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[Hydrargyrum] Chapter 3
🕑 Added 2025-01-12 01:46:46 +0000 UTCOf course, it wasn’t that easy. As Kayneth wandered along the street near London’s largest leyline intersection, he immediately sensed the concentrated magic saturating the air. Layered barriers, powerful and complex, surrounded the area. There might have even been folded spaces concealed within the enchantments, but in his current, weakened state, he couldn’t be sure.
He walked two wide loops around the city streets, studying the protected perimeter that spanned several blocks. According to his crude map, most of the area was occupied by two adjacent industrial zones—remnants of shuttered factories—and a smattering of houses and shops that lined the outer edges of the barrier. If there was a way in, it was likely hidden within one of these establishments—perhaps a restaurant or a large store frequented by many people daily.
The discovery thrilled him. This London harbored a magical population and infrastructure of significant scale. However, it raised a pressing question: How was he supposed to get inside? Was entry open to all magi, or were special passes or passwords required? What if a secret war raged behind those barriers, and trespassers were disintegrated on sight without so much as a warning?
On his third lap, Archibald switched tactics. Instead of seeking a physical entry point, he turned his focus to the people nearby, watching for traces of magic. He searched for family crests, active spells, or charged mystic codes. The task drained him; sweat beaded on his brow, and fatigue weighed heavier than it had during his entire trek to this place. James’ body, frail and untrained, wasn’t suited for subtle magical perception. He’d never been taught to sense energy in people or the environment—truthfully, he hadn’t been taught much of anything. Kayneth was forced to rely on his soul’s instincts and his own vast experience.
Perhaps that was why it took so long—and sheer luck—for him to notice something unusual after circling several more blocks.
A young woman, perhaps twenty, sat on a park bench with a thick book in her hands. What first caught his eye were her long, lilac-pink hair strands—a shade modern youth favored for its absurdity. Her leather jacket and an excessive assortment of tacky metal accessories completed the image of a brainless fan of some obscene rock band. Nothing out of the ordinary there.
Except for the book.
A textbook didn’t fit her rebellious appearance. In Kayneth’s experience people dressed like her usually had difficulty reading storefront signs, let alone dense academic material. But Kayneth couldn’t immediately dismiss her, not with his trained eye. In old magical families, especially those with inhuman bloodlines or a fondness for ritualistic modifications, unnatural hair and eye colors were common. The Archibalds prided themselves on purity and refrained from such things, but even in his last student class, half a dozen young magi had boasted green or violet hair by birth.
Intrigued, he lingered, examining her more closely.
The book deserved attention, too. It appeared to be a standard biology textbook, but Kayneth felt faint magical traces radiating from it. This was not a grimoire imbued with inherent power—this was different. It had been haphazardly veiled with a spell, likely an illusion, overloaded with energy to maintain its concealment.
The woman herself seemed ordinary enough, aside from her ridiculous fashion and dyed hair. No bounded fields, mystic codes, or spells surrounded her—except for the book. Yet if someone more skilled stood in her place, his dulled senses might have missed them entirely. Either way, he needed to make contact. Finding another magus in this world might take far too long.
Drawing a deep breath, Kayneth steeled himself. His meager magic reserves, barely sufficient in this malnourished body with its stunted circuits, would have to suffice. He approached with the best approximation of noble courtesy, preparing for his first conversation with a fellow magic user in this realm.
“May I ask, miss, what are you reading on this fine morning?”
The young woman lowered her book slowly. She glanced around, uncertain if the question was even directed at her, before finally settling her gaze on the shabby-looking child standing before her. His appearance spoke of poverty and trouble—London had no shortage of vagrants, and not all were satisfied with mere charity. She sized him up warily but, confident in her ability to defend herself, answered after a brief pause.
“A college biology textbook, young man. I’m a first-year student, and I need to prepare for my classes. Studying at home is far too dull.”
“I see.” He nodded thoughtfully. “I completely understand. However, I’m more curious about what you’re really reading. I can tell this isn’t just a simple textbook. You’ve hidden its true nature from ordinary eyes, haven’t you?”
Her reaction was immediate. Panic flickered in her expression as she whipped her head around, checking her surroundings. She nearly dropped the book as she flipped it over, staring hard at the cover. The color of her eyes shifted—from blue to red, then to violet.
Kayneth allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. His instincts had been right. Someone in this world ensured magical secrecy, likely with deadly efficiency. His initial plan to draw attention with parlor tricks and wait for enforcers had been wisely abandoned.
“No need to worry,” he added quickly. “Your illusion is well done. I see only a biology book, of course. But I can feel the enchantment. Recently, I’ve been able to sense these things. I suspect you’re familiar with the higher arts of magecraft—just as I am.”
Her gaze snapped back to him, sharp and wary.
To prove his point, he extended a hand toward a slushy pile of snow nearby. Focusing his limited power, he directed it into the icy heap. The center melted, pooled into water, and then briefly boiled before hissing into steam. It was basic water manipulation—once, he could have performed it blindfolded from another room without breaking stride. Now, in this feeble body with an unfamiliar elemental affinity, it felt like driving a nail into steel barehanded. But he managed, barely.
Pulling his hand back, he staggered, fighting the pain and exhaustion that followed.
“Something like that…” he murmured.
“Alright, I get it!” she said hastily, leaning forward as if ready to catch him if he collapsed. “Tell me… you’re not from a magical family, are you?”
"I don’t really have a family. I’m from an orphanage. I don’t even know if my parents were magi or not."
"Wizards," she corrected quickly.
"Pardon me?"
"You’re supposed to say wizards," she repeated slowly, as if explaining a simple fact to a child. "‘Mages’ is something out of Muggle books. In magical Britain, we say ‘wizards’ and ‘witches.’ You’ll have to get used to it, or people might not understand you. And… sorry for asking such a personal question."
"It’s nothing. You didn’t know," Kayneth waved it off. Such pleasantries were meaningless, especially regarding James Murphy. What piqued his curiosity far more was the new terminology. In the Mage’s Association, the word magus—borrowed from Latin—was the standard term for practitioners of mystical arts. Wizard, an Old English term, had been popular in the late Middle Ages but had fallen out of use centuries ago, surviving only in archaic titles like Wizard Marshal, a high-ranking officer responsible for Clock Tower defenses. And witch? That was outright derogatory. Anyone daring to call Sola-Ui a witch would have faced a duel on the spot. Clearly, the differences between this world’s magical traditions and his own were deeper than anticipated.
"And what does Muggle mean?"
"Muggles are normal people," the girl gestured toward the bustling London street, "non-magical folks who don’t know anything about magic. It’s an old word. I don’t even know where it comes from."
"And about the book?"
"What? Oh, right. You’re right—it really is something else." She glanced around again before reaching into her jacket pocket, murmuring a nearly inaudible incantation. She was cautious—probably casting a standard divert attention spell. Sensible. Only after securing the area did the book’s cover shimmer, its color, illustration, and title transforming.
"Amalthea Wyrmwind’s Lightning-Quick Transfiguration and Its Numerous Applications for Offense and Defense, recommended for schools and universities, 1816 edition. So, you’re not a college student after all?"
"I am a first-year student, just—oh! Where are my manners?" She clapped her hands together, accidentally dropping the book onto the bench. Awkwardly bowing, she extended her hand. "Tonks. Witch-in-training, first-year Auror candidate."
"James Victor Murphy. Orphan and apparently a… wizard," Kayneth replied, shaking her hand. "A future one, I hope. Is it common for witches to only have one name?"
"That is my surname…" she admitted with a sheepish smile. "I don’t like my full name very much. Can we just leave it at Tonks, please?"
"As you wish, miss. What exactly is an Auror?" Kayneth asked. He’d heard the word before, though he wasn’t certain of its meaning. In this child’s form, he had the perfect excuse to ask naive questions and gather information.
"Aurors are… kind of like magical law enforcement. A mix between police and the secret service in the Muggle world, I guess. They hunt down dangerous criminals and magical creatures, track dark artifacts, and investigate conspiracies. That sort of thing," Tonks explained before waving her hands nervously. "Not that we’re drowning in criminals or monsters! It’s just important to have people ready in case something bad does happen."
"An admirable profession," Kayneth observed sincerely, bowing his head. In the Mage’s Association, they were called enforcers, and the Church referred to them as executioners. Only the most skilled combat magi were recruited. He’d had dealings with Clock Tower operatives before, usually when dispelling curses or banishing malignant spirits. "So, if there’s a magical police force, does that mean there are many wizards? Over there"—he pointed toward the warded district—"I felt an incredible concentration of power. That’s why I was circling it. I wondered if it had something to do with me. Lately, strange things have been happening—doors opening on their own, cuts on my hand healing instantly. I was trying to understand it, and it led me here."
"That’s Diagon Alley, the largest magical district in London. It’s hidden behind ancient wards. Muggles can’t get in unless someone literally takes them by the hand. It’s fascinating that it drew you here, James. Are you… not eleven yet?"
"I’m not sure. They don’t celebrate birthdays at the orphanage. I think I’m ten," Kayneth answered vaguely. He could have used diagnostic spells to determine the body’s age to the day if necessary, but he had neither the energy nor the need to bother with it. "In groups, I was always placed with the ten-year-olds."
"Poor kid," Tonks muttered sympathetically before trying to look more professional. "Anyway, magic usually awakens around age ten, which leads to outbursts—uncontrolled accidental magic. Harmless, but it can scare Muggleborns—kids like you, raised outside the magical world. Adults who don’t believe in magic either punish them or panic themselves. It settles down after a year or so. That’s when kids get their Hogwarts acceptance letter."
"Hogwarts?" Kayneth raised an eyebrow. There were no institutions like that in his world. Young magi either received private tutelage, as he had, or attended normal schools while learning magic at home. Formal magical education began at the Clock Tower.
"Hogwarts is the oldest and most prestigious wizarding school in Europe," Tonks said proudly, misinterpreting his incredulity. "I graduated last year."
"And are you sure that I…"
"Don’t worry. They don’t discriminate," she assured him quickly—too quickly. "Everyone gets in—purebloods, Muggleborns, anyone. The days of bloodline-based admission are ancient history."
"I don’t quite understand," Kayneth probed. He already had a good idea—similar structures existed in the Mage’s Association—but he needed a fuller picture of this society’s dynamics. "What do you mean by ‘bloodline-based’? Why would someone be accepted or rejected because of that?"
"How should I explain this simply?" It was clear Tonks was struggling to find the right words. Either this society was committed to a show of equality, or she had her own complicated history with her origins. Perhaps both. "Wizards are categorized by birth into three types. Muggle-borns, like you, come from ordinary families who know nothing about magic. Half-bloods have one magical parent—either a witch or a wizard. And pure-bloods have magical parents on both sides, often going back for generations. A few hundred years ago, all the power belonged to the pure-bloods. Muggle-borns and half-bloods were treated poorly, sometimes even barred from learning magic because they were deemed ‘unworthy.’" She grimaced but tried to smile. "But that’s all ancient history. These days, you can make a career in the Ministry or even as an Auror without twenty generations of pure-bloods in your family tree."
"But wouldn’t a wizard with a long magical lineage be stronger than someone who only discovered magic yesterday?" Kayneth asked, stating the obvious as if pondering aloud. "If their ancestors practiced magic for generations, wouldn’t that knowledge be inherited?"
"It’s... not that simple," Tonks said, shaking her head. "Even in pure-blood families, some children are born without magic. And sometimes, they aren’t particularly talented. Meanwhile, Muggle-borns can surpass old family heirs through sheer talent and hard work. The strongest living wizard is a half-blood."
"And you? If I may ask?"
"I’m somewhere in between," she admitted with a casual wave. "My father was the first wizard in his family, and my mother comes from an old magical line. Pure-bloods are usually defined as having at least two generations of magical ancestors, so technically, I’m a half-blood. But it doesn’t matter much these days."
"I see, I see." Kayneth bit back a curse. As a noble lord of the Clock Tower, he wouldn’t have so much as shaken hands with someone like her, let alone considered taking her on as an apprentice—no matter how desperately she begged. Introducing a first-generation magus into an ancient family and making their child an heir was a disgrace punishable by social exile. Yet here he was, pretending to be a child, forced to deal with whoever happened to provide useful information. Pride, however, was not so easily set aside. He had more questions.
"One other thing. In the orphanage, I overheard my caretakers talking about a name—Archibald. They said it was important. Maybe even connected to me. A wealthy man. I’ve been thinking… could he be a wizard? A pure-blood, perhaps? I don’t care why he abandoned me—I just want to know if I have a father somewhere."
"Archibald… Archibald…" Tonks echoed, sympathy in her gaze. She didn’t seem to notice her hair shifting from purple to orange and back again. "I don’t know every old family by heart—you’d have to ask my mum—but I don’t recall anyone named Archibald among the British pure-bloods. He could be Canadian or Australian, maybe? Or just a rich Muggle with no connection to magic. Sorry, but you’d need to go through the Ministry to investigate something like that. They handle heritage inquiries and such."
"That’s all right. It was worth a try." Kayneth shrugged, showing no real disappointment. He had already accepted that he would never see anyone or anything familiar from his old world. If there was another Kayneth Archibald somewhere under the British crown, he must be a non-entity. Otherwise, his name would carry weight beyond mere local fame, just as the former Lord El-Melloi’s name had once commanded respect far and wide.
"When you start at Hogwarts, you could write to the Ministry," Tonks suggested, pacing nervously before speaking again. "About school… this might be a little awkward to talk about." She took a deep breath and then launched in. "Education at Hogwarts is free. The Ministry of Magic funds it with taxes from wizards and donations from private patrons. It’s full board—nine months a year with meals and lodging covered. But you’ll need supplies for your first year—textbooks, a cauldron, robes. The list goes on. And, well… you probably don’t have money, do you? Certainly not for seven years of schooling."
"I could take out a loan for tuition. That’s common practice, isn’t it?" Kayneth replied, calm and pragmatic.
"Not really." She frowned. "In the wizarding world, only goblins offer loans, and their rates… you’d be paying it off for fifty years."
"So, what are my options? Tutors? Private education?"
"That’s even more expensive. Only the wealthy afford that." She paused. "There’s one other way. Hogwarts offers scholarships for talented students, but only for Muggle-borns and half-bloods. You’d need to demonstrate readiness—basically, pass an exam showing first-year knowledge when your invitation arrives."
"And when would that be?"
"Depends on your birthday. If it’s before September, you’d be invited this autumn. If later, then next year." She gave him a curious look. "When is it?"
"I don’t know." He repeated the same answer he had given earlier, half-watching her reaction. "At the orphanage, no one celebrates birthdays. Most of us were just assigned January first to keep things simple."
"That’s awful!" She grimaced. "But it’s fine. The school’s magical register doesn’t use Muggle records. It identifies wizards by their magic, so your birthday doesn’t matter. If you don’t want to attend, you’ll just take an oath to keep magic a secret. But…"
"Thank you, but the Muggle world doesn’t seem all that appealing to me." Kayneth gestured at his tattered clothes with exaggerated disdain. "Magic sounds far better if I have the chance. So, I need to learn about the wizarding world—and first-year subjects—within five months or a year and a half?"
"Roughly. It’s manageable. First-year studies aren’t too complex. But…" Tonks glanced at her worn textbook, clearly hesitant. "I could lend you my old books. I don’t have younger siblings, so I’m not using them anymore."
"I appreciate your generosity, but I must decline." Kayneth’s voice was firm. His pride—already strained—refused to accept secondhand charity. Books were essential, yes, but taking someone else’s cast-offs was as degrading as wearing someone else’s clothes. Even in this child’s body, his noble spirit clung fiercely to its dignity. "There’s still time. I’ll find work and earn enough to buy what I need—once I figure out where."
"I’ll show you. It’s your choice, of course, but..." She lowered her voice, as if anyone could overhear them in an almost empty park under a barrier. "If you think you can use magic to squeeze money out of Muggles, better forget that idea right now. The Auror Office doesn’t care much about Muggle thefts, but there are two other problems. First, accidental bursts of magic are rare and will soon stop. To cast proper spells, you need this." She glanced around, then pulled a short polished wooden rod from her inner pocket.
"A wand. You can only buy one after you turn eleven. Without it, only a few very skilled wizards can perform powerful magic. Second, underage magic outside of school is strictly forbidden. If Muggles see you, the best-case scenario is a fine for violating the Statute of Secrecy, along with paying for Obliviator services. Worst case? Prison. Do you understand what I’m saying?" She tucked the wand back out of sight with a pointed look.
"I understand perfectly." Kayneth gave a curt nod. "Thank you again for the offer, but I’ll earn my own money."
"Suit yourself. Let’s go then, I’ll show you the way." In an instant, she lightened her hair, shifted her height a little, and changed her eyes to gray. Sliding her book into her jacket’s inner pocket—far too small to hold it in ordinary circumstances—she motioned for him to follow. Kayneth recognized the enchantments that altered the size and weight of objects; he had used similar spells himself, until Grail War cost him nearly every artifact he'd brought along. "This way, people will think we’re related. At least my Metamorphmagus skills are good for something. Come on, take my hand."
Obediently following Tonks and memorizing their route, Kayneth pondered what he’d learned. Using magic only with specific implements... It sounded bizarre. He understood the practical value of magical tools, of course—losing his own collection had played no small role in his disastrous duel—but to be unable to cast spells without a focus? Could this world have developed thaumaturgy so differently that it revolved entirely around a particular kind of mystic code? If so, he shouldn’t be able to use any of his old methods—runes, alchemy, or hypnosis. The laws of magic here would reject any rules they didn’t recognize. So why hadn’t they?
The mysteries piled up. A brief stab of regret pricked him for refusing Tonks’ "handout" of beginner-level magical theory books. Still, backtracking now would be even more humiliating.
As for the ban on underage magic... Ridiculous. How did families teach their children spells and techniques, then? Unless the law was more threat than enforcement. After all, in a week of living here, no so-called "Aurors" had come knocking, despite his reckless attempts to drain every ounce of magical energy he could gather.
"We’re heading here," Tonks said, tugging him toward a pub. "The Leaky Cauldron. It’s charmed to divert Muggle attention, so until your own magic is strong enough, you’ll need to focus clearly on your destination." She held his hand firmly, steering him through the subtle barrier.
Kayneth silently admired its design. It turned non-magical passersby with precision, nudging them away without stirring their curiosity. He only felt its effect a few steps from the door.
Inside, the pub resembled a rundown 18th-century tavern. The patrons wore outdated cloaks and waistcoats, the furniture was crude, and candles and oil lamps provided the only light—there wasn’t a single electrical device in sight. Yet magic pulsed through everything. Heavy chairs shifted by themselves, spoons stirred cauldrons unaided, and globes of light hovered without visible sources.
The effect struck him as both elegant and absurd. Like attaching a cutting-edge electron microscope to a wooden mallet for hammering nails. Precision paired with an absolute waste of power. Ridiculous!
"The entrance is here." Tonks led him into a small, empty storeroom. Pulling her wand again, she waved it silently before gesturing toward him. "Impatiens Mantellum."
The spell caught him off guard—too simple an aria to affect reality much—but within moments, both of them wore long black robes and pointed hats straight out of a children’s fairy tale. In the Clock Tower, such ridiculous outfits were reserved for ceremonial events, where tradition overruled reason.
"My clothes are enchanted for easy transfiguration. Yours only have a glamour, since they couldn’t handle a full transformation," Tonks explained. "A Muggle outfit would stand out too much here. Next time, try to buy or borrow something more fitting. It’ll raise fewer questions. Now, let’s go."
She took his hand again and tapped several bricks on the wall with her wand.
The air rippled as layered protections parted one by one. Kayneth felt the power surge around them—first the barrier spells, then defensive circles intertwined behind them. Whoever crafted these wards deserved respect.
But the street beyond stirred mixed emotions. Like the pub, it felt trapped in a bygone era. Wizards bustled about, most appearing well over twenty, dressed either in ridiculous robes like Tonks had conjured or in outdated suits and capes from the 19th century. Bird familiars darted overhead in unnatural numbers, spells flared harmlessly between passersby, and shop signs twisted with enchantments for animation, illusion, and transmutation.
Yet there wasn’t a single streetlight, phone box, or television. The 20th century seemed to have been stopped cold by the district’s layers of enchantment.
Old magical families had this kind of aversion to technology in his world too—he’d seen it in the Einzberns and Tohsakas. But even they didn’t reject gas-discharge lamps in favor of rune circles for lighting corridors.
Here, progress hadn’t just stalled—it had been sealed behind ancient wards. Maybe the local magical school was rooted in tradition and ambiance so deeply that modern devices disrupted its mysteries?
He needed answers. More information. And fast.
"Here it is — Diagon Alley," Tonks gestured broadly, her voice light but purposeful. "This is where you’ll find shops, cafes, banks, legal offices, and all sorts of establishments tied to the wizarding world. Wizards don’t usually live here — they have manors or reside in separate enclaves… you know, closed settlements in London suburbs or other cities. But all public life buzzes right here. If you need to buy something, this is where you come. Over there are bookstores, potion shops with ingredients and pre-made brews, and at the end of the street, that’s Gringotts, the goblins' main bank. That’s your first stop."
“But didn’t you say they wouldn’t lend me money at a reasonable interest?” Kayneth inquired skeptically.
“I wasn’t talking about loans,” she clarified, steering him slightly aside to avoid the bustling crowd of wizards. She pulled a coin from her pocket and held it up for him to see. “This is a Galleon. It’s the currency of magical Britain — goblin-enchanted gold. If you want to buy anything here, you’ll need to exchange Muggle pounds for these. Muggle money isn’t accepted. It’s too easy to counterfeit with magic.”
“Ridiculous,” Kayneth admitted honestly. The Magus Association had never bothered with its own currency. Among themselves, magi traded in barter — services, oaths, rare ingredients, valuable relics, and knowledge. Of course, pounds and dollars were still common when purchasing reagents or rare gems from ordinary merchants. While forging paper currency was child’s play (Kaineth could name a dozen methods offhand), magi rarely paid attention to protective measures or serial numbers, which invited unwelcome attention from authorities obsessed with counterfeit prevention. And that led to trouble with secrecy — something the Association took seriously. Counterfeiting with magic was a short road to a conspiracy breach and the kind of attention no one wanted. Yet another reason why he preferred hypnosis, which left no tangible evidence.
“I think so too,” Tonks agreed with a shrug. Leading him further down the alley, she added, “But tradition is tradition. And in the wizarding world, tradition’s everything. You’ll have to get used to it. Oh, and enchanted gold won’t work outside. Try selling it to Muggles, and it’ll just turn to ash. A lot of Muggle-born kids think of that first since gold’s worth so much more there. By the way, over there — that’s Ollivanders. When you turn eleven, you’ll need to come back and get a wand. A wizard without one is like… well, not just one-handed, more like mute and paralyzed. You can’t go to school without it, and you won’t even get through the doors of most magical institutions.”
“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmured, the comparison to paralysis stirring far too fresh and unpleasant memories. “But how will I get through the… wall? Without a wand, do I just wait for someone to lead me through?”
“Not necessarily. Ask the innkeeper — he can open it. Unless you’re running in and out every day, it won’t be a problem. Usually, kids come with their parents or guardians until they’re older, but there are exceptions.”
He pondered that briefly before another question came to him. “Let’s say I’m someone who suddenly discovers I have magic, no money, and no knowledge of this world. If I lived in Edinburgh, for instance, and hadn’t run into someone like you to explain things — how would I even know where to go, or apply for school, or get supplies?”
“That’s simple,” she replied. “There’s a process for that. If a Muggle-born child shows magical ability, a professor from the school visits. They explain the basics, warn them about the importance of study, and mention that a scholarship might be available if they work hard. If they pass their exam a year later, they’re offered a spot. If not, it’s usually because they didn’t care enough, and the magical world doesn’t need them. Personally, I think it’s rubbish. But who’s going to listen to a half-blood like me?”
“Sorry?”
“Forget it. Boring politics.” She waved it off and brightened again. “Come on. I’ll show you a couple more places.”
Since they weren’t buying anything — not with his empty pockets — the rest of the tour wrapped up in half an hour. Tonks had started by pointing out shops a typical child would love, like the sweets shop and the toy store filled with enchanted playthings, but quickly realized James gravitated more toward bookstores and alchemy workshops. Given his precarious position, his thirst for knowledge made sense — survival in this world depended on understanding its rules. She still wished she could infuse a little more wonder into the experience. Her first trip to Diagon Alley had been filled with awe and joy; surely, he deserved at least a taste of that.
As they neared the exit, she gestured toward a narrow side alley and spoke in a lowered voice. “That’s Knockturn Alley. Nasty place. They sell all sorts of dark stuff there, and criminals sometimes hide out. Stay away until you’re older — and not without trustworthy friends. Aurors patrol it constantly, but it doesn’t do much good.”
“What do you mean by ‘dark stuff’?”
“Stolen goods, unlicensed artifacts, potions made with who-knows-what, fake ‘magical relics’ someone’s granny ‘found in the attic’… Basically, a black market. Oh, and books on dark magic and forbidden spells. Half of them are more dangerous to the caster than the target, assuming they even work.”
“‘Dark magic’?” His eyebrows rose at the term.
“Curses, hexes, blood magic, necromancy… Anything the Ministry doesn’t like gets slapped with that label.”
As a certified necromancer, Kayneth Archibald could only smirk. It seemed this world had its own strictures and taboos. Best to tread carefully if he didn’t want to end up marked as a heretic or criminal. He wondered, amused, if time manipulation or body duplication was fair game here.
“I’ll stay away,” he promised with a humble nod, lowering his eyes. Drawing attention from a future law enforcement officer was definitely not on his to-do list. “If I want to win a scholarship, I can’t afford a bad reputation.”
"Glad you understand that," Tonks praised, patting him on the shoulder. "If only more kids your age were as sensible. Instead, they buy some grimoires 'for fun,' and then it's all tears and complaints at the Auror office—'I didn’t mean to,' 'I didn’t know,' 'It cursed twenty-seven Muggles and half a dozen wizards all on its own.' Come on, I'll lead you back to London," she added, taking his hand again. Once they exited the magical district, Tonks diligently transfigured their clothes back into "Muggle" attire.
Outside the Leaky Cauldron, after reaching the same quiet park as before, she spread her arms in a sheepish gesture. "Well, that’s about it. Welcome to the magical world. Sorry if I wasn’t clear—I’m no professor or Head of House giving this kind of lecture every year. Still, I hope you’ll manage to stay with us. Also, if… well, if money troubles hold you back, or you run into issues exchanging for Galleons or buying supplies, leave a letter for Tonks at the Leaky Cauldron. Give a date and time, and I’ll do my best to help. If I can’t make it, I’ll send advice or a contact. Don’t hesitate to write if something comes up."
Kayneth observed her carefully, his eyes sharp with calculation. He still couldn’t grasp her motivation. Magi—true magi, even second- or third-generation beginners—rarely did anything without reason. Altruists had short lives, especially in the Clock Tower. More so, she was a future combat magus, a type that barely trusted their own allies, let alone outsiders. Yet, under the guise of a child, Archibald kept things simple. There was no need for veiled meanings or convoluted wordplay. He asked directly:
"And why are you helping me? I’m just an orphan without money or connections. You’re a future law enforcer from an old, prestigious family. You owe me nothing."
"Because, unlike many so-called purebloods, I’m not blind to reality," she replied seriously. "Listen, James, after the war and the uprising ten years ago, there are so few of us left. You won’t find it in newspapers or Ministry reports—either they don’t know the numbers, or they don’t want to admit them. I asked a Muggle friend of mine, a college student, to do some math for me once. Based on a few figures I gave her, she estimated about thirteen thousand of us total. Even being generous—considering wizards live longer, die of disease less often, and adding in Squibs and magical creatures—it’s still no more than twenty-five thousand in all of Britain. Maybe thirty, at most.
“That’s like some backwater town in Cornwall—Saint Austell, maybe. You’ve probably never even heard of it. And for most of us, Britain is the entire world. Think about that. Every wizard counts. We don’t have a single one to spare, no matter what blood-purity fanatics think. I bet they don’t even know the word ‘degeneration’ without checking a dictionary."
"Perhaps… But what about other countries? France, Germany, the United States, or India? Those have much bigger populations—there must be plenty of wizards there."
"You just don’t get how the magical world works, James. Muggles have it easy—hop on a plane, and you’re in Berlin or… I forget what India’s capital is. Magical countries are closed. Except for tournaments once every few years, we stick to ourselves. Every place has its own problems, politics, and gossip. Ten years ago, when we had a full-on war, nobody came to help. For all we know, Sweden might be trying to start Ragnarok right now, and no one in Britain or France would notice until frost giants marched across the border, flattening Muggle cities. British wizards care about British wizards first. That’s why we need a bigger, more diverse society. And that’s why I hope you make it into school and stay with us."
"Yes, I hope so too," Kayneth replied distantly. The picture forming in his mind was bleak. No global Mage Association, no unified research or cooperation. His own world had isolated regions—Japan famously kept its distance from the Association—but here? A British magus might never hear of a dangerous Eastern ritual unless Tonks was exaggerating. This would require further investigation. But for now, politeness demanded he end the conversation properly. She had helped him for free, a rare and valuable gesture, despite her unremarkable bloodline.
"If insurmountable difficulties arise, I’ll leave you a letter. But I’ll do my best to handle matters on my own. Thank you for your help. You’ve done more for me than I expected. Now, I must take my leave. Until we meet again, Lady Tonks."
"Until next time, James. I hope to see you again soon."
