Chapter Text
Summer, 1527.
Gray’s Inn, London.
All but a few of the candles had been put out for the night, leaving the cramped office and all those crowded within it in flickering shadow. An unseasonable wind scraped at the windows, rattling the nerves of more than one of the men seated around the rough wooden writing table. This meeting was more than secret — it was historic, and it was dangerous. Two groups who for centuries had maintained a steady distance were at last coming together as one.
One man stood, his robes releasing a whiff of something that half of those gathered recognised as silver and snake-fang, and the other half as temptation and tantalising mystery.
‘Welcome, brothers. I am relieved to see so many of you here tonight.’ His silence regarding those who had not appeared spoke volumes as to their fate after this meeting concluded. ‘On behalf of the wizards of England, I thank the Muggle representatives for providing us a place to meet.’
The man at the opposite side of the table stood shakily, stooping under the weight of great age and the heavy cloak he had not yet removed. ‘It is a privilege and an honour that will serve us both in the end, Brother.’
‘Indeed, Brother Erasmus. And we propose to begin serving you this night.’ The man clapped his hands. A small figure hidden in the corner rushed towards him, bearing an armful of books. The assembled Muggles muttered and gasped as the books slid onto the desk; the dragonscale cover of one glittered like iridescent stars in the candlelight, while another, bound in the furry hide of some impossibly green creature, trembled amongst the pile. ‘These books contain as much knowledge on the wizarding world as we have deemed it appropriate for you to know at this time. It is our hope that with this information, you will begin to understand our kind, and encourage the greater population to do the same. This state of fear and misunderstanding must end, for your people and ours. It is our dearest wish that the England of the future sees us standing together, no man raised above any other in skill or moral virtue because of his birth.’
The man named Erasmus eyed the books with unabashed hunger, distracted momentarily from his own end of the bargain. His long white beard quivered.
‘Yes. Yes, Brother, with the King’s religious Reformation proceeding at its current pace, it won’t be long until England and her territories will be ready to accept the presence of magic.’ He said the word like he didn’t believe it had come from his own mouth, like it was all part of a fantastical dream that would end with his next breath. With great effort, he tore his gaze from the books, finding instead the onyx pinprick eyes of the man beside him. ‘Norfolk, your vow.’
Norfolk inclined his head to Erasmus and raised himself smoothly to his feet. ‘On my word as a Duke and a gentleman, I promise that my niece, Anne Boleyn, will wed King Henry the Eighth, and both will be made ready to take their place as not only rulers of England, but of a kingdom united in magical ability and non-magical chivalry.’
The wizards hissed and huffed at this, and the standing man smiled. His teeth were thin and white beneath his pale lips.
‘Ah. Blame a difference in culture, Brother Norfolk, but I’m afraid a Muggle’s word counts for little in our society, no matter their lofty rank. Come, hold out your hand. We shall make this promise more… binding.’
At first, Norfolk’s hand shivered at his side, and Erasmus wondered for a startled second if pride alone was to be the downfall of England’s sparkling new future. To think, what uses their good King Henry might have of magic in the complex world of international politics and warfare. Or, perhaps, even for Erasmus’ own academic and philosophical research. To think of the horror of it all being washed away in a moment: their guests’ offer being rescinded over a minor insult to one man’s honour, their memories of this grand occasion — their nation’s first step into a new world! — erased, as they had all seen the wizards do to others who could not keep their mouths shut. For if England was to be a land of magic, their plans would need to be very carefully laid out and followed to the letter. Hemmed in by countries of towering culture and intellect, England was a land of backwoods superstition, and one too-hasty step could spell danger for all involved.
If they played their cards right, however… well. There was no telling how high the fortunes and power of this tiny island might rise.
The room itself seemed to release its breath as Norfolk thrust his hand into the space above the desk. Still smiling, the wizard reached across and took it in his own. Beneath them, the books shook and squeaked — in warning or encouragement, none present could tell.
‘Brother Diggory, if you please.’
Another wizard stood, removing a slim wand from his sleeve and tapping it on the men’s clasped hands. A rope of fire spilled from the wand and encircled their wrists, expanding the room with its flickering red glow. Norfolk’s shoulders tightened visibly beneath his doublet, and the other Muggles gasped and scooted back into the stone walls of the office. Even the wizards looked surprised.
Diggory shrugged, but his blue eyes were wide. ‘Didn’t know that could work on Muggles.’
‘Nor did I,’ said his leader. ‘Now, Brother Norfolk, make your oath again. Be aware, though, that to break it will mean your immediate death.’
Norfolk did not so much as blink. His small eyes pierced into the inky shadows of the other man’s face as he said, ‘That was ever the risk. I, Thomas Howard, Third Duke of Norfolk, vow that within a decade, England will birth a new dynasty of rulers who will protect the rights of wizards and witches in exchange for the benefits of their God-given skills.’
The fire sizzled and tightened into their flesh, a blazing cord tying the men and the future together, before it burned itself out in a flash of gold.