In December's London, the sky hung heavy and gray, casting a dreary pall over the city. A fine mist, neither quite rain nor snow, drifted down, dampening the streets and the hats of passersby.
Outside the iconic black iron gates of 10 Downing Street, an old red taxi squealed to a halt with a groan of its brakes.
The door swung open, and a young man with dark hair leapt out from the back seat.
As the young man reached to pay the fare, the scruffy, bearded driver leaned out the window, jutting his chin toward the towering gates and the armed, vigilant guards. In a gruff voice, he barked at his passenger, "Oi, mate! You're getting dropped here? That's double the fare!"
Severus Snape didn't mind parting with a few extra pounds. He'd noticed, of late, that London's atmosphere seemed gloomier than usual. A faint frown creased his brow as he pulled the additional notes from his wallet and handed them over, his tone tinged with curiosity. "Er, why's that? Is there something special about this place?"
The driver snatched the money, stuffing it into the greasy pocket of his shirt. He spat out the window with a scowl. "Bah! It's all because of those bloody politicians and their sodding policies. 'Wage caps,' they call it—workers' pay can't go up more than five percent a year! Rubbish! Prices are shooting up like rockets, and hardly anyone's taking cabs anymore. Leeches, the lot of 'em, sucking us dry!"
His rant grew louder, his face reddening as he shook his head and rolled up the window. The engine roared, and the taxi sped off in a cloud of black smoke, splashing muddy water in its wake.
Snape watched the taxi disappear before turning slowly to face the heavily guarded 10 Downing Street and its sentries.
His decision to come here, rather than heading straight to the Prime Minister's secret safehouse, stemmed from a calculated choice. In Snape's view, passively protecting a target was always the worst strategy.
Especially in this systematic slaughter of Muggles orchestrated by dark wizards, clinging to the notion that Muggles were inferior and only warranted passive protection—keeping them entirely removed from the wizarding war—was not just arrogant but dangerously foolish.
Since the flames of war had already spread to the heart of Muggle society, seeking their understanding and perhaps even leveraging their resources—their organizations, intelligence, and operational capabilities—might prove the wiser course.
Thus, communicating with the core officials still stationed at Number 10, maintaining the government's daily operations, became a necessary step.
He turned again, strolling nonchalantly toward a narrow, rarely frequented alley nearby. Once deep in the shadows and certain no one was watching, he drew his wand and silently cast a Disillusionment Charm. His figure melted into the dull gray backdrop.
Camouflaged, he retraced his steps to the entrance of 10 Downing Street.
Unseen by the oblivious guards, Snape passed through the iron gates and approached the famous door, gleaming with black lacquer and adorned with a bold brass "10."
Another armed guard stood watch outside, scanning the empty courtyard with wary eyes.
Snape paused before the door, his wand flicking lightly in his sleeve.
"Alohomora."
The lock gave a faint click.
The guard seemed to hear something, glancing around in confusion. "What the devil? Bloody wind," he muttered.
As the guard puzzled over the noise, Snape slipped silently through the door.
Inside the residence, dark wooden paneling and thick carpets exuded a solemn, oppressive air. Snape glided noiselessly through the corridors, his magically enhanced hearing picking up fragments of sound from behind office doors: the ring of telephones, the clatter of typewriters, the murmur of hushed conversations.
Ascending a staircase lined with portraits of past Prime Ministers, Snape reached the upper floor. As he passed an office with a nameplate reading "Mrs. McKen," a woman's voice, tinged with pride, drifted out: "…Oh, darling, you wouldn't believe it. The job's stressful, sure, but the pay's fantastic. I'm one of the few here who can type…"
He continued until he stopped before an unmarked, unusually heavy oak door. The conversation within caught his attention.
"Is the Prime Minister really safer there? I thought Number 10 would be the safest place," a younger, slightly bookish voice asked.
An older, more measured voice, dripping with bureaucratic authority, replied, "Of course it's safer. The Prime Minister's absence from Number 10 makes us all safer, Bernard."
Repeating his trick, Snape aimed his wand silently at the lock. A soft click, and the door sprang open. He slipped through the narrow gap, closing it gently behind him.
Inside, a middle-aged man with impeccably combed hair and a tailored three-piece suit lounged in a wide armchair. Across from him sat a bespectacled, slightly nervous man in a chair.
"Bernard, what's that? The door opened?" Sir Humphrey's voice carried a note of irritation.
"Oh, yes, Sir Humphrey." Bernard rose quickly, hurrying to the door. He peered at it, puzzled, as if the wind had blown it ajar, checked the lock, and returned after securing it.
"Get yourself a coffee, Bernard," Sir Humphrey said dismissively, sipping from a bone-china teacup with practiced ease.
Once Bernard settled back with his coffee, Sir Humphrey resumed, his tone laced with the smugness of imparting wisdom. "Bernard, it's not that simple. From the hard-earned experience passed down through generations, when these… extraordinary crises arise, having the Prime Minister step away from the storm's epicenter—'lie low,' as it were—ensures the safety and stability of the empire's true core: us, the machinery that keeps the government running. It prevents chaos, curbs division, and averts organizational atrophy or administrative paralysis, which could undermine the continuity of government operations and, ultimately, the very foundation of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland."
"I… I've never heard of such experience," Bernard said, bewildered.
Sir Humphrey took a sip of coffee, a cryptic smile playing on his lips. "You'll understand when you're Cabinet Secretary, Bernard."
Bernard hesitated, then pressed, "But, Sir Humphrey, isn't the Prime Minister in danger?"
Sir Humphrey set down his cup, folding his hands. "Danger?" He shook his head with conviction. "Prime Ministers away from Number 10 are under MI5's stringent protection. They employ a range of highly sophisticated, classified measures—frequent location changes, decoys, multiple armed perimeters, restricted communications, even nuclear-war-proof bunkers…"
"In short," he concluded after rattling off the list, "the Prime Minister is, in theory, quite safe."
"And historically," he added, his brow furrowing slightly, "Prime Ministers are safe most of the time. As for those… witches?" He paused, searching for the right word. "They're the stuff of legend and obscure records, rarely encountered. I once thought them mere medieval fantasies, but recent events suggest reality is more… complicated."
Bernard nodded thoughtfully.
"Sir Humphrey," he said, shifting topics, "there's another issue. Workers' strikes are escalating in some areas, unemployment's rising, wages are capped, and public discontent is growing…"
"Bernard, that's for politicians to worry about," Sir Humphrey sighed. "As for unemployment, no one tells the public the truth."
"Why not?" Bernard asked, puzzled.
"Because it's simple," Sir Humphrey replied, as if stating the obvious. "Halve unemployment in weeks by cutting benefits for anyone who's refused two job offers. The statistics look much prettier. That's the beauty of numbers."
At that moment, an unfamiliar voice cut through the room from a shadowed corner.
"Brilliant strategy, Sir Humphrey. Truly impressive."
Sir Humphrey and Bernard whipped around. In the corner, a young man in a dark coat materialized as if coalescing from the air itself.
"Guards! Guards!" Bernard leapt from his chair, shouting in panic.
Sir Humphrey stiffened, his face paling, but he maintained his composure. His hand crept subtly toward an alarm under the table.
Snape, however, was faster. With a casual flick of his hand, a small, metallic alarm device flew into his palm. He toyed with it, his gaze settling on Sir Humphrey's frozen hand. "Looking for this, Sir Humphrey?"
Bernard's shouts stopped abruptly as he stared, horrified, at the device in Snape's hand. No guards came; the corridor outside remained silent.
"No sound leaves this room," Snape said calmly. He raised his other hand, revealing a slender wand between his fingers. "This is what your so-called 'witches' use to cast magic. We call it a wand."
Sir Humphrey took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. He adjusted his tie and gestured for the still-shocked Bernard to sit. Bernard collapsed back into his chair.
"Please, have a seat, Mr…?" Sir Humphrey studied Snape, mustering a professional smile. "I assume 'witch' isn't the correct term?"
Snape inclined his head slightly and took a seat on the sofa opposite Sir Humphrey.
"You may call me a wizard, Sir Humphrey," he said. "Or Severus Snape."
"Wizard Snape," Sir Humphrey began cautiously, "what brings you to infiltrate the heart of the Prime Minister's residence in such… dramatic fashion?"
His words carried a subtle hint of reproach, suggesting Snape had breached some unspoken protocol.
"In this unprecedented crisis," Snape replied, "as a representative of the wizarding world not yet overtaken by dark forces, I come seeking cooperation."
"Cooperation?" Sir Humphrey's eyebrows shot up, skepticism clear. "Is that… permissible? As far as I know, your kind and ours have had little official contact. We're not even entirely certain you exist."
Instead of answering directly, Snape placed the alarm device on the polished table and pointed his wand at it. A faint glow flashed, and the cold metal twisted and swelled, transforming in an instant into a squeaking, scampering gray rat.
The rat skittered frantically across the table.
Sir Humphrey and Bernard gasped in unison.
"You may have your doubts," Snape said with a shrug. Another flick of his wand, and the rat morphed back into the inert alarm device, as if nothing had happened. "But we are all human."
"This crisis isn't just persecution of those without magic," he continued. "It affects both our worlds. Many wizards come from ordinary British families, yet some in our world believe such wizards are impure and must be eradicated."
"I'm not here to perform parlor tricks, Sir Humphrey," Snape said, locking eyes with him. "As you see, we possess abilities you do not. But we remain human at our core."
"Because of these subtle yet profound differences," he went on, his tone carrying a faint warning, "our worlds have, for the most part, kept apart. It's often the safest choice for both."
"For if others saw our power, they might covet it, beg to learn it. And when they realized such power cannot be taught, resentment would fester, leading to harm. In the end, one side or the other would pay with their lives."
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