Chapter 499

Before the week had even ended, Harry was called to another meeting by the Prime Minister, and this time he appeared unusually eager, just as he had been during the earlier discussions on the Iron Curtain.

When Harry arrived at the meeting hall, he finally understood the agenda—it was an evaluation of the Pentagon’s proposed aerospace carrier concept. Though the Muggle professors present looked deeply alarmed, for Harry, who had just spoken with Donald about this very topic, it was hardly a major concern.

“I believe this is your first meeting,” the Prime Minister said solemnly. “This is Sir Edwin Travers, Emeritus Professor at Trinity College, an expert in quantum theory, and already provisionally appointed as Deputy Head of the Royal Caria Academy, to assist the wizarding community in communication with Cambridge’s administration.”

Arthur stepped forward and shook hands with the vigorous old professor.

“I’ve heard many things about the magical world, as my granddaughter attends Hogwarts,” Sir Travers smiled warmly. “You must be Minister Weasley. This is Headmaster Snape. Ah, and General Potter—my granddaughter says you single-handedly defeated every member of the Magical Congress. Is that true?”

Harry’s face flushed slightly as he replied evasively, “It would take every ounce of effort.”

“That’s good news—we’re not too far behind then,” Sir Travers nodded. “Let me introduce my team—more precisely, the ‘Anomalous Physical Phenomena Research Group,’ assembled at the Prime Minister’s request.”

“This is Dr. Rohl, a materials scientist; Professor Frey, an energy engineer; Professor Burstead, a meteorologist; and Dr. Prometheus, an electronic engineering specialist.” Sir Travers swiftly introduced his team. “We’ve jointly prepared a report on the feasibility of the aerospace carrier technology. Our conclusion: it’s impossible. They must have used magical assistance.”

The Prime Minister nodded and gestured for everyone to sit. He spoke calmly, “Please elaborate.”

“First, propulsion. Their proposed ion drive technology does exist, but current laboratory data shows ion thrusters remain at the millinewton level. The aerospace carrier weighs in the ten-thousand-ton range. This enormous disparity means the technology is absolutely unfeasible for aerospace use—at least for decades.”

“Second, material strength. The connection points between the anti-gravity engines and the hull are obvious stress concentrators. Even assuming the ion engines are real, a simple calculation reveals that each engine-hull junction would experience localized stress peaks of 300,000 to 500,000 megapascals. This far exceeds the strength of any known material—even theoretical carbon nanotubes max out at 300,000 megapascals. The material they’re using clearly isn’t carbon nanotube, and there’s no evidence of any breakthrough in materials science.”

“Third, energy. Based on their claimed capabilities, we estimate the aerospace carrier’s power consumption at the petawatt level, roughly 3 petawatts in steady state. What does that mean? If we drained all known oil reserves on Earth, they’d power it for only 4.6 minutes. The cold fusion reactor they cite was disproven long ago; current technology cannot sustain prolonged controlled operation.”

“So the conclusion is clear,” Sir Travers summarized. “They must have incorporated magical assistance in one or more stages to make the entire system remotely feasible.”

The Prime Minister sighed softly. “Again, this?”

Harry knew exactly what he meant. Both sides of the Cold War were now using magical aid to create military miracles—clearly not a good thing—but his side could hardly stop it either.

“Could we build one ourselves?” the Prime Minister asked suddenly after a brief silence.

“From a military standpoint, it’s unnecessary,” a Defense Ministry staff officer spoke up. “We have the Sky Citadel. As long as General Potter resides there, he can match ten aerospace carriers.”

Harry looked away, torn between amusement and exasperation.

“Let’s take a break,” the Prime Minister closed his memo pad with a sigh. “Have lunch. We’ll resume strategy discussions this afternoon.”

Harry and the others from the wizarding world walked slowly toward the cafeteria. Arthur remarked thoughtfully, “I feel lately that cooperation between wizards and Muggles has increased—something we never saw before.”

“It’s hard to say whether it’s good or bad,” Snape shook his head. “I’ve noticed this cooperation usually means wizards cast one or two simple spells, then watch Muggles scramble around. It does nothing for magical advancement.”

“Then what kind of cooperation would benefit magic?” Arthur asked, shoveling a massive apple pie into his plate.

“Our university concept: if talented wizards spent more time studying and researching advanced magical knowledge, magic itself would progress.”

“And,” Harry added, “having wizards learn Muggle knowledge broadens their thinking and improves spellcasting ability.”

“You two make sense,” Arthur looked puzzled. “But why didn’t we do this before? The truth is, I don’t think the wizarding world needs wizards to start working right after graduation. Many are idle after school, and many jobs are meaningless—there’s no real need for people to do them.”

“Unemployment—we’ve always faced this,” the Prime Minister suddenly joined the conversation. “Arthur, those ‘meaningless’ positions you mention? Many were created by me. Do you know why? To prevent the next Dark Lord from recruiting idle, unemployed wizards and sparking unrest.”

Harry listened silently. Among those he knew, Lucius was a clear example: despite his wealth, his lack of formal employment and idleness drove him to actively support Voldemort’s cause.

“That makes sense,” Snape said slowly. “But rather than meaningless clerks or stock clerks, I think sending them to university is better. In fact, I believe we should introduce Muggle courses in the wizarding world. We’ve never had a proper magical elementary school for wizarding families, have we?”

“But children that young can’t be taught spellcasting anyway—the value of elementary school is minimal,” the Prime Minister brushed the topic aside. “The aerospace carrier—or the Sky Citadel—is the project I believe can provide the most jobs, and more importantly, help reduce Muggle unemployment.”

“My point is, for a long time, no criminals will be able to rise up. Wizarding unemployment isn’t urgent—so why not send more graduates to university instead of these pointless jobs?” Snape remained fixated on the university idea.

“Gentlemen, I have a bolder idea,” the Prime Minister suddenly said. “Since the wizarding world has many meaningless positions—not just the ones I added, but also old ones, like employees in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade shops, reporters and editors at the Daily Prophet, Quidditch support staff—we could replace all these wizards with Muggles. That would further ease Muggle unemployment.”

“But the wizarding world doesn’t have that many such positions—it’s insignificant compared to the Muggle population,” Harry countered pragmatically.

“Oh, if there aren’t enough positions, we can create them!” the Prime Minister beamed. “Take Ollivander—he’s been selling his own wands since I was a boy. That’s a waste of talent. We could hire dozens of Muggles to form a team, establish Ollivander Wands Ltd., and have Muggles handle inventory, sales, even—more boldly—some of the raw material processing and decorative carving. All to free Ollivander to focus on refining wand-making techniques, ultimately producing better wands for the wizarding world.”

“Sounds ideal,” Harry doubted. “But can wand sales alone support such a massive team?”

“Hmm, a valid concern,” the Prime Minister nodded. “But for some Muggles, just being allowed to touch magic is the greatest benefit. We only need to provide basic food, lodging, and a pittance as wages.”

“This still strikes too hard at the wizarding world,” Arthur said with concern. “We’re still used to living under the Statute of Secrecy.”

“Then let’s pilot this social system on the Sky Citadel,” the Prime Minister declared optimistically. “Use Muggle labor to free up wizarding experts and aid magical breakthroughs. As for those Muggles who reject wizards—or wizards who reject Muggles—let them stay in the old world below and live their old lives.”

They carried their trays to the table, where several Muggle experts were already chatting—though their topic seemed far more novel and provocative.

“If that’s true,” Sir Travers said slowly, “then the Apollo program likely wasn’t accomplished by the scientific community alone. Their Magical Congress secretly provided considerable help.”