Inside the Headmaster's office.
Hearing Dumbledore's words, Leonard thought: As expected.
The informants were numerous and timely. Just moments had passed from the start of his duel with Malfoy to the completion of the new Halloween decorations, yet Dumbledore already knew. Remarkably quick.
Though it was also possible that Malfoy's own declaration last night had reached Dumbledore's ears. After all, so many people had been present, and several professors arrived afterward.
Leonard feigned contemplation, thinking for a few seconds before responding.
"It was my first time competing with a peer in magic. To be honest, the experience was quite brief."
Dumbledore chuckled softly, pushing up his half-moon spectacles.
"Haha, no young wizard at this age possesses your skill. It's perfectly normal for someone to surrender quickly."
After a pause, the smile in Dumbledore's eyes grew wider.
"The snack-sized bats you conjured afterward were also very interesting. They gave me some inspiration. Next Halloween, or rather, this Christmas, I'll try similar magic myself. Leonard, what sweets do children your age enjoy?"
"Lemon drops, cockroach clusters, sugar fudge, licorice wands, chocolate frogs..."
Listening as Dumbledore listed a pile of sweets as if he knew them by heart, Leonard's mouth twitched slightly. Dumbledore just wants to eat them himself, doesn't he?
Magic and potions made things far too convenient. There was no need to worry about diabetes here. Whether old or young, as long as someone could eat and never tired of sweetness, they could indulge endlessly. After all, Madam Pomfrey and Snape—those two perpetual workaholics—were always there as backup.
Leonard also noticed Dumbledore's precise phrasing: the surrender, the candy-filled bats. He'd truly learned what happened in the Great Hall instantly.
Wait. Was Dumbledore using some sort of magical spell to watch a live broadcast? Who knew what magic this greatest wizard studied in his spare time?
Before Leonard could speak, McGonagall interrupted Dumbledore's "sweet contemplation," her brows slightly furrowed.
"Dumbledore, don't let the children eat too much sugar. They need proper meals."
But hearing Professor McGonagall's suggestion, Dumbledore still mumbled softly, almost to himself.
"But eating sweets makes one happier."
This nearly made Leonard laugh. Between the Headmaster and Deputy Headmaster before him, McGonagall seemed to handle the majority of practical matters—worrying about students' studies, their health, their lives. Dumbledore was the school's face, its protective umbrella. It was likely that if it weren't for Dumbledore's immense reputation, which made people hesitant to approach him casually, he might have been a genuinely approachable professor who enjoyed mingling with students.
"Leonard," Dumbledore continued, his tone becoming more serious, "this conflict stems from pure-blood ideology and..."
He hesitated, but Leonard understood where this was heading.
"Pure-blood discrimination against Muggle-borns," Leonard finished.
His frank answer surprised Dumbledore somewhat. The old wizard had expected the boy to harbor at least some dissatisfaction and resentment. Instead, he received composed candor.
"Wizards from pure-blood families, through the inheritance of knowledge, the accumulation of resources, and hereditary magical talent, do indeed achieve more than most Muggle-borns," Leonard explained. "So it's quite normal for them to look down on—or even despise—Muggle-borns."
Such a direct assessment surprised both Dumbledore and McGonagall.
Dumbledore especially had been thinking of how to comfort Leonard, how to tell him not to be affected by such prejudice. He was still somewhat afraid that an exceptionally talented young man might fall into darkness because of others' malice.
Leonard sighed softly.
"In the Muggle world, even though everyone is an equal human subject to birth, aging, sickness, and death, the differences in power and wealth cause many rich and powerful individuals to look down on ordinary people who work hard just to survive. From the bottom of their hearts, they despise them."
"Especially those born into wealth. They're even less able to understand or empathize, even though their own parents and grandparents had ordinary, mundane years."
"And in the magical world, beyond power and wealth, there's magic itself—true extraordinary ability, genuine power. Those differences create obvious disparities, which only exacerbate the inequality and discrimination between wizards."
Hearing Leonard's words, Dumbledore and McGonagall exchanged glances. This truly didn't sound like something an eleven or twelve-year-old child would say.
"Of course, here at Hogwarts," Leonard continued, "I feel that discrimination is relatively restrained. After all, school is a place for learning. Regardless of their status or background, after leaving these walls, at least here, everyone is a student, right? There should be no hierarchy of high or low, no distinction between noble and base."
Leonard's purpose in saying all this was actually quite simple: to make Dumbledore and the others pay closer attention to the attitudes displayed by those pure-bloods. Yes, Dumbledore's deterrence and stance had already made them less daring to cause open trouble, but superficial compliance was still common enough.
He'd come to Hogwarts to study, and of course, he wanted a stable learning environment. As for fundamentally changing the arrogance and prejudice of those pure-bloods, he currently lacked both the ability and the intention.
Of course, once he truly grew up, he believed the so-called pure-blood family discrimination wouldn't dare fall upon him. If he wanted to change the widespread discrimination of pure-bloods against other wizards, he would wait. He would wait until he became Headmaster of Hogwarts or Minister of Magic. Then he would attempt to fundamentally reform policies and make real corrections.
In fact, both Dumbledore and McGonagall understood Leonard's underlying demands and ideas. They also recognized the validity of such matters, but implementing them truly presented significant difficulties.
"Leonard, you are right," Dumbledore said with a solemn tone. "At least in school, everyone is a classmate. There is no hierarchy of high or low, no distinction between noble and base."
Dumbledore was genuinely surprised by Leonard's words and thinking. Here was a boy who'd been provoked and looked down upon, yet he remained calm, dealing with the matter rationally and expressing his needs clearly. The more composed Leonard appeared, the more at ease Dumbledore felt.
After chatting for a while longer, Leonard took his leave.
After stepping out of the Headmaster's office, Leonard didn't choose to return to the dormitory or visit the library. Instead, he wound through passages and arrived at the Potions professor's office door.
In the gloomy office, Snape winced as he carefully applied healing potion to his wound. The deep gash, bloody and visible to the bone, was healing slowly. But threads of dark energy kept obstructing the process, corroding the flesh from within.
It was a bite from Cerberus.
A simple bite wound wouldn't have mattered—Snape could treat that easily himself. The problem was the dark curse attached to the three-headed dog's teeth, which severely delayed healing.
"It's a pity that Lucius's qilin saliva after last time," he muttered, examining the wound with clear frustration. "The small amount remaining, when brewed into a potion, has only a limited healing effect. It can only eliminate part of Cerberus's curse."
Knock, knock, knock.
Snape's brow furrowed. He couldn't imagine who would visit him on such a holiday. He pulled down his robe to cover his legs, and the simple movement of disturbing the wound made him grit his teeth in pain.
"Come in!"