Chapter Text
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and Harry Potter are not my creations, and I make no profit from writing this fanfiction. This story contains spoilers for both Sherlock and Harry Potter, and includes quotations from the novels, television series, wiki, and other sources.
Let Those Who Are In Favour With Their Stars
Chapter I
Harry looked up from the half-finished report on his desk to see Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror Office, standing just beyond the aisle. His arms were folded tightly across his chest, and his expression bore that familiar mix of restraint and urgency that never meant anything good.
“The Minister wants a word,” Robards said. “Now.”
Harry blinked, startled, and quickly set aside his quill. He stood at once, parchment forgotten, and smoothed his robes as a reflex. From the adjacent cubicle, Ron Weasley leaned out, eyebrows raised in concern.
“What’s that about?” Ron asked.
Harry gave a shrug, brow furrowed. “No idea,” he murmured.
He mentally ran through the last few days. Nothing unusual. Nothing, as far as he could tell, worthy of an urgent summons from the Minister for Magic himself.
Robards didn’t elaborate. He simply turned on his heel and strode back the way he came, expecting Harry to follow without question.
Without another word, Harry fell into step beside Robards as they walked out of the Auror Office on Level Two. They passed rows of desks and magical filing cabinets that shifted their contents with soft rustles, heading toward the nearest lift.
“Is this about that thing in Glasgow?” Harry asked as the lift doors closed behind them. “The missing Portkey ring?”
“No,” Robards said shortly, watching the golden floor indicator tick upward. “This is above fieldwork. This comes from the very top.”
That didn’t help Harry’s nerves. Anything that came from the very top generally meant more paperwork — or, worse, politics.
They arrived at Level One. The Minister for Magic’s floor was quiet, polished, and full of the kind of wards that made your skin prickle. Martha Marriotts, Kingsley Shacklebolt’s long-serving secretary, looked up as they approached.
“The Minister is expecting you,” she said crisply. “Go straight in.”
“Thank you, Martha,” Robards said, rapping once on the heavy oak door before pushing it open.
Harry followed him inside. The office was just as he remembered — spacious but not ostentatious, with enchanted windows showing a peaceful late-afternoon sky and several floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with magical law tomes and diplomatic binders.
Kingsley sat behind his desk, calm and imposing as ever. He wasn’t alone.
Seated to his left was a stern-looking witch in navy-blue robes—Lora Forger, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She was sharp, efficient, and not one for pleasantries.
“Minister,” Robards greeted with a respectful nod. “Ma’am.”
“Minister. Ma’am,” Harry echoed, slipping into the formal tone expected in rooms like this.
“Have a seat,” Kingsley said, gesturing to the two chairs in front of his desk.
Harry sat, spine straight despite the comforting softness of the chair. The atmosphere was heavy with expectation.
He glanced from Kingsley to Forger, then back. “May I ask what this is about?”
Kingsley didn't answer right away. Instead, he nodded to Forger, who produced two sleek black folders from her bag and slid them across the desk to Harry and Robards.
“This will explain the basics,” she said. “Start with the summary on page one.”
Harry opened the folder. Robards did the same beside him.
The heading was printed in bold magical ink that shimmered faintly:
CLASSIFIED: ALADÁR EMBER — Threat Level: Crimson
He began to read, frowning as he took in the contents. Ember was a dark wizard from Hungary, born into a respected pure-blood family. His father had held a senior post in the Hungarian Ministry of Magic.
But Aladár Ember didn't follow his father's path. Instead, he chose to become a dark wizard. He hadn't followed the expected path of ideology and blood politics either. Instead, he and his followers were driven by profit.
“They’re not like the Death Eaters,” Forger said, seeing his expression. “They don’t care about blood purity or domination. Ember’s a businessman. A very, very violent one.”
Harry kept reading. The group had started in Hungary but quickly expanded their operations across the continent — blackmail, magical smuggling, and even assassinations. They were suspected of kidnapping Muggle billionaires and officials for ransom, and there were strong indications they'd been hired by non-magical terrorist groups to eliminate political figures in exchange for vast sums of gold.
“They’ve blurred the line between magical and Muggle crime in a way we haven’t seen before,” Forger continued. “Wizards acting as mercenaries, using magic to do the dirty work of Muggle extremists. It’s dangerous. Unpredictable.”
Harry flipped through a few pages — surveillance photos, magical profiles, names of suspected collaborators.
“We’ve been working with several European ministries,” Kingsley said, folding his hands on the desk. “They’re pressuring us to increase security around key Muggle institutions. Especially here in Britain.”
Harry looked up. “You think they’re coming here?”
“They already have contacts in London,” Forger said. “We’ve traced at least one transaction to Gringotts’ international vault system. They’re planning something — something big.”
“And that,” Kingsley said gravely, “is where you come in.”
Harry blinked. “Me?”
Kingsley nodded. “We need someone embedded close to the Muggle Prime Minister. A magical presence. Quiet, invisible, ready to intervene if necessary.”
“You want me to be... what? A bodyguard?” Harry asked, disbelief creeping into his voice.
“Not just a bodyguard,” said Forger. “An undercover agent. Eyes and ears inside No. 10. You’d be operating under a false identity, with a full Muggle background. The Prime Minister won’t know who you are — unless there's an emergency.”
Harry let out a slow breath. “And why me?”
“Because,” Forger said without hesitation, “of all the Aurors currently in service, you're the only one with enough practical experience in the Muggle world to pull this off.”
He thought of the others back in the Auror Office — most of them from magical families, half of them still baffled by mobile phones.
Harry sighed. “Right. So I’m to become a Muggle for a few months.”
“We don’t know the duration yet,” Kingsley replied.
“You don’t know?” Robards asked, raising an eyebrow as he gave the Minister a look.
Kingsley fixed them both with his trademark calm-but-imposing stare. “As long as the threat remains, your assistance is required.”
“Another dark wizard…” Robards muttered, crossing his arms. “Why can’t we ever just finish them off for good?”
“I’ve had enough of dark wizards,” Harry murmured under his breath.
“We all have,” Kingsley said quietly, and for a moment, a shadow passed across his features.
Harry let out a slow sigh. “Fine,” he said at last. “I’ll do it.”
Kingsley nodded once. “Good. During the operation, you’ll be embedded in the Prime Minister’s secretary team. You’ll have a fabricated background and all the necessary documents to pass any Muggle vetting.”
Harry frowned slightly. “Are we going to inform him?”
“No,” Kingsley replied at once. “This is a precautionary measure. There’s no immediate need to raise alarm. If all goes to plan and Ember is caught, you’ll walk away, and the Prime Minister will never know you were there.”
Harry nodded slowly. That, at least, he could live with.
“However,” Kingsley continued, his tone shifting to something more serious, “there’s something else you need to be aware of. Aside from the Prime Minister and the current ruling monarch — the Queen — there is one other Muggle who is officially informed about the wizarding world.”
Harry tilted his head, curious. “I thought only the monarch and the Prime Minister were ever told.”
“That’s the tradition, yes,” Kingsley said. “But this is… an exception.”
“His name is Mycroft Holmes,” Forger added, folding her hands neatly in her lap.
“Officially, Holmes holds a minor civil service role. Unofficially, he’s something else entirely.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“He’s the government’s clearinghouse,” Kingsley said simply. “The control centre. The hub. Every major department passes information to him — Defence, Foreign Affairs, Intelligence, the Home Office. He sees it all, and more importantly, he understands how it all fits together.”
“He’s the one who makes the actual decisions,” Forger added. “The Prime Minister is the face, but Holmes is the mind behind the curtain.”
Robards frowned. “You mean he’s… in charge of everything?”
“In a way,” Kingsley said. “Every conclusion from every department passes through him. He weighs how each factor influences the others, and he makes recommendations that — more often than not — become national policy. The Prime Minister might receive advice from various departments, but only Holmes can connect the threads. He sees the bigger picture.”
Harry blinked. “That sounds like something out of fiction.”
“It does,” Kingsley agreed. “But it’s the truth.”
“And he knows about us?” Robards asked, his tone laced with scepticism.
“He does,” Forger confirmed. “Holmes was instrumental in setting up the Muggle-world façade for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”
Ah, yes. Harry knew about this. In his opinion, this should have been done ages ago.
“After the Second Wizarding War,” Forger explained, “the chaos in the Muggle world — unexplained attacks, mysterious disappearances, magical interference — became too visible to ignore. The Muggle authorities were overwhelmed. They couldn't explain what was happening, and we couldn’t show up openly as Aurors. So we established a cover.”
Kingsley took over. “The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was given a false Muggle front — a secret government agency within Whitehall. Forger was named Director General of this so-called ‘Secret Security Service’ or 'SSS'. The Auror Office became the ‘National Security Office’, with Robards listed as Deputy Director.”
“That way, when our people need to operate in the Muggle world, they do so with fully plausible identities,” said Forger evenly. “No need for memory charms every time someone flashes a badge.”
“That's definitely a step in the right direction,” Harry remarked, nodding in approval.
One unexpected benefit of the cooperation was the introduction of functioning electronic equipment within the Ministry of Magic. A specially warded room on Level Two now housed row upon row of working computers, along with a printer, scanner, and even internet access — a remarkable novelty in the magical world. Unsurprisingly, most of the staff frequenting the room were Muggle-born. Mr Weasley, of course, was absolutely thrilled. He could be found there almost every lunchtime, utterly absorbed.
A few Ministry employees, Harry included, had managed to acquire modified mobile phones that actually worked within wizarding boundaries. It was a relief — in the past, he’d had to step into the Muggle world every time he needed to check something online.
“Holmes brokered the arrangement,” Kingsley said, his tone measured. “He insisted on being kept informed. No illusions of secrecy — he’s aware of everything. Some say omniscience is his particular talent.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Are we quite sure we’re talking about a human being?”
Kingsley allowed himself a thin smile. “You wouldn’t be the first to wonder. But yes — human, by all available evidence. Just exceptionally intelligent.”
“Some say he’s the cleverest man alive," Forger added, not sounding particularly impressed by the claim.
Harry exchanged a glance with Robards.
“If he’s truly that sharp,” Robards said slowly, “won’t he see straight through what we’re doing?”
“If it ever gets that far,” Forger replied, “then yes — he’ll probably piece it together. But as long as you’re discreet, he won’t have cause to intervene.”
“That’s not exactly comforting,” Harry muttered, though inwardly, he couldn’t deny a flicker of curiosity.
“Holmes won’t interfere unless you give him a reason,” Kingsley said. “Just do your job quietly. If he does take notice, don’t try to deceive him. He’ll know.”
Aladár Ember. An international dark wizard. An undercover assignment beside the Muggle Prime Minister. And now, the added complication of one Mycroft Holmes — a man who, apparently, knew nearly as much as the Minister himself.
“Well,” he said at last, casting another look at the folder. “This just became rather more interesting.”
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
“Undercover mission?” Hermione repeated, her brows knitting together.
Harry nodded. “Yeah.”
“Blimey,” Ron muttered, leaning back on the worn sofa with a low whistle. “Proper espionage stuff, then.”
Harry shot him a look. “You’ve been watching too many Bond films again.” Hermione had introduced Ron to Muggle films and he fell in love with the spy genre.
Ron shrugged, unbothered. “Well, it is a bit spy-ish, isn’t it? Secret identity, working inside Muggle government... You’ll probably get a tiny earpiece and everything.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “This isn’t MI6, Ron. It’s an intelligence assignment, not a blockbuster.”
Harry gave a small smile but said nothing. Truthfully, part of him had thought the same thing — only without the glamour, the car chases, or the tuxedos. Just long days, blurred lines, and constant vigilance.
They were gathered in the sitting room of 12 Grimmauld Place. The house was quieter than usual, shadows stretching across the floor as evening settled in. After finishing at the Ministry, Harry had asked Ron and Hermione to come over — he couldn’t leave without telling them, not when he might be gone for Merlin knew how long.
“And as a member of the Prime Minister’s secretary team?” Hermione asked again, her voice tinged with both curiosity and concern.
Harry gave a small shrug. “Yeah. Part of the private office, technically. I’ll be stationed right outside his door.”
Hermione folded her arms and studied him closely, her expression thoughtful. “Have you sorted out your disguise yet? Kingsley posed as a secretary too, back when he was protecting the Muggle Prime Minister. But he used his real name and face.”
“That was different,” Ron interjected. “Kingsley wasn’t exactly a household name in either world back then. But Harry—well, even the Queen knows your name, mate. You’ve met her.”
“More than once,” Hermione said with a sigh. “Unless someone’s been living under a rock, there isn’t a witch or wizard in Britain who doesn’t know who you are. Even witches and wizards abroad know your name. You’re one of the most recognisable figures in the magical world,” she added, stating it plainly. “And if you end up in the same room as the Queen, she’ll recognise you immediately — probably before you’ve said a word.”
“Exactly,” Ron said. “If you go in as yourself, you're like a giant red flag. Not just to Muggles, but to Ember. He’s clever — he'd smell a trap the moment your name popped up anywhere near the Prime Minister’s schedule.”
“Which would ruin everything,” Hermione added. “He’d vanish, go underground, maybe even retaliate."
“It’s already been decided,” Harry said calmly, cutting through the tension. “I’ll be going in as Alex Graham — temporary staff in the Prime Minister’s private office, filling in for someone on maternity leave.”
Hermione tilted her head. “Maternity leave? That's... smart. Less suspicious.”
“It gives me a reason to be there, and a reason to eventually leave without anyone asking questions,” Harry said.
“The Department’s thought of everything, then?” Ron asked.
Harry nodded. “DMLE’s put it all together. New identity, background history, employment records, even references from a fake recruitment agency. Everything’s ready.”
“Let me show you,” Harry said, standing up. He drew his wand, gave it a precise flick, and a ripple of magic passed over him.
In an instant, Harry Potter was gone.
In his place stood a man with forgettable features — light brown hair, neatly parted, black-rimmed glasses over muted green eyes. His face was symmetrical, blandly handsome in a way that wouldn't turn heads. He wore a charcoal-grey suit, polished shoes, and a navy tie. If you passed him on the street, you’d barely remember him five steps later.
Ron stared at him for a moment, eyebrows raised. “Well,” he said at last, “that’s... disturbing.”
Hermione nodded slowly. “I honestly wouldn’t recognise you. Not even if you were standing right next to me in a lift.”
Harry smirked. “That’s sort of the point.”
“And the scar’s gone,” Ron noted, pointing to Harry’s now-unmarked forehead.
“I had my eyesight corrected before I joined the Aurors,” Harry said. “But for this mission, the glasses help with the look. Make me blend in more.”
“You look like one of those overworked office blokes we see rushing around Westminster,” Hermione murmured, eyes narrowing. “It’s unsettling.”
“But what about the actual work?” Ron asked. “You don’t know the first thing about being a secretary.”
Harry scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah... I’ve realised that.”
Hermione gave him a flat look. “What, you thought it was just answering phones and making tea?”
“Well, I’ve seen a few telly dramas,” Harry admitted sheepishly. “Though I doubt that counts.”
“Not quite,” Hermione said dryly, giving him a look. “So what’s the plan, then?”
“Martha — Kingsley’s secretary — she’s going to mentor me,” Harry replied. “I’ll shadow her for a week, get a feel for how the office runs. There’s also a short course the Muggle liaison office set up. Some crash training on admin protocols, security procedures, interdepartmental etiquette — that sort of thing. Enough to make me look like I belong.”
Ron raised his eyebrows. “Blimey. Sounds like Auror training, but with more paperwork.”
Harry gave a wry smile. “Feels like it already.”
Ron let out a theatrical sigh. “Well... if you do get stuck, just pretend to take notes, nod wisely, and start saying things like, ‘Excellent point, Prime Minister.’ Pretty sure that’s all Percy does in Ministry meetings.”
Harry chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing. “I might actually try that.”
“You’ll be brilliant,” Hermione said, reaching out to squeeze his arm. Her voice was steady, but there was a flicker of concern in her eyes. “Just… be careful, Harry. You’re not walking into a duel — this is politics. It’s quieter, but sometimes far more dangerous.”
Harry nodded, his expression turning serious. "I know. But we can’t let Ember get any closer to Muggle leadership. If he’s targeting the Prime Minister, or influencing him through backchannels… someone has to be close enough to spot it. Someone who understands both worlds.”
“And unfortunately,” Ron said with a grimace, “that someone is you.”
“I’ll be all right,” Harry said quietly, his voice steady. “It’s not my first undercover job.”
“No,” Hermione agreed. “But it might be your most delicate one.”
There was a short silence between them — not heavy, but thoughtful. The kind of silence that spoke of old battles, unspoken trust, and the weight of knowing what was at stake.
Author’s Note:
Hello, everyone! First and foremost, thank you so much for reading. I'd love to hear your thoughts, so please feel free to leave a review.
This story has been rewritten from Chapter One, so I encourage you to start again from the beginning. When I reread this story, there were a few things I disliked, so I rewrote that part. This fanfic will be longer as the storyline will be more fleshed out than the original.
I plan to revise all of my fanfictions in turn, correcting the grammar and refining the storytelling.