Sir Humphrey listened quietly to Snape's words, gently rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. It was his habitual gesture when deep in thought.
He digested the vast amount of information contained in the other's words, the internal logic, and the hidden intentions.
After a long while, he finally lifted his eyes, his gaze settling on Snape.
"Besides causing destruction, like those evil wizards in black hoods who create horrifying tragedies, Mr. Snape," Sir Humphrey said slowly, "what else can you, or rather the group you represent, achieve?"
"Sir Humphrey," Snape met his gaze, "although we can indulge our imaginations and believe that magic, as a synonym for miracles, is omnipotent, I trust neither of us is that naive."
"Disappointingly, compared to the fairy tales passed down among Muggles—Muggles being our term for non-magical people—the wizards' fables and parables emphasize the limitations and impossibilities of magic. For example," he paused, emphasizing his tone, "magic cannot bring the dead back to life or grant eternal life."
Upon hearing this, a flicker of disappointment flashed in Sir Humphrey's eyes, but it quickly returned to that inscrutable calm.
These two things that magic could not achieve—reversing death and achieving immortality—were precisely what he subconsciously desired to know most at that moment. But it made sense; if magic could grant eternal life, why would a young wizard be sitting across from him?
For a high-ranking civil servant accustomed to controlling the big picture, Snape's answer instantly cooled the instinctive, slightly greedy anticipation he felt toward this unknown power.
"In fact," Snape continued calmly, breaking the brief silence, "what you need to be most concerned about, and what you should be most wary of, is precisely the destructive power we possess."
"This destructive power, Sir Humphrey, is not merely the obvious kind, such as explosions, incineration, or simple killing." He stared into Sir Humphrey's eyes. "We have other means—more covert, more subtle, and far harder to defend against."
"For example?" Sir Humphrey pressed, leaning slightly forward, showing keen interest and vigilance.
"For example," Snape said, "we can control your minds, making you do things you would otherwise never do."
"Mind control?" Sir Humphrey frowned, his face filled with distrust. He looked at Snape, searching the young man's face for any trace of jest or exaggeration.
At that moment, a drab little sparrow had somehow perched on the narrow ledge outside the open window, hopping about and drinking from a small puddle, splashing tiny droplets of water.
Snape said nothing more; instead, under the wary gazes of the two men, he silently gestured with his wand toward Sir Humphrey and Bernard, directing their attention to the innocent little creature outside.
"Look at that sparrow," he said flatly, raising his wand and pointing it at the bird, murmuring, "Imperio!"
The sparrow outside, which had been lively and hopping, seemed to stiffen for an instant. Immediately after, it stopped drinking, its small head turning toward the interior of the office.
Under the astonished and uncertain stares of Sir Humphrey and Bernard, the sparrow obediently flapped its wings, deftly squeezing through the gap in the window.
It flew as if pulled by invisible threads, its tiny body arcing straight toward Sir Humphrey, landing precisely on the back of his instinctively raised hand.
Its damp claws touched his skin.
Sir Humphrey held his breath, slowly lifting his hand to bring the magic-controlled bird up to eye level for close observation.
The sparrow showed no fear, its pair of black beady eyes fixed on him.
Then, an even more bizarre scene unfolded.
On the back of his hand, the little sparrow clumsily turned around and performed a backflip, then awkwardly hopped from one tiny claw to the other, as if dancing a ridiculous and utterly chaotic grotesque dance.
Sir Humphrey and Bernard stared in stunned silence at this unnatural spectacle, their faces devoid of any amusement, only deep shock and a chill.
This wasn't a performance; it was a vivid stripping away of free will.
Snape gave a slight lift of his chin. The sparrow on Sir Humphrey's hand stopped dancing, flapped its wings again, and obediently flew out the window, returning to its original drinking spot.
Snape waved his wand at it once more, quietly lifting the curse.
The sparrow outside shuddered its feathers violently, as if waking from a deep dream, letting out a series of terrified chirps and trembling fiercely in place.
It looked around in panic, no longer caring about the water, and flapped its wings frantically, fleeing in haste from this place that now filled it with fear.
Sir Humphrey lowered his still-raised hand and silently stood up.
He walked step by step to the window, pressing his face against the cold glass outside, dotted with water droplets, his gaze following the tiny figure until it vanished into the gray, misty curtain of rain.
Several minutes later, he turned around, his face expressionless. He looked at Snape and said in a calm tone:
"Mr. Snape, cast that spell on me as well."
"Sir Humphrey!" Bernard gasped, exclaiming in shock, "You can't..."
Sir Humphrey raised a hand to stop Bernard from continuing.
"Bernard, let's choose to trust Mr. Snape this once." His gaze didn't leave Snape. "I'm a bit curious about what it actually feels like."
Snape looked into Sir Humphrey's eyes, offering no dissuasion, and simply nodded.
He raised his wand again, aiming it at the man who was the "conscience" of the British Empire's civil service system.
"Imperio!"
It was the most wondrous and yet most unsettling sensation.
Sir Humphrey felt himself floating lightly, as if on a cloud, his soul detached from the heavy shell of his body.
The countless thoughts and worries crowding his mind—the functioning of the nation, government crises, budget cuts, soaring unemployment rates, the prime minister's safety, and even the enigmatic wizard before him—were all scattered by a gentle breeze, leaving only a hazy, intangible, yet utterly intoxicating joy.
It was a pure and empty happiness, without any reason, and needing none.
He stood there, every pore radiating a lazy warmth, feeling an unprecedented lightness, a carefree state he had never known.
He was only vaguely aware that Bernard was standing nearby, staring at him with a terrified expression. But it seemed irrelevant to him; that gaze was as if through a thick fog, stirring no interest in him at all.
Then, Sir Humphrey heard the young wizard's voice echoing in some distant corner of his empty mind: Turn in place... Turn in place...
Almost without thinking, his body complied, gracefully turning a full circle in place with an elegant posture.
The dark paneling, the heavy desk, the ornate chandelier in his field of vision began to rotate and shift angles.
When he faced the reception area again, his footsteps involuntarily wobbled, his balance unsteady. In his vision, Bernard's horrified face seemed to distort in the sway, blurring a bit.
The voice echoed again deep in his consciousness: Jump onto the table... Jump onto the table...
Sir Humphrey's body reacted almost immediately. He obediently bent his knees, preparing to gather strength for the jump.
"Jump onto the table..." The command reverberated in his vacant mind.
But why?
Another voice awakened at the back of his head. This voice felt somewhat familiar to him.
That's too foolish, the voice said.
Jump onto the table...
No, I don't want to jump. Shut up, the other voice said, its tone growing firmer... No, I really don't want to jump...
Jump onto the table...
That's too foolish! The voice belonging to his other self retorted sternly. I am the all-powerful Cabinet Secretary, head of the civil service, the actual steersman of the British Empire. Jump onto the table? That's utterly absurd...
Jump! Jump now!
With a "thud!" came a muffled impact, accompanied by the screech of wood scraping against the floor.
Next, Sir Humphrey felt a sharp pain.
He had jumped, while simultaneously trying not to jump.
The result was that he didn't leap lightly onto the desktop but instead crashed in an awkward pose, his kneecaps slamming solidly into the hard edge of the table, knocking it askew.
The piercing agony shot from his legs throughout his body, darkening his vision, and he let out a muffled groan. He thought his prized kneecaps must surely be shattered.
"Alright, Episkey!"
Amid Bernard's alarmed cry, Snape's voice rang out timely, a soft glow falling on Sir Humphrey's knees.
Suddenly, the area of his knees, occupied by throbbing pain, was flooded with a cool, soothing comfort. The tearing ache vanished, leaving only a strange, easing chill.
The echoing emptiness in his mind also completely disappeared, and all his own thoughts, memories, and logic surged back.
He remembered everything that had just happened with perfect clarity: the void joy, the submissive impulse, the fierce struggle, the crashing pain in his knees, and the lingering coolness now.
Bernard rushed forward to support him. Sir Humphrey, with his help, moved his still somewhat stiff and uncoordinated limbs away from the table's edge and back to the sofa, sinking heavily into it.
He lowered his head to touch his unharmed knees, silent for several seconds, before drawing a deep, long breath and slowly exhaling.
Sir Humphrey lifted his head, staring directly at Snape.
"I now begin to believe that you are human too, Mr. Snape," he said calmly, his voice a bit hoarse but carrying a sense of relief. "Those strange words you said earlier, let's call them 'spells' for now," he pointed to his head and knees, "remind me of the profound texts and debates I studied in classics at Balliol College."
"Oh, those endlessly beneficial yet headache-inducing philosophical explorations—truly nostalgic. It seems," he paused meaningfully, "that your wizards' history, at least the spells you use, is likely as ancient as ours."
Snape nodded slightly. For someone like Sir Humphrey, who graduated top of his class from Oxford's Balliol College in classics, it was naturally easy to spot the connections between the spells he used and Greek and Latin.
This was precisely why Snape had chosen not to use a nonverbal spell; similarities are always easier to accept than differences.
"I must say," he continued, "Sir Humphrey, it's not easy to break free from the control of the Imperius Curse. It requires exceptionally strong personal strength and willpower—not everyone can manage it. Even among us wizards, not many can resist it."
Sir Humphrey's lips curved into a weary but slightly proud smile.
"As it happens, I do possess a bit of that 'personal strength' you emphasize, Mr. Snape." He straightened his back, his bureaucratic dignity returning despite his still-pale face. "Since you have clearly expressed your intent to seek cooperation earlier.
"Then, please explain the specific details of the cooperation. And what rights and obligations do both sides have?"
"The specific content of the cooperation is crucial, Sir Humphrey," Snape said, shaking his head gently, "but right now, there's something even more urgent that we need to handle.
"We need to go see the Prime Minister immediately. Your Prime Minister, Mr. Hack, is currently in grave danger.
"The Death Eaters—those evil wizards in black hoods who commit massacres—have already discovered his current hiding place.
"Their goal is very clear: to control him, using magic similar to what I just demonstrated, turning him into a puppet. Or, if control fails or is deemed too risky, they will eliminate him without hesitation."
"In about one or two hours," Snape glanced at the wall clock, "or even sooner, their operation will begin."
Bernard immediately looked at Sir Humphrey, his eyes full of questions and alarm.
Sir Humphrey was silent for a moment. His brows furrowed, his sharp gaze fixed on Snape:
"The Prime Minister is under the highest level of strict protection, Mr. Snape. His hiding place is one of the Empire's top secrets; even other Cabinet members are not allowed..."
"I know what you're worried about, Sir Humphrey." Snape interrupted him, directly naming a satellite town on the outskirts of London and an address that sounded like a private sanatorium. "This place is where the Prime Minister is currently located. For us, most secrets aren't as confidential as you think."
Hearing the address precise down to the door number, Sir Humphrey's body tensed again, his pupils contracting slightly. His hand on his knee unconsciously clenched.
"I have a question for you, Mr. Snape," he said gravely, looking at Snape with a low voice, "after all this is over, do you and the... upright wizard community you represent hope to fully integrate with our Muggle society?"
Snape didn't hesitate and gave an immediate answer.
"No," he said, "that is not our mainstream position, nor is it the wise path we should choose.
"As I said earlier, although we are essentially all human, we naturally possess certain abilities that you cannot acquire no matter how much effort you put in later in life.
"Magic, unlike social forces such as power, money, or status, is entirely a gift—a random endowment in the bloodline."
"This subtle difference determines a harsh reality. In the foreseeable future, our two societies can only maintain long-term stability and existing order by remaining largely separate, going our own ways, and avoiding deep contact."
"Rash integration..." he shook his head, "would only provoke unpredictable covetousness, conflicts, panic, and chaos, ultimately leading to the collapse of social structures and total disorder for both you and us.
"What we seek is realistic coexistence, not naive fusion."
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