"If I became an Archmage," she mumbled, almost to herself, "they would have no choice but to respect me..."
That made Ulrich raise a brow.
It was one of the few times that night he looked surprised.
"You wish to become an Archmage?" He asked her inquisitively.
The question made Hermione avert her eyes almost instantly.
The confidence she had shown one second ago cracked under the weight of saying it aloud.
"I—I mean..." She began awkwardly, "there are not many of them. And everyone looks up to them."
Her voice softened at the end.
Archmages stood at the summit of magical achievement. They were figures spoken of with awe, the kind of people whose names lasted long after their lives ended. They were not merely powerful. They were revered. To reach such a height meant mastery, recognition, and a place in the world no one could casually dismiss.
It was a dream Hermione had carried for longer than she admitted.
