Chapter 522: Admission Notice

On this matter, the Slytherin students had rarely, if ever, declined to fully adopt Harry’s opinion—but they could not deny that his judgment remained utterly precise. By early June, the news was confirmed: Snape was indeed preparing to leave Hogwarts to become headmaster of the Dragon Academy, funded by old-fashioned wizarding conservatives. In contrast, Elphias Doge was appointed headmaster of Calia Academy—a bland but unobjectionable choice, one the students accepted without difficulty.

Then, just one week before the NEWTs, the admissions brochures were finally released. Clearly, the two schools had coordinated: they skillfully avoided overlapping specializations and maintained nearly identical academic requirements—typically demanding E or higher in two or three subjects related to the chosen major, with especially popular fields like Potions requiring an O.

In truth, such brochures ensured that many magical students could not attend university. But as a special provision for this inaugural cohort, all Hogwarts graduates from the past five years were permitted to apply. Cedric was the first moved by this news, but fans insisted this was England’s most promising year and urged him not to return to school; Fred and George, however, were utterly unmoved—their joke shop was booming, and they had already begun inventing “The Futility of Education.”

Harry, of course, was seriously considering university—but he found himself paralyzed by choosing a major. Clearly, his strongest subjects were Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions, yet his greatest passion remained Quidditch. When he scanned the brochures, he discovered Calia Academy offered no Potions program, while the Dragon Academy offered no Defense Against the Dark Arts—and neither school had any Quidditch-related offerings.

This meant that if Harry refused to associate with those conservatives, he could not pursue advanced Potions. Even if he could overcome the discomfort of the environment, he had to consider his public image: frankly, he had no desire to grant further legitimacy to those conservatives.

Another unsettling detail was Calia Academy’s new “Supernatural Power Studies” department, which permitted holders of Supernatural Power to enroll without taking exams. Ron might have viewed this as a blessing, but Harry still wanted to enter university based solely on merit. Moreover, the department clearly prioritized research into Hui Stone Magic—Harry saw no reason to join.

But once these majors were discarded, the only remaining field related to Defense Against the Dark Arts was Education. Unless Harry resolved to become a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, he could find no reason to choose it.

After much deliberation, Harry reluctantly chose Modern Dueling Studies. Unlike Ron’s boisterous display of his medal, Harry entered the NEWTs exam hall with quiet respect, rolling up his quill.

After a week of continuous exams, they, like most students, indulged briefly in revelry. Since exams for other years hadn’t ended and loud noise was forbidden in common rooms, seventh-years gathered en masse in Hogsmeade, where the Three Broomsticks enjoyed unprecedented business.

Then, in the chaos, they made a fatal mistake: serving butterbeer containing real alcohol to this energetic, idle crowd.

Harry would never forget this day. As he and Ron sipped their drinks, debating whether the beverage tasted off, a sharp female voice suddenly rose nearby: “...They’re begging! They’re panhandling! What do our officials do every day? Clutching broken bowls, begging for a false sense of security—once they crouched outside the Pentagon, now they crouch outside the Ministry!”

“Do you think things are improving? Are we on an upward trajectory? You go to university, you intern at the Ministry—we all have bright futures? No! Not at all! Outside this wall—the wall called the Statute of Secrecy—the world is undergoing earth-shattering change, yet our Prime Minister only makes excuses and keeps yelling ‘Win! Win! Win!’ We’re becoming a marginal European backwater, or worse—a U.S. missile base!”

Harry recognized the woman standing, delivering her impassioned speech: it was Hermione.

“What even are we? Look at this curriculum—this is just Hogwarts Year Eight! Adding four more years of school won’t restore Britain’s greatness, nor will developing these bizarre magical weapons. Our real threat isn’t outside—it’s inside government, in Downing Street, among those useless, idle fools—and the Ministry? The Ministry stands on the dry shore—is it truly clean?”

“Since last year, since I signed the Supernatural Power Treaty, I’ve thought nonstop: we once possessed the world’s most advanced technology, the strongest military, once stood atop the global summit. Now? Now we cower in a corner, chirping feebly as if we still had power—I know you may not understand Muggle history. But one thing is certain: we now possess the most advanced Supernatural Power and the strongest wizards. And then? Will we repeat the same mistake? Will we, in a few decades, become an insignificant corner of the world—a stray dog any superpower can kick to death?”

“Students, friends—we stand in a unique era. The Statute of Secrecy is crumbling. The magical world can now step forward boldly, to guide and reform our ideal-dead Muggle officials, to restore the glory of the British Empire. This is an opportunity unseen in a century. But what is the Ministry doing? Playing ostrich, pretending ignorance, afraid of mistakes, doing nothing.”

She raised the document in her hand high. Harry recognized it: the admission notice from Calia Academy granting exemption from exams to holders of Supernatural Power.

“Let me be frank: this so-called Royal Academy exists so the Crown and the Muggle government can identify more wizards, to maintain stability—to preserve this stupid, stagnant stability—and watch helplessly as our hard-won advantages drain away.”

With both hands, she tore the notice in two. “I won’t go.”

“Well,” a male voice said beside Harry—it was Neville. “If she doesn’t want to go, she could just not pick it up. Why tear it up…?”

Harry turned, leaning toward him, whispering: “When did you arrive? Did you see what happened before?”

“She seems drunk,” Neville said candidly. “They used real beer today.”

Harry glanced at his cup in surprise, rubbed his face, and chuckled slightly. “Hermione’s had these thoughts for ages, but tearing up her acceptance letter today? That’s just ridiculous.”

“And she did it publicly—can she even fix this now?” Ron asked. “It’s strange—wasn’t she always desperate to go to university?”

Neville rubbed his chin slowly. “There’s another possibility: Hermione’s always wanted to prove she’s different. So when everyone was preparing for jobs, she wanted university; now that everyone wants university, she wants… politics?”

“What does that have to do with politics?” Harry asked, glancing toward where Hermione had vanished.

“First, she refuses university. Then, she gives a speech in a pub. And she has that SPEW thing, right?” Neville cleared his throat. “I won’t say more.”

Though merely speculative, ever since Donald had explained the Manifestation Theory, Harry had grown sensitive to such vague connections. Carrying a faint unease, he hesitated briefly, then followed her out—but found no trace of her. It wasn’t until nightfall that he found Hermione again in the common room, looking considerably more sober.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t go to university,” Hermione said, slightly embarrassed. “I took my A-Levels back in early June. I got into Cambridge. So we’ll still meet on the same campus—I’ll be at Trinity, not Calia. That’s all.”

“Oh, I see,” Harry said, scratching his head awkwardly. “Neville—he’s not going to university. He’s staying at Hogwarts to teach Herbology. I thought you were too—”

“He’s been gossiping about me, hasn’t he?” Hermione shrugged. “Well… are you going to work with the Ministry on Supernatural Power? Honestly, I hope this power spreads widely—not just for national progress, but maybe… so we won’t feel so alone.”

Harry rubbed his cheek. He’d never felt anything special because of his extraordinary power. Perhaps Hermione’s loneliness stemmed from her troubled emotional history.

“Then today in the pub—”

“I just wanted to make a splash and did something stupid. Please don’t ask me about it again,” Hermione said, grimacing. “I know what I need to do. I’ll do it.”