“I may do that,” Skeeter replied smoothly. “But even without deliberate programs to manage the revelation, many wizarding spaces are less secure than ever, despite the Ministry’s efforts to shore them up.
Muggles stumble into formerly unplottable and hidden wizarding spaces with increasing frequency, requiring the response of ever-more-harried squads of Obliviators. Elsewhere, there is serious concern that the confines around sanctuaries for magical beasts have weakened and frayed. There is legitimate fear that someday the residents of London may awaken to an Acromantula terrorizing their streets or a sea serpent prowling the Thames. The Centaurs, it is rumoured, have sensed the degenerating boundaries of their forests and plan a deliberate incursion into the Muggle world, whether to serve as ambassadors or claim dominion no one knows for sure. And yet, many young witches or wizards like yourself consider all of this a good thing, a sign of progress.
Where others see a loss of political power and potential chaos, they see open doors for cultural exchange, careers, and commerce in a newly integrated world. Do you agree with them, James?”
James drew a sharp breath to respond, not sure exactly what he was about to say except that it would be terse and angry and probably exactly the sort of emotional outburst Skeeter was hoping for, when a shape arose beyond the window of the door behind the blonde woman, momentarily distracting him. James recognized the small figure as it ascended slowly into view, hand-made and ridiculous by design, its cloth head flopping like a doll’s and its stubby arms waving clumsily in the shifting sunlight.
It was a hand puppet. The Hufflepuffs had been making them ever since James’ first year, putting on silly shows with them, sometimes in the great hall at official functions, more often spontaneously from behind tables in the library or the backs of sofas in common study areas.
The Hufflepuppet Pals, as they called their little troupe, had developed quite a popular following, even among some of the staff and teachers.
The puppet beyond the glass of the door was the Voldemort figure, with stitched orange and red eyes, a rather pointed, bald head, and a small, ridiculous smile. It flopped back and forth as if it was dancing to its own secret song, a stick of a wand glued to one limp hand.
“James?” Skeeter prompted quizzically. She read the direction of his gaze, and then glanced back over her shoulder.
The Voldemort puppet (commonly known as Voldy to the other Hufflepuppet Pals) dipped quickly from view before Skeeter could see it.
She frowned at the empty glass, and then turned back to James.
“I, uh…” James stammered slightly, trying to recollect his thoughts. “I don’t expect the threats are quite as bad as the newspapers make them out to be. We’re a long way off from seeing any dragons breaking free into the Muggle world. Although I suppose it would make a pretty good news story, wouldn’t it?”
Skeeter tried to hide her disappointment. “No one wants chaos and mayhem just for the sake of ‘a good news story’, James,” she clucked her tongue. “But even if the threats of incursions by magical beasts or centaurs are overblown, what do you think of the prospect of mingling the magical and Muggle worlds once and for all? Do you agree that it would be a good thing?”
James let out a breath, his anger diminishing to a sort of bland impatience. “It wouldn’t be the first time our worlds had been mixed, would it? And if I know my history, there was a good reason why we decided to split them up.”
Behind her spectacles, Skeeter’s eyes brightened. “Is that so, James? What have you been taught about that, then?”
“I’ve been taught the same as everyone else,” James bristled. “A thousand years ago, the good witches and wizards realized that it was almost impossible to keep the bad witches and wizards from trying to take over the Muggle world by force. The temptation was just too great for the magical people who wanted nothing more than power. And even a lot of Muggle kings and emperors and villains were willing to hire magical mercenaries to bully their enemies, to make their armies invincible, to curse anyone who opposed them. The balance between the magical and Muggle worlds was too skewed to maintain. So we went into hiding, used our powers to live in secret among the Muggles, unseen by them. The laws of secrecy protected the Muggles from the worst of us, and from the worst of themselves, the ones who would throw the door open for power at any cost.”
“You’ve learned all of this from Headmaster Merlin, I assume?”
Skeeter asked, cocking her head slightly.
“I learned it from my history books,” James said, raising his eyebrows challengingly. “From Professor Binns’ classes, ever since my first year. We all take those lessons. I assume you did, too, at some point.”
Skeeter laughed lightly. “It’s been a long time since my schooling, I’m afraid,” she waved a hand dismissively. “And yet I do remember enough to know that Headmaster Merlin features prominently in many of those ancient stories you reference. A thousand years ago, he himself was the sort of mercenary wizard who hired himself out to Muggle kings, willing to curse whomever they wished, willing to feed their sometimes fanatical desire for power, no matter how it might poison their societies.”
“Yeah,” James admitted, unfazed. He had had the exact same discussion with Rose on a few occasions. “But he’s different now.
Everyone can see that. Otherwise he’d never have been given the job of headmaster of Hogwarts. He’s changed since the person he was back then.”
Skeeter was nodding even as James finished his response. “So you believe that Merlinus Ambrosius can change over a span of a thousand years,” she suggested, bowing her head to look at him over her spectacles. “But humanity and wizardkind cannot?”
James sat up in his seat, exasperated, opening his mouth to say that it was one thing for a single person to change and quite another for the entirety of human nature, when the Voldy puppet arose slowly into view again just past Skeeter’s shoulder, again knocking all the words right out of James’ head.
The Voldy puppet wasn’t alone this time. Next to it appeared the old headmaster puppet, Dumbledore, complete with tiny spectacles, a snowy white beard and pointed purple hat. On Voldy’s other side, another puppet leapt into view, this one with lank black hair and bored hand-drawn eyes: the Severus Snape figure (inexplicably known to the others as “Snape-a-doodle”). Both the Dumbledore and Snape figures clutched blunt miniature clubs between their stubby arms. They began to pummel the Voldy figure with classic Punch and Judy vigour.
James tried desperately not to smile, which of course only made the inexplicable puppet antics immeasurably funnier. A laugh boiled up in his chest, even as he struggled to hold it in, compressing his lips into a grim, trembling line.
Skeeter glared at James, her curiosity turning to suspicion, and then whirled around again.
The Hufflepuppet Pals dropped instantly from view.