"You've heard about this?"
Old Tom raised an eyebrow in surprise. "I thought not many people knew about it yet… But why are you asking?"
"I ran into a kind examiner during my tests. He mentioned it to me and even suggested I look in that direction for work—make my first pot of gold, so to speak."
Avada replied calmly. There was nothing to hide there. But after hearing that, it was Old Tom who lost his composure.
"An examiner recommended you? You can set up anti-Apparition wards?!"
"Hah!"
He'd originally planned to stay a bit low-key, but since Old Tom had handed him the opportunity on a silver platter, Avada didn't hesitate. He pulled the Ministry-issued spatial knowledge license from his pocket, waved it in front of Old Tom, then slapped it down on the counter and slid it across.
"This is… a regulated knowledge license?"
Well-traveled and experienced, Old Tom immediately recognized that this wasn't an ordinary document. He carefully pinched it between two fingers and lifted it up to read, murmuring softly as his eyes scanned the text.
"Regulated Spatial Knowledge Certification… Good grief, it really is!"
"Exam subjects: Spatial Mechanics, Phase Studies, Applied Spatial Theory, Regulations on the Use of Spatial Magic… Overall grade… E+?"
"You were hiding this well!"
He stared wide-eyed in admiration. "The Wizarding Examinations Authority sets a very high bar! Generally speaking, anyone who scores an O in their assessments can be considered a master in the field. That means you're only one step away from mastery—and you're still so young!"
"If Professor Marchbanks heard about a genius like you, she'd probably come see you in person!"
"Haha… that hasn't happened."
Old Tom's enthusiastic praise put Avada in an excellent mood—and successfully convinced him to order another glass of apple cider.
"But with this certificate, I really do plan to develop further in spatial magic. And since I've also heard about pure-blood families installing anti-Apparition wards lately… we've drifted off-topic. What exactly is going on with that?"
"Oh, right—I got carried away."
Old Tom smacked his forehead, then pushed the precious certificate back while pocketing the newly earned drink money.
"This only started becoming a thing recently—at most two or three months ago."
"About two months back, pure-blood families gradually began placing advertisements in newspapers like the Daily Prophet, looking to hire spatial magic experts to install anti-Apparition wards in their residences. After that, the number of ads steadily increased. Not long ago, someone even compiled some statistics and found that, based solely on newspaper ads, nearly one-fifth of Britain's pure-blood population was trying to install anti-Apparition wards."
"One-fifth?!"
Avada was genuinely startled by that number.
"In reality, it's probably even higher," Old Tom explained calmly as he wiped down a glass. "Some well-connected families don't need to advertise, and some of the old great houses already had wards installed long ago."
"But that also has to do with the fact that Britain's pure-blood wizard population is relatively small to begin with. You're a foreigner, so you might not realize it—one-fifth sounds terrifying, but if you actually count it out, it's only a few dozen households. And some of those are branches of the same extended family."
"So how did this trend start?" Avada pressed.
"Plenty of people have asked that. Some even speculated that pure-blood families were being targeted by retaliatory attacks because of last year's events…"
"But on the one hand, nearly all the families placing ads are small or mid-sized pure-blood families outside the Sacred Twenty-Eight, so they don't have much to do with Hogwarts affairs. On the other hand, when interviewed, those families mostly brushed it off, giving all sorts of explanations—keeping up with trends, fear of Dumbledore's so-called 'next Voldemort,' lack of security, or simply thinking wards should be installed like door locks."
"And since there haven't been any reports of pure-blood wizards actually suffering misfortune recently, the phenomenon never attracted much attention. In the end, it was chalked up as some kind of new fashion…"
Old Tom chuckled.
"Probably the most practical—and most expensive—fashion there is."
"So what's their situation now? Are many still placing ads?"
"Of course. Tons of them. In fact, over the past few months, very few families have actually managed to solve the problem."
Old Tom shook his head.
"Spatial knowledge is tightly regulated, and not many people master it to begin with. Most of those who do are busy making Extension Tents and similar products. Small and mid-sized families with limited funds don't even know where to hire someone. And on top of that, anti-Apparition wards are difficult, expensive, and have terrible cost performance."
"Poor cost performance?" Avada echoed.
"Of course it's poor. If you don't want people Apparating directly into your home, just hide your address, block owl post, and Apparate in and out yourself every day. Even during the most chaotic days of You-Know-Who's era, that was more than enough for ordinary people to stay safe."
"And if that's still not enough, just secretly build a safe house—one whose location absolutely no one knows."
"I see."
Avada understood immediately.
Wizarding residences were already built in scattered, random locations—usually in the middle of nowhere with a simple Muggle-Repelling Charm, or discreetly tucked into Muggle villages. For wizards, building a house was just a matter of waving a wand, not a major undertaking.
As long as the address wasn't voluntarily revealed, it was genuinely difficult to find someone—the Burrow was a textbook example.
And if one took security a step further—blocking owls, shutting down fireplaces, and relying exclusively on Apparition to come and go—it would be nearly impossible to track them down.
He also knew that anti-Apparition wards were not something one casually set up. Even though they only blocked humanoid minds, they were still massive undertakings, requiring high-level expertise, significant time, and spell materials worth at least hundreds of Galleons, depending on the area.
In the entire British wizarding world, there were only three places publicly known to have comprehensive anti-Apparition wards covering every inch: Hogwarts, Gringotts, and Azkaban.
Even the Ministry of Magic hadn't bothered warding every location—only a handful of its most sensitive areas.
So for individuals or families, the cost-performance ratio of anti-Apparition wards was indeed abysmal.
Which only made it stranger that this trend had suddenly taken hold among small and mid-sized pure-blood families…
"Where can I see those advertisements?" Avada asked at last. "Anywhere besides the Daily Prophet?"
"They're on pretty much every major outlet. Go to Diagon Alley and buy any paper—you'll see them. But the Daily Prophet definitely has the most complete listings."
"Got it. Thanks."
Avada nodded to Old Tom, drained the last of his apple cider in one gulp, then stood up and headed back toward Diagon Alley.
(End of Chapter)