Malfoy had evidently never heard such talk, and her words left him dumbfounded.
"Well, your face is decent, your intelligence is quite good, and you've developed normally. Your parents probably weren't related."
Hearing this, Malfoy involuntarily breathed a sigh of relief. Realizing what he had just done, he immediately grew furious out of embarrassment.
"Where on earth do you come up with these lies? Pure-blood wizards are the mos— Wha... What is wrong with you?"
Vespera suddenly leaning in close left him somewhat flustered. Facing those purple eyes, his gaze drifted away unnaturally.
"Your intelligence is indeed decent, but you're clearly far too naive—to the point of being foolish."
The crowd in the corridor had yet to recover from pondering the genetic defects of pure-bloods when they were plunged into a dead silence once more.
"Wizards are human beings too, and they bleed bright red blood just the same." With that, Vespera drew a small dagger from inside her wizard's robes.
The blade glided from his cheek all the way down to his neck.
"What on earth are you acting so noble for? Status? Money?"
Yet this was clearly a world of magic.
As long as one knew enough powerful spells, one could transcend money, transcend social class...
The sharp edge sliced through his skin, seeping a tiny bead of blood. "Aren't you also rejoicing that your parents weren't all that closely related?"
"Were you just comparing the people in your memory to the symptoms I described? How many people actually fit those symptoms?"
"One? Two? Ten? Or even more?"
Malfoy could not help following her lead and reminiscing. "Mr. Malfoy treats you very well, doesn't he?"
"He—" does.
"So that's why he spoiled a naive fool?"
...
"Mr. Malfoy, read more books. Most people in this school ought to do the same."
Vespera calmly wiped the blood off the blade onto Draco's wizard's robes, put away her small dagger, and walked past the three of them.
"Mr. Draco, coming to your senses on your own is always better than being chased to the ground and forced to wake up."
Perhaps never before had a corridor at Hogwarts seen such a densely packed yet utterly silent crowd of people.
As Miss Quinlan left, the young wizards watching also slipped away quietly in the stillness, and even the portraits on the walls vanished without a sound.
Thus, only the three of them—Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle—remained.
"Draco, shall we go back to the dormitory for some snacks?" Goyle looked at him with clear eyes, perhaps embodying that same ignorant foolishness.
Seeing him like this, Draco felt somewhat dazed, and he involuntarily muttered to himself, "Pure-blood... perhaps..."
Then what was he holding on to? What was his father holding on to? And what was his father's father holding on to?
"What are you talking about, Draco?" Crabbe asked him with a hint of worry.
"I said—I'm going to tell my father!"
"What right does she have to call me 'Draco'? I never agreed to that!"
Everything that happened in the corridor quickly spread throughout Hogwarts, like a restless summer wind.
Openly, not a single person expressed any support for Vespera's remarks; covertly, the Muggle Studies classroom was packed to capacity, and books about Muggles in the library were checked out one after another.
Owls came and went in the Great Hall, carrying urgent letters.
Those heading to class shared a tacit understanding, the young wizards eagerly wanting to know whether Muggles and wizards were physiologically just as Miss Quinlan had described.
Slytherin's pure-blood society was extremely dissatisfied with this and went about everywhere trying to corner and "teach Miss Quinlan a lesson."
Yet someone was always secretly tripping them up, ensuring they never ran into her.
The library was Vespera's usual haunt, and young wizards frequently saw her quietly reading in a corner seat.
Sometimes it was *A History of Magic*, sometimes *Forgotten Ancient Magicks and Spells*, or perhaps *Raising Dragons for Pleasure and Profit*...
Madam Pince rather liked this student. She was quiet and followed the rules.
Other students would gently seat themselves around Vespera, each studying their own work, occasionally casting a meaningful glance in her direction.
She seemed completely unaffected by it all.
"Vespera~" Harry and his two friends hid their faces behind books, calling out to her in low voices. After catching Vespera's answering glance, they slipped a written note before her eyes.
"Pardon us, do you happen to know Nicolas Flamel?"
After lowering her brow in thought for a moment, she wrote on the parchment: "The third row, fourth bookcase from the left, *Great Discoveries in Modern Magic*, *A Study into the Development of Modern Witchcraft*, and some old history books on the thirteenth row, seventeenth column..."
"I remember seeing it in those, though I don't remember the exact details. You can check them all one by one."
Acknowledging their thanks and guessing it was about time for dinner, Vespera tidied up her seat, picked up her borrowed copy of *A History of Magic*, and left.
Crossing a certain corner, she suddenly stopped and turned around, walking with a clear purpose in a specific direction.
The person following behind didn't bother to hide either, simply waiting quietly as she drew closer. "Theodore Nott?"
"Got something to say? You've been following me for days."
The handsome, slender boy was very tall, and even looked somewhat sickly. "Is what you said true?"
What was she talking about? First-cousin marriage genetic defects? "You can go and actively verify it for yourself."
"Walking alone, isn't it lonely?"
"Alone?" Vespera seemed to scoff, letting out a bitter laugh as she picked up the book in her arms and shook it twice at him. "How could I possibly be alone? I have books to keep me company."
"Every step forward is history."
Vespera's excellence was plain for all the professors to see.
Even the picky Snape had praised her in front of Dumbledore.
Yet Dumbledore's expression was grave. The portraits in the headmaster's office were making an awful racket, with past headmasters all lamenting that Ravenclaw had produced a formidable thorn.
With the very same background as *that* person, she was deeply liked by students and teachers alike. She appeared even more exceptional and calm, devoid of desires or attachments.
"Meadad." Invited to come, the headmaster truly loved sweets—even the password was sweet.
Dumbledore snapped his fingers, conjuring a comfortable chair. "Sit down, Miss Quinlan."
"Good evening, Headmaster."
This was their first meeting since the term began. "Did the food from the kitchens turn out to your liking afterward?"
Dumbledore placed a wizard-hat cupcake on her table.
"It was quite good." She had collected fifty Galleons, and the house-elves had provided ten courses.
"How do you find school life at Hogwarts?"
Vespera took a bite of the cake. It was delicious. "Rather novel."
"Oh? Care to elaborate?"
"Sixty percent of the first-years are illiterate, with the severe cases unable to manage even the most basic reading and spelling. Incidents of school bullying occur at a frequency of over ten times a day, across every single grade and house."
"The school strictly divides social strata by bloodline, and seventy percent of aristocratic children hope to improve or maintain their family circumstances through marriage."
"In a sense, the school's basic education is poorly done."
"And the teachers, to a greater or lesser degree, are quietly fueling an atmosphere of antagonism between the students of different houses."
As she spoke in her usual tone, Dumbledore's gaze grew gradually sharp, scrutinizing the child.
"Someone is directing an absurd and grand play, aren't they, Headmaster?"
"Who do you suppose the protagonist of this play is? Harry Potter?"
"It certainly feels rather novel here."
"Advanced magic, fragile bodies, antiquated ideologies, and an underage savior."