Subtle Politics

Hermione's attack had sent Amosta racing across half of Europe in February—London, Paris, Berlin, Bologna. All of them were international metropolises in the current Muggle world, yet none could quite compare to the city of New York beneath his feet.

This was not a matter of how prosperous their urban development was, but something deeper. Culture, ideology—none of the European cities Amosta had visited possessed New York's vitality and its all-embracing inclusiveness.

The United States in the nineties truly was a remarkable country, but—

A dark red velvet carpet covered the floor. Crystal chandeliers cast a dreamlike, gentle glow. The décor was retro and luxurious without lacking a rich artistic flair, while the air was filled with a refreshing fragrance. In the exceedingly comfortable presidential suite, Amosta tapped the floor with the tip of his shoe, then looked toward the similar twin towers opposite the building where he was staying, a strange expression showing between his brows.

Similar worlds—one possessed magic, while the other had no supernatural system of power whatsoever.

Amosta had long given up trying to figure out what was going on. Perhaps his intelligence was worth some praise among wizards, but before the billions of Muggles, it might not even be considered exceptional. And this question was among the most unfathomable mysteries in the vast universe, not something he could comprehend.

The only reason ripples had stirred in his heart was the fate that awaited these twin towers a few years from now. Then again, with the worlds having shifted, whether it would still happen was another matter.

The glass window reflected the city's hazy, indistinct neon lights. Amosta's gaze pierced through the layers of light and shadow, fixing on a building over fifty stories tall beside the scenic Muggle City Hall Park several streets away.

The