Flux & Flow
He was alone. This is it, this was what he had tried to avoid. He was hated and scorned, just like at the Dursleys. It was no different. It wasn’t worth the effort, he thought, t’would have been much easier if everyone had just hated him from the beginning. It wouldn’t be as painful now if he hadn’t bothered. But he had deigned to hope. To believe that he could have friends, to believe that he could trust. They’d almost tricked him. But he saw now. They were just like everybody else he’d met. And he wasn’t going to bother with them anymore. It was kind of funny, he thought. They’d been able to repair those rose tinted glasses that had been broken for so many years. And now, they’d once again been crushed underfoot, leaving nothing but dust. He should have just let the hat sort him into Slytherin.
It was honestly tiring. Keeping up the fallacy that was the Gryffindor Golden Boy. Not just tiring though, bloody impossible. They expect him to act in a certain way, while telling him that because of things he couldn’t control, his life and existence was inherently wrong and evil. Supposedly “Dark”. He thought it was normal, speaking to snakes. They were always friendly, kind to him. They had been his only confidants. His only friends, even if they could hardly relate to a human. And now because he revealed that he could speak their tongue, he immediately becomes ostracized. It was a display of the wizarding world at its best. Wrong. Evil. Insidious. Dark.
What did that even mean? “Dark”? What was “Light” or “Grey”? He didn’t know. He never knew. No one told him, just spouted off about it being bad. Why was it bad? Does it hurt people? Scare people? With a bit of creativity, he could do the same things with classified Light spells, too. He needed to know, and he needed to know now. It was the one thing that his life was apparently based on after all, and he had no grasp of any of the meanings of any of these concepts! But who to ask?
McGonagall would brush him off; Dumbledore would probably lie to him just like numerous previous accounts. Lockhart was a fool and probably had no idea what they meant either.
Hermione was currently disgusted and scared shitless whenever he got within five meters of her. Ron- rather, Ronald -was taking every opportunity to let him know how revolting and repugnant he was, and had already hexed him several times this week alone.
He was feeling kind of resentful to a lot of the other teachers, almost all of them in fact, because they had done nothing to help him. Rather, he could see that they were the same as the rest of the school, if only to a lesser degree.
McGonagall was nervous and jumpy when he was around, and had done nothing to help him other than take a few measly points from Ronald after he and Neville were hexed by him. She really only acted because Neville was hit as well.
Sprout was understanding and kind as ever, and told him that Dumbledore had told them not to say anything regarding him being a Parselmouth. He may not like herbology very much, but Sprout was always his favourite. She admitted to her job being threatened after speaking out against him privately.
Lockhart approached him less, and he appreciated that. Flitwick said nothing, and acted like nothing had changed.
Sinistra looked at him with pity and awe, which confused him, but largely said nothing along the lines of anything useful.
Vector stepped around him in the hallways, and never helped him in Runes anymore, just looking on in outright fear. Binns was the same as the day he died.
Snape seemed somewhat disturbed by him, but never openly, he continued on his harassment, though less vicious. He had been helpful in the numerous times that Ronald was openly mocking him with the rest of the Gryffindor boys, and had silenced them and taken points (with his nastiest sneer) for bullying. The two times when he was hexed in class, Ronald and a few others had earned detentions with the Potions Master for endangering the entire class while brewing.
Snape had even saved his life when Cormac McLaggen sent a tripping hex and an awareness retention medicharm at him while he was going down the stairs. He became an artful pile of limbs bent at odd angles, his bones breaking skin, leaving a crimson mote surrounding his mangled body, and he was kept conscious to feel everything. He could hear from the top of the stairs, “You should have died with your parents, vile snake!” before McLaggen left. Snape found him not ten minutes later and started performing medical procedures while sending off a patronus to summon Pomfrey.
By far, the strangest actions were by the students. Hufflepuffs ran when they saw him, except Cedric Diggory who was only slightly wary around him, even if he tried to get away as soon as possible. The younger Ravenclaws actively avoided him, but made an attempt to be subtle about it; the older ones, however, cherished the time he was near them, curiosity getting the better of them, and quietly staring from time to time. The Slytherins, surprisingly, stopped their campaign against him, and while some sat silently, contemplating, others decided to boldly (for them) help him on random occasions.
The Gryffindors were the biggest hit to him. They were disgusted by him, but instead of running like the Hufflepuffs, they made sure they clearly stated all of their opinions and judgments to his face and behind his back. It was a betrayal that he had never felt before, to have people who onced deigned themselves his friends and comrades, now turning so fast on him. Every traitorous act chipped his carefully constructed mask, served to tire him, forced all concern from his body, leaving him feeling cold and indifferent. They tore apart his homework, his classwork, even just notes; they got into his trunk and ruined his clothes (even more), stealing his quills and ink.
Ron stole his cloak.
They burned the map to ashes.
They decimated his parents’ photo album.
They had just snapped his wand, before the Gryffindor Golden Boy was finally felled.
His mask shattered.
He knew it would never return.
And now he was left here. Left thinking, puzzling, in his tiny alcove deep in the dungeons, in a nest of soft stolen blankets and bed sheets, under the stairs that lead up to the Great Hall from the Slytherin common room. It had been a Friday afternoon when they snapped his wand, it was now Tuesday morning. He hadn’t gone back the whole time. He spent Saturday setting up his new home. He used Sunday to mourn his wand, and buried it on school grounds, before scavenging the library for books, either courseware or reference material, as well as parchment, quills, and ink. He was lucky enough to find two abandon notebooks; one was a black leatherbound book, old yellowed parchment pages, and the initials T.M. Riddle, sewn in silver thread on the onyx cover. The other was a simple notebook, other than the dark blue dragonhide cover, and that the pages never ended. He knew the elves were probably leaving these things for him to find.
On Monday he slept all day. And then there he was tuesday morning. He knew he wouldn’t be welcomed back to the Gryffindor dorms, so his only option was to stay there. He gathered his notebook, a self inking quill he’d stolen from Vector, and prepared for classes.
He wandered up to the Great Hall, and from the glares he was getting from the Gryffindors, he wasn’t sitting with them. Instead, he opted to sit down in the far corner. In front of him popped a simple buttered bagel, and cup of tea, his usual breakfast. He ate slowly, calmly, seemingly detached from the world, inside his own mind, but that was a far cry from the truth. He was well aware that most of the Hall was staring at him, he just didn’t care anymore. The mask of the care free child he had created had been unintentional, originally. He supposed it was a side effect of living for so long with the Dursleys. To automatically conform to the expectations that were heaped upon him. It had become a stressing thing to do after last year, where any chance of living with his godfather was revoked the Minister of Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge. Case in point: let them stare, he was going to do what he wanted for once in his life. After eating he headed to Transfiguration.
He knew that if the Gryffindors didn’t want him at their table, they likely didn’t want him sitting near them at all. With this knowledge, he slipped into a seat on the designated “Slytherin Side” of the room. With enough luck they’d leave him be and not retaliate.
When Draco and the rest of the Slytherins got to the Transfiguration classroom and walked in, they did not expect to see the Golden Boy sitting on their side of the room. Then again he hadn’t been in classes for a good week. There was something going on in Gryffindor, they were all acting sporadically. Not that they didn’t do that all the time, but their behavior was usually directed outwards towards the other houses, mainly Slytherin; lately they were purposely aiming it at one of their own. Their own Golden Boy, it seemed. Potter didn’t look too well. He was paler than normal, dark bruises marked his eyes, and his school robes looked like they’d been shredded by a group of marksman. Draco’s eyes widened when he realized that his robes were not only shredded, but also lacked the red and gold trim and tie. Which could mean a few things, but Draco was of the impression that the entire House of Gryffindor thinks him an outsider, or Potter himself renounced his own House. Either were possible, Draco realized belatedly.
Making up his mind, Draco slid into the seat next to Potter. Potter looked up from his notebook, which was suspiciously blank, and towards Draco. Potter seemed to scan him, while the other Slytherins filled out the seats nearest them. Potter then turned to look at Blaise, who sat on his right, and Theo, who was to Blaise’s right. He seemed to begrudgingly accept the situation they had created, and went back to his notebook, picking up his quill, putting it to paper then proceeding to write out things that they’d learned earlier in the year. Draco looked to Blaise, exchanging a knowing glance, before looking back at Potter.
“Potter,”
He stopped writing, and looked towards Draco expectantly, face blank.
“Did they… destroy your notes?”
He paused, before nodding.
Draco furrowed his brow, reaching for his bag, Draco pulled out his own notes, and after a moment of hesitation, his textbook too, suspecting more than minor sabotage. He laid them out in front of himself, and offered his notes to be copied, and to share his book.
Potter looked at Draco with an expression of mild confusion. A silent ‘why?’.
“We find it ridiculous how quickly they turn on one of their own. Plus you’re a Parselmouth like Salazar Slytherin, and in the future, you’ll probably be very influential, being “The Boy-Who-Lived”, and the soon-to-be Lord Potter, Lord of one of the richest houses in Wizarding Britain.” Blaise answered.
“I admit, the rivalry thing was childish,” Draco added on, “I really wanted to be your friend, and then to find you sitting with the Blood Traitor and the Mud- Muggleborn, and to be overlooked in favor of them,” he scratched the back of his head embarrassedly, “it was rather infuriating; keep in mind, at that point, I was always given everything I asked for, so that probably didn’t help.”
“A bit spoiled much, then?” Potter spoke. His voice surprised all the Slytherins; it was rasping and rusty. It was hoarse and rough, as though his throat were a dry desert or sandpaper.
“ … Your voice…” Theo said, looking concerned and worried.
“McLaggen tripped me on the stairs… I managed to damage my hyoid bone,” he explained raucously, pointing to his adam’s apple, “and vocal cords… trying to heal them would have resulted in more damage, I’d’ve become mute.” Potter coughed a bit, before extrapolating further, “It hurts a bit to talk. I do so sparingly.”
The Slytherins’ reactions varied a bit. Pansy, Daphne, and Blaise looked rightly furious. Theo, Draco, and Tracy seemed worried for him. Gregory, Vincent, and Millicent appeared horrified. They stayed in silence after that, until the Gryffindors decided to file into the room. When Professor McGonagall showed up at 9:00 am on the dot, she took attendance. She seemed regretful but understanding that Potter would want to sit with the Slytherins as opposed to the Gryffindors, who would glare mutinously at him from time to time, as though it wasn’t their fault that he was staying away from them. Only two people didn’t fit with the set pattern.
Hermione felt like shit. She didn’t think it appropriate to swear in most situations, but this one called for it. She was an idiot. She had abandon her friend because she was scared, of a language no less, and then his treatment by their house got worse and worse, and she didn’t say a thing against it. She had regretted nothing more in her life. She felt ashamed and guilty, and she didn’t know what to do for once. She had no idea what to do to fix it, didn’t even know if she could! She realized she should have done something when she saw Ron- no, Ronald -buring Harry’s things. She became unable to sleep when McLaggen attacked him, and when he never came back to the Gryffindor common rooms after that. She knew she was slipping, her grades falling, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Harry was her first friend. And she abandon him. She knew how she would feel in that situation. Utterly betrayed. She’d have been angry and panicked, scared and hated, and undoubtedly alone. She was going to rectify her mistake, the worst of her life, and she was going to do it right.
Neville was lost. He didn’t like what his housemates were doing to Harry, but everytime he tried to speak against it, everyone either laughed at him for trying and ended up receiving the same treatment, or everybody would just speak over him. He felt awful and guilt ridden, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. The more he tried to interfere, the more he was insulted or ignored. It felt like being back at home with his Gran, before he went bouncing down the street. Except there was no Uncle Algie to counteract it this time. So when he came in late to Transfiguration, only to see Harry sitting with the Slytherins, he made a very quick and not well thought out decision. He walked passed the Gryffindors to the Slytherin side of the class, and sat down to the nicest looking slytherin, in hopes of supporting Harry and not incurring the wrath of the Slytherin House.
When Hermione saw what Neville did, she facepalmed. Why didn’t she think of that? Oh, that’s right, because she, as a muggleborn, doesn’t have a Noble House backing her. Well, she didn’t think that mattered anymore. Rectifying her mistake in regards to her treatment of Harry came before being afraid of the Purebloods and their bigotry. Gathering her things, Hermione stood up and walked over to the Slytherin side of the room as well, choosing to sit next to Tracy Davies, a Halfblood, and least likely to be a blood supremacist.
With that surprise out of the way, a tired looking McGonagall set them to practical work.
Theo was rightly surprised, when the Longbottom heir chose to sit next to him. He couldn’t figure out why. Why would Longbottom, part of a Light oriented house, sit next to him, a Nott, whose father was imprisoned under suspicion of Death Eater activity? He was beyond confused, and he supposed it got past his mask of indifference, because Longbottom nudged him, before asking, “Are you ok?” Theo thought before answering, deciding to be straightforward in Gryffindor fashion, to get his point across.
“I’m trying to figure out why you sat next to me in particular and not anyone else.”
Longbottom seemed a bit surprised at his questioning.
“Well, you seemed to be the nicest, the most, I don’t know… least threatening Slytherin.”
Theo blinked at his reasoning. “W-what?” he said, in genuine confusion.
“You never get involved in the other Slytherins spats, like Malfoy and Harry’s confrontations. You never go looking for confrontations either. You have friends in other Houses, and seem to act as a neutral party in inter House disputes. Your quiet, but still have conversation regularly.”
Theo was taken aback at all that the Gryffindor noticed those things. It honestly wasn’t much, but it was a lot for the supposedly unobservant House. “But, my House is Dark, and yours is Light. My father is a suspected Death Eater!” he whispered furiously, trying to find that hint of animosity or disgust held in most. Sure enough, it was there, but there was something else as well.
“I can’t really judge anyone. I mean, we’re just kids, so why should I judge you by information on your father? You can’t be the same person, right?” Longbottom answered, “And besides, I don’t know a lot about history, I spend as much time as I can in the greenhouses.” he finished off with a smile.
Theo was as confused as he was pleased with Longbottom’s reasoning, and he really couldn’t help smiling back a little.
Tracy was feeling a bit… awkward. She knew why Granger sat next to her, a smart move that she would later praise, but for now… well, she was floundering. Slytherins didn’t often interact with other Houses, and when they did, it was usually with hostility. The only ones who’d gotten past that were Theo and Millie. Not to mention, she could see Pansy out of the corner of her eye, shuffle away and wrinkle her nose. And now here she was, with a Gryffindor beside, and behind her (given the one behind her hardly acted like a Gryffindor anymore). And it just kept getting more and more uncomfortable, until, having not furthered her casting, she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Granger… why are you sitting here?” she stumbled out.
“Because this is the first step to correcting my blunder with Harry, silent support.” she replied without even looking up from her work, which was only a slight bit further along than Tracy’s.
“Blunder?” Tracy asked, her interest being peaked.
“I was an idiot, and abandon him because of a little bit of fear, but then I saw the others burning his trunk, and McLaggen tripped him on the stairs, and he never came back to the Tower after that. I couldn’t sleep. I need to fix what I’ve done. He was my first friend, and I’m not going to let go because of a momentary lapse in courage.” she said determinedly. Tracy didn’t even think she realized that Potter was sitting right behind them, as she, again, was too focused on her work.
Tracy turned and gave a look to Potter, who raised an eyebrow and shrugged.
Tracy sighed and got back to her work, ignoring the wrathful glares from the Gryffindors with the rest of the Slytherins. In her opinion, they just got into something that was impossible to get out of.
She was brought out of her musing by a tap on her back. Turning, she was handed a piece of parchment by Potter before he went back to rewriting his notes. It was addressed to Granger, to which she passed on. After she read it, of course.
That they were insane was her only thought.
Hermione was worried. She had never been purposely late to a class, much less Potions. She could only think that Snape was- Professor Snape, was going to figuratively murder them. They stood outside the Tower; Harry, Neville, Malfoy, and her.
“Harry, why is Malfoy with us?” she tried not to say it in a suffering tone, but she was curious and more than a little worried.
“I’m your ticket out of detention.” he said smugly.
“So what are we doing, exactly?” Neville asked curiously, yet cautiously.
“I’ve decided you two will be moving in with me.” Harry rasped.
To that, they stared uncomprehendingly. Startled at both his voice and his words.
Harry sighed, “Because you made a show to support me, you’re also going to be targeted. Get in there, pack your trunks, and come back with them. We’ll be waiting.”
She and Neville nodded, slipping into the empty common room, Hermione rushed up the stairs, packed up her books, tooth brush, tooth paste, hair ties, pajamas, and set off back down the stairs, meeting Neville at the bottom, and hurrying out the portrait hole.
“Right, come on.” Harry said.
They traveled down, down, down, to the dungeons, then in the hallway to the Potions classroom, right off from the stairs, Harry stepped right, and stopped in front of a recessed wall niche, with an intricate statue of an imperial dragon. At the base was the inscription in runes, “To thine own self be true.”
“William Shakespeare.” Harry spoke quietly. The eyes of the dragon flashed green, and they all watched as the statue grinned, bending to hiss at the inscription, and knocking twice. There was the sound of stone sliding against stone, as the bricks to the right of the statue slip away revealing a passageway.
“Dear Merlin…” Draco muttered. The other two nodded, too shocked to find words. Harry simply smirked, eyes full of mirth. He beckoned them to follow, and follow they did, the bricks sliding shut after them.
Walking along the passage was quick, starting with a turn to the right, then straight forward.
They were met with a dead end, with four zeros on the wall. Harry reached out and tapped the first zero once, the second six times, until it read “1616” before knocking twice on the wall, afterwards it slid away, revealing a circular room. There were three beds in the same style as the dorms, one deep green with a dark wood frame to the left, another sapphire blue sheets to the right, and the last a dark crimson sheets in between the other two. Each had a desk to the right and a dresser to the left, with a door to the right of the entrance leading to a bathroom, including shower.
“Thank you Great Lady.” Harry said to seemingly no one.
“How did you find this, Potter?” Draco asked in awe.
“I’ve known about this place since first year; it’s where I disappear to. The portraits told me the castle was alive, so I asked Lady Hogwarts for a safe place. I was given a wisp to follow, and it took me here, though I set the passwords.” he rambled, “I asked the house elves to redecorate it seeing as i’m going to have two more people staying with me. It used to just be a pile of blankets and sheets in a room under the stairs. I’m not sure how they figured out that we duped the Sorting Hat though…” he trailed off.
Harry clapped suddenly, “Alright, put your things by your bed, we’ve gotta get going.”
Hermione quickly snapped out of her trance, dragging Neville along with her, while Harry took out a sheet of parchment, quickly jotting something down, before setting it on his desk. They all hurried out of the secret room, “Will’s Room” Harry told them, and down the corridor to Potions. Draco advised them to apologise, but only once, and with respect.
Snape was on them the second they walked through the door, “Potter! I will not have you being late to my class! Fifty points from Gryffindor, for each of you!”
Hermione, despite wanting to apologise profusely, adhered to Draco’s advice, “I’m sorry Professor.” before sitting down with Tracy again, Neville going back to Theo, and Harry again sitting between Blaise and Draco, which threw Snape completely off track. It was hardly noticeable, but his brow furrowed slightly. He said nothing, however.
Theo advised Neville to just watch him and Blaise finish their potion, while Hermione took over adding ingredients and stirring from Tracy, who was very tired and stressed from working alone. Harry and Draco however, set up a new cauldron. They were strangely in sync, as Harry prepared the ingredients to perfection, and Draco covered the timing and stirring. When they finished, it was well into lunch, Hermione, Neville, Theo, Blaise, Tracy, Daphne, and Pansy choosing to stay to see the completion. It was above average, because of Draco, and done in the shortest amount of time and with little effort on Draco’s part due to Harry’s preparation.
“Y’know, if you knew more about why ingredients are prepared in certain ways, and a bit more about the effects of the ingredients themselves, you’ be much better.” Draco said offhandedly while they were cleaning up.
“You’re right, but as of last week, I apparently don’t deserve the chance to do well in school.”
“Right, your books…” Draco grimaced, “can you owl order new ones?”
“I currently have about 13s left.”
Draco whipped around, face the picture of shock, “What?!”
“What do you mean, “13s”?” Pansy asked incredulously.
“Why didn’t you go to the bank to restock during the summer?” Blaise questioned, growing suspicious, when the word “summer” incited a pained scowl.
“I wasn’t allowed outside the house.” Potter responded.
“You couldn’t go outside.” Daphne rephrased.
“No, I was locked in my room.” he confirmed.
“You locked yourself in your room?” Theo inquired.
“Why would I do that?” Potter growled, furiously scrubbing at the table top.
“You were there all summer?” Draco queried.
“Yes.” Potter hissed through gritted teeth.
“Harry… did you ever even have this year’s books in the first place?” Hermione whispered, looking at her friend.
His body tensed, eyes down, and movement stopping.
Her eyes widened, she jerked forward, grabbing his shoulder, and forced him to face her.
“Harry, where is your cloak?”
“Ronald.” he replied, making her grip tighten.
“The map?” she said, desperation increasing.
“Burned.”
“Photo album?”
“Burned.”
“Harry… where is your wand?” he jerked violently, and simply shook his head. There was silence. The sound of breathing most prominent.
“I’ll kill him.” she said, sparking in rage.
“Actually, I wanted something more along the lines of cutting off his arms and legs, preparing them nicely, then forcing him to eat himself.” Harry whispered to her, his eyes gleaming vicious glee.
“I have a feeling I don’t want to know what he said.” Blaise murmured to Theo.
“Chop, chop, if you want to eat lunch you’ll help clean up.” Draco hurried, and the rest of them set about cleaning up together.
After eating lunch, the Gryffindors headed to History, along with the Ravenclaws; Harry, with Blaise’s textbook in hand, set to tuning out Binns, and reading up on other past events. He wasn’t going to lie, while the goblin wars were interesting, the way in which they were presented was not, and after a while, they got stale and repetitive. There was a formula to them, and somehow other people couldn’t see it, or didn’t bother to look. Someone offends a goblin, they retaliate, the person regrets it, the government gets angry, declares war, then recall why its a bad idea to fight with the goblins, and surrender. Wash, rinse, repeat. It’s like they forget they even made a mistake. The idiots.
Harry, while writing his notes, took a while to realize that Blaise’s book was the unedited version, released before the ministry got their sticky hands on it. He nudged Hermione with his elbow, prompting her to look over, he pointed to the page and paragraph, then to her, and back. She looked at him, and furrowed her brow, but did as directed.
“I find that I can’t help but to wonder at what the Ministry does. Several times over the last few centuries, there have been skirmishes not only with the goblins, but the vampire covens, werewolf packs, centaur herds, veela flocks, naga and gorgon quivers, faun tribes, satyr herds, merfolk shoals, sphinx queries, and more. Most (legal) books hardly reference these altercations, and while I don’t know what the ministry is doing, it only takes a peek into the history and law archives to see that the European Wizarding communities are becoming more and more selective as to whom they determine acceptable and as to whom are deemed as objects, animals, and plagues.”
Hermione was confused. She had never read that before, and she read over all of her books before the school year started. She quickly flipped to the same page in her copy of the text, and found the space covered over by goblin made artwork depicting the Con Artist Conflict of 1348, which was, incidentally and obviously, not goblin made. She turned, writing on a scrap piece of parchment, “When was yours published?”
Harry marked the page before he turned to the front of the book, scrolling through the credits. Finding the year, he wrote, on the same parchment, “1906.”
“Mine was 1909.” she replied back.
“Must have been recalled and edited.”
“Who’s book is that?”
“Blaise’s. The others might have their own.”
“The upside of Dark Pureblood friends: the illegal books.”
Harry snorted at that. It was very like Hermione, yet also not the one he used to know. She’d changed. In first year, she had an undying adoration and devotion to teachers and figureheads. Though all the craziness with Quirrelmort going after the stone, the troll, and how none of the adults believed that the stone could be in trouble; maybe even the fact that three first years were able to get past the protections put in place to keep it safe. Second year held the revelation of how people in their government would undermine the law at their discretion, was a huge hit to her beliefs as well; and finally this year, seeing none of the teachers actively do something to help him, probably put the final nail in the coffin. She was becoming more shrewd and open-minded.
After History was Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, where they were doing practical work with mandrakes. Hermione grimaced, not partial to practical work. Harry sat on the left, with Neville on the right, and Hermione in the middle. He was used to doing the gardening during the summer, and for five years before that, too.
When classes finished, they tallied their homework, before heading down to Will’s room to complete it. An Herbology paper, 7-16”, Transfiguring a marble statue of their favourite animal, and a piece about lambs-ear, its properties, and other stachys, 19” due Friday.
About halfway through their herbology homework, Blaise, Theo, and Draco find them.
“We walked all around the castle to find you guys,” Draco complained.
“Not our fault.” Harry deflected.
Draco gave a suffering, melodramatic sigh.
“Hey Blaise, where did you get your History textbook?” Hermione asked out of the blue.
“It was my great uncle’s.” he told them, “He was close with the author. Why?”
“It says some… less than pleasant things about the Ministry and the general population.”
“It insinuates that someone in the Ministry would blackmail the publishers, to have it recalled, and edited without the author’s permission.” Harry added on.
Blaise raised an eyebrow in question.
“They shouldn’t have needed to, anything published for the last few decades must have Ministry approval. It’s used to regulate the production of anything Dark.” Draco said in confusion.
“But nothing before 1920.” Blaise corrected, “So its actually a fair assumption.”
“By the way, what is “Dark”?” Neville inquired.
The three Slytherins looked at him as though he were crazy.
“ … You don’t know?” Draco asked.
All three shook their heads.
“Right then…” Blaise breathed, “The Dark is a political stance. It calls for separation from the muggle world, monitoring muggleborns to ensure their safety as soon as they’re found, bringing back old traditions and rites, teaching muggleborns about magical tradition, and the liberation of creatures and their classification as sentient beings, which essentially means sentient creatures being given the same rights as us, and having more time and effort put into finding ways around problematic habits or gifts.”
“Teaching muggleborns magical traditions? I didn’t even know we had traditions.”
“And that’s part of the problem. When muggleborns are introduced to the magical world, they have preconceptions. They project their beliefs and expectations onto the Wizarding World, they want to change it, but instead of innovating new ideas, they want it to follow the muggle world.”
“When they find out about our practices, they often don’t care to listen to explanation, and jump straight to conclusions. Sometimes even replacing it with their own holidays, like Halloween and Christmas and Easter.”
The three ranted on, taking turns to elaborate on the unfairness and rudeness that the purebloods were being subjected to. Harry and Hermione shared a look. Harry sighed, going back to his work, writing a few lines, before borrowing Neville’s textbook for reference. Their ranting wasn’t going to end anytime soon, he knew.