Hiss.
With a faint popping sound, Nathan Clarke's body appeared out of thin air inside a small circle drawn on the floor. Beside it stood a wizard holding a clipboard. After personally confirming—with some surprise—that no part of Avada's body extended beyond the circle, the wizard swiftly recorded a score.
"Absolutely perfect!"
The wizard exclaimed admiringly. "A flawless score, without any controversy—and the sound produced by your Apparition was extremely minimal. That qualifies for bonus points."
"With skill like that alone, you could apply to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—of course, you'd still need to pass more tests."
"Thank you for the compliment, sir."
Avada smiled politely. "But I've already taken quite a few tests recently… how many are left?"
It was just after the Christmas holidays, and the Ministry of Magic had returned to its usual level of efficiency—though that wasn't saying much. Fortunately, neither the Apparition exams for students nor large-scale examinations like the O.W.L.s had been scheduled yet, leaving the Wizarding Examinations Authority unusually idle. And during this same period, Avada was the only foreign wizard undergoing residency assessments.
As a result, he was lucky enough to avoid the Ministry's infamous "daily efficiency" and had smoothly begun—and completed—a whole series of examinations: basic knowledge and skills, language proficiency, safe wand usage, legal knowledge, broomstick operation, the Statute of Secrecy, Apparition…
The results went without saying. He passed them all without issue.
The only minor downside was that Hogwarts' Christmas break was about to end, and the second half of fourth year was already edging toward the O.W.L. threshold. Holiday homework was therefore brutally heavy. With his split consciousness, Avada found himself enjoying the delight of double the pressure.
"There's only one left,"the Apparition examiner said, checking his clipboard.
"It concerns your knowledge of regulated disciplines—specifically spatial magic. After that, there will be a few routine questions about long-term residence: your specialties, what you plan to do while staying here, things like that."
"So there's no citizenship oath at the end?" Avada asked.
"No, we don't do that sort of thing in the wizarding world."
Which made sense. Magical oaths carried real binding power, and moving between countries was perfectly normal for wizards. Demanding solemn vows for residency would be wildly inappropriate.
"I see. When does the next exam start?"
"If you're willing, right now. The questions are already prepared."
"Then let's get it over with sooner. I'd like to get my suitcase back as quickly as possible. Please take me to the testing area—thank you."
…
Under normal circumstances, applying to the Ministry for permission to learn regulated magic or knowledge was extremely troublesome. One had to submit lengthy applications explaining their reasons, undergo strict reviews and competency evaluations, and sign multiple pledges promising not to abuse or secretly disseminate the knowledge.
Of course, there were exceptions.
Certain professions—Aurors, professors, and the like—could bypass these restrictions entirely. Hogwarts professors even had the authority to approve student access to books from the Restricted Section, though especially sensitive magic still had to be reported to the Ministry, such as the Unforgivable Curses.
And then there were cases like Avada's: wizards who came from elsewhere and already possessed the relevant knowledge. Their assessments were greatly simplified and focused primarily on standards and regulations—something the Ministry staff had explained to him days earlier.
"…This assessment will be divided into three parts."
In a room hastily converted into a temporary examination hall, Avada sat upright at a desk. Across from him sat three wizards—his examiners—who were explaining the process.
"Theoretical knowledge, practical ability, and regulatory compliance. If you have no further questions, we'll begin."
"Let's begin."
The moment the words left his mouth, everything around him was swallowed by darkness. He could see only his own hands, the tabletop, and a test paper and quill that had appeared out of nowhere. The surrounding silence was uncanny, as though even sound itself had been devoured.
After curiously glancing around, Avada picked up the quill and began reading. He had never seen such an elaborate anti-cheating measure—not even the fifth-year O.W.L.s went this far.
"The opening section is simple—basic fundamentals…"
He flipped through the paper from start to finish before writing anything.
"But it gets harder and harder, with all sorts of tricky pitfalls…"
"And after that—damn it, I can barely understand these. Anyone who could clear this perfectly would have to be a spatial magic specialist."
"For me, I can answer about two-thirds of it… I wonder what the passing line is."
After some thought, he finally began writing at speed. More than two hours later, he set the quill down to signal completion. The paper and writing materials vanished instantly, replaced by a variety of odd objects emerging from the surrounding darkness. A parchment appeared on the desk, instructing him on which spatial spells to cast on them.
Practical work was far easier than theory for him. He executed every required spell with ease. If he hadn't been worried about his demonstrated ability exceeding his written answers—and accidentally revealing too much—he might have brute-forced the final, extremely complex spatial labyrinth as well.
Next came the legal and regulatory exam—which was even simpler. His original body at Hogwarts was currently flipping through collections of statutes and case studies. He just copied them straight over.
"You may submit your answers."
As the final paper disappeared, the darkness receded, restoring the normal, well-lit room. The same three examiners sat across from him. They had been there the entire time—it was already afternoon.
"Finally finished…"
Avada stretched theatrically and let out a long, emotionless yawn, rolling his neck as he asked,
"When will I get my results?"
"You already have them, Mr. Clarke,"the examiner seated in the center replied with a smile.
"This exam is graded in real time. Otherwise, what do you think the three of us have been doing here?"
"…Did I pass?"
"Congratulations, Mr. Clarke."
The examiner nodded, his smile broadening.
"Your theoretical and practical scores are both E, and your legal compliance score is O. We're very pleased to welcome such a young spatial specialist into British wizarding society. Personally, I look forward to seeing you at future academic conferences here in Britain."
Of course… Anyone capable of grading this paper on the spot would have to be able to solve it themselves. These examiners are all masters of spatial magic.
"Thank you for your kind words, sir."
Avada stood and pushed his chair back.
"And to be honest, you've arrived at just the right time,"the examiner added before leaving.
"For some reason, pure-blood families in Britain have recently started installing anti-Apparition wards in their estates en masse. We're actually short on experts in that field. If you're interested in earning some money, it's worth considering—they pay very generously."
"I understand. Thank you sincerely for the advice."
Avada thanked him earnestly. The suggestion had clearly come from genuine goodwill and appreciation.
Pure-blood families suddenly obsessed with anti-Apparition wards…
As he bid farewell to the examiners and headed toward the final office, Avada couldn't help but feel amused.
You don't need a brain to guess why. They were terrified by Dumbledore's evidence-gathering operation last year.
But Dumbledore's Apparition relies on a phoenix. Unless they hire goblins from Gringotts, no amount of warding will actually stop him…
(End of Chapter)