September 3rd, 1975 – Dungeon Corridor, after Potions Class
The acrid smell of potion ingredients still hung in the air when Severus Snape caught up to Leo in the dark corridor leading to the dungeons.
"Professor."
Leo turned, his wand softly illuminating the path ahead. "Snape. On your way to the common room?"
"Your lesson." The student seemed to struggle for words. "You talked about questioning everything. About Socrates being condemned for asking questions."
"Yes."
"And what if… what if questions lead to answers you don't want to hear?"
Leo studied the pale, intense face before him. "What do you mean?"
Snape glanced over his shoulder, making sure they were alone. "My family… my mother was a Prince. Pure-blood. My father is a Muggle."
"I understand."
"No, you don't." His tone was sharp, defensive. "In Slytherin, they talk about blood purity. They whisper about a new… movement. They say Muggle-borns are polluting magic. That we should… restore ancient glory."
Leo kept his expression neutral. "And what do you think of that?"
"My mother says it's nonsense. That magic is magic, no matter where it comes from." Snape paused. "But she also tells me not to talk about my father. Not to mention that he is… that he is what he is."
"And do you think Socrates would have stayed silent about such a thing?"
"He died for his questions!" Snape's voice echoed louder than he intended in the stone corridor.
"He chose death rather than stopping his questioning," Leo corrected gently. "There is a difference."
They walked in silence for a moment, torches casting flickering shadows along the damp walls.
"In the next lesson," Leo said at last, "I'll teach about the Witch Hunts. Not as magical history, but as a Muggle social phenomenon."
"How is that relevant?"
"Because it shows what happens when fear and ignorance meet. When people stop seeing differences as diversity, and start seeing them as threat."
Snape stopped walking. "Do you think that could happen here? In our world?"
"It already is happening, Snape. In whispers, in quiet discrimination, in disappearances." Leo met his gaze directly. "Ideas are like seeds. They can grow into beautiful gardens… or into poisonous forests."
The student seemed to bite the inside of his cheek. "And what if… what if someone wanted to stop the bad seeds before they grow?"
"How?"
"By reporting them. Telling someone at the Ministry…"
"And what if the Ministry is already infected?"
The question hung in the damp air like the moisture itself.
"Come tomorrow, half an hour before class," Leo said finally. "There's something I want to show you."
September 4th, 1975 – Classroom 11B, before dawn
The grey light of dawn filtered through the tall windows as Snape entered the room. Leo stood before the blackboard, where he had drawn a timeline.
"Come in, Snape. Close the door."
The student obeyed, his dark eyes scanning the timeline.
"What is this?"
"The Witch Hunts in Europe, sixteenth and seventeenth centuries." Leo pointed to different points along the line. "Estimates suggest between forty and sixty thousand executions. Some by drowning, many by burning."
"Real witches?"
"Here is the first Socratic question: what is a 'real witch'?" Leo raised an eyebrow. "In most cases, they were elderly women, poor, marginalized. Healers with herbal knowledge. Inconvenient wives. Inconvenient heirs."
Snape studied the timeline. "But some must have been real witches. Wizards who could have defended themselves."
"Ah, yes. But most actual witches and wizards were already in hiding, living separately under the International Statute of Secrecy, established in 1689." Leo pointed to a date. "The victims were almost all Muggles. People accused of magic for… being in the wrong place, at the wrong time, with the wrong people."
"So it's Muggle history, not ours."
"It's human history." Leo sat on the edge of his desk. "And here is the crucial point: the hunts did not begin with laws, but with ideas. The idea that certain people were inherently evil. That they were conspiring against society. That their very existence was a contamination."
Snape grew very still.
"We are different, Snape. But we are also the same." Leo gestured broadly. "The same psychology that led villagers to burn an old woman because their cow died… could lead wizards to persecute Muggle-borns because a spell failed."
"It's different."
"How?"
"Magic is real. Pure blood… some say it truly affects magical power."
"And do you believe that?"
Snape hesitated. "My mother is pure-blood. I am… half-blood. My magic is strong."
"Then perhaps the idea is false. Perhaps magical power has as much to do with blood as Muggle intelligence has to do with hair colour."
The classroom door opened softly. Minerva McGonagall entered, her expression grave.
"Professor Bennett. Sorry to interrupt. There are… visitors from the Ministry. They would like to see your curriculum."
Leo nodded. "Of course. Snape, we'll continue this conversation after class."
When the student left, McGonagall stepped closer.
"Bartemius Crouch and a representative from the Department of Magical Justice. They have… concerns."
"Concerns about what?"
"The 'subversive' nature of your syllabus." She lowered her voice. "Some influential families have written to the Ministry. They claim you are teaching students to question magical traditions."
"Excellent." Leo smiled. "That means they're paying attention."
Classroom 11B – Third Period
The room was unusually full. In addition to the regular students, three adults sat at the back: Bartemius Crouch, rigid posture and neatly trimmed moustache; a middle-aged woman in Ministry robes; and, to Leo's surprise, Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, whose magical eye rotated independently, inspecting every inch of the room.
"Good morning," Leo began, ignoring the visitors. "Today we continue with Socrates, using a specific historical example: the Witch Hunts."
Murmurs rippled through the class.
"In the Muggle world, between the fifteenth and eighteenth centuries, thousands were executed under accusations of witchcraft." He glanced at Crouch. "Mr Crouch, as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, you should be familiar with this history."
Crouch nodded stiffly. "The Ministry intervenes when the Statute of Secrecy is violated. It always has."
"Exactly. But today's question is not how witches escaped. It's why Muggles hunted." Leo activated the board, which displayed images of historical trials. "What social conditions lead a community to turn against its own members?"
Lily Evans raised her hand. "Fear, Professor. Fear of the unknown."
"Good. And what was 'unknown' at that time?"
"Disease. Crop failures. Unexplained deaths."
"And instead of seeking natural causes…"
"They blamed people," Sirius Black finished. "Those who were different."
"Exactly." Leo walked between the rows. "Now think of this as a psychological phenomenon, not a magical one. When things go wrong, people seek causes. And it is easier to blame a person than a storm, more satisfying to break a witch than to understand a plague."
He stopped before an image of a woman being led to the stake.
"But here is the tragic irony: most of these 'witches' were devout Christians. They believed in the same God as their accusers. The conflict was not about fundamental belief, but about projected fear."
Severus Snape, sitting straighter now, asked, "And the real witches? Why didn't they help?"
Crouch cleared his throat. "The Statute of Secrecy—"
"Allowed exceptions to save lives," Leo interrupted gently. "And yet, most witches and wizards remained hidden. Why?"
The silence was heavy.
"Moody?" Leo turned to the Auror. "You deal with threats. When you see danger escalating, when do you intervene?"
Moody, startled at being addressed, growled, "As early as possible. Before it becomes uncontrollable."
"Then if you saw a pyre being built for an innocent woman…"
"I'd intervene," Moody said without hesitation.
"But your predecessors did not." Leo turned back to the class. "Here is an uncomfortable Socratic question: what makes us ignore the suffering of others? Especially those considered 'different'?"
James Potter, usually so confident, looked unsettled. "Maybe they thought… it wasn't their problem. That Muggles had made their own bed…"
"And should therefore lie in it?" Leo finished. "Even if the bed is made of fire?"
No one answered.
"Today's lesson is not about blaming our ancestors." Leo waved away the images. "It's about recognizing patterns. Fear of difference. The search for scapegoats. The indifference of bystanders."
He looked directly at Crouch and the other visitors.
"These patterns are not just history. They are human psychology. And they occur in magical communities as much as in Muggle ones."
Crouch rose abruptly. "Professor Bennett, a word, please."
Outside the classroom, in the quiet corridor, Crouch faced Leo.
"This kind of… speculation is dangerous."
"How so?"
"You are suggesting that our community could commit the same errors as Muggles. That is defamatory."
"No. It is a warning." Leo kept his voice calm. "Is the Ministry aware of the disappearances of Muggle-borns in recent months?"
Crouch paled slightly. "An investigation is ongoing."
"An investigation, or a cover-up?" Moody appeared behind them, his magical eye fixed on Crouch. "I've heard things, Bartemius. In the corridors. About a certain 'Lord' recruiting."
"Rumours," Crouch said quickly. "Nothing more."
"As the first witch trials in Salem were 'just rumours,'" Leo replied. "Until they weren't."
Crouch studied him for a long moment. "I have orders to monitor your course. Certain families—the Malfoys, the Lestranges—are concerned that you are sowing discord."
"I am sowing critical thought. There is a difference."
"In politics, there is not." Crouch adjusted his collar. "Be careful, Bennett. Hogwarts is under Ministry jurisdiction. And Dumbledore… will not always be here to protect you."
When Crouch left, Moody remained behind.
"He has a son," the Auror said abruptly. "Bartemius Junior. In Slytherin. We've heard… things. About where his loyalties might lie."
"And the father?"
"The father is ambitious. Sees the Ministry as a stepping stone to something bigger." Moody fixed Leo with his normal eye. "You're stirring a hornet's nest, Professor. Are you sure you know what you're doing?"
"Certainly not," Leo replied with a sad smile. "Socrates didn't either. He only knew that the questions had to be asked."
Moody nodded, almost respectfully. "Good. Keep asking them. But… stay sharp."
When Leo returned to the classroom, the students were arguing animatedly. Lily and James were in the middle of a heated debate.
"…but if we see something wrong, we have a responsibility!" Lily insisted.
"And what if intervening makes things worse?" James countered. "Sometimes you have to be strategic!"
"As Socrates was strategic when he drank the hemlock?" Severus Snape asked sarcastically.
Everyone turned to look at him.
"What do you mean, Snape?" James demanded.
"I mean that sometimes honour demands that you take a stand, even if it's dangerous." Snape looked directly at Leo. "Even if it means drinking poison."
The room fell silent.
"Both points have merit," Leo said at last. "Socrates chose principle over safety. Other philosophers chose to live and fight another day. The question is not which choice is correct, but that we make choices consciously—not by accident or cowardice."
The bell rang.
"For next class," Leo announced, "read about the trial of Socrates. And think about this question: when, if ever, is it right to disobey the law?"
As the students filed out, Snape lingered behind.
"Professor? That thing about reporting…"
"Yes?"
"If someone… if I heard something. Something dangerous. What should I do?"
Leo studied the young face, marked by conflicting loyalties. "There's a Muggle proverb: for evil to triumph, it is enough that good men do nothing. But there is also wisdom in choosing your battles."
"So there's no clear answer."
"There rarely is, Snape. Life is about navigating shades of grey, not black and white."
The student nodded slowly. "My mother… she has a book. Old. About Muggle philosophy. She hides it."
"Why?"
"Because my father… he doesn't approve. Says it's rubbish." Snape hesitated. "But she reads it at night. Sometimes she reads passages to me."
"Perhaps you should ask to read with her," Leo suggested gently. "Some of the best questions are asked in low voices, between those who trust one another."
Snape looked surprised, then nodded again and left.
Alone in his classroom, Leo looked at the blackboard, where the words "Witch Hunts" were still faintly visible. Outside, the afternoon sun glinted off the lake, its surface shimmering like liquid diamonds.
The questions had been asked. Lines were being drawn. And somewhere in the shadows, forces were moving that could turn academic questions into matters of life and death.
But that was the nature of real education, Leo thought. Never safe. Always necessary.
With a gesture, he erased the board, preparing for the next class. For the next questions. For the next battles—large and small—that would inevitably come.