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She-Who-Soon-Will-Be-Named

I raise a concerned eyebrow as I see the story play out in front of my on the mirror. It's quite the impressive scene, really. Both men, (it's hard for me to think of either of them as men; the one is too young for these things, and my older brother is barely alive, to begin with,) fight bravely, holding their wands in front of them like swords. Their lips move in some spells- I have no doubt they're powerful, legendary, coveted, ho-hum, tell me something I don't see every day. Streams of fire shoot from both wand tips and I lean forward a little in my seat. I already know how this will play out, of course, but it's still exiting. I never thought that boy was really dead, not for a minute. My friends gasped when he began to move again, but I just rolled my eyes. If my dim-witted brother can cheat death, it only seems logical that the star student of Hogwarts could pull it off, too.
I recall the dramatic words they exchanged before this duel started. They talked about love, life, death, and such. I cracked a smile then. My brother always had a tendency toward flair, and the boy shared that trait. I swear, neither of them has taken anything lightly in their life.
Light flashed back and forth between them- I don't know the technicalities, someone will explain them later- and then my brother falls. He quickly becomes nothing but a pile of ash. My throat grows tight. When there is no trace of him left, the mirror goes dark.
"So, that's it then?"
When I hear how weak my voice sounds, I quickly clear my throat and try to sound more official.
"Are we sure he's really gone? This isn't another ploy?"
I knew it wasn't a ploy. They wouldn't have made such a big deal of it if it was. But I needed that conformation.
One of the wizards stands up.
"Yes, we're quite sure." He dips his head. "I'm sorry."
I take a shuddering breath.
"Don't be. He had a good run; most powerful dark wizard ever, and all that."
Sad smiles abound.
My hands are sweating, so I slowly wipe them on my skirt. A few of the wizards and witches around the table look pointedly at my empty hands. I know what they're thinking. It's a thought that they must think often.
They look at my hands because I hold no wand; I haven't touched a wand in years. Decades, now that I think of it.
The reason why I have no wand is simple, really. My brother, Tom, had unimaginable power. But I... I guess you could say I take after my father.
I'm a squib. I have no magical power, but that doesn't mean I'm defenseless.
While my brother was out in the world of wizardry, chasing after impossible spells, I was doing something good with my life.
I am the head of an organization we call the Conjoining. I currently sit at a long, battered oak table. I haven't mentioned them yet, but muggles sit here with me. There are equal amounts of wizards/witches and muggles on our team, and only one squib. Me.
Our goal is lofty; to combine the worlds of the wizards and the muggles into one, practically Utopian society. Both sides have so much to offer one another. Imagine muggle engineers being able to create microchips powered by spells? Or on the other hand, imagine how much more accurate information could be taken from the stars if you replaced wizards hand-drawn star charts with images from the Hubble?
The wizard world has gone to great lengths to ensure that muggles never find them, but we believe it is time to join the worlds together.
Of course, there are some connections. The Ministry of Magic informs the Prime Minister of their existence. But that isn't enough. Not even close.
Our plan has many stages, but the first one is simple.
The muggles simply won't accept us if we announce ourselves loudly. So we need to start small.
I turn to one of the woman muggles on our team. Joanne. Oh, how I love her. She plans on using the pen name J. K. Rowling.
"Are you still working on the manuscript?" I ask her.
She nods, and I can't hold back a grin, even in light of recent news.
We're ready for a revolution.
Look out worlds, here we come.



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