Chapter 149: The Secrecy Of The Pure-bloods
Reading this, the young girl stopped abruptly.
The attic was so quiet for a moment that you could hear a pin drop.
Until the automatic clothes rack helped Vaughn change his coat, twisted left and right to “admire” it for a moment, patted Vaughn’s shoulder, and dusted off non-existent dust.
Hermione finally came to her senses.
She looked at Vaughn, who acted as if nothing had happened, “Aren’t you worried about this opposing viewpoint?”
An iron flew up automatically, releasing a faint steam, tidying up the faint creases left on Vaughn’s velvet suit.
Vaughn looked at himself in the mirror, and then at Hermione, and asked her, “What about you? Do you think what he said makes sense?”
Hermione was speechless for a moment, then said dejectedly, “…Although I don’t want to admit it, I also dislike the views expressed in it, but I have to say, the History of Magic as I know it is like this.”
Vaughn asked her again, “Then what about the opinions of the supporters earlier?”
Hermione replied without hesitation, “Of course, it’s also right that werewolves should decide their own affairs…”
At this point, she froze and frowned in distress.
She suddenly realized that whether it was the supporters or the opponents, what they wanted to express seemed to be correct?
Seeing her confusion, Vaughn, who had already tidied himself up, turned around and ruffled her hair, “Regarding the establishment of the WAC, there is no right or wrong in either support or opposition; they simply have different stances.”
“Then… what about you?” Hermione asked.
“My opinion doesn’t matter,” Vaughn said with a smile, “From the moment I developed the Wolfsbane Potion and refused to transfer its ownership to the Ministry of Magic, my stance was naturally determined. I must, and can only, stand on the side of the werewolves!”
Hermione stared at him blankly, seemingly not expecting him to say such “discouraging” and “helpless” words.
The girl, not yet 13 years old, could not yet comprehend the complexities involved in such seemingly simple divisions. She could only see that although Vaughn spoke with helplessness, his expression showed no trace of dejection.
Her gaze became increasingly lost.
Vaughn ruffled her hair again, “Don’t worry unnecessarily. You just need to know that the establishment of the WAC is inevitable, and neither approval nor opposition can affect it. Or rather, those who truly have decision-making power never consider matters solely based on whether they benefit a certain group or not.”
“They also consider more elements, legal, ethical, and even political… Ultimately, the implementation of any policy, any breakthrough in concepts, is the result of struggle. In this regard, Mr. Harrison from the newspaper was quite right; survival space is fought for, and it remains so today!”
Harrison was a pseudonym.
When Vaughn read his interview in the Daily Prophet that morning, he was certain of this, and knew that the other party absolutely came from a pure-blood family!
The reason, of course, was not the undisguised competitive theory in his interview.
It was simply because of his stance.
For most wizards, werewolves only existed in the dark fairy tales of their childhood or in strange legends.
These lingering “negative” impressions alone were not enough to make ordinary people flagrantly oppose the WAC.
Only pure-bloods possessed the sufficient foundation, knowledge, and understanding to articulate mature reasons for their opposition, like “Mr. Harrison”—not out of discrimination or fear of werewolves, but out of fear that the establishment of the WAC would become a symbolic event of a certain phenomenon.
To give a relatively close example from a Muggle perspective, the wizarding world’s current view of the WAC is similar to how the Muggle government of England viewed Asia around 1950.
Small protests, great shock!
The ignorant, confined by their information bubbles, did not understand. Those with superficial knowledge became agitated, denigrating and condemning. Only those who truly grasped the truth understood that the flames ignited in Asia were the prelude to the disintegration of the old era, represented by the British Empire!
In 1950, it was the royalty and the aristocratic elites who wailed.
The current wizarding world is much the same. Pure-bloods, no different from aristocrats, are also hysterically trying to stop it.
In fact, they have been doing this for more than a day or two. Pure-blood families have been attempting to control the wizarding world for thousands of years.
“Witches’ Council”
“International Statute of Secrecy”
“Ministry of Magic”
“International Confederation of Wizards”
Even the darkest and most unspeakable period in wizarding history, the medieval witch hunts, were not unrelated to the pure-bloods.
Although the stated reason was correct, that in a vast, widespread, and uncontrolled movement, both half-blood wizards and pure-bloods were victims.
But in reality, only the common wizarding folk truly suffered!
At that time, the pure-bloods completely “forgot” their insistence on blood purity. They actively integrated into secular society, accepted the rule of the Tudor, Stuart, and Hanover dynasties, and joined the Royal Wizarding Corps founded by the Muggle king.
Secular regimes protected them. At the same time, a book called *The Hammer of Witches* was published, which detailed how to identify wizards and witches, and how to deal with them.
Its content was so professional and detailed that it was practically a guide to finding, subduing, controlling, and slaughtering wizards and witches.
Of course, this book had long since disappeared. According to the official records in *A History of Magic*, the author, Battilda Bagshot, claimed: “The Witches’ Council destroyed it, not because of the suffering it caused, but because of its ridiculous and hilarious content. But surprisingly, due to its fame, it made many young wizards believe it and be deeply poisoned… so they decided to destroy it…”
However, in some notes from the last century that Vaughn had read, many alchemists refused to acknowledge Bagshot’s words, calling her an “old liar, a fibber.”
“She always hid the real history and secrets beneath her wrinkled skin.”
“She even dared not reveal the friendship between her grandnephew Grindelwald and Dumbledore. Filthy wretch!”
Given that alchemists, especially those of the “Golden Soul School,” had some worldview issues, Vaughn did not particularly trust their evaluation of Ms. Bagshot’s character.
But their other speculations about *The Hammer of Witches*.
Vaughn still agreed to some extent.
*The Hammer of Witches*—alchemists speculated from historical records that it was a dark magic Alchemical Marvel, or, one could say, a magic book.
A book made of magic!
Each page was solidified with a powerful magic, so much so that in the Middle Ages, Muggles without magic could defeat powerful wizards with it.
Alchemists suspected that it had not been destroyed at all but was hidden at Hogwarts!
Of course, that was not the main point for now.
The reason for mentioning this item was that its functionality was too specific, as if its creation was solely to enable Muggles to slaughter wizards more easily.
Then, over 300 years, the wizarding world, once quite prosperous and spread throughout Europe, was torn to shreds by the terrible witch hunts.
From a macro perspective, it seemed as if the entire wizarding world had been severely damaged, but if one looked deeper, it would be discovered that during those catastrophic 300 years, pure-blood families suffered almost no damage. In fact, many originally weaker families grew stronger, like Malfoy and Black.
Over 300 years, the conflict between Muggles and wizards caused countless children who awoke to magic to be backlashed by their own magic under the societal pressure, turning them into Obscurials.
Who knows how many potential geniuses and prodigies the wizarding world lost.
The only known result was that the half-blood influence, which had been flourishing since Hogwarts was founded, was almost wiped out.
The *Statute of Secrecy* was also pushed through, with wizards who had deeply realized how “stupid” Muggles were enthusiastically responding, and even the goblins were scared and eagerly stamped their prints.
The wizarding world and the mundane world were thus separated!
And the pure-blood families, who had once consorted with the Muggle king, “actively” cut off all ties with Muggles, leading by example and forming the “Ministry of Magic” to supervise the enforcement of the *Statute of Secrecy*!
Pure-blood families thus seized power, which continues to this day.
Various thoughts flashed through his mind as Vaughn looked at Hermione, who was lost in thought.
“It’s like a peculiar cycle. Perhaps one could speculate that hundreds of years ago, the increasingly inflated half-blood influence began to unconsciously challenge the authority of the pure-bloods, and the old pure-bloods remained stagnant and inactive. Thus, some pure-bloods with progressive ideas, allied with secular and divine powers, launched the witch hunts, and then used them to promote the Statute of Secrecy.”
“The plan succeeded, and the power of the pure-bloods has continued to this day. After centuries of accumulated conflict, new conflicts seem to be brewing again…”
Vaughn suddenly wondered who those who supported Gellert Grindelwald were, about 60 years ago.
And what were the motives of those who followed Voldemort more than ten years ago, vowing to kill all half-bloods and Mudbloods?
The answer was obvious!
Gellert Grindelwald wanted to destroy the *Statute of Secrecy*, and he almost succeeded. Unfortunately, his era had a person named Albus Dumbledore.
Similarly, more than ten years ago, Voldemort’s rise was not without the instigation of pure-blood families. It’s just that those families didn’t expect that the person they put forward was a completely uncontrollable madman who only loved destruction and chaos!
Compared to the witch hunts of centuries ago and the *Statute of Secrecy*, these two events, represented by Grindelwald and Voldemort, were undoubtedly unsuccessful.
However, after two failures, will those who once stood behind Grindelwald and attempted to overthrow the pure-blood policy, i.e., the *Statute of Secrecy*, give up?
Will those who followed Voldemort and wanted to slaughter all their opponents truly stop?
Vaughn looked at the setting sun gradually descending outside the attic window, its golden light dividing the attic in two.
One side bathed in gold, the other dark and silent.
And he, standing in the middle, seemed to be at a crucial juncture.
Pure-blood forces = WAC opponents
Anti-pure-blood forces = WAC supporters
But what they supported and opposed was never the WAC, or werewolves, or even Vaughn Weasley himself.
It was the will of their respective groups!
The thunderous war drums seemed to be about to sound again, as they had hundreds of years ago, 60 years ago, and even more than ten years ago, in places imperceptible to Muggles, and even many ordinary wizards.
As night fell, when Lupin emerged from the hotel, London was already shrouded in mist.
He had witnessed the mist forming.
It was the River Thames in front of the hotel. Initially, it was just dense water vapor, like wisps of white smoke, drifting slowly on the river’s surface.
Then it rose.
When they floated to the shore, a mysterious force began to act—not natural condensation.
It was magic.
In Lupin’s perception, a hidden, invisible, yet undeniably real magical fluctuation covered about half of London.
Mist Charm!
This spell, which could only produce a small puff of white smoke in the hands of many young wizards, was now manipulating half the city’s natural environment.
Rivers, soil, trees… The spell’s power accelerated their water evaporation process, inducing inversion and condensation.
Thus, as Lupin saw—the moment the colorless water vapor swept ashore, it liquefied into countless aerosols, and in an instant, white mist permeated the air before his eyes.
Like surging waves, or like clouds suddenly disintegrating as they fell, it rushed onto the quiet, windless street in front of the hotel, submerging everything.
It then surged over Lupin’s body, rushing behind him, rushing in all directions!
Everything in sight suddenly became hazy, with extremely poor visibility. The hotel’s neon lights and the streetlights along the road turned into amorphous halos of light.
He vaguely heard Muggles complaining nearby, but they didn’t suspect anything.
Because, in their eyes, the formation of the mist might have appeared differently.
This was precisely the function of the Mist Charm: to provide the basic conditions for creating large-scale illusions.
“Did Mr. Weasley cast this Mist Charm?”
Hearing the question, Lupin turned and saw the short, stout Mundungus waddling over like a swaying penguin. He held his wand high, and the fluorescent light at the tip of the wand thinned the mist around him slightly.
He walked up to Lupin, took out a flask from his pocket, took a small sip of the firewhisky inside, and let out a sharp, loud laugh.
“Want some?”
Mundungus offered the flask to Lupin.
Lupin refused with a straight face, “Thank you, I don’t like alcohol.”
“Hey, mate, cheer up. I remember you used to be quite cheerful. Why have you become so downcast with age?”
Lupin ignored him and took out his pocket watch.
The enchanted watch face had no time markings, only a luminous hand wandering aimlessly.
After two days of his cold shoulder, Mundungus was somewhat accustomed to it. He took another sip of wine, let out another strange laugh, and then Mundungus twitched his red nose and said, “Honestly, you really need to change your bad temper, Remus. This is advice I’m giving you as a former partner.”
“Look at your life now. Dressed in suits, coming and going from hotels—isn’t it much better than your vagabond days? And those wolf cubs. I’ve met some werewolf tribes before. Their living conditions— I might know better than you. It’s called being close to nature, or bluntly, eating raw meat and blood like beasts.”
“Who provided all this? You can’t possibly not understand, right? Mr. Weasley provides you with a good life, you do work for him—it’s both a favor and a fair transaction. How good is that? I’m so envious, and you’re still not satisfied?”
Mundungus babbled on, irritating Lupin.
But he still didn’t speak.
This reaction made Mundungus grin, “Silence won’t solve anything, mate. I know you understand all those principles. Your stubbornness, your bad temper, it’s just because you’re a good person… But I have to say, in this world, good people don’t survive.”
Lupin finally couldn’t help but say sarcastically, “So that’s why you cheat and beg from whoever is powerful?”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Lupin regretted it.
Although Mundungus’s character was despicable, they had a friendship from when they fought Death Eaters together. Such insulting remarks were really inappropriate.
Just as he was mumbling, thinking about how to salvage the situation.
Mundungus let out another strange laugh of firewhisky, and while appearing drunk, he soberly mocked himself, “That’s right, mate, that’s why I’ve been able to live so long.”
“…You once had ideals…”
“You mean the Order of the Phoenix? Don’t talk nonsense. I joined the Order of the Phoenix because Dumbledore promised to protect me, and he also needed someone like me to handle matters he couldn’t publicly address. It was just a transaction. If Dumbledore had died then, I would have surrendered faster than anyone.”
“…”
Lupin was speechless.
Mundungus continued, “Look at the members of the Order of the Phoenix back then, how many had a good end? The Longbottoms went mad, the Prewett brothers’ bodies couldn’t be pieced together, the Potters… *hic* you know… your good friend Peter only has one finger left, and Dorcas Meadowes, the poor witch, no matter how powerful she was, You-Know-Who killed her personally.”
“And Edgar Bones, his whole family was wiped out. Benjy Fenwick, like the Prewett brothers, was blown to pieces by Death Eaters, only remains were found. Even more tragic is Caradoc Dearborn, did you find his body later?”
He asked finally.
Lupin couldn’t answer because the answer was obvious. If they had found it, Mundungus wouldn’t have missed it…
Seeing his speechless state, Mundungus shrugged, “I forgot to mention Moody earlier. I heard that old geezer also went mad, constantly suspicious, even the Aurors don’t want him anymore… They were all good people, Remus, but calculate, including your other good friend Black who was thrown into Azkaban, how many of the founders of the Order of the Phoenix are still able to stand on the street and speak properly like you and me?”
“Even the two of us have lived like dogs all these years… Sorry, you know, I’m just that straightforward when talking to old friends.”
In the increasingly dense white mist, this short, stout, greasy middle-aged man, who always wore a smile like a clown, rarely showed a hint of melancholy.
“You say I cheat and beg. I don’t deny it, because I am indeed that kind of person. I don’t want to be associated with the word ‘good person’ anymore… Just like Dumbledore is also a good person, so in his eyes, it’s only natural for good people to sacrifice, dedicate, and have their families destroyed when fighting evil.”
Hearing this, Lupin couldn’t help but interrupt to defend, “Dumbledore didn’t think that way, he just…”
Mundungus interrupted him, “Well, I know what you’re going to say. Dumbledore just thought we were all saints like him, who don’t need to eat or spend money!”
“Heh—” Lupin sneered, his gaze falling on the money bag hanging at Mundungus’s waist, containing the “activity funds” Vaughn had given him last time they met.
“In the end, it’s a matter of money!”
“No, Remus,” Mundungus opened his bleary, drunken eyes, which were surprisingly bright at this moment, “In my opinion, what he gave was not money, but dignity!”
In Mundungus’s view, the issue of defining personal humiliation should be multifaceted.
Some people discriminate against your height, your means of survival—that is undoubtedly humiliation.
On the other hand, when someone uses moral blackmail to force you to choose the behavior they dictate, it is also a form of humiliation—that person regulates your morals, seemingly for your own good, but in their heart, you are not worthy of having the right to choose, and the so-called free will is non-existent.
True respect should be the respect for each person’s different pursuits.
Some people can live by ideals, but some people are purely mortal.
Mundungus considered himself to be of the latter type.
“Mr. Weasley knows I like money, so when he asks me to help, he pays me.”
On the foggy street, the noisy clamor of Muggles gradually faded. This was due to the illusion caused by the Mist Charm, as the wizard who cast it was using the mist’s illusion to “drive away Muggles.”
To make them return indoors.
At this moment, only Lupin and Mundungus remained on the street. Mundungus, still tipsy, spoke eloquently, “Perhaps in your eyes, this kind of transaction filled with the stench of money is vulgar, but that is my preference, and Mr. Weasley respects my preference, and he respects yours too!”
“You are a man of ideals, Remus, so he doesn’t talk about money with you, only ideals. Why would you still resist such a boss?”
Lupin didn’t ponder why he resisted.
He already knew the reason: he simply didn’t agree with some of Vaughn’s methods.
Relative to this issue, he was more curious: “You’re actually advising me? I thought with your personality, you’d be wishing I’d fall out of favor so you could take my place!”
Mundungus shrugged, “Because I know my own limits. Someone like me, who loves money, is unlikely to gain the trust of superiors. If I were in their shoes, I’d think the same—if Old Mundungus can be bought today, won’t he sell me out tomorrow if someone offers a higher price?”
“You’re different. I can see that Mr. Weasley values you quite a bit. Even though you have a bad temper and are not very obedient, he always entrusts important matters to you.”
“Like today.”
Saying this, Mundungus became distressed, “Truly, you don’t know what you have when you’re in luck. A great figure like Mr. Weasley is willing to trust you, and you don’t even take it seriously… As expected, in both the wizarding world and Muggle society, those who are favored are always presumptuous!”
“However, as an old friend, I can’t let you continue to be so willful. Old buddy, look at the werewolves in your organization, that little Barnaby, William, James… everyone wants to replace you, you silly fool. They are much clearer-headed than you, knowing that when you find a strong backer, you must hold on tight!”
Lupin scoffed at his “emotional appeal,” “And then?”
Mundungus acted as if he hadn’t seen his mocking smile and shamelessly said, “And then I’ll help you get rid of your bad habits, and we brothers will overcome all challengers and become the top lackeys under Mr. Weasley. You’ll have power, and I’ll make a little money, how about that?”
Lupin rolled his eyes.
He knew it!
But…
As he was thinking, the pocket watch hand, which had been trembling aimlessly, suddenly stopped.
A faint light floated from the hand, turning into a ball of light that flew into the sky and exploded silently in the thick fog, a huge halo spreading across the sky.
Lupin quickly closed his pocket watch and said to Mundungus, “The contact is coming. Hurry up and put away your bottle.”
“Ah, no one ever told Old Mundungus he couldn’t do this or that before.”
Although he complained, Mundungus still put away the bottle and popped a “Cleaning Charm” and a few licorice mints into his mouth.
Water, summoned from who knows where, formed a vortex like a rolling washing machine, churning the crushed licorice mints in his mouth.
By the time Mundungus spat out the water, the fog in the sky had just “split open,” and two wizards riding broomsticks descended from the sky.
They were two male witches. One wore a hood, making his age indistinguishable, with only a pair of light green eyes shining in the dark night.
The other, slightly younger, looked only a little over ten years old, likely having just graduated from Hogwarts. His cloak was embroidered with silver threads, which seemed to ripple like water waves with the wind from his high-speed descent.
Upon seeing the cloak, Lupin smiled slightly, because the cloak had three letters embroidered on the chest: WAC!
And he recognized the younger man.
He walked forward, “Phil Travers, why are you here? Weren’t you supposed to be receiving the delegation from the International Confederation of Wizards?”
Phil smiled faintly, “Yes, Mr. Lupin, but the current situation is more urgent. Greyback’s lackeys are gathering in London. Mr. Weasley has asked us to clear them out first.”
Lupin showed no surprise at his words.
Yesterday, he and the wizards among the werewolves had received instructions from Vaughn. The instructions stated that Greyback, likely instigated by certain malicious individuals, might attempt to disrupt the WAC conference.
They had been on standby since yesterday.
Although it was not a full moon, when werewolves could not transform and cause much damage, Fenrir Greyback was an exception.
This veteran werewolf had modified his claws and teeth to ensure that even in human form, he possessed the ability to tear and bite prey, and could even transmit a limited form of the werewolf virus. (In his human form, biting someone would not infect them with lycanthropy, but they would exhibit certain beast-like characteristics, such as a fondness for raw meat.)
Furthermore, even in his human form, Greyback’s claws and teeth could inflict wounds that would not heal, just like in his werewolf state.
Coupled with the fact that he was also a powerful dark wizard who loved to eat humans, if he were allowed to cause trouble during the WAC conference, the WAC would be unable to defend itself—
It wouldn’t just be the opposition that would exploit this incident.
There were also the ordinary wizarding public. The fact was, most wizards, like Muggle citizens, lacked clear rational discernment and were easily swayed.
If they heard about a werewolf attack, they wouldn’t rationally distinguish who the perpetrator was; they would simply point the finger at all werewolves.
“Is the intelligence reliable?” Lupin asked.
Phil Travers glanced at the green eyes beside him. As the other person remained motionless, he replied, “The intelligence was provided by the family of the friend next to me. My grandfather and Mr. Weasley have both verified it. The intelligence is reliable.”
He did not introduce the person with green eyes.
Lupin did not ask either.
It was undoubtedly some minor families in the wizarding world who were preparing to defect to Vaughn but were hesitant to reveal their true identities due to various concerns.
He nodded, “Good… By the way, the person next to me is Mundungus Fletcher, my partner. He’s working with me today, and he’s also responsible for collecting werewolves. Please notify the other teams that if they can capture them alive, do so. Then contact Fletcher.”
Phil agreed.
This was clearly a request from Vaughn Weasley, so he naturally wouldn’t ask too many questions. Instead, he politely extended his hand to Mundungus, “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Fletcher.”
Mundungus smiled without warmth.
After shaking hands with Phil, he turned and whispered conspiratorially to Lupin, “Remus, I forgot to mention one more person who sacrificed themselves among those I mentioned earlier, Marlene McKinnon. Poor girl, her whole family was wiped out, and one of the murderers was Travers!”
Lupin: “…”
Phil: “…”
Phil pretended not to hear Mundungus’s malicious words, and while pulling out two flying broomsticks from a bag enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm, he said to Lupin,
“According to the intelligence obtained by our allied families, there are about 20 werewolves who have infiltrated the main urban area of London this time. They are divided into 5 teams, scattered in various locations. It is preliminarily determined that they are waiting for an opportunity to cause a disturbance.”
“Where are they hiding?” Lupin asked.
Where would werewolves hide?
That was a good question. If it were in the past, Lupin himself could have provided the answer. Most likely it would be in desolate countrysides, the Scottish highlands, or the coastal areas of the North Sea.
Of course, the entire British Isles’ wizarding black market could also serve as a hiding place for werewolves.
Especially Greyback and his lackeys.
Those guys were different from ordinary werewolves. They were generally also dark wizards. This was natural; how many normal people would follow that beast Greyback?
But the situation had completely changed in the past year.
The emergence of the Wolfsbane Potion and the WAC had, on one hand, changed the fate of ordinary werewolves, and on the other hand, also made the living environment of Greyback and his ilk increasingly harsh.
After nearly a year of propaganda and recruitment, the WAC had gathered all the willing werewolf tribes and implemented a new “registration law” for every werewolf willing to join the WAC system.
It was a magical contract.
However, unlike the Ministry of Magic’s “Werewolf Registration Act,” although the “new registration law” still required werewolves to provide blood, hair, name, and other spellcasting components, its essence was not discriminatory.
