After successfully passing the most critical assessment on regulated knowledge, Avada had, for all practical purposes, already passed the entire process. What remained was merely a small follow-up survey—filling out a questionnaire and answering a few simple questions. Since the Ministry of Magic hadn't closed yet, he decided to finish everything in one go, so he wouldn't be lying in bed later with this matter still hanging over his head.
"Nathan Clarke?"
The Ministry official this time looked thoroughly drained, likely because the end of the workday was approaching. However, judging from his mental state, his mood was far worse than what one would normally expect right before getting off work.
"That's right."
As Avada replied, he handed over the certificates he had obtained during the earlier examinations for inspection. The official flipped through them briefly, cross-checked them against the documents at hand, then nodded and pushed the stack of papers aside.
"Next are a few simple questions. Please answer honestly and carefully."
Avada straightened slightly in his seat.
"Why did you choose to live in Britain?"
"Well, I'm from Australia, which is part of the Commonwealth, so the language barrier isn't an issue… and the local magical community there is simply too small. I'd prefer to live somewhere more prosperous."
"Do you own any property in your original place of residence?"
"I brought everything with me. That explosion more or less wiped out all of my teacher's and my possessions."
"I'm sorry to hear that… Were you a member of any organizations or associations in Australia?"
"No."
"Do you intend to start a family here?"
"Not for the time being."
"Would you consider living in Muggle society?"
"No."
"That's for the best. It saves us a lot of trouble…"
The interviewer muttered irritably, then continued.
"After settling in Britain, where do you plan to live? And how do you intend to earn a living?"
"I'll stay at the Leaky Cauldron's inn for now, then apply for a plot of land to build a house myself—probably somewhere in Scotland. As for work, I've heard that recently many pure-blood families in Britain have been hiring people to install anti-Apparition wards in their homes, and I happen to have some background in spatial magic, so—"
Avada suddenly stopped.
Because at the moment he said "pure-blood families have recently been installing anti-Apparition wards," the interviewer's mental state fluctuated violently.
Anger. Hatred. Regret. Fear…
What's going on?
Avada's brow creased slightly, then relaxed at once. The interviewer hadn't even noticed that Avada had paused for a brief moment.
"Sir? Sir?"
Avada had to call out several times before pulling him back.
"Oh—sorry, Mr. Clarke. I was a bit distracted."
"Your complexion doesn't look very good," Avada said politely. "Do you need any help?"
"No, no… it's fine. Let's continue."
The interviewer took a deep drink from the cup beside him, then resumed the questions as if nothing had happened.
"Do you have any relatives or friends in Britain?"
"No."
Seeing his attitude, Avada could only temporarily suppress his doubts and continue cooperating with the questioning.
"Have you ever suffered from any magic-induced illnesses?"
"No…"
After dozens of questions, the interviewer finally picked up his wand and tapped one of the documents Avada had submitted, leaving a magical mark on it.
"Very good. You've completed the assessment."
"Congratulations. You are now officially granted long-term residency recognized by the British Ministry of Magic. You may apply for land in designated wizarding settlements to build a home, or—after passing further checks—register an identity in Muggle society. After working and paying taxes for three years, you will be eligible to formally become a British wizarding citizen…"
The interviewer gathered Avada's documents and slid them back across the desk, reciting the procedural lines somewhat absentmindedly.
"Thank you very much, sir!"
Avada put on an expression of pure delight, looking as though he'd just downed a bottle of strong liquor.
"May I ask your name, sir? Perhaps I could invite you to a meal to commemorate such an important moment…"
"Just call me Taylor."
The interviewer named Taylor finally didn't look quite so tense.
"But there's no need for dinner. I'm usually busy with work anyway… All right, Mr. Clarke. What you should do now is go out and enjoy the sights and culture of your new home, rather than lingering in a dreary bureaucratic office. Don't you agree?"
"You're absolutely right… Thank you, Mr. Taylor! Truly, thank you!"
Still wearing a radiant smile, Avada took one last careful look at Taylor's face, committing it to memory, before hurrying out of the office. He then stopped by the Auror Office to retrieve his confiscated suitcase, Apparated straight to Diagon Alley, and headed directly for the Leaky Cauldron.
Taylor… plenty of people have that surname. But if he works at the Ministry, he's likely from a small or mid-sized pure-blood family not counted among the Sacred Twenty-Eight…
Why did he react like that when I mentioned pure-blood families installing anti-Apparition wards? Anger, hatred, regret, fear… What could have caused emotions like that? And what does it have to do with anti-Apparition wards?
"Trending"… does that mean many pure-blood families are facing similar situations?
What's going on?
An intuition—of questionable reliability—told him that something unusual was at play. After all, he had rarely relied on intuition before; previously, he could simply reference the original storyline.
"Hey, Old Tom!"
The moment he entered the pub, he called out cheerfully. It wasn't a holiday, and it wasn't yet quitting time, so there weren't many patrons. His shout instantly drew every eye in the room.
"Well, if it isn't Mr. Clarke."
As the owner of a pub, Old Tom had an excellent memory for faces and naturally remembered the foreign lodger.
"Judging by that look, everything went through?"
"It did! I'm officially allowed to live here long-term now!"
"That's worth celebrating. Care for a drink?"
"I'll pass. I'm not much of a drinker—sleeping soundly sounds far better to me. But I'll be staying here a few more days. Let's say another week. The place has a nice atmosphere."
After placing two Galleons and a Sickle on the bar again and watching Old Tom pocket the money with a broad grin, Avada leaned closer and lowered his voice.
"By the way, Old Tom, you're well-informed. There's something I'd like to ask you about…"
"Go on. What is it?"
Old Tom was in an excellent mood and responded readily.
"I've heard that recently quite a few pure-blood families have been hiring people to install anti-Apparition wards in their homes. Do you know anything about that?"
(End of Chapter)