Dark Moon 2
“A book? You get your information from a magic book?”
“Not a magic book. Thee magic book. Created by—ugh, why am I even explaining this?” The pudgy man walked around his office, sweat dripping from his brow. He only knew this man for a few hours a year; supposedly, if all went well, he shouldn’t meet him at all. But now their visits have become more frequent, starting as occasional meetings and now inching up to ten times a year. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the man wasn’t so insufferable.
“And you're only coming to me now? Instead of when it went missing?”
“The ministry at the time was a different place. We didn't see the need; some still don't.”
“And... what changed?”
The man's face became stern, like all the pudge in his cheeks had turned to stone. John didn't think it was possible.
“Dumbledore.” He said it like it meant something.
John didn't know much about Dumbledore, supposedly he was a headmaster of a school. But as the meetings continued, John slowly got more pieces of the puzzle. From his knowledge, Dumbledore was the most influential man in the Wizarding community, someone even their Minister writes letters to. This man regularly gloats that he has Dumbledore's ear, especially to John who had no context for anything wizard-related.
“He gave me a parable.”
He picked up his family photo from when they vacationed in the Bahamas. He frowned before putting it down. “I see you're doing well. Vacationing with the kids?”
John did not like where this was going. “Yes... but I don't see why—”
“What if those kids one day throw a tantrum and set everything on fire? What if they accidentally turn their parents into frogs?”
John stared at the man silently.
“That’s what Dumbledore told me. Mud—ugh... Muggleborn children are a danger to themselves and others. Just because the book is gone doesn't mean mudbl—muggleborns stop existing. Despite the wishes of my colleagues, Dumbledore has become a bit wroth with the ministry nowadays, with our inaction.” He turned to John, looking him in the eye. He looked like the face of a beaten dog.
“And you want me to find these people?”
The man giggled. “How kind of you. No, I just need you to keep your ears open.” He lazily looked out the window at the skyline. The sun was just setting, drenching the entire room in autumnal hues. “Anything out of the ordinary. Give me rumors, reports, you have your aurors or whatever they're called. Let them investigate then we can do the rest. Surely you can do that?”
John grumbled inwardly. As always, he was at the beck and call of this man. Sure, it was possible, but the amount of grunt work it would take would surely bring some unwanted attention. He was already on thin ice with the party, with the innumerable questions about where their taxes were going. “A good cause,” he kept telling them, but their queries were soon turning into accusations. It was too soon; the dividends were slowly bearing fruit, but he needed more time.
“I’ll try.”
“Don’t try. Do. This could endanger the statute of secrecy!”
Yes, that law John had never heard of or knew. This man was always waving that thing above his head, yet refusing to elaborate on anything. From context clues, John gathered that it basically involved keeping magic a secret from the general public. Though that was just the bare bones version. Once, he asked for a further explanation, but the man said it was unnecessary for a muggle, using a tone one might use to explain to a child. The nerve of this man.
“Alright, Mr. Fudge. I’ll concede, if it’s for the best for everyone. I’ll go along with your brilliant plan,” John said sarcastically, receiving a smile from the man. Fudge was always weak to compliments, and John wondered how he was ever elected.
“Happy to hear it.” Fudge completely ignored the subtleties. John was both relieved and disappointed. “Well, that’s enough for today. Hopefully, this will be the last time we see each other.” He tipped his hat, and the feeling was mutual. They shook hands, and the man teleported away with a flick of his wand. John finally released the stress with a long sigh and flopped down in his chair.
As the Prime Minister, he had to deal with a lot of insufferable people. Fudge wasn’t the worst, but the condescension irked him. Fudge treated John like a child; once he came calling, John had to drop everything to entertain him. If he couldn’t, they would wipe people's memories like it was an everyday thing and not a violation. But mostly, John hated him because he made him feel helpless. He, the Prime Minister, the highest seat of power in the British Isles, was nothing but an errand boy to some magical superior he had never heard of, in a place he had never been or seen. And the worst part, he couldn’t stop him. Even with all his power, he couldn’t deny the man, and Fudge knew it.
John seethed. He looked at the clock, then at the painting. That horrendous thing, an oil painting of a frog-like little man in a dirty wig. One of those magical things, a living painting. Was John’s personal phone when Fudge wants to speak to him. It wasn’t moving right now, but John knew it was spying on him.
John stood up and walked to a miniature record player. He put in the special disc, pure silver, and turned it on. It didn’t play any sound audible to John’s ears, but the painting began to yawn. Its hands moved up to cover its mouth, and slowly, its eyes grew drowsy until it finally slept.
“I thought he'd never leave,” a weathered voice came from the shadows. John readied his nerves.
From the background, reality warped, light blending until it draped around a man. He wore a black suit, appeared to be in his fifties, with gray hair cut in a military style, a leathery face, and a long scar across his left eye. He looked rough and monotone, the only ounce of color being a blue brooch on his right lapel that glinted in the light.
“Is he always this needy, Mr. Prime Minister?” His accent was American, but he had lived here longer than John.
“Well... not usually.”
“My sources tell me he’s receiving a lot of heat from his government. There are talks about re-elections.” His voice whispered in John's ears.
“Will that affect our plans?”
“A lot. Those voices will be silenced soon. His incompetence is a boon to us, so you must ‘bear’ with him a little longer.” The man sat on the couch.
John lightly huffed. “If it’s my burden to ‘bear’.”
“Bear jokes are my thing, Mr. Prime Minister.” The man rolled his eyes.
“If you say so, Mr. Barebone.”
Simon Barebone was a local myth within the government. Part of the old guard who fought in the war, he was now essentially the boogeyman of the ministry. He had a lot of ties with the military and many fingers in many pies. He was ancient but as spry as a new cadet, and despite being a great-grandfather, he refused to retire. No one had the heart to force him to, not that they could.
“I have good news, though. They finally perfected the sample.” He pulled out a small vial from his suit, glowing purple in the glass. John leaned closer, eyeing the vial.
“As we both know, the original was too strong and deadly. But after some testing, they finally dulled it enough for public use.” He shook it in his hands. “The addiction, however, turns out to be purely phycological. We haven’t found a solution yet.”
John took the vial from his hands and smiled. It might be small, but it was better than nothing. The other things, like teleportation and weaponry, were too bold, but this would allow a softer approach without alarming anyone. The shell company they created was just starting to make waves, and they would need more successes to fully establish themselves. Then they could start integrating more into society.
“It’s good enough. It could easily pass parliament. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Yes, Mr. Prime Minister.” The man nodded, content, yet John could see the gleam in his eyes.
“How goes the weapons development?”
Barebone’s smile turned genuine. “It exceeds all expectations. The black flame experiments have reached new heights, as well as the laser division. But what really excelled were the star shards. We were finally successful in declawing a wizard.” His grin turned malicious, and John could see the mania in his eyes.
“I assume it was temporary?”
The smile died. “Yes. But the eggheads believe they could make it permanent.”
“Well, don’t. The goal isn’t to neuter these people.” Even John had limits, something Barebone disagreed with. His eyes flared before sombering again.
“As you say, Mr. Prime Minister.” His voice carried a secret disdain, something John caught onto quickly.
“Mr. Barebone, I know full well of your family’s history with these people. That’s one of the reasons my predecessor chose you to be head of the Renaissance department. We aren’t here to subjugate. Your department was founded to end the monopolization of magic. Despite everything, they are still citizens at the end of the day. So please... leave your grudges out of this.” John tried to be as sincere as possible, but the man was a rock. A slight twitch of his eye was all he got. As much as John hated it, he couldn’t replace the man. It was his stubbornness that made the department flourish; it was also the source of his contempt.
“As you say, Mr. Prime Minister.” Barebone spoke again, but John reluctantly let it go. He had other pressing concerns.
“How are the relations on both sides?” John quickly changed the topic.
“It’s going pretty well. We’ve fully mapped the entire region, and the... goblins have finally opened talks with us.”
Goblins. If it had been him five years ago, he would have called the man crazy. But he’d seen wilder things in the years since; not even Fudge’s tales could surprise him anymore. What he’d witnessed put all those stories to shame.
“That’s good. What about the other side?”
Barebone was silent for a few moments. “The last batch of children arrived safely, and the wizards are none the wiser. In a few years, I expect the first batch will graduate, and then we can finally begin phase two.” Barebone smiled again.
“We haven’t finished the groundwork yet for phase two. We still don’t know the full scope of our opponent, and our support isn’t ready. Once we start phase two, we can’t go back. The entire magical world will be against us. We must wait until we are fully prepared.”
“As you say, Mr. Prime Minister. I shall speak more with our allies across the threshold.” Barebone nodded.
Then came the silence again. John dreaded asking this. “How... how are our allies? Did they win?”
Barebone paused before continuing. “Their enemies are still at a standstill. They’ve reached an uneasy truce; I don’t believe it will affect us in the short term.”
“How would you assess the threat?”
Barebone looked down at his hands. “I... I could be wrong. I hope I am, but it could be world-ending. If the information is correct, their country could break apart in a matter of days.” There was a slight chill in his voice.
John rubbed his chin. Barebone was rarely so nervous. The man was fearless—he’d faced down a group of armed wizards by himself, survived having his mind ripped apart, and emerged scarred but stronger for it. Another problem for the future. John looked back at his photo, his fingers tracing the outline of his family.
“I see... If that’s all, then fabricate some false reports for me to give to Fudge. Knowing him, I doubt he’ll double-check the work. But just in case, include some dummies that he could easily dismiss as street tricks.”
Barebone stood up and nodded. “As you say, Mr. Prime Minister.” He then slowly walked out.
The Renaissance Department was born from the vision of a former Prime Minister. The name of this visionary escapes him now, but his predecessor unearthed hidden documents within the Ministry. These documents revealed that a past Prime Minister had approached a Minister of Magic with the idea of bringing magic into the open, hoping that everyone would benefit from it. The proposal was met with ridicule, and the Prime Minister's frustrations were concealed in these secret documents.
The theories developed from these documents suggested that wizards hoard magic to maintain a monopoly on it. Whether or not this is true doesn’t matter. When his predecessor first mentioned the department, he thought she was crazy. Those doubts vanished swiftly when he confronted the reality. It was as if his mind had been opened to reveal hidden forces manipulating the world, leaving him feeling both helpless and furious.
He remembers that day vividly—the black blade emitting a red mist. Life and dreams seemed to wither in its presence. He witnessed the dead returning to life, wounds healing within seconds, and the end of scarcity. He saw the potential for a golden age of technology and the immense good they could achieve if they could harness and control such power.
Then he saw those who would stand in his way, and he realized they weren’t monsters or a cabal of evil witches. They were merely humans, scrambling for any scraps of power.
It reminded him how small they were. Compared to the vast expanse of the other world, this conflict seemed trivial—man against man. During the delegation that came through the gate, they requested several things, but one demand particularly resonated with him.
To create a weapon capable of slaying a god.
Hypnosol
A purple liquid designed to induce instant sleep with no visible side effects, it can be ingested as either a liquid or in pill form. It provides a calming and deeply rejuvenating sleep, but its effects are so potent that it has the potential to become highly addictive, especially for those with a history of addiction.
Originally called something else, the marketing team decided the name wouldn’t resonate in today’s market. The creator fought to keep its original name until his dying breath, insisting on its true title. Eventually, he could take no more and drank the pure form of its essence.
In his endless sleep, he whispers, "Save her. Save the saint. End the humiliation. Kill…” over and over.