The afternoon sunlight filtered through the gaps in the heavy curtains, lazily spilling onto the old wooden floor of the History of Magic classroom.
Dust particles, visible to the naked eye, floated in the air, slowly spinning and settling within the beams of light.
On the podium, Professor Binns, paler than a dead man, was suspended semi-transparently in mid-air.
He recited his notes mechanically in that characteristic, monotonous voice that sounded like a fingernail scratching across dry parchment.
“…Therefore, in 1612, an unpleasant meeting took place at a Goblin inn near Hogsmeade. Ragnuk the First believed that Wizards lacked sufficient respect for the silverwork manufactured by Goblins, and this misunderstanding eventually led to…”
His voice was like an old, poorly maintained vacuum cleaner, continuously sucking all the oxygen and vitality out of the classroom.
Below the podium, the Slytherin first-years were undergoing a severe test of willpower.
The entire classroom had fallen into a state known as collective coma.
Vincent Crabbe had completely given up resistance.
He was slumped over his desk, drool trickling from the corner of his mouth onto his brand-new copy of ‘A History of Magic’, letting out a slight snore.
Goyle had his eyes open, but his gaze was vacant; clearly, his soul had drifted off to the kitchens or somewhere else entirely.
Even Draco Malfoy, who always prioritized his decorum, was now propping his chin up with one hand, his eyelids as heavy as if two lead weights were hanging from them.
His quill was unconsciously drawing wobbly circles on his parchment, looking like some kind of disintegrating broomstick.
Only one person remained awake.
Tamara Riddle sat right in the center of the first row, her back perfectly straight.
The quill in her hand made a ‘rustling’ sound on the parchment, writing at an extremely fast pace.
But that didn’t mean she was taking notes.
If someone leaned in to look, they would find that after every sentence Professor Binns uttered, she had drawn a large ‘X’, followed by annotations like ‘Rubbish’,’Stupid embellishment’, or ‘Completely illogical’.
“Misunderstanding?”
Tamara wrote the word heavily on the parchment, then crossed it out with force.
“This is the most ridiculous joke I’ve ever heard.”
She sneered inwardly.
As the Dark Lord who had once nearly ruled the entire Wizarding World, she was all too familiar with this period of history.
Goblins.
Those greedy, base creatures with long, slender fingers and perpetually filthy appearances.
They never launched rebellions for things like dignity or over misunderstandings.
There was only one reason—greed.
They coveted the Wizards’ wands; they coveted a power that their inferior bloodlines could never truly master.
Yet Professor Binns, this old fool who had been dead for who knows how many years, was actually beautifying such blatant acts of plunder as a tragedy caused by a lack of communication.
“…Both sides missed the optimal time for peace negotiations due to arrogance.”
Professor Binns continued in his hypnotic tone: “If the Wizarding Council of that time could have yielded a step and acknowledged the Goblins’ ownership of silver, perhaps that riot, which lasted for three months, would not have occurred…”
“Ha.”
A short, cold, and mockingly sharp chuckle abruptly broke the deathly silence of the classroom.
The laugh wasn’t loud, but in a classroom filled only with Professor Binns’s buzzing, it was exceptionally jarring.
It was like a needle pricking a balloon.
Professor Binns stopped.
His vacant eyes, hidden behind thick glasses, turned somewhat sluggishly, looking through the floating dust toward the student in the first row who had made the sound. This chapter was copied from novelping.com without permission.
“…Is there a problem? Miss?”
Professor Binns asked slowly.
He usually had no impression of his students; in his eyes, the living were just a shifting backdrop.
The previously drowsy Slytherin students were startled awake by this sudden interruption.
Draco jerked his head up, wiped the traces from the corner of his mouth, and looked at Tamara in some confusion.
Tamara put down her quill.
She stood up elegantly, her hands braced on the desk, her deep black eyes looking directly at the semi-transparent ghost on the podium.
“I have a very big problem, Professor.”
Tamara spoke, her voice crisp, calm, and carrying an unquestionable sense of authority.
“You just mentioned that the 1612 rebellion was because Wizards refused to acknowledge Goblin ownership of silver products, and that it was a misunderstanding, correct?”
“Uh… yes.” Professor Binns seemed never to have encountered a student who dared to question him like this in class.
“I do not believe that is correct.”
Tamara interrupted him coldly.
The entire class gasped.
“The fundamental cause of the Goblin rebellions was never silver, nor was it dignity.”
Tamara slowly stepped out of her seat and paced in the aisle, her black robes billowing like a spreading storm cloud.
All eyes were focused on her.
“It was because they wanted wands.”
She turned around to face the group of bewildered Slytherin first-years and began giving them their true first lesson.
“Goblins possess unique magic; they can forge metal implements that even we cannot match—but that doesn’t hide one fact.”
Tamara extended a finger and gave it a slight wag.
“They are jealous because they are not permitted to use wands.”
“They watch Wizards wave wands, they watch us control the rules, while they can only hammer away underground. This jealousy fermented over long years into greed and hatred.”
“In 1612, Ragnuk the First did not go there to negotiate. He brought three hundred fully armed Goblin guards and attempted to kidnap the most famous wandmaker of the time—Gervase Ollivander.”
“That was the true trigger for the rebellion.”
Draco Malfoy listened with wide eyes.
He had never seen these words in a textbook, but his father had expressed similar views when hosting guests at home—about the inferiority and greed of non-human creatures.
Tamara turned abruptly to look directly into Professor Binns’s hollow eyes.
“Professor, peace is never signed with ink on a negotiation table.”
“If the Wizarding Council of that year had not chosen to compromise, but instead made those greedy creatures understand who the master of this land truly is, then the subsequent rebellions would never have happened.”
The classroom was pin-drop silent.
Every gaze was concentrated on the ghost in mid-air.
Professor Binns did not appear surprised or flustered as everyone had expected.
On the contrary, he stopped flipping through his dull lecture notes, and those pearly-white eyes hidden behind thick lenses truly focused on Tamara for the first time.
That look was very calm, as calm as a pool of stagnant water, revealing an indifference that had seen through thousands of years of rise and fall.
“The 1612 Wizengamot Trial Records, Volume 7, Page 42.”
Professor Binns suddenly spoke.
His voice was still monotonous, but it gained a trace of precision that made one’s spine tingle. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
“As well as the accounts in ‘The Secret History of the Ollivander Family’.”
“You are correct, Miss Riddle.”
Professor Binns slowly drifted down, passed through the podium, and stopped in front of Tamara.
“The official records of the time indeed covered up the fact that Ragnuk the First attempted to kidnap the wandmaker. To maintain the fragile financial stability after the war, the Ministry of Magic chose to define this period of history as a ‘cultural conflict’.”
The Slytherin students were shocked.
So the Professor knew all along!
“But history textbooks do more than just record the truth; they also serve the current order.”
Professor Binns looked at Tamara, his gaze seemingly seeing through this eleven-year-old girl to some familiar, dangerous quality.
“Most people only need to know the results and the dates. As for those bloody motives, that cruel human nature…”
Professor Binns let out a faint sigh, a sound unique to ghosts.
“…That belongs to the realm of politicians, not the required coursework for first-year students.”
“However.”
The ghost’s tone shifted.
“Given that you have read those original dossiers that are not on the book list, and were even intentionally forgotten…”
“This spirit of digging for historical truth is worth encouraging.”
“Five points to Slytherin.”
Professor Binns drifted back to the podium, turning back into that script-reading machine that only knew how to recite books.
“Now, let us turn to page 14 and continue with the signing date of the Greengrass Treaty…”
Tamara narrowed her eyes slightly, looking at the ghost who had become boring once again.
This old fellow.
He was doing it on purpose.
He knew everything, but he chose to let the students become stupid.
“Thank you, Professor.”
The bell for the end of class rang.
When Tamara packed her books and walked out of the classroom, Draco Malfoy was the first to rush up.
“Tamara! You were amazing just now!”
Draco was so excited his face turned red: “I must write to my father and tell him! He’s right, the current History of Magic textbooks have been changed beyond recognition by those fools who preach equality for all beings!”
“It was nothing, Draco.”
Tamara held her books, her pace steady and her tone flat: “Recognizing history is to avoid repeating the same mistakes.”
She stopped and glanced back at the Slytherins following behind her.
“When you hold power in the future—I mean, if you get the chance.”
“Never try to reason with the greedy.”
“Crushing them is the only mercy.”
Having said that, she turned and walked down the stairs.
At the corner of the corridor, the black cat named Nagini was crouching in the shadows, watching this scene and letting out a bored yawn.
“Meow.”