Prologue
The low hum of the Slytherin common room filled the air like the background chords of a dirge. Green light filtered through the lake above, casting shifting, murky patterns on the stone walls. The fire crackled in the hearth, its warmth barely cutting through the perpetual chill of the dungeons.
Sage Selwyn sat cross-legged in one of the high-backed chairs near the fire, her strawberry blonde hair tied back into a neat plait. A worn book rested on her lap, its cover embossed with faded silver lettering that shimmered faintly in the dim light. Across from her, Draco Malfoy sprawled on a leather settee, one arm draped over the back and the other holding a goblet of pumpkin juice.
Draco was in the middle of a diatribe about mudbloods—again. His words were sharp and polished, delivered with the practiced disdain of someone who had grown up knowing his place in the world. Yet tonight, Sage found herself only half-listening, her mind wandering as his voice ebbed and flowed like the tide.
“And that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Draco said, leaning forward, his pale hair catching the firelight. “It’s not just that they don’t belong. It’s that they’re fundamentally incapable of understanding what magic really is.”
Sage tilted her head, the ghost of a smile flickering on her lips. “Fundamentally incapable? That’s a bold claim, Draco.”
He arched an eyebrow. “It’s the truth. Magic is in our blood. It’s who we are. You can’t teach a slug to sing, Sage, no matter how hard you try.”
The smile faded, replaced by a thoughtful frown. Sage closed the book on her lap with a soft thud and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “What if you’re wrong?”
Draco blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. “Wrong?” he repeated, his tone incredulous.
“About magic. About blood. About… all of it,” Sage said, gesturing vaguely with one hand.
Draco leaned back, studying her with narrowed eyes. “Is this one of your little intellectual exercises, or are you serious?”
“A bit of both.” She straightened in her chair, brushing an invisible speck of dust from her robes. “Indulge me for a moment. Let’s assume, for the sake of argument, that magic isn’t tied to blood purity or lineage. What if there’s no real difference between wizards and muggles?”
Draco’s laugh was sharp and hollow. “No difference? You’ve finally gone mad, Selwyn.”
She ignored the jibe, her voice calm and measured. “Hear me out. What if muggles are just… disabled wizards?”
Draco choked on his pumpkin juice. “Disabled wizards? That’s absurd.”
“Is it?” Sage countered, her green eyes bright with curiosity. “Think about it. The social model of disability suggests that limitations aren’t inherent to the individual but are created by the environment around them. Muggles can’t access magic because they weren’t taught how. Society doesn’t give them the tools or the rituals to bridge the gap. What if magic is just as much about environment and opportunity as it is about talent?”
Draco set his goblet down on the low table between them, his expression shifting from amusement to irritation. “You’re conflating ability with aptitude. Muggles don’t have magic. It’s not some latent talent they can ‘unlock.’ They’re different from us, Sage. Fundamentally.”
“But are they?” she pressed. “The origins of magic tell a different story.”
He sighed. “Merlin’s beard, here we go.”
Sage leaned forward, her voice gaining momentum. “Magic didn’t start with wands and spellbooks. It began as ritual magic—complex ceremonies that required focus, intention, and community. Anyone could participate. Muggles and wizards alike. It wasn’t about blood; it was about knowledge.”
Draco’s lip curled. “You sound like a bloody historian.”
“I am a historian,” Sage shot back, a hint of annoyance creeping into her tone. “Or at least, I plan to be. Listen, early magical practices weren’t exclusive. Over time, certain individuals—call them prodigies, if you like—became so adept at channeling magical energy that they no longer needed the rituals. They developed an innate ability to manipulate magic on their own. That’s what we call spellcasting.”
“Fascinating,” Draco drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Sage ignored him. “But here’s the thing: those early wizards didn’t evolve separately from muggles. There’s no biological distinction between us. It’s all social, Draco. Cultural. The rituals were lost to muggles over generations, and now we look at them and see them as ‘other.’ But they’re not.”
Draco stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
He shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re mad. You sound like one of those half-blood professors who thinks we should all hold hands and sing songs about unity.”
“I’m not saying we should hold hands,” Sage said, her tone dry. “I’m saying we should question the stories we’ve been told. The narratives that justify prejudice and power.”
Draco’s smirk faded. He picked up his goblet and swirled the contents absently. “And what if you’re right? What then? Are we supposed to invite muggles to Hogwarts? Teach them magic and hope for the best?”
Sage shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. Or maybe it’s not about inviting them but about understanding them. About understanding ourselves. If magic isn’t tied to blood, then the entire foundation of our world is built on a lie. And lies have consequences.”
The room fell silent except for the crackling of the fire and the faint murmur of other students in the background. Draco stared into the flames, his brows furrowed.
Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter than before. “You’ve always been a contrarian, Sage. Always asking questions no one else thinks to ask. But some questions are better left unanswered.”
“Or unasked?” she replied, arching an eyebrow.
Draco didn’t respond. He drained the last of his juice and set the goblet down with a decisive clink. “You’re going to get yourself into trouble one day, you know that?”
Sage smiled, the corners of her mouth quirking upward. “Probably. But at least it’ll be interesting.”
Draco snorted. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re predictable.”
For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, the firelight dancing on their faces. Sage picked up her book and opened it to a random page, though she didn’t read the words. Her mind was still racing, her thoughts spinning like gears in a well-oiled machine.
What if she was right? What if magic wasn’t the exclusive domain of wizards but a universal force that anyone could access with the right tools and knowledge?
It was a dangerous idea. One that could upend centuries of tradition and power structures. But Sage had never been one to shy away from danger.
As the common room began to empty and the fire burned low, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her hypothetical wasn’t just idle speculation. It was a challenge. A puzzle waiting to be solved.
And Sage Selwyn had never been able to resist a good puzzle.