Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 410 The Little Wizard Who Cannot Even Be Mentioned by Name

Snape scanned the people who were speaking one by one, and when they laughed, he would twitch the corner of his mouth; when they nodded, he would nod along with them.

He had heard bits and pieces of this news before; even outside of this society, rumors often circulated in the Slytherin common room.

Everyone thought the officials at the Ministry of Magic were all incredibly stupid.

The minister is just a figurehead, the director is a good-for-nothing, and the Auror office can't even keep an eye on its own people. It's as if the whole world knows that the building has been riddled with holes.

The Ministry of Magic is stupid; this is the consensus in this room, and it's quickly becoming the consensus of the entire Slytherin.

But listening in the common lounge is quite different from listening here.

In the lounge, it was a rumor, fragments, half a sentence carried by someone's owl.

In this room, it is spoken as if it were a predetermined future.

He listened without showing any emotion, but another thought crossed his mind.

If the Ministry of Magic were really that stupid, how did it manage to survive until today?

Everyone says it's stupid, but everyone is saying that there's something wrong with the whole thing.

If the Ministry of Magic were truly that stupid, so stupid that it could be laughed at by a bunch of fifteen or sixteen-year-old kids, it should have fallen apart long ago.

But it didn't dissipate. Mintham sat in the minister's seat, bills were passed as usual, official documents were issued as usual, and the gears of each department were still turning, still managing the wizards of this country.

A fool who can be seen through by everyone could not possibly do this.

Conversely, if someone can remain calm and collected even when everyone thinks they are stupid, then they may not be stupid; they may be pretending or waiting.

Or perhaps he's not stupid, he's just bad.

Snape was taken aback by his own conclusion.

Everyone said the Ministry of Magic was stupid, but only he saw that the Ministry of Magic wasn't stupid, it was evil.

As soon as the idea popped into his head, he was initially pleased with himself.

He found this clarity quite enjoyable, and his wisdom once again did not disappoint him.

He went over the idea in his mind, and the more he thought about it, the more it seemed right.

The room was full of purebloods who just joined in the cursing, but he sat in the corner and saw through the truth.

He didn't voice this thought, afraid that if he did, everyone in the room would be overwhelmed.

He doesn't need to use this to prove anything; he just needs to know what he's thinking.

They continued to laugh at the Ministry of Magic for being stupid, and he smirked, secretly believing the truth in his heart, feeling that the night hadn't been in vain.

The conversation took a different turn, following the topic of positions within the Ministry of Magic.

This time, it was Quintus Cram, a fourth-grader sitting in the corner, who spoke first.

The Krum family has a certain foundation in the pure-blood circle. Several of their ancestors were Wizengamo scribes, and by his father's generation, they were mainly mid-level officials in the Ministry of Magic.

Their family is qualified to be part of the circle, but not to sit at the head table.

He doesn't talk much, but every time he does, it's with an uncontrollable fierceness.

"It's one thing for those people in the Ministry of Magic to occupy positions, but to let Mudbloods and half-bloods climb up and manage purebloods—what kind of system is this!"

He drew his wand, gripped it tightly, and waved it vigorously, making a whooshing sound: "The seats of Wizengamot, the heads of each department, must be pure-blooded, and that must be the case in the future!"

"It already is," someone added.

"Now?" Kram grinned. "The deputy director of the International Division is a half-blood, and two out of the three directors of the Floo Network office under the Magic Transportation Division are half-bloods."

And what about the Department for Prohibiting the Abuse of Magic? Do you even know the last name of the newly promoted head of that department?

"What's your surname?" someone asked knowingly, their tone laced with a flippant anticipation of a good show.

"Half-bloods are one thing," Krum ignored him, tucked his wand into his sleeve, and said in a cold voice, "Mudbloods sit on top and give orders, while purebloods listen below."

Such a thing should never happen even a day in the Ministry of Magic's history!

Snape's fingers curled on his knee for a moment, then quickly relaxed.

He was of mixed race, and the words weren't directed at him, but no one was trying to hide them from him. He was sitting in the room and heard everything clearly.

Half of his blood comes from Tobias Snape, that Muggle who got drunk in the shabby house at Spider's End and had absolutely no magical talent.

This is the dirtiest thing on him, something that can never be washed away.

He remained expressionless, even nodding slightly, just enough for those nearby to see.

He has a badge, recognition, acceptance, and a place in this room.

This position wasn't earned through bloodline or surname; he earned it through his own abilities.

The power of potions, the power of dark magic, and the name on the back of that badge.

He refocused his attention on the conversation.

"Speaking of mixed races"

Someone tried to steer the conversation in a different direction, but Kram's words had already set the tone for a more radical approach.

Someone else spoke up.

"If you ask me, Hogwarts shouldn't be sending acceptance letters to Muggle homes anymore. Owls fly to Muggle homes, drop a letter, and then those Muggles think they're one of us."

"Those scum," he continued, his voice filled with the excitement of finally finding an outlet after being suppressed for so long, "should never have entered the castle, and there should be no place for them in the castle."

The castle is only so big; taking in a Mudblood means losing a pureblood, and that's not all.

“Augustus,” Wilkes interrupted him, “say about admissions.”

Augustus opened his mouth slightly, then closed it again. He turned to look around, but no one responded to him.

Those who were just agreeing with Kram are now looking at their own robes and at other people's robes.

He shrank back into his chair, rubbed his fingers together on his sleeve, and lowered his voice considerably, his tone tinged with embarrassment: "...Anyway, it shouldn't have been sent to Muggle homes."

No one picked up on the conversation anymore.

The torch crackled against the wall, and charcoal dust fell onto the edge of the iron frame, bounced, and went out.

Snape observed everyone's reactions.

Less than a year ago, there were people in Slytherin who openly called for cleaning up the trash.

Arnold Belmont, a seventh grader, stands in the middle of the common room, surrounded by a chorus of agreement.

Back then, these words were shouted loudly, creating a frenzied atmosphere. One pureblood after another stood up, almost turning it into action.

Snape had been in that kind of atmosphere too; it wasn't just talk. There was a close call when someone actually went and attacked those Muggle-born wizards.

Later, Belmont was subdued, and from then on, the winds shifted.

The harshest words are not allowed to be said in Slytherin.

It's related to a person.

He wasn't in that circle, so he couldn't see clearly how it changed; he only remembered the change itself.

The conversation shifted from the Muggle race.

This time, Wilkes took over, his tone a bit higher than before, as if he were setting the tone for the previous jumbled remarks.

"If we're talking about being clear-headed," he said, lifting his eyelids slightly, his tone light, "you have to look at the established brands. Those companies are never ambiguous; they know which side they're on from the very beginning."

There was no need to spell it out; everyone present knew which surnames he was referring to—the twenty-eight sacred clans who stood most firmly beside that great man.

Wilkes didn't count the names because those surnames didn't need to be checked.

Then his tone changed from flippant to disdain: "It's not just the Mudbloods who need to be dealt with; there are rotten ones among our own people too."

Someone nodded in agreement: "That's right."

"Weasley, Prewitt, Longbottom," he chuckled maliciously, "their bloodlines are impeccable, as clean as can be, yet they insist on standing outside, perfectly good purebloods, going down the wrong path."

"Weasley," Gibbon scoffed, "that family is dirt poor, has a whole litter of kids, and they all hang out with Muggles. A perfectly good pureblood, jumping into the ditch themselves."

"The blood is good blood," Wilkes said slowly, "but the brain is bad brain."

“They are even more deserving of death than the Mudbloods,” Augustus suddenly interjected, his anger rising again after he had just been silenced. “The Mudbloods are born filthy; they chose to be filthy.”

He looked around, his expression vicious: "We'll clean it all up sooner or later."

This time, no one pressed him down, and everyone in the room nodded.

Snape listened as the names were read out one by one.

Weasley, Prewitt, Longbottom—all purebloods, all traitors.

In the mouths of these people, such people are more hateful than Mudbloods. Their blood may be good, but their hearts are turned outward. They are traitors, wasteful, and self-degrading.

They said these things without caring at all about Snape's reaction.

He was the only mixed-blood in the society, listening to the purebloods berate those purebloods who had chosen the wrong side, and incidentally, they also berated the mixed-bloods and Mudbloods.

While they were cursing, they probably forgot who was in the room, or maybe they didn't forget at all, but just didn't care.

Snape remained seated, his expression unchanged from when he first sat down.

But he remembered every single person who had spoken earlier.

Who spoke with a brain? Who was just stirring up trouble? Who almost said something they shouldn't have but was forced to shut up? Who didn't even bother to show any contempt when mentioning Weasley?

The torch crackled against the wall again; it was now completely dark outside the window.

After listening to the entire conversation, Snape was already certain that they were willing to talk about anything.

As for the future of the Ministry of Magic, whose positions should be removed and who should be replaced? Pure-blooded traitors should all die. Weasley, Prewitt, Longbottom—they should all be dragged out and cursed one by one.

The exemplary figures who deserve to be praised—Malfoy, Rozier, Caro, Rollo, Yaxley—should all be brought out as benchmarks.

Those who are role models are role models, and those who are targets are targets. A room full of underage boys, when it comes to these things, not one of them holds back.

There are no direct descendants of the Twenty-Eight Sacred Clans in this room; they are not part of that circle.

But they were discussing the twenty-eight ethnic groups, talking animatedly.

They mentioned many surnames, listing both those that could be praised and those that could be criticized.

But there's one surname that nobody touched from beginning to end.

Snape gradually came to his senses.

When they talk about prominent families and extol exemplary figures, no one mentions the surname that should be highlighted most.

When it comes to condemning traitors and discussing which side to take, no one mentions the surname of the person who had already chosen a side.

It's the same principle as bypassing the garbage cleanup part during the enrollment process, but it's more thorough.

That one is forbidden to speak, this one even avoids mentioning names, never letting anyone bring them up.

The people in the room understood each other implicitly, as if everyone shared a tacit understanding.

Snape knew what this meant, and he knew which last name it was.

Blake.

He had known for a long time; from the first time he stepped into this classroom and sat with these people, he had a vague feeling about it.

But with each gathering, this feeling becomes clearer than the last.

They didn't forget to mention Blake; they simply avoided mentioning him.

Snape sat in the shadows and slowly came to his senses.

These purebloods know more than he does.

They are purebred; they grew up immersed in this system, and they know exactly what size each family is and what their future holds.

They avoided Blake, not because they had nothing to say, but because they had so much to say that they dared not touch upon it.

They knew the Black family's status, knew what kind of person the heir would become, so much so that they dared not even mention his name lightly.

Snape could only guess.

He was of mixed race, and he moved to the edge of this circle, where he could hear them circling around and see the empty space.

But he couldn't see exactly how deep something was buried beneath that blank space.

What they feared was greater than he saw.

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