A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts-Chapter 706: Halftime Break - (1)

The next day, as expected, the television interview sparked fervent discussions.

A series of fresh reports popped out like toast from a toaster, eagerly waiting to be slathered with butter and jam and devoured by the public. Fred and George's private radio station once again proved invaluable, selecting some of the most interesting news from the morning's clippings to broadcast to those "still young at heart."

After reading a piece titled "Utopian Society: Progress or Regression?", Fred asked his listeners, "Can anyone tell me if 'utopia' is actually an insult? I couldn't figure it out after reading the whole article. This self-proclaimed anthropologist believes wizards are freaks participating in a large-scale social experiment aligned with their ideals, giving me the bizarre feeling of working for nothing. Listen to this: 'When material wealth abounds and individual survival skills are at their peak, human social structures will inevitably shift from rigid to loose, weakening the concept of the nation-state as individuals come together over shared ideals...'"

collect my things." Aunt Petunia's frying pan dropped, denting her favorite wooden floor. Dudley, on summer break, scowled, pondering why Harry would pack up as soon as he arrived.

Harry almost heard Dudley's rusty brain creaking. He tried not to look at him; if anyone in this family had shown him a hint of novelty over the years, it was Dudley's slight interest in magic.

Uncle Vernon suddenly leaped up, startling everyone. He paced the living room, occasionally scrutinizing Harry with a look that made one wonder if he'd mastered Legilimency.

"Anything else?" Harry asked impatiently, ready to leave.

"Don't rush off; I have questions!" Uncle Vernon said. Harry paused, but Uncle Vernon hesitated, his face changing colors, fascinating Harry. Finally, before suffocating himself, he blurted out, "Is there going to be a war?"

"Vernon—" Aunt Petunia shrieked.

"Shut up, Petunia," he barked. His face turned puce.

Harry stared at him, unable to comprehend Uncle Vernon's thought process despite their eleven years together and several shared summers.

"Why would you think that?"

"Why else would you suddenly decide to move?" Uncle Vernon said, his small eyes gleaming shrewdly, "You must have heard something in advance, right? Negotiations are going badly— it's all over the newspapers, I should have realized." He pounded his fist, his expression tormented.

"Kid, we're your relatives; you can't run off alone!"

"You're wrong; it's not for that reason," Harry stated stiffly.

"Then why?!"

"I'm of age," Harry said, feeling a weight lift off his chest, "I'm of age," he repeated, his voice rising slightly, "so I'm moving out. You won't have to worry about me showing up and causing talk. Just bear the occasional owl-delivered card on days like Christmas..."

An eerie silence fell over the room.

"Alright," Uncle Vernon muttered after a while, "if that's the reason—"

"Wait, you're not of age yet," Aunt Petunia interjected with the shrewdness of a seasoned bargainer, "you're still a few days short."

"It doesn't matter anymore," Harry said.

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