Harry Potter : Bloodraven
Chapter 162 - 162: Eyes on the Rising Star (II) (CH - 182)

Pierce unrolled the papers without a word, his eyes moving swiftly over every line. Fury stayed quiet, watching. Officially, his clearance remained at Level Three, but Pierce clearly saw something in him that others did not. He had begun entrusting Fury with secrets far beyond his rank, confident that the agent possessed the drive and skill to handle them.

Peggy took a seat beside Fury and waited.

Minutes passed before Pierce set the papers down, while furrowing his brows in thought.

"Director," he said at last. He did not say it out of formality—Peggy had not held that title in years—but out of long habit. And she did not correct him. Not anymore.

He leaned back slightly, the leather of his chair creaking as he stared at the newspaper with narrowed eyes. Then he glanced up at her.

"This... young man. Do you know anything about him? Beyond what's written in the article, I mean."

"I do, actually," Peggy said, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back just a little. "Lizzy called me last night. Walked me through everything... then one of her wand-waving agents dropped this off." She nodded toward the stack of newspapers in front of Pierce.

Pierce fought the twitch at his brow. Only Peggy would address Queen Elizabeth so casually. Then again, they were from the same country and roughly the same age.

"What else did Her Majesty say?"

"Where do I start?" Peggy tapped her chin, thinking it over. "Alright, the kid's English—just like the paper says. Twenty-three years old. Teaches at Hogwarts—that school's the crown jewel of the magical world. And he's a master alchemist. Genius doesn't even begin to cover it." She gave a quick, confident shrug. "On top of that, he's a damn successful businessman—both in the magical world and ours."

Pierce raised an eyebrow. "His business goes beyond the magical world?"

"Correct, though I believe he's just getting started on our side," she said, nodding.

"Oh, and his teacher is Garling—the High Councilor."

Pierce's eyes widened. "High Councilman Edward Garling?"

"Exactly," Peggy nodded.

"Teacher and student, two Archmages? That's..." Pierce trailed off, a sound of disbelief slipping out.

Peggy pointed at the papers again. "Did you not see the others standing next to him in the picture?"

Pierce grabbed the papers back from the table and stared at them for a long moment. Then he dropped them sharply onto the surface.

"Three High Councilors. Three Archmages. Four if you count him. Are they forming some kind of alliance? I've never heard of two Archmages working together, let alone four."

"I don't know," Peggy admitted, shaking her head.

Pierce leaned back, rocking his chair thoughtfully. "With a lineup like that, they could threaten superpowers—even the United States."

Peggy raised an eyebrow and chuckled softly.

"What?" Pierce asked.

"You don't need four of them, Pierce," she said with a knowing smile. "Just two could bring Uncle Sam to his knees. You've only seen some loose footage from the war, but I saw firsthand what monsters like them are capable of."

"I was hundreds of miles away," she added, her voice dropping, "but even now, just remembering how Albus fought that terrorist gives me chills."

Pierce raised his hand and sighed. "Alright, I get it. Anything else Her Majesty mentioned?"

Peggy's lips curved into a subtle smile as she watched Pierce raise the tea to his lips.

"He also serves the British monarchy," she said, "sort of a last line of defense. And his father is the current Prime Minister."

Cough... cough... cough.

Pierce tapped his chest, then quickly handed a napkin to Fury, who had just gotten a spray of fresh mint tea.

"Ehem... my apologies, Agent Fury," he said, brushing off the moment with an apologetic smile.

Fury had been listening quietly the whole time, and never once interrupting his two superiors. Of course, there were plenty of questions bubbling in his mind—but with his current level of clearance, and the professional training he'd received, he knew better than to speak out of turn.

The only reason he was hearing any of this at all was because Pierce allowed it. And once Advisor Carter left, he was certain the Director would sit him down and explain everything—at least, everything he was meant to know.

As for why Peggy hadn't objected to his presence, that was easy enough to figure out. Pierce hadn't, and Pierce was the one who held the reins. As Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., it was his word that determined who had clearance—and who didn't.

Turning back to Peggy, Pierce asked sharply, "His father is the Prime Minister? You're telling me Her Majesty knows and doesn't care that a national disaster level magical is her head of government's son?"

Peggy shrugged again. "Apparently."

Pierce glared at her for a long moment, then slumped back in his chair. Silence settled over the room, broken only by the faint rustle as he reached for the papers again.

That was what Peggy saw on the surface. A pause. A sigh. A gesture of fatigue. Expected reactions from a man in his particular position. She probably would have reacted the same.

But what he was actually thinking—well, that was another matter entirely. Was the reaction real? Or just a mask? Perhaps she would never know.

She saw him read the paper quietly, then looked up and asked, "He's also been sworn in as a Speaker for the ICW?" He set the paper down with a thoughtful expression, glanced at her, then continued, "So that automatically makes him a High Councilor on the World Security Council, right?"

"Once sworn in, yes," she replied. "And I believe the World Security Council will soon hold an assembly just for that. You should be able to meet him there."

Pierce nodded slowly, fingers tapping a steady rhythm on the table. After a moment, he raised an eyebrow at her, silently asking if there was more.

"That's all, Pierce," Peggy said as she rose from her chair. "I came to deliver the news before some random idiot hands you half-baked intel." She adjusted her coat with practiced ease. "If there's anything you want to know about the soon-to-be High Councilor, you come to me directly."

Pierce didn't respond aloud, and simply gave her a short nod of quiet agreement.

Peggy cast a quick glance at Nick Fury as she turned. She said nothing to him and, without another word, walked out of the room.

And what she said was the simple truth. S.H.I.E.L.D. had always been Peggy's baby. Let the world chatter and speculate about a momentous event like this—S.H.I.E.L.D. should have the facts.

This time, she had been the one to get those facts fresh first. So even as a senior advisor and no longer the director, she came to deliver them—before some half-informed fool got there first and muddied the waters.

Unfortunately for Peggy, she had no idea that her baby was already in the early stages of something far worse than just misinformation. A quiet, insidious sickness had taken root.

---

And just like that, news of Maverick's inauguration as a Speaker to the ICW spread across both the magical and non-magical worlds. Different global leaders received the news in their own ways. Magical ministries reacted differently, and the Speakers—Archmages themselves—each responded in their own distinct manner.

One in particular sat staring at the papers with a gloomy expression, as if he had just been served the most rotten meal imaginable.

This was Takamaru, the Archmage from Japan who had boldly confronted Maverick face to face. Now, seeing three others of equal rank standing beside Maverick, Takamaru felt like the biggest fool alive. His anger was not directed at Maverick.

His earlier threats and pursuit had been fueled only by the misinformation fed to him by the fools in his own service.

Munō no kuzu!

He cursed angrily at the incompetent garbage who had made him—oh no, was about to make him—loosen his face.

Unfortunately, he had no choice. Dumbledore, Garling, Maxime, and Maverick himself—a lineup of four Archmages—was not something he could compete against. He knew he would have to answer for his earlier actions.

Finally, he let out a sigh, pulled open a drawer, and picked up a mirror-like object from the desk.

After a while—

More than a dozen figures appeared, some middle-aged, some elderly, all stepping through the fireplace of the room he was in.

Anyone watching from outside the window of the room would see bright red flashes, followed by wailing screams coming from within. Fortunately—or unfortunately—for those inside, there were no flashes of green.

After about an hour of heartfelt negotiations, each of the figures who had arrived agreed to donate half of their accumulated wealth—a remuneration that the old wizard Takamaru would soon deliver to Maverick as an apology for everything.

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