The feast was not yet over.
Candlelight flickered throughout the Great Hall, and the rich scent of wine hung in the air over the tables.
Once the first-years had settled into their seats, Albus Dumbledore raised his goblet to offer a toast, his tone as warm and gentle as ever.
When the formalities drew to a close, the professors resumed their quiet conversations.
Professor Babbling—the Ancient Runes scholar who always loved starting discussions—suddenly turned toward Linus, a faint, meaningful smile playing on her lips.
“Professor Alvin doesn’t seem particularly interested in the Savior himself?” Her voice was not loud, yet it was enough to bring silence to the entire High Table.
Every eye turned toward them.
Linus raised his eyes calmly, his expression unchanged.
“The Savior?
You mean Harry Potter?” “Of course,” Professor Babbling said, raising an eyebrow.
“After all, if not for that child, the Dark Lord might still rule this world today.” “I’ve always found that notion somewhat ridiculous,” Linus said mildly.
“Ridiculous?” Professor McGonagall’s brow furrowed.
“A one-year-old child whose magic hadn’t even fully awakened, defeating the most powerful Dark wizard in history?
Do you truly believe something so absurd?” The air in the hall seemed to freeze.
Harry’s name had always symbolized hope and legend.
No one had expected a newly appointed professor to publicly question that myth.
“It is common knowledge that Lily Potter invoked an ancient protective magic—the Seal of Love—through her self-sacrifice, causing the curse to rebound,” Professor Babbling countered.
“That is precisely the miracle of ancient magic.” “I have never denied the existence of that magic,” Linus agreed, nodding slightly.
“I simply find it curious: why is it the surviving child whom the world praises, rather than the mother who actually gave her life?” A brief silence fell over the entire table.
Severus Snape’s goblet trembled slightly in his fingers, his eyes turning dark and gloomy.
Linus continued, “What Lily Potter demonstrated was the pinnacle of ancient magic—ultimate self-sacrifice.
In centuries, she alone succeeded in awakening that primal power of the cosmos.
Not even the Unspeakables of the Department of Mysteries have mastered the magic of love.
If we are speaking of who saved the world, the true savior should be her.” Professor Babbling was left speechless.
Even Albus Dumbledore paused for a moment.
Flitwick asked in a soft voice, “If that is so clear, why does the wizarding world still bestow the title of Savior upon the child?” Linus’s gaze swept across the assembled professors.
“The reason is simple—Lily Potter was Muggle-born.” The words fell like a dropped bomb.
The air congealed; even the crackle of the torches felt unnaturally sharp.
“Nonsense!” McGonagall slammed a hand on the table and stood up.
“The Savior is celebrated because the prophecy clearly foretold it—the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord would be born as the seventh month dies!” “Yet the number of people who actually know the contents of that prophecy can be counted on one hand,” Linus replied, his voice calm as still water.
“Apart from Dumbledore and Snape, virtually no one knows what it says.
Since the public had never heard the prophecy, why did they so blindly believe in the myth of the Savior?
Simply because the boy bore the surname ‘Potter’—the name of an ancient pure-blood family.” McGonagall was rendered speechlessly silent.
Professor Babbling coughed softly, intending to defuse the tension, only to realize that the other professors had all fallen quiet.
Linus raised his goblet, his voice low yet resonant.
“Prejudice does not always take the form of hatred.
Sometimes it hides beneath tradition and habit, cloaked in the robes of honor.
Take Mr.
Arthur Weasley—a sincere wizard who loves the Muggle world, yet remains blissfully unaware that he treats them like curious novelties.
A benevolent gaze is still a gaze looking down.” Flitwick looked thoughtful, while McGonagall’s expression hardened.
Dumbledore finally spoke up.
“Linus, the wizarding world is not as dark as you think.
Lily is revered, and her sacrifice is etched into the hearts of all.
It is simply that people longed for a living symbol—a tangible beacon for their hope.
The living are far easier to rally behind than the dead.” Linus gave a faint smile.
“I have never doubted your tolerance, Headmaster.
It is just that your tolerance rests at the apex of the structure—you possess the privilege of forgiving the world.” Silence blanketed the table.
A few younger teachers looked uncomfortable, while the older professors bore complex expressions.
Hagrid, usually so cheerful, murmured softly, “No one denies Mrs.
Potter’s greatness…
but people just wanted to hold on to a living hope.” “A living hope?” Linus echoed softly.
“Or a more convenient symbol?” No one answered.
After a long silence, Flitwick offered a wry smile to smooth things over.
“Perhaps Professor Alvin merely wishes to remind us that history books ought not to be so shallow.” Linus inclined his head slightly.
“I merely wish to remind everyone that prejudice does not always stem from malice.
It often manifests as systems, shells itself in tradition, and takes root in silence.
Even I am no exception—the Bones family benefits from this establishment, and I have reaped the rewards of a corrupt system myself.
Knowing its flaws yet sailing along with its currents—that is the ultimate hypocrisy.” His words were spoken calmly, yet they bore a sharp edge.
The staff table fell into utter stillness.
Dumbledore sighed.
“You remain as sharp as ever, Linus.
Though I fear this world may not yet be ready to hear the truth.” “The truth never requires preparation.” Linus stood and gave a polite, subtle bow.
“It is only a matter of whether the listeners are willing to understand it.” Night enveloped the grounds like water, light refracting through the goblets into countless shimmering specks.
Linus turned and walked away from the High Table, his steps steady and silent.
The professors watched him leave in silence, no one speaking another word.
When laughter eventually returned to the student tables, everything seemed to revert to normal.
Yet that conversation was like a single grain of sand, quietly falling into the depths of everyone’s hearts— unobtrusive, yet impossible to forever ignore.
…
Stepping out of the Great Hall, light and shadow flickered along the stone corridor.
Linus looked up at the night sky.
In the distance, the moon gleamed like polished silver, while the coordinates of the Gate of Worlds flickered in his mind.
“Ancient magic, blood prejudice, the myth of salvation…
all of it is merely a framework.” “To truly shatter it, the rules themselves must be rebuilt.” With a subtle flick of his wand, a tiny speck of light floated upward and plunged into the distance like a falling star.
It was a signal linked to the Moon Base—fresh research data was transmitting back.
Linus offered a faint smile.
The trajectory of truth had never paused for mere noise.