"All of this was expected."
Douglas's voice broke the silence.
"Prejudice doesn't disappear because of a single potion. It just changes shape — re-arms itself, becomes more hypocritical, more watchful."
He laced his fingers together, resting his chin on them, eyes gleaming with quiet calculation.
"Which means our plan has to move into its next phase."
Sirius was on his feet almost instantly.
"Then we accelerate! Use the Galleons we've earned to buy more Ministry officials. Grease every wheel before that pink toad Umbridge can consolidate her grip. Hit them with powerful enough artifacts that they won't dare make a move!"
"No." Lupin cut him off. "Move too fast and we trigger a harder backlash. Our foundation isn't solid yet, Sirius. One wrong step and everyone who just dared to trust us — they fall right back into the abyss."
Douglas raised a hand. Both men went quiet.
"Moony's right."
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"We are not waging a war. We are building a fortress." He looked at the faces on the screen, each one different, and chose his words carefully. "Before that fortress can withstand any bombardment, what we need most is time and patience — not more enemies."
"Our foundation isn't Galleons. It isn't magical artifacts."
"It's the werewolves who have just seen hope for the first time."
"We worked too hard to bring them together. We are not letting them fall back into panic and chaos."
His voice went flat and final.
"Silvermane Academy opens immediately."
"Phase one is done , product testing, market groundwork, complete. We move to phase two: Order and Discipline."
"We have to build a hearth for that flame while it's still burning at its brightest. Not just teach them how to make artifacts. Not just how to blend into society. We teach them how to live as a community , united, self-disciplined, with dignity."
"We build our own order. That way, when the Ministry's wave of prejudice hits, it doesn't scatter us."
"Securing what we have. Keeping Silvermane absolutely safe and hidden. That is the only priority right now."
The room stayed quiet after that.
Sirius didn't argue. He'd understood.
Lupin gave a slow, heavy nod, something resolute settling in his eyes. He knew what he was about to carry.
A banner. One that might change the fate of an entire people.
"Good." A sly smile pulled at the corner of Douglas's mouth. "Board meeting adjourned."
---
Before heading to Cairo, Douglas and Bill made an unplanned detour.
Their destination was the magical heart of Africa.
Uagadou.
The great school was hidden deep in the Mountains of the Moon, carved directly into the rock, perpetually wrapped in thin mist that made the entire range look as though it floated above the earth. The air smelled of damp soil and some wild, nameless flower , sweet and untamed at once.
Douglas and Bill sat on the enormous roots of a baobab tree.
In front of them, a group of dark-skinned children were casting spells with their hands.
No wands.
They moved their arms, fingertips drawing invisible lines through the air. The air bent. Gravel on the ground spun inward and coalesced into a living, sprinting antelope.
An older wizard stood nearby, his face painted with white clay patterns, chanting in a language of deep, rhythmic cadence. His voice wasn't commanding the magic. It was negotiating with it.
"The magic here is alive," Bill said quietly, something like pure awe in his eyes. "It grows out of the earth. Breathes in the wind."
Douglas nodded and dropped down from the root. He held out his hand. A mote of floating dust settled on his palm, then dissolved into a single clear drop of water.
"They aren't masters of magic," he said. "They're part of it. They borrow power from nature, and they return it with respect."
The visit was brief. But it opened something in Douglas's mind , a window where there had only been wall.
He saw another possibility. Something older than Europe's precision, older than Egypt's ceremony. More primal. More whole.
"Time to go." He brushed the water from his palm. "The bureaucrats in Cairo won't negotiate with us like this."
He turned, and together he and Bill walked toward an unremarkable transportation point at the edge of the settlement. The baobab's shadow stretched long behind them, like a vast, silent elder seeing them off.
The soft blue sky pulled, folded, and vanished.
The next breath filled their lungs with something heavy and dry , ancient dust and fresh paperwork, the particular atmosphere of institutional authority.
---
The Egyptian Ministry of Magic sat deep underground, beneath the Giza pyramid complex. Its entrance was disguised as an abandoned archaeological excavation.
Inside, everything strained to project ancient, weighty magnificence.
Massive golden pillars bore carved reliefs of Horus and Anubis. Their surfaces were also plastered with handwritten notices pinned on with paperclips.
Musty papyrus and cheap jasmine perfume tangled in the air, an assault that landed somewhere between a museum and a gift shop. Sunlight fell through high skylights and was carved by thick dust into pale beams, each one swarming with golden motes that drifted and turned and never settled , like lost souls with nowhere to land.
The magic here was dead.
Entombed in gold and procedure. A glorious inheritance that had stopped breathing a long time ago.
A wizard in a crisp Western-style robe and a traditional fez was leading them through the labyrinthine corridors.
"Director of International Magical Cooperation, Mr. Hassan Fayed, and Director of the Artefact Protection Bureau, Ms. Imane Shaw, are expecting you."
His voice was flat and smooth, with a faint condescension underneath , the tone of a man who has decided his visitors are unimportant.
As though a Hogwarts professor and Gringotts' finest curse-breaker were merely two pilgrims, passing through.
"They see Uagadou as crude and backward," Bill murmured close to Douglas's ear. "And Hogwarts as an arrogant latecomer. Here, bloodline and history are everything."
Douglas gave the smallest nod. His mind felt clear.
The visit to Uagadou had shown him what power looked like in another form. When your opponent is drowning in past glory, your greatest advantage is the ability to build something new.
The meeting room door was thick cedarwood set with lapis lazuli. When it swung open, it let out a low, labored groan , an ancient beast roused against its will.
No windows. Magical flames burned in wall niches, throwing sharp-edged light across the two figures seated behind the long table.
On the left: Hassan Fayed. Slightly heavy-set, wearing a smile that covered every angle and meant nothing. His lips moved through the expression out of habit. His eyes were two chips of obsidian tucked in shadow, missing nothing.
On the right: Imane Shaw. A spare, serious woman in middle age, gold-rimmed glasses on her nose. Her fingers were long and elegant, and she was unconsciously running a thumb along the edge of a papyrus fragment on the table. She carried the particular exhaustion of a scholar who has been reading budget reports for too long.
"Professor Holmes. Mr. Weasley."
Hassan's voice came out like oiled silk. Smooth. Warm on the surface. Nothing underneath.
"Welcome to the birthplace of magic."
He did not stand. He gave a small incline of his head , a tiny, deliberate gesture that sorted everyone in the room into their proper places.
Douglas returned a smile of equal politeness, with just enough Hufflepuff guilelessness layered over it to be interesting.
"The honor is ours, Director. Witnessing this great legacy in person , that alone makes the journey worthwhile."
Bill said nothing. He pulled out a chair, sat down with clean efficiency, and set his briefcase on the table with a soft, precise snap.
Not loud. But loud enough to break the heavy rhythm the other side had been building.
Imane Shaw's eyebrow moved, barely a flicker, and her gaze lifted from the papyrus. For the first time, she actually looked at them.
The air went still.
A war without gunpowder had already begun.
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