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Chapter 27 – The Equality of Blood
Darren watched the two pure-blood heirs glaring at each other across the street, his expression slowly hardening.
Enough was enough.
He stepped forward, his small frame cutting through the crowd until he stood between them. Frowning, he said firmly:
> "You should apologize to this lady.
You can't knock someone down just because she refused to dance with you.
Nor should you humiliate her—or her family—over something so trivial.
Everyone is born equal.
Blood doesn't make you noble. Character does."
For a heartbeat, the entire alley seemed to go still.
> [Ding! Congratulations, host. +50 Favorability from Cassandra Warrley. Reward: +2 Potions Talent.]
Darren's system window flashed, and he grinned inwardly.
Eight points now in Potions talent. According to the system, ten points made you a once-in-a-century prodigy.
At eight, he was at least a "mini genius."
Of course, his Dark Arts talent was already extraordinary—he'd been born with nine points.
And as for that 50 Favorability bonus from Cassandra Warrley… well, that wasn't bad either.
Cassandra—the Cassandra from that old magic game—was stunning in it: blonde hair, emerald eyes, a small beauty mark beneath one eye.
Rumors from fans had even called her "Deha's daughter"—a theory Darren had found hilarious.
But there was no denying her charm: beautiful, proud, sharp-tongued, fearless.
The kind of girl who insulted everyone to their face, then silently stood in front of them when danger came.
Half the fandom loved her. Half hated her.
Either way, she had presence.
Darren smiled faintly.
If she really existed in this world, he hoped he'd meet her soon.
---
Betsy Greengrass, meanwhile, frowned slightly as she looked at the boy who had just spoken.
As a pure-blood lady of high birth—and Slytherin's reigning "Queen Serpent"—Betsy had endured endless attention from male students.
Everywhere she went, boys found excuses to appear in her path, to bow, to flatter, to duel on her behalf.
Even Draco Malfoy's recent behavior was just another form of it.
She despised that kind of shallow pursuit—but she couldn't say so aloud. Doing that would make her seem arrogant.
So she simply responded with cold indifference.
And when someone crossed the line, she drew her wand without hesitation.
Her reputation had already spread through Hogwarts: no one trifled with the Greengrass heiress.
At least, that's what she had believed—until she found herself harassed by a pre-Hogwarts brat like Malfoy.
She knew the boy's arrogance came from pampering, not power.
He'd only wanted to boast that he had invited her, the "Slytherin Overlord Flower," to dance.
When she'd refused, he'd thrown a tantrum.
Still, she hadn't been afraid of him—just annoyed.
Until he'd dared to insult her family name.
That, she couldn't ignore.
Even so, she had no intention of hexing him here in Diagon Alley.
She'd deal with him at school, in Slytherin's own common room.
Let him learn that not every pure-blood girl was another Crabbe or Goyle.
But before she could walk away, a small boy had stepped in—lecturing her about equality, of all things.
Equality? she thought irritably. Does he even understand what he's saying?
Pure-bloods were superior.
Their families held generations of magical heritage, wealth, and skill.
That was just fact.
This boy—this child—was naïve.
Her lips curved in disdain. If he thinks he can impress me with that talk, he's sorely mistaken.
Betsy Greengrass was no sentimental fool. She was Slytherin's pride.
And judging by his awkward clothes and uncertain stance, this little "hero" wasn't even from a proper wizarding family.
A Muggle-born, perhaps. Or half-blood at best.
The thought made her irritation spike.
If she hadn't wasted time arguing with Malfoy, she wouldn't have attracted this cub at all.
She was about to put him in his place when Malfoy spoke again—his voice dripping venom.
---
"I think Hogwarts is losing its standards," Draco sneered. "Every year it admits more filthy Muggle-borns like you."
He looked Darren up and down in disgust.
"Honestly, you probably still wear Muggle clothes under your robes. You reek of it."
Then, with a haughty smirk, he added:
> "Pure-blood will always be superior to Mudbloods."
---
The crowd gasped softly.
Darren blinked, his thoughts snapping back to reality.
Was this kid serious?
He rolled his eyes.
"Equality of life" was one thing—but some wizards really needed lessons in history.
After all, the most feared Dark Lord of all time—Voldemort—had been half-blood himself.
His father was a Muggle.
So by Draco's logic, the pure-bloods had spent years bowing to a man who, in their own words, was a 'Mudblood.'
Darren almost laughed out loud.
These pure-bloods really had been played for fools.
---
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