Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
The air in the Wizengamot chamber was stagnant, thick with ancient dust and the collective dread of three hundred years of self-imposed isolation crumbling to ash. Hermione J. Granger stood before the tiered seats, her slight frame dwarfed by the sheer weight of history and the oppressive silence of the governing body. She was not the "Golden Girl" here; she was the Director of the GMJICE, the architect of their unavoidable future, and the only person who understood the Muggle world well enough to articulate the death sentence of their own.
The chamber felt less like a parliament and more like a tomb carved from dark mahogany and failed ambition. The velvet robes of the assembled wizards and witches—Ministers, Auror Chiefs, and Department Heads—seemed heavier than usual, weighted by the dawning, inevitable realization of their systemic failure. Below the Chief Warlock’s bench, clerks scribbled furiously, not taking notes, but casting protective charms on their own ledgers, a pathetic, last-ditch effort to preserve financial secrecy.
A single, malevolently clear holographic image—a blurry, yet undeniably accurate, satellite photo of a large-scale international magical maneuver—flickered violently above the Chief Warlock’s head, illuminating the faces of the senior wizards in stark, terrified relief. The image captured not a wisp of smoke, or a subtle magical effect easily dismissed as weather, but the clear, unmistakable, time-stamped signature of instantaneous mass apparation across three distinct continents—the definitive proof of teleportation on a global scale.
“The Statute of Secrecy did not fail in the seventeenth century,” Professor Granger began, her voice ringing clear without the need for Sonorus. Her tone was clinical, devoid of emotion, the only language the bureaucrats understood. “It failed precisely three weeks ago, not in a field of human observers easily subjected to Obliviation, but in the memory banks of a decentralized, global network of Muggle machines. We are not fighting against human ignorance anymore, esteemed members. We are fighting against algorithmic truth.”
She detailed the catastrophic intelligence failure with devastating precision. The Muggle network had logged not only the physical evidence but had used advanced pattern recognition—something no magical division had ever bothered to study—to flag the events as an unnatural, non-terrestrial anomaly. This data had been archived, duplicated, and flagged for priority investigation by multiple major Non-Magical governmental bodies within minutes—long before the first Obliviator team could even be dispatched. She recounted the sheer speed of digital replication, noting that even if every Obliviator had been a master sorcerer, they would have needed to wipe twenty billion instances of data within the first hour alone.
Hermione gripped the podium, her knuckles white. “The Statute, for centuries, was a morally ambiguous shield. It protected our customs, yes, but at the cost of our moral high ground, allowing prejudice to fester. But today, it is an ethical liability and an administrative impossibility. Our current, desperate reliance on mass Obliviation has been rendered obsolete by the Muggle technology we chose to ignore. You cannot memory-charm a satellite, nor can you erase a global digital footprint recorded across billions of decentralized data points. The attempt to do so was not only logistically futile, requiring hundreds of thousands of overwhelmed personnel and risking the integrity of our own security structures, it caused massive, unwarranted psychological trauma, confirming the worst fears of the Non-Magical world: that we are a hostile, secretive, and manipulative power.”
Murmurs ripped through the gallery, a mix of indignant outrage and chilling realization. One elderly wizard, Lord Selwyn, slammed his hand on the arm of his seat, shouting about the "sanctity of our way of life" and the "Muggle threat," but his protest was drowned out by Hermione's firm resolve. She allowed a moment of silence, letting the weight of the moment settle on them.
“The path of concealment is exhausted,” she continued, locking eyes with the hardest traditionalists. “The preservation of our culture is no longer dependent on isolation, but on accountability. We cannot hide behind outdated laws built on fear. We must lead the transition. We must establish a framework of transparency that proves we are a responsible, co-operating global entity, not a hidden threat.” She pointed to the flickering satellite image. "To them, this is proof of an impending invasion, a superior force operating outside their jurisdiction. Our silence now is functionally an act of war. Our only defense now is diplomacy."
She took a slow, deliberate breath, allowing the urgency to reach its climax, shifting from fear to decisive action.
“I formally present the Treaty of Inter-Community Accountability (TICA). TICA is not a surrender; it is a meticulously crafted adaptation built upon five years of research by the GMJICE—research all of you dismissed as mere 'academic idealism.' It is the only legal instrument that allows us to control the inevitability of disclosure, establishing the Wizards-Muggle Oversight Council to manage the phased unveiling, and the Global Judicial Harmonization Tribunal to legally resolve the coming conflicts. If we fail to ratify this treaty today, if we vote to continue the illusion of secrecy, we forfeit the right to self-governance. We will face the Non-Magical world—not as partners—but as outlaws and perpetrators of mass psychological crime, subject to their laws, their courts, and their overwhelming military response. Ratify TICA, and we choose to face them as partners, establishing a new global governance built on equity and mutual respect.”
Hermione stepped back from the podium, her eyes sweeping across the assembly. The Wizengamot knew the truth: there was no other choice. The gavel struck, signaling the vote that would dissolve the magical world as they knew it, and forever cement Professor Granger as the architect of the integrated future.