the President wasn't injured. That could have been a disaster."

Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed, it could have. However, everything worked out in the end. It worked out so well, in fact, that the National Zoo has decided to create a wing dedicated to magical creatures. It will be the first zoo of its kind in the Muggle world. Judging from the interest the American people have in Deirdre, it would give a big boost to the Washington economy."

Hagrid shook his head. "That's dangerous, sir. I'd advise against it. Magical creatures are not to be trifled with. Some of them have magical abilities which Muggles will not be able to handle."

Roach agreed. "That is exactly what Radner told us. The President said that we would be able to do it, however, if we were able to hire someone with familiar with most magical creatures to be part of this groundbreaking development. A Care of Magical Creatures professor, if you will."

Hagrid stared at him. "Wait a minute. Did you come to offer me a job?"

Roach nodded. "Yes, I have. Radner actually recommended you by name."

Hagrid shook his head in disbelief. "I'm flattered, sir. However, I already have a job -- I'm a teacher here. I can't leave the school. This school has done a lot for me. Besides, doesn't the United States have a school of wizardry as well similar to this one?"

Roach nodded. "Several, in fact. The most prestigious one is located in the Wizarding capital district in Massachusetts."

"I thought so. Why would they come all the way to England to hire me if they had several, possibly more capable, wizards on their own soil? Presumably they have all of the abilities I have."

Roach paused for a moment. "Radner has told me that animals like you and you have a soft spot for animals. Furthermore, Dumbledore confirmed Radner's claim that you have a forest here teeming with unusual animals which would be interesting to the Muggle population."

Hagrid shook his head vehemently. "Most of the animals are much too dangerous to be placed in a zoo, especially in cages. Granted, there are a few which may be appropriate -- I'd say everything from Class XX down. XXX if you're lucky, and XXXX if they were raised from birth thinking that a human was their mother. XXXXX? Forget it. You don't want a dragon setting fire to, and then eating, patrons from inside the cage."

Roach blanched at that. "No, sir. That would not be a good idea."

Dumbledore looked at Hagrid. "I must say, Hagrid, that although I'm reluctant to see you leave, this is probably a once-in-a-lifetime offer. You may seriously want to consider it."

Hagrid shook his head. "My home is here, Professor. I owe my life to Hogwarts. Besides, I'm certain that there are more capable instructors in the United --"

Hagrid suddenly stopped speaking and turned on Roach. "Wait a minute. You want me because I'm a half-giant, right? That I'm once of those strange creatures you want to put on display!"

Roach closed his eyes and sighed. "That's part of it, I must admit. However, you would not be part of the exhibit. You would be on the staff. You could talk to the patrons if you wish, though. I'm certain they'd be intrigued by you."

Hagrid didn't like this at all and fought to restrain his anger. "We are people, just like you, Dr. Roach. We're just bigger than you are. I cannot accept a job where a sentient, talking being like myself would be considered part of an exhibit. It wouldn't be much different from what people did in the old days when disfigured people, or people of a different race or color, were made into exhibits."

Roach raised his hands to placate Hagrid. "You can always decide not to mingle with the patrons. It would be your choice. After all, the job isn't to mingle with the patrons, it's to deal with animals."

Hagrid put his hands on his hips. "The answer's no, Dr. Roach. I'm staying here at Hogwarts. Now, if you would excuse me, I've got to go back to class."

Roach sighed and stood to leave. "I'd better go then. Here's my business card, Professor. If you ever change your mind, don't hesitate to call on us."

With that, the Muggle left the room. Dumbledore stared after him and shook his head. "That was an amazing offer you turned down, Hagrid. I hope you don't regret doing that at some point in the future."

Hagrid shook his head violently. "I'm not going to a company which would consider placing creatures like you on me on display. Flobberworms, yes. Unicorns, yes if they can be raised to accept humans. People, no. Besides, I have a job here."

Dumbledore nodded as he led Hagrid back to the entrance. "Indeed, Hagrid, you do. And you do a good job at it. Thank you for staying."

As he headed back down the spiraling staircase something occurred to him. He definitely had a job. He had no reason to leave.

But what would he do if Umbridge suddenly started dismissing teachers?

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Update #61
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February 24, 1996
The Burrow
Great Britain
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Harry Potter wished he were still at school. That dunderhead Umbridge was of no help in preparing the students for fighting Lord Voldemort. Unless something had changed over the past month, she was probably regurgiating the same policies she had before he'd been placed under house arrest: Voldemort had not returned, and anyone who said otherwise would have word-shaped scars all over his hands for weeks to come.

As if that were not bad enough, the possibility of a confrontation with Muggles was also high enough to take seriously. Judging from what he knew of the history of the relations between Muggles and wizards, the Muggles inevitably began fearing the witches and persecuted them. Often relations between the two communities started out friendly, but then one bad witch or wizard ruined the reputation of the entire Wizarding community. Considering that Voldemort was about as bad as a wizard could go, it was only a matter of time until the wizards had to fight off Muggles a well. Harry doubted that spells like Protego and Expelliarmus would work on bullets as well as curses.

Harry wondered if the wizards knew how terribly efficient the Muggles were at making war. Hermione's grandfather had served in the Royal Air Force in the Second World War. He had participated in missions which had dropped bombs on German cities. Each of those bombs was enough to level most of a building. The last time the wizards had fought Muggles, the Muggles had probably opposed them with swords and shields.

James Granger's bombs, however, didn't even hold a candle to the bombs dropped on Japan at the end of the war. Only two major bombs were dropped, one on Hiroshima and one on Nagasaki. Those had decimated entire cities with one blow. That had been half a century ago. Nowadays, weapons existed hundreds of times more powerful than those. Thankfully, no one among the Muggles had dared use them in anger.

Dark wizards, however, presented the Muggles with curses which they had no defense against. Many people could consider powerful curses to be weapons of mass destruction. If a wizard killed hundreds of Muggles with one blast -- Voldemort and Pettigrew were certainly capable of such of an attack -- would the Muggles respond in kind?

Nukes weren't the only thing which would likely catch wizards by surprise. Harry doubted that the wizards had ever considered the possibility of a chemical or biological attack. Come to think of it, many Muggles didn't. Surprised wizards tended to overreact. Harry had a horrible feeling that a war between Muggles and wizards would likely result in either the end of the world or the extermination of the entire Wizarding population.

Groups of Muggles already existed which advocated the destruction of wizards. In fact, Dumbledore had informed him -- through Ron -- that his aunt and uncle had joined such a movement. The headmaster believed that this decision would very likely negate Privet Drive's status as a sanctuary for Harry. As a result, Dumbledore had recommended that he not go back to the Dursleys at the end of his incarceration. He had suggested that Harry live at the 12 Grimmauld Place safe house with Sirius. Harry wouldn't mind that at all. What's more, if Sirius were exonerated, Sirius would likely adopt him, giving him the right to live there permanently.

Ron had reported that Dumbledore's Army was still in operation. Hermione, Neville, and Ron hadn't been as good instructions as Harry. However, Hermione knew the book on defense spells inside and out. They had managed to take over in his absence. He hoped that the Army would be able to fend off Voldemort, the Dursleys, and/or Umbridge if everything full apart.

His ruminations about the future of Dumbledore's Army were suddenly blasted out of his head by a tremendous pain in his forehead. It was his scar, his connection to Voldemort. Once again, Voldemort was plotting evil against the rest of the human race. He had tried to relay these warnings to his guards, but they refused to believe him and had not allowed him to communicate them to Ron. This forced him to suffer the trauma of pain with the even worse feeling of not being able to do anything about it.

The view of his bed vanished in a blaze of pain. He suddenly found himself looking at a man he'd never seen before. The man didn't look happy, and Harry had a suspicion he knew why. He -- as Voldemort -- seemed to be pointing a wand at him.

Voldemort spoke. "Well, Rookwood? Explain yourself. Why have you been unable to retrieve the prophecy?"

The man shook his head. "My lord, I'm truly sorry. Forgive me. The prophecy may only be retrieved by the people it refers to. That means either you or Harry Potter have to pick it up."

Harry frowned. A prophecy? Concerning him and Lord Voldemort? What was this?

The scar flared again. Voldemort apparently didn't like this. "This means we will have to break Harry out of house arrest in order to get him over to the Ministry. Is he guarded?"

"Yes, my lord. It's going to be as bad as trying to break into the Ministry."

Voldemort's voice turned even colder. "You're IN the Ministry, Rookwood. You have twenty-four hours to get that restriction off the prophecy and come back with it. Otherwise, Nagini's going to eat you after she comes back from terminating Karkaroff."

Rookwood stared at him. "My lord!"

Harry felt Voldemort's anger. "Get out of my sight, you sniveling worm. I have other business to attend to."

Rookwood cringed and nodded. "Yes, my lord". With a flash, he Disapparated. Seconds later, he was replaced with another one of his servants.

The new servant fell to his knees. "My lord! You sent for me?"

"Yes, Avery. I want an update on our plans for world domination. Are these Muggles as vulnerable to magic as we think they are?"

Avery nodded. "Yes, my lord. They have absolutely no defenses against most of our spells, and for the most part they have no idea as to what we can do. They will be easy to intimidate. Just a few random curses here and there and demonstration of our abilities to stop their attacks have make them eating out of the palm of our hands."

Voldemort nodded. "That's good to know, Avery. I'd recommend showing our strengths as well, showing them that we can do things only the gods of the past could do. If we were able to pass ourselves off as gods, that would be good."

Avery smiled. "That would be a great idea, my lord. Flying will be pretty impressive. Curses like Imperio will be useful as well. However, I believe that we'll be able to use part of Muggle culture to our advantage here."

"Indeed? How so?"

"The Muggles have illustrated books called comic books. Many of these books discuss the exploits of superheroes, beings who have unusual powers and can use those to rise above and beyond people as a whole. There is also the concept of a Jedi Knight, a wizardlike hero from Muggle films. If we were to mimic the abilities of these heroes through magic, the Muggles' own subconscious will help ensure our superiority."

"Smart move, Avery. Can you suggest a list of abilities which will be most effective at influencing Muggles?"

"Yes, my lord. Flight would help, and we all can do that. Levitating objects is common for Jedi Knights, and we can do that easily. Feats of extreme strength mimic the hero Superman, and the ability to Transfigure ourselves mimics a few other heroes."

Voldemort seemed to like this. "Excellent work, Avery. Anything else?"

"One more thing. There are several groups of Muggles who are rebelling against the rightful authorities in the name of God or country. They have weapons. If we take over one of these groups, possibly via the Imperius Curse, we could even have Muggle weapons to work with. Combine Muggle weapons and magic and we would probably be powerful enough to rule the world."

"That's a great idea. Make it so."

"Yes, my lord."

With that, Avery disappeared. Seconds later, the sending from Voldemort ended.

Harry gulped. Yet another threat from Voldemort. He had to tell the guards. However, he didn't hold much hope that this one would be any better received than the previous ones, and he had the horrible suspicion that Voldemort knew that. Maybe he could ask about that prophecy...

To be continued...
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Update #62
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February 25, 1996
Room of Requirement
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Great Britain
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Ron Weasley had never led one of the Dumbledore's Army lessons before, but he didn't have much of a choice. Normally Hermione would have been in charge -- after all, she had read up on all of the curses and countercurses. Unfortunately, Hermione had managed to earn another detention, courtesy of Dolores Umbridge. As usual, it had been because of something which had not been worthy of detention.

Umbridge had panicked after Hagrid had left with Dumbledore. Convinced that Sleipnir would wreak havoc on the poor, defenseless students, she had strode purposefully towards the front of the room, wand poised for action. Hermione, of course, had gotten up and positioned herself between Umbridge and the unicorn, saying that the class had worked with this particular animal before and that he was perfectly harmless. Umbridge, of course, didn't believe her. The Ministry official had nearly had a heart attack as she had seen Hermione walking towards the unicorn. She had yelled at Hermione to get out of the way so she could attack Sleipnir. Not only had Hermione refused, she had cast a Protego charm to protect the unicorn from a bolt of blue light which had burst from the end of Umbridge's wand. Fed up with Hermione's mischief, she had given Hermione a week's worth of detentions for her serious lack of judgment.

This had left Ron in charge of Dumbledore's Army. He frowned as he looked around the Room of Requirement. The Army's numbers had swelled over the past few weeks, as the original core of students who joined to defend themselves against Voldemort was supplemented by wizards who were concerned that they would be attacked by Muggles now that the Muggles knew about the Wizarding community. Several residents of Hogsmeade had started attending lessons as well. They were easily recognizable by the simple fact that they were the only people over seventeen. Not many Hogwarts students had beards, with the possible exception of Fred and George after their failed attempt to get their names into the Goblet of Fire the previous year.

The class had gotten very good at producing Patronuses. There was a veritable zoo of animals represented among them: lions and tigers and bears. Oh, my! Several students who had never spoken to each other before had managed to bond when they realized that they had the same Patronus. Ron was convinced that two of them were going to hook up and start dating.

A couple of Slytherin students, concerned about Muggle attack, had joined Dumbledore's Army. They wore masks most of the time to hide their identity. Ron understood why: they didn't want to be ridiculed by Malfoy or other, more radical members of their House. Not surprisingly, their Patronuses were both snakes.

Ron had decided on an interesting change of pace for the class. The class now mastered several different defensive spells: Expelliarmus, Petrificus Totalus, Protego, and so forth. However, simply knowing how to cast the spells didn't teach you when exactly to use which type of spell. It also didn't teach you when ordinary spells like Accio could be used as defensive weapons if people thought outside the box.

Harry, who had been determined to be an Auror, had told him that several Muggle films had been made about about an extremely competent British spy named James Bond. Hermione as a Muggle-born, had been familiar with this character and had been able to reel off the plots of several of the movies. Oddly enough, Neville -- who had been studying more and more nature books to bolster his knowledge of Herbology -- seemed to think that James Bond was an ornithologist. Neville and Harry had gotten into several arguments about this, which Hermione had eventually managed to resolve by explaining that both of them were right. Ian Fleming the man, who had created James Bond, had been a birdwatcher and had named his spy after the ornithologist Neville had read about.

Today's lesson was inspired by James Bond movies. Specifically, the movie The Man with the Golden Gun. He doubted that anyone in the room had ever heard of this tactic, let alone the movie, before. Hermione and Harry would have, of course, but they weren't here.

Ron flard some sparks into the air to call for attention. Fifty pairs of eyes turned to him in anticipation. A couple of people frowned, however. Inevitably, the question came up.

"Where's Hermione?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "In detention. Umbridge had tried to attack the tame unicorn we had been working with in Care of Magical Creatures. Hermione tried to intervene, protecting the unicorn and explaining that the animal was tame. Hermione didn't believe him. Presto, detention."

The Army members grumbled. "Typical Umbridge. The few times that one of us tries to do what's right, she punishes us."

Ron nodded. "What's more, you not learned the Shield Charm, you'd have one dead unicorn and a rather big fight between Hagrid and Umbridge. To be honest with you, I'd like to see Hagrid lift his leg and step on her. He probably could, you know."

The class chuckled as Ron continued. "However, that's not important here. This is Dumbledore's Army, and we have to focus on practical defensive magic.

"Today's class is going to be slightly different, and it's going to be adapting story that I've taken from a Muggle film. Only two of you will be actively participating in the class today. The rest of you, however, are going to learn a lot by watching the way these people act."

Ron looked around the room. "First, we're going to need two volunteers, preferably not people who are familiar with the Muggle film The Man with the Golden Gun. That shouldn't be so hard to come by here, though."

Neville raised his hand, but Ron turned him down, saying that Hermione had told him about the movie. Fred Weasley took Neville's place as the first contestant. Not surprisingly, George raised his hand next. Ron turned him down flat, saying that he knew Fred too well and in a real duel he could not count on knowing too much about his enemy's tactics. He was eventually replaced by Cho Chang.

Having selected the two participants, Ron wished for the Room of Requirement to include a set of bleachers and instructed the rest of the students to take a seat and watch the show. He then called Fred and Penelope to him and explained the rules to the class.

"Here's what today's lesson is going to be. Penelope and Fred here are going to be participate in a full-scale duel. They're going to duel until one of them strikes the opponent with a Stunning spell, winning the duel.

"In an actual duel, the spell in question would likely be an Avada Kedavra or something nasty like that. In this case, however, we're going to be using the less deadly, though clearly recognizable, Stupefy to serve as the coupe de grace.

"Fred and Penelope will head to the center of the room, where I will referee the duel. They'll start back to back and then take twenty paces. Once both of them are ready, I'll give the signal and they'll start firing away.

"What you will probably see is going to be most interesting. There will probably be a lot of Shield Charms and stuff like that as each one tries to protect from the Stunning Spells. They'll soon find, however, that the only way to defeat their opponent will be to catch them off guard, using the various pieces of furniture and other tools to surprise or confuse their opponent. Dueling involves both brains as well as spellpower. If they do start getting involved with tools, may I HIGHLY recommend that they not use the bleachers for cover? I don't want Fred turning half of the spectators into a flock of geese or something like that."

Fred glared at him. "Would I do that, little brother?"

Ron grunted. "Probably."

Fred waved his arms theatrically. "Why would I turn them into geese when I could turn them into eagles or basilisks or something like that?"

Ron groaned. "Shut up, Fred. Any questions?"

Neville raised his hand. "What happens if the duel doesn't end before the end of class? This could go on for a while."

Ron was ready with an answer. "In that case, two new volunteers will be chosen who will take the positions of these two competitors. The new volunteers will resume the duel. Anything else?"

There was nothing. With that, Ron called Penelope and Fred over. They raised their wands to the ready position, stood back to back, and marched twenty paces to opposite sides of the room.

Ron then put on his best Shorty imitation. "Miss Clearwater, are you ready?"

She nodded.

"Mr. Weasley, are you ready?"

Fred waved his wand in acknowledgement. With that, Ron got out of the way and shouted, "Begin!"

Fred turned and fired a Stunning Spell at Penelope right off the bat. Penelope, however, had anticipated this and blocked it right off the bat. She then dove for cover behind a suit of armor as Fred used Accio to summon a mirror. Perhaps Fred was going to try to reflect a spell back at her.

The duel went on and on. Bond and Scaramanga, they weren't. But they were close.

To be continued...
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Update #63
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February 25, 1996
Presidential Palace
Pyongyang
Democratic People's Republic of Korea
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The overseer was nervous, and rightly so. He had been invited to a meeting with none other than the Dear Leader himself, Kim Jong-Il. Apparently word of the wizard on the collective farm had been well received by His Excellency's government.

The overseer had initially been excited when the invitation had come in. He had packed up his best dress uniform and hightailed it over to the capital as fast as he thought possible. No one kept the Dear Leader waiting and lived to tell about it.

The functionaries had hustled him into an anteroom which probably cost more to furnish than his entire farm's yearly output. There were expensive vases from all over the world, a fountain, and huge paintings. Most of them depicted the Dear Leader and his late father standing triumphantly against a background of mountains and oceans. The overseer had suspected that they had deliberately been placed there to intimidate and awe any people who wished to speak with him.

The intimidation was working. The functionaries had left him here about fifteen minutes ago, telling him that the Dear Leader would be with him shortly. Although he refused to show it on the outside, the overseer was quivering in his boots. He wondered what he had gotten himself into. Granted, he couldn't imagine why the Dear Leader wouldn't like it. Not only did he have the soccer ball the witch experimented with, but he had the secret videotape of the encounter as well. It was more than obvious that the witch had done something very strange. She had told him it was magic, and he couldn't see anything to disprove her claim.

His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps in the hall. Looking up, the overseer had noticed that the Dear Leader's secretary had returned with an update. The overseer saluted him crisply, and the secretary returned the salute and bowed.

"Comrade Overseer, His Excellency is ready to see you now. Before you go in, please hold your hands out to your sides and spread your legs so I may search you."

The overseer did as he was told. However, he balked when the secretary told him to hand over the tape. In response, the secretary explained that he wanted to scan it for explosives. It made sense, the overseer thought. Except there was one minor problem.

He pointed at the tape. "The tape has important information on it which is vital to this interview. Don't powerful X-ray machines like those used by your security procedures wreck videotape?"

The secretary shook his head. "Only for undeveloped film, Comrade. However, if you concerned, I will ask for a blank videotape to be retrieved from our secure storage. We will then copy your tape and then bring the copy to your meeting."

The overseer breathed a sigh of relief. "I'd appreciate that, Comrade Secretary."

Ten minutes later, the copy was complete. The overseer nodded, braced himself, and was ushered into the Dear Leader's office. At the first glimpse of the great man, he saluted sharply and bowed deeply.

"Good afternoon, Your Excellency. I am Overseer Xu, reporting as ordered."

Kim Jong-Il nodded. "At ease, Comrade Overseer. Welcome to the presidential palace. Would you like some wine? Coffee? Cigarettes?"

The overseer shook his head, dimly realizing that it was almost impossible to procure any of those three objects on his farm. "No thank you, Your Excellency. I do not drink or smoke."

"I see. Now, on to business. Please, Comrade. be seated. I have been told that you have discovered a group of people who may be of great use in strengthening our country and bolstering our productivity."

The overseer sat down on the other side of the Dear Leader's desk. "Indeed, Your Excellency. It appears that a woman gifted in magic has begun using her abilities to improve life on our farm. Her spells have increased our productivity twofold and have improved morale all over the farm."

The Dear Leader steepled his fingers on his desk. "That's a bold claim, Comrade. Although my intelligence has reported rumors of witches and wizards in the South, I was passing them off as mere saber-rattling. Do you have any evidence to support your claim?"

The overseer saluted stiffly. "Our farm's productivity speaks for itself, Your Excellency. You must have read our reports."

"Indeed I have, Comrade. Most intriguing, and worthy of a closer look. However, increased productivity can be accomplished by other, less unusual means."

The overseer brought out the copy of the videotape. "Your Excellency is wise to be skeptical here. Fortunately, I have video evidence of her unusual abilities. With your permission, Your Excellency, I will play the tape for you."

The Dear Leader nodded and asked the secretary to bring in a videotape player. The delay was less than thirty seconds. Soon, the player was set up and ready to go. Seeing everything to his satisfaction, the Dear Leader nodded. "Go ahead, Comrade".

The overseer bowed. "As you command, Your Excellency."

The overseer watched the Dear Leader's expression as he watched the videotape. The man's eyebrows shot up momentarily when he saw the soccer ball floating through the air. He steadied himself quickly, however.

"Very interesting, Comrade. However, are you sure it was magic? Perhaps there were magnets in the ball or she had attached strings to it."

In response, the overseer presented the ball. "Here's the ball, Your Excellency. You may inspect it at your leisure. I assure you that it has not been tampered with."

Kim Jong-Il took the ball and looked it over. "I'll send it over to our labs for further analysis, but I don't see any signs of tampering. There aren't any unusual marks on it, and the metal detectors should have picked up any magnets inside it."

The overseer saluted once more. "Your Excellency, I will vouch for what I saw. I was there. I am absolutely convinced the woman used magic. You can't improve productivity that much using duct tape and magnets. She must have done something far beyond anything we've seen before."

The Dear Leader thought for a moment. "I'm not convinced yet. However, you have a pretty strong case."

He placed the ball in an evidence box along with the tape and sealed it. Turning back to the overseer, the Dear Leader asked a simple question.

"Suppose we indeed prove your claim. How do you propose that this witch use her abilities to help improve life in our country as a whole? One peasant woman can't really do much. I doubt she's even literate."

The overseer grinned. "There's more than one of them, Your Excellency. She has at least one apprentice. He works on the farm with her. And where there are two, there are probably others who haven't been noticed yet."

The Dear Leader nodded. "You're thinking that they'd make a good fighting force. The South won't have any chance against them if the witches try turning them into frogs."

"Correct, Your Excellency. Furthermore, if this woman can train other witches in her agricultural techniques, our farms will be able to produce much more produce and feed lots of our people. Your administration will gain a good reputation."

Kim Jong-Il thought for a moment. "That's a great idea. And just in time, however. Now that I've seen that this woman can very likely do magic, we have to assume that the stories we have of wizards in the South are also genuine. We need to cultivate these wizards and improve their abilities to continue our struggle against capitalism."

The overseer blinked. It hadn't occurred to him that the South also had wizards. Suddenly, his grandiose vision of wizards flattening Seoul had diluted itself into a means to maintain the stalemate. He couldn't say that, though. Instead, he frowned. "If that's the case, improving the army is our first priority. We can't let the South get ahead of us, Your Excellency."

"My thoughts exactly, Comrade Overseer. Is the witch willing to help us?"

The overseer grinned. "She's willing to help us, Your Excellency. I managed to talk her into helping organize a school for training wizards and witches. She bought the idea immediately, figuring that its graduates would be able to improve the lives of peasants all over the country as well as increase productivity. If Your Excellency decides to start messing around with the curriculum, you might wind up with the army you need."

The Dear Leader smiled. "Good idea. I take she doesn't realize the real purpose of the school."

"No, Your Excellency. I don't think so."

"This is getting better by the moment. You've done a great service to the nation, and you're going to be rewarded for it. I'm promoting you to the chief operating officer of the farm. The current COO is going to be demoted to your old position. I'll write out a document formalizing the transfer."

The new COO smiled. "Thank you, Your Excellency. If it is your wish that I serve in this capacity, I will do so."

"Indeed you will, Officer Xu. Now, to your first task. I'm going to be doubling the work quota for the farm -- after all, the woman said she can do things twice as fast. The woman is to teach her apprentice how to run the farm. Once that's done, I want you to bring her before me so we can discuss our school. Can you do that?"

The COO saluted. "Of course, Your Excellency. The new apprentice will work the farm while the witch herself runs the school."

The Dear Leader paused for a moment. "The apprentice is male and the master is female? Kind of backwards, isn't it?"

The COO shrugged. "You can say that, Your Excellency. Then again, the witches seem to have not interacted with us for a while."

"That explains it. Are the witch and apprentice in good enough health to be able to do what is needed?"

"Yes, Your Excellency. Both are young. She's about 30 or so, he's in his 20's. Both do not have spouses to tie them to any one location, so they can move around pretty easily."

The Dear Leader gawked and laughed at this. He shook his head in admiration. "I've always liked arranged marriages. Don't you? Especially arranged marriages which can produce high-quality offspring. Bring both of them before me so I can solemnize their wedding."

The COO chuckled a bit as well before discipline took over. "It will be done, Your Excellency."

"Good. I'll write up the papers and have them for you in half an hour. Dismissed."

To be continued...
--------------

Update #64
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Thursday, February 27, 1996
Cox Residence
Near Westboro Park
Westboro, Kansas
United States of America
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Claire Cox was furious. Her husband had left without telling her once again. And this time, he had taken his fancy suit.

It was obvious he was having an affair. He had told her that dear old Mindy was just one of his coworkers. However, Claire didn't buy it. She knew many of the people at her workplace, but she didn't have their phone numbers in her phone book. Larry, however, had not only her phone number but her sister's phone number as well.

It was time to get even, she thought -- or at very least, know for sure. Having retrieved the woman's name from her husband's Rolodex -- there was only one Mindy -- she jotted down the woman's address and put the Rolodex back where it belonged until the time was ready for her to spring her trap.

The time was now. She grabbed her camcorder, put it in her car, and headed over to Mindy's address. Sure enough, there was her husband's car. She recorded the scene, walked up to the door, and rang the bell.

A few minutes went by, after which a young blonde woman in her mid-twenties opened up. Claire groaned inwardly: eye candy, just the type of stuff he liked. The woman looked like she had just thrown some clothes on in a hurry. The woman blinked at her. "Hello?"

"Hello there. Are you Mindy Wilkes?"

The woman looked at him quizzically. "Yes, I am. Do I know you?"

"I'm Larry Cox's wife. I believe you have something of mine and I want it back."

The look on Mindy's face was priceless: absolute horror. The arguments started almost immediately. Eventually, her husband hurried down the stairs and nearly fainted when he saw her fighting with his mistress. Meanwhile, the altercation had attracted the attention of several people outside.

Swears were exchanged and punches were thrown. Eventually, Claire was eventually able to hustle her wayward husband out of Mindy's house and slam the door in the astonished woman's face.

With her rival temporarily out of the way, she took advantage of the opportunity to turn on her husband and shove him down the driveway to their car. "I hate you, Larry. I HATE YOU! I wish you were dead and damn you both to hell!"

Her husband cringed. "Listen, Claire. It's not what you think. It's -- "

His response was cut off by a squeal of tires as a car swerved and skidded around the corner and headed down the street. The maneuver was apparently too much for one of the tires, which blew out with a bang. The car suddenly started throwing up sparks and began barreling towards Claire and her husband.

Claire shrieked and got out of the way. The door opened a second later as Mindy Wilkes hurried out into the driveway to defend her paramour. Neither she nor Larry saw the car coming.

The out-of-control Toyota slammed broadside into both Mindy and Larry, crushing them against the side of Mindy's house. Part of the wall fell in on top of them. Surprisingly, the car did not explode. However, the damage had been done. Mindy and Larry had been killed instantly by the impact.

For several seconds, Claire just stood there, looking at the wreck in shock. She had been angry at her husband, of course, but deep down inside she didn't really want him dead. She had just screamed and begun heading towards the wreckage to see what she could do to help when a loud voice pierced the night.

"SHE'S A WITCH!"

She blinked and turned to face the speaker. It was a middle-aged man wearing an Aryan Nation T-shirt, and he was pointing at her. Great, she thought. Just what she needed. One of those idiots from Pitmoss's church. From what he knew of Pitmoss's people, they were bigoted enough to make the Aryan Nation looked like Mary Poppins. He could scream as much as he wanted, however. She'd just ignore him.

The man continued. "You heard her threatening him! She said that she'd kill him and damn them both to hell! And that's exactly what she did! She cast a spell on them! You are all witnesses!"

She spun and stared at him. What the hell? Meanwhile, several people began moving in her direction, presumably to help the three accident victims.

The man continued his rant. "Her spell made that car's tire blow out! Interesting coincidence, wasn't it? What were the odds of that happening? What would the dear Reverend Pitmoss say about this? America for Muggles!"

This looked like trouble, she thought. Checking to see that people were attending to the accident victims, she turned to the speaker. "A witch? What do you mean, a witch? I'm not a witch! I'm an ordinary American citizen, just like you are. I don't have magical powers! It was in fact a coincidence! If I were you, I would keep that bigoted trash where it belongs, in the gutter! Now are you going to help me rescue these people or not?"

The speaker laughed at her. Disturbingly, some of the other onlookers joined in. "Of course", he said. "Of course you're not a witch. That's what they always say. However, witches exist. God mentioned them in the Bible, and He never lies. His words have been proven true at last, sorceress. Even the President has admitted they exist. How many times have you coupled with dear old Travis Radner, my dear Hecuba?"

She was about to respond when something hit her from behind. Of the ten people who had headed over to the house, seven of them had gone to do what they could do assist the accident victims. Three, on the other hand, were closing in on her. One of them had a crowbar in his hand. The second had a bat.

The third was wearing a KKK robe and was carrying a torch and a rope.

Shit, she thought. It was time to get out of this, pronto. She raced over to her car and put her hand on the door. She pulled back the handle just her feet slid out from under her. Mr. Crowbar had tackled her. He swung with all his might and whacked her on the knee. Pain shot through her body, and she screamed in agony. Dimly, through the haze of pain, she heard a chant slowly gaining in strength and volume.

"BURN THE WITCH! BURN THE WITCH!"

She barely had time to gasp when the end of the baseball bat hit her on the head. She nearly blacked out as the world spun around. She had the vague sensation of people tying together her legs and hands with extension cords. She was completely immobilized.

She tried screaming for help, but all that managed to do is increase the crowd's bloodlust. More blows rained down on her and she slumped in her restraints, almost virtually unable to move.

She abruptly felt grass beneath her feet -- it seems like she had been carried over to one of the parks. She couldn't marshal enough of her faculties to figure out which, however. All she could do was whimper and shudder in pain.

The mob dragged her over to a tree. The man who had originally accused her of witchcraft handed out a few more ropes and they tied her to the three. One of them handed him his bandanna, and the attacker tied it over here head.

She couldn't believe what was happening. It was as if the Salem Witch Trials had come back to the United States after a hiatus of 300 years.

The last things she sensed were the smell of gasoline and excruciating heat.
------------
Update #65
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Thursday, February 27, 1996
Topeka Hospital
Topeka, Kansas
United States of America
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Claire Cox couldn't believe it. She was alive.

However, she felt as if she had been run over by steamroller several times. Her head throbbed, her body ached, and she couldn't feel her legs. Her chest hurt as well -- she suspected that the man with the baseball bat must have hit her a few times after she had been knocked out.

She tried turning her head and nearly blacked out again with the pain. It took a tremendous amount of effort simply to prevent herself from falling back into blackness.

She opened her eyes a crack and found herself in what appeared to be a hospital bed. Her view was partially obstructed by what appeared to be bandages. Apparently they had covered her head in white wrappings. She wondered if she looked like a mummy.

She tried moving her arms. Those worked. However, she couldn't move her legs. She remembered the fire licking at her legs and had the horrible suspicion that they had been amputated. Gritting her teeth against the agony, she managed to lift her head enough to look down the covers at her feet. Sure enough, her legs were gone. She'd be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life. A wheelchair was better than a hearse, however. She let her head fall back to the pillow.

There were IV's plugged into her arms and enough electronic equipment to make the Death Star look like an Amish settlement. The equipment started beeping as she watched. She suspected that it was alerting the doctors to the fact that she had regained consciousness. Her theory was confirmed seconds later, when no fewer than three people hurried into the room.

Two of them appeared to be doctors. They were dressed in the classic disposable gowns and had stethoscopes and other tools around their necks. The third, however, appeared much different. He appeared to be an older man with a beard and wearing -- of all things -- a robe. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't put her finger on where she'd seen him before.

The three people were arguing with each other. Judging from what she could make of the argument, the man in the suit wanted to do something which the doctors didn't want him to do. The man in the suit was trying to explain that his method was better than the doctors' and that they should trust him. They didn't, however. The argument fell by the wayside as the three people approached her gurney.

The man in the suit stepped forward. "Mrs. Cox? Can you hear me?"

Her voice came out as a croak. "Yes, Doctor. Will I make it?"

The man nodded. "You'll make it. The authorities reached you a couple of minutes after those bastards -- pardon my language -- set you on fire. As far as the car accident went, the driver and the man were taken here as well and are in critical condition. The woman was killed on the spot."

Claire was puzzled for a moment. Accident? What accident? Then she remembered what had happened. She didn't know whether she should be happy or sad that her husband's mistress had been killed. Then again, she couldn't imagine that she could enjoy anyone's death, even someone who could have ruined her marriage.

The man continued. "What exactly happened? They claimed you were a witch and tried to kill you?"

"Yes, Doctor. I had gotten into a fight with the man and the woman involved in the crash. The man was my husband, and the woman was his mistress. I had suspected he had been cheating for a while, so I went over there and confronted them. I started yelling and cursing at both of them. Then this car raced around the corner, blew out a tire, and crashed into them. One of Pitmoss's crazies claimed that I was a witch and that I had ensorceled my husband and the mistress. I was therefore responsible for the crash. Then everything went to hell."

The man shuddered. "It's the Salem witch trials all over again. Once again, intolerant people are attacking innocent people. I thought we had progressed beyond that, but unfortunately we haven't."

She gaped at him. "Muggles. That's a wizard term, if I recall. Are you a wizard, Doctor?"

The man chuckled for a moment.

"Yes, Mrs. Cox. My name is Travis Radner. I'm the United States Secretary of Magic. I'm the highest-ranking wizard in the country. When I heard that religious fanatics had attacked someone who was believed to be a wizard, I headed over here as fast as I could. We don't need another Salem. As far being a doctor goes, I do in fact have a doctorate, but it's not in a field you'd be familiar with."

Claire grunted in surprise. So that's where she'd seen him before. He'd appeared on a few television broadcasts over the past month with President Clinton. "Pleased to meet you, Secretary Radner. I must admit, I've been intrigued by your community. I've always liked fantasy novels: Robert Jordan, J. R. R. Tolkien, Ursula --"

Radner rolled his eyes. "Those are fantasy worlds, Mrs. Cox. Real Wizarding communities don't --"

Then it hit him. "Merlin's beard! You must be a Muggle! That makes a lot of sense, come to think of it. Real witches would have been able to escape from the predicament you were in, and do so in public now that the Statute of Secrecy is gone. In a sense, that makes it even worse than the Salem witch trials. During the witch trials, most of the victims were in fact witches who were unable to defend themselves due to the Statute of Secrecy. If people are pointing fingers at Muggles and calling them witches the number of possible victims increases drastically. I'm going to have to talk to the president about this. Who exactly is this Pitmoss fellow? Is he a member of a gang?"

Claire explained. "He's an evil man, Secretary Radner. Stephen Pitmoss is the pastor of the Church of the Right Wing. Imagine a version of Fred Phelps who is not averse to violence. He is involved with a group called America for Humans [formerly Muggles] which is basically a white-supremacist organization whose platform is based on the destruction of wizards. He's got at least one KKK guy in the fold. I remembered four of the attackers: a guy with an Aryan Nation shirt, one with a crowbar, one with a baseball bat, and one with a KKK robe and a torch."

The blood drained from Radner's face at this. "I need to bring this up with the president. This man has to be stopped for all our sakes."

"I fully agree with you, Secretary Radner. If there's anything I can do to help, I will. I need something to live for now that my husband has proven to be untrustworthy."

Radner thought for a moment and nodded. "That is most gracious of you, Mrs. Cox. I can already tell you that the news stations will all be talking about this attack tomorrow morning. If you'd be willing to come with me and give interviews, you will likely get us a strong sympathy vote. You'll probably be a household name by this time tomorrow evening."

Claire nodded. "I'm up for that. I'm a Christian -- or at least try to be -- and believe that it's my duty to do what I can for the community, especially if it involves saving lives. Considering I was attacked by a mob and tied to a wooden object to suffer, it's almost as if I endured my own crucifixion and returned to help mankind."

Radner smiled at her. "That would be most appreciated. However, you're not going to be able to do much given all these injuries. I believe I may be able to help you somewhat in that regard."

At this point the doctors immediately started yelling at him again. He just glared at them and said, "Watch. You might learn something."

He turned back to Claire. "I believe I can use magic to help heal your injuries. The Pope reported that good wizards exist and that the doctrine arguing that witches should be killed does not always apply and needs to be taken in context. Would your religious beliefs permit me to try to heal you with magic?"

Claire nodded. "It's being done for a good cause, so I guess it's OK. Jesus would have likely approved."

Radner took out his wand, and the two doctors looked at it like it was a poisonous snake. "Thank you. Now, hold still for a minute, and let me work on you."

The wizard spent the next few minutes going over the injuries with the doctors and nodding. When he understood what exactly needed to be done, he turned to her, pointed the wand at several parts of her body, and spoke some arcane words.

What happened next truly amazed her. The pain began to fade all over her body. What was even more astonishing was the fact that she could see her legs starting to be regrown! At the rate things were going, it would take them a few hours to regrow completely. But she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

Radner inspected his handiwork one last time and nodded. "That ought to do it it, Mrs. Cox. You should be good as new in a couple of days or so, at which point the doctors should look you over one last time and let you out of the hospital if there aren't any other problems."

Claire squealed. "Thank you so much! Perhaps Jesus sent you to help us! Perhaps God Himself did so!"

Radner smiled. "I'm afraid I cannot comment on questions of a religious nature. The world of the divine is as obscured to wizards as it is to Muggles."

The doctors meanwhile, were staring at Radner. Specifically, at his wand. Slowly, timidly, one of them pointed at the wand.

"Secretary Radner, I apologize for doubting your abilities. Is there anything you can do for some of the other people in this ward?"

Radner nodded. "I don't have much time, Doctor, but I'll see what I can do. I'll check on the two survivors of the accident, though."

The doctor who had spoken up nodded. "That would be most appreciated, though. Oh and one more thing."

"What's that?"

The doctor pointed at the wand. "Where can I get one of those?"

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Update #66
------------
Friday, February 28, 1996
169 South Street, Apt. 1
Waltham, Massachusetts
United States of America
------------
Three or four months ago, I would have been absolutely certain that I would eventually continue on to complete my Ph.D at Brandeis University. However, everything had changed when I stumbled across a high-school classmate of mine crossing the train tracks near the university. He had come in on the commuter rail and asked me to drive him down the street to his office. He also happened to mention that they were hiring. I'd never heard of the company before, but I interviewed. Sure enough, they offered me a job. I wound up leaving Brandeis after the Master's and started a career as a software engineer.

I've always liked programming. However, I soon discovered that being forced to do what you like for a job tended to take the fun out of things. I had the impression that I was good at what I did, however. At the very least, I was good enough to not be thrown out the door immediately after one month.

I've always had other interests as well: astronomy, Scrabble, science fiction/fantasy, and so forth. Had I found out that MIT had a meteorology program a few years earlier, I'd have become a meteorologist. I've often wondered what life would have been like had events turned out differently: I become a meteorologist, I choose astronomy over computer science, I don't run into Aaron on the train tracks, and so forth.

I've always liked to write stories and humorous parodies. I wrote lots of (albeit bad) stories when I was a child, and I satirized the perceived extreme rigidity of my high school in a longer story.

Had someone told me that in an alternate universe I would be posting timelines about wizards and cloned Jedi Knights on the Internet, I would have figured it was plausible as long as I didn't do it for a career. I may be a good writer, but I'm not THAT good.
-----------
The wizards, of course, were the talk of the office, as they were everywhere else. I personally hadn't noticed the teenager on the broomstick, primarily because I had been in the bathroom at the time the Blast Cola commercial had supposedly been aired. But the effects of that commercial were still echoing around the world.

Matt, inevitably, attracted attention. He'd been involved with various live-action role playing communities even before the Super Bowl. Throw in the fact that he looked like a Tolkien elf and the fact that his LARP group was based out of MIT, and he was constantly being badgered for interviews. Was he an elf? Was he not an elf? Was he a wizard? He kept on explaining that he was neither an elf nor a wizard and wanted to just get back to work.

Of course, the reporters naturally assumed that he was a wizard but wanted to keep it private. So, they kept on interviewing him, hoping he would confess. Inevitably, Sorcerer Meeks -- from the I-Entry tour fame -- had made a special trip out to Parametric to check on Matt. Sure enough, he was a Muggle. Matt had then thanked Sorcerer Meeks profusely and called on security to escort the reporters out the door for good.

Inevitably, the interviewers got around to me. It had only been a matter of time, I suppose. I worked for Matt, and Matt had been a suspected wizard. I had told them that although I had seen that painted I between H- and J-Entry in MacGregor, I had always figured it had been some kind of hack or joke hadn't take much notice of it. I only used it to keep track of where H-Entry ended and J-Entry began.

In all fairness, I was astounded when word came out that there was a witch in Russian House. I had had many friends from Russian House when I was at MIT, which prompted even further questions. No, I had no idea who the person was. For all I knew, she was from the class of '98 or '99, so she would have arrived after I left. Furthermore, had I known that she was a witch, I probably would not have outed her without her express permission.

I had heard rumors that the MIT Science Fiction Library, on the fourth floor of the Student Center, had been virtually ransacked by the wizards. The wizards had browsed through several of the books using "unusual" methods and had been horrified at what the Muggles thought wizards could, or would, do. Wizards couldn't travel into the Astral Plane (Dungeons and Dragons), live forever (the Belgariad), or create rifts in space and time (Riftwar saga). Although they admitted that it was possible to travel through time, like Raistlin did in several of the Dragonlance books), it was extremely dangerous and should never be done due to the risks of time paradoxes.

The Raistlin depiction was also wrong in that the wizards never injured or mutilated people who wished to study advanced magic. Advanced Wizarding schools were very strict on discipline and careful as to whom they admitted. They also reminded candidates that although they may be powerful, they were not gods and never would be. The teachers didn't need to maim the students to mind them of their mortality.

The wizards supposedly had a field day with the Death Gate Cycle. Wizards were not mutant humans created in nuclear accidents. They were just ordinary humans with unusual abilities. Half of the wizards were not evil -- less than 1% were, about the same rate as in the ordinary Muggle population. The wizards had nowhere near the power necessary to destroy the Earth and use the debris to create six worlds. And even if they did, they would never use it! Finally, there were no such things as "dwarves". The creatures the Muggles believed to be dwarves were likely goblins.

Needless to say, the MIT Science Fiction Society wasn't happy. They were even less happy a few days after the I-Entry tour when the proprietor woke up and found that many of the sword-and-sorcery books were gone and had been replaced by things like the Tales of Beedle the Bard. The new books, the wizards argued, would allow Muggles a more realistic view of a wizard and his abilities.

I've still got a couple of the "forbidden books" in my apartment. I don't see how they can hurt, to be honest with you. They're fantasy, not real life. We'll learn about what the wizards can actually do soon enough. Most real spies don't act like James Bond, right? A real James Bond would have likely been shot by a sniper in Dr. No and terminated the series there and then.
----------------
I was absolutely horrified when I saw the news this morning. I had hoped that society had learned from the Salem witch trials, and I suspected that part of the reason the wizards had isolated themselves from the Muggles was because of pogroms like those. Unfortunately, that was not the case.

The President and Secretary Radner had issued a statement declaring America for Humans to be a terrorist organization. I wouldn't go so far as to call them terrorists -- they weren't like al-Qaeda or the IRA. However, they should definitely be watched, much like the KKK and other hate groups. If they start attacking people on a regular basis, then they should be placed on the terrorism lists. Until that, we can hope this was just an isolated incident.

Unfortunately, I've seen all too well what religious people can do in the name of God. I went to a religious high school myself, and one teacher -- who will remain nameless -- remarked that the recent 1987 Loma Prieta earthquake was God punishing all the gays in San Francisco. He had said this with a straight face. I was absolutely horrified and told my parents. They informed a friend of the family who was a clergyman, and the clergyman preached against the teacher from the pulpit in his next sermon.

How is it that people can kill in God's name? If the other two Abrahamic faiths' holy books are like the one I'm familiar with, God does not want people to kill each other. If that's the case, how can someone kill someone else and consider himself to be doing God's work?

I'm very curious how Samuel is going to figure into this. The discovery that Samuel had survived as a ghost had shocked the entire religious community, both at MIT and at Brandeis. Many people, expecting to see some powerful lawgiver like Moses with the flowing hair and beard, were a bit surprised when they found that Samuel had been a thin, bald ascetic with a mustache and short beard. If you think about it, though, isn't that what you'd expect a prophet or seer to be like? An ascetic, hermit, or both?

They had been even more surprised to realize that he couldn't talk to anyone without an interpreter, as the last people to speak his language had died out about seven hundred years before the time of Christ. Supposedly Hebrew and Arabic speakers could get snippets here there of his speech. However, he had a very strange accent: the letter Vav was pronounced as a W, Tet was pronounced as TH, and sometimes the letter 'Ayin was pronounced as G. The latter explained place names like Gaza and Gomorrah, which were written with 'Ayins and pronounced "Aza" and "Amorrah" nowadays. Apparently the 'Ayin-as-G variation had died out over time. Linguists were supposedly falling over themselves trying to talk to him.

Channel 4 has reported that Samuel has not yet issued a statement on the Cox lynching. There are two possibilities running around: Samuel had gone back to the ghost world and had not returned, or -- more disturbingly -- he wasn't sure whether to support or condemn the attack. I suspect that Samuel is waiting to hear back through the Wizarding grapevine that Cox was in fact a Muggle and not a witch who had intentionally hexed two of the victims. If that is the case, I suspect he will eventually condemn the attack. I sure hope he does, however.

A few of the Brandeis undergrads have told me that there's going to be a meeting of Islamic, Jewish, and Christian students in the Sherman Auditorium to discuss the ramifications of Samuel's implication that all three Abrahamic faiths are considered equivalent. It's going to be tomorrow night, the 29th, at 7:30. Rumors have it that there's going to be a discussion about ways to mend the barriers have that risen between the three siblings over the past fifteen hundred years. That would be a good thing to see, in my opinion. I doubt we'll be able to get it done before the end of the century, or perhaps even in my lifetime. But it's a start.

I hope the Orthodox Jewish community will show up -- I still remember how a popular religious Brandeis girl named Alisa Flatow was killed in a terrorist attack in Israel while studying abroad. I had still been in grad school at the time and had been friends with several undergrad seniors who had known Alisa. If the Orthodox are able to bury the hatchet over this it will be a very good sign. Blood feuds are never pretty. I distinctly remember having to talk one grieving friend out of looking for revenge: "what good will that do? It won't bring her back, and it will just make things worse". They've never seemed all that keen on having witches running around to this point -- let's hope they'll do the right thing here.

Enough for now -- I have to go to work.
---------------------------------------------
OOC -- Yes, these are all real people. Aaron was my mentor at my company for four years, after which I left and went to where I am today. Matt DOES look like Legolas (he's actually a BRILLIANT software engineer).

Unfortunately, the story about the teacher and the earthquake is also true. Rest assured that is a minority opinion. A small minority, I hope. The Alisa Flatow incident also, unfortunately, took place. I believe her family donated her organs to science or hospitals. Ironically, I may have actually MET Alisa at a party in 1995, but I don't remember the details. All I remember is a clique member named Alisa I never saw again.

The Russian House witch is also a real person. She is obviously not a sorceress (as far as WE know!). However, supposedly she has some Wiccan traditions. No, I'm not telling you her name. I have reason to believe that I was not supposed to know, and a mutual friend at the time told me about five years later. As a result, I'm keeping her anonymous.

As far as Samuel's accent goes, it is believed that Hebrew had a Ghayin letter, just like Arabic. Ghayin and 'Ayin used the same symbol (to this day, the Hebrew letter Pay is used for both P and F with the difference only being a dot). Ghayin has since dropped out of Hebrew, replaced with 'Ayin. Teth was transliterated into Greek as Theta, and Arabic still has the Vav pronounced as W.

To be continued...
--------------
Update #67
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Saturday, February 29, 1996
Westboro Park
Westboro, Kansas
United States of America
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Joe Pullman and the rest of the Kansas Highway Patrol officers were loaded for bear. Joe himself had managed to scrounge up a few tear gas bombs, some rubber bullets, and a full-body Kevlar suit. Yet he had a suspicion that even that wouldn't be enough if everything went south. If that was the case, he and his thirty friends would have a lot of work to do.

The order had come down less than 24 hours after the attack on Claire Cox. Secretary Radner, determined to show the people of Westboro that witches weren't the terrifying creatures depicted in movies and books, had asked Morgan Dresden, chairman of the Chicago Wizardry Institute, to visit Westboro and speak to the populace.

Dresden was the man in charge of the North Central region of the American Department of Magic. There were seven regional offices of the Department of Magic: Fourth Mesa (protected by invisibility, for Southwest), Mount St. Helens (protected by very realistic-looking volcanic eruptions, for the Northwest), the Chicago Wizardry Institute (protected by invisibility, for North Central), the Big Thicket Swamp Facility (hidden in the swamps of the Big Thicket National Preserve, for the South Central), the central facility in the Four Towns (underwater, for the Northeast), a facility in the Ocala National Forest in central Florida (protected by a spell which caused Muggle intruders to become lost and head for home, for the Southeast), and the Smoky Mountains Facility (protected by virtually impenetrable terrain, for the Mid-Atlantic).

Joe had been told that Dresden was an extremely accomplished wizard. Prior to the Super Bowl Breach, when the Statute of Secrecy had still been in effect, he had once captured Jim Butcher, a Muggle from Missouri who had managed to stumble across a CWI satellite office. He had just been about to Obliviate Butcher when Butcher somehow managed to convince him that the few CWI operations the Muggle had stumbled across would make good fantasy novels. Dresden had relented and modified the man's memories so that the they were completely garbled, given a fantasy twist, and had no references to the CWI. Joe wondered how many other fantasy series were actually due to wizards messing with Muggle memories.

Dresden's accomplishments, however, weren't going to do much good in a situation like this. Since the entire purpose of this meeting was to improve public relations between wizards and Muggles, Joe had been told that Dresden would not use magic in a position which could hurt Muggles, even in self-defense. Hence the assistance of the Kansas Highway Patrol.

Dresden had hoped to give his talk at the foot of the half-burned tree which had nearly been the site of Claire Cox's death. However, Joe's superiors turned him down, explaining that it would be too cold to have a big public gathering outside this time of year. Furthermore, holding the talk inside a school auditorium would be much easier in terms of security. Dresden had relented and allowed the talk to be moved inside.

Looking around at the auditorium, however, Joe wondered whether having the talk inside had been a good idea after all. Judging by the number of people who were trying to crowd into the room, the crowd was approaching the maximum occupancy limit. He barked a few orders into his microphone, and KHP officers started heading towards the front door to ward away additional guests. Some of the guests argued with the officers, but nothing happened. Apparently the site of three men dressed in full riot gear managed to scare them off.

It took half an hour for everyone to file into the room and take their seats. Joe took advantage of the delay to install a bulletproof shield at the front of the stage in the auditorium. If anyone was going to take out Dresden, he'd need something on the order of an full machine gun. Given the security, the guests would be lucky to bring a set of nail clippers into the facility.

Eventually, everything with all set. Joe took last look around the room, saw that everything was to his satisfaction, and nodded to the mayor. The mayor took a deep breath and walked onto the stage. The crowd applauded and fell silent when the mayor raised his hand and began speaking.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to this emergency meeting. I apologize for the short notice, but in the light of recent events it's important that something be done as quickly as possible to prevent additional incidents.

"As most of you are aware, our fair city was recently the site of a terrible hate crime. A fundamentalist group known as America for Humans recently accused someone of witchcraft, tied her to a tree, and began burning her like they did in times of old. Had the authorities responded less quickly, or had the damage not been delayed by the snow and cold temperatures, the victim would not have survived. As it was, she was rushed to the hospital, where the doctors were forced to amputate her legs and perform several hours of emergency surgery."

The mayor gestured offstage for the next guest. "The doctors had removed her legs, convinced that nothing known to science would be able to save them. That was, however, before they met Travis Radner, the Secretary of Magic, who had visited the hospital as soon as he had learned of the incident.

"Secretary Radner realized that the doctors had been partially incorrect when it came to the victim's legs. Although he admitted that there had been no way to save her legs from being amputated, he told the doctors that he knew a spell which would allow the victim to regrow her legs from their stumps."

The crowd gasped at this. Most people applauded. However, Joe heard a few grunts and jeers. Uh-oh, he thought. He immediately scanned the audience for the troublemakers. They were easy to identify, as it turned out: they were wearing America for Humans T-shirts.

The mayor paid little attention however. "Yes, I can understand. It sounds too good to be true. However, we can prove that this in fact happened. Allow me to introduce Claire Cox and Chairman Dresden!"

The crowd began talking excitedly amongst itself as two new people came onstage. One of them was clearly Claire Cox, sitting in a wheelchair. Both of her legs were clearly visible, much to everyone's amazement. Behind the wheelchair was a tall, bearded man wearing a garish green robe and holding a small rod in his right hand.

The wheelchair was moving by its own accord. Joe nearly dropped his billy club in astonishment. The robed man was not physically touching it, yet it was still moving. What's more, he managed to turn the wheelchair around a corner without touching it either, something which supposedly defied the laws of physics.

Dresden's left hand was wearing a glove and busy with a long, black and brown object. It looked like a burned branch or something like that. The crowd suddenly gasped once more and began pointing at it. Then it came to him and he swore in amazement.

The wizard was holding one of Claire Cox's amputated legs. It was incontrovertible proof that Claire had suddenly grown at least one more leg. That would make three legs, if Joe's count was accurate.

Dresden pushed the wheelchair to the center of the stage, shook the mayor's hand, and then bent down to place the burned leg next to one of Claire's. It was obvious that they had come from the same person. Despite the fire damage, they looked identical.

Joe took a hard look at the America for Humans representatives. They looked to be absolutely beside themselves and had no idea what to do. He couldn't tell if they were convinced that the wizards could do good as well as harm or whether they'd been cowed into submission by an actual display of magic.

He turned back to the crowd as a whole. Several people were in tears, talking about Jesus and miracles. One of the people near him was discussing how the doctors had discussed Claire's healing in the lunchroom the next day and had spread the story far and wide. Another person claimed that he had been visited by Radner shortly after he had finished healing Claire and had watched in amazement as the wizard had mended his broken arm.

Dresden tried to speak but couldn't get a word in edgewise. He shrugged off the mayor's request, pointed his wand at his throat, and muttered the word "Sonorus". When he spoke again, it was at a volume high enough to be audible in the front row of a Garth Brooks concert performed during a NASCAR race.

"Good afternoon. My name is Morgan Dresden. I'm a wizard from the Chicago Wizarding Institute."

The audience's conversation was silenced immediately by the booming voice. Talk about making an impact, Joe thought. The wizard nodded, pointed his wand to his throat again, and said "Quietus". He then continued in his normal voice.

"I've come here to dispel some myths that seem to be circulating about wizards in your community. Misunderstanding can be a big problem when it comes to wizard/Muggle relations. The Salem witch trials of 1692 were a result of a misunderstanding, and we know how that worked out. Part of the reason for the old Statute of Secrecy was to make sure that we wizards weren't attacked by your people because of things that one or two bad apples might have done."

One of the America for Humans members spoke up. "Why should we trust you? You're in league with the devil!"

Dresden shook his head. "That's one of the misunderstandings. We are people, just like you are. We just happen to have some unusual abilities. Some people have the ability to run a four-minute mile. Some people have the ability to become grandmasters in chess. And some people have the ability to cast magic spells."

"But magic is a tool of the devil!"

Dresden rolled his eyes. "Have you ever met any devils before, sir?"

The America for Humans man gaped momentarily but soon regained control. "I don't THINK so, but..."

Dresden hammered his point home. "If you haven't met any devils, where is your evidence that devils use magic?"

The crowd applauded for a moment, after which the America for Human said, "Because God told us!"

Dresden looked at him intently. "Has God spoken to you?"

"Yes! He speaks to me every day! He tells me you're a devil!"

Dresden thought for a moment and bent over to talk to Claire for a moment. She nodded, and he removed one of her necklaces. He held it in before him, in clear view of the crowd.

It had a crucifix on it.

Dresden pointed at the necklace. "If I am a devil, why am I not being burned by holding the symbol of the Savior?"

The America for Humans man floundered for a moment. It was obvious he was in over his head. Eventually, he croaked out a response. "You're a wizard! You're suppressing the pain with magic!"

Dresden didn't buy it. "According to your tradition, this crucifix has the power of God behind it. Certainly a punishment from God would be stronger than anything a human wizard, such as I, would be able to do to stop it. Don't you agree?"

Th America for Humans man just stared at him, slack-jawed. Joe grinned. It seemed that Dresden had the crowd well in hand. It looked like his services wouldn't be needed after all.

To be continued...
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Update #68
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Sunday, March 1, 1996
Seoul Ancestral Wizarding Shrine
Seoul
South Korea
NEXT PoV: Pitmoss
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Choi Yeun stared at the Director in shock. "What do you mean, sir? What do you mean, you won't do it?"

The Director shook his head firmly. "Kim Jong-Il is a Muggle leader, madame. It would not be appropriate to interfere with Muggle governments."

"But he's been oppressing everyone! Now that we can cast spells in the open, we can overthrow him!"

"We are wizards, madame. We are not assassins. Now that the Statute of Secrecy is no longer in force, we have been able to help improve the quality of life here in the South. The trains are running more on time, and the quality of the roads has increased. We have no jurisdiction up in the North."

"But --"

The Director cut her off. "Furthermore, a case where a wizard assassinated a Muggle ruler in another country will set a dangerous precedent, particularly if the attack was unprovoked. Wizards everywhere will start attacking politicians they don't like, causing worldwide chaos and war. You know the power we wizards can wield. Imagine this power in the hands of a terrorist. Imagine every national capital attacked by dragons. The Seoul Ancestral Wizarding Shrine refuses to take the responsibility for such a grave threat."

Choi Yeun tried another tack. "You must remember that I told you that Kim Jong-Il is thinking of militarizing the wizards. That's why I came here. At the very least, you've got to stop that, or at least counter his wizards."

The Director nodded. "I believe you. Unfortunately, we have no proof yet. The best we can do is prepare our defenses for a possible invasion, and do so quietly. Thanks to you, we know what we're up against at least."

She stared at him, aghast. "You can't send a black ops team in there and take out the wizards that join up with him?"

"No, madame. Our standing orders include a firm prohibition against any magical first strike. We can only move against the North if we subjected to a magical attack or if there is a serious magical threat to the country as a whole which cannot be handled by the regular army. Until then, we must wait until we are fired upon, so to speak."

Choi Yeun threw her hands up in the air. "I don't believe this. I come all the way down here, risking my life and that of my apprentice, to warn you that the North is militarizing its wizards, and all you're going to do is do some behind the scenes preparation and take a wait and see attitude?"

The Director nodded. "I'm afraid so, madame. Orders are orders. Rest assured, though, we will try to look over our defense plans and update some of our old military exercises. Trust me, your trip was not in vain."

Choi Yeun groaned. "I hope not. Otherwise, I'll be really disappointed."

The Director grinned. "Trust me, you won't be. Especially after I offer you asylum in South Korea. That is the least we can do for your troubles."

She stared at him. "You're allowing me to defect along with my apprentice?"

"Yes, madame. Both of you are welcome to stay in South Korea. You will be able to serve in our Wizarding corps, and he will be able to join you once he reaches full wizard status."

To the Director's surprise, she nearly broke down crying. "I'd love to stay, and I can tell you that Mr. Wong would like to as well. Unfortunately, I'm not sure we can. The overseer is going to be looking for us and is going to get a bit suspicious when we don't come back. Furthermore, life on my farm would go completely down the tubes unless we came back. Were it not for my magical labor-saving practices, the peasants would be working almost 16 hours per day."

The Director nodded. "I'm aware of that. How about going back, faking your deaths, and returning? We'll send two of our people up to join your farm. They'll serve as spies and be able to help with your work if need be."

Choi Yeun stared at him. "Fake our deaths?"

"Yes, madame. Have you ever heard of the Geminio spell?"

She frowned. "I can't say that I have, sir."

"It's a simple charm which allows you to duplicate an object. Allow me to demonstrate."

The Director place a spellbook in front of him. He pointed his wand at the book and shouted "Geminio". A second spellbook materialized next to it. It looked like an exact duplicate of the first. Fascinated, Choi Yeun picked it up and began rifling through the pages. As far as she can could tell, it was an exact copy.

She didn't see how it helped, though. Turning back to the Director, she said, "Impressive spell. But how would it help us here?"

The Director grinned. "When Geminio is cast on a human being, a nonliving clone body is created. It will eventually decay, but as long as it's there it will look and act just like a corpse. You two clone each other, make it so the clone bodies looked like they "died" in accidents, and then Apparate out of there. Any Muggle who came in would think that you had perished in the accident and not defected. You'll have covered your tracks pretty well."

Choi Yeun chuckled. "That might actually work. And the extra work that we would have needed from the farm -- "

The Director finished the sentence. " -- will be handled by the spies. You'll make a quick getaway, just as you hoped."

She smiled. She may not have gotten everything she'd hoped for, but the defection was a good consolation prize. "I'm definitely going to go for that. I'll the apprentice. Which reminds me -- do you have a school for apprentice wizards that he can join?"

The Director hesitated for a moment. "Yes and no, madame. We do indeed have a school for apprentice wizards. Unfortunately, it is for younger wizards, teenagers for the most part. Your apprentice is a grown man and will likely not feel comfortable with it."

Choi Yeun shook her head. "I think he'll be fine with it."

"Perhaps, madame. However, there is a more serious issue. From what we can tell, he is a bit...odd."

She took the words right out of his mouth. "His ability to cast spells but not see magical objects doesn't seem to make sense."

"Correct, madame. The inability to see what he casts will be problematic, and none of the teachers are willing to teach him. I hope you know what you're doing. In the meantime, we've run a few tests on him. In some cases, he registers as a wizard. In others, he registers as a Muggle."

She stared at him. "How could that be? Could he be a Squib?"

"No, madame. Squibs cannot cast spells. Your apprentice can."

"Then what is he?"

The Director frowned. "I honestly don't know. No one here has seen anything like this before. Were his parents wizards?"

Choi Yeun shook her head. "He doesn't think so. They were just farmers. He nearly fell over when he found out he could summon magic -- he thought he was an ordinary farmer as well."

"In that case, he could be a weak Muggle-born wizard, but that still doesn't explain the imbalance between the seeing and casting as strength in magic normally affects both seeing and casting. The only thing I can think of is that he is some hybrid between Muggles and wizards which has never been encountered before. For all we know, the Muggle population may be crawling with them. We never knew about them because the tests which searched for candidates for the Wizarding schools registered them as Muggles. It's going to be an interesting thing to research now that the Wizarding world has been exposed to the Muggles. Do you know of any others like him?"

She shook her head. "No, sir. However, I don't know much outside my farm."

"What about his parents? Did you talk to his parents?"

"I'm afraid not, sir. They're both dead, sir."

"What about his siblings?"

"His sister is a straight Muggle."

The Director paused once more. "I think we should get some scientists to run genetic tests on him. Perhaps this will tell us something about what makes a wizard tick. However, don't worry about that for now. As far you're concerned, you should spend the next few hours relaxing and preparing yourself to go back to your farm and clone yourself. I'll send someone to teach you and your apprentice the spell in a few minutes."

Choi Yeun nodded. "Thank you, sir. Your help will be most appreciated."

The Director shook his head. "No, madame. Thank you for alerting us to the change in the North and introducing us to your most unusual apprentice."

To be continued...
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Update #69 [sorry, Xandrel -- it's a Pitmoss talk: I apologize for portraying a fanatic...]
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Sunday, March 1, 1996
Church of the Right Wing
Westboro, Kansas
United States of America
NEXT PoV: Fred Phelps
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Patrick Dursley-Burgess had mixed feelings as he entered the church. On the one hand, he was happy that America for Humans had gotten bold enough to come in the open and actually go ahead and attack someone for being a witch. The group's popularity -- and notoriety -- had increased as more people found out about the witches. Had it not been for the snow and the quick response of the authorities, the victim would probably have found herself on the doorstep of Hell.

He was more than disturbed, however, by the fact that the victim had turned out not to be a witch. The attackers had killed an innocent, God-fearing person. Not only that, the victim had apparently been a Christian -- she had been wearing a crucifix around her neck. Patrick knew God, however, and was fairly certain that He would have not approved of this action.

He looked up at the ceiling of the church. Forgive me, Almighty. Unlike You, we are only human. At the time, we were convinced that she was a witch. I know that You forgive sins. I promise you, My Lord, that I will atone for this transgression by burning a witch in Your name. May Thy will be done. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

His prayer finished, he settled into his near the front of the congregation. He had spoken with Reverend Pitmoss early this morning, and the preacher had told him that he had a most interesting sermon planned for today. Patrick hoped so. America for Humans had gotten some very bad press -- undoubtedly God punishing the faithful for attacking a Christian. Patrick couldn't get the sight of the demon holding the crucifix out of his head. Was that a sign from God? The demon, as a representative of Hell, was going to turn the tables on the faithful and take hold of a Christian like himself? Patrick sure hoped not. Then again, he wasn't a minister. He wouldn't know for certain.

The church was packed. Patrick recognized most of the regulars. However, there were people he'd never seen before -- and a lot of them. There were several well-built men who looked like undercover officers in the crowd. One heavily tattooed man with a PULLMAN nameplate stood near him. There were a few reporters and television cameras as well. He suspected that these people had been tipped off that Stephen was going to have an interesting sermon and wanted to see what was going on...or interfere.

It was easy to figure out when the sermon was going to start. Everyone sat down and the lights above the television cameras all flickered on in unison. The crowd looked like it was about to erupt. Patrick kicked himself for not bringing his pistol. Granted, he didn't think it was appropriate for someone to bring a weapon into a house of God. But what would he do if his life was in danger?

On the other hand, perhaps nothing would happen. He put his Bible on the pew next to him and looked up at Reverend Pitmoss. The preacher had a troubled look on his face, one which was quite unusual for him.

Pitmoss looked down at his notes and began. "Good afternoon, my fellow believers, and welcome to the Church of the Right Wing. It's a new month on the calendar, one in which momentous events will likely be happening. Momentous indeed, my friends. I pray that we survive this. For, as far as I can tell, we have entered the End Times. I suspect that if the Rapture has occurred, none of us warranted a quick exit which would have allowed us to avoid the seven troubling years ahead."

Patrick gaped at him for a moment. Well, well, well. It looks like he finally realized something that Patrick had thought of a while back. One of these wizards was the Antichrist. The question was: who? Radner? He had mixed feelings about this. He was happy that his idea seemed to have support. On the other hand, he wasn't particularly happy to think that the world was going to completely fall apart. He knew that Jesus would return in seven years -- but it wouldn't do Patrick much good if Patrick didn't last until the Second Coming. Patrick firmly believed that he was a good Christian and that he'd make it through the Tribulation. However, he didn't know for certain.

The preacher continued. "It is now fairly certain that we are seeing the first divisions of the Evil One's army. Magic, my friends, is the mark of the beast. God certainly doesn't like it -- he said to kill witches. It's in the Bible. Look it up yourselves if you don't believe me.

"We have already started trying to kill witches in His name. Unfortunately, I must freely acknowledge that the last one we tried to kill, Ms. Claire Cox, had in fact not been a witch, though she had seemed to be a witch at the time. I trust that God understands our motives and will not punish us for making an all-too-human mistake.

"You may be interested to know that Claire Cox survived the attack -- let's all thank God for that!"

A resounding "Amen" echoed through the room. Pitmoss continued:

"However, I still believe we need to pray for her. You see, she allowed one of these so-called wizards to heal her and regrow her amputated legs. Let us hope that this poor woman did not sell her soul to the devil in order to regain the ability to walk. Let's all ask God to exorcise the spirit of the wizard from the poor victim's body, leaving her a healthy pair of legs without the taint of Satan."

The crowd prayed for a moment. When they were done, Pitmoss resumed his speech. "I've told you for several weeks now that these witches are not to be trusted. The research I've done over the last few days, however, has firmly convinced me that we should redouble our efforts against them. You see, I am absolutely convinced that the End Times have come and that the Antichrist has arrived -- or is about to arrive."

He opened up his Bible. "I've got here a list of signs that indicate the Antichrist is about to arrive. Let's go through them one by one, shall we?"

Pitmoss held up one finger. "ONE: The Antichrist will appear at a time when catastrophic events are overtaking the Earth". Ever heard of global warming, my friends? Lots of floods and hurricanes. Running out of oil and other fossil fuels. Battles in the Holy Land won't help, either.

He continued his enumeration. "TWO: The global economy will be immediately effected by the preliminary events of Revelation". I'd say fights over oil is a good preliminary event, is it not? Especially since running out of oil is going to be bad for the human race.

"THREE: The world's superpower will cease to function as the world's economic center". We're the world's superpower. You and I both know that. But what do we do? Export all our jobs to places like Mexico and China. I suspect that we're on the verge of losing our superpower status.

"FOUR: The Antichrist will replace free-market capitalism with a single economic system connected with the Mark of the Beast". My friends, I have discovered that these so-called wizards use special coins called Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. No wizards will accept the good American greenback as currency. If the wizards take over the world, we'll be forced to use these Galleons. That's bad."

"FIVE: The Antichrist will establish a single, mandatory religious system". This one I'm not sure about yet. However, I'm working on it. I'm fairly certain I'll find the answer within a few weeks or so."

Pitmoss paused for effect. Patrick looked around the crowd and saw that the words were hitting home. The preacher seemed to be making a good case.

"SIX: The Antichrist will be aided by the False Prophet, a spiritual leader, possibly from Rome, who will lead the world to worship the Antichrist". I think we know who that is, my friends. Don't we, Secretary Radner? Yes, Secretary Radner is the False Prophet. He's trying to convince everyone to start working with wizards. He's even managed to get himself into position to ensorcel the President!"

Pitmoss started waving his hands excitedly. "Think about it. You have no idea who this Radner was one month ago. Don't you find it odd that there happened to be a Secretary of Magic which we hadn't known about? Use your heads, people. There IS no Secretary of Magic. You know the government. I know the government. Where's the Department of Magic? Underwater? Nice try, Satan. Of course we have to take that on faith as we can't get down there to check it out! This Radner is the False Prophet, whom Satan has sent to lay the groundwork for the Tribulation. He's got one of the marks of the beast -- magic. What else can you ask for? And if that's not bad enough, he's gotten pretty popular!"

He raised his hands and pointed them at the crowd. "How much would you be willing to bet that dear old Radner had an aunt or uncle from Rome?"

The people muttered to each other about that. The man with the PULLMAN nameplate frowned and shook his head slowly. However, he didn't interfere. Looking around the room, Patrick noticed that most people were expecting Radner to have a Roman aunt or uncle -- or possibly a relative in Rome, New York. Either one would probably fulfill the prophecy. This was a really good speech, he thought.

Pitmoss paused for a moment to let everything sink in. "Ladies and gentlemen, we know Radner's supposedly a powerful wizard. Yet we now know he's the False Prophet. If he's that powerful, can you imagine what the Antichrist himself is going to be like? Just think about it. I'm imagining an extremely powerful wizard with the mannerisms of a serpent, the ancient representation of Satan. Someone who will rise to power out of obscurity -- convenient, that Statute of Secrecy -- be killed by the authorities, and return with even more power -- this time, the power of Satan himself. Someone who has the Ten Kings underneath him, a group of wizards who will do anything for their evil master. Mark my words, my friends. If you find a wizard with a noble title such as King or Lord, we've got our man. Especially if he claims that he can't be killed and will live forever.

"Some of you may be scared of what I've just revealed. That is quite understandable, my flock. However, you need not be worried. All we have to do is obey the word of God, exterminate the witches, and we'll be fine. If we're really lucky, the Rapture is still ongoing, with people being taken slowly over the span of a few days. Do you realize that killing a few witches in the next few days may be enough to allow you to not have to face the Tribulation?"

Pitmoss gestured to crowd. "Go ahead! Join our crusade and go after these evil witches! If you find a witch, make sure to burn him or her. And make sure the person's a witch first!"

The crowd roared. Patrick punched his fist excitedly. Meanwhile, Mr. Pullman put his hand to his face in absolute horror.

To be continued...
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Update #70
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Sunday, March 1, 1996
Westboro Baptist Church -- Fred Phelps, Pastor
Westboro, Kansas
United States of America
NEXT PoV: Chief Operating Officer (formerly Overseer) Xu
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[Warning -- this may offend Catholics. I apologize in advance but...it's Fred Phelps, another wacko. I have to write in his voice]

Fred Phelps looked out over his congregation. Rumor has it that Stephen Pitmoss had just delivered a provocative speech to the Church of the Right Wing, over on the other side of town. Supposedly Pitmoss had claimed that the wizards were the agents of the devil and that Radner had been the False Prophet, the herald to the Antichrist.

Phelps didn't really know what to make up of Pitmoss. Pitmoss was clearly correct in that various undesirable ethnic groups had managed to corrupt the American way of life and had to be put in their place. He also agreed that wizards should be watched as diligently, if not more so, than illegal immigrants and cultural minorities.

However, there were some things that Phelps couldn't stomach. Phelps wanted the undesirables relegated to a lower tier in society. What he did not advocate, however, was their murder. He was a Christian, and Christians did not kill people. The Good Book had spelled that out, clear as day.

The decree that all witches be slain troubled him. In principle, he agreed with the doctrine. However, what happened if a witch became a Christian and used her powers to help the community? Was she still required to die? As if that was not bad enough, there were very few witches in the community as a whole. The odds were that there would be many cases of false positives -- ordinary Christians who were falsely convicted of witchcraft. Could he in good conscience order the execution of someone who quite likely was not in fact a witch?

He supposed he could make a compromise: if the accused witch was from one of the undesirable groups, he'd have her burned. Otherwise, he'd give her a second chance.

He had been debating how to handle the wizards for a long time. The wizards' association with the devil became painfully obvious when Osama bin Laden recommended that they use their powers to fight holy war against America. However, there were always lessons to be learned from experience. The terrorist mastermind had given him an idea, and Phelps believed that he would be able to beat bin Laden at his own game.

Was Radner the False Prophet? Probably not, thought Phelps. He couldn't imagine an American being the False Prophet, particularly one who was a Protestant like himself. The Good Book said that the False Prophet would likely have a tie to Rome, and Radner was not associated with Rome at all.

There was, however, a wizard who was. His name was John Paul II.

The Pope was about as high in the Roman hierarchy as you could get. John Paul II had freely admitted that he was a wizard, and he had demonstrated his abilities in public. He considered himself to be a good man and a Christian. Although Phelps freely admitted that this man had presided over several good developments, the fact remained that the man was a Catholic. And Catholics were not good Christians, despite what they claimed about themselves. Phelps suspected that the Church put homosexuals in monasteries, ostensibly getting them out of people's lives but in reality supporting them behind the world's back. If there's anything that maddened Phelps more, it would a homosexual.

Phelps knew that the idea of the Pope as the False Prophet would be even more controversial than having Radner be the False Prophet. It would probably get him and his church into deep trouble. On the other hand, God was with Phelps. People had protested against Phelps and tried to silence him. However, God in His great wisdom had thwarted these enemies in the past would likely do so again.

He scanned the crowd. Did he have the guts to go through with this sermon? He took a deep breath, asking God to strengthen him and give him some guidance. It took a few moments, but eventually Phelps felt His grace fall over him. Smiling, he stepped to the podium and began his speech.

"Good afternoon, my friends. I'd like to talk about an extremely important event which took place a few days ago. A group named America for Humans, led by Pastor Stephen Pitmoss, attacked a woman whom they believed was an evil witch. They tied her to a tree in Westboro Park and tried to burn her, like they used to do many years ago. The authorities intervened, however, and rescued the woman. She was brought to the hospital, where she was stabilized but lost her legs. What happened next was most unusual. A wizard supposedly visited the hospital and regrew her legs on the spot. A few days later, wizards performing witchcraft in public presented her, along with an amputated leg, to the city to explain that wizards mean no harm to ordinary Christians.

"Let me emphasize one thing at the outset. I will not condone mass killings. I've told you one, and I've told you again. All I ask that people do is protest. We are Christians, and Christians do not kill. If you believe killing people you don't like is justifiable, get the hell out of my church."

Phelps paused. This was the tricky part. "Witches, on the other hand, are more problematic. The Bible specifically says that witches are not allowed to live. Yet the Ten Commandments specify that the faithful are not permitted to kill. Even the Noahide laws prohibit murder, and the entire pagan world is supposed to follow those.

"How do we reconcile these laws? The general consensus is that the commandment to kill witches is a special case, an exception to the general rule which allows the faithful to kill witches. This makes sense to me, and I suspect it does to you as well.

"Now hold on a second before you start going around killing all the witches you see. Killing witches is one thing. Vigilante justice without benefit of a trial is another thing entirely. If the person has performed witchcraft in public in a manner which can serve as solid evidence in a court of law, then you can burn her. If not, she is not to be touched. I've told you about Hell a lot of times, and rest assured you don't want to be sent down there by killing someone who wasn't a witch."

Phelps stared hard at the congregation. "If a someone confesses to you that he or she is a witch, you can burn her. However, you are to not use torture or any other painful means to forcibly extract a confession. Jesus Christ wouldn't like that, and I doubt the secular authorities would care much for it, either. After all, we're signatories to the Geneva Convention. You don't want to put our glorious nation in a bad light."

His voice softened a little. "To the best of my knowledge, there are several well-known individuals who have admitted they are witches and are therefore fair game. There's Morgan Dresden, who performed magic during the meeting with the mayor. There's Travis Radner, this so-called Secretary of Magic. There's that kid with the broom in the Super Bowl commercial, but I doubt you'll be able to get your hands on him as his loving parents will probably protect him. And, of course, there's John Paul II."

The crowd started muttering at this.

"I know. He's the Pope. But you saw how he cast a spell on that dove. He's also a wizard. I've always told you that Catholicism has a bit too much idolatry in it and that we broke free from the Pope for a reason.

"The fact that the Pope is a wizard disturbs me greatly and leads me down a truly frightening path. You would have expected a godly man to use all of the powers at his disposal to help the world, right? So why didn't he use his magic to help? Why did he allow famines in Ethiopia? Why did he allow American soldiers to risk their lives in the Gulf War? Someone in his position probably would have the authority to do anything he wants! Of course, he'd say that there was a Statute of Secrecy. However, if I were the Pope, I'd use magic all the time and explain that I was doing miracles to spread the glory of God.

"This means that the Pope is unwilling, or unable, to use his powers for good. And it brings to mind rather troubling verses from the Book of Revelation. I'm not sure about your Bibles, but my Bible has stories of a man called the False Prophet, a harbinger of the Antichrist. Supposedly this man will come from Rome and lay the groundwork for the Antichrist's arrival. He will be very popular, by the way.

"I obviously have no way to tell if John Paul II is in fact that False Prophet. However, there is a definite case. Strange things are happening in the world, what with global warming and stuff, and I've told you several times that I think we're living in the End Times. We've got witches and wizards running all over the place, creatures which can be identified easily through their use of magic. That looks like the mark of the Beast to me. As if that's not bad enough, someone tried to shoot him and he miraculously came back from the brink! Someone's got the help of the devil, I'd say!"

The people started talking loudly -- some in fear, some in determination, some in absolute disgust. Phelps had to raise his voice in order to continue.

"Regardless of the Pope's status as the False Prophet, rest assured that he is not the Antichrist. We still have some time, and if we're lucky we can still redeem the world and introduce everyone to the word of our Savior. However, once the Antichrist arrives, we're going to have to batten down the hatches and hope to survive the Tribulation. I'm guessing it will be easy to identify the Antichrist -- he'd probably take the form of a homosexual wizard in a leading position of authority in North America or Europe. But until then, we can still act.

"Our best hope at this point is to try to convince these wizards that they're in the wrong and turn them from their ways of evil, back into Christ's arms. You are not to harm any wizards you apprehend unless they are given a chance to atone for their sins and refuse.

"I never thought I'd be saying this, but I believe that the hated Osama bin Laden had the right idea for handling the witches. We'll allow for several different levels of atonement similar to those mentioned by bin Laden.

"At the lowest level, the accused must renounce all wizard powers for all eternity. Level 2 requires membership in this church in addition to renunciation of Wizarding powers. Level 3 requires membership in this church plus use of Wizarding powers to do good works and only good works. Level 4, the highest level, will require the accused to turn on his or her demonic allies and use his or her abilities in defense of the faith. Call it a jihad against the Antichrist, if you will.

"Do what you can. I know, it will be difficult, but I believe it's necessary. If we work hard enough, we may be able to undermine the enemy well enough for the Pope to resign or even turn against the Antichrist. If that were to happen, Lucifer will have to try to create a whole new False Prophet before pestering us with the Tribulation -- something which will probably take a long time.

"So persecute the confirmed witches using the suggestions I've given you while continuing your protests against other undesirables. God willing, we'll be able to earn our Rapture before the False Prophet comes again -- if at all."

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Update #71
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Monday, March 2, 1996
Collective Farm PX-311
Outside of Pyongyang
Democrat People's Republic of Korea
NEXT PoV: A Brand New Character You've Never Seen Before
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Chief Operating Officer Xu. It had a nice ring to it. And it would have even have a nicer ring once he started taking all the credit for the farm's improved productivity.

People in a position such as this should be absolutely loyal to their country and do whatever the Dear Leader told them to do. However, "should" was not always "was". That was definitely the case with his predecessor, who had not been particularly thrilled that he had been demoted to deputy COO. He complained that he hadn't done anything wrong and had no reason to be demoted. However, he had stopped whining very quickly once Xu had showed him the note signed by Kim Jong-Il. Granted, the initial break in the whining had been punctuated by the sound of poor old Li falling to the floor in a dead faint. Eventually, though, he had recovered, congratulated Xu on his promotion, and started cleaning out his old office.

As overseer, he had had a small apartment of his own. In some cultures, that would have not seemed like much. However, on the farm, it was a big deal. Most of the peasants slept in small huts, often two or three people to a cushion. He'd always considered himself lucky to have at least some privacy.

That apartment, however, was nothing compared to what he was looking at now. The position of Chief Operating Officer came with a house. An honest-to-goodness HOUSE. He'd be living like an emperor. As if that weren't enough, the house came with several butlers and maids. What a life!

He understood, however, that success came with a price. The Dear Leader had demanded that he double the output of the farm. Had it not been for the witches, it would have been an almost impossible task. He believed he would be able to pull it off and would gain even more power. However, he didn't like thinking about the possibility that he wouldn't be able to do it. As overseer, he'd have probably been whipped and demoted to the peasantry. As a COO expressly promoted by Kim Jong-Il himself, he'd probably wind up with a bullet in the back of his head if he screwed up. He wondered if it was possible for the witches to raise the dead.

It didn't take long for him to move all his stuff into the new house. The butlers and maids sped things up a great deal. Several of the peasants walked over and congratulated him. Not surprisingly, they all started asking him for reductions in their workload. Although he was in a generous mood, he realized that he shouldn't start giving in to their every whim. It set a bad precedent. Besides, if the witches couldn't deliver he'd have to work the people even harder.

He had just locked the door to the new home when one of the maids screamed in horror. He spun to look at her and saw that she was pointing into the distance, towards the female peasants' huts. He didn't see anything all that unusual -- maybe a bit of haze. Puzzled, he turned to the maid and asked for an explanation.

She responded with one word. "Fire!"

Fire? He stared at her blankly for a minute and then turned to look over the womens' huts again, this time focusing on the haze. Sure enough, the haze was actually smoke. It seemed to be coming from a spot in the midst of the huts. He brought out his binoculars and put them to his eyes. The base of the smoke column burst into view, and he saw that it was accompanied by a lurid red and yellow glow.

Shit, he thought. The maid was right. Something was definitely on fire over there. Even worse, no one seemed to be doing anything about it. Perhaps they thought that it had already gotten out of control. That's not a very patriotic thing to do, he thought. He'd better rectify that. People had to help their comrades.

He ordered the servants into the house and told them to bring out any fire extinguishers and pails of water they could find. He had to extinguish the fire before it burned down half the village. People without houses didn't work well, regardless of whether or not they could cast spells. They'd either freeze to death of find themselves buried waist-deep in snow.

The servants were well-trained and returned in less than a minute with no fewer than five fire extinguishers. He thanked them profusely and told them to help him fight the fire. He was in his fifties, but they were barely able to keep up with him due to the fact that overseers tended to get better food than peasants.

He hadn't spent much time in the women's section during his tenure as overseer. As a result, he didn't know who exactly lived where. He decided that his first task would be to find the people whose hut had caught fire and give them the bad news. He figured they'd be able to stay with their friends or with the maids until their new hut was built. That hut would be the first communal task under his tenure.

He hurried over to a woman who was staring at the burning building in absolute horror. He told one of the maids to tap her on the shoulder to get her attention. She turned around, saw the overseer, and bowed deeply.

"Comrade Officer, how can --"

He wanted to throttle her. Handing her a fire extinguisher, he shushed her. "Don't worry about that right now! Here, take this fire extinguisher and help put that thing out! Do you know how to use a fire extinguisher?"

The peasant looked at it the red cylinder in puzzlement, and he answered his own question. No, she doesn't. Double shit. "I take it you don't. These maids here know. I want you do follow them over to the fire and put it out. Tell me when it's extinguished, will you?"

The peasant looked terrified. She couldn't tell whether it was because she was scared of him or because she was scared of the flames. Eventually, though, she nodded. "Yes, Comrade Officer."

"Thank you, madame. One more thing. Whose hut was that? I need to tell them and offer them sanctuary until their new hut is finished."

The woman nearly broke down in tears. "Ming Tsao, Choi Yeun, and Wei Hu."

Xu froze. Was she saying what she thought she was saying? Gulping, he asked: "Choi Yeun's the witch, right?"

The woman nodded. "Yes, Comrade Officer. That is her hut."

"Was there anyone in there?"

"I think so, Comrade. I can sometimes see evidence of a charred body through the smoke. I can't tell who it is, but it's fairly obvious the person's already dead."

With an effort, he regained control of himself. "Don't give up on the victim yet. Perhaps the witch or Mr. Wong will save her. Now don't talk. Hurry! Get that thing out! That's an order!"

The servants headed off as Xu raced over to where the women were working in the fields. He found Ming relatively quickly. The poor woman started wailing hysterically when she heard the news and said she'd stay with the maids. Five minutes later, Wei immediately dropped her basket and started racing through the mud and snow towards the hut. He tried to call her back, saying that it wasn't safe to return yet, but she didn't listen.

He saw no sign of Choi Yeun. That was not good. If she had been the one killed in the fire the whole farm was in deep trouble.

Or was it? He grabbed one of the peasants and asked him to fetch Mr. Wong. The man nodded and raced off. That done, he spent the next fifteen minutes running through the greenhouses trying to find Choi Yeun. No luck. As if that weren't bad enough, the peasant had come back and told him that Mr. Wong was missing. Xu told the man to start looking again and not to come back until he found Wong.

Twenty minutes later, word came in that the fire had finally been extinguished. He immediately headed over to the scene, pushing onlookers out of the way as he hurried into get a better luck.

The little hut had been almost completely destroyed. The walls had, oddly enough, blown out and the air reeked of burned flesh. Everything had been completely blackened. Bracing himself, Xu turned to look at the two bodies on the floor.

In the center of the conflagration lay Mr. Wong, or what was left of him. The man had a shocked look his face. Judging from the positions of the walls, it looked as if Mr. Wong had caused an explosion which had set the hut on fire. It made all too much sense -- the explosion had killed him before he could escape the burning building.

Next to Wong's body was what appeared to be a book. The book was badly burned, but he could make out a few arcane words. All of them looked like gibberish to him. One of them, Geminio, had been highlighted. Choi Yeun's body, also badly blackened, lay on the other side of the book.

Xu groaned. It was obvious what had happened. Choi Yeun had been training her apprentice in magic from this book. The apprentice had made a mistake casting a spell and managed to blow both him and his teacher to kingdom come. Spells which concentrated power were quite useful. However, if all that concentrated power released itself prematurely, it would be just the type of thing which could blow up people and set houses on fire.

This was bad, he thought. Very bad.

To be continued...
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Update #72
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Tuesday, March 3, 1996
Street Residence
1357 Wilson Avenue
Richardson, TX
United States of America
NEXT PoV: Arthur Weasley
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Eric Street threw down the want ads irritably. He'd been out of work for six months already and there didn't seem to be anything in sight.

He had been trained as a teacher. Unfortunately, there weren't any openings in the area. There were a few in the western part of the state, but that would require uprooting his wife Helena and his young daughter. The net result would be a mother without a salary instead of a father.

Both he and his wife had insisted that they both get a job to give Justine the best chance to go to college. He hated to think how much a good school would cost by the time 2010 came around. $50,000 per year? $75,000? $100,000 and your firstborn son?

As if that weren't bad enough, Justine appeared to have inherited his Wizarding abilities. That was the only explanation he could think of for her managing to set fire to the living room rug when her Barbie doll's head fell off. This meant that they'd have to start sending her to the Big Thicket Swamp Facility as soon as she entered junior high. That would also cost money. It would cost even more if his wife managed to badger him into signing Justine up for Big Thicket's Little Wizard Program, their optional program for K-6 wizards. She would probably argue that that rug could have been one of her parents and she needed to learn how to control her powers.

Eric was now low on both dollars and Galleons. He'd converted most of his Galleons to dollars, leaving only the fund to send Justine to college. All this had managed to do, however, was keep him solvent for maybe three more months. At the rate things were going, he and his family would be begging on the street before the Fourth of July. He'd have declared independence from his house.

He needed more money, and fast. He had briefly considered the possibility of using the Geminio spell to take a dollar bill and clone it a few million times. Unfortunately, that wouldn't work as all the bills would have the same serial number. Even the most jaded shopkeeper would be suspicious if he were handed two bills labeled G80406019A.

He'd tried out for positions at McDonald's and had been turned down because he was overqualified. He had wanted to punch the manager in the mouth. So what if he was overqualified? He needed money, and a relatively simple job at McDonald's was better than nothing.

He swore at the newspapers which had betrayed him, tossed them into the fireplace, and set them on fire with an Incendio charm. It was obvious that doing what he was doing wouldn't work. He would have to think outside the box.

Should he ask his wife to get him a job at her office? He didn't think it was worth it. She was a detective and he knew nothing about police work. The only way he'd be able to get a foot in the door would be through nepotism, and he refused to be a party to that. It would probably get BOTH of them fired, leaving them in a worse place than when they started.

He wondered whether he should try starting his own company. However, what would he produce? He could try to start a tutoring service, but he'd have to spend a lot of money to get the business off the ground. With all of the tutors and teachers in the area, the risk of going bankrupt before getting enough business to survive was too great.

He stared into the fire, worried. What service could he provide that no one else could? What service could a wizard --

Suddenly, it dawned on him. A wizard-for-hire service.

The more he thought about it, the more he liked it. Judging from what he knew of the Wizarding population, roughly one in every 10,000 people was a wizard. He wouldn't have much competition. And the Statute of Secrecy was moot now. Most of the people in the area had watched the Super Bowl -- after all, the Cowboys had been in it -- and had discovered quite early on that wizards existed. Hell, the President had openly admitted it.

There were things Muggles wanted to do which they couldn't but wizards could. There was a market for his services, and he was willing to supply them providing that the Muggles' needs were not illegal or unethical. He'd be more than willing to use magic to help raise a house, heal an injury like that wizard had done in Kansas, get a cat out of a tree, whatever. However, he wouldn't brew love potions, turn siblings into frogs, rig sporting events, or hurt anyone. He had always been irritated at the corruption and amorality in big business and was determined not to give in to that. After all, if he had a monopoly, he could set things up whichever way he wanted.

And if he didn't have a monopoly? As the first wizard on the scene, he'd have the most advanced and organized company. He'd probably have more money than the other ones. He'd have better name recognition. He'd just buy them out and make them his employees.

As a rule of thumb, he would only provide services which a Muggle would find difficult to provide on his her own. That would allow the Muggles to try to learn a new skill instead of rely on magic to get everything solved for them. Furthermore, it would allow him to focus on the things for which wizards were truly necessary.

He'd speak to his wife about it, but he knew what she'd say. She'd be all for it. Although she'd been initially skeptical when he'd told her he was a wizard, magic had gone a long way to cleaning and maintaining the house. People didn't realize it, but he gotten Chairwoman Shawna Santana of Big Thicket to convert his Dodge Caravan to run off magic instead of gasoline. It was greener and a hell of a lot cheaper.

What would he call himself? Eric Street, Wizard for Hire? Nah, sounded too corny and pretentious. How about Wizard Street? Sounded like an address, and it didn't lend itself to an expanding company. It took a while, but he eventually decided upon a name. Wizarding Services Corporation.

He had no idea how much to charge for his services, however. No one had ever tried selling magical services to Muggles before, so there wasn't a going rate. Theoretically, he could charge anything as long as he had a monopoly. However, overcharging people wouldn't be proper and could give wizards a bad name. With America for Humans and the rest of those bastards already complaining about wizards, that was not a good idea. On the other hand, he couldn't do it gratis either as it wouldn't put Justine through college.

He would cross that bridge when he came to it, however. In the meantime, he set about trying to develop his first commercial and advertisement.

Could he publish a dynamic photograph, with moving images, in the Dallas Morning News? He didn't know, but it didn't hurt to try. He doubted Muggles would have seen dynamic photographs before and figured it would have a big impact upon the readers. If all else failed, he could place dynamic photograph advertisements in various restaurants and go on from there.

This would be exciting, he thought. And it may very well solve his financial crisis.

He wondered what would happen if he made a deal with Chairwoman Santana to start converting other people's cars to run off magic...

To be continued...
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Update #73
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Wednesday, March 4, 1996
Parliament Chamber
London, England
NEXT PoV: Crown Prince Abdullah of Saudi Arabia
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Arthur Weasley looked around the room in wonder. He wasn't sure if he'd ever seen this many Muggles in one room at a time.

He and the rest of the wizards were seated in the center of the room on what appeared to be Muggle folding chairs. He'd actually tried to take a closer look at one of him when a grunt from Reg Cattermole alerted him to the fact that Muggles took these things for granted and that he'd look stupid examining the chair. Most of the wizards were wearing dress robes. Here and there, he saw a witch with an elegant dress or a wizard in a tuxedo. Judging by the clothes of the Muggles on the benches, he assumed that these wizards were Muggle-born or had Muggle spouses and as a result knew what constituted formalwear in the Muggle world.

Reg had been one of the wizards who had known enough to wear a tux. From what Arthur knew, Reg's Muggle in-laws had drilled Muggle customs into his head as a prerequisite for allowing him to marry their daughter. His experience with the Muggles had been more than welcome when he and Arthur had to take the Underground over to Parliament. Arthur had nearly been left behind at the turnstile for the second time in less than twelve months. As if that weren't bad enough, he'd blown out an emergency light on the subway car with a simple spell to help clean his robe.

Cornelius Fudge had come by his office a week ago to deliver the invitation. Queen Elizabeth II and Prime Minister Major had been elated that the wizards had come to help rescue people during the terrorist attack. They had argued, quite logically, that it was difficult for the wizards to overcome centuries of aloofness and come to the Muggles' aid. They obviously didn't know Arthur, who had been curious about Muggles for years and was just itching for a chance to interact with them.

The Minister of Magic had explained that the queen had invited all of the wizards who had taken part in the rescue to a special session of Parliament which would honor them for their bravery. Arthur had known that England had a queen. However, he didn't know much about Parliament. Reg had to explain the nature of Parliament to him as well. He couldn't understand how people could run a country simply by yelling at each other all the time. He shrugged. Muggles were strange. Maybe that was it.

To be honest, Arthur was a little surprised that Fudge had even invited him. He had been in the Minister's doghouse ever since he had contradicted the Ministry of Magic's party line on Voldemort in the presence of Jacob Gold. Cornelius was still saying that Voldemort hadn't returned and that all of the reports that he had were unsubstantiated. The only non-Death Eater who had supposedly seen him -- and survived -- had been Harry, and Fudge was more than fed up with the antics of the author of the Super Bowl Breach. Harry had been a mischievous boy in the past, and this was no different.

Word was starting to get around, however. Several people in the Ministry were starting to become convinced that Voldemort -- or at least a high-ranking Death Eater -- had taken command. Strange things had been happening of late. First, Augustus Rookwood had been found dead, sprawled out in the Hall of Prophecy next a prophecy which supposedly referred to Voldemort and Harry Potter. It looked as if he had tried to listen to the prophecy and failed. Lucius Malfoy, a suspected Death Eater, had been absent more often than usual ever since the end of the Triwizard Tournament last year. Many people believed that Fudge was deliberately covering it up, either out of denial or to prevent a panic among the wizards of Britain.

Although Fudge admitted that several odd events had transpired since the end of the Triwizard Tournament -- starting with Cedric Diggory's death -- he vehemently denied that they had been due to Voldemort's return. He kept on reiterating that Sirius Black was still at large and was capable of doing virtually anything. The Ministry had been forced to admit that it had underestimated Black's power. After all, only a prodigiously powerful wizard would have been able to break out of Professor Filch's office in Hogwarts -- not to mention Azkaban to begin with -- after he had been apprehended in the Shrieking Shack two years ago. Cornelius himself confessed that he didn't know exactly what Sirius had done. Whatever it was, though, it had been far beyond anything Cornelius could have imagined. And to do it right under Snape's nose was even more amazing.

As far as Cedric's death was concerned, the obvious explanation was that he had fallen performing the final task. He wouldn't have been the first Triwizard contestant to die in the tournament. With two of the other three contestants out of the country and Harry in no position to talk, there was virtually no way to refute this allegation.

Arthur looked down to the front of the room, where Fudge was waiting to meet the queen and prime minister. Arthur would have liked to denounce Fudge in public here and now. Unfortunately, that would make the wizards look bad to the Muggles. Not to mention, of course, that he'd probably lose his job. Fudge was probably looking forward to several photo ops with the British leaders.

It wasn't hard to figure out when the leaders were reported to be approaching the room. Virtually everyone in the room stood up and applauded as the Prime Minister was introduced. They all then bowed as the queen walked in. Arthur wondered if Fudge would insist that everyone in the Ministry start bowing to him. Some of the witches tried bowing as well and had to be gently reminded that women were supposed to curtsey.

The queen told everyone to rise and they did. She then smiled and walked to the podium in the center of the room. The Prime Minister and Minister of Magic stood on either side of her. Behind her stood none other than Nigel Marcellus. It looked like he was doing double duty, serving both as a security guard and as a man who had been rescued by a wizard.

The queen looked around the room and began. "Ladies and gentlemen. We have assembled here today to express our most profound gratitude to a segment of society which had, until quite recently, been forced to hide itself from our presence. From what we have been told by Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, part of the reason for the Statute of Secrecy had been because in ancient days, people were afraid of magic and associated strange powers with the devil. The wizards had to isolate themselves from the Muggle population simply because the Muggles would have persecuted them otherwise.

"We are certain that it may have been difficult for many of these witches and wizards to overcome their fear of Muggles, put their lives in danger, and help free people who had been trapped in the debris from the Canary Wharf attack. They likely never knew about the IRA, and as far as we know the IRA has never posed a threat to their world. Yet they still came to our aid. As the queen of England, we issue a formal apology for all of the persecution the Wizarding community has suffered in over the centuries in our realm."

The entire audience clapped. Arthur felt embarrassed. He probably would have tried helping the Muggles even if Cornelius hadn't told him to go. It felt tacky to accept an award for something any decent man would have done.

The queen continued. "We have with us today someone who was rescued by the wizards: SAS agent General Nigel Alexander Marcellus, Retired. This man was working at 5 Canada Square when the building was attacked. He will now explain what happened to him and how he was rescued."

The crowd clapped once more as Nigel walked to the podium. He was wearing what Arthur interpreted as an SAS officer's uniform. There were a few medals on his chest. He looked quite dashing.

Nigel saluted the audience and began his story. "I had been having a rough day in my post SAS job as a stockbroker and had gone outside to try to wake myself up in the cold air. When the bomb went off, my SAS training immediately kicked in, and I was able to determine where the epicenter of the blast had been. It had been in one of the parking lots. I had seen a truck with Irish plates in the area shortly before the blast, and had found it bloody strange. It didn't took long for me to figure out that the IRA had been at it again.

"However, I nearly found myself unable to relay this information to the rest of the world. I found myself pinned by debris when the building came down. I tried to escape by tunneling through a snowbank -- a common training exercise. However, when you're as old as I am things don't work as well as they did when you were in your twenties."

There were nervous titters in the crowd. Nigel looked for a moment, confused. Then the Prime Minister coughed and discreetly pointed at the queen. Nigel's face went beet red, and he bowed. "I apologize, Your Majesty."

The queen actually grinned. "Don't worry, General. Each time I look at one of our banknotes I realize that things don't work as well as they did when we were younger."

Nigel nodded and wisely didn't respond. Instead, he continued with his story. "I thought I was going to freeze down there. It was getting hard tunneling through the snow, and I couldn't push those beams off of me. My leg had been injured as well, which didn't help.

"The next thing I know, I hear this chap say some nonsense phrase and the beams suddenly floated up into the air. I was surprised, to say the least. I was even more surprised when I discovered that my rescuers had been two wizards. I explained to them what had happened, and they called over a constable. I brought the constable over to the epicenter and showed him the remains of the truck. The constable agreed that it had all the hallmarks of an IRA car bomb. Meanwhile, the two wizards went off and started rescuing more people. Had it not been for those two men, I would likely have been seriously injured or killed. We all owe the wizards a great deal of gratitude."

Everyone clapped once more as the queen took the stand again. "Thank you, General. We would now like to ask this man's rescuers, Wizard Arthur Joseph Weasley and Wizard Reginald Louis Cattermole to step forward so we can present them with the George Cross."

The crowd cheered as Arthur's jaw dropped. What was he supposed to do? Who the bloody hell was George Cross? Nervous, he nodded to Reg and they both headed up to the podium and bowed. The queen then reached over and placed some kind of pin on his robe. It looked like a silver cross hanging from a black banner. He didn't know what it was, but judging from the reaction of the Muggles it seemed important. The queen then bade them rise, shook their hands, posed for photo ops, and had them go back to their seats.

The queen smiled. "Congratulations, Wizards Weasley and Cattermole."

She then turned to Cornelius Fudge. "Minister of Magic Fudge, would you be so good as to kneel so I can give you your Cross?"

The Minister did so, and everyone clapped again. Arthur had a bad feeling that Fudge would start yelling at him for getting his award before Fudge himself did.

With that, Fudge rose and then turned to the rest of the wizards in the room. "Thank you, Your Majesty. And now, if the rest of you chaps would be willing to line up, we'll hand out the GC's to the rest of you."

To be continued...
-------------

Update #74
------------
Thursday, March 5, 1996
Audience Chamber
Royal Palace
Riyadh
Saudi Arabia
NEXT PoV: Travis Radner
------------
King Fahd looked up from his desk as the messenger entered his office and bowed. "You may rise, Abdul. What's going on?"

"Your Majesty, Wizard Dagher has arrived. Shall I send him in?"

The king nodded. "Of course. We shouldn't keep him waiting. After all, he did save my life. The kingdom owes him a great deal of gratitude."

The servant bowed once more. "Yes, Your Majesty."
- - - -
The king recalled the momentous events which had transpired earlier in the year. On New Year's Day, he had suffered a serious stroke and had nearly died. According to Prince Abdullah's report, the doctors had told the prince that there was nothing that could be done and that the king would lie in a vegetative state for the rest of his life. They had turned to the prince and asked him for permission to euthanize the king. Meanwhile, Imam Ibrahim had been hustled into the sickroom to minister to the patient and the soon to be grieving family.

That was when the man had suddenly materialized in the room. During the few seconds of shock between his arrival and the prince's inevitable command to summon the guards, the visitor had held out his hands, bowed to the Prince, and pleaded: "Your Highness! In Allah's name, listen! I'm here to help! Hear me out!"

The prince had stared at him. "Who are you? How'd you get past the guards?"

"I'm Wizard Haydar Aziz Dagher. I'm your father's Minister of Magic."

The prince's jaw had dropped. "My father's WHAT?"

"Minister of Magic! I'm in charge of the wizards in the realm? I know. You probably didn't know about it. The only person who knows is the king. However, we can't deal with this right now. This is an emergency, and we don't have time. Am I correct in assuming that you have concluded that you can't save His Majesty?"

The prince had stared at him skeptically. "Yes. Let me guess. You're going to say you can heal him with magic."

The Minister had shaken his head. "I can't, Your Majesty. However, we have a healer, Dharr Malouf, who can. With your permission, Your Highness, I will summon him and have him go to work."

Realizing that there had been no other option, the prince had been about to give his consent when another voice had broken in.

"BLASPHEMY! WITCHCRAFT! KILL HIM!"

The prince had cursed, having forgotten the imam. Well, Abdullah had dealt with him. The prince had immediately summoned the guards and told the cleric that if he didn't shut up he'd be with Allah in five minutes. Sayyed may have loved Allah, but apparently he didn't love Him enough to want to visit Him THAT quickly.

Once the imam was dealt with, the prince had given the wizard the go-ahead. Seconds later, a second wizard had materialized in the room and brought out something which looked like a small cylinder. The guards had hissed and looked at the prince sharply, but the prince had waved them off. Abdullah had later told the king that it wouldn't have made sense for the wizards to try to kill him as they hadn't needed his help to send him to Allah at the rate things were going.

The second wizard had then pointed the wand at him and muttered arcane words. Whatever they were, they weren't Arabic. A few minutes later, he had nodded to the first wizard and bowed to Abdullah. He then spoke words which Abdullah had told him he'd never forget.

"Your Highness, the king has been stabilized. You may now confirm it with your doctors. You should keep him under observation for a month or so -- it was very touch and go there. However, he'll make it."

The doctors had looked at the readouts for a few moments as the prince looked on in incredulity. The doctors' eyebrows had shot up, and they reported that the king had been stabilized. The prince had thanked the wizards profusely. Meanwhile, the imam had fallen to the floor in a dead faint, unable to determine whether to praise Allah for a miracle or curse the wizards for endangering the king's soul.
- - - -
That had been two months ago. The government had sent out an announcement announcing the king's recovery a month after the incident, once His Majesty had gotten out of the hospital. Fearful of an Islamic backlash against the wizards, Minister Dagher had recommended that the king leave the wizards' role out of it until both parties believed that the clergy was ready to deal with wizards in their midst.

Judging from what he'd heard from Minister Dagher, it was clear that these wizards would be a benefit to society. All he had to do was get the fundamentalists to buy in. He had heard bin Laden's request for jihadist wizards. Putting wizards in charge of al-Qaeda would be very bad. Bin Laden was bad enough. A new bin Laden casting spells? That would be a lot worse.

Al-Qaeda had to be dealt with, and dealt with soon. Hence this special mission.

The door opened once again, and Wizard Dagher walked into the room and bowed. "You wished to see me, Your Majesty?"

"Yes, Minister. Close the door, please. There's something I need to talk to you about, something which cannot be divulged to Muggles."

The wizard nodded, brought out his wand, and waved it around for a moment. A couple of seconds later, he nodded. "Our conversation is secure, Your Majesty. I take it you want the Ministry of Magic to do something that certain Muggles should not be made aware of?"

"Yes. Particularly a Muggle named Osama bin Laden. I take it you are familiar enough with the Muggle word to be familiar with this man."

The Minister grimaced. "Yes, Your Majesty. I hope Allah takes him soon."

The king grinned. "I don't think you need to worry about that, Minister. I doubt Allah will actually want him. I suspect that He's going to send bin Laden somewhere where he doesn't really want to go. At any rate, I was wondering if you could do us a favor involving bin Laden. You see, Allah probably doesn't want him on this earth. I want you to fulfill His will and expedite this process."

The wizard stared at him. "You want us to sneak a man into al-Qaeda and assassinate bin Laden?"

"Yes, Minister. You're probably aware that bin Laden has been trying to recruit jihadist wizards. I know what you can do, Minister. Trust me, we DON'T want wizards in al-Qaeda. I need bin Laden taken out and al-Qaeda disbanded before he does so."

The wizard nodded. "I understand, Your Majesty."

"Good. Can it be done?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. We possess Invisibility Cloaks and are capable of modifying people's memories so that they don't realize we've been around. That's how we handled Statute of Secrecy breaches in the past. There is one complication, however."

The king frowned. "And that is?"

Dagher took a deep breath. "Unless you want one of us to take over al-Qaeda and disband it -- which I would not recommend as a wizard takeover would just be fodder for the jihadists -- we would have to hit bin Laden with Avada Kedavra and perform the Imperius Curse on bin Laden's second and ensure that he follows our orders."

"The Imperius Curse? And what's Avada Kedavra?"

"The Imperius Curse allows us to brainwash the victim and force him to do exactly what we tell him. Avada Kedavra kills painlessly, leaving no evidence of magic or Muggle explanation of how the victim died."

The king smiled. "Sounds all right with me. What's wrong with that?"

"The use of the Imperius Curse and Avada Kedavra is forbidden, Your Majesty. There are actually three forbidden curses: brainwashing, torture, and execution. We can't use them, and it would be a disaster if we did it and people found out -- especially now that Muggles are aware of our existence."

The king smiled. "I'm giving you permission. This is an emergency, after all. Make it a black operation. If you can do that, you're home free."

The wizard squirmed. "I don't like black ops, especially now that the Muggles know wizards exist. However, if that's your command, we'll do it."

"It is. Good luck, Minister."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I know the perfect assassin. You'll know when the deed is done. Allah willing, the whole world will know."

"That's all that I can ask for. May Allah be with you. Dismissed."

To be continued...
---------
Update #75
------------
Friday, March 6, 1996
Oval Office
White House
Washington, DC
United States of America
NEXT PoV: Jason Morgenstern
------------
Travis Radner had met President Clinton before and knew how to react when he was introduced to arguably the most powerful man in the world. If anything, Clinton had been caught more off guard than he had been. Then again, of course, Clinton hadn't realized wizards existed until he had been first elected president back in 1992.

The two other members of the delegation, however, were a bit more nervous. Morgan Dresden, head of the Chicago Wizarding Institute, was accustomed to dealing with important officials. However, he wasn't entirely sure how to handle Muggles. Most of the stuff Dresden knew about Muggles came from Robert "Bob" Burke, a ghost of an early nineteenth-century wizard who had lived a Muggle life as a farmer in what was then the Far West. Bob had done what he could, but even he found himself at a loss when it came to things like computers and airplanes.

The closest Dresden had gotten to learning from a living Muggle was when that Jim Butcher fellow from Missouri had somehow managed to break into an office of the CWI and learn more than he was supposed to about CWI's operations. Dresden was kicking himself for mangling Butcher's memories into data appropriate for a fantasy novel too quickly. Had he spent more time interviewing Butcher, he'd have gotten more information on how to interact with Muggles. There was no way he could have known, however, that the Statute of Secrecy would have fallen a short time after the interview. Had he been placed in the same situation again, he would have likely done the same thing.

The third member of the delegation was a Muggle who was more than familiar with President Clinton. Claire Cox was still in her wheelchair, though both the wizards and Muggle doctors believed that she would be walking on her own again pretty soon -- albeit with crutches for the time being. Her first problem was that she was a devout Christian and had voted against Clinton in the 1992 election. Second, she was often intimidated by people in authority. A sitting president whom she had voted against was about as tough for her as it could get. She tried to reassure herself, however, that if the November election went as she hoped Dole would take over and get rid of the Democrat. Finally, she was nervous because she didn't know what exactly she was supposed to do when visiting such an illustrious person. This put her in the same boat, so to speak, as Dresden, albeit for a completely different reason.

Radner hoped that the delegation would be able to keep itself under control long enough for him to get his message across. If having Cox and Dresden in the room didn't help, nothing would.

The door on the other side of the room opened, revealing a chubby, long-haired woman with a daringly low neckline. She nodded to him and gestured towards the door.

"Secretary Radner, the president will see you now. Go on in."

Radner got up, followed quickly by Dresden. He couldn't understand how a young woman like this managed to get a coveted position so close to the president. He shrugged. Muggles often acted strange. "Thank you, Miss Lewinsky. You can wait for us outside."

Lewinsky nodded. "With pleasure, Mr. Secretary."

With that, the intern moved aside and Radner led Dresden into the Oval Office, propelling Cox's wheelchair with his wand. The president had a big smile on his face. He must have been having a good day, Radner thought. Maybe he'll be more willing to help us. He kept this in the back of his mind.

Clinton stook and shook his hand. "Welcome to the Oval Office, Secretary Radner. When I heard that you wanted to speak with me, I figured it had been prompted by the attack in Kansas. Is that correct?"

Radner nodded. "Yes, Mr. President. Allow me to introduce my colleagues here. The man is Wizard Morgan Dresden of the Chicago Wizarding Institute."

Clinton pursed his lips. "That's the North Central headquarters of the Department of Magic, if I recall correctly."

"Correct, Mr. President. The woman in the wheelchair is Claire Cox, the woman who was attacked by the America for Humans mob."

The president shook the other two people's hands. "Welcome to the Oval Office, lady and gentlemen. Can I get you anything to drink?"

Both wizards asked for water. Claire, however, asked for a Wild Turkey. At this, Dresden's eyebrows shot up and he turned to her.

"Mrs. Cox, how can you drink a wild turkey? You can't drink poultry! Is that a Muggle custom?"

Both Radner and the President laughed at this. Radner explained. "Wild Turkey is a brand of alcoholic beverage which is not unpopular among Muggles. It has a higher alcohol content than we permit for consumption by wizards."

Clinton grunted approvingly. "Sounds like you don't allow beverages with a high alcohol content in the Wizarding community. Butterbeer, if I recall, is relatively mild."

Radner nodded. "Yes, Mr. President. Spellcasting and alcohol don't mix well, and everything more alcoholic than the 90th percentile of butterbeer brands' alcohol content is regulated by my Department. Slur one word or have your wand slip and you can blow yourself to kingdom come. We try to regulate it as best as we can, but occasionally things get through. That's how things like spontaneous human combustion occur in which people get killed under mysterious circumstances. Speaking of people getting killed, is it wise to have Miss Lewinsky as your final line of defense? She seems young and inexperienced, and I know she's not a wizard."

Clinton laughed. "She's got all the experience she needs for her job, Mr. Radner. She isn't around for security duty. That's what the Secret Service is for."

Radner nodded. "I'm glad to hear that, Mr. President. At any rate, here's what I've come to talk to you about. As you suspected, it's about America for Humans. They're starting to become a rather dangerous nuisance. Morgan, will you do the honors?"

Dresden nodded. "Yes, Mr. Secretary. Mr. President, we have reason to believe that America for Humans is growing rapidly. I'm not sure if you've been paying attention the group -- after all, it's just one hate group among many Muggle hate groups. However, it's been one of the North Central Wizarding Region's main focuses ever since Mrs. Cox here was attacked in Westboro. Over the past few days, a good two-thirds of the members of Fred Phelps's Westboro Baptist Church have started working for America for Humans."

Clinton frowned. "That would be bad, if it's true. I'll have to check that out. However, from what I know Phelps's church discourages attacks on innocent people, claiming that it's not Christian to do so."

Radner cut back in. "That is indeed the case, Mr. President. Unfortunately, Phelps's interpretation of the Bible indicates that although Muggles cannot be targeted, wizards are fair game. As a result, most of his congregation has allied itself with Patrick Dursley-Burgess and his movement. As if that's not bad enough, he's taken a page out of Osama bin Laden's book and is trying to recruit wizards to turn on their colleagues and join his cause in order to save them from AFH persecution."

The president uttered a most unpresidential four-letter word. Claire Cox's eyes widened.

"My thoughts exactly, Mr. President. However, it's getting worse. America for Humans chapters are springing up all over the Midwest and South. Chairwoman Santana of Big Thicket reports that three new chapters were founded this past week in her region, and Chief Two Bear of Fourth Mesa claims a couple more were just started up in his. As if that's not bad enough, Dursley-Burgess's cousin Vernon has started one up in Britain under the name Britain for Humans."

The president didn't mince words. "Crap. I didn't realize it was that bad."

"Oh, Mr. President, it gets worse still. Phelps threw in a major monkey wrench when he declared the Pope the False Prophet. I take it you are familiar with Christian eschatology?"

"Yes, Mr. Radner, I am. The False Prophet is the herald of the Antichrist."

"Correct, Mr. President. At the rate things are going, these hotheads are going to precipitate a war between Muggles and wizards. Such a war would be disastrous to both parties as wizards can wield immense power. We don't like using it and take care to forbid the most extreme curses. However, wizards may get desperate if they're backed into a corner. Phelps's announcement could trigger attacks on the Pope and possibly Catholics across the country as well."

Radner grinned sadly. "I must confess, though, that the only thing GOOD that came out of Phelps's announcement is that he seems to have directed their attention away from ME for the time being. You see, I was the man PITMOSS thought was the False Prophet."

Dresden chimed in. "Mr. President, is there any way you can help us? We don't want to start attacking Muggles with magic, even in self-defense. Once we start cursing Muggles in self-defense, America for Humans will spin the news report around, say we were the aggressors, and claim that they were right all along. At that point, you'll probably GET the Apocalypse regardless of whether I am the False Prophet or not."

Clinton nodded. "I think I'll be able to help out. Which of your sites are in need of protection? I can send National Guard troops out there to prevent people from entering without magical means. Thank God we're not at war right now."

"My thoughts exactly, Mr. President. Here's what I recommend. Prevent the Muggles from visiting the Big Thicket Natural Preserve or the Ocala National Forest. Close down the part of the Smoky Mountain National Park near our facility there, and place a military base near Fourth Mesa."

Clinton shook his head. "We can't put a base near Fourth Mesa. That's Navajo territory. I'll try to talk to the tribe, though. Maybe they can think of something."

"That would be most appreciated, Mr. President. This leaves three more locations. Mount St. Helens is easy -- say there's a volcano alert and it's off-limits. We don't want to have the mountain blow its top again like in 1980."

Clinton stared at him. "YOU did that?"

Radner nodded. "Yes, Mr. President. There was a minor breach of the Statute then and Wizard Eubanks -- who's in charge of the Mount St. Helens facility -- felt like he had no choice. The other two facilities, however, are going to be hard. The main office of the CWI is hiding, Unplottable, in downtown Chicago. I don't know how Jim Butcher got in, but the fact that he did makes it complicated. Maybe you can buy up a lot of the buildings there."

Radner paused. "This leaves the Quabbin. The Wizarding capital in Dana and the rest of the Four Towns are all underwater. However, boats occasionally go fishing out there. You don't want them dropping things other than fishhooks in the water. A breach of the shields protecting the cities from the water above, though unlikely, would be disastrous."

Clinton nodded. "I agree. What do you say about me declaring that the Quabbin is off-limits because of water pollution issues from the boats?"

Radner nodded. "That would work quite well, I think. This covers all of the main locations. As far as the Catholics go, you can try to institute a program protecting churches, synagogues, and other places of worship. Finally, you may want to close some other locations as well, just in case. If only seven locations are closed, America for Humans will probably figure out that something fishy is going on there and may attack. If you close fifty, however, we may be able to deal with it."

Clinton shook his head. "The people won't like that."

"It has to be done, however. Can you do it?"

Clinton sighed. "I'll do what I can. Let's hope I still get re-elected in the fall."

Radner smiled. "We hope you are as well, Mr. President. You seem to be getting along with us pretty well."

Clinton's eyes shot up for a moment. "Same here, Mr. Radner. I hope we'll be able to work together more in the future. Hey, that gives me an idea. Maybe you can -- "

Radner shook his head. "No, Mr. President. We cannot influence Muggle politics. It would be inappropriate."

Clinton sighed. "It was worth a try, I guess. Bummer."

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Update #76
------------
March 6, 1996
Alpha Chi Gamma Fraternity
Massachusetts Institute of Technology
Cambridge, Massachusetts
United States of America
Next PoV: Osama bin Laden
------------
Jason Morgenstern knew that his date had arrived. It's not like it would have been easy to miss: the entire frat was abuzz.

It wasn't often that a freshmen looking out the window raced back into the common room claiming that a witch was circling the building on a flying carpet. By the time Jason and the rest of the brothers made it down the stairs and out the door, they found themselves barely able to open the door due to all of the other students jamming the courtyard in front of the frat, craning their necks to look up into the sky.

Jason looked up just in time to see another flying object appear of nowhere. The crowd gasped and pointed as it approached the flying carpet. His jaw dropped when he realized who it was.

It was the Russian House witch. Good thing he brought her broom back, he thought. Jason was startled to see her nearly fall off her broom when she realized what Guinevere was flying.

Jason watched as Guinevere waved at the Russian House witch. "Ha! Another witch! I didn't know there were many witches out here -- wait! You're the Russian House witch, right?"

The Russian woman nodded at her. "Yes, I'm the so-called Russian House witch. I've been hiding my abilities successfully over the past few years. A few people know I was involved with a Wiccan group, but that's it. I tried not to advertise that all that much because some religious people I know may not have liked it."

Guinevere frowned. "You're both a witch and a Wiccan? They're not the same thing, you know. Wicca is a system of beliefs and traditions. Magic is an ability."

"Yes. I know, the Muggles tend to conflate the two, but I actually am both. I'm also from one of the mainstream religions as well."

"So am I. I'm Guinevere de Mornay, a recent graduate from the Salem Witches' Institute. What's your name? Have you ever seen a magic carpet before?"

The Russian had just finished introducing herself when her eyes fell on the carpet. Her jaw dropped. Pointing at the carpet, she exclaimed, "That's a pretty expensive Oriental rug! How much did it cost?"

Guinevere smirked. "About $3500. In other words, nine ounces worth of gold coins. I must say, that pawn shop in Central Square was a bit surprised that I was exchanging so much gold."

The Russian House witch stared at Guinevere and suddenly started laughing uncontrollably. "You took some of your Galleons and sold them for their metal content to Muggles?"

"Correct, my friend. Last time I checked, gold was running about $400/ounce."

The Russian woman shook her head and grinned evilly. Jason realized what she was thinking. MIT tuition was around $30,000/year. That was a lot of money. Young witches like Guinevere often had a few hundred free Galleons to their name. In the Wizarding world, that wasn't that much money. In the Muggle world, however...He wondered if the Muggles would catch on, and if either he or the Russian witch would suddenly find that they had an easy way to pay for tuition. He'd have to act fast in order to pay everything off before gold prices crashed due to the excess of Galleons.

The Muggles around him were still staring up at the two women. Most of them didn't know much about the Wizarding monetary system. They had no idea that the two wizards were discussing instant wealth. For all Jason knew, they thought that they were referring to Spanish shipwrecks!

Guinevere nodded. "My thoughts exactly. I'm just waiting to see how Muggles are going to react when someone gives them leprechaun gold."

Both women were laughing uncontrollably at this point. However, they soon came back to reality as several reporters and police cars suddenly turned around McCormick and headed down Amherst Alley.

The Russian House witch cursed. "Damn. Another interview. I think we'd better get going. What brings you down here?"

Guinevere gestured in the general vicinity of Alpha Chi Gamma. "I've got a date with an ACG man tonight. That's the one between Deke and Kappa Sigma, right?"

The Russian nodded. "Does he know you're a witch?"

"Absolutely. He found the idea quite intriguing, to say the least."

With that, the two women shook hands and separated. The Russian woman landed on the roof of New House and raced down the stairs just before the reporters got to the door. A brief spell on the door to New House 1 safely and securely barred the door, much to the chagrin of about 8 Chocolate City men who suddenly found they were having trouble getting out of their building.

Jason braced himself as the reporters crowded under Guinevere. The newsies would have a field day with this. How was she going to get to him without having to hex away some of the reporters? There certainly wasn't anywhere for her to land near him.

She scanned the crowd beneath her, looking for him. Of course, that was when every single Delta Kappa Epsilon, Alpha Chi Gammon, and Kappa Sigma man started waving frantically at her to try to get her to pick him up. Eventually, she saw him and pointed her wand at him.

"Levicorpus!"

Jason shrieked as he suddenly flew into the air. Reports spun and pointed their cameras at him. A few seconds later, he landed with a thud on the magic carpet. Making sure he was safe and sound, the carpet flew away, leaving the shocked bystanders clustered in front of the frats.

Jason massaged his rear end and stared at her. "I must say, Guinevere, you sure know how to make an entrance."

"Indeed I do, Jason. I figured we'd head out to an island somewhere where people won't be able to bother us. I'll put a Disillusionment Charm on us so that no one will be able to see us unless they're using video equipment. I'll cast a spell which will warm up the area under the carpet. And if they don't know where to look, too bad for them. Sorry about the Levicorpus spell -- I didn't have anywhere to land. Now, if you'll hold on a second, I'll cast the Disillusionment Charm."

She brought out her wands and muttered a few words. She looked around for a moment, satisfied, and started directing the carpet over to the harbor. Once she was happy where the carpet was going, she turned back to Jason and presented him with a little box.

Jason looked at the box. "What is it?"

She pointed at the box. "Open it. It's your first magical item."

Jason stared at the box. A magic item! Just for him! Perfect! He tore away the wrapping paper and uncovered a small spherical object. It looked like a little transparent ball. He picked it up to get a better look, and was astonished when it turned red.

He twisted it around to look at it more. "What is it?"

"It's a Remembrall. I brought it to make sure you don't forget me. It's a magical object. If you ever forget something, it will turn red, like it is now. Once you remember what you forgot, it will turn clear again."

Jason hummed in appreciation. This may be useful for exams. Aloud, he asked, "Does this mean I've forgotten something?"

She nodded. "Yup. Do you have everything? I see you've got your jacket, clothing, and so forth. Check to see if there's something you're missing."

Uneasy, Jason started rummaging through his pockets. It didn't took a while until he realized what was missing. He winced and turned, pleadingly, to Guinevere.

"You wouldn't by chance have a spell which will unlock the front door of the frat, start my car, and get into my mother's house, would you?"

To be continued...
--------------
Update #77
------------
March 7, 1996
Al-Qaeda Headquarters
Afghanistan/Pakistan Border
Next PoV: Rubeus Hagrid
------------
Osama bin Laden looked at the latest list of recruits. There were now twenty new names on the list, thirteen men and seven women. He had interviewed many of the men personally and administered the oath of initiation. All of the men had passed all of the necessary mental and physical exams required to be an al-Qaeda operative. They were all dedicated and disciplined enough to follow orders unquestioningly and were willing to commit murder or suicide if necessary.

The men were from all over the Arab world. Five were from Afghanistan, three were from Pakistan, two from Iraq, one from Morocco, one from Syria, and one from Saudi Arabia. One of the people running the boot camp had noted that the Saudi recruit had been extremely impressive, able to run with a 20-kilo knapsack on his back without having to break out a sweat. Not only that, he appeared to be extremely strong and focused in everything he did. Osama hadn't actually interviewed the Saudi, but the man who had had been absolutely bowled over.

The Saudi was also a master of disguise. He was very good at thinking up fake costumes and seemed to be able to make himself blend into everything. He also liked to hide his strong physical stamina from his marks by stooping a little and carrying around a walking stick which he never let out of his hand. Bin Laden planned to promote him if he survived his first few assignments.

The declaration of jihad against the wizards and served him well. However, there was one thing which had not worked out for him. None of the new recruits were wizards who had seen the light of Allah and decided to use their abilities in His name. He wondered if it would take a few attacks on Wizarding targets to encourage the wizards to start siding with him.

Bin Laden really wanted to send a suicide bomber into a Wizarding area. However, most of them were in secret locations where Muggles couldn't go. The few that he knew were underwater, invisible to Muggles, or hidden in mountains or volcanoes. Sure, there was a link between the American Department of Magic and an MIT dormitory, but how the hell was he going to get someone into the dorm? The only person who'd have had a chance of getting in there would be Aafia Siddiqui, but she had graduated MIT the previous year.

He supposed he could tell her to tell everyone she was visiting a friend in MacGregor. Getting her into the dorm, however, was only part of the problem. Presumably the wizards had security arrangements preventing Muggles from entering I-Entry without explicit permission. Siddiqui wouldn't be able to do much good if the I-Entry door were closed in her face.

An idea came to him. If she were able to get into dorms but not into I-Entry, maybe she could take out the MIT student who had come out as a witch. He'd compiled a decent amount of information on this witch. There were problems with this, however, as well. First, the student was supposedly a junior or senior, so Aafia may have as little as three months left to trap her in her room and take her out. Furthermore, the witch was a member of a sorority, and a couple of the larger sororities had houses. What would happen if Aafia finally managed to break in and found that the witch was out at some sorority gathering? Aafia would have to get into the sorority house -- which may not be easy. And even if she got in there, the witch's sisters would undoubtedly protect her.

There was also the possibility that Aafia knew the witch. Would she be willing to kill one of her friends? On the other hand, an acquaintanceship would make it easier for her to reach the witch.

Lastly, there was the possibility of magic. Bin Laden had no idea what this witch could do. She had a broom and she knew how to fly it. Even worse, she was more than familiar with technology, having gone to MIT. A witch who could wield both magic AND technology? Allah Himself would probably have a problem with her. The only bright side bin Laden could think of would be that she may be too hooked on technology to use magic TOO much. And once Aafia was in the dorm, she could open the door for further operatives.

This operation could work, he thought. Perhaps he can send some of the new female recruits after her at some point. It would probably take a couple of months to organize something like this, but it could just work. It would probably be hell of a lot easier to organize than the scheme he'd been toying with of flying airplanes into buildings.

He hadn't interviewed any of the women -- it would have been inappropriate. However, the female recruiter had assured him that all seven women were more than capable of taking out the witch with a rifle shot or something like that. The recruiter claimed that the best place for an attack would be a private sorority gathering, where the agents would not have to wear a burqa in public to identify them as Muslims.

Bin Laden had recommended that the agents not wear the burqas to this assignment. This had shocked the recruiter for a while, but eventually she agreed.

The terrorist mastermind had just finished jotting down notes on the new recruits when he heard a knock on his door. He frowned: he wasn't expecting anyone. What was going on?

He looked up from his desk. "Who is it?"

"Ismail, sir."

It was Ismail, all right. Bin Laden recognized his voice. The man didn't seem particularly frightened, though. If anything, he seemed excited.

He disarmed the security protocol for the door and told him to enter. Ismail came in and saluted his leader sharply.

"At ease, Ismail. Report."

In response, Ismail handed over a sheet of paper. "This, sir. I believe we may have found ourselves an ally in the United States."

Bin Laden stared at him. "An ally in the United States? Who?"

"A group called America for Humans."

"America for Humans? Odd name. How do you believe they would be of use to us?"

"Sir, their primary platform involves the destruction and/or conversion of wizards. You may be interested to know that they got the idea of converting wizards to Christianity from your speech."

Osama rolled his eyes. "Converting wizards, yes. Converting them to Christianity, no. We've got enough crusaders to deal with as it is. Why would they join us?"

Ismail grinned. "They won't join us intentionally, sir. However, both of us have a common enemy: American Christian wizards. I recommend that we have one of our men infiltrate their organization and assist them in attacking their targets. They've got foot soldiers, so we don't have to waste our own men. We give them our weapons and tell them what to do, and they'll be more than happy to do our dirty work for them."

Osama shook his head. "I see where you're heading. They won't follow Muslims, though, particularly if they mention they're members of al-Qaeda. If anything, they'll attack us with our own weapons."

"Not if we use American agents and don't tell them we're part of al-Qaeda. We'll tell them that we're some part of some obscure anti-wizard militia which just found out about America for Humans and wants to join up. We've got weapons, and they've got fervor. They'll bite. Trust me."

Osama thought about it as Ismail continued. "There's more, sir. We'll tell them the weapons are less powerful than they actually are. When they go off, the group will be more than happy and pleasantly surprised. The agents will look like heroes in their eyes. A powerful attack will also rattle the American psyche and hopefully inspire the people to turn against their own wizards. The resulting chaos could distract the Clinton administration from actually prosecuting us. It will give us time to organize our own signature attacks, such as the airplane attack."

Osama continued the man's thought. "You may be onto something. If the group gets captured, they have no idea we were involved so we get away scot-free. We'll have to warn our agents that we'll have to disavow any involvement if they are captured, but they're probably going to be OK with that. On the other hand, if the attack succeeds our agents will -- as you said -- be seen as heroes. America for Humans will probably depend on us to get them more weapons and training. If we decide to withhold our weapons unless they attack certain targets which are more to OUR advantage..."

Ismail finished the thought. "...we'll effectively have a front in the United States. Eventually, we'll have them pull off a REALLY big attack which will kill off most of the group -- unexpectedly, of course -- and then we'll reveal that we're really members of al-Qaeda and we were just using America for Humans. Then they'll know who REALLY is running the show."

Osama nodded. "Sound thinking, Ismail."

"Oh, it gets better, sir. You see, the two main leaders of America for Humans are two radical pastors in Westboro, Kansas: Fred Phelps and Stephen Pitmoss. Pitmoss isn't against using weapons against witches and has already attempted to burn someone suspected of witchcraft. and Phelps has already accused the Pope of being the False Prophet. Remember he's a wizard."

Bin Laden grunted. "All modern prophets are false. Muhammed was the last true prophet. "

"That's not what I meant, sir. The False Prophet is considered a herald of the Antichrist in Christian lore. A sign that the End of Days is coming. The point is, Phelps's group is more than willing to attack Catholics -- the ultimate crusaders. I believe you've considered attacks on Catholics as well, if you're not mistaken."

Osama nodded. "I have. I must say, though, that a wizard Pope probably means that the End of Days is probably upon us. Allah would have to come down Himself to get rid of someone like that. At any rate, though, this sounds like a good idea. Go ahead and see what you can do. Find agents who are American rednecks if possible and do not look Muslim. May Allah be with you, Ismail."

Ismail nodded. "May He be with you, sir."

"Thank you, Ismail. Oh, before I forget -- when you get a chance, get me in touch with Aafia Siddiqui. I may have an assignment for her...and perhaps America for Humans as well."

To be continued...
----------
Update #78
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March 8, 1996
Care of Magical Creatures Classroom
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Great Britain
Next PoV: Bill Clinton
------------
Rubeus Hagrid patted Sleipnir the unicorn. Umbridge was so wrong about these animals, he thought. Sure, if you surprised a unicorn or threatened them, they'd do nasty things to you. But if you were nice to them and got them accustomed to humans, they'd consider you to be part of their herd and would be very friendly. The American Minister of Magic -- well, as they called him Secretary of Magic -- must have known that, as he had given President Clinton a unicorn. Surely Cornelius Fudge would have known this as well. In that case, why didn't he tell Dolores Umbridge? It would have made things a hell of a lot easier.

The unicorn neighed and turned to look at the fruit basket. Hagrid got the point immediately. He headed over to the fruit basket to pick out an apple.

That's when he saw the note on the fruit basket. It was in Umbridge's handwriting and decorated with meowing cats.

"Come to my office immediately."

Hagrid frowned. What was this? Was she still holding a grudge against him from when he had confronted her over Sleipnir? He wouldn't be surprised, given how much of a jerk she was. Maybe she was trying to impose her authority over him again.

Puzzled, he waited until the end of his current class and headed over to Umbridge's office. He knocked on the door, and she let him in.

She was not alone. There were five burly men in the office with her. Ministry officials, he suspected, or perhaps Aurors. He had no idea what they were doing there. Perhaps she was concerned students and staff might try to rebel against her increasing authority.

He'd find out soon enough, he supposed. He nodded to Umbridge. "You wished to see me, Headmistress?"

Umbridge nodded. "Indeed I have, Hagrid. I've called this meeting to inform you that you have been terminated. You are no longer a professor at this school. You have until the rest of the day to pack up your belongings. These men are trained Aurors and will help you on your way."

Hagrid stared at her. "WHAT? You can't get rid of me! On what grounds are you letting me go?"

Umbridge smiled sweetly at him. "You're too insolent, and you expose the students to dangerous creatures like unicorns. There are creatures out in the forest which can be a threat to these students, yet you treat them like friends and claim that they'll be all right."

"But they are! They're misunderstood!"

Umbridge shook her head. "Tell that to Draco Malfoy, who was bitten by your tame hippogriff. A hippogriff which should have been executed two years ago, had things gone as planned. The Ministry is still unsure how he escaped."

Hagrid longed to punch her in the nose and barely restrained himself. "What are you talking about? Draco Malfoy provoked Buckbeak!"

"That's what you would like to think, Hagrid. However, Cornelius knows what really happened. After all, Lucius is an important Ministry official and Cornelius has his ear."

Bloody hell, he thought. It was all politics. Lucius was going to be using his political clout to frame Hagrid for the Buckbeak incident. Hagrid knew that he and Umbridge hadn't seen eye to eye, but he had hoped it wouldn't be this bad.

Umbridge hesitated for a moment, and then said: "If it makes you feel any better, you're not going to be the only teacher dismissed today. Professor Trelawney has also been let go. She claims she's a seer, but she doesn't seem to have any idea how to actually see into the future."

Hagrid shook his head. "That's not the way seers work, Headmistress. They're more along the lines of oracles, spontaneously reciting prophecies. They can't prophesy on demand."

Umbridge didn't buy it. "That's what you say. However, how would you know? You're not a seer. Now, I'd recommend you start packing. You've got until the end of the day."

Hagrid didn't like where this was going. "Can I at least have a second chance?"

"No, Hagrid. You've been reviewed several times and haven't improved. Goodbye."

"Who's going to teach Divination and Care of Magical Creatures when we're gone?"

Umbridge looked at a piece of parchment in front of her. "Professor Grubbly-Plank will be taking over for you. Divination is going to be discontinued permanently, as it obviously doesn't work. It is going to be replaced with additional Muggle Studies classes now that the Statute of Secrecy has been breached."

Hagrid glared at her. "Professor Grubbly-Plank has no experience with some of the creatures in the forest, Headmistress. Some of them will only talk to me."

Umbridge shrugged. "If she runs into any of those, I'm sure that a more capable staff member in this building will be more than willing to exterminate them. Why, I've even heard rumors there's a giant out there. I suspect it will take multiple Aurors to bring it down."

Hagrid was barely able to contain his anger. "Now hold on a second, Grawp is my brother! You can't touch him! He's gentle!"

One of the Aurors muttered something. Seconds later, all five men pointed their wands at him and muttered incantations. Hagrid felt his body freeze solid and topple to the ground. From somewhere above his head, Umbridge said: "Just as gentle as that hippogriff, I'd imagine. And I shouldn't have been surprised he's your brother, given how stupid the rumors say he is. Dismissed."

Hagrid was a very strong man. He couldn't avoid being strong given his half-giant stature. However, five Stunning Spells hitting him simultaneously could even do him in.

Umbridge nodded. "Smart move. If you were to attack one of the Aurors, you'd be going to Azkaban. Now get the hell out of my sight, half-breed."

Hagrid could only fume helplessly as the Aurors picked him up -- with difficulty -- and started carrying him back to his former office. En route, he passed through the Great Hall, where a disheveled Trelawney was pleading with a stunned McGonagall. A whole gaggle of students surrounded the former Divination teacher, staring at both her and McGonagall in horror.

Hagrid couldn't believe what had happened. What was he going to do now? He doubted the Ministry of Magic would give him a job given the fact that bigots were in charge. Most of the giants had sided with Voldemort, so he couldn't go back home. He couldn't live in the Muggle world either -- he'd stand out too much and would likely scare Muggles.

Suddenly, something came to him. Shaking his huge head to clear it (and getting lots of wands pointed at him for his trouble), he asked if he could go to Dumbledore's office one last time. There was something he needed to check out.

One of the Aurors shook his head. "Dumbledore isn't here, Mr. Hagrid. I'm sorry. To be perfectly honest, we don't think you've done anything to deserve a dismissal, but orders are orders."

Hagrid shook his head. "I don't need to talk to Dumbledore. There's something which may be of use to me up there."

The Auror considered it for a second. "Will you give me your word of honor that you will not try to escape custody?"

Hagrid swallowed. "I will. I know the password. Let me in there."

Dubiously, the Aurors followed him into Dumbledore's tower. The tower was unoccupied. The little machines were still whirring on the headmaster's desk, and the computer monitor seemed to be showing a document involving spell components.

Hagrid looked frantically around the room. Where was it? It had to be here somewhere! He prayed Dumbledore hadn't thrown it out. He wished he had a wand so he could Summon the object.

Eventually, though, he found it. It was a little card, sitting on a shelf. At the time, it hadn't seemed important. Now, however, everything had changed.

He looked down at the card. It had everything on it that he needed.

DR. ROBERT J. ROACH
FISH AND WILDLIFE SERVICE
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
[email protected]
202-555-1212

He looked at the computer on Dumbledore's desk. Slowly, he turned to the Aurors.

"Any of you know how to use a computer?"
----------------------
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
SUBJECT: hagird half-giant ghanged mind
dear sir
this gis hagrid oi talked to you earlier your preident asked me about zoo job
i changed my mind and woant ot go to the usa
i'll send tyou an owl f=so you can talk to me
sincerely
rubeus hagrid

ps is it ok if i bring my borther his name iw grawp and hes very friendyl wont hurt a foy
----------------------
To be continued...
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Update #79
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March 8, 1996
Oval Office
The White House
Washington, DC
United States of America
Next PoV: Travis Radner
------------
TEXT OF THE PRESIDENT'S SPEECH TO THE NATION

My fellow Americans.

A little over a week ago, a terrible tragedy took place. A hate group called America for Humans, based in Westboro, Kansas, brutally assaulted an innocent woman. They beat her savagely, dragged her through the snow to a park, tied her to a tree, and tried to set her on fire. Had it not been for the timely intervention of the local authorities, she would have likely been killed.

She was attacked because America for Humans thought she was a witch. As a matter of fact, she was not a witch. She was just an ordinary, nonmagical human being like you and me, often referred to as a Muggle. She just happened to have been in the area when a car swerved out of control and injured someone she had been arguing with. America for Humans thought that she had ensorcelled the car, and things deteriorated from there.

I must confess that I am quite disappointed. I had thought that America had outgrown the rancor and superstition which had triggered the Salem witch trials. For those of you who are unaware, a minor breach of the Statute of Secrecy in Salem, Massachusetts frightened the Puritans and started a witch hunt. Several people were accused as witches and executed after show trials virtually guaranteed to the convict the defendant. Some of you may have seen the ghost of one of these witches on the Four Towns video. Yes, Rebecca Nurse -- Goody Nurse, as she refers to herself -- was one of the women executed during this ordeal.

The vast majority of the victims were in fact not witches. Although a few witches were in fact picked up, they were in fact in the minority. Furthermore, the Puritans would have been horrified to learn that the witches would have in fact been able to escape from their nooses using magic. Had they done so, the only people who would have lost their lives would have been people who would have been wrongfully accused. As it is, these brave witches decided to sacrifice themselves to prevent the knowledge of the Wizarding world to spread any further.

The wizards are among us. You know it. I know it. I have met several of these individuals and am convinced that they want to live out their lives in peace, just like we do. It is not their fault that they have magical abilities. They can turn off their Wizarding powers about as easily as someone can turn off blue eyes. Please don't discriminate against the wizards for something like this.

I call upon the House and Senate to start work on an bill, the Civil Right Act of 1996, which will outlaw discrimination against people on the basis of magical ability. This is still a first contact situation for the most part, and we need to make sure that relations between these two groups of people are as smooth as possible. I spoke with Secretary Radner about this, and although he said he could in theory use magic to force the bill through Congress, he refused to do so because it would inappropriate and that the Muggle government is outside his jurisdiction. He also said that sending things through Congress without first consulting the will of the people would set an extremely bad precedent.

I call upon the House and Senate to have this bill in place by the end of 1997. It is about time that our country started doing something about its history of discrimination. If I am still your president at the end of 1997, I will do everything possible to ensure its rapid ratification. If you so choose to go in a different direction in the November election, rest assured that Senator Dole also agrees that legislation is necessary to protect our most unique citizens.

Until the time that this bill passes, the federal government will be establishing a program designed to protect the wizards and their communities from the attacks of hate groups such as America for Humans. Although Secretary Radner has told me that the wizards will be more than able to defend themselves in case of an attack now that the Statute of Secrecy is gone, he is requesting that the federal government handle the protection duties simply because the repercussions of a magical attack on American citizens -- even in self-defense -- would be problematic, to say the least, and open to misinterpretation.

As a result, the following precautions will be put in place to ensure that Wizarding communities are allowed to practice their traditions in safety. These will all take effect on April 1st, 1996.

1. Motorized fishing boats will not be permitted onto the Quabbin Reservoir in central Massachusetts. That is the home to the Wizarding Capital District. Kayaking and canoeing will still be permitted in small boats and in small boats only.

2. The following areas will be made off limits to American Muggles without express permission from a Wizarding authority:
a. the summit of Mt. St. Helens,
b. the center of the Ocala National Forest,
c. Big Thicket National Preserve, which will be closed on April 1st,
d. a remote section of Smoky Mountain National Park,
e. everything within half-a-mile radius of Mt. Rushmore,
f. the Yucca Mountain waste dump, and
g. the American Eagles gold mine in Colorado.

In addition, the MIT dormitory know as MacGregor House will be forbidden to all non-students and staff at the beginning of the 1996-1997 school year.

For a complete list of the affected areas, contact your local congressman or congresswoman.

3. A $500 reward will be issued to anyone who reports an act of discrimination on the grounds of magical ability. The reward will only be given if the case results in a conviction.

4. All houses of worship will be provided with security guards. America for Humans has already threatened to attack some of our most cherished institutions and have accused great religious figures of witchcraft. Whenever possible, the guards will be of the faith of the congregation they are protecting.

We in the government apologize for the inconvenience. However, it is important that our relationship with wizards get off on the right foot. What we do now will set a precedent for generations to come.

Thank you for your attention.

To be continued...
--------------
Update #80
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March 11, 1996
Harvard Pilgrim Health
Boston, MA
United States of America
Next PoV: Head Imam, al-Aqsa Mosque
------------
The nurse stepped out into the waiting room and called out a name.

"Charles Nelson?"

Finally, Charles thought. He'd been sitting around in this waiting room reading old issues of Sports Illustrated for thirty minutes already. Not only had that article about the Celtics been boring, reading it had done nothing to alleviate his headache. He figured it was allergies, but he wanted to be sure. If he was lucky, they'd prescribe him something to make the pain go away.

He got up and let the nurse follow him into an examination. They took his vital signs and then left the room so he could get into the hospital gown. The blood pressure seemed normal: for the first time in a while, he hadn't recorded a high blood pressure due to the infamous "white coat syndrome".

Fifteen minutes later, the doctor hadn't come in. Charles frowned. He knew the health care system was screwed up, but he didn't think he'd have to wait this long. To top that off, the headache was getting worse. Maybe it's stress, he thought. If all else failed, he'd get on some antidepressant or something like that. He'd better get SOMETHING for all of this waiting.

After a couple of more minutes, there was a commotion outside his room. It sounded like a large number of people -- at least five -- were talking quietly and urgently outside. What was this all about? Was he sicker than he had thought? Were they going to tell him it was a brain tumor or something like that? Was he on the brink of death?

Be realistic, he told himself. They haven't examined you yet. How could they have determined he was about to die simply by weighing him? So he was a bit overweight. Big deal. Everyone was now.

Then the door opened and the doctor came in, followed by a man Charles had never seen before. The man was wearing a doctor's lab coat -- over a bizarre purple robe. Charles started at him. What hell was he, some kind of trainee?

The doctor shook his hand. "Good afternoon, Charles. I'm Dr. Marks. I'll look you over momentarily. However, I was wondering if you would be willing to participate in a news conference about a new medical initiative involving the Wizarding community."

Charles stared at him. "A news conference? What do you mean?"

The doctor indicated the robed man. "This is Secretary of Magic Travis Radner. He has come to announce the new initiative. Would you be willing to be part of the announcement? You don't have to do anything. If you wish, you can have the Secretary examine you."

Charles stared at the wizard. "You're going to have this witch cast a spell on me and tell me what's wrong?"

Radner shook his head and smiled. "Wizard, Mr. Nelson. A witch is a female wizard, and I am most assuredly not female. However, in all fairness, I wouldn't be the one doing the examination. I am not a trained healer. All examinations would be conducted by trained Wizarding healers. You will be in safe hands."

Charles shook his head. "I'm a bit nervous about Wizarding medicine at this point, Secretary Radner. I'll help with the announcement if you need a patient, but I'd prefer focusing on traditional medicine for the time being. No offense, sir."

Radner nodded in understanding. "I understand, Mr. Nelson. Magical remedies and cures, while effective, are still considered a bit...alternative when it comes to Muggles. However, if that is your wish, I'll respect it. Now, I'll withdraw while the doctor examines you. The doctor will summon us when the session is done.

With that, Secretary Radner shook hands all around and left the room. The doctor spent the next ten minutes examining him and determining that he'd been suffering from stress headaches. He recommended relaxation and counseling. When Charles said that he was wondering if the doctor could prescribe medicine, the doctor explained that although he was willing to do so, it would be better for the patient in the long run to make lifestyle and attitude changes which would allow him to be more tolerant of stress. Life was stressful, for good or for ill. It would be better to spend some time learning this new skill than falling for a quick fix.

Charles agreed with the doctor and jotted down several phone numbers and email addresses for therapists, as well as for sanctuaries such as the Cambridge Insight Meditation Center. Charles hadn't tried meditation before, and was still a bit skeptical of it, but he figured it was at least worth a shot.

When everything had been decided, the doctor excused himself and left the room to tell Radner everything was ready. Seconds later, he and Radner returned...with five other people.

Two of them were holding lighting equipment. One of them was holding a microphone. One was holding something which appeared to be a television camera. The fifth one -- dressed in a robe similar to Radner's -- appeared to be holding a gigantic photographic camera of some sort. Charles stared at it in puzzlement.

The robed man nodded his head at the camera and explained. "This takes dynamic photographs, Mr. Nelson. It uses magic to create photographs with moving contents. Imagine a video camera which is able to animate the subject matter without a long exposure."

Charles grunted. "Isn't that impossible?"

The robed man nodded. "Using Muggle technology yes. However, it's commonplace in the magical world. I've got a magical newspaper here, if you'd like to see some more examples of these photographs."

Charles stared at him. "You wizards have a special newspaper?"

"Several of them, Mr. Nelson. The most famous one is the Daily Prophet, based in London. The local newspaper is called Greenwich Magical Journal. It's published in Greenwich, one of the Four Towns. The GMJ staff is actually debating allowing Muggles to subscribe so they can learn more about the Wizarding world. If you want, I can subscribe you to it."

Charles shook his head. "No thanks. I've already got enough problems without having to worry about giants and vampires taking over the world."

Radner grinned. "There aren't that many vampires, and the giants stay away from humans for the most part. Rest assured, you have nothing to worry about. However, I understand your concern. Now, if you're ready, we'll begin the announcement."

Charles looked at the doctor and then back at Radner. "Fine with me."

Radner smiled, ran his hand through his hair, and turned to face the phalanx of video cameras. The main Muggle cameraman counted down from three and then pointed at Radner. He was on the air.

Radner looked into the camera and began speaking. "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. This is Secretary of Magic Travis Radner speaking from the one of the internal medicine wings of the Harvard Pilgrim Health building in Boston, Massachusetts. I've come to this hospital to announce a new initiative which will be made available to all Muggles starting July 1st.

"This initiative involves assigning various Wizarding healers to hospitals all over the country as practitioners of, for the lack of a better word, alternative therapies. All health plans which permit alternative therapies will be required to permit magical healers as well.

"We are still working out the final distribution of the wizards through the country's hospitals. However, I can already tell you that there will be at least one wizard-augmented hospital within 20 miles of 98% of the United States population. The remaining 2% of the people will be able to receive free house calls from wizard healers at no additional charge.

"Wizard healers can do things typical Muggle doctors cannot do. They are able to deal with diseases like AIDS and migraines. However, they have limitations as well. First and foremost, they cannot reverse aging or death. Second, Wizarding surgery is a bit primitive and they themselves recommend that they use our practices. If you do choose to have a wizard accompany surgery, you will likely undergo an ordinary Muggle operation where the wizard will be of assistance stemming bleeding and dealing with simple complications.

The Secretary turned to look at Charles, who blinked as the cameras all turned to look at him. "Keep in mind that wizard support is entirely optional. Some people may prefer to trust in Muggle doctors. That may very well likely be the case in the beginning, and it appears to have been the case in most of the people I've spoken to so far, including this patient here.

"I envision a day where the medical expertise of the Wizarding and Muggle worlds will be able to join forces to make health care a cheaper, and more effective, reality for both parties."

He then motioned the Muggle doctor over to Charles's examination table and told all three of them to smile. A bemused Charles smiled for the photo op as the robed figure with the camera pointed it at the group.

There was a big flash and a thick cloud of colored smoke poured into the air from the camera. The doctor suddenly gasped and told the man with the camera to leave the room, as smoke could just make sick people worse -- and many of the people in the wing had conditions more serious than a stress headache. Radner had barely gotten through explaining that the smoke was harmless to humans when it reached the ceiling and naturally triggered the fire alarm. Sprinklers started spraying all over the room and alarms started hooting. It took a good five minutes or so for officials to restore order in the hospital.

Radner swore. "Damn! I forgot about the damn smoke alarms. I thought I knew a lot about Muggles. Well, there's even stuff I don't know how to handle yet. Note to self -- don't bring our cameras into Muggle buildings with fire alarms."

Irritated, Radner waved his wand and the alarms all shut off. Amplifying his voice, he announced that everything was all right and that it had been a false alarm. None of the patients were in danger and everyone could re-enter the building. Charles didn't know whether the other occupants would believe him, but it was better than nothing.

Inevitably, the fire department had to come and sort out all the mess. However, before they were forced to evacuate the wing, Charles managed to get a quick glance at a piece of paper which had fallen out of the strange camera. It showed video -- an honest to goodness video -- of him, the doctor, and Radner smiling at the camera. As he watched, the doctor on the film gasped and started racing towards the camera, waving his hands feverishly.

There's a shot that went awry, he thought.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Update #81
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March 14, 1996
Al-Aqsa Mosque
Jerusalem
Next PoV: Lucius Malfoy
------------
The head imam looked out over the congregation. Everything seemed to be going the way it was supposed to. No one had brought their shoes in, at least to the men's section, and for the time being the screams of the children was being kept to a minimum. There were a few tourists here and there, but most of them had left when he had told them that it was time for services. If they felt like praying, then by all means they could stay. However, if they weren't in the mood for services, they should come back at a more appropriate time.

It had been less than a month since Samuel the Prophet had shown up at that Allah-forsaken ghost convention. Although Samuel hadn't intended to ignite a controversy among the three Abrahamic religions, ignite one he had. The idea that all Judaism, Islam, and Christianity were functionally equivalent in Samuel's eyes was hard to swallow. The imam had enough trouble reconciling Shi'a and Sunni Islam. Now he had to bring the other two faiths in there as well? If there was ever a time for the Mahdi to arrive and clear things up, it would be now. Then again, there wasn't much he could do about it for the time being. So, he tried to keep everything more or less the way it was. He figured that if Allah in His great wisdom had allowed Islam to maintain control of the Temple Mount, He was at the very least satisfied with what he, the imam, was doing.

There were, of course, a few hotheads among the other two monotheistic traditions who tended to disagree with him. He kept on hearing rumors of Jewish and Christian fundamentalists who were trying to blow up his mosque, arguing that a neutral place of worship needed to be constructed which did not favor any one of the three faiths. He doubted that Allah would allow fundamentalists of any sort to destroy a holy shrine such as this, but he couldn't prevent himself from being a wee bit nervous. He had asked the mayor of Jerusalem to provide extra security around the mosque, a request that the mayor had granted immediately. Unfortunately, he couldn't help but think of the possibility that a bomber or fundamentalist would "happen" to sneak his way into the security forces.

Quiet footsteps behind him interrupted his train of thought. He turned and saw one of his staff members looking at him with a panicked expression on his face. What had happened now? Did one of the women accidentally walk into the men's section again? Lowering his voice as to not disturb the worshipers, he asked the newcomer what was going on.

The response was short and sweet. "Imam, Samuel is here. He wants to talk to you."

The imam frowned. "Samuel? Samuel who? I don't recall having an appointment."

The messenger bit his lip. "It's Samuel. Period. The Prophet. He just showed up here with his interpreter and wants to talk to whoever's in charge here."

The imam blanched. Allah protect me, he thought. What am I supposed to do now? How am I supposed to win an argument with a legendary historical figure? Granted, Samuel didn't seem at all like what the Old Testament made him out to be. He had proven to be a short, ascetic bald man with a small mustache and short beard. He didn't look like someone who could call upon Allah to strike His foes with lightning. Then again, the Prophet himself had been an ordinary person before the archangel spoke to him. No one would have been able to pick Mohammed up in a lineup before that.

He sighed and nodded. "I'll be in my office. Let him in and join me. No offense, young man, but I'm a bit nervous talking to him."

The messenger put his hand on the imam's shoulder. "Sir, I understand. If there's anything I can do to help, I will."

With that, the messenger walked off and the imam headed over to his office. He looked around at all the religious tomes and books for spiritual guidance. He doubted that any of them actually considered the possibility that one of the great figures of history would show up three thousand years later to talk to him.

The door opened, and the messenger led Samuel and the interpreter into the room. Samuel was dressed in his usual ancient-looking clothing. The interpreter had dressed in modest clothing and a robe, as was appropriate for his role and for the fact that he would be entering a mosque.

Samuel looked at him and barked something at him. The imam couldn't tell what language it was, though it sounded vaguely related to Arabic. He should have known, he thought. Arabic has changed a great deal since the time of the Qu'ran, and this man was from sixteen hundred years before that.

The interpreter's eyebrows shot up, but he translated. "Samuel bids you greetings and was wondering if he could speak to the High Priest."

The imam looked at his colleague, confused. "High Priest? What does he mean, High Priest?"

The interpreter responded in modern Arabic. Judging by Samuel's reaction, the biblical figure had no idea what the interpreter was saying. "I think he's confused, Imam. He thinks that this is the temple from the Old Testament, which was led by the High Priest."

The imam stared at him. "I'm not the High Priest. There hasn't been a High Priest here for millennia."

The interpreter thought a moment. "You may not be the High Priest. However, to be frank, you're the closet thing to a High Priest right now in Islam. Perhaps Allah intends you to be the new High Priest. Think about it, Imam. You're in charge of the direct successor to the Jewish Temple. That would make you the acting High Priest."

"But this site is not the holiest site in the Faith! Mecca is!"

"I'm aware of that, Imam. Samuel probably isn't, however, and he would likely be shocked to hear that a site outside the Holy Land is going to be considered more important than the Temple Mount. As far as Samuel is concerned, you're the High Priest, and I think you're going to wind up stuck with the role."

The imam didn't like this. Unfortunately, he didn't seem like he had much of a choice. Bracing himself for the inevitable explosion, he told the interpreter to tell Samuel that he was the highest ranking clergyman in the mosque.

In response, Samuel tried to shake his hand and looked on in irritation as his hand passed right through the imam's. He then spoke once again and the interpreter translated.

"Good afternoon, High Priest. Congratulations on your appointment."

The imam couldn't lie to a man like this, he thought. He couldn't. So, he told the truth. "I'm sorry, Revered One, but I'm not the High Priest. There hasn't been a High Priest in this shrine for thousands of years."

Samuel stared at him. "Very strange. However, it's understandable how traditions can be corrupted over thousands of years. At any rate, I'm going to be making some changes to unify these various monotheistic sects into one coherent faith, just like God wanted. Would you be willing to act as High Priest until we're able to figure out who the highest-ranking priest is?"

The imam stared at him. If he said no, he'd probably get kicked out by whoever Samuel installed as the new High Priest. Oh well, he thought. Allah worked in mysterious ways. He hoped he knew what he was getting into.

The imam took a deep breath and nodded. "I'll do it, Revered One."

Samuel looked pleased. "Good. I was hoping that you can make an announcement which ensures that all three monotheistic sects -- you call them Christianity, Judaism, and Islam -- to worship here at the Temple."

The imam stared at his colleague, only to see his friend's jaw drop. What the hell was he supposed to say NOW? It would be blasphemy to have the other two faiths here! It was time for some fast talking here.

He turned to Samuel and explained. "Revered One, Christianity and Judaism are older versions of the faith. Their beliefs don't recognize the existence of several prophets who preached after the movements split off."

Samuel frowned. "They aren't using the words of all the prophets? They're ignoring a few of them?"

"Yes, Revered One."

"Who aren't they using?"

"The Jews don't use Jesus and Mohammed. Christians don't use Mohammed."

Samuel looked at him, puzzled. "I don't think I recognize either of those names."

"I understand, Revered One. You see, both of those men preached after your time. They helped clarify several of the customs."

Samuel started pacing through the desk, disturbed. "This is troubling. Are you saying that we have three groups of people who follow God's word but can't agree over how exactly it is to be interpreted?"

"That's it, Revered One."

Samuel muttered something which the interpreter didn't translate, but judging from his tone of voice it was something which would probably have been transliterated as a bunch of asterisks, ampersands, and percent signs. He then spoke once again and the interpreter resumed his translation. "Have we ascertained that both Mohammed and Jesus were indeed valid prophets?"

The imam nodded. "Yes, Revered One."

Samuel groaned. "This leaves me in a difficult position. It is clear that of the three faiths, Islam seems to the one God wants. That's probably why He lets you guys use the Temple Mount. Unfortunately, the other two faiths will tend to disagree with this ruling. Please don't tell me the three of you fight from time to time."

The imam looked down in shame. "I'm afraid we do, Revered One."

Samuel looked at him sternly. "We've got to stop that right now. Here's what I want you to do. Tell all three sects that they're allowed to worship at the Temple. However, we'll encourage them to use Islamic customs, or at least we'll introduce them to Islamic customs. Do you think you can do that?"

The imam hesitated. This was going to spark a big fight. He just knew it. Drawing a deep breath, he said, "Revered One, they're not going to want to change their customs, and unless I'm mistaken we can't force them because they're also monotheists."

Samuel nodded. "Correct. We cannot. However, we can tell them that Islam is closest to what God wants. Meanwhile, I'll go over the words of Jesus and Mohammed and see if we can adapt these teachings for the modern era."

The imam looked at him in surprise. If the teachings were adapted, would this still be Islam? Samuel was digging himself in deep. He hoped that the prophet knew what he was doing.

Aloud: "I'll bring you and the interpreter a copy of the Qu'ran, Mohammed's holy book. I'll also make sure you get a copy of the New Testament, which records much of Jesus's work."

Samuel nodded. "That would be most appreciated. I want to get everyone started unifying the three religions by the time next month comes around."

The imam stared at Samuel. "Next month? What happens next month?"

Samuel grinned. "Passover, of course. I'll see you next month. Hopefully you'll be able to fit a lot of pilgrims in here. Now, if you would excuse me, we have to go. Have a good afternoon."

With that, Samuel disappeared and the interpreter left the room. This left the imam and his friend staring at each other in disbelief.

Finally, the friend broke the silence. "What in Allah's name do we do NOW?"

To be continued...
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Update #82
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March 15, 1996
Main Audience Chamber
Royal Palace
Riyadh
Saudi Arabia
Next PoV: J. K. Rowling
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Lucius Malfoy sat in the audience chamber, thinking whether he had done the right thing. The Dark Lord had issued a call to all the Death Eaters, asking them to arrive at the graveyard where he had been revived the previous year. Lucius, who fancied himself one of Voldemort's most loyal servants, yearned to join them. He hadn't seen many of his Death Eater colleagues for a long time and had looked forward to catching up with a few new faces. Granted, he wouldn't have been able to see EVERYONE: Karkaroff was in hiding, Snape was at Hogwarts, Pettigrew was locked in Snape's house, and Rodolphus Lestrange was out talking with someone in North Korea. But he'd have gotten a chance to see most of him.

Unfortunately, the Dark Lord had given him orders, just like Rodolphus Lestrange. His orders were to leave England and visit a foreign dignitary to see if they needed any help dealing with perceived threats to their regimes. Hopefully, this would allow Voldemort to insert Death Eaters into the government, placing them in a position to take control of Muggle countries. Voldemort figured judicious use of magic would make it easy for him to impress Muggles and manipulate world governments. Considering "good" wizards' reluctance to use Unforgivable Curses and other strong spells, Lucius gave the Death Eaters a good chance of success.

Lucius's task was to speak with King Fahd, the leader of Saudi Arabia. He had never been to the Middle East before and had been forced to read up on some of the local customs from a Muggle book he'd managed to unobtrusively Geminio from a library. Fortunately, as a distant member of the British Wizarding nobility, he was more than familiar with etiquette and protocol in royal circles. He hoped that this experience would come in handy here.

He suspected that Fahd knew very little about the Wizarding world. He probably had no knowledge of Dark Lord's prior attempt at power in Britain, and even if he did he'd have probably passed Voldemort off as a regional threat to the United Kingdom. In all likelihood, he and any wizards in his kingdom didn't even know what a Death Eater was. The fact that Minister Fudge had refused to acknowledge Voldemort's existence worked to his advantage in this case.

He looked up as the secretary entered the room. "Wizard Malfoy, the king is ready to see you now. Please follow me."

Lucius bowed respectfully. "As you wish, sir. Lead on."

The secretary nodded and led him through the palace. Lucius, figuring this would be a good time for some investigation as to Saudi Arabia's Wizarding defenses, struck a conversation with the secretary.

"Have you or His Majesty seen any other wizards before?"

The secretary nodded. "Allah be praised, we have. You see, His Majesty had a stroke at the beginning of the year and was on death's door. We were about to euthanize him when Haydar Dagher, our Minister of Magic, came in and told us that he would be able to save the king with magic."

Interesting, Lucius thought. These guys had a Ministry of Magic. He needed to learn more about them and figure out how powerful they were. They couldn't be THAT open given what he knew about Islam. Aloud, he said: "I take it Wizard Dagher saved the king's life? I heard he'd had a miraculous recovery but didn't know wizards had saved him."

The secretary nodded. "Indeed, a Wizarding healer saved his life. It was touch and go there: the imam who had been in attendance to perform last rites was offended when Dagher recommended magical cures. Fortunately, Crown Prince Abdullah told the imam that he'd be with Allah in five minutes if he didn't change his mind. Not surprisingly, he did."

Lucius whistled. "Praise Allah for the end of the Statute of Secrecy. In the old days, His Majesty would have likely fallen. Now, thankfully, things will be different. Is your Ministry well organized?"

The secretary shook his head. "I don't know, Wizard Malfoy. No one seems to know much about them, including the king. The religious community would be in an uproar, as you would suspect, if they came out too much in the open. If you wish, you can ask His Majesty to summon Wizard Dagher so you can talk to him."

Lucius hesitated. If anyone was to know about Death Eaters, it would be the Minister of Magic. The Minister could recognize his name, and very likely ask him to pull back his robe in the presence of the king to force him to reveal his Death Eater tattoo. He couldn't refuse a request in the king's presence, and the presence of the tattoo would give the game away immediately. He'd better be cautious. Aloud: "Thank you for your assistance. I'd be intrigued, I must admit. However, I don't want to pry into state secrets, and as a result I don't think it would be appropriate for me to get involved."

The secretary nodded. "As you wish, Wizard Malfoy."

With that, the secretary led Lucius into the audience chamber and introduced him. Lucius prostrated himself on the ground, as was the custom in these parts. The king then bid him rise and shook his hand.

"Welcome to Riyadh, Wizard Malfoy. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable? Fruit juice? Water?"

Lucius thought for a moment. "I wouldn't mind some wine, but from what I understand wine is forbidden to Muslims and I don't want to offend anyone."

The king nodded. "You are correct, Wizard Malfoy. We don't serve wine at audiences like this for precisely this reason."

Lucius grinned. "I see my knowledge about your culture is accurate. We wizards have had to catch up in a hurry. So, I'll have pomegranate juice instead."

The king snapped his fingers, and the secretary bowed and raced off to get the drink. Alone with the king, Lucius cast his line.

"Your Majesty, I have come here to offer the assistance of me and my allies in Britain in combating wizards who may be joining al-Qaeda."

Fahd stared at him. "How did you know we needed help?"

"Osama bin Laden's tape to the West. He mentioned that he was recruiting jihadist wizards. You don't want evil sorcerers in Saudi Arabia, and we don't want al-Qaeda casting Unforgivable Curses against our assets either. The enemy of our enemy is our friend, and I come here in the hand of friendship."

Fahd looked at him thoughtfully. "Are your allies going to be powerful enough to take out a wizards-enhanced al-Qaeda? I know the Muggle authorities, including my own government, haven't had much success."

Lucius grinned. "Your Majesty, my group is headed by the man who may be the most powerful wizard ever to walk the face of the earth. All of his enemies tremble before him, and very few dare speak his name."

Fahd stroked his beard. "That's an impressive group, I must say. Are you involved with the British Ministry of Magic? I figure Britain has a Ministry of Magic similar to ours."

Lucius didn't even have to lie about this. "Yes, Your Majesty. I work for the British Ministry of Magic."

Fahd thought for a moment. Lucius waited expectantly. He had him. He knew it. He was surprised, however, when Fahd shook his head.

"I've given it some thought, Wizard Malfoy. Right now, we've got a plan in place to deal with the possibility that al-Qaeda manages to pick up a few wizards. Our Ministry of Magic will be taking care of it. If our Ministry of Magic is as powerful as yours, I think we'll be able to take care of it ourselves."

Lucius bit back an oath while maintaining his prim and proper face. "Are you sure? I don't want to see you overthrown just because a terrorist group picked up a wizard."

Fahd's eyes narrowed at him. "And I don't want to become indebted to someone who wants to try to force a reduced price for oil, either."

Lucius's mind raced as he tried to understand the reference. Eventually, though, he succeeded. "I understand, Your Majesty, and I will respect your decision. However, don't hesitate to call upon us if you need any advice in the future."

The king nodded as the secretary came in with the pomegranate juice. "I'll take that under advisement. In the meantime, let's have some pomegranate juice and exchange stories of our vastly separate worlds."
-------------------
Thousands of miles away, Severus Snape thought about the report he'd just heard from Lord Voldemort. It seemed as if almost everyone was going to be attending the meeting. The only people missing would be Lucius, Wormtail, Rodolphus, and Karkaroff. It would have been helpful to take out Lucius, but this was too good an opportunity to pass up.

He'd played double agent long enough. It was about time he showed Voldemort his true colors. It was about time the Dark Lord was punished for his murder of Lily Evans.

He fumbled around in his pocket for a Muggle coin and inserted it into the payphone. He dialed the number written on the small piece of parchment in front of him.

The phone rang three times and someone picked up.

"This is Emerald City."

Snape spoke precisely into the phone. "Emerald City, this is Scarecrow. I regret that I must report that a tornado warning is in effect until 7:30 PM tonight. It's where we expected, in Kansas."

The voice on the other end of the line understood immediately. "Acknowledged. 7:30 PM in Kansas. Make sure to get out of the way before houses start flying around."

Snape nodded. "I will. Scarecrow out."

To be continued...
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Update #83
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March 15, 1996, 1545Z
The Burrow
Great Britain
Next PoV: Jacob Gold, Arthur Weasley, and a Puma Helicopter
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J. K. Rowling looked in amazement at the oddly-shaped house in front of her. Its lines seemed a bit strange, and there wasn't a driveway leading into it...or even a road, for that matter. She had realized quickly, however, that the people who lived here wouldn't be in need of roads or driveways.

It reminded her of one of her old dreams, a long time ago. Back in the early nineties, well before the Super Bowl Breach, she had dreamed up a fantasy world featuring a teenage wizard. She had fleshed this world out to the point where she believed that someday she might be able to write a novel about this teenager's experiences.

However, that was not to be. A bad case of writer's block midway through the project slowed and then eventually stalled it. Her dreams eventually fell apart completely when all of the publishers turned down samples from a short novel describing the wizard's world. She had thought it was the end of the world when she realized that she would never become an author.

Fortunately, every cloud had a silver lining. In this case, the lining happened to be a connection one of the publishers had with the Daily Mail. Although the publisher had believed that her book about the teenage wizard wouldn't sell, he realized that she was a good author. Knowing that a single mother had to have a decent job in order to raise her children in this economy, he sent her writing sample off to the Mail to see if she would be able to sign up as a columnist or reporter. His connections paid off, and six months later she had taken a job writing for one of the most important newspapers in Britain.

Her first article, about a celebrity polo match, hadn't been anywhere near the front page. However, it had received good reviews from the few people who had read. She then graduated to stories about the royal family and opinion pieces. Eventually, an article about the Canary Wharf terrorist attack made the front page and catapulted her onto the national stage.

It was then that she learned about the Wizarding community. Remembering her failed book about the teenage wizard, she had asked her boss for permission to be the newspaper's point person for interviewing the wizards. Her supervisor, recognizing her talent and knowing that the other newspapers would be sending good reporters to compete for Wizarding news, agreed.

So far, everything had gone according to plan. The only fly in the ointment had been the fact that combining her traditional duties with those on the rapidly developing Wizarding front were forcing her to work sixty to seventy hours per week. Add to that the time that she had to spent raising her family and she could barely keep herself afloat.

Less than a week ago, news had leaked out that Harry Potter -- the boy who had triggered the Super Bowl Breach -- had finally decided to give an interview to the Muggle world. This immediately led to a frenzy where no fewer than seventy newspapers vied for access to the accidental celebrity. Inevitably, Cornelius Fudge -- who still controlled access to Harry thanks to the young wizard's house arrest -- decreed that one reporter's name be drawn from a hat.

As it turned out, she had been the lucky winner. J. K. Rowling wondered if there was some kind of magical connection linking her and the young hooligan.

The interview had been scheduled for 4:00 PM today. She had spoken with Ministry of Magic officials, and they had given her a charm which would allow her access to the Burrow. As far as they knew, she would be the first Muggle woman to actually visit a Wizarding residence without having had any prior ties to the Wizarding world. She had arched her eyebrows when they mentioned the word "woman". When she pressed the official for details, they admitted that a Muggle man had visited Hogwarts a few weeks earlier on classified business.

She was not going to be alone in her interview of Potter. Apparently the Wizarding world had their own newspapers, and one of their reporters, an attractive blonde woman named Rita Skeeter, had also been selected to speak with the boy. J. K. Rowling was intrigued by the witch. However, there was something about her which made her a little uneasy. The fact that she wrote on parchment, had a quill which moved of it own volition, and was dressed in garish clothing probably contributed to her discomfort.

The police of both worlds were out in force for this event. She didn't know how they'd gotten here, but gotten here they had. Muggle cops were doing their best to keep back the hundreds of reporters whose names had not been drawn. Scattered among the cops were oddly-dressed men with what must have been magic wands. Ministry officials had told her that Wizarding law enforcement officers known as Aurors would be helping with crowd control and that they would only use magic in absolute self-defense. Both sides were nervous about the repercussions of an Auror being let loose on a mob of confused Muggles.

A man approached her and Ms. Skeeter with five minutes to go. "Ladies, listen to me. Here's how it's going to work. It's now about 3:55. The interview will start promptly at 4:00 and last one hour. You can ask whatever questions you wish. I have told Mr. Potter that he can say whatever he wants. However, be advised that any newspaper columns must be run by the Minister of Magic for approval. That includes you, Ms. Skeeter."

Skeeter glared at him. Rowling, however, stared at him, confused. "Sir, how do I get in touch with the Ministry of Magic? Besides, I wouldn't expect that Muggles would be under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Magic. Shouldn't someone in Her Majesty's government be supervising me? At the very minimum, my boss ought to know of this."

The functionary nodded. "Normally, that would be the case, Ms. Rowling. However, this is an exceptional situation. You're dealing with someone under house arrest here, and the Ministry wants to make sure nothing improper makes it into the Muggle presses. Minister Fudge is especially worried about stuff that could compromise relations between the Muggles and the wizards. Furthermore, this particular boy has been a troublemaker his entire life. The Super Bowl Breach was the final straw."

Both women nodded at that. The functionary then produced a parchment and a quill, asked both women to sign it, and then disappeared.

Two minutes later, Rowling's wristwatch chimed 4:00. Nodding to her colleague, the two reporters headed into the house.

Rowling looked around the home and was amazed at what she found. Dishes washing themselves. Clocks which kept track of all of the children's whereabouts. So many chores being handled using magic instead of main strength. This kind of life seemed a lot easier. She made a note to ask for silverware like this -- women raising a child on their own and working seventy hours a week needed equipment like that.

Skeeter, on the other hand, didn't give the magical implements anything more than a cursory glance. Looking over her shoulder with cold disdain, she told the Rowling to follow her into the living room.

Rowling entered the room to find Skeeter arguing with a boy of about fifteen with a round face and glasses. She had seen the Super Bowl footage and could tell pretty easily that it was the same boy. It appears that Skeeter recognized him as well -- and he recognized her.

Harry was pointing at the door. "Get out of here, Skeeter. I had enough trouble with you last year. There I was, fighting for my life against dragons and Lord Voldemort, and all you did was get in my face and distract me. That Hungarian Horntail could have killed me."

Rowling's jaw dropped as Skeeter winced. Dragons? Lord Voldemort? Those sounded like nasty adversaries. The Muggle jotted down some notes.

Skeeter wasn't moved. "I'm here to interview you for the Daily Prophet. Will you answer a few questions for me?"

Harry folded his hands across his chest. Rowling whistled -- this was a cery strong-willed boy. "No. You already know everything about me. Bloody hell, you probably covered that damn trial I had back in August. What's more, you're going to distort everything I say so that Voldemort is erased from the record and sensationalize the rest. I want you out of here. Now."

Skeeter stared at him, furious. "Young man --"

Harry rose to his feet. "There's the door, Skeeter. Do you want Hermione or someone like that to turn you into an insect? Get out of here, at least until I speak with the Muggle reporter."

Skeeter fumed for a moment but composed herself. "Fine. However, I know where you are, and I know you can't go anywhere. I'll be back". With that, she left in a huff, leaving Rowling alone with Harry.

Rowling sat down next to Harry as the boy calmed down and stared at her. "I'm sorry, ma'am. That reporter is a pain in the arse. I've dealt with her before."

Rowling looked at the door. "I can tell, Harry. She seems like a most unfriendly woman. At any rate, I'm Jo Rowling and I write for the Daily Mail. Can I ask you a few questions?"

Harry nodded. "Go ahead."

"Why did you do it? Why did you violate the Statute of Secrecy?"

Harry shook his head. "It was unintentional. Judging from what my friends have concluded, the Disillusionment Charm -- used to make an object invisible, in this case me -- does not prevent electronic video equipment from recording images of the subject. I was caught by complete accident flying past that boat. There was no way the Wizarding community could have known."

Rowling wrote that down. "What were you doing at the time?"

"My family was attacked by a dementor, an evil creature which causes depression in Muggles and can force people to suffer a fate worse than death. Trust me, Ms. Rowling. You don't want to know. At any rate, we were flying away towards a Wizarding safe house where the dementors wouldn't be able to get at us as easily."

"Why were you attacked? Have you done something wrong?"

Harry shook his head once more, this time more violently. "No. You see, the dementors have defected from the Ministry's control and have sided with an evil wizard named Tom Marvolo Riddle. He often goes by the name Lord Voldemort."

Rowling jotted that down. "This was the Voldemort you mentioned to Rita?"

"Yes, Ms. Rowling. He is an extremely dangerous man. He killed my parents, if that tells you something. I have virtually no memories of him. He's the head of a group called the Death Eaters. The Death Eaters can be easily identified by tattoos on their arms in the shape of a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. If a Muggle authority sees any of these men, he should contact a man named Albus Dumbledore immediately -- and if time permits, then the Ministry of Magic. They should not attempt to confront Riddle by themselves."

"Is Mr. Riddle a threat to Muggles?"

Harry looked at her and nodded slowly. "I believe so, Ms. Rowling. However, I would recommend that you only tell this to the Muggle authorities, not the papers. I don't want to cause a panic, and Muggles would have absolutely no defense against this madman."

Rowling frowned. That would explain why she hadn't heard of him. An evil wizard attacking Muggles WOULD be the type of thing the government would want to cover up. However, there was one wizard who had made the news in the Muggle world.

"Are you familiar with Sirius Black? He's also an evil wizard, from what I've known. Is he a Death Eater?"

Harry's eyes blazed. "Sirius Black is innocent. Not only that, he's my godfather. He was framed by a Death Eater by the name of Peter Pettigrew and sent to Azkaban, the wizards' prison, for twelve years. The Ministry doesn't believe me, but it's true. Have the Muggle officers visit a man named Remus Lupin during a time other than full moon. He'll explain everything. You can take Sirius's innocence to the bank."

Rowling's eyes narrowed. "Full moon? What does full moon have to do with it?"

Harry closed his eyes. "Trust me, Ms. Rowling. You don't want to know."

Rowling had been about to tell Harry that he was simply trying to defend his godfather when she looked into his eyes and saw the fire there. She suddenly came up short. She could tell when someone was telling the truth. He wasn't lying here.

"I believe you, Harry. However, I've got a lot of questions to ask you -- we'll get back to this later on if time permits. How long have you been a wizard?"

"This is my fifth year at the Hogwarts Academy of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Were your parents wizards?"

"Yes. Both were wizards. However, like I mentioned earlier, they were both killed by Voldemort's minions when I was an infant."

"Who raised you then?"

"My mother's sister, Petunia Dursley. I normally live with her and her husband Vernon when school is not in session."

Rowling stared at him. "Vernon Dursley? The man behind Britain for Humans?"

Harry looked at her, confused. "Britain for Humans? What is this?"

"It's an anti-wizard hate group. They've been having a lot of protests of late."

Harry snorted. "Sounds like something Uncle Vernon would do. They treated me as if I were the family dog. That whole family is bigoted. I saved their son Dudley from the dementors and got no brownie points from it. Once I get out of here, I'll see if I can exonerate Sirius and move in with him."

"If you were raised by Muggles, how did you find out you were a wizard?"

"I received a letter from Hogwarts directly from the hand of an eleven-foot tall half-giant. I was more than surprised, to say the least. I didn't realize I had any magical talent."

She checked more questions off her list. "Which world do you prefer, the Muggle world or the Wizarding world?"

Harry thought carefully before answering. "Both worlds have their benefits, to say the least. Muggles have technology, wizards have magic. Both tend to want the same goals in life and could help each other immensely now that the Statute of Secrecy is gone. However, I would say that I would prefer the Wizarding world to the Muggle world, thanks to my mistreatment at the hands of the Dursleys."

"Is Wizarding ability learned or inherited?"

Harry shrugged. "We're not sure. I suspect it's genetic in that wizards tend to have wizard children. However, we don't know for certain, and the ability to sense magic does not necessarily mean you will make a good wizard."

"Could there be other people in the Muggle community who are able to wield magic and don't realize it, such as the position you were in before that giant found you?"

Harry nodded vigorously. "Yes. One of my friends has Muggle parents and is the brightest witch of our class. I'm sure she'll go far."

The interview continued for a good forty-five minutes. Eventually, Harry winced and told her she had to leave -- he had to confront Rita Skeeter for the remaining fifteen. However, he told Rowling that he appreciated speaking with her and would be more than willing to tell her the rest of his story.

He grinned. "It would make a good Muggle novel, at least."
-------------------------
It was 6:30 when the announcement went over the military channels. Nigel Marcellus had suspected things were going to happen, and this cinched it. It was time to see how the SAS and wizards do on a joint mission.

"Emerald City to all units. Emerald city to all units. Flying House is a go. I repeat, Flying House is a go. Dorothy is prepared, and the Tin Man is on station. Good luck."

To be continued...
------------------
Update #84 [warning, long]
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March 15, 1996, 1850Z
Riverside Cemetery
Little Hangleton
Great Britain
Next PoV: A Brand New Character
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Jacob Gold looked around the graveyard. As far as he could tell, he was alone under his Invisibility Cloak. He wasn't, however. At least ten other Tin Men were in the vicinity, and they were all wearing Invisibility Cloaks. Trying to find a camouflaged SAS man was hard in itself. Give him an Invisibility Cloak and it would be well nigh impossible.

All of the men were armed with sniper rifles and infrared goggles and stationed a good 500 meters away. Each rifle was centered on Tom Riddle's tomb. However, Jacob hoped that he would not have to use them. The only case he would have to use them would be if the primary attack failed. He was an expert marksman, as was everyone else in the group. However, ten SAS men were probably cannon fodder to someone of Sirius Black's -- let alone Tom Riddle's -- caliber.

The man with the code name Wizard was among them. Although Dawlish didn't believe that Riddle had returned, he couldn't deny that a large gathering of Death Eaters was something that should be monitored. It would be up to Dawlish to call in the bomb strike. If the Death Eaters were just hanging out and discussing old times, they did not warrant destruction. However, if they were actually plotting against the state or -- against all odds -- Riddle himself reappeared, then things would be different.

Dawlish had one piece of equipment in addition to the Invisibility Cloak and rifle. As the leader of the group and a wizard, he had positioned himself between the rest of the SAS men and the Riddle tombstone, protected by SAS bullets by a monument to the late Muriel Erlacher. However, he would likely not be using his Wizarding abilities. Instead, he was in charge of a small but powerful infrared laser beam. This beam was used to guide the bomb in.

The infrared goggles served three purposes. Night was falling, and it would be difficult to see in the dark without them. The laser beam would be clearly visible to the soldiers, but not to the targets. Finally, the Scarecrow -- a.k.a. Wizard Snape -- believed that wizards hiding under spells MAY, just MAY, be visible to modern infrared detectors. A Disillusioned wizard had been captured on a video camera. Perhaps that piece of equipment would help the soldiers avoid sentries.

Snape had planned to arrive around 1915 to give last-minute instructions. However, he had warned the strike force that they could not guarantee that they would receive these instructions. After all, if other Death Eaters got there before him, he would have to stay under cover.

Jacob settled down into his watch. He still had plenty of time to kill. All he could do now was wait.
--------------------------
March 15, 1996, 1905Z
--------------------------
Arthur Weasley stared at the machine standing in front of him. He had always wanted to learn how airplanes fly. He had figured he'd get his chance with this mission.

Except that from what he had been told about airplanes, this wasn't an airplane.

The machine was made of metal. It seemed to consist of a small room with a few seats in it. There were two objects which looked like propellers attached to the room. There was a large propeller attached to the room's ceiling, and there was a smaller propeller attached to the back.

The pilot grinned and nodded at him. "It's called a helicopter. Ever heard of those?"

Arthur shook his head. "I heard of airplanes, but I haven't heard of these things. Are they a type of airplane?"

"Yes, though they don't work like ordinary airplanes. The big propeller on top spins and lifts the helicopter off the ground. The one on the back helps stabilize the craft."

Arthur grinned. "I can do that with magic. You don't need the propellers, sir."

The pilot shook his head. "Wizard Weasley, please don't use magic here. We know magic tends to wreck electronic equipment. If you break this thing we're going to be falling from a high altitude and won't live to tell about it."

Arthur nodded. "Fair enough. Lead the way."

"Thank you. Here, put these on. It's going to be loud."

With that, the pilot held out a pair of ear mufflers. Arthur put them over his ears and climbed into the room with a bunch of other people. The passengers closed the door, giving Arthur a chance to look around.

He didn't think he'd seen this many gears, dials, and buttons in his entire life. He longed to take a photograph of the contraption but couldn't due to the inability to use magic. It was a hell of a lot more complicated than getting a simple car to fly with magic.

The pilot went through a checklist, nodded, and pushed some buttons. The propellers above started spinning -- it WAS loud -- and the blades eventually began moving so fast that they became a blur. Slowly but surely, the fantastic vehicle made its way off the ground.

The pilot pushed another button and spoke into what appeared to be something attached to his helmet. "Emerald City, this is Lion. We've just found the Yellow Brick Road and are starting to follow it."
--------------------------
March 15, 1996, 1908Z
--------------------------
The engines flared, and the Tornado aircraft started zooming down the runway of the airbase. Soon, it was airborne and headed in the general vicinity of Little Hangleton. The flight path had it veering off somewhere to the west of the target and over the Atlantic, where it would wait in a holding pattern. If the call came to fire the weapon, the aircraft would head in, low to the ground, and drop the bomb once it got close enough to the target to sense the infrared targeting beam.

The bomb -- a.k.a. the Flying House -- was a pretty powerful one. It should knock out virtually everything within a 50-meter radius. The pilot had been reluctant to drop it on a cemetery. However, once he had been briefed on the nature of the targets, he changed his mind in a hurry.

By 1923, he was in position. Everything was all set. All he needed was the targeting information and the order to fire.

He activated his radio communicator. "Emerald City, this is Dorothy. The tornado has been spotted in Kansas and the house is starting to shake."
--------------------------
March 15, 1996, 1916Z
--------------------------
A flash of light announced Snape's arrival at the graveyard. His Death Eater mask was on, as usual. However, despite his reduced peripheral vision, he could tell he was not alone.

Bellatrix Lestrange greeted him. "Welcome, my dear Potions Master."

Snape dipped his head to her in acknowledgement. "Good evening, Bellatrix. How are you doing?"

Bellatrix smiled. "I'm excited. From what I've gathered, the Dark Lord and Avery are about to announce a bold initiative which had been impossible prior to the dissolution of the Statute of Secrecy."

Snape raised his eyebrows. "World domination, perhaps?"

Bellatrix nodded. "I think so. Now that we're going to be able to practice magic in the open, we're going to have fun."

Snape nodded. "Indeed. We will remember tonight, I suspect, for a long, long time."

There was another flash. Bellatrix and Snape turned and greeted their new guest. The Death Eater mask covered his face, but they could tell who he was by his hair.

"Hello, Fenrir."
--------------------------
March 15, 1996, 1930Z
--------------------------
Snape looked around the cemetery. All of the Death Eaters he knew of were there other than the four he knew would be absent: Lucius, Wormtail, Rodolphus, and Karkaroff.

Nothing seemed out of place. However, he saw one thing which concerned him slightly. One of the Death Eaters had brought a Foe-Glass. Snape looked into the Foe-Glass, hoping that the SAS men weren't visible. They weren't. Either they were out of range, shielded from the Foe-Glass by the Invisibility Cloaks, or not picked up as enemies due to the Muggle weapons.

One Death Eater was still missing. The star of the show. The man who had started the entire movement.

There was a final flash of light, and Lord Voldemort Apparated into the clearing. Snape and all of the Death Eaters bowed to him in salute, and he smiled magnanimously. "Welcome, my friends. Welcome."
--------------------------
March 15, 1996, 1931Z
--------------------------
John Dawlish could not believe what he was seeing. Harry Potter had been right the whole time. Voldemort had returned. The Ministry was going to get into a hell of a lot of trouble for this.

The man needed to be finished off right now. At the very least, he needed to be cut down before the word came out that the Ministry had refused to admit that he had returned.

He stared at the serpentine face. Goodbye, Tom Marvolo Riddle. See you in Hell.

He pressed a button on his wristwatch and activated the infrared beam. He aimed it at the ground right behind Voldemort. He breathed a sigh of relief when none of the wizards noticed it. He doubted any of them would have even known what infrared radiation was.
-----------------------------
March 15, 1996, 1932:12Z
-----------------------------
Deep in the bowels of the SAS Headquarters, the commander in chief picked up the signal from Dawlish. The time had come.

He took a deep breath and spoke into his communicator. "All unit, this is Emerald City. We have a report from the Wizard. The Wicked Witch has been spotted along with all 21 Flying Monkeys. Dorothy, get that house in the air. I repeat, get that house in the air."
-----------------------------
March 15, 1996, 1932:26Z
-----------------------------
The fighter pilot nodded. "Acknowledged. Get the house in the air. Preparing to launch."

He looked at his heads-up-display to see if the bomb would be able to detected the infrared beacon from Dawlish. Not yet. He'd have to come in closer.

"Emerald City, this is Dorothy. The tornado's getting closer and the house is shaking, but it's not off the ground yet."
----------------------------
March 15, 1996, 1935:21Z
-----------------------------
Voldemort was explaining his plans with a big grin on his face. "There you have it, my friends. This is how we're going to dominate the world. We are the only people who have the guts to use Unforgivable Curses, and the tatics I recommended will make us look like heroes to Muggles.

Snape cheered with the rest of the Death Eaters. A quick glance at the Foe-Glass still revealed nothing.
----------------------------
March 15, 1996, 1935:32Z
-----------------------------
Jacob Gold stared in horror at the man with the snakelike face. Bloody hell. Riddle's alive. God help us if we don't take knock him out here.

He looked at his wristwatch. The backlight was yellow. This means that the fighter pilot had acknowledged the receipt of the order to fire and was closing in.
----------------------------
March 15, 1996, 1937:02Z
----------------------------
Bellatrix Lestrange thought she heard something in the background. She frowned and turned to Dolohov.

"Did you hear something?"

Dolohov's eyebrows shot up. "No. Did you?"

Bellatrix looked up. "It sounded like an airplane."

Dolohov grunted. "Ignore it. The Dark Lord is more important right now. Leave the Muggles to their amusements."
----------------------------
March 15, 1996, 1938:43Z
----------------------------
The HUD in the fighter pilot's visor reported that it had picked up the signal from the infrared beam. He pressed the button, and the bomb fell into the night. It was tracking beautifully.

He shouted into the communicator. "Emerald City, this is Dorothy! The house is in the air! The house is in the air! ETA, 90 seconds and counting!"
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March 15, 1996, 1938:53Z
----------------------------
The red light appeared on Jacob Gold's wristwatch. The bomb was away.

He hunkered down, took off the infrared goggles, and braced himself for the explosion.
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March 15, 1996, 1939:21Z
----------------------------
Now the Foe-Glass suddenly perked up. It was ghostly and fuzzy. People unfamiliar with Muggle technology would likely have just passed it off as a shadow. However, Snape knew better. It was a missile or bomb. And judging by the size of it, a big one.

He feigned a look of concern. Turning to Voldemort, he said, "Sir, I'd like to scour the grounds to make sure there are no Muggles or wizards eavesdropping on us. I'll be back in a moment. If you don't hear me come back in, say, five minutes, come and help as I'll be in danger."

Voldemort nodded. "Be my guest, Severus. We'll hold off on the grand finale until you come back."

With that, Snape Apparated out of there. He reappeared on a hill about a mile away where he would have a good view of the target zone.
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March 15, 1996, 1939:53Z
----------------------------
The helicopter lurched forward, nearly throwing Arthur out of his seat and ramming his head into the soldier in front of him. As he rubbed his head, the pilot spoke once again into his helmet. "Roger, Emerald City. The house is in the air and is about to touch down. Lion is on the move. Scarecrow has evacuated."
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March 15, 1996, 1940:12Z
----------------------------
Bellatrix Lestrange saw something out of the corner of her eye. What the --
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March 15, 1996, 1940:13Z
----------------------------
The center of the graveyard erupted in a pillar of flame. Rocks flew all over the place, followed by charred body parts. The concussion nearly deafened Jacob and the rest of the SAS men. Yet they held their positions. They had no idea if any of the wizards had survived the attack.

Quivering with anticipation, they waited for the explosion to subside. Meanwhile, they received a message from Wizard that he was all right.
----------------------------
March 15, 1996, 1940:33Z
----------------------------
The smoke had cleared enough for Jacob to get a first glimpse of the results of the attack.

There were bodies everywhere. No one had been left standing. The Death Eaters had been caught completely off guard.

There was only one remaining infrared heat source which hadn't been accounted for. He wasn't sure what it was, but he knew it wasn't one of the wizards. It was only two or three feet long and near the center of the explosion. Probably some burning grass, he thought. Nothing to worry about.

So far, so good.
----------------------------
March 15, 1996, 1942:17Z
----------------------------
The helicopter arrived on the scene to survey the damage. There was a huge crater in the ground where the bomb had hit.

Dawlish ordered the pilot to fly a little lower to check things out. The SAS men got their guns at the ready in case there were any surviving wizards. However, there was no resistance. Better and better.

Arthur and the pilot made a cursory inspection from a few hundred feet. Death Eater marks were everywhere, many still attached to charred faces. They did a body count. All of the Death Eater masks were accounted for. Everyone was dead.

As for Voldemort? He'd been right at the center of the blast. There was no way he could have survived that. He had almost certainly been vaporized, and the Tin Men had reported that he had still been there when the bomb had come in.

The pilot looked at the crew and cheered. Seconds later, Dawlish and the SAS men joined them. One man brought out a victory cigar.

The chant rang through the night.

"DING, DONG, THE WITCH IS DEAD!"
--------------------------
Buried in a mound of rubble, a deformed creature the size and shape of a human baby played dead.

To be continued...
----------------
Update #85
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March 15, 1996, 1944Z
Bullock Residence
Near Riverside Cemetery
Little Hangleton
Great Britain
Next PoV: Hermione Granger
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Phillip Bullock looked at his wife in astonishment. "What the bloody hell was THAT?"

They had just sat down to dinner when a tremendous flash lit the night sky. It seemed to have come from somewhere out in the cemetery, A few seconds later, two sounds assaulted them at once. One of them sounded remarkably like a sonic boom. The second sounded like a tremendous explosion.

The house shook like a wounded animal. Both windows blew in, and Jennifer swore as one of the shards of glass cut into her arm. The table danced around, sending silverware and plates flying. A picture fell off the wall and landed with a crash on the floor.

Both of them stared out the window. Something was on fire out in the cemetery. Whatever it was, it was big. Neither of them had seen anything like this before. As they watched, a rock the size of a baseball caromed into the house, bouncing off a wall and just barely missing Phillip's foot.

Jennifer stared at him. "I don't know, Phil. All I know is that I've got this shard of glass in my arm and it hurts like hell. Get the first aid kid while I try to get this thing out."

By the time he had come down with the first aid kid, his wife had removed the piece of glass. She was damn lucky it hadn't severed an artery. As it was, it still bled a lot. He did what he could to bandage it up. Once everything seemed to be holding, they turned back to the window.

Car alarms were going off everywhere. People were looking into the cemetery, wondering what had happened. The flames had diminished somewhat, but it still looked ugly out there.

Phillip tried to figure out what it had been. It sounded a lot like a bomb blast, but there was nothing to attack in the cemetery. Had there been a gas leak? He doubted it. As a former firefighter, he knew there was no gas line through the cemetery. It made no sense to put a gas line in a place where there would be constant trips to the cemetery to dig into the ground and inter people.

This left only one thing. He looked at the rock lying there on the floor.

"A meteor."

His wife stared at him. "Sorry?"

Phillip glanced out the window and started heading upstairs to dig out his old firefighting gear and a few fire extinguishers. He wouldn't be able to finish the job without the aid of the fire department, but he had to do something.

He called back down to his wife. "It's got to be a meteor. That's the only thing I can think of. Nothing else makes sense. I'm going out there. I don't hear any sirens yet, and we need to stop that fire now before it spreads any further."

His wife stared at him. "Phil, you're retired. The fire department will take care of it for you."

He just glared back at her in response as he dialed the fire department and reported the fire. After hanging up the phone, he turned on her. "They're not here yet, and no one's trying to put it out over there. They had heard something, but they hadn't been sure what it was. It will take them a few minutes to get over there. I'm going in. Don't argue with me, Jennifer. I'm doing this. I'll see you in a little while." With that, he slung the bag with the fire extinguishers over his shoulder and headed out into the cemetery to investigate.

As he get closer to the site of the explosion, the footing got more treacherous. Several of the gravestones had been toppled, and he tripped over a few of them. He noticed that several other people had come to investigate. Shining his flashlight on his uniform, he told them to go back to their homes. He was a retired firefighter and would mind the scene until the active employees arrived with their trucks. When a couple of people begged to help, he told them to douse themselves with water and bring as many fire extinguishers from their homes as they could.

Phil climbed over a small rise and suddenly found himself staring into a huge, rubble-strewn crater. There were bodies everywhere, but that wasn't surprising given the fact that he was standing in a graveyard. Some of them were remarkably preserved, however. One woman with long curly hair seemed to have died only a few minutes ago. Many of the bodies were wearing strange masks. As far as he could tell, there were no survivors.

He frowned. Was this some kind of terrorist gathering? Had the military been called into destroy some kind of al-Qaeda or Britain for Humans cell? A desolate graveyard sounded like a good place for a clandestine meeting. Maybe it wasn't a meteor after all. If it were a secret government operation, he did not have the right to interfere. Hell, if he did and the government saw him, they could shoot him on sight.

There was a strange smell to the air. He couldn't place it at first, but when he did he recognized it immediately: explosives. This had in fact been a covert military operation against a bunch of masked criminals.

Shit, he thought. He frantically tried to figure out what to do. The site of the explosion was deserted at the moment. Apparently the government had been satisfied with what they'd done and had gotten all the information they needed. However, that fire still needed to be put out. Judging from what was left of the fire, he thought he could put it out himself. It was better to have him do it than allow random civilians into the area. The civilians would report the operation and strange smell to the news, in all likelihood, exposing a black op. That would have nasty consequences. He also didn't want the civilians messing around with what was obviously a crime scene.

He brought out his camera and took photographs of the area as he found it. This would be important evidence for the government as he would be forced to tamper with the environment in order to put out the fire. He screamed over his shoulder that he saw evidence that the area was still hazardous and that the people with the fire extinguishers should take them back home. He, as a former firefighter, would be the point man here and handle most of this.

He had just about finished putting out the fire when he thought he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. He spun in place, fire extinguisher still spraying foam on the blaze, as he scanned the area.

There was definitely movement. It appeared to be in a pile of rubble. Brandishing his fire axe and turning off the extinguisher, he slowly headed over there to investigate. Perhaps a captured prisoner would be of use to the government. He turned on his flashlight and began looking through the pile.

It was a child.

At least he thought it was a child. He was maybe three feet tall and -- strangely enough -- stark naked. The child's face seemed to be deformed, almost snakelike. There were wrinkles up and down his cheeks which looked out of place on such a small body.

It was clear that the boy had been injured in the blast -- nothing else could have caused those scars and wrinkles. Phillip didn't know how the child had managed to escape without bleeding, however. Maybe the child had been burned by the explosion and hidden under the pile of rocks to hide from the Boogey Man.

Perhaps his parents were part of the terrorist organization. This child, however, was clearly not part of the group -- and even if he were part of the group, he was young enough to be deprogrammed.

He lowered his axe and knelt next to the child. "Don't worry, young man. I'll take care of you. I'll make sure you're OK. I'll adopt you if necessary."

In response, the child turned to look at him. Phil had the uncanny feeling that the little boy's eyes were staring right through him.

"Don't worry, my friend. I believe you will suffice quite well."

Then something very odd happened. Phillip screamed as a searing pain raked the back of his head. His head spun for a second, and he nearly threw up.

He put his hand on the back of his head, expecting to feel bleeding. Instead, he felt something which felt like...a nose. He couldn't make head or tail out of this. Oddly enough, whatever injury caused him to grow this "nose" wasn't bleeding at all.

He looked to his feet. The child was gone.

What the hell was going on here? In response, a little voice came to him, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Don't worry about the back of your head, Phillip. Everything is fine."

He nearly fell over with shock. "Who are you? Where is the child?"

"I'm your conscience, Phillip. Listen to me, and you'll do well. Now if I were you, I would start helping out with the fire department. I hear them coming now. Don't worry, the child will be cared for."

For some reason, he obeyed the voice automatically. Looking over his shoulder, he saw fire trucks heading in his direction. He waved his hand and they blinked their headlights in recognition.

The voice spoke again. "Good job, Phillip. Now let's clean this mess up. Oh, and if I were you, I'd start wearing that fireman's hat all the time. There's one thing I'd like you to do, however, before you head off and do your duty. See that large tombstone over there? It's marked Tom Riddle."

Phillip turned. There was a half-demolished tombstone there. The explosion had dug up several bones of the occupants.

The voice continued. "Take one of the bones, Phillip. We'll need it later on."

Phillip found the instructions a bit odd, but he found himself doing what he had been told.

"Excellent, Phillip. Put it in your pack. I believe you're going to work out just fine. Now go ahead and put out the fire."

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Update #86
------------
March 15, 1996, 2130Z
Gryffindor Common Room
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Great Britain
Next PoV: A Character You've Never Seen Before
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The cheering started up less than half an hour after Hermione got into her room. The voices were indistinct, having had to make it up three flights of floors and through walls which were enhanced with magical soundproofing. But the fact that she had been able to hear them at all meant that they had to be VERY loud. It was as if there were a House-wide party going on outside.

Hermione groaned. Her OWLs were coming up soon, and she had to do all the studying she could. Unlike other people, SHE was actually concerned about her future. She half expected that most of her classmates would be living off of Wizarding Welfare before they were forty. Ron might luck out, and Harry certainly would. However, the vast majority didn't seem all that focused on their work. Neville may make a good Herbologist, but she was a wee bit concerned about how he'd fare on the rest of the exam.

She thought back to Harry and realized something awful. Harry might have more problems with the OWLs than she had thought. Harry was a bright student. That was obvious. However, he wouldn't be able to pass the OWLs unless he learned the required material. With him sitting under house arrest. he doubted he was being given the opportunity to learn.

Would he have to defer his OWLs? Would he be held back a year and placed in the same class as Ginny? She wondered if that might be the lesser of two evils. If he was require to take the OWLs at the end of this year, as was customary, he'd get lots of P's and D's. His hope of being an Auror would be absolutely obliterated through no fault of his own. It was obvious that the only reason Harry was incarcerated at the Burrow was because Cornelius Fudge needed him as a scapegoat for the Super Bowl Breach. Did Fudge realize that he was ruining the boy's life forever?

Granted, holding him back a year would allow him to spend more time with Ginny. It was obvious that Ginny was still smitten with him. She had been sending Harry lots of cards, and he'd done what he could to respond. But would this extra time with Ginny be worth what appeared to be a nasty blotch on his academic record?

Hermione shook her head. It wasn't worth it. And at the rate things were going, she'd have a similar blotch on her own record if she didn't get back to studying. In order to get back to studying, however, she had to tell everyone to shut up. Bracing herself, she headed down to the common room to tell everyone to pipe down a little.

She had just set foot in the common room when Ron suddenly appeared out of nowhere and gave her a big kiss. She blushed -- how embarrassing. She saw Fred and George taunting their brother out of the corner of her eye. They tried to say something, but their voice was drowned out in the cheering. What the hell was going on here?

It took her a good ten seconds to try to extract her lips from Ron's. When she spoke, she had to scream in order for Ron to hear her.

"Ron? What the bloody hell is going on here? What's everyone happy about? I'm trying to get some studying done! In case you're wondering, we've got OWLs in less than three months!"

In response, Ron just shoved a piece of parchment at her. Skeptical, she looked at the headline. Her eyes went as wide as saucers as she read. It was a special edition of the Quibbler. As she read, Ron tried to explain that Luna's father had created the special edition right after the news broke. Hermione wasn't paying attention to him at this point, however. She literally could not believe what she was reading.
-----------

Wizards of Britain, rejoice. Your hour of redemption has come.

In a turn of events virtually no one could have anticipated, a team of British Muggle special agents, assisted by former Death Eater Severus Snape and Auror John Dawlish, killed Lord Voldemort and most of his Death Eater allies with one crushing stroke, quite literally out of the blue. According to Professor Snape, Snape fulfilled the promise of his double agent role and betrayed the location of an important Death Eater meeting to Muggle authorities. The British SAS, a unit of elite Muggle soldiers, donned Invisibility Cloaks provided by Auror Dawlish and observed the gathering from a distance. Once Dawlish realized that Voldemort himself was attending the gathering, the Auror called upon the Muggles to perform an attack known as an targeted air strike.

In an air strike, a secret agent -- in this case Dawlish or one of the SAS men -- uses a Muggle device to indicate the target. Once the target has been chosen, a second Muggle takes off in a flying vehicle called an airplane and releases a powerful weapon known as a bomb. The bomb falls down to the ground and heads towards the target. When it hits the ground, it detonates in a tremendous explosion. The explosion left a hole in the ground dozens of meters across and destroyed every single man and woman there. Several of the bodies were almost unrecognizable. In some cases, Death Eater masks covered completely charred faces.

It was obvious that none of the Death Eaters had seen it coming. Snape reported that a Foe-Glass in the area had picked up the bomb as it was coming in, but the Death Eaters were so contemptuous of Muggle technology that they didn't even know what it was and passed it off as a shadow.

According to Professor Snape, who found a excuse to escape just before the bomb arrived, the SAS man had chosen a target directly behind Voldemort. This left Voldemort at the direct center of the explosion. The Dark Lord would have likely been killed simply by having the weapon fall on top of him out of the air. Having a device weight several hundred kilos landing on your head would ruin your day as well.

No trace of the Dark Lord's body was found at the scene. However, do not despair, wizards of Britain. Lack of bodily remains is not unusual for victims standing at the center of such an explosion. However, Snape assures us that he witnessed Voldemort standing there, completely unaware, as the bomb came in. The Dark Lord had no time to Apparate out.

Wizards, Muggles, and SAS men scoured the scene immediately after the smoke had cleared. The Dark Lord was gone, and they counted 21 dead Death Eaters -- virtually all of Voldemort's inner circle. The only four not accounted for were Lucius Malfoy, Igor Karkaroff, Peter Pettigrew, and Rodolphus Lestrange. Using special Muggle devices which are supposedly able to detect the heat from living beings, the SAS reported that nothing had survived. There was a brief alarm when they picked up a small heat source near the center of the explosion. Further analysis indicated that it was likely burning grass as it was far too small -- only about 60-90 centimeters long -- to be an adult's body. The SAS was able to rule out a child or dwarf Death Eater as they had noticed that all of the people at the gathering had been fully grown.

The Muggles were divided as to whether to explain the true nature of the attack to the Muggle community. In the end, they decided to cover it up, explaining that the explosion was due to a gas leak. People had been trying to dig a grave at the Riverside Cemetery in Little Hangleton and struck a gas line with their shovel. One spark from the shovel and the gas exploded. Professor Snape believes that the Muggle authorities are worried that references to evil wizards such as You-Know-Who may cause the Muggle population to fear and turn against the entire Wizarding community, fearful that any wizard they see may be a Death Eater. It would be a pity for the Muggles to learn about the Wizarding world only to have them start persecuting the wizards like they did in the Middle Ages. As a result, Her Majesty's government is passing the incident off as an accident.

Those of you who remember Voldemort's attack on the Potters back in 1981 may recall that Voldemort was believed killed in by his own Avada Kedavra curse. We now know, much to the sorrow of the Diggory family and countless others, that that was not the case. This brings up the inevitable question: did this attack truly finish off the Dark Lord, or will he come back from the dead again?

No one seems to know the answer to this question. Albus Dumbledore, current headmaster of Hogwarts, is unable to comment on this problem at this time. On the other hand, the wizards who witnessed the attack -- Snape, Dawlish, and Ministry of Magic employee Arthur Weasley -- are all convinced the Dark Lord is dead. Snape, however, warned our reporter than he thought the Dark Lord had been killed back in 1981 as well, and we now know that was not the case.

I, Xenophilius Lovegood, personally believe that this is it for Voldemort. I suspect that Voldemort suspected that the Potters might fight him back in 1981, so he cast a spell to preserve himself just in case. Here, however, Voldemort was caught completely off guard, without any obvious threats to defend against. Furthermore, the fact that he was filled by a Muggle weapon throws another monkey wrench into any defense plans. Would Voldemort's magical defenses have been able to protect him from a Muggle device, particularly one which would create such a big explosion and kill everybody else?

The fact that all the Death Eaters are dead is another good sign. Even if Voldemort did in fact survive, he has no supporters anymore. He won't be able to do much with over 80% of his inner circle cut to pieces.

So rejoice, people of Britain. Voldemort is dead, and you can retire at night once again without worrying that a masked man will kill you in your sleep.

We all owe a great deal of gratitude to all of the men involved with Operation Flying House, as the Muggles called it:

Cornelius Fudge is currently in negotiations to award these individuals the Order of Merlin, First Class. The Tin Men, McCullough, Erickson, and Marcellus will very likely be the first Muggles to ever receive such an award.

More information will be reported as it comes in. Look to future issues of the Quibbler for more details.

In the meantime, seize the day and celebrate. For as the Muggles say, "ding dong, the wicked witch is dead."

*RAF = Royal Air Force, a British Muggle airborne unit.
-----------
Underneath the document was a still photo -- presumably a Muggle one -- of a big hole in the ground with tombstones and rocks flung all over the place. That was one hell of an explosion, she thought.

Hermione reached the end of the document and looked at Ron in amazement. She didn't know where to begin: Voldemort's death, or Ron's father getting the opportunity to go on the mission. However, she didn't have to worry about it for the moment as Ron gave her a big kiss again.

For the first time in many months, the OWLs slipped from her head.

To be continued...
-----------------------
86A -- RASPUTIN REVIVED VIA HORCRUX
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Update #87
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March 17, 1996
First Baptist Church
Columbus, MS
United States of America
Next PoV: Cornelius Fudge
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Martha Ivie gasped and put her hands on her belly in shock. She knew that people went to church to ask for deliverance. That's why she had gone, after all. What she hadn't expected, however, was the deliverance would involve two eight-month fetuses named Allison and Robert.

Her husband, sitting in the pew next to her, turned to her in surprise. One look at her face told her everything. He turned white with fear as he forced out two words.

"You're kidding."

Martha shook her head. "I'm not! My water just broke. I think we'd better get to the hospital."

Her husband looked at her in shock. She understood what he was thinking: they still had a month to go. He knew twins tended to come out early, but not this early! "Do you think you have time to make it to the hospital? Do you want me to call an ambulance?"

She nodded. "Tell Reverend Michaels to call an ambulance. I think we've got time, but it doesn't hurt. In the meantime, move out of the way so I can lie down on this pew."

He nodded and stood up. He didn't like it when people started talking in church, but he didn't have much of a choice here. Raising his voice, he turned to face the crowd.

"Reverend Michaels, I apologize for the interruption here, but my wife's water just broke. She's carrying twins and is eight months along. Is there a doctor in the house? In the meantime, Reverend, would it be possible for you to call an ambulance?"

The minister nodded. "Absolutely. God be with you, and I'll be right back."

With that, Reverend Michaels ran off the raised platform at the front of the church. This left a room filled with worried chatter. Unfortunately, no one seemed to be offering his or her services as a doctor. Martha cursed. Here she was in church, listening to people talk about doing good deeds for people. It was about time people practice what they preached.

Her husband was about to ask again when a young man stood up. "Excuse me, sir. I believe I may be able to help. However, I've never done anything like this before."

Her husband glanced down at her and she nodded. Reassured, he turned back to the speaker.

"Whatever you can do will be appreciated. Come on over -- I'm sorry, but I didn't get your name, sir."

People hurried out of the way as the good samaritan headed towards their pew. "Wizard Jeff Simpson, sir."

Martha and her husband gaped at each other. A wizard in a church? It almost sounded like an oxymoron. However, emergencies like this made strange bedfellows. Wincing through a contraction, she managed lift her head and stare at the wizard. "You can deliver babies via magic?"

Simpson yes. "Wizards can deliver babies via magic. It's well known in the Wizarding community. Spells exist to ease childbirth and make it so it's less painful. You'd be surprised what we can do."

"Have you delivered babies before?"

Simpson shook his head as he came over. "I personally haven't. However, I have a friend of mine who is a healer. He may know someone who will be able to assist you. Would you be willing to allow us to cast spells on you? I'm aware that many religious people are reluctant to have us ensorcel them. I come to church most Sundays, and I can tell that you're a regular. It would only be fair for me to ask."

She nodded as the minister raced hurried back into the room. "Go ahead. Make sure that the healer is a woman, though. The idea of a man sticking his wand --"

The wizard and chuckled interrupted her before she could finish his sentence. "Don't worry, ma'am. Most of the healers I know are female. There shouldn't be a problem finding someone who will suit you."

Simpson then turned to the minister. "Reverend, is there a private room around here where we'll be able to handle this? I don't want to disrupt the services with rituals which could be considered offensive to some people, and I don't want to desecrate the sanctuary with any bodily fluids."

The minister nodded. "Absolutely. I have a private office here, in the back. It's got a couch for her to lie down on."

"Do you have a bath for ceremonies like baptisms? A water birth may make it easier on her, but I'll understand if you don't want us using it."

The minister shook his head. "We usually do the adult baptisms in the river. If it worked for John the Baptist and Christ, it will work for us. I'm afraid the couch will have to suffice."

The wizard nodded. "That will be all right."

Martha's husband cut in. "Do you think it will be safe to move her?"

The wizard nodded and brought out his wand. People started talking excitedly. Some of them shied away from him while some stared at him in excitement and curiosity. "Don't worry, sir. I'll handle that right now. Wingardium Leviosa!"

He waved his wand. Martha squealed as the red cushions on top of the pew suddenly rose into the air, carrying her above the crowd. The murmur of the crowd rose by about 20 decibels, punctuated by clapping and talk of miracles. Even the minister's eyes widened.

Wizard Simpson motioned for Martha's husband to follow him as he led the strange procession down the aisle towards the front of the church. The minister moved out of the way, discreetly turning his back as the laboring woman floated by. He then gave the wizard directions to the office. The wizard thanked him and continued into the bowels of the church. Meanwhile, the minister told everyone to get back to their seats and start praying. "You've already witnessed one miracle today. Can you imagine that you may very well see a second? We are very fortunate indeed. Praise Jesus, and remember this when people start accusing witches of being sinners!"

Martha's husband heard the crowd singing psalms for a moment as he entered the minister's office. Then the door closed, leaving the wizard and two Muggles alone in a thankfully silent, private room.

The wizard gently lowered Martha down onto the couch. The contractions were coming faster, and her husband wondered if the ambulance would get there in time.

Simpson then stood up. "I think I've done all I can do here. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll Apparate out of here and see if I can find someone to do the actual delivery."

Martha's husband nodded and shook his hand,. "You've done a good deed, Wizard Simpson. May all of your people learn from you."

The wizard nodded. "May they indeed, sir. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be back with the healer:. With that, the wizard disappeared. One of the lights went out, but no one noticed.

Ten minutes went by and the contractions got stronger. There was no sign of the ambulance. Worried, the husband called the hospital. They said the ambulance was en route and it would be there momentarily.

Then Martha screamed. "David! Give me a hand here! It hurts!"

David looked at her. What the hell was he supposed to do? He couldn't do anything. All he could do was hold her hand and try to cover her with one of the minister's spare robes. He didn't know what else to try.

The labor continued for five more minutes. Martha began to howl and inevitably started cursing him for putting her in this predicament to begin with. The curses were cut off abruptly, however, as someone else suddenly materialized in the room.

It was a matronly, gray-haired woman in a white robe. Embroidered on the robe was an image of a red cross which -- amazingly -- pulsed like a beating heart.

The woman realized what was going on immediately. She told David to move out of the way as she bent over to examine Martha. Nodding, she turned to face both parents.

"Mr. and Mrs. Ivie, I'm Witch Helen Oglethorpe. I've been delivering babies for several years now, and I'll be able to handle this. Let me explain to what I'm going to do. Most of the problems with human delivery involve the fact that the baby, particularly the head, is too large to easily make it through the birth canal."

Martha gritted her teeth and glared at her. "Like I didn't know that."

The witch nodded. "Therefore, the obvious solution is to shrink the baby so it will be able to come through more easily. Once the child is delivered, I'll return it to its normal size. In order to do this, however, I'll have to stick my wand in there and touch the tip of the wand to the baby's head. With your permission?"

The witch's matter-of-fact statement stunned both mother and father into silence. Eventually, David nodded, and the witch rolled up her sleeves and inserted her wand where the sun didn't shine.

The witch poked around for a minute and finally found the baby. Taking a deep breath, she shouted two words.

"Reducio! Anesthesio!"

Martha's eyebrows shot up and she turned to her husband. "The pain's gone! I don't even feel any pressure anymore!"

The witch nodded. "That's the point. Now, it's time for me to finish the job. Mr. Ivie, I'm afraid you're not going to be able to get a chance to cut the cord."

David shook his head. "Don't worry about it! Get on with it!"

She then ran through a long series of spells. Eventually, she smiled, reached out her hand, and lifted something off the couch. Grinning, she placed it on top of Martha's chest.

It was a baby girl. She looked exactly like what the doctors had predicted, except for one minor difference. The baby was approximately eight inches long.

Both parents stared at the infant in disbelief. David was the first to find his voice.

"That's impossible!"

The witch chuckled. "I figured you'd say that. Magic can do things you Muggles can barely conceive of. Now, Mrs. Ivie, if you would be so good to push some more, I'll bring out the other one."

Fifteen minutes later, the second baby was out. The little boy had barely been lain on the mother's chest, next to his sister, when the paramedics rushed into the room along with the minister.

The five Muggles were stopped dead in their tracks by what they saw. The minister fell to his knees and thanked God for allowing him to witness something which truly was a miracle.

The wizard ignored him. Withdrawing her wand, and wiping it off, she pointed it at each child and repeated the word "Engorgio" twice. She then moved out of the way, revealing two full-size, albeit one-month-premature, babies on their mother's chest.

David Ivie could barely stammer. "Witch Oglethorpe...how can I repay you for this? I can't believe it!"

The witch tucked her wand back into her robe. "There's nothing you need to do, Mr. Ivie. You don't need to repay Wizard Simpson either, as he is also truly a good samaritan."

"Will they make it? They still look awfully small."

The witch nodded. "I think so. Listen, they're already starting to cry."

The minister winced as one of the children shrieked. It's not like he could have missed it all that easily.

The witch continued. "They're out. However, I agree, they're premature. There's something I can do to help. However, to be honest we've never been all that good with premature births. Now that the paramedics are now here, I'd recommend that they take over at this point. They'll be able to serve your children better than I can at this point."

"Is there anything you can do to help my wife?"

The witch nodded once more and uttered a few more spells. Martha's eyes widened once again and she made to stand up. However, the witch pushed her back onto the couch. "Not so fast, ma'am. You don't want to dislodge the kids, and I'd still recommend a good day or so of bed rest before you get back to your normal routine. If you want, I'll help you fall asleep to expedite your recovery."

Martha nodded. Within seconds, she was asleep.

David had tears in his eyes. "Thank you, Witch Oglethorpe. You've been a godsend."

The witch grinned. "What else would you expect in a church? I believe the saying goes, the Lord works in mysterious ways."

The new father asked one more question. "Your given name is Helen, right?"

The witch nodded. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

In response, the father gingerly pointed to the newborn girl as the doctors lifted the boy into a portable neonatal unit. "Meet Allison Helen Ivie."

To be continued...
----------------
Update #88
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March 18, 1996
Office of the Minister
Ministry of Magic
Great Britain
Next PoV: Eric Street
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Cornelius Fudge stared down at the copy of the Quibbler in horror. The headline said it all. Voldemort Assassinated.

It wasn't that Fudge was angry that Voldemort was dead. Far from it. The evil wizard formerly known as Tom Marvolo Riddle had been a menace to society for many years. He was believed to have been killed back in 1981, when his Avada Kedavra curse backfired during an attack on Harry Potter. All of the evidence had pointed to the man being gone for good: the Death Eaters had gone underground for the most part and the attacks on Muggles and Muggle-born had ceased.

Then came the news that Harry Potter had encountered the Dark Lord about nine months ago during the climax of the Triwizard Tournament. Fudge hadn't believed it himself at first. For all he knew, Harry had killed Cedric in a squabble for the Triwizard Cup. However, everything changed when Bartemius Crouch Jr. had been interrogated by the Aurors after he had been caught impersonating Alastair Moody.

The young man had sung like a canary. He explained that a ritual existed which was expected to be able to revive the fallen Voldemort. One of the ingredients had been the blood of one of his former foes. Crouch Jr.'s task had been to ensure that Harry won the tournament and was Portkeyed over to Riddle's father's grave for the ritual. Once Harry had reached the graveyard, one of the Death Eaters would perform the ritual and bring Voldemort back.

When pressured to explain how Voldemort had managed to survive his apparent death in the Potters' house, Crouch Jr. had shrugged and admited that he couldn't explain it. A quick application of Veritaserum revealed that the Death Eater had been telling the truth, both in his belief that Voldemort would be revived and in his claim that he didn't know how Voldemort had managed to survive in this world after 1981.

Crouch Jr.'s testimony by itself would likely not have been enough to convince Fudge. Harry's testimony would not have either. However, they corroborated each other perfectly. Fudge had to admit that Voldemort was back.

He had immediately set to work trying to pretend that the Dark Lord was still dead. He knew that wizards all over Britain would panic at the return of Voldemort. A nation of frightened wizards would throw society into chaos, making his job more difficult. Furthermore, the fact that Voldemort had returned under Fudge's watch would make it much more difficult for him to keep his job. As a result, Fudge had issued a statement that denied the rumors that Voldemort had returned. He chalked up Cedric's death and the various other strange events over the past few years to rogue Death Eaters and other more plausible causes.

Things had been pretty stable since then. The only people who still believed that Voldemort had survived were Dumbledore and his friends, and Fudge did what he could to prevent them from getting the word out. It looked like he'd done everything he could to stabilize his government and keep himself in the Minister's office.

The good times had lasted until January, when the so-called Chosen One had the audacity to fly in front of a Muggle recording device and the footage was shown all over the world. Within a matter of weeks, the entire world knew about the wizards. The Statute of Secrecy had been irreparably breached, and Fudge suddenly found himself focusing on Muggle-wizard relations. He had to be extra careful about Voldemort references now: if the wizards were scared of the Dark Lord, imagine what the Muggles would be like!

He had done what he could to put the wizards and the Ministry of Magic in a good light. When the IRA terrorists had attacked the Canary Wharf district in February, he had sent the wizards out of the Ministry headquarters to go help the Muggles -- taking credit for as much of the operation as he could. His work had paid off, and he and many other wizards had been given awards by Queen Elizabeth.

He'd also jumped at the opportunity have the SAS join forces with the Aurors. Hooking up Nigel Marcellus with the wizards had probably been the only good thing Arthur Weasley had done for his government. It was ironic that a successful joint operation between the SAS and the wizards had been responsible for the article which had reported that Voldemort had survived.

Dawlish had briefed him about the attack shortly before it took place. He didn't think Voldemort would be there. However, a gathering of Death Eaters wasn't something to take lightly. Fudge had told him not to go through with the attack unless it was obvious that the Death Eaters were up to no good. Many former Death Eaters, such as Lucius Malfoy, had turned from their dark ways and become prominent members of society. Officially, Malfoy and his friends had been exonerated. As long as the Death Eaters were busy chatting about the weather and Quidditch teams, the Ministry had no legal right to drop that Muggle weapon on him.

The debriefing after the attack had had a completely different tone. Dawlish had been incredulous that Voldemort had been among the group. However, the attack had been a success, and Voldemort was now down for the count for good -- or at least in the position he was after 1981.

Fudge realized that he may be able to salvage this situation. The official Ministry of Magic position had been that Voldemort had been dead the whole time. As long as no one leaked the fact that Voldemort had appeared in the graveyard, the Ministry would keep mum and would never have to worry about covering up the Dark Lord's return again.

Judging from the latest issue of the Quibbler, someone had leaked information about the attack to Xenophilius Lovegood. The SAS operatives, realizing that the idea of an evil wizard would ruin Muggle-wizard relations, agreed to classify any knowledge about Voldemort or the Death Eaters, passing the attack on the cemetery off as a gas main explosion. So the Muggles hadn't leaked it. Dawlish swore that he hadn't. None of the Death Eaters present in the graveyard had survived the attack, so he could rule them out.

This left Snape and Arthur Weasley. Both suspects were in a position to leak the information to Xenophilius. All Snape had to do was blurt it out in the Ravenclaw Potions class; Luna Lovegood's owl would do the rest. On the other hand, Weasley could have told his children, who would have inevitably told Hogwarts and launched Luna's owl.

He couldn't do anything about Snape without proof. Dolores Umbridge had told him that only two teachers were going to be fired, Sybill Trelawney and Rubeus Hagrid. Umbridge would inevitably have to be the one to dismiss Snape, and Snape had not given her any grounds for dismissal.

Weasley, on the other hand, was a different story. The man was one problem after another. He'd been caught with a flying car while in charge of the Department for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts -- if there was a bigger scandal, he couldn't think of one. Now Fudge had reason to believe that one of his officials was leaking classified information to the Wizarding community.

Fudge looked out the window. What could he do to clean all this up?

He couldn't throw Weasley in Azkaban without proof. House arrest wouldn't work all that well either, as he'd inevitably wind up sharing the Burrow with Harry Potter. However, he could at least put him on probation, citing the flying car scandal. If the investigation concluded that Weasley had indeed been the source of the leak, then Fudge could fire him.

Fudge would also have to issue a statement to deny any reports that Voldemort had returned. He grinned: the Obliviators had been grumbling that they had lost their jobs with the Statute of Secrecy. Maybe he could let them loose on everyone outside Hogwarts who had received the Quibbler. All he needed to do was Taboo the word "Quibbler" and they'd take care of the rest.

Finally, he had to talk to Xenophilius Lovegood and convince him that his newspaper needed Ministry oversight, just like the Daily Prophet. That way, Lovegood wouldn't find himself in the position of publishing false rumors.

Fudge smiled. There may still be a way to salvage this situation.

To be continued...
------------------------
Update #89
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March 19, 1996
Street Residence
Richardson, TX
United States of America
Next PoV: Phillip Bullock
------------
Eric Street had thought that he would never be able to find another job. How ironic, he thought. Now he thought that he'd never be able to stop working.

His advertisement for Wizarding Services Corporation had worked. He had been elated -- and, he had to admit, somewhat surprised -- when the first call had come in.

The first customer, a Jessica Boardman from Dallas, had contacted her a couple of days after he had posted the advertisement. She had been quite skeptical at first. However, he had assured her that he was indeed a wizard and would be willing to demonstrate a spell for her if it made her feel more comfortable. Still skeptical, she had agreed to have him visit and prove that he was claimed.

He asked her what exactly she wanted. She explained that there was a man whom she had been trying to pick up for years. She had spoken to him several times and done what he could to befriend him. However, he had refused to go out with her. Desperate, she was hoping that Eric would cast a spell on him to make him go out with her.

Eric's eyes had shot up when she told him what she wanted. He wasn't a particular good potioneer. However, his wife was. He'd have to get his wife involved in the business, and she hadn't seemed all that keen on getting involved. She had a job, and she couldn't spend too much time working on potions for her husband. He had eventually managed to convince his wife to do this one potion for him -- it wouldn't be a good idea to chicken out at the first sign of a customer.

Second, Eric wasn't very comfortable with the idea of love potions. Although love potions had been the rage throughout the Big Thicket School of Sorcery for a couple of years, the simple fact was that they only helped for the short term. They caused the drinker to become temporarily infatuated with another person. It did not, however, ensure that the relationship would continue after a first date. His wife had lost her senior prom date due to a partner who had gotten cold feet after the love potion had worn off. Granted, that had been good for Eric, because it had forced his future wife to try to find another partner -- him, and the rest was history. He doubted that his wife's ex-boyfriend would have said the same.

After demonstrating his abilities by lifting a vase into the air with his want, he had explained to the customer that although he was more than willing to create a potion for her, he warned her that the potion would only ensure infatuation for a limited time. She had only a day or so to convince the partner to be with her for the rest of his life. Judging from his past experience, he told her that it was unlikely that she would be accomplish this. Given this knowledge, would she still be willing to go through with the operation? She said yes.

How much should he charge for this service? He had no idea. If he charged too much, he'd get a bad reputation. If he charged too little, not only would he not make much money but he would be encouraging the client to choose a short-term solution over a more beneficial, long-term solution simply because it was cheap. Eventually, he settled on $250. She accepted.

He was committed. So, he went back home and helped his wife make the potion. Once the potion was finished, he delivered it to the customer and told her he'd call her in a week to see how well it happened.

As it turned out, he didn't have to. She called him a couple of days later, explaining that the love potion had worked and that he'd completely fallen head over heels over her. He had agreed to a second date in a week. She admitted that she had no idea if the relationship would survive to a second date. However, she was absolutely convinced that the love potion had worked and that the Eric was in fact able to perform magic. Eric thanked her for her time and reminded her that it was up to her now to cement the relationship. He had helped open the door. It was up to her to step through it.

He had concluded with a simple request -- tell other people what he had done for her as an advertising service. She had agreed and hung up.

He woke up the next morning to find six messages on their answering machine. One was from one of his wife's friends. The rest were all people looking for love potions or other magical aids. One woman had asked for help for curing pneumonia. Another seemed to have an incurable backache and needed some help. Finally, there was a jilted lover who asked him to curse a woman who had dumped him.

He had called the jilted lover back immediately and told him bluntly that he did not curse people. He explained that it was against his principles to use magic for any harmful purposes. He recommended therapy and going to a dating service. The customer had screamed at him for a while, but he was adamant about this.

As far as the other people had gone, he explained that he'd have to get back to them as he needed to get in touch with a magical healer. Although he himself was somewhat familiar with healing scrapes and bruises with magic, backaches and pneumonia were too involved for an amateur like him to deal with. They, predictably, started complaining that he was a fraud and couldn't actually heal them. That irritated him to not end. He told them that he'd be willing to demonstrate that he was indeed capable of magic. Both customers had accepted the challenge. He then asked him where they were so he could talk to them. They gave them their locations.

Two Apparations later, they were convinced. They admitted that he knew what he was doing and agreed to wait a month for him to consult a healer. To compensate them for the delay, he reduced their fee to $750 for the incurable backache and $100 for the pneumonia consultation. He reminded them that hospitalization and rehabiliatation for the conditions would be more expensive under Muggle health care plans, and they were more than willing to accept these terms.

Within a week, the phone was ringing off the hook. He had called upon no fewer than ten of his Wizarding friends in the greater Dallas area. In addition to his wife the potioneer, he'd recruited eight of his Big Thicket classmates, including his wife's ex-boyfriend (who hadn't even remembered her). Several of them were more than willing to join Wizarding Services Corporation if the company got off the ground.

He'd picked up $5000 in the span of one week, and the workload had just increased. That was a rate of $250,000 per year! It was far more than he had made in the Muggle world. It was more than enough for him to start hiring new specialists and make his wife thinking about quitting her job and joining him. And to think that he was deliberately keeping prices low!

If he got himself a monopoly, did more advertising, and started hiring more people, Wizarding Services Corporation would very likely get off the ground...and not just off the ground, into the ionosphere.

To be continued...
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Update #90
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March 21, 1996
Bullock Residence
Near Riverside Cemetery
Little Hangleton
Great Britain
Next PoV: 91 -- Rubeus Hagrid
-----------
Phillip Bullock had thought that he had been acting a bit strange ever since he helped put out the fire after the attack on the terrorists in the cemetery. He had dutifully covered it up, explaining that it had been due to a gas leak. However, he must have been affected by whatever nerve gas the terrorists had been working with. There was no way he'd be able to go to the doctor without revealing the true nature of the attack and compromising national security. All he could do was hope that things got better.

First there was the vision of the injured child he had experienced shortly before putting out the fire. Then there had been a sensation of pain, evidence of an injury which felt like a second nose on the back of his head, and his conscience talking to him. He had been a bit surprised by his desire to keep his fireman's hat on all the time. Eventually, when his conscience had realized that his wife would probably think he was acting strange, his conscience requested that he trade his fireman's hat for a turban-like bandage wrapped around his head. That would allow whatever injury he had suffered to heal. His wife had been a bit surprised, claiming that he hadn't been acting like he was injured. However, his conscience told him that concussions and nerve agents could have strange side effects and that it wouldn't hurt to be careful.

He had been more than surprised by the stuff his conscience had brought up. First was a nickname he didn't realize he'd ever had. Once he had put on his bandage for the first time and looked in the mirror, his conscience told him that he looked the spitting image of something which sounded like a Squirmy Squirrel ("Squerr-ell"). Since the bandage didn't make him look all that much like a squirrel, he concluded that the squirrel referred to an old memory which his conscience had dragged up. However, the nickname stuck, and soon his wife was calling him Squirrel.

Phillip also found that he seemed to have a deep-seated hatred for wizards with one or more Muggle parents. This didn't make all that much sense to him either. He knew, like most Britons at this point, that wizards lived among them. As far as he knew, the wizards were a great boon to the society. They had gone out of their way to rescue Muggle civilians after the Canary Wharf bombing. He had seen no evidence that wizards with Muggle parents tended to be evil.

His conscience had patiently explained the paradox. Wizards with Muggle parents tended to not learn their lessons very well and as a result were a threat to themselves and to the community. For the safety of all involved, they had to be eliminated, or at the very least prohibited from using magic. This explanation made sense to him.

Suddenly, everything became clear. Britain for Humans must have seen at least one wizard misbehave. Otherwise, why would they be so adamantly against magic? The obvious explanation was that the founder of Britain for Humans had had the misfortune of running into one of these Muggle-born wizards and had been injured when the wizard had tried to cast a spell. '

He had told his wife some of his misgivings. She couldn't understand how a nice man like him could suddenly turn against a certain segment of society. From what she had heard about the magical world -- supposedly she'd gone to a talk by Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge -- there was a school which taught wizards of all backgrounds and races how to wield their magic. Wouldn't the school be giving these mixed-background wizards lessons instead of their parents? Something here didn't make sense. Phillip's conscience, however, seemed to be convinced this was right. Something deep down inside just resonated with it.

He brushed off her suggestion that he go to a doctor and have them check his head. He said he'd go to a doctor only if things got really bad. He couldn't explain what had happened due to state security -- his conscience wouldn't let him -- but he told her that it hadn't been a gas leak and he was under orders not to reveal any information about what had happened. A visit to a doctor would prompt questions which could jeopardize national security

Jennifer had then recommended that he go to a Wizarding doctor. She suspected that he had been ensorcelled by some spell -- how else would he have explained seeing things -- and needed professional help from a wizard. She suggested that he contact Cornelius Fudge or some other man in the Ministry of Magic and tell them to check him out, or at least point him to a Wizarding healer. She mentioned that there were wizards called Aurors who were good at chasing down bad wizards.

His conscience hadn't liked that at all for some reason. For some reason, he refused to go anywhere near the Ministry of Magic. He rationalized it by thinking that some members of the Ministry's staff may have been improperly trained wizards. His wife hadn't bought that at all, however, and had a quite reasonable argument: the Ministry wouldn't want to hire improperly trained wizards for government positions!

His conscience had brought up another repressed memory at this point. Supposedly deep down inside the Ministry of Magic there was a little ball with his name on it. He wanted to get his hands on it. That chilled Phillip to the bone and brought up an awful suspicion.

Could he have been abducted by these evil wizards as a child and had experiments performed on him? He'd heard stories about aliens abducting humans and carrying them away in their flying saucers. Presumably wizards could abduct them as well. That would explain his repressed memories coming to the surface now and his apparent distrust of inexperienced wizards. Everything made sense: he was abducted, was operated on by an inexperienced wizard, had his sanity placed in a ball somewhere in the Ministry of Magic, and sent home. The injury at the cemetery had brought these memories to the surface. Hell, this even explained his exposed conscience. Only a wizard could have done that.

Still, something didn't make sense. How was he supposed to get into the Ministry of Magic to retrieve this ball and restore his sanity? He didn't know. His conscience wasn't all that sure either. He guessed that would have to wait. For a few seconds, he couldn't understand why he didn't want to get into the Ministry of Magic even though the key to all the problems -- this ball -- was there. The thought passed quickly, though.

His wife, clearly concerned, had sent him to a psychiatrist. The shrink had reluctantly conceded that he could not rule out Phillip having been abducted by wizards. Granted, the shrink had told him that he knew of no Wizarding abductions. However, he had admitted that there could be classified sections of the Ministry which most wizards, let alone Muggles, did not have access to. Phillip soon resigned himself to trying to accept what had happened and do what he could to live with this new information. Oddly enough, his conscience had told him to go after the bad wizards. Phil had to manually override those thoughts with more appropriate once which involved the rehabilitation of the untrained wizards. He didn't want people to die.

He had a long discussion with his wife and eventually managed to convince her that he'd be all right. She was a bit skeptical, but let him go about daily routine. He found, much to his pleasant surprise, that his conscience was actually quite wise and helpful. Perhaps some wizard had given him magical powers during the experimentation. This wisdom and knowledge almost made up for his strange new view of the world.

At the moment, he was outside watering his plants with a hose. He hadn't heard anything from his conscience for a while and couldn't tell if it was bad or good. However, he didn't need his conscience for this as he mindlessly moved the hose from plant to plant.

Suddenly, the water flow coming from the hose abated to a trickle. Damn, he thought. It must be caught on something. He glared at the hose in frustration. In response, the hose just sat there menacingly, as it if it were a large green snake.

Still staring at the hose, he yelled "Jennifer! Can you give me a hand here?"

At least that's what he thought he said. What came out of his mouth had actually been some kind of weird hissing sound.

He dropped the hose in shock. What the hell? He spun and let out another shriek as he saw a decent-size snake staring him in the face. This time, it was a live snake, not the hose. He didn't know of any venomous snakes in England. However, that didn't mean they didn't exist.

He slowly started to back away. And then he had his next shock.

The snake spoke to him.

"I heard your request, sir. What's the problem? How can I help? My name is Nachash. I must say, sir, I haven't spoken to a human for a while."

Phillip shook his head to clear it. The snake was still there, its head cocked at him with curiosity. Looking at the snake in trepidation, he screamed for his wife again.

All he got was another hiss and a response from the snake.

"Why, of course there's a snake here. That's me. I've come to help you. Is there anything I can do for you?"

For some reason, his conscience told him that this was expected. Those damn inexperienced wizards! Well, two could play at that game. If this was a practical joke, he was going to puncture it very quickly.

Still staring at the snake, he shook his head and pointed at the hose. "This hose is stuck. There's no water coming out of it. Can you check it out and see where the kink is?"

The snake turned and looked at the hose. "All right. Hold on a second."

With that, the snake slithered away. Phillip grunted a sigh of relief and turned back to his flower bed, where the water was still coming out in a trickle.

Jennifer still hadn't come out. Come to think of it, she hadn't even responded. What the hell was going on here? He'd called her twice! He didn't know why he'd heard a hiss, but according to his conscience everything was still fine.

The hose shifted a few millimeters. Seconds later, the water came spurting out. Phew, he thought. He turned back to the house and saw the snake coming back to him. Still no Jennifer.

The snake nodded its head to him. "I've found the kink and cleared it up. Is your hose working better now?"

He closed his eyes in disbelief. "Yes. Thank you."

The snake turned around and started slithering away. "Don't mention it. Don't hesitate to call me again if you need any help."

Second later, the snake had headed back into the bushes where it had come from. His conscience told him, once again, that everything was OK and this was expected. He did know one thing, however.

He wasn't telling anyone about this. One word of this and he'd be going to the funny farm.

He suddenly had an overpowering desire to get rid of all the alcohol in the house.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Update #91
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March 22, 1996
[classified] Air Force Base
[classified]
Great Britain
Next PoV: 92 -- John Paul II
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The Royal Air Force were among the queen's first and finest. They were very brave men who wouldn't be thrown by much. Unfortunately, at the rate things were going, they were on the verge of being thrown by Grawp. Literally.

Hagrid stamped his feet and screamed at his brother to stop. "Grawp, no! They're people, like the ones you saw at Hogwarts! Treat them right or we'll both get hurt! We're guests here! I thought you'd outgrown that!"

Grawp looked at him curiously and then turned to looked at the soldier in his hand. Slowly, gently, he put the soldier back on the ground and smiled. "Grawp sorry. Hagger, me want pat his head."

Hagrid rolled his eyes. "No, Grawp! Last time you tried to pat my head, you nearly knocked my brains out. Trust me, Grawp. You don't want to get these people mad at you! We're diplomats here, Grawp! Diplomats!"

Grawp fumbled over the long word. "Diplo-what?"
----------
Hagrid had gotten some incredulous stares from the troops when he had first materialized on the tarmac. One of them had dropped his backpack and reached for his gun. Hagrid had had to wave his hands frantically in order to wave him off.

"Don't fire! I'm not your enemy!"

The soldier hadn't seemed convinced. "First I see Bigfoot. Then I hear him talking to me in plain English. Why do I not believe this?"

Hagrid had looked at his feet. They weren't unusually big for his size. He'd shrugged and held his hands out in resignation. "I'm sorry, sir, but my name isn't Bigfoot. My name is Rubeus Hagrid. You've been expecting me."

The soldier's eyebrows had risen nearly to his hairline. Slowly, he'd lowered his weapon. "YOU'RE Professor Hagrid?"

Hagrid had nodded. "Yes. I've been told that the American representative will meet me here to transport me and my brother to the United States. Is he here yet?"

The man hadn't answered immediately. Instead, he'd juar looked Hagrid up and down. "Crikey! I heard you were tall, but this is ridiculous! Just how tall ARE you, Professor?"

Hagrid had shrugged. "Last time I checked, 337 centimeters. Eleven feet, one inch. I'm a half-giant. My brother is a full-blooded giant. I'll be bringing him along momentarily."

"Christ, you mean he's even taller than you? At the rate things are going, I'm going to need to dig out my old slingshot. How tall is he?"

"Five meters, give or take a couple of centimeters."

Another of the airmen had nearly choked on that. "Jesus! Ever heard of the square-cube law, Professor?"

Hagrid had frowned. "No. Should I have, sir?"

The first soldier had chuckled. "I didn't think so. Never mind, Professor. I sure as hell hope the Americans brought over a cargo plane or something like that. Otherwise, I have no idea how you two chaps are going to fit through the door. How many seats are you going to take up? Five? I guess we don't need to worry about choosing aisle or window."

Hagrid hadn't entirely gotten the last comment. However, it had been obvious what they were getting at. "Don't worry, sir. President Clinton is aware of our heights. He was a bit surprised at first, but he promised us he would send an appropriate vehicle. Now, if you would excuse me, I'll have to retrieve my brother. I should warn you, he's a bit sensitive about his height. He was abandoned by our mother because he was the runt of the litter. Most giants are taller than he is."

The soldiers rolled their eyes at that. One of them grunted: "Ground control, this is Foxtrot-35. We've collided with someone's head at 31,000 feet."
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Bringing Grawp had nearly been a disaster. However, thanks to the wonders of automatic pilot, the American military cargo carrier managed to make it down the runway in one piece while the man at the controls was gawking at the two huge humanoids standing near the end of the runway.

Hagrid was fascinated by the obscure contraption the Muggles used to fly. Absently turning down Grawp's request to play with it, he walked over to get a closer look.

The machine was quite large, about five times the size of Grawp. It seemed to be made entirely of metal. It had large wheels which allowed it to roll on the ground. It looked like a long sausage with a tapered nose, a tail on the back, and two motionless wings with odd cylinders hanging under them. There were small holes in the side which looked like windows. It seemed a hell of a lot more complicated than a broom.

The only door he could see was maybe 75-100 centimeters wide. Hagrid suddenly understood why they had been concerned about getting him and his brother into the vehicle. Fortunately, he found that he wouldn't have to use the door. The back of the vehicle opened up and something which appeared to be a ramp extended itself from the vehicle. A man walked down the ramp and headed in their direction.

Hagrid recognized the man. It was Dr. Roach, the man who had interviewed him at Hogwarts earlier in the year.

Dr. Roach walked up to him and shook his head. "It's good to see you again, Professor Hagrid. I'm happy you've changed your mind and accepted our offer."

Hagrid nodded. "My pleasure, sir. Allow me to introduce my brother, Grawp. He's a full-blooded giant."

Roach looked at Grawp and did a double-take when he realized that Grawp was even taller than Hagrid was. "Good grief! How tall do you guys get?"

Hagrid smiled. "I'd say twenty-two, twenty-three feet. Seven meters. Grawp here is actually short for a giant. Our mother didn't want him because he was too short."

Roach winced. Turning to Grawp, he nodded slowly. "I'm sorry to hear that, Grawp."

Grawp nodded. "Hagger family now."

Roach frowned. "Hagger?"

Hagrid laughed. "That's what he calls me. He's never been able to get my name right. No offense, Grawp, but half-giants are generally more intelligent than full-blooded ones."

Roach looked at Grawp thoughtfully. "I must say, I --"

Hagrid glared at him. "No you don't, Dr. Roach. You're not putting him in the Zoo. He's my brother, and he lives with me."

Roach shrugged. "As you wish. However, I must warn you that there aren't many Muggle houses fit for people of your height. If I were you, I'd recommend renting out a two-car garage somewhere."

Hagrid nodded. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, Dr. Roach."

"Sounds like a plan, Professor. Are you thinking of bringing any other creatures to help start off our Zoo?"

Hagrid didn't say anything. He just stared at Roach until Roach realized his faux pas.

"Creatures other than Deirdre, I mean."

Hagrid relaxed and smiled. "Yup. I'll have to run a few of them by you, but we've got lots of stuff in the forest near Hogwarts. We've got giant spiders, a few Blast-Ended Skrewts, a hippogriff, a dragon left over from the Triwizard Tournament. We've got a few centaurs, but they're off limits as they're sentient beings like me, you, and Grawp."

Roach stared at them. "You're kidding. Are these animals tame?"

Hagrid shook his head. "Not really. However, they'll listen to me, which should be good enough. I think I can get a tame dragon for you -- his name is Norbert, and he imprinted on me when he hatched. That was about four years ago, though. Hopefully he'll remember me."

Roach winced, and one of the soldiers muttered something about a place called Jurassic Park. "Uh...Professor, although I'm convinced those animals are fine creatures, may I recommend creatures which are easier to control and will not eat the patrons?"

Hagrid sighed. He figured it would come to this. Well, it had been worth a try. "That would be doable, Dr. Roach. I'll start with some Class X and XX creatures. If they fit well at the zoo, we'll start bringing over the bigger animals. Rest assured, Doctor, I'll have creatures for you."

Roach smiled. "Sounds reasonable. Are they native to the United States?"

Hagrid thought for a moment. "I'm not sure. I wouldn't be surprised if they are, though. Why do you ask?"

"It's because we don't want them getting free and wrecking the food chain here. We've got enough problems with invasive species as is."

Hagrid nodded. "This makes sense. You give me a list of species, and I'll tell you what I'll be able to provide."

"Have they had rabies shots?"

Hagrid stared at him and chuckled. "These magical creatures don't need rabies shots."

Roach smiled. "Really? That's...intriguing. At any rate, here's the plan. I'll bring you and Grawp over and introduce you to the staff. Once we've figured out which animals you can bring, you can start sending them over. Hopefully you'll be up to speed when you take office on April 1st."

Hagrid nodded. "Sounds all right with me, Dr. Roach."

Roach nodded. "Then let's get onto the plane and head off. Have you ever seen a plane before?"

"No, Dr. Roach. I must say, it's an intriguing contraption. Is there anything I can do to help speed the journey?"

"It is indeed an intriguing contraption. However, may I recommend that you not cast magical spells while in the vehicle? They may make the airplane stop working. If that happens, we're going to make a pretty big splash when we fall into the Atlantic."

Hagrid grinned. "Don't worry about it, Doctor. Judging from the splashes Grawp and I will make, no one will notice yours."

Even Roach laughed at that. "I can't agree with you more, Professor Hagrid. Now, shall we?"

To be continued...
-------------

Update #92
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March 23, 1996
Papal Private Chambers
The Vatican
Next PoV: 93 -- Xenophilius Lovegood
-----------
Pope John Paul II looked over tomorrow's sermon. He thought it was a good one. Once again, he was advocating that wizards all over the world use their gifts for the betterment of mankind. Now that he was free to use his magic in public, he had tried to set a precedent for them to follow.

First, he had taken advantage of the copious amount of space available in St. Peter's Basilica and conjured into existence a reflecting pool and several fountains conducive to meditation and introspection. He had also gone into the vaults and Geminioed several Christian relics and artifacts so that the copies can be viewed by pilgrims from all denomations.

His Holiness chuckled as he cast the spell to identify the relics. Of the 500-or-so objects in the vault, the spell claimed that only 162 were authentic. The pope didn't know how the spell did what it did, but he knew that it worked.

The 162 authentic relics were copied and placed in the courtyard. The 338 which were forgeries were placed in storage, away from the public eye. The pope realized that although HE knew they were forgeries, the ordinary people didn't and likely believed in them. Debunking something which was the focus of their faith would just disappoint and offend them.

All in all, reaction to his admission that he was a wizard was mixed. Many Catholics were happy that the man chosen to serve as the intermediary between them and God did indeed have traits which appeared supernatural. On the other hand, he didn't even want to think about the lunatic fridge, such as that man from America for Humans who claimed that he was the False Prophet. The pope rolled his eyes just thinking about it. How could he be the False Prophet? He spent his life working for the greater good. Beside, his name wasn't Peter. Wasn't the last pope, the evil one, suppose to be named Petrus Romanus?

Disturbingly, there were rumors that a segment of the Catholic population were thinking of divorcing themselves from Rome and their "devil-empowered" leader. He had explained that not all popes had been wizards: on the average, maybe 10% had been practicing wizards. Furthermore, the Church had prospered under many of the Wizarding popes, and they had done so to this point under John Paul II's reign. The point was that the disgruntled sheep had no reason to be afraid of either wizards or popes. However, it became evident that he was only preaching to the choir. The new movement, supposedly called New Catholicism, had sucked up maybe 10-15% of the world population. It would still use Catholic rites and liturgy. However, the supreme authority would rest in the highest-ranking Church official (possibly a cardinal) who was a Muggle.

He had been tempted to excommunicate the priests who had initiated the movement. However, he knew what had happened the last time a major schism took place: the two leaders had excommunicated themselves and the Greek Orthodox Church had been born. He didn't want another schism. He contemplated retirement -- after all, he was getting up there in age -- but figured it was not up to him to determine how long he was to stay in office. It was up to God. He was God's steward on earth, and as a result it was up to Him to tell his servant to stay or go. Hopefully he could stipulate in his will that his successor be a Muggle and thwart the movement before it got off the ground. How many years did he have left? Five? Ten?

His musings were cut short by a knock on the door. He frowned: he hadn't been expecting any guests. He turned and opened the door. It was one of his assistants, who bowed to him deeply.

"Your Holiness, I apologize for the interruption. However, there are two people here who would like to see you."

The pope shook his head. "I'm sorry, Deacon. I'm a bit preoccupied today. Tell them to come back later or send them to one of the cardinals."

The assistant shook his head. "I'm not sure that's a good idea. You see, these people are rather...important."

The pope's eyebrows shot up. Important people? What was going on? Aloud: "Really? Who are they?"

The assistant response was short and to the point. "The prophet Samuel and his interpreter, Your Holiness."

His Holiness's jaw dropped. "Samuel? Here?"

"Yes, Holiness. They're in the main audience chamber. Henri the guard nearly fell over when Samuel materialized in front of him. Amr had to help him up and calm him down."

"Amr?"

"Samuel's interpreter, Holiness. He's from Algeria."

John Paul looked out the window, where the sun was shining brightly. "That's a bit surprising, David. I wouldn't expect Samuel to be working on a Saturday afternoon."

The assistant grinned. "My thought as well. However, they arrived Friday just before sundown and have been holed up in a hotel for the weekend. They -- well, the interpreter -- walked over."

The pope grunted. Samuel seemed to be a bit more open-minded than he'd thought. This could be interesting. "Send them in. I'll meet them in the main audience chamber"

The assistant nodded and left. The pope followed him out the door, heded to the main refreshment area. After a few minutes, he returned with two people. One was a tall dark-skinned man with a long beard and a robe. He looked quite saintly and inclined his head to the pope with respect. He seemed like a spiritual leader, and could easily have been mistaken for someone out of the Bible.

The fact that his comrade was a glowing spirit debunked that theory in a heartbeat. Samuel was maybe 5'4" -- the pope had to remember that people were shorter in those days -- and quite thin. Apparently he'd been a bit of an ascetic. He was bald and had a short beard and mustache. He looked to be somewhere in his early sixties, which would have been very old in those days.

Something seemed out of place for a moment. Suddenly, John Paul realized what it was. It was a quote from the book of I Samuel. The quote claimed that Hannah, Samuel's mother, had taken a vow that Samuel would never let a razor touch his face.

Judging from what he saw of Samuel, the man had clearly shaved. Very interesting, he thought. Either the Bible was wrong or Samuel wasn't who he said he was. He hoped for the later, but suspected the former. The man was clearly a ghost, and he looked Semitic. He was dressed in very old-fashioned robes, and he was much too short to be a modern adult male. He received another surprise when Samuel began speaking. The pope understood a little about linguistics and understood how languages could change over time. Although he couldn't get most of what the prophet was saying, the language sounded like a very old version of Hebrew or Arabic -- complete with the ghayin in Hebrew terms.

Samuel nodded to the interpreter, and the tall man began to speak. "Holiness, my colleague here is the prophet Samuel from the Old Testament. He would like to know if you are the leader of the sect of the Children of Israel known as the Christians. I'd recommend agreeing, since you're the closest they have."

The Pope nodded. "There are several different strands of Christianity now, as you know. However, as the Pope, I'm in charge of the original. Tell him yes."

The Pope looked at the ghost after the discussion with the interpreter. It was obvious that Samuel -- or whoever he was -- hadn't understood a thing they'd said, or at least hadn't had any reaction to it. Someone not knowing English in a modern environment? Very unlikely. This increased the odds that the man was in fact Samuel.

The interpreter turned to the ghost and spoke a little more. Samuel nodded, turned to the pope, and started talking again.

"Sir, I've come on an important mission, important enough to feel like it's worth bending the rules on coming on the Sabbath. I've discovered that there are three subgroups of people among the Children of Israel and that they've been fighting among each other a lot. These groups are the Christians, Jews, and Muslims. Is that correct?"

The pope nodded. "Yes, sir. That is correct, much as I regret to admit it."

Samuel frowned. "If that's the case, I want you to tell everyone to stop fighting. We all worship the same God. Children of Israel who fight amongst themselves will be excommunicated. I'll handle it myself if necessary."

John Paul whistled silently to himself. He and Samuel were in absolute agreement here. Perhaps people will listen to Samuel as a famous biblical hero. Aloud: "I will do so, sir. I believe I've actually made great strides in reconciling the faiths. However, I still think there's a lot of work to be done."

Samuel grunted something in response. The interpreter winced before continuing. "Well, work harder at it. You can persecute many of the unrepentant idol worshipers as you want. However, the Children of Israel are off limits."

The idol worshiper comment caught John Paul completely off guard. It took him a second to understand why. Samuel had grown up in a world where he and the rest of the prophets were trying to introduce the worship of the One God into a world with many Canaanite deities like Moloch and Baal. Most of the prophets would have naturally had strong biases and prejudices against the idolatrous cults. He hoped Samuel never found out about the Buddhists and Hindus with their little statues and idols.

The pope drew a deep breath and turned to the interpreter. Speaking in English, so that the prophet couldn't understand it, he said: "Let me guess. He thinks people like Buddhists are the descendants of the people who worshiped Asherah. He sees an idol and goes berserk."

The interpreter closed his eyes and nodded, a troubled look on his face. "That's what I'm thinking. God has done us a favor here by not giving Samuel access to those faiths yet. We don't want another divinely-ordained crusade."

The pope thought about this. He turned to Samuel and said. "I understand where you're coming from. However, I would prefer convincing the idol worshipers to following the Noachide laws instead of persecuting them. Would that be acceptable?"

Samuel's eyebrows shot up and he nodded. "By all means. I didn't think they'd be amenable to those. If you can pull that off, perfect."

The pope breathed a sigh of relief. He'd dodged a bullet there. "I will, sir. Thank you for your suggestion. Rest assured, I'll do what I can."

Samuel nodded. "That's all I can ask for. In the meantime, I will leave you to your devotions. Thank you for your time. You are truly a man of God. I see that He did the right thing by giving you His gift of wizardry. Once the Sabbath is over, you can show me around this facility here. I take it that this is your version of the Temple in Jerusalem?"

The pope nodded. "Yes. Is it acceptable to you?"

Samuel thought about this for a moment. "I take it that people in this area will find it most difficult to get to Jerusalem and they would likely need a substitute Temple headed by a duly authorized representative of the Faith?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Keep doing what you're doing. I've made the man in charge of the primary facility on the Temple Mount the Kohen Gadol. He'll be your supervisor. You should take his words into consideration when you minister to your people. May God bless you and keep you."

With that, Samuel headed for the door, followed by his interpreter. Soon, he and the assistant were once again alone in the office.

The two men looked at each other. Finally, the pope broke the silence.

"An imam ordained as the Kohen Gadol, and we're supposed to follow him. Who'd have thought of THAT?"

To be continued...
--------------
Update #93
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March 24, 1996
St. Catchpole's Roman Catholic Church
Ottery St. Catchpole
England
Next PoV: 94 -- Samuel
-----------
Xenophilius Lovegood sat in the pew with rest of the parishioners, listening to the priest's sermon. He may have had strange beliefs about the way the world worked, but that didn't prevent him from being a religious man. He stilled tried to go to church on most Sundays. He often wondered whether Luna would continue to follow in his footsteps. He doubted it: she just didn't seem to be the same type of person. He still loved her, though, and would do anything to make sure she was safe.

Until recently, most of the congregation didn't realize that St. Catchpole had actually been a wizard. Catchpole -- then known as Catpolus -- had been caught practicing Christianity in Rome during the time of Nero. This had inevitably led to his arrest and eventual death in the Colosseum at the hands of an unknown gladiator. From what he knew of Catolpus's legend among the Wizarding community, the saint had known immediately that his life was forfeit as soon as his opponent's sword pinned him to the floor of the arena. Nero's thumb had turned up, not unexpectedly, and the opponent had raised is weapon to deliver the coup de grace.

At this point Catpolus could have used magic to escape from this predicament. The Statute of Secrecy was not as rigidly enforced in those days as it was today -- well, had been as of two months ago. Wizards and healers still walked the community, and it was not unheard of for wizards to fall back on magic in life-threatening situations. However, Catpolus had realized one thing. Had he used magic to save his life, he would be able to do so. However, there would have been a price: Christianity would inevitably have been linked to wizards in the eyes of the Romans. This would perform two grave injustices: (a) extend Nero's persecution to the wizards, and (b) imply the heresy that magic, not God, bolstered the Christian faith. As a result, he had allowed himself to be martyred to save both of his communities.

The first church of St. Catchpole had been raised in the 11th century. It had been a flourishing, albeit small, community which included several wizards. When Henry VIII took over and broke with Rome, the congregation all but disbanded. It eventually reformed in 1962 and had been going strong ever since.

Xeno had waited for several weeks, gauging the opinions of the community, before telling his fellow worshipers that he was in fact a wizard and that he attributed his gift to the grace of God. Most of the people had been intrigued by his abilities. Some were jealous, to which he had responded that they likely had abilities he didn't have and as a result the two of them were even.

All in all, the reaction had gone in his favor. He had expected that, however. After all, they were all nominally subservient to the Pope, and the Pope had come out as a wizard!

His Wizarding abilities weren't needed here, however, as all humans were equal in the eyes of the Almighty. He had his wand with him, just out of habit. However, he had no intention of using magic during the service. He had actually turned down a request by the priest to use magic to lighten things up a bit, saying that magical interference would be inappropriate.

The congregation had just finished a set of psalms when he heard a commotion outside the building. One of the staff members went outside to investigate. Xeno heard voices raised outside. It seemed like people were arguing. He put it out of his mind, however. Unless people began getting really unruly, it wasn't right to get involved.

A few minutes later, he heard a scream. Heads turned across the entire congregation. Xeno watched in horror the staff member's body slumped back through the doorway. There was a bloody bruise on his head. Behind him, outside the building, stood a mob of no fewer than twenty people armed with clubs, pitchforks, and other weapons.

The two sets of people stared at each other for a moment. Finally, one of the ruffians shattered the silence with a loud cry:

"Destroy the workshop of the False Prophet Pope! BRITAIN FOR HUMANS!"

With that, the attackers barged through the door and headed into the room. One of them pulled out a gun.

Shit, Xeno thought. He pulled out his wand. If there was a time for him to use magic in church, it was now. It sounded like Britain for Humans had been listening to Pastor Phelps's sermon after the Kansas preacher had joined America for Humans. Phelps had argued that the wizards were the tools of the devil and that the Pope was the False Prophet. One of the America for Humans chapters had attacked a Catholic church in Kentucky the previous week and had been beaten back. That had appeared to have triggered a copycat attack by their British cousins.

Xeno hated to think how they'd react if they ever found out about Voldemort. If the Pope was the False Prophet, then Voldemort would have to be the Antichrist. Hopefully that was a prophecy that wouldn't come true -- after all, Voldemort had been killed. But as he himself had admitted, he couldn't be certain that You-Know-Who stay dead. And coming back from incapacitation was something the Antichrist was supposed to be famous for.

First things first, however. He needed to deal with this attack. The priest simultaneously turned to him, waved his hand as if it had a wand in it, and yelled, "XENO!"

Xeno stood up and looked around at the mob. Casting a spell would serve two purposes. First, it would help defend the congregants. Second, it would divert all the attackers' attention to him. He'd have to Obliviate the lot of them when this was over -- he couldn't allow an attack by a wizard to justify their beliefs. But first things first. He turned to the man with the gun, who was getting ready to fire at the priest.

"Expelliarmus!"

The gun went flying into the air, startling the attacker. Leaping onto the stage to get a better view, he started casting Disarmament Spells on each of the attackers. A decent arsenal began to accumulate next to the pulpit: clubs, bats, chains, and so forth. This still left a good seven or eight attackers. One of them had a torch in his hand, and another was trying to open a can of gasoline. That was the obvious next threat. Figuring that the Disarmament Spell wouldn't think of a torch as a weapon, he cast the Accio spell and caught the torch flying through the air.

By this point, the attackers had gotten the point. Slowly but surely, they began retreating out the door. Furious, Xeno cast a spell of protection about himself and raced after them. He was only half done: the church had been saved, but he still had to Obliviate the attackers before they got away to spread the news!

He screeched to a halt after maybe ten feet. There were frightened people milling around all over the room, and it took him a while to make it out of the church. By the time he was out the door, most of the attackers had fled.

Double shit, he thought. He had to tell the Ministry. Ignoring the cheers of the people in the church, he Apparated to the Ministry, went to the the Minister's secretary, and asked to see Cornelius Fudge. The Minister let him in immediately.

Fudge reacted about as Xeno would have expected. He Taboo'ed the name of the church for all locations outside it and sent Obliviators out en masse to deal with the fallout. Xeno thanked him and was about to leave when Fudge held up his hand and told him to stay.

Xeno stopped, surprised. "Is there something else, sir?"

Fudge smiled. "Yes, Mr. Lovegood. Would you be so good as to tell me how you learned about Voldemort's death?"

Xeno shrugged. "I got an owl from Luna. Why? Is that a problem?"

Fudge nodded slowly. "The official Ministry of Magic position is that Voldemort never returned. We didn't want people to think he came back. That would alarm the populace."

Xeno stared at him. "Why does it matter now? He's dead! There may have been a leak for a while, but it's gone now."

Fudge hesitated for a minute. "I suppose you're right. How did Luna find out about it though?"

Xeno shrugged. "I'd assume it was Snape or Ron Weasley. Ron's father and Snape both witnessed the attack."

Fudge jotted the information down on a piece of parchment. "Thank you for that information -- it will help with the investigation. You see, the information that Voldemort had returned had been classified, and as you can tell someone spilled the beans. You may want to consider having the Quibbler adopt Ministry of Magic supervision. That way, leaks like this won't happen."

Xeno grunted. "I'm sorry to hear that, Minister. I'll be more careful in the future."

"You do that, Mr. Lovegood. Inform the people in the church that each witness will receive 50 pounds in compensation for the trauma they suffered in the attack. They will receive 150 additional pounds if they refuse to tell anyone that the attackers were hexed. We don't want stories of wizard attacks on Muggles to spread."

Xeno smiled, surprsed. "Thank you very much, Minister Fudge. They'll appreciate that."

Fudge nodded. "I'm sure they will. Dismissed."

To be continued...
-----------------

Update #94
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March 24, 1996
St. Peter's Square
The Vatican
Next PoV: 95 -- Damodharan Dilmi
-----------
Less than two months had gone by, and Samuel still had trouble understanding the new world he found himself in. He made it a point to return from Sheol every so often that he wouldn't be caught off guard again.

He had died early in the reign of King Saul, at the age of 63. He had been trying to convince the people that a king wasn't necessarily in their best interests. Unfortunately, everyone had been clamoring for a central authority so they can fend off the Philistines with their iron weapons. The fact that the Philistines had managed to hire a mercenary giant named Goliath didn't help much. So, he had crowned Saul and hoped for the best.

Of course, Saul had been an absolute disaster. Samuel had figured that a man trained as a warlord had no idea how to run a country. He was right. Granted, he'd done what he could to suppress pagan customs. However, he'd been rather ineffective, particularly since he had had a few idol worshipers in his court.

And as if that hadn't been bad enough, the man had actually gone to a Philistine wizard in disguise to ask Samuel's ghost for help. He'd told the Israelite wizards to leave him alone after he died and let him see how the young Israelite kingdom worked out -- and whether he'd feel like coming back a few hundred years later and say "I TOLD YOU SO!". The Witch of Endor had nagged him enough to get him to show up. He made up a prophecy saying Saul would lose the throne, which shut up the whining monarch rather quickly. The placebo effect took care of the rest.

Samuel's fears had been justified. David and Solomon proved to be relatively strong kings. However, they hadn't been particularly humble. It wasn't out of character for them to send people they didn't like off to the front lines. As if that weren't bad enough they had nearly bankrupted the treasury to plan and build the Temple. Samuel had the distinct impression that God wasn't particularly happy that His new temple was a wee bit over the top and built by hordes of forced laborers in squalid working conditions. He was reminded of the Israelite legends of the people building pyramids in Egypt for the pharaoh. The peasantry was overburdened with taxes and crying out for help.

David, however, had been a master of PR. He kept on concocting stories about him being a world-class lutist, poet, God-fearing man, and stuff like that. He took credit for the slaying of Goliath even though he had not been the champion who had actually killed the Philistine warrior -- it had been a wizard who had been adept at killing giants. From what he'd been told of the history of the past thousand years, the old fox had actually managed to fool the historians. Samuel made a mental note to rectify that at some point. These people deserved to know the truth.

God hadn't been fooled, however, and His revenge came soon enough. Squabbles over the succession split the kingdom in two, and a succession of weak rulers had eliminated both little princedoms within four hundred years. The last time Samuel had visited the world, he had watched as Jerusalem fell to a foreign army and Solomon's temple was destroyed. He remember mixed feelings: sadness for the people and for the destruction of the holiest site in Israel, but a sense that the aristocracy had deserved it, having brought it on themselves by their unfair rule.

Jerusalem had fallen to an army wielding swords, bows, and the occasional iron spear. From what the people of the present were telling him, that was about 2500 years ago.

Boy, had things changed.

It was now obvious that the Children of Israel were the most powerful ethnic group in the world (which, oddly enough, had been found to be ROUND!). Over half the population worshiped the God of Abraham. Samuel had been thankful for that -- the Israelites must have cleaned up their act after their expulsion from Jerusalem. There was, however, the minor problem that the two largest factions, the Christians and Muslims, kept on claiming that the other two factions weren't worshiping God the right way. There were people in each faction who refused to marry people of the other factions because they didn't belong to the right faith.

What a mess! Samuel had learned his lessons well, but it appeared that some of these people hadn't. God didn't have a name or form for a reason: He was supposed to be entirely abstract. The purpose of spirituality was to allow the people to get in touch with the divine and give them a sense of purpose and a wider, more generous view of the world. Trying to visualize Him in any concrete form limited what He could represent -- hence, idols were discouraged. The rituals which had been handed down from Moses's time made sense for the society at the time, as the group which had left Egypt had been accustomed to animal sacrifices and was not mature enough to understand the idea of an abstract deity. What people didn't realize was the fact that the rituals were not an end in itself, only a means to an end. They were designed to help the people of the Exodus connect with the divine. Any personal ritual which produced the desired end result was all right.

The two large factions seemed to be competing in trying to win the hearts of the world. Samuel groaned to himself. He could understand proselytizing to the pagans, but not to other monotheists! The third, smaller faction, the one which seemed to be closest to the way the Israelites had practiced during Samuel's lifetime, had been subjected to persecution and evangelization from the two larger factions. A war about fifty years earlier had eradicated most of its European adherents. However, they were still around.

Samuel looked around the plaza as the leader of the Christians, John Paul (why did he have two names?), described the sights. John Paul was actually a wizard, and he seemed to have the right idea when it came to spirituality. Samuel kicked himself for not making this man the Kohen Gadol. He then kicked himself for even thinking of anointed this man Kohen Gadol without first consulting the man who was leading the third, smaller faction -- the Jews.

At the moment, John Paul was pointing out the reflecting pool. "There's the reflecting pool, sir. I figured that would be a good spot for meditation and contemplation. You can see two nuns sitting there."

Samuel looked at the two women, puzzled.

"Nuns? Are they related to Joshua?"

The pope smirked at that. "No, sir. They're women from an order who have taken ascetic vows. There are two orders, one for men and one for women. Men who join are called monks. The vows usually involve celibacy, humility, and poverty."

Samuel thought for a moment. "Sounds like a distant descendant of the Nazirite custom."

"Somewhat, sir. However, these women much of their time in prayer and contemplation, trying to feel closer to God. That sounds like the type of stuff you were discussing earlier."

Samuel nodded. "I'm impressed, John Paul. That's personal spirituality through meditation. That's the type of stuff I was hoping for but couldn't hammer into the heads of those Bronze Age warriors who couldn't see past the end of their spears. I see society has changed."

"Indeed it has, sir. Now, over here, we've got a fountain. I conjured it up a couple of weeks ago. It shows scenes from the life of Jesus and has a water supply which won't run out."

Samuel looked at the fountain. "Quite impressive. Jesus was one of the prophets whose authenticity the three factions disagree on?"

"Yes. I told you about his career. He began his ministry in his thirties about a millennium after your death. He was very popular. Unfortunately, the authorities were a bit nervous about him and as a result he was crucified by the Romans around AD 30. A man named Saul of Tarsus spread his teachings throughout the known world. This was the origin of our faction, as you call it."

Samuel shook his head. "That story is all too familiar, John Paul. Saul killed my teacher Tiqwael because he wouldn't anoint Saul king."

John Paul stopped in his tracks. "Who?"

"Tiqwael, John Paul. Isn't he in the history books with David and Saul? I haven't been able to read much of them yet due to the language and alphabet barriers."

John shook his head. "No, sir. He isn't. Sounds like someone wanted him silenced. And I bet I can guess who."

Samuel nodded. "Sounds like something Saul would do. You know you're an authentic prophet when the authorities try to kill you. That happened to Tiqwael, it happened to Moses, it happened to Muhammed, and it sounds like it happened to this man as well. May curses fall upon everyone who murders a prophet."

The pope looked at him quizzically for a second. Suddenly, Samuel realized what had happened. "No, John Paul. I died of old age, surrounded by my sister and two nieces. I --"

Samuel's voice broke off as he stared into the distance and frowned. Standing off in an alcove was something which looked very out of place in this temple.

It was an idol. It appeared to be showing a man being executed on a cross. The man appeared to be suffering. The letters INRI were visible above the man's head.

Samuel gritted his teeth and pointed. "John Paul, why is there an idol in the temple?"

John Paul frowned and turned to look at the idol. He turned back to Samuel with a troubled look on his face.

"That is a statue commemorating the execution of Jesus. It is there only as focus for concentration and faith. It inspires people who honor Jesus to do great things. It is not used in religious services."

Samuel frowned became troubled. "I see where you're going. It's not actually an idol because it's used for spiritual growth and not actual worship?"

"Yes."

Samuel thought for a minute and shook his head. "Get rid of it."

John Paul's eyebrows shot up. "Why? It isn't an idol."

Samuel sighed. "You know that. I know that. However, not everyone is as spiritually advanced as the two of us are. It is quite possible that someone might see someone praying in front of the statue and conclude that the Faith endorses idol worship. We've already got enough trouble with the three factions arguing with each other. We don't want any more."

John Paul hesitated for a moment. "Sir, are you sure about this? It's a relic and a popular pilgrimage site."

Samuel nodded. "Take it inside and place it in an alcove where only one person can access it at a time. That way, no one will start thinking that we endorse idolatry". John Paul stammered for a second and said that he'd do what he could.

Samuel nodded and continued his trip. It looked like he had a lot of work to do. However, it sounded like people were finally ready to listen.

To be continued...
------------
Update #95
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March 25, 1996
Al-Qaeda Recruitment Center 'Alif
Pakistan
Next PoV: 96 -- Svetlana Romanova (unless someone else wants this scene?)
-----------
Lord Voldemort was dead.

Damodharan Dilmi couldn't believe it. How can the most powerful wizard the world had ever seen be killed -- and by Muggles, for that matter? Wizards had powers the Muggles couldn't match! Wizards were supposed to be in charge, not the other way around!

Reports were still coming in. However, from what he had heard, one of Voldemort's top aides had defected and betrayed the location of a secret Death Eater meeting to the British Secret Service. The Secret Service had then dropped a half-ton bomb on the group of wizards less than ten minutes after the scheduled start of the meeting.

Virtually all of the British Death Eaters had been killed in the blast, and the traitorous Potions master had been given the Order of Merlin, First Class, for his role in the attack. Supposedly only three British Death Eaters were confirmed to have survived: Lucius Malfoy, Rodolphus Lestrange, and someone named Peter Pettigrew whom most people thought had been long dead. Two more Death Eaters, Igor Karkaroff and Sirius Black, were also supposedly in England somewhere and on the run.

Voldemort hated Severus Snape with a passion. He vowed revenge, and he knew that he had to make sure that Snape suffered an excruciating fate after he had been forced to witness Dilmi's takeover of the world.

But how would Dilmi get started on this great endeavor? He had a bunch of wizards at his command, most of whom were in line with his ideals. However, he didn't think that would be enough. To really cause mass destruction, he needed Muggle technology and people brave enough to use it.

In short, he needed a terrorist cell which would be willing to have wizards in their midst.

He had been elated when he heard about the offer from al-Qaeda. He was already a Muslim, albeit a non-practicing one. As a result, he was guaranteed a reward from al-Qaeda regardless of whether he in fact actually came out as a wizard. He could only dream about what he would be able to accomplish if his band of wizards joined up with al-Qaeda and started combining magic with terrorism. He prayed that Allah allow his first attack to be against Britain, specifically against Severus Snape and the British Secret Service.

He had contacted his local al-Qaeda office in Colombo shortly after the assault on the Death Eater meeting. The recruiter had been skeptical at first that he was in fact a wizard. Dilmi had shrugged that off, pointed his wand at the recruiter's assistant, and turned him into a camel. He had then grinned and then climbed onto the camel's back. The demonstration had been more than enough to convince the recruiter that he meant business. He had then dismounted and transformed the assistant back into a human being.

The assistant had run off in terror. Dilmi had looked at the recruiter and told him that the assistant was not fit for command. The recruiter agreed and jotted down orders to demote the Transfigured man.

He had expected word of his arrival to spread rapidly, and he wasn't disappointed. Less than two days after his arrival in Colombo, he had received a phone call from a Dr. Faisal, an al-Qaeda officer in Pakistan. Faisal had told him that he had made it through the first round of screening and was welcome to attend training at Recruitment Center 'Alif, in Pakistan. Faisal said that Dilmi was welcome to bring any other wizards whom Dilmi believed were capable of the strict, disciplined life of an al-Qaeda operative.

Dilmi had relayed the message back to his friends on the Indian subcontinent. Eight of them were willing to join him in the fight to avenge their fallen leader. He then gave them the coordinates of Recruitment Center 'Alif and told them to Apparate over at exactly 1500Z.

The wizards' attempt at theatre nearly got them all killed. The last wizard had scarcely materialized when Dilmi noticed that virtually all of the agents in the camp were pointing AK-47's at them. Dilmi looked on approvingly. The Muggle agents were well-trained. This should work well.

He brought out his wand and cast a spell protecting himself and his colleagues from flying projectiles. He then introduced himself as Dilmi the Wizard and told the shocked al-Qaeda operatives that they had come at the invitation of Dr. Faisal. Some of the operatives lowered their guns. However, a couple of them kept a wary eye on the wizards. One of them asked Dilmi if he cold prove that he was in fact a wizard.

Dilmi rolled his eyes. "We just materialized here, Agent. I doubt you Muggles can do that."

The agent didn't blink. "That could be an illusion, or we could have just overlooked your arrival."

Dilmi snorted. "You seem well trained, gentlemen. I don't see how you can overlook nine people appearing out of nowhere."

The agent didn't buy it. "I want more proof."

Dilmi smiled and folded his arms across his chest. "Fine. Shoot me. I've cast a spell which will prevent the bullets from hitting me. That will prove that we're wizards."

The agent thought about it and looked at the gun. Dilmi could see what he was thinking. He didn't want to kill someone who had been invited by Dr. Faisal. Well, Dilmi could work around that.

He brought his wand out and yelled, "Accio AK-47". The agent squealed as the gun suddenly launched itself out of his hand and flew over to Dilmi's. The Death Eater caught it and handed it, butt-first, back to the stunned operative. Meanwhile, the other eight wizards chuckled at the prank.

"There, Agent. Is that proof for you? All of us are wizards and we're willing to work for al-Qaeda. Now, let's try this again. I'm Dilmi the Wizard, and the nine of us have been invited by Dr. Faisal to join this camp and train with al-Qaeda. Where is Dr. Faisal."

A voice from behind them answered. "I'm Dr. Faisal. Allah take me, I don't think I've ever seen anything like that. Was that a complex spell, Mr. Dilmi?"

"Wizard Dilmi, if you don't mind. And no, it is a simple spell. First-year trainees can perform a spell like that."

Dr. Faisal's eyes widened. "You nine must be extremely powerful. Allah has sent you to us in our time of need. Are you familiar with the bylaws of the group?"

Dilmi nodded. "Yes, we are."

"Are you willing to commit murder?"

"Yes."

"If necessary, are you willing to blow yourselves up on command, martyring yourselves in the name of Allah?"

"Yes. However, I highly recommend that you don't have us martyr ourselves -- we're aren't exactly expendable."

"Are you willing to attack women and children if it becomes necessary to do so?"

"Yes."

"Are you willing to unleash weapons of mass destruction on people, which could include chemical or nuclear weapons if they come into our hands?"

"Yes."

"Are you willing to follow your superiors without question and without hesitation? Wizard Dilmi, you are to follow me. The rest of you are to follow him."

"Yes."

Dr. Faisal looked at the group. "Good. Now it's time for basic training. I must warn you, you need to be in excellent physical condition in order to be an al-Qaeda agent. Forgive me, but you nine seem a bit...scrawny."

Dilmi shrugged and tapped his wand. "Magic can make up for that. Allow me."

He waved his wand around, and boulders the size of automobiles started moving around from place to place. The Muggles gasped in astonishment and admiration. He then explained that he would be able to increase his strength and stamina via magical means and insisted that basic training would not be a problem.

Dr. Faisal's eyes shot up at that. "Indeed? Would you be able to enhance the stamina of our Muggle agents as well?"

"Yes, Dr. Faisal."

Dr. Faisal whistled. "I'm impressed, gentlemen. I'm damned impressed. I think we're going to be working together for a long, long time."

He raised his gun in the air. "Allahu akhbar!"

Dilmi and the rest of the agents responded with a roar. "Allahu akhbar!"

The fun was about to begin.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Update #96
------------
March 25, 1996
Wizarding Royal Palace
St. Petersburg
Russia
Next PoV: 97 -- Lucius Malfoy
-----------
"Grigori Yefimovich, you son of a bitch!"

Svetlana Romanova was startled at her father's horrified remark. She looked up from her homework at her father, who had been busy reading a Muggle newspaper.

Svetlana was one of the few remaining members of the Romanov royal line. Virtually all of the Muggle members had been rounded up and executed when the Communists took over the country and transformed it into the Soviet Union. The only person who had escaped had been Anastasia, who had some of the Wizarding genes but not enough to count as a wizard. The little girl had frantically Apparated over to her Wizarding cousins and reported that it was no longer safe to be a royal Romanov in the new Soviet Union. The wizards had wanted to question her further, but they didn't get a chance. Due to her fear and her lack of training, she had Splinched herself very badly, losing a leg in the escape. She bled to death within two hours.

The Romanovs had gone underground for the past eighty years, doing their best to blend in with the Muggle population. The Romanovs, however, had a double challenge. First, they had to refrain from using magic, like any other wizard. Second, they had to stay away from anyone with a hammer and sickle on their uniforms. Nicholas II hadn't known for sure if Lenin and the rest of his thugs had heard about the Wizarding branch of the family. However, it was best to play it safe, especially if the surviving members couldn't use magic to defend themselves.

Svetlana saw that her uncle, Crown Prince Lavrenti, was staring at the Muggle newspaper in absolute horror. His face had gone white. She watched as he mouthed an odd word which sounded magical but she'd never heard before: Horcrux. She wondered what it was.

She turned to her uncle and asked. "Uncle, is something wrong? Who is Grigori Yefimovich? Is he a friend of yours?"

Her uncle glared at him. "Far from it, Svetlana. He was a long-time enemy of our family. He was partially responsible for the deaths of the Muggle royals, unless I'm badly mistaken."

Svetlana giggled. "That's impossible, uncle. He'd have to be very old. Should he be dead by now?"

Lavrenti nodded. "He SHOULD be dead. However, I have a suspicion that he left a surprise for us."

"A surprise? What do you mean? And what exactly is this Horcrux you were talking about?"

Lavrenti glared at her. "Something you should not know about. Forget the word. I'll punish you if you ever mention it again. Now, go to your room. I need to summon the rest of the adults for a consultation."

Svetlana's eyes widened. She'd never seen him like this before. Lavrenti Romanov was a powerful wizard. He was the strongest of the current tsar's children, which automatically made him the successor. If something scared HIM, it had to be serious. This wasn't a good time to argue with him.

She picked up her notebook and headed upstairs as a popping sound downstairs betrayed her uncle's Disapparation to find the rest of the family. The only man named Grigori Yefimovich she knew of was Rasputin. Rasputin had been a half crazed wizard-monk who'd been making a mess of things at the time Nicholas and his family were assassinated. Could he have done something which had interfered with the lives of the surviving Romanovs?

There was one way to find out, but she didn't have much time. She raced into her room and grabbed something which a friend of hers had found in a startup British joke shop.

An Extendable Ear.

This ingenious device attached to a person's ear and dangled unobtrusively into a room. It allowed the listener to overhear conversations in that room without actually being there.

Right now, the Extendable Ear was picking up lots of popping sounds. People were Apparating into her uncle's study. Virtually all of the her father's generation were there, including the tsar himself. Most of them were curious about why her uncle had summoned them.

Lavrenti spoke up, and when he did so it he was straight to the point. "We have a problem. I have reason to believe Rasputin has returned."

People muttered among themselves for a moment. Then, Tsar Alexei responded. "Rasputin? What do you mean, Rasputin? He's dead. He was killed off eighty years ago."

"That's what I thought, Alexei. However, I have since stumbled across some information which may indicate otherwise."

Another man snorted in disdain. "Lavrenti, what are you talking about? The man's dead! And even if he had survived, how old would he be now, 130? No one lives to that age! Besides, I get the impression that he wasn't a very good wizard. After all, he'd always boasted that he'd get us all with a death curse and nothing happened."

Lavrenti had expected this. "There's a very good reason for that, Ilya. He never died."

There was a pregnant pause. Finally, Alexei cut in. "WHAT?"

There was the sound of flapping pieces of paper, followed by. "He had a Horcrux, and they just brought him back -- or are about to."

Lavrenti's announcement set the entire room abuzz. Most of the people couldn't believe what he was talking about or didn't understand. Finally, her aunt brought up the inevitable question. "What's a Horcrux?"

Alexei responded. "A Horcrux is a disembodied piece of soul created by a certain Dark magic spell. The caster invokes to spell to split his soul and hide one of the pieces in an common, everyday object. Once that is done, the person cannot be permanently killed until all of the pieces are destroyed. Until that happens, a seemingly dead person can be revived with an extremely obscure spell."

Svetlana gasped as the rest of the Romanovs invoked various saints desperately. This was horrible. Was this Rasputin fellow going to kill them all? Fortunately, the Extendable Ear didn't allow for two-way communication.

The woman cut in again. "How is that possible? Where does someone go while he's, forgive the expression, half-dead?"

Lavrenti answered. "We don't know. To be honest, we don't want to know."

"Alexei?"

The tsar responded. "I don't know either, Maria. However, to be honest with you, I find it extremely unlikely that Rasputin (a) has a Horcrux, and (b) knows how to revive himself with one. I take it that the newspaper article you're pointing at will explain this?"

Lavrenti responded. "Yes, Alexei. According to this newspaper, there was a break-in recently at a famous museum in Moscow. Two objects were stolen, a music box formerly owned by Rasputin and a reliquary which contained a bit of one of the former tsar's blood."

"So?"

Alexei whistled. "From what I gather, four components are necessary to revive someone via a Horcrux: a representation of the subject or the subject's soul, a drop of an enemy's blood, one of his father's bones, and a piece of flesh sacrificed by one of the the subject's allies. The Horcrux itself need not be present at the ritual."

Lavrenti continued. "My thoughts exactly. The music box represents Rasputin, and the reliquary provides the enemy's blood. Anyone present at the ritual can provide the piece of flesh. That's three of the four components. And I will give you two to one odds that the music box has Rasputin's father's bone in it...hold on a second..."

He ruffled through the paper. "Aha! According to the the paper, the music box supposedly served as a ceremonial urn for Yefim Rasputin. There we have it. Whoever it is has all four components. And now that the Statute of Secrecy has been weakened due to that idiotic kid in the United Kingdom --"

Alexei swore. "Rasputin can be brought back and explain his return as 'wizard work'. I must say, Lavrenti, this is not good. You are making a very strong case here. Do they know who's responsible for the break-in?"

"They don't know yet. However, the article says that they've got leads in Ukraine."

People swore all across the room. "That's doubly not good. There's only one flaw in the argument, though. Where would Rasputin have learned to create a Horcrux? It's not something which gets taught in school."

"I don't know, Alexei. For all we know, have no idea if he can even come back. I must say, however, that it's not something we can take lightly. Speaking of that, that reminds me. We're probably in big trouble if we permanently kill him, as well."

Ilya cut in. "Why? The bastard should have been killed a long time ago."

"His death curse. If we kill him all of us are probably toast."

This triggered more muttering. Svetlana heard a woman scream. She had to bite her lip to make sure she didn't join her.

Lavrenti responded. "Here's what I recommend doing. There's no way we're going to find the Horcrux, if it exists. However, there's one thing we can do. Go to Yefim Rasputin's grave, dig up the body...and destroy it. If we destroy all the bones and incapacitate him again --"

Alexei finished the statement. " -- then he's down for the count even if he's got a Horcrux. Very clever, Lavrenti. He never dies, but he can't be brought back short of possession -- and we can tell people to look out for that. Furthermore, since he never dies, we don't need to worry about the death curse."

Murmurs throughout the room. Finally, Svetlana heard chairs scraping across the floor. It sounded like everyone had stood up.

Alexei spoke once more. "Thanks for the heads up, Lavrenti. I'll make sure Atlantis finds out about this. In the meantime, keep in quiet. We don't want to cause a panic. Let's go, everyone."

With that, the meeting broke up. Svetlana decided then and there that there she'd try to find an Obliviator: there were things she didn't want to remember.

To be continued...
------------

Update #97
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March 26, 1996
Malfoy Manor
Great Britain
Next PoV: 98 -- J. K. Rowling
-----------
Lucius Malfoy turned into space and rematerialized with snap in his living room. It had been another long, irritating day at work. The Ministry was still going gaga over Voldemort's assassination while, at the same time, Minister Fudge was doing what he could to cover up the fact that he'd been denying the Dark Lord's return the whole time. Fudge's latest pet project had been an investigation of who had leaked information about the attack to Xenophilius Lovegood. As far as Lucius knew, the editor of the Quibbler had gotten the information from Luna. The next step, obviously, would be to talk to someone at Hogwarts.

Lucius had mixed feelings about Voldemort's assassination. In one sense, he was furious -- his mentor and brother-in-arms slain, of all people, by Muggles. Talk about an ignominious way to go! He was also furious that the Dark Lord had been betrayed by, of all people, Severus Snape. His wife had never trusted the Potions master. Lucius had thought that she was being hysterical. But, by Merlin's beard, she had been right all along. Lucius made it a point to Cruciate Snape to death as soon as he got his hands on him. Bellatrix had driven the Longbottoms insane with the Cruciatus Curse. Lucius intended to go all the way this time and finish off Snape completely.

On the other hand, he felt a sense of completeness and pride. He had to admit to himself that he had been someone afraid of Voldemort. Voldemort had been somewhat like a lightning bolt in that he inspired both awe and fear. Lucius was upset that the Dark Lord was gone, but he was also thankful that Voldemort could no longer hurt him.

He was lucky to be alive. Had Voldemort not sent him to Saudi Arabia before the meeting, he'd have been taken out with the rest of them. As far as he knew, he was now the highest-ranking survivor of the Death Eaters. Peter Pettigrew was a worthless piece of filth, and Rodolphus Lestrange -- who had never been a particularly strong wizard -- had gone to pieces over Bellatrix's death. It was up to him to reorganize the movement. He'd heard some interesting rumors about a man in Sri Lanka named Damodharan Dilmi and would have to check them out. Another escapee from Azkaban, Dilmi had organized a decent-sized cell of Voldemort supporters out on the Indian subcontinent somewhere. Dilmi's people would be quite helpful in getting the movement off the ground again.

Lucius had been stunned when he had seen Pettigrew alive at Voldemort's revival. As far as he knew, Sirius Black had killed Pettigrew and been incarcerated in Azkaban for the deed. The only evidence he had had for a living Wormtail had been a rather confusing account by Snape two years earlier, when Macnair had been summoned to Hogwarts to execute the hippogriff which had attacked Draco.

He thought back to that time. Something very strange had happened, and even the Ministry wasn't sure what it had been. Snape had mentioned encountering Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and three Hogwarts students inside the Shrieking Shack. He had been about to arrest Sirius when he got hexed by something. The next thing he knew, he had woken up and found himself trying to defend the three children from Lupin, who had gone werewolf. Fortunately, an animal had attacked the werewolf and helped people escape.

Back in Hogwarts, Snape had heard testimony from the three students that Peter Pettigrew had been in the Shrieking Shack as well, masquerading as Ron's familiar. They claimed that Peter had killed some Muggles, faked his own death, and successfully managed to frame Sirius for the crime Sirius had been accused of. Snape didn't buy a word of it, however. Unfortunately, the investigation was cut short when Sirius's miraculous disappearance distracted everybody involved.

Later, Snape suspected that Hermione could have been involved -- she had been using a Time-Turner to travel from class to class. However, he could not imagine Hermione actually going back in time and changing history. He may not have personally liked Hermione, but he could not deny that she was the smartest witch of her year and it seemed against her nature to misbehave to the extent Ron and Harry would. She certainly had been told that interference in history was strictly forbidden. Dumbledore, of course, denied any illegal use of Time-Turners on the premises.

Lucius's chain of thoughts were interrupted by the ring of the telephone. Unlike most pure-blood Wizarding families, the Malfoys had a Muggle telephone in their house. Lucius had made a reputation as a philanthropist, and he had tried to cover up his Death Eater past by donating to Muggle causes as well. Since the Muggles wouldn't accept owls flying through their window -- especially before the Statute of Secrecy had been breached -- he'd been forced to communicate with them via telephone.

He headed over to the phone and looked at the caller ID. The magical box reported that the call had originated from the house of Phillip and Jennifer Bullock in Little Hangleton. He frowned. He didn't know of any wizards named Bullock living in Little Hangleton. He had been quite familiar with the area -- after all, he'd attended Voldemort's revival party. This probably meant that they were Muggles -- besides, wizards would likely not use the phone. But why would individual Muggles want to call him? Most of the Muggles who spoke to him regularly represented large charitable institutions such as the Red Cross and UNICEF. He had no idea what these two people represented. Well, it was time to find out. He had appearances to maintain.

He picked up the receiver. "Lucius Malfoy speaking. How may I help you?"

A man's voice responded from the other end of the line. "Mr. Malfoy, my name is Phillip Bullock. I have a friend here with me you may be acquainted with."

Lucius looked at the phone line. Was there something wrong? The man's voice seemed forced, as if he were being coached or prompted. Damn Muggle contraptions! However, he kept his opinion to himself. Aloud: "Indeed? What's his name?"

"Paul de Mort. Do you know him?"

Lucius froze. That name sounded awfully similar to Voldemort, and the call had originated from the same town Voldemort had last been seen in. But Voldemort was dead, or at least incapacitated. How would this Muggle know about the Dark Lord? He needed more information.

Cautiously: "The name sounds vaguely familiar. Should I know him?"

"I believe you do, Mr. Malfoy. He was the head of a group you were once involved with. I met him recently and he's --"

The man's voice cut off, and there was another delay. It definitely sounded like this man was being coached. But by whom? Eventually, Bullock continued. "Paul de Mort has told me to tell you that he's right in the back of my head, though I don't know what that means. He says I'm like a Squirmy Squirrel. I must say, I don't know what he's talking about. Do you?"

Lucius mind raced. What the hell was this man talking about? Suddenly, it hit him and his jaw dropped in shock.

The last time Voldemort had been without a body, between 1981 and his revival last year, he had walked the world by possessing other people. His most recent victim had been a former wizard by the name of Quirnius Quirrell. Quirrell had been a Defense against the Dark Arts teacher during Draco's first year. "Squirmy Squirrel" sounded a hell of a lot like Quirnius Quirrell. And the stuff about the back of the head -- Voldemort's face had materialized in the back of Quirrell's head, and the teacher had worn a turban to make sure no one saw him.

Bloody hell! Voldemort had survived by possessing this man!

He had to be certain. However, he needed to take precautions. "Are you alone?"

Bullock responded. "Yes."

"Good. Now tell me -- has anything...strange...happened to you of late?"

The man laughed. "Bloody hell, strange things have happened! It all started with that big explosion in the cemetery. I'm a former firefighter, so I headed over to put the fire out. There were a bunch of chaps with masks lying on the ground, dead. Then I saw this naked kid near the center of the explosion. I told him I'd help him as he was probably an orphan now. Then I feel this pain in the back of my head and felt a bump on the back of my head which felt like a nose. The kid disappeared, and then my conscience started talking to me and tried to convince me that Muggle-born wizards were bad."

Lucius could only listen, dumbfounded, as the Muggle continued. "My wife thought I was crazy, so she took me to the psychiatrist. The psychiatrist concluded that I'd been abducted by wizards a while back. They'd done some experiments on me and stuck part of my mind in this ball in the Ministry of Magic. It was a memory I'd had repressed for a long time, apparently. Apparently the experiments had been done by Muggle-born wizards. Those untrained bastards messed up and screwed up my brain."

Lucius could barely hold back a laugh. The guy had fallen for the abduction by aliens/medical experiment story, with the only change being he'd replaced aliens with wizards. Lucius was intrigued by the ball comment, however. It sounded like Voldemort had been talking about the prophecy about him and Harry in the Ministry of Magic. He couldn't discuss that here, however.

The man continued. "A few days later, I had something which must have been a hallucination. I was watering my plants when this snake started talking to me. I haven't even told my wife this -- she'll think I've gone COMPLETELY loony. The snake helped me unkink my hose, however. I decided to get rid of all the beer in the house at that point."

Lucius found his voice. "Did the snake have a name?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact it did. It called itself Nachash. Does this make sense to you? Am I crazy?"

It wasn't Nagini, Lucius thought. However, he knew lots of languages. The term nachash meant "snake" in Hebrew. It was plausible. And talking to snakes -- well, that meant either Voldemort or Harry Potter. And he doubted it was Harry.

Aloud, Lucius replied: "No, Mr. Bullock. I don't think you're crazy. Wizards can do strange things in their experiments. However, I'm a philanthropist. How can I can help you? Do you want me to ask the Ministry of Magic for money to compensate you for your troubles?"

Lucius suspected that wasn't what Bullock -- sorry, Voldemort -- wanted. As it happened, he was correct. "You're supposed to come and pick up Paul de Mort. I live at 24 Cemetery Terrace, Little Hangleton. You're supposed to say you're Paul's uncle. He will take the form of a small child -- what's this thing with the child again? Bring clothes for the child. In response, I'm supposed to give you one of Paul's father's bones. Bloody strange gift, sir. Do you by any chance have a pet dog?"

Aha, Lucius thought. I think I see where this is going. I head over there and tell everyone I'm Voldemort's -- sorry, Paul de Mort's -- uncle who has come to adopt him. Phillip opens the door and drops dead as Voldemort disassociates from him. I take the bone, dress up Voldemort like a kid, kill the wife, and take off with Voldemort's child form. Once I'm done there, I get my hands on Harry Potter's blood and I'll be able to revive Voldemort again.

Lucius thought about the ritual. He'd have to sacrifice part of his body in order to get the job done. He supposed he could have the doctor remove his appendix or something like that. He really didn't want to cut his hand off like Wormtail had.

The Ministry is going to go nuts, he thought. However, he couldn't say that over the phone. Instead, he replied. "No, I don't have a pet dog. A strange gift indeed, but I think I know what it's for. I'll try to be over there in a couple of weeks -- I'm very busy right now. Will that be all right with you?"

Bullock seemed to agree. "Fine with me. I'll see you then. Oh -- and Paul says to keep in quiet."

Lucius nodded. A sensible precaution. "I agree. I'll see you in a couple of weeks. Malfoy out."

To be continued...
--------------

Update #98
------------
March 26, 1996
London Daily Mail
Next PoV: 99 -- Bentley Motor Corporation
-----------
INTERVIEW WITH HARRY POTTER, INSTIGATOR OF THE SUPER BOWL BREACH
TAKEN 15 MARCH BY J. K. ROWLING, MAIL COLUMNIST

I'm Jo Rowling and I work for the write for the Daily Mail. Can I ask you a few questions?

Go ahead.

Why did you do it? Why did you violate the Statute of Secrecy?

It was unintentional. Judging from what my friends have concluded, the Disillusionment Charm -- used to make an object invisible, in this case me -- does not prevent electronic video equipment from recording images of the subject. I was caught by complete accident flying past that boat. There was no way the Wizarding community could have known.

What were you doing at the time?

My family was attacked by a dementor, an evil creature which causes depression in Muggles and can force people to suffer a fate worse than death. Trust me, Ms. Rowling. You don't want to know. At any rate, we were flying away towards a Wizarding safe house where the dementors wouldn't be able to get at us as easily.

Why were you attacked? Have you done something wrong?

No. You see, the dementors have defected from the Ministry's control and have sided with an evil wizard named Tom Marvolo Riddle. He often goes by the name Lord Voldemort.

This was the Voldemort you mentioned to [a competitor's interviewer]?

Yes, Ms. Rowling. He is an extremely dangerous man. He killed my parents, if that tells you something. I have virtually no memories of him. He's the head of a group called the Death Eaters. The Death Eaters can be easily identified by tattoos on their arms in the shape of a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. If a Muggle authority sees any of these men, he should contact a man named Albus Dumbledore immediately -- and if time permits, then the Ministry of Magic. They should not attempt to confront Riddle by themselves.

[Editor's note: an anonymous source claims that Mr. Riddle and the Death Eaters were recently killed in an attack on Little Hangleton which the Muggle authorities claim was a gas main explosion. The Ministry of Magic and British government both deny these allegations.]

Are you familiar with Sirius Black? He's also an evil wizard, from what I've known. Is he a Death Eater?

Sirius Black is innocent. Not only that, he's my godfather. He was framed by a Death Eater by the name of Peter Pettigrew and sent to Azkaban, the wizards' prison, for twelve years. The Ministry doesn't believe me, but it's true. Have the Muggle officers visit a man named Remus Lupin during a time other than full moon. He'll explain everything. You can take Sirius's innocence to the bank

Full moon? What does full moon have to do with it?

Trust me, Ms. Rowling. You don't want to know.

[Editor's note: our sources appear to be divided over the statues of Messrs. Black and Pettigrew. The Ministry of Magic claims that Pettigrew is dead and that Mr. Black is an escaped convict. Other informants, however, agree with Mr. Potter. The informants, however, both agree that we Muggles don not want to know about Mr. Lupin and the full moon.]

How long have you been a wizard?

This is my fifth year at the Hogwarts Academy of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Were your parents wizards?

Yes. Both were wizards. However, like I mentioned earlier, they were both killed by Voldemort's minions when I was an infant.

Who raised you then?

My mother's sister, Petunia Dursley. I normally live with her and her husband Vernon when school is not in session.

Vernon Dursley? The man behind Britain for Humans?

Britain for Humans? What is this?

It's an anti-wizard hate group. They've been having a lot of protests of late.

[Editor's note: Mr. Potter is under house arrest for the Super Bowl Breach and may be out of touch with the rest of the world. Furthermore, the failed attack on St. Catchpole's, which announced Britain for Humans's presence to the world, had not yet taken place.]

Sounds like something Uncle Vernon would do. They treated me as if I were the family dog. That whole family is bigoted. I saved their son Dudley from the dementors and got no brownie points from it. Once I get out of here, I'll see if I can exonerate Sirius and move in with him.

If you were raised by Muggles, how did you find out you were a wizard?

I received a letter from Hogwarts directly from the hand of an eleven-foot tall half-giant. I was more than surprised, to say the least. I didn't realize I had any magical talent.

Which world do you prefer, the Muggle world or the Wizarding world?

Both worlds have their benefits, to say the least. Muggles have technology, wizards have magic. Both tend to want the same goals in life and could help each other immensely now that the Statute of Secrecy is gone. However, I would say that I would prefer the Wizarding world to the Muggle world, thanks to my mistreatment at the hands of the Dursleys.

Is Wizarding ability learned or inherited?

We're not sure. I suspect it's genetic in that wizards tend to have wizard children. However, we don't know for certain, and the ability to sense magic does not necessarily mean you will make a good wizard.

Could there be other people in the Muggle community who are able to wield magic and don't realize it, such as the position you were in before that giant found you?

Yes. One of my friends has Muggle parents and is the brightest witch of our class. I'm sure she'll go far.

What do her parents do?

They're both dentists. They operate out of an office in suburban London.

Does dentists tend to produce strong spellcasters?

No one knows, Ms. Rowling. Due to the lack of interaction between the wizard and Muggle worlds to this point there's never been an investigation.

I see. Now, let's get back to the giant. Have you seen lots of fanciful creatures like this at your school?

Wait a minute, here. Let's clear something up right now. First, the man I met, Rubeus Hagrid, is a half-giant. Second, giants are not creatures. Hagrid is a kind, intelligent man. He's a person, just like the rest of us. Granted, he's eleven feet tall, but otherwise he's an ordinary human being. He's actually a professor at the school. His mother was a giant, his father was an ordinary human like us.

Amazing! If I remember my biology right, that would make giants a subspecies of Homo sapiens!

Possibly. I'm not that familiar with advanced genetics. However, he's certainly got all the characteristics of a human being. If he isn't our species, he's very close.

Have you ever seen any unusual, magical creatures? Dragons, orcs, elves, and so forth? From what I've been told, the National Zoo in Washington, DC has a unicorn.

I had to deal with a dragon during the Triwizard Tournament, a competition between three European Wizarding schools. I haven't met any orcs. However, elves do exist. They are also capable of speech, just like us and the giants.

Are there any half-elves?

I don't know. At any rate, that's just the tip of the iceberg. I've seen basilisks, hippogriffs, hinkypunks, thestrals, Acromantulas, centaurs, and lots of other strange creatures. All of them are semisentient with the exception of centaurs, which have the intelligence and speech ability of humans and giants and should be treated as such.

Is a centaur a cross between a human and a horse?

I believe so. However, I'm not entirely certain how exactly a human and a horse would mate to produce a centaur.

Aha...all right, I'm almost done. What is the most amazing thing you've ever done with magic?

Well, I traveled through time once.

You can travel through time? Amazing! How?

We used a device called a Time-Turner. Keep in mind, however, that travel through time should only be done in exceptional circumstances due to the possibility of time paradoxes.

Like in the movie Back to the Future?

Exactly, Ms. Rowling. Granted, we won't blow up the universe if we screw up. However, wizards have been known to kill themselves accidentally when they travel through time.

What was important enough that you had to travel through time for?

It's interesting that you ask that, as it will explain some of the confusion over Sirius Black and so forth which has crept up over the past few months. The story begins with an order coming in to execute Hagrid's pet hippogriff, Buckbeak. An obnoxious son of a Ministry official in my year provoked the hippogriff into attacking him. The boy complained to his father, and the father convinced the Ministry to order the hippogriff's execution. We tried to stop the execution and believed we had failed. Later on that day, one of my friends was attacked by a dog and pulled down a secret passage. It turns out that the dog was the man who had been accused of killing my parents, Sirius Black.

Sounds like you had a very bad day.

That's an understatement. At any rate, there was a meeting of school officials in a room at the end of the secret passage. Eventually, it came out that Sirius had been innocent and the real culprit, Peter Pettigrew, had been hiding out by masquerading himself as my friend's familiar, a rat.

People can transform into animals?

Some of them can, yes. However, it's rare. At any rate, we cornered Pettigrew and got ready to return him to the castle. Things went south, however, and Pettigrew escaped. The authorities then arrested Sirius and planned his execution, not knowing that he had been wrongfully convicted.

I see.

It was obvious that both lives would be lost. However, Dumbledore instructed us to use a Time-Turner to go back in time and save both Sirius and the hippogriff. We did so, being very careful not to cause any time paradoxes. Our time-traveling alter egos managed to run off with the hippogriff before the executioner could do the deed; the swing of the axe which we had thought was the decapitation of Buckbeak the first time around proved to have been the executioner smashing a pumpkin in two in frustration for losing the animal. Yes, there were two of us running around at the same time, a closed time loop.

Wow!

Later on, after Pettigrew escaped, our time-traveling alter egos found ourselves in a position to save Sirius -- and my original self -- from the dementors. As it so happened, my second self wound up saving my first self and Sirius, but it didn't cause a paradox as I hadn't realized the first time around that my "savior" had actually been myself.

This is coming on a bit fast, Harry.

I know, it's confusing. However, I'm almost done. We flew Buckbeak to the cell Sirius had been imprisoned in. He escaped out the window and flew away on the hippogriff. We then returned to where we started to complete the time loop. We were immediately greeted by irritated Ministry officials wondering where Sirius had gone.

Sounds a lot like something out of a fantasy novel. Are Sirius and Buckbeak still safe?

I believe so, yes. I must warn you, however, that I've got to talk to the other interviewer now. Let's wrap this up.

All right, Harry. I understand. However, I'd like to talk to you more. Would you be willing to grant me future interviews? I'd like to hear more about your story. In fact, I'd always wanted to write a novel about a young wizard, but I never was able to pull it off.

Of course. I like you a lot more than [the competitor's reporter]. I'll give you as many interviews as you want. It would make a good Muggle novel, at least.

Thank you for your time, and good luck with your studies.

You too, Ms. Rowling.
----------
To be continued...
--------------

Update #99
------------
March 27, 1996
Bentley Motor Corpration Headquarters
Crewe
England
Next PoV: 100 -- Cornelius Fudge
----------
The president of Bentley Motor Corporation woke up with a start when he heard the knock on the door. He'd been working on an important report when the power suddenly had gone out a few minutes ago. It had come back relatively quickly thanks to the emergency generators. Unfortunately, his computer was still down. He'd need to talk to someone in IT to get it working again. Until then, he could just wait. An eyeful of secretary would probably help him pass the time, however. "Come in."

The door opened revealing his secretary. She nodded and said, "Sir, Wizard Weasley is here. He's waiting in your office."

The president's eyebrows shot up. He had been waiting for the wizard to visit for a while. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be have access to his scheduler or the computers during the interview. Bad timing, but he'd have to live with it.

"Splendid. Send him in."

The secretary nodded. "Yes, sir. Oh, and Wizard Weasley would like to apologize for the power failure."

The president stared at her. "WHAT?"

The secretary giggled as she explained. "As soon as Wizard Weasley saw the showroom with the new '97s, he went absolutely gaga and tried poking around among the cars. At one point, he cast a spell so he could get a closer look. Unfortunately, the vehicle was right next to the wall, and the wall was hiding a decent-size transformer."

The president rolled his eyes. Magic and technology didn't mix very well -- everyone knew that by now. However, if what his friend in the SAS had told him about Wizard Weasley, it might be possible to overcome that problem.

It had better be, the president thought. If that problem can't be surmounted, this entire project is going down the drain. Well, they'd cross that bridge when they got there. Turning back to the secretary, he nodded. "Tell him it's all right -- it's probably the first time he's seen top-quality automobiles before. Supposedly he the last one he had was a Ford Anglia."

The secretary stared at him. "An Anglia? Wasn't that -- "

He cut her off. "Yes, Pamela. It's been out of production for decades. I think Mr. Weasley is going to be in for a pleasant surprise. Go on and get him."

"Yes, sir."

With that, the secretary left the room. The president then rummaged in his drawers for a pad of paper so he could take down notes. The lack of a computer was frustrating, but there wasn't much he could do about it. Supposedly most of the machines had gone down and IT was completely swamped.

When he looked up again, there was a man standing before him. He appeared to be in his forties and had wild, reddish hair. He looked a little like a mad scientist. Judging from what the SAS man had told him -- granted, the SAS man had supposedly heard the information secondhand -- this man was a wizard, about as close to a mad scientist as you could get. Considering the power failure and the incident in the showroom, it was quite possible that this man actually WAS a wizard.

Scratch that "possible", he thought, and make it "certain". The man was holding something in his hand which could be nothing other than a wand. Considering that Muggles and wands didn't mix, that more or less sealed the deal.

The man was actually dressed in a suit, which was most unusual for a wizard. Then again, the president reminded himself, this man was a most unusual wizard in that he liked studying the Muggle world. Hanging from the pocket of the suit was a medal of some sort. It looked like -- Christ, it couldn't be --

He blurted it out. "The George Cross?"

The wizard nodded and tapped the medal. "Yes, sir. I got this award rescuing Muggles from collapsed buildings during the recent terror attack. However, first things first. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Arthur Weasley. I work for the Ministry of Magic in the Department of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. You wished to see me, sir?"

The president nodded. "Yes, Wizard Weasley. Please, sit down. Would you like something to eat?"

"No thank you, I ate before I came. How can I help you? And why did you send for me instead of some higher-ranking Ministry official?"

The president smiled. "It's simple. You know how to make cars fly, do you not?"

To his surprise, the wizard winced. "As a matter of fact, I do. However, how did you find out about that? The Ministry wasn't happy that I magicked up a car, and I was under the impression that the Obliviators erased all memories of the incident."

The wizard smile widened. "I heard from a friend of mine in the SAS who will remain nameless."

Weasley groaned. "And he heard it from Nigel, who heard it from me. I thought these SAS men weren't supposed to reveal secrets."

"If they're state secrets, they'll keep them. However, gossip like this would probably seem relatively benign, particularly something as outlandish as a flying car. Regardless of what happened, the secret is out. Now we need to figure out what to do about it."

Weasley stared at him, confused. "Sir?"

The president steepled his hands on his desk. "Simple. We make cars, and exceptionally good cars at that. You can make cars fly. If we join forces, we can start selling exceptionally good flying cars. The first company to make flying cars is going to have a big head start on this new technology. You'll get a decent cut of the proceeds, incidentally."

Weasley stared at him. "I can make flying cars for a living? I'm flattered, sir. However, I'm not sure if I'll have much time. You see, I work for the Ministry of Magic --"

The president grinned and talked right over him. "I would expect that a car capable of flight would go for...say, 500,000 pounds. About twice the price of a typical luxury car. And that would be just one vehicle."

The wizard's gasped. "That's a lot of money! 100,000 Galleons? I didn't know cars were that expensive! I thought they were more like 1,500 Galleons. Will people buy them?"

The president chuckled. "Wizard Weasley, Bentley has been selling top-of-the-line automobiles for many years. The cars are expensive because the quality is first-rate and our customers aren't willing to settle for second best. We serve people for whom money is not an issue when it comes to buying cars. Trust me, they're going to pay up, particularly if we've got a monopoly on them. And you're going to get a cut of the extra 200,000-250,000 pounds per vehicle. I suspect that a new model, the 1998 Pegasus, is going to be one of our bigger hits in a couple of years."

The wizard stared at him in shock. After a few moments, he said, "You know, sir, that's actually a very tempting offer. Give me some time to think about it."

The president suppressed a grin. I've hooked him, he thought. He's probably going to make a hell of a lot more money than he does at this Ministry. And all he has to do is patent and copyright his method of making a car fly...and sell it to us as a prerequisite of his employment. Aloud: "Is the spell easy to cast?"

The wizard shrugged. "It won't be that difficult, especially if we pipe in argon-38 or convert the vehicle to run off magic. All I need are some magical spell components which I can come by relatively easily."

"What about safety issues? Can the spell fail at 5,000 feet and cause our wealthy customer to plummet to his doom?"

The wizard frowned. "I hadn't thought of that. I didn't have problems with the Anglia. However, I think I'll be able to overcome it. I believe you Muggles have things known as parachutes. Maybe we can put a parachute on the car."

The president grunted. There was no way a parachute would be able to support the weight of an automobile. However, if there was a parachute embedded in each seat which automatically deployed in case of an emergency, the passengers would likely still survive. The top of the car could come off and the seats would automatically eject. He'd deal with that later. "A parachute would be a smart idea, Wizard Weasley. I think we'd be a formidable team."

The wizard nodded. "You may be right, sir. I'll have to think about it, though."

The president smiled magnanimously. "I'm not in a hurry. Take your time. However, if you don't mind, don't tell anyone else about our idea while you're thinking it over. We don't want other people stealing our idea and cutting into our profits."

Weasley nodded. "I'll do that, sir. I'll inform you of my decision in a week or so."

The president pumped his first underneath his desk, where the wizard couldn't see it. The man was hooked, and the president knew it. "Thank you, Wizard Weasley. That would be most appreciated. I'll hear from you in one week, then."

To be continued...
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Update #100
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March 28, 1996
Office of the Minister
Ministry of Magic
London
England
Next PoV: 101 -- Agent Habibi
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Cornelius Fudge stared at the Muggle newspaper in front of him. He already had enough trouble dealing with the fact that someone had leaked the attack on Voldemort and the Death Eaters to the Quibbler. Now Harry Potter was talking to the Muggles and saying things which, curiously enough, he had not admitted to Rita Skeeter.

Much of the interview had involved a discussion of Lord Voldemort and had included a warning for the Muggles to keep an eye out for someone named Tom Marvolo Riddle. Although the Ministry had done what it could to prevent Voldemort's return from making it into the Daily Prophet, they hadn't bothered monitoring the Muggle newspapers. After all, the Ministry had never warned the Muggles about Voldemort (short of the Prime Minister), even during the Dark Lord's first attempt at power. As far as the typical Londoner knew, Voldemort had never existed to begin with. The government had hushed him up with various other classified threats to national security. Thankfully, the editor had written that Voldemort had been killed since the interview had taken place.

The government coverup had allowed the Ministry to dodge a hex here as the Muggles would never know that the Ministry had been caught covering up Voldemort's return. His government, and his reputation, would not suffer among the Muggles.

However, the Ministry had not emerged unscathed. The little brat had nonchalantly admitted that the world was full of magical creatures, several of which were extremely dangerous. Take, for example, the dragon. Fudge suspected that Muggles would start watching the skies much more often to make sure that the feared flyer wasn't heading their way. There would likely be a run on fortress-style houses made out of brick and stone as compared to the combustible wood. As if that weren't bad enough, the Muggle view of the dragon was even more terrible than the reality. Supposedly the creatures had superhuman intelligence. They could speak, cast spells, and carry riders. A real dragon's main weapon was its breath, which it could only use sparingly. The creatures weren't particularly smart, and tended to go berserk when their eggs were threatened.

Harry had also told the Muggles about giants. That may have also been a mistake. Although some giants, particularly half-giants, were quite civilized, the vast majority of the full-blooded giants were titanic wrecking balls who were difficult to deal with even for wizards. Fudge was concerned that the Muggles would start looking for giants in out-of-the-way places much as they did for the Abominable Snowman and Bigfoot. It was only a matter of time until Muggles and giants came into contact. Once that happened, the giants' curiosity would inevitably lead them into populated areas. The high density of creatures would likely spook the giants and cause them to panic, killing dozens of people before wizards came in to subdue them.

Finally, there were creatures like hippogriffs, centaurs, and Acromantulas. Acromantulas were similar to dragons in that they were animals out of a Muggle nightmare. Thankfully, they were far less dangerous. Adult specimens were capable of speech, so there was at least a chance of diplomacy.

Hippogriffs were stupid, but they could fly. The idea of a half-bird, half-horse creature would probably fascinate the Muggles. The mythical Muggle known as Santa Claus would probably wind up flying hippogriffs in a few years in the Muggle legends. Unfortunately, as the Buckbeak incident had shown, hippogriffs were dangerous and could bite if provoked.

Centaurs were half-man and half-horse. They were among the most intelligent of the cross-breed creatures, right up there with the half-giants. Both species were intelligent enough to teach at a school like Hogwarts. Although a few centaurs were intrigued by humans, most feared them. Fudge hated to think what would happen if a bunch of Muggles stumbled across a centaur and tried to ride him or shoot him. Presumably the Muggle would think it was some kind of bastardized creature. Most wizards, with the stubborn exception of Dolores Umbridge, knew enough not to insult centaurs in that way. Very few people insulted centaurs and lived to tell about it.

The Minister had been absolutely horrified to hear that a zoo for magical animals had opened up in the United States. Granted, most of the animals would likely be Class X or Class XX. They would be chosen specifically because they would be less likely to attack Muggles. On the other hand, zoologists all over the world could very easily discover that their Class XX creature suddenly went Class XXXXX when it realized it was stuck in a cage. None of these animals had been domesticated, and Fudge didn't know of any cases where magical animals were confined to cages for long periods of time.

Supposedly humans often went nuts in Muggle prisons. He suspected animals would do the same. Merlin's beard, for all he knew the Muggles would stick an Animagus in one of those cages and wake up the next morning to hear him yelling at them from inside the bars!

All of these exposures were bad. However, Harry had saved the worst exposure for last: his explanation of the mysterious events which had surrounded Sirius Black's escape from Hogwarts back on June 9th, 1994.

The boy had always stood by his claim: Sirius was innocent, Peter Pettigrew was guilty. The Minister and Snape had always figured that the kid had been ensorcelled. Furthermore, the Potions master had been convinced that Harry had been an accomplice in Sirius's escape. Dumbledore's response had stuck in the Minister's head:

"Unless you are suggesting that Harry and Hermione are able to be in two places at once, I'm afraid i don't see any point in troubling them further."

Normally, Harry's declaration that he had used a Time-Turner would be laughed off as impossible. Time-Turners were kept under strict control, and it was almost impossible for ordinary wizards to get their hands on one. However, Fudge had access to classified information which seemed to -- amazingly enough -- support Harry's claim.

He knew that Hermione had been given a Time-Turner to attend classes. Fudge hadn't been particularly thrilled about that, but the girl had seemed all right. She was one of Hogwarts's star pupils, after all. He also knew that Harry and Hermione were friends. He suspected that Miss Granger wasn't as holy as everyone made her out to be, particularly since she spent a lot of her time with Messrs. Potter and Weasley.

As if that weren't bad enough, Dumbledore seemed to have been in on the joke. The headmaster's off-the-cuff comment was exactly the type of thing he'd have said had he been planning to get involved in the plot. Harry's report to the Muggles confirmed this. The man certainly had means, motive, and opportunity to assist Hermione and Harry in going back and rescuing Sirius. Furthermore, the Time-Turner tale explained the disappearing hippogriff as well: one Harry stole the hippogriff while the other was talking with Lupin and Black in the Shrieking Shack.

If Harry's tale was true, then he'd have to do something drastic. He DIDN'T want this going any further. The most influential wizard in the land thwarted by a bunch of thirteen-year-old kids! As if that weren't bad enough, Dumbledore could be sent to Azkaban for interfering with an investigation, or at the very minimum allowing an unauthorized minor to use a Time-Turner. And Merlin knew what would happen if Muggles got their hands on Time-Turners!

He needed to find out the truth, and fast. Fortunately, there was a way to do so. He dropped the paper and headed down to into the Department of Mysteries. After a few wrong turns, he found himself in the room with the Time-Turners.

He called one of the witches working in the area. She came to him at once.

"Good evening, Minister. How can I help you?"

"Ah, Miss Hortenson. I was wondering if you could do me a favor. Unless I'm mistaken, each time a Time-Turner is used it notes the location, start time, and destination time of the journey?"

The witch nodded. "Yes, Minister. It is a standard security practice for Time-Turners."

"Good. I was wondering if you could check the use dates on unit number TT-0153."

The witch headed over to a cabinet and withdrew a box containing the little hourglass and a piece of parchment. "Here it is, Minister. According to the documentation in the box, it was last used by a Miss Hermione Granger back in 1994."

"That's the one. At any rate, would you be so good as to check the last time this Time-Turner was used? I'd like to know the date, start time, and destination time."

The witch grunted at him. "I'll need authorization for that."

The Minister glared at her. "I'm the Minister. I've got the authorization."

The witch shrugged and cast some spells on the Time-Turner. Eventually, a slip of parchment floated out of the necklace and fell into the palm of her hand. She unfolded it and looked at the contents.

"According to this report, the Time-Turner was last used on 9 June 1994. It transported two people back in time, from 11:55 PM to 8:55 PM. The journey took place in the medical wing at Hogwarts. Anything else?"

Fudge controlled his anger with deliberate effort. Heads were going to roll for this. He vowed it to himself.

"No thank you, Miss Hortenson. I have what I need. Good evening."

To be continued...