After Monday's classes, the six members of the Magical Inquiry Club—Harry, Ron, Hermione, Zabini, Farkas, and Azrael—gathered in their usual empty classroom. Slytherin's Quidditch team didn't practice on Mondays or Sundays, and though Harry should've been training for his first match, a more pressing issue consumed them.
"What a load of rubbish," Zabini spat. "Is everyone at Hogwarts an idiot?"
"Calm down, Zabini," Harry said, his voice steady but his expression grim.
"We know you didn't petrify Colin," Ron added. "No way you'd do that."
Despite their efforts to stay composed, the group's mood was heavy. Harry was now a pariah, eyed with suspicion by much of Hogwarts.
"Never thought I'd see the day a Weasley defends us," Farkas muttered, his face a mix of relief and unease. He hid it from Harry, and the school at large was unaware, but Farkas clung to pureblood ideals. He knew all too well what it meant for a Slytherin to carelessly provoke a Muggle-born. His mind drifted to that morning's events.
A day had passed since Colin Creevey, Harry's relentless stalker, was petrified and confined to the hospital wing. The news spread like Fiendfyre through Hogwarts. At breakfast in the Great Hall, Harry faced an unexpected confrontation from a Slytherin first-year, Elai Brown.
"You did it, Harry!" Elai exclaimed. "You showed that filthy Mudblood what's what! How'd you do it?"
Harry froze, speechless. Elai's casual use of the slur in public infuriated him, as did the boy's assumption that Harry had petrified Colin. The callous mockery of a victim was beyond comprehension.
Elai, impoverished and ostracized in Slytherin, had been tidied up under McGillis Karo's patronage. But Karo wasn't the only influence. Ricardo Marthinus had filled Elai's head with pureblood rhetoric, and in Slytherin's common room, senior students like Garfeel Gafgarion tossed around slurs freely. While some, like Gemma Farley, rejected purebloodism and mingled with other houses, the louder, crueler voices—like Marthinus's—left a deeper mark on impressionable underclassmen. As the saying went: bad money drives out good.
Eager to repay his seniors' kindness, the earnest but naive Elai embraced their ideology, blurting it out in public without a second thought.
"Elai," Azrael hissed, clamping a hand over the boy's mouth, "keep that talk in the dorm."
"It's better to watch who you say that to," Farkas added gently. "Not every Slytherin's a pureblood fanatic."
Too late. The damage was done.
"What's that kid's deal? Picking a fight?" a Gryffindor muttered.
"Bloody racist," a Hufflepuff growled. "I'll take him out."
Cold glares from the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables targeted Elai and Harry. At Ravenclaw's table, Luna Lovegood, chewing gum, shot Elai a disdainful look. "This year, it's not just Gryffindor—Slytherin's got idiots too," she muttered. No one acknowledged her; Luna's eccentric fashion and belief in mythical creatures were isolating her. Objectively, she was as much an outcast as Elai, another fool in the crowd.
"But why?" Elai protested. "Harry was annoyed with Creevey, wasn't he?"
"Harry's not a pureblood supremacist," Zabini snapped. "Get to class, Elai. You're in the way."
Zabini's anger flared at the soured atmosphere. Shunning Elai was the best way to protect his and Harry's reputations, even if it meant sacrificing the boy.
"That's not fair!" Elai cried. "Karo-senpai said Slytherin's all about pureblood pride! If you're Slytherin, you're supposed to believe it!"
Oh, you absolute moron! Azrael glared, his usual composure cracking. Elai's recklessness wasn't cunning or clever—it only fueled Gryffindor's disgust. Colin had been on the verge of isolation in his own house, but being mocked and slurred would rally any decent Gryffindor to his side.
Worse, many Slytherins quietly approved of Elai's outburst. Most didn't know Colin personally or saw him only as a Muggle-born nuisance who bothered their housemate. To them, he deserved the scorn.
Harry's efforts last year had softened tensions between Gryffindor and Slytherin, reducing unprovoked bullying. But past wrongs lingered. Victims like Neville still feared Draco and Zabini, and Slytherins rarely apologized—admitting fault was a loss in British wizarding culture. Hufflepuffs aside, most students avoided owning their mistakes.
"Elai, your beliefs are your own," Harry said, avoiding his gaze as he headed to class. "But saying that now isn't smart."
The icy stares from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff grew colder. In class, students like Ernie Macmillan, once friendly, treated Harry with distant politeness. No one wanted to associate with a perceived racist.
Ron and Hermione, showing Gryffindor courage, joined Harry's table at lunch, a public gesture of friendship everyone knew. Grateful but wary of complicating things, Harry transfigured a note into a butterfly, signaling them to meet in the empty classroom.
"Never thought a Weasley would stick up for us," Farkas repeated, his voice heavy.
Hermione listened, her face somber. Usually, she dominated classes, earning Gryffindor points, but today she was drained. Noticing Azrael and Farkas's awkward glances, and the occasional stares from other Slytherins, she steeled herself to confront the group.
"Is there something you're not telling me?" she asked.
"What do you mean?" Harry replied, though he'd noticed her pallor. Since the morning's incident, he'd dreaded explaining himself, hoping this day would never come.
"What's a 'Mudblood'?" Hermione's voice was steady but sharp.
Tension crackled. Farkas paled, glancing at Harry. Azrael looked away. Before Harry could speak, Ron answered, his voice trembling with anger.
"It's the worst insult they've got," he said. "A term for people like you, whose parents aren't wizards. They think it makes them better—purebloods like Malfoy, lording it over everyone. But it's nonsense. Neville's pureblood, and he can't hold a candle to you."
"Don't misunderstand, Hermione," Harry added quickly, relieved by Ron's words but eager to clarify. "Not every Slytherin buys into pureblood nonsense. I see you as a friend, just like Ron or Zabini."
Hermione's eyes seemed to waver, a flicker of hurt beneath her resolve.
"Exactly!" Azrael chimed in. "Last term, we worked together to overcome crazy odds. We wouldn't do that if we believed that garbage, right, Zabini? Farkas?"
His eyes signaled them desperately. Don't mess this up.
Azrael wanted to preserve their lukewarm friendship, avoiding the ideological rift between Gryffindor and Slytherin. But the truth was out now.
"Sorry, Weasley, Granger," Zabini said suddenly.
"Why are you apologizing?" Hermione asked, startled.
"I didn't like you at first," Zabini admitted. "I bought into purebloodism when I got to Slytherin, thought it'd help me climb. I looked down on you without even knowing you."
Ron listened silently, then spoke. "I knew."
"I could tell you didn't think much of us," Ron continued. "I'm not clueless about how people see me."
"Ron…" Hermione murmured.
"But I get it now," Ron said. "Judging people for their blood is stupid. You're no standout, Weasley, but you outshone me guarding the Stone. And Granger, you saved me. I can't see you that way anymore."
Hermione nodded silently, accepting Zabini's confession. He exhaled heavily, slumping to the floor.
"You're all too sly," Farkas said, his voice tight.
"Farkas?" Harry looked at him, uneasy. He'd never seen Farkas so pained, his lips bitten in frustration.
"How do you just toss aside what your parents taught you?" Farkas demanded.
"Zabini didn't change overnight," Harry said. "He struggled—"
"Exactly," Azrael cut in. "Zabini wrestled with it—"
"Then why not defend purebloodism or Slytherin's ways?" Farkas snapped. "We're blamed for things we didn't do! Don't you and Harry get mad at Gryffindors for that?"
"I…" Zabini faltered, stunned by Farkas's intensity. The usually quiet boy had never been so aggressive.
"Calm down, Farkas," Azrael said. "Zabini's not bashing us. He just chose to use purebloodism his way."
Harry hadn't known Farkas held such strong beliefs. His words hit hard—Farkas could easily distance himself from Harry, Zabini, Ron, and Hermione.
"Farkas," Harry said, "before they're Gryffindors, Ron and Hermione are our friends. You don't hate them, do you?"
"I don't," Farkas admitted, struggling. "But Harry, you dislike Muggles too! Adults look down on them all the time! Why is Slytherin's purebloodism the only thing called out? Everyone discriminates—against Squibs, Muggle-borns, centaurs, anything different! Why are we the villains?"
Farkas's frustration poured out, directed at Harry and Ron, as if unloading years of resentment.
"It's not your fault," Harry said. "Slytherin's bad rap is all Voldemort's doing."
The name dropped like a curse, freezing the room.
"Harry…?" Hermione whispered. Ron stared, shocked.
Harry had never admitted his dislike for Muggles to Ron or Hermione. Facing Zabini and Farkas, he bared his heart, despite his Occlumency giving him an edge.
"I hate Muggles because they never listened to me," Harry said, looking at Ron. "They treated me like garbage. But I've never hurt anyone over it. Farkas didn't mean to hurt Hermione either. He hid his beliefs to spare you."
He couldn't bring himself to apologize. Hermione's sad voice cut through. "Harry, Farkas, prejudice is still wrong. I… I regret not noticing how much you were struggling."
"Sorry…" Farkas mumbled, voice strained.
"I don't know what to do," he continued. "Being with you and Ron, I've been happy, wondering if I should drop purebloodism. But this morning, those judging us weren't even Colin's friends. Why should our beliefs be trashed for them?"
"They weren't his friends," Ron countered, "but anyone would be mad seeing their housemate slurred. It's natural."
"Can you swear they were all mad for Colin?" Farkas pressed. "Some just hate Slytherin, thinking they can judge us because we're Slytherin."
Hermione hesitated, but Ron held firm. "I won't deny it. I've judged Slytherins unfairly too. Some of those angry kids might've been biased."
"But," he added, "if we don't stand together against bullies, even Slytherin ones, no one stops them. Helping an outcast like Colin? Most people don't bother. It takes real guts, and it's usually meddling."
"That's true," Farkas admitted reluctantly.
Harry and Ron clashed over Muggle prejudice, their debate growing heated. Azrael mediated, but their views—Harry's resentment and Ron's defense—ran parallel. Forty minutes in, Hermione, Farkas, and Zabini silently hoped for peace.
Gryffindor and Slytherin are two sides of the same coin, Azrael thought, watching Harry and Ron's stubborn clash. They're so close, but when they butt heads, it's endless—they're too alike.
Frustrated by the stalemate, Azrael made a suggestion. "Farkas got invited to Banarge-senpai's Duelling Club. Let's go."
"If talk won't settle it," he added, "a duel's the only way."
The six headed to the Duelling Club, Harry and Ron's tension palpable. But Farkas, Azrael, and Zabini now called Ron and Hermione by name—a small step forward.
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