[Hydrargyrum] Chapter 8

TN: I accidentally skipped the interlude from Tonks' POV. It is supposed to be after chapter 7. I'll translate it and post it as soon as I can. But for now here are the main chapters.

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Despite the whimsical atmosphere and complete lack of technological advancement in London’s magical district, there were certain things they did exceptionally well. For instance, the tea in the local establishments was simply exquisite, even though it was oddly purple—likely enhanced with some magic. 

Sitting at a small table in one of Diagon Alley’s cafes, Kayneth ordered another cup and returned to his reading. He still had a quarter of an hour before his next appointment. It was important, he reminded himself, to take breaks and occasionally venture into public spaces.

After a month of crash-course immersion into the magical world of Britain, interspersed with crafting magical gadgets for money, running on minimal sleep, and relying heavily on wakefulness spells, he sometimes felt that the concentration of caffeine in his bloodstream was nearing a lethal level. That thought alone was a sign his clarity of mind had started to wane.

Setting aside the thick book he had been poring over, Kayneth glanced around at the witches and wizards strolling by in their archaic attire. He now understood the community a little better, and it no longer seemed quite as absurd. Take their clothing, for instance. At first, he had assumed they expended enormous magical energy constantly altering their outfits purely for vanity. But given that at least two widely accessible magical methods existed for near-instantaneous Spatial Transportation, wizards genuinely could go years without encountering the mundane world. They could wear whatever they liked because they didn’t have to traverse London’s streets—they could simply teleport from their homes or use fireplaces.

How fireplaces worked was still a mystery to him, despite combing through half a dozen books on the subject. He was convinced it was a “trick”—the calculations didn’t add up. A mystery of that level couldn’t possibly function with such ease, requiring nothing more than cheap powder made from basic components. Apparition was another enigma. Then there were owls, which defied all logic entirely. When he retrieved a reply from Tonks, he had spent hours trying to understand how this separate “postal system” of the magical world functioned and whether it was even possible.

To say he had thoroughly read up on any single subject, however, would be an exaggeration. Over the past month, Kayneth had managed to sort through about 150 purchased books, plus another thirty acquired later. Some were always at hand for reference, others were shelved for future perusal out of scientific curiosity, and a few were marked for frequent consultation—like the introductory tomes on magical history, textbooks on wands, and their theoretical workings. He had studied those carefully, cross-referencing calculations and notes. The same went for everything available on combat magic (which turned out to be woefully limited) and the sections on spirits and ghosts in bestiaries.

However, this was a drop in the ocean. He had barely skimmed the surface of the local, peculiar form of alchemy, focusing only on its practical applications for income. Necromancy was even scarcer, mostly mentioned in historical references or encyclopedias of magical creatures. Clearly, the Ministry’s censors had diligently scrubbed this area clean. Undoubtedly, the libraries of aristocrats contained far more material on such "forbidden" topics, and so did the Ministry itself or the Auror offices. But accessing those would require time. Public libraries hadn’t yet reached magical Britain, and the only resources at his disposal were a few bookstores, whose shelves held only what was deemed harmless and marketable. Anything too controversial or overly specialized in professional theory was conspicuously absent.

There were also a few secondhand bookshops. Kayneth had ventured into them, overcoming his distaste, but sifting through piles of useless tomes felt like digging through muck in search of, at best, mica or quartz. Nevertheless, he had managed to uncover a couple of intriguing and mildly subversive books on medieval magical history.

The black market, meanwhile, was sluggish. A week after the nighttime skirmish, Fletcher resurfaced and reconnected with MacDuggal. He seemed to have dismissed the notion of an Auror sting, forming his conclusions. However, he now haggled fiercely, demanding guarantees, magical oaths, and outrageous prices. Negotiations were inching forward, albeit slowly—especially after one of their attackers’ comments made Kayneth suspicious that Fletcher might be playing multiple sides and ready to hand him over to the Aurors for rewards or leniency for past transgressions. Mutual assurances were required, and Fletcher wasn’t eager to provide them. As a result, Kayneth still hadn’t acquired a single wand to study.

He had been sorely tempted to take one from the dead criminals that night but refrained. He only knew that some wands (perhaps all) were tracked by the Ministry but had no idea how or how to defend against it. Carrying one in such ignorance was far too risky.

At least his finances were stabilizing. Just two days ago, Summers had transferred the remainder of the money for his treatment. Buyers had snatched up several magical bombs, and his “security systems” were in high demand. Kayneth even considered slowing down production to avoid an alarming rise in ghost sightings around London, which would surely draw unwanted attention. The bullets were also selling steadily, especially after he realized it was simpler to modify factory-made ammunition from a client’s stock rather than crafting them from scratch. It saved him from dealing with calibers and powder loads, which he barely understood. Testing his spell on bi-metal jacketed bullets proved equally effective.

The mandrake venture had yielded about thirty thousand pounds from an eight-thousand investment, though Kayneth had hoped for more. Four-fifths of the material had gone to method refinement and failed attempts. Unfortunately his potion to reverse aging in humans couldn’t even be replicated—it required a complex synthetic component unavailable on the open market. Moreover, the process demanded sublimation and distillation, equipment he lacked. A proper alchemy lab might have solved those issues, but given his limited resources, it was impossible.

Once again, Kayneth was reminded of how unused he was to operating without a reliable safety net and with a chronic shortage of… everything—information, time, and skilled help. Still, his balance was positive for now, and that would suffice to continue his work.

Aside from history, science, and finances, there was another topic Kayneth had yet to delve into but knew could involve him at any moment—politics. While the books he read provided a wealth of information about the structure of the magical community, the Ministry’s workings, Aurors, and the laws and codes that governed wizards, the overall picture remained fragmented. Censorship further muddied the waters, glossing over or outright omitting many issues, particularly those surrounding wizarding lineage and the blood purity conflict.

That’s why Kayneth decided it was time to talk to someone who could answer his questions directly. Tonks, though young and a future Ministry employee, would at least provide one perspective. It was a start before he sought other connections in the magical world. Besides, she was his only current contact.

Kayneth hadn’t changed his views on the importance of calculated marriages between magi families to strengthen magical potential in future generations. He believed any rational magus would see this as their duty. However, he had to admit that for wizards, this issue seemed less pressing. They rarely worked at the limits of their personal magical reserves, relying more on training and skills in manipulating internal and external energy through mystic codes. If Tonks was being groomed as a combat Auror, she likely had the competence and knowledge befitting the heir of an old family.

In short, he resolved to give her a chance to prove herself. Their acquaintance might prove valuable in the future, given his own precarious position. But that was a decision that he would make only after their conversation.

When the Metamorphmagus entered the cafe ten minutes later, she found James sitting with a cup of tea, engrossed in a book titled The Fenian Cycle: Historical Truth, Wizarding Theories, and Muggle Folklore. He wore a blue Muggle suit reminiscent of a private school uniform. Tonks, on the other hand, had arrived in a plain robe, having transfigured her jacket at the entrance to the alley. Sitting across from him, she remarked:

“Hey, James. Modern magic not enough for you? You’re digging into myths two millennia old now?”

“Good afternoon, Lady Tonks,” Kayneth replied politely, closing his book. By etiquette, he should have stood, pulled out her chair, and let her order first. But coming from a ten-year-old boy, such manners would have seemed absurd—especially when the “lady” was almost twice his age. Besides, he’d been so engrossed in his reading that he hadn’t noticed her approach until the last moment.

“No, I think modern magic will keep me occupied for a very long time,” he continued. “But I’m also catching up on ordinary school subjects—things I missed in the orphanage. That includes history and literature, where legends like these come up. Medb, Finn McCool, the Hound of Culann… It’s fascinating to learn what’s myth, what actually happened, and how it all played out. If magic exists, and wizards were around two thousand years ago, then it’s logical that they—well, we—didn’t always hide from Muggles. Later, people must have turned everything into ‘legends.’”

“Interesting perspective. I’ll admit, I’ve never compared Muggle textbooks with our history books,” Tonks said, surprised. As she spoke, she quickly ordered tea and pastries, though James politely declined the latter. “Honestly, I’m glad to see you settling in. When we first met…”

“I know I looked awful,” Kayneth interrupted. “I’m not ashamed of it—it wasn’t my fault—but I can see how I must’ve startled you. Some stray wanders up out of nowhere…”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Tonks quickly shook her head, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. “I was just surprised. In any case, I’m glad everything’s working out for you. How are your new parents? Treating you well?”

“Everything’s fine. After living in the orphanage, I’d have been happy with anyone, but I have no complaints about them.”

They chatted about trivial matters for another five minutes. Kayneth asked about her studies and Auror training, but Tonks brushed it off, saying it was great but left her with little free time. Finally, satisfied that the boy was genuinely doing well with his adoptive family, she shifted the conversation to the reason for their meeting.

“So, you said you had questions about the magical world. I’m no teacher, but I’ll do my best to explain. What’s unclear?”

“The obvious question,” Kayneth said, gesturing toward the street with its enchanted signs and displays. “Why does everything here look so… outdated? Not a phone or a lamppost in sight. Do wizards use magic just to save on electricity?”

“That’s… complicated,” Tonks admitted with a sigh. “Short or long version?”

“Long, please. I’d rather understand now than make stupid mistakes later.”

“Alright, I’ll try. There are several reasons. First, wizards invented many things long before Muggles did—flight, long-distance communication, bright cheap lighting, devices for cleaning and cooking, effective medicines, and so on. Some of these, as I understand, Muggles haven’t managed to replicate with science even today. Unfortunately, this has led many pure-blood families to look down on Muggle inventions, thinking, ‘What can those savages possibly achieve?’ Especially since wizards live longer. Imagine your grandfather telling you how he once saw a paddle steamer as the pinnacle of Muggle ingenuity—what kind of opinion would that kid form?

“Some even believe wizards invented the locomotive and bus, not the other way around. And in places with high magical concentration—like here, the Ministry, St. Mungo’s, Hogwarts—electronics tend to glitch or stop working entirely. Mechanical and simple electric devices function fine, but they often have magical equivalents or they were never needed enough to gain traction. Magical radios exist, and some students enchant magical abacuses, for instance.”

“Do some use crystal balls to watch TV shows too?” Kayneth asked, mentally piecing together the picture she painted. It wasn’t entirely implausible—if the magi of the Clock Tower had as much excess power and a penchant for frivolous uses, they might have gone the same route. After all, he’d once heard about a magical fax machine crafted from enchanted wood and gemstones, used by some old families.

Still, he’d never encountered such issues with electronics at the Clock Tower. Perhaps it was due to the side effects of frequent manipulations of external magical energy—a norm here but poorly studied phenomena by the Association.

“No, I must admit no one’s thought of that yet,” Tonks replied, momentarily thrown off by the suggestion. “And a crystal ball is meant for divination—doubt it can be enchanted like that... But when you start school, you’ll have Professor Flitwick for Charms. Pitch him the idea—I’m sure he’d appreciate it. Or, once you’ve gained some experience, try doing it yourself. If it works, you could make a fortune selling such gadgets to pure-blood families.”

“I was joking, really,” Kayneth said with a small smirk. “But since we’re on the topic, what’s the deal with relationships between pure-bloods and non-pure-bloods? The books touch on it, mentioning the ‘Sacred Twenty-Eight’ and blood traitors, but everything is so vague it’s hard to make sense of it.”

“Oh, what a lovely day, delicious tea, and you go straight for the dreariest topic imaginable,” Tonks sighed, setting her cup aside. “But if you’ve figured this much out on your own, I’d rather explain it myself than leave it to someone else. So, here’s the deal…”

She paused to gather her thoughts. “No one knows when the first wizard was born, but they’ve existed since time immemorial, long before humans even left their caves. There’s a theory that the first wizard came from the union of a human and a magical being—maybe a Veela or an elf—but no one knows how true that is. What we do know is that for thousands of years, witches and wizards were born into both magical and non-magical families, as well as from unions with magical creatures related to humans.

“And it works the other way, too. Even when two wizards marry, their child can sometimes be a Squib—a person practically incapable of performing magic but still able to see certain things Muggles can’t. In the past, some families would hide their Squib children—send them to orphanages or monasteries to erase their existence from the magical world entirely. It was easier to do when families had six or seven children; one more or less wouldn’t draw much attention.”

“Why would they do that?” Kayneth asked. He’d come across mentions of this tradition in books but never understood its logic. Among magi, even a family member without magic circuits could still serve as a loyal ally, provided they were well-trained and their status appropriately defined.

Tonks tilted her head, trying to simplify her explanation. “Some worried people would think the child wasn’t theirs—that it must’ve been switched at birth or something. Others feared societal judgment. You know, rumors about their bloodline weakening, people saying things like, ‘Oh, magic has abandoned their family.’ Back then, people believed that nonsense—and in some places, they still do. So, Squibs were sent into the Muggle world. Sometimes, their children or grandchildren would be born with magic and return to the magical community. That’s where some of the pure-blood prejudice comes from.”

She straightened her posture and smoothed her hair, elongating and lightening it to resemble a snooty aristocrat. Adopting a mocking, haughty tone, she drawled, “‘I am from a family of twenty generations of magical lineage, and you, some mongrel great-grandchild of a Squib, dare to breathe my air?’” Several people at nearby tables quickly turned away—some stifling laughter, others shaking their heads disapprovingly. It was clear everyone recognized the person she was parodying.

Returning her hair to normal, Tonks continued in her usual voice. “That’s where it all comes from. Magic is what wizards value most—it’s their defining trait, what sets them apart from Muggles. So, if someone has generations of only wizards in their family, they may start believing they’re further removed from ordinary people than Muggle-borns or half-bloods. They think people like you and me have too much Muggle in us and not enough wizard.”

“And in reality?” Kayneth asked, his face carefully neutral.

“What do you mean, ‘in reality’?” Tonks blinked, momentarily thrown.

“I mean, in practice,” he clarified. “Remember our first conversation? I asked if a wizard with twenty generations of magical lineage would be stronger than one who just discovered magic yesterday. So, will they?”

“No,” Tonks answered firmly, meeting his gaze. “A wizard raised around magical beings, surrounded by enchanted objects, watching their parents and relatives use wands every day will have an easier time believing magic is possible. That’s something Muggle-borns struggle with, having grown up in a world where they’re taught magic doesn’t exist. Pure-blood kids will know the names of certain spells or potions and may have mimicked gestures their older siblings made. But that’s it.

“The strength of a wizard or witch depends far more on their knowledge, reflexes, skill, and practice than on how many pure-blooded ancestors they have. Of the three most powerful wizards of this century, two are half-bloods.”

“I’m guessing the three you mean are Headmaster Dumbledore, the tyrant Grindelwald, and Lord Vol—”

“Stop!” Tonks held up a hand, cutting him off. The abrupt motion caused their cups to clink against the table. “Don’t say his name. I don’t mind, but others don’t like it. Better to break the habit now. Come up with something else to call him—‘Whatshisname’ will do fine.”

“That’s another weird superstition I don’t understand,” Kayneth said with a touch of irritation. He hated being interrupted.

“It’s not superstition—it comes from the war,” Tonks explained, raising her hands in a placating gesture. “You’re not to blame for not knowing. See, there are special spells that allow tracking people or objects. For example, the Ministry puts tracing charms on wands to detect magic used outside safe, approved areas. Keep that in mind—it’s taken very seriously, and you’ll only get a warning the first time,” she added, taking the opportunity to caution him again.

“And Whatshisname managed to cast a similar spell on his own name. Imagine sitting around, casually discussing his plans—or cursing him out—and half an hour later, his followers are knocking at your door. People over twenty remember the fear of that time. For them, his name still carries that terror. For your generation, though, it’s just an old superstition. Shame it’s mindlessly passed down to Muggle-borns.”

Kayneth tilted his head slightly. “I imagine his head must’ve ached if someone gathered forty people, synchronized their watches, and had them shout his name simultaneously across the island.”

Tonks laughed despite herself. “By then, he’d delved too deeply into dark magic. From what his captured followers said, he wasn’t ‘entirely human’ anymore. I doubt it would’ve done him much harm.” Still, she made a mental note to ask Moody someday whether anyone had ever tried such a tactic.

“Alright, enough jokes. What did they actually want, both of them?” Kayneth asked, leaning forward intently. “Textbooks hardly say anything beyond the usual ‘he was evil, so he did evil things.’ But they were people, not monsters that eat humans just because they’re hungry. People always have reasons.”

“They did,” Tonks agreed, studying him thoughtfully. It was a rare question, even among Hogwarts upperclassmen. Most didn’t bother wondering why You-Know-Who did what he did; it was easier to accept “he was evil” as an explanation. Gryffindors, in particular, rarely looked beyond that. But Tonks, being a Hufflepuff, had a habit of putting in effort where others didn’t, including History of Magic, a subject notoriously poorly taught in the lower years. She’d only graduated a year ago and still remembered much from her NEWT preparation.

“You might not fully understand this, but I’ll try to explain it simply. Gellert Grindelwald publicly declared that the Statute of Secrecy was a mistake. That it wasn’t in our best interest. He believed wizards should dominate Muggles and rule over them as a superior race, as more evolved beings.”

“You’re kidding,” Kayneth said incredulously, leaning forward as if trying to gauge whether she was making fun of him.

“I’m completely serious. At Hogwarts, we had optional materials on modern history in the upper years, including excerpts from Grindelwald’s speeches and writings, along with commentary. It’s widely believed he genuinely believed what he preached, not just used it as a convenient excuse.”

“I see… Tell me, milady, could you cast Silencio on me for a moment?”

“I can, but… why?”

“It’s… very necessary.”

“Alright…” Tonks shrugged, pulling out her wand and performing the spell with a simple flick. “Silencio.”

Kayneth nodded in thanks before leaning back in his chair and silently laughing. Not the carefree laughter of a child but an almost hysterical reaction, his shoulders shaking as he covered his face with one hand, the other slapping the table. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he laughed without sound, his reaction drawing confused glances from nearby patrons. After a couple of minutes, he finally regained his composure, straightened his hair and collar, and nodded for her to lift the spell. Tonks, who had kept her wand at the ready, obliged.

“Finite. So… what was that all about?”

“I’m sorry. That was very rude of me, but I just couldn’t help it,” Kayneth said, trying to explain. The sheer absurdity of what he’d heard had genuinely shocked him, and his reaction was entirely unrestrained. To anyone else, it might’ve looked strange, but he simply couldn’t stop himself. The thought of wizards declaring war on Muggles in the hope of victory… It was laughable to the point of hysteria. Such an utterly foolish way to ensure the annihilation of the magical community wouldn’t occur to most.

“I haven’t heard anything this ridiculous in ages. It contradicts practically everything I’ve read in at least a third of the books over the past month. This Grindelwald—he attended Hogwarts, didn’t he?”

“No, he went to Durmstrang in Eastern Europe. That school supposedly allows more freedom in studying the Dark Arts. But even they expelled him before he could take his exams.”

“Judging by his ideas, the teaching there must be abysmal. Even I—a ‘Muggle’ who first picked up a magical history textbook just a month ago—already know how things really were with the Inquisition and the Holy Church, which was quite effective at wiping out people like us.”

“The Holy Church was disbanded in the mid-18th century, shortly after the Statute of Secrecy was enacted,” Tonks replied reflexively, then paused, realizing just how deeply James must have delved into magical history. Information about the Inquisition and the Church’s conflict with wizards had been censored even more thoroughly than details about the Dark Arts, replaced with tales of powerful witches and wizards laughing off Muggles’ attempts to burn them at the stake thanks to protective charms and illusions. One had to dig deep to uncover any hint of the truth.

“It became too much of a threat to the Vatican once their global witch-hunting mission ended,” she added.

“Yet, in the book I read, the author suggests that many of their records and archives survived, despite numerous attempts to burn them over the past two centuries. If we declared open war on Muggles, I’m confident the Church would eagerly dust those off and start recruiting new executors openly in cathedrals. If it even comes to that. There are far too many ordinary people for us to have any chance of winning.

“Let’s say a powerful wizard can fight off a hundred or even two hundred Muggles. But there’s one wizard for every three—let’s be generous and say two—thousand Muggles. He might intimidate, kill, or subjugate two hundred of them, but the remaining 1,800 will form a mob, drag him to the stake, and burn him alive. Muggles would suffer massive losses but ultimately survive. We wouldn’t. Isn’t that the entire reason the Statute of Secrecy was enacted?”

“Did you figure all this out on your own, James?” Tonks asked, clearly impressed.

“It’s all in the books. I’ve been reading a lot this past month. Honestly, it’s practically all I’ve been doing. I imagine anyone discovering magic exists and realizing they can use it would do the same, wouldn’t they? I wanted to understand how wizards can live alongside Muggles without revealing themselves, and why they hide the truth. It’s not like Muggles hid from us—they were perfectly willing to keep killing wizards, even without priests or royal decrees. A village mob and a bad harvest were enough: ‘Clearly, the wizards are to blame; let’s burn a few to fix things.’ We were the ones who feared them. Trying to overturn that now and establish a wizard dictatorship… Grindelwald must’ve been insane.”

“Many people think he was,” Tonks agreed, glancing nervously around. Thankfully, James wasn’t speaking too loudly. Discussions about war with Muggles, the Inquisition, or killing wizards were heavily discouraged by the Ministry. Official textbooks and published works sanitized or outright omitted such topics. But anyone willing to think could piece together the truth. James had already shown he was more than capable of that. It might cause him problems during his education.

“Maybe he was mad, but he wasn’t stupid. He orchestrated the Second World War, using Muggles and their armies as pawns instead of fighting them outright. He planned to subjugate them after securing victory.”

“That doesn’t make the ultimate goal any less absurd. Alright, I understand Grindelwald, but what about the other one—You-Know-Who? What did he want?”

“Their ideas were similar,” Tonks began, leaning back in thought. “Many sources say that in his youth, he admired Grindelwald and his writings. A lot of their principles overlapped, but while Grindelwald wanted wizards to simply rule over Muggles, You-Know-Who believed in purging what he called ‘dirty blood’ from the wizarding world before moving on to anything else.”

“‘Dirty blood’?”

“That’s their term for anyone with Muggle ancestry. To them, a ‘Mudblood’ is any wizard who has Muggle relatives within the last two—or better yet, three or four—generations. That includes you. Me. My father. Professor McGonagall. Headmaster Dumbledore. The author of Magical Me, Gilderoy Lockhart. Two-thirds of magical Britain…”

“And what was the plan for them—or, I should say, us?”

“Elimination,” Tonks said plainly. “According to his ideas, only purebloods—those who never sullied their lineage with ‘pathetic Muggles’—should remain.”

“That makes no sense!” Archibald exclaimed, genuinely shocked. He had prepared himself for many revelations, but not this. Tonks nodded, used to such a reaction, and confirmed calmly:

“None whatsoever.”

“Alright, Grindelwald was insane, but at least in theory, if wizards somehow managed to seize power, I’d hope they’d focus on studying magic and enhancing it, freed from resource constraints. That’s what wizards should do. But if you start slaughtering most of them… Leaving only those twenty-eight sacred families? Thirty heirs of ancient houses in all of Britain? That’s absurd! Not even madness—pure nonsense.”

Kaynett was many things, but soft or overly humanitarian for a magus he was not. A world where individuals devoted their lives to uncovering the universe’s most dangerous secrets was inherently ruthless and unforgiving. But even cruelty had to serve a purpose. What he’d just heard went against every principle he understood about magic and the structure of magical society.

“My mentor says the same,” Tonks said with a nod. “He’s a pureblood himself, but he fought against that… lunatic for eleven years.”

“I read in a book on British wizarding houses that nearly all pureblood families are already interrelated. If no new families emerge—families that could become pureblood over five or six generations—they’ll just keep marrying among themselves. Twenty-eight families… How long before they start marrying cousins, then siblings?”

“So it doesn’t bother you that their plan involved killing off all other wizards?” Tonks asked, genuinely trying to follow James’s train of thought.

“I’m not discussing morality here; I’m trying to understand the reasoning. And there doesn’t seem to be any. This isn’t just a crime against individual wizards—it’s an attack on magic itself and the magical world. If everyone understood this, why did the war last so long? Didn’t the International Confederation of Wizards do everything they could to crush such a threat immediately?”

“The Confederation…” Tonks hesitated. They had stumbled onto another sensitive subject. Today was just full of those. “Didn’t get involved. The war was declared an internal matter of magical Britain.”

“What?” Kaynett was growing weary of the paradoxes and absurdities of the local political landscape, if it could even be called that. “Who declared it an internal matter? Britain or the Confederation?”

“I don’t know,” Tonks admitted with a shrug. Her knowledge had its limits, and she had deliberately avoided delving too deeply into the murky politics surrounding He-Who-Causes-Endless-Trouble, given her plans to become an Auror. “The newspapers covered it extensively; rumors were even worse. Officially, everything was polite and orderly—‘The Ministry of Magic and the international community strongly condemn the actions of the infamous criminal and his followers…’ That sort of thing. The war was swept under the rug for a long time. The conflict wasn’t officially acknowledged until 1974. Until then, the Ministry worked hard to pretend everything was fine, and other countries pretended to believe them. He hadn’t directly attacked them yet, just spread his ideas and recruited volunteers.

“Apparently, he had plenty of admirers in Europe. Maybe other nations feared that if they got involved, some of their own purebloods might switch sides. Or maybe there were a dozen other reasons. Politics is always murky and dirty, whether among Muggles or wizards.”

“I’m starting to wonder if I made a mistake agreeing to this,” Archibald said, though in truth, he was playing a role rather than expressing his genuine thoughts. Some madman’s delusions wouldn’t deter him from pursuing the study of magic. But James Murphy, the orphan who had only learned of wizards’ existence a few months ago, might well be shaken by the less-than-pleasant secrets hidden behind the magical world’s whimsical robes, brooms, and brightly lit shop signs.

“Britain, with all its flaws, is still a peaceful and safe country. We don’t even have to worry about the Reds anymore. Maybe I should swear not to reveal magic or even ask you to erase my memory and live as a normal schoolboy. I wouldn’t be able to travel by Floo, but at least no self-proclaimed tyrant would torture me and my parents to death because of our heritage.”

“To be honest, I had similar thoughts when I was a bit younger than you,” Tonks admitted candidly, giving him an understanding look. Then, switching to her warmest, most reassuring tone, she added, “But that madman is dead. His followers are either in prison or in hiding. There’s nothing to fear anymore. You can go to school, visit a giant castle steeped in magic from the dungeons to the tallest tower, fly on a broomstick for the first time, see dragons, hippogriffs, centaurs, and mermaids. You’ll learn what it’s like to transform objects with just a gesture and a word, heal illnesses instantly, or repair an entire house,” she said, lifting her nearly full teacup into the air with a flick of her wand and spinning it mid-air without spilling a drop. She then caught it in her hand and added, “Magic is a part of who we are. Don’t give it up because of a few lunatics, James.”

“Well, it’s hard to argue with such wisdom. But I do have another question.”

“Go ahead.”

“What do wizards do after school? I understand what adults in the Muggle world do—drivers, clerks, soldiers, scientists. You’re essentially a police officer. At St. Mungo’s, there are healers. At Hogwarts, teachers. At the Ministry, bureaucrats. Here in this quarter, shopkeepers, cooks, craftsmen selling enchanted items. But what do the other wizards do? The aristocrats who don’t have to worry about money, at least?”

“That’s an unexpected question,” Tonks admitted, clearly caught off guard. She hadn’t anticipated the conversation shifting in this direction. The question itself, however, made perfect sense—especially coming from a child. Magically born or not, Muggle-raised kids typically started pondering such things later, after being more immersed in the magical world.

“Most work in the Ministry. Some sit on courts or participate in the Confederation Council. They lead social lives, weave intrigues, or juggle all these things at once. A sizable portion of adult wizards, however, are employed by the Ministry or its subsidiary organizations or work in professions serving the magical community. Some go into sports professionally. Others run businesses or offer various services.”

“What about science? I mean, the study of magic. Someone must be creating new spells, brewing innovative potions, or crafting new artifacts, right? Or am I wrong?”

“There’s the Committee on Experimental Charms under the Ministry,” Tonks replied, giving the straightforward answer. “Although it doesn’t have much influence and isn’t taken very seriously. If you want to work there after school, I’m sure they’ll have a spot open for you. Beyond that… Potion-makers experiment with new formulas in their spare time, as far as I’ve heard. Most new artifacts are designed here, for sale in Diagon Alley shops. Hogwarts professors and some private tutors sometimes publish articles. There are wizards who conduct experiments with charms and transfiguration at home.

“Unfortunately, many get too caught up in it and forget about precautions. We were told during training about a particularly gruesome incident involving a witch several years ago. Then there’s Knockturn Alley. Some people there try to make a living by mixing potions or layering spells in bizarre, backward combinations, hoping for miraculous results. But more often than not, it comes to nothing because they lack the knowledge or resources to conduct proper research.”

“And the aristocrats? Those so-called ‘Sacred Twenty-Eight’—the Goyles, Yaxleys, Greengrasses, and the rest? They’ve got the money, knowledge, and free time. They’re practically obligated to advance magic.”

“In an ideal world, perhaps,” Tonks said with a faint sigh. “But in reality… they’re too busy with power struggles and scheming.”

For several minutes, silence hung over the table. Kaynett pondered her answers while Tonks reflected on the questions. The witch had reason to feel satisfied with their conversation. Despite touching on some sensitive topics, she had more than accomplished her goal—ensuring that the prospective wizard wouldn’t go within a mile of any Death Eater recruiters.

Kaynett, however, was left with mixed feelings. The more he learned, the more glaring the inefficiencies and contradictions of this magical society seemed. Still, he finally broke the silence.

“Well,” he said, “I think that’s more than enough. Forgive me for my curiosity—it’s already getting dark, and I imagine I’ve taken up most of your day off.”

“Not at all. I joined the Aurors to help people. And that doesn’t always mean waving a wand around. If this makes it easier for you to integrate into the magical world, and if you one day help someone else in turn, how could that be a bad thing? If you ever need help, don’t hesitate to write. Oh, by the way, have you figured out the owl system? I mentioned it in my letter…”

“No problem. Your instructions were very detailed. Although it’s still a little strange that wizards dislike phones so much. But I’ll get used to it.”

“Progress is happening—it’s just slow. Even the Auror office has a phone at reception,” she said proudly.

“Yeah, I know.”

“How do you know that?” Tonks asked, surprised.

“Well, I might’ve dialed the wrong number once…” Kaynett began, initially fumbling for an excuse before deciding to tell a modified version of the truth. “At the orphanage, I needed to make a call—I don’t even remember why or where. I accidentally ended up reaching your office. Back then, I didn’t know about magic and just thought the name was weird.”

“That happens sometimes. Occasionally, Muggles call us by accident too. But we’ve never managed to invent a spell that restricts dialing to a specific group of people, instead of allowing anyone to call from a random London payphone. Though I’ve heard some tried.”

“And that brings us back to the importance of research,” Kaynett said, standing up and offering a slight bow. He left money for the tea on the table and headed toward the exit. “Until next time. I appreciate everything you’ve shared, miss.”

“Take care. Write if you need anything,” Tonks called after him with a wave before signaling for the check.

On his way home, Kaynett gazed at the city lights and his reflection in the window, mentally organizing the new knowledge and plotting his next steps. Steering the conversation with Tonks toward politics hadn’t been random. In this world, he was entirely on his own—no support, no allies. If that was the case, he would eventually need to align himself with one of the factions within this society to avoid being devoured.

In the Clock Tower, the major factions were clearly defined: the aristocrats, staunch defenders of the old families’ rights (to which the Archibalds had loyally belonged); the democratic faction, advocating for greater privileges for neophytes and magi without lineage; and the large neutral faction focused on maintaining the status quo.

Here, the magical community wasn’t all that different. There was a group of aristocrats obsessed with strengthening their power through terror and mass executions. While Archibald would never be mistaken for a liberal or a champion of weaker magical houses, the idea of annihilating all of them was unthinkable.

Old families, in his view, should remind newcomers of their place—like adults guiding children—while denying them serious decision-making power. At the same time, they should push these new magi to improve and develop. A first-generation magus was practically useless—lacking a crest, possessing weak magic circuits, limited knowledge, and few resources. But with proper effort, education, and careful planning, their descendants could take their rightful place within the magical community within four or five generations, even contributing new mysteries and sorcery traits to enrich it.

In other words, while Kaynett had no intention of abandoning his old worldview, the radical faction of Britain’s magical aristocracy was clearly not for him. A better option might be to join one of the more moderate families—if he could prove himself valuable enough as a wizard. Yet, cruel irony (or the bizarre circumstances of his current existence) meant that he was now a first-generation wizard with no family or patrons. Other houses would only take him in as a subordinate—the highest position he could ever hope to reach would be that of a trusted servant.

And that, Archibald would never accept. His pride wouldn’t allow it. For the same reason, a marriage alliance (not that such a thing would even be possible for another six years, at minimum) wasn’t worth considering. He would always be a weaker party in such a union.

The Ministry of Magic presented itself as a thoroughly neutral—perhaps excessively so—entity. It clung to the existing order with a tenacity that seemed to defy both self-preservation and common sense, as evidenced by its actions during the civil war. The fact that three Ministers had been replaced over the course of the conflict indicated that the issue lay not with the competence of individual leaders, but with systemic flaws.

Kaynett scoffed derisively at the thought of them. These weren’t magi in pursuit of understanding the mysteries of magic; they were petty bureaucrats with mystic codes—paper-pushers preoccupied with regulating the length of flying brooms according to some antiquated decree from 1700-whatever, rather than advancing magical knowledge. He saw no future for himself in their ranks unless the organization underwent a fundamental transformation.

Then there was the school—Hogwarts, the domain of the "strongest wizard of the generation." According to available information, it was reasonably liberal in its treatment of "Muggle-borns." As a repository and disseminator of magical knowledge, it was invaluable, especially in a world that seemed largely indifferent to the study of magic. However, despite the school’s broad-minded stance on blood purity it also imposed stricter limitations on certain branches of magical practice than even the Ministry.

There was always the possibility of leaving the country altogether, relocating to the States or the Continent if magical research there proved more fruitful. Kaynett had no overwhelming patriotic feelings for the United Kingdom, though he acknowledged its contributions to magic and its many discoveries. But if forced to choose between patriotism and advancing his mastery of the magical arts, he would choose magic without hesitation. For now, however, his understanding of the international magical landscape was far too limited to make such a decision. At least within Britain, he had begun to form a rudimentary understanding of the situation and had established some basic connections.

In the worst-case scenario, he might be forced to gather a faction of his own—one that approached magic differently from the existing groups. He didn’t relish the thought of such a monumental undertaking but acknowledged it might become necessary. For now, though, he had a small window of time. Summer would soon arrive, bringing school holidays, and with them, the opportunity to meet students who were currently enrolled. Observing them could provide insight into the mindset of the new generation of wizards, as well as open avenues for gathering more information and viewing the magical world from diverse perspectives.

Lost in these musings, Kaynett reached his "workshop." He stepped into the library, where shelves for his growing book collection had finally been installed. He paused in front of his worktable, gazing at a small tungsten dodecahedron perched on a stand at the center of a magical circle. As he had done that morning, he touched it lightly, channeling the energy accumulated in his magic circuits throughout the day into the device.

This ritual had become routine over the past week, performed once or twice daily, steadily charging the new, far more reliable energy reservoir to its capacity. It would take at least another month to fully saturate it, but the experiment he was planning would require an extraordinary amount of power.