The Stake and the Wizard

On the second day of school, Avery was kicked awake.

Hermes kicked his bedpost, and with a loud thud, the entire Four-poster bed shook.

Avery sprang out of bed, his hair a mess, his left eye still limp, and mumbled a curse.

He tossed and turned until the wee hours of the morning last night before finally falling asleep.

Avery rubbed his eyes. "What time is it?"

Nobody paid him any attention.

Regulus stood by the desk buttoning his cloak, while Baruk circled on the table.

The fire in the fireplace was still burning, dark red flames licking the walls, and occasionally a piece of charcoal would collapse, Mars flying out.

Baruk's eight eyes looked at Regulus, then turned to the fireplace, then back to Regulus, its chelipeds snapping open and closing with a click. Regulus looked down at it. "Go."

Baruk launched himself off the table with a powerful leap, arcing through the air before landing directly in the fireplace.

The impact was precise, striking the pile of glowing red-hot charcoal blocks, Mars sparks flying.

Avery had just gotten out of bed, one leg still dangling outside the covers, when he turned around and saw this scene, and he froze.

Flames licked across Baruk's body, his dark red carapace gleaming in the fire. His eight legs slowly spread out, bracing themselves on the coals, and then he lay down.

It lay sprawled in the center of the fire, its eight legs fully extended, its belly pressed against the glowing embers, its chelicerae making a soft clicking sound. "It..." Avery pointed to the fireplace, his voice trembling.

Alex had just come out of the Washroom, a towel draped over his shoulder, when he saw Baruk lying in the fire, and his voice rose in shock.

"Regulus, it's in the fire!"

Regulus fastened the last button, then turned and glanced at Baruk in the fireplace.

Flames danced around it as it lay there comfortably.

"I saw it."

Avery jumped out of bed and ran over without even putting on his shoes. He squatted down in front of the fireplace, his face very close to the heat, making him squint, but he didn't want to back away, staring at Baruk.

Then he turned his head, his voice full of surprise. "What happened?"

Regulus ignored him and picked up his small schoolbag, slinging it over his shoulder.

"What did you do to it?" Avery's eyes lit up, and he suddenly became alert, his eyes wide open. "It's not afraid of fire? How can it not be afraid of fire? Aren't Acromantula afraid of fire?"

"Class is starting." Regulus lifted his foot and walked towards the door.

"Wait—at least say one sentence—"

Regulus has already left the Dormitory.

Avery opened his mouth, a bellyful of questions stuck in his throat, unable to swallow or spit them out. He stamped his foot and hurried to put on his shoes. Alex walked to the fireplace and took one last look at Baruk.

Baruk raised his head in the fire, and eight amber eyes looked at him. His chelipeds lazily opened and closed once before settling back down. Alex shook his head and followed him outside.

The Acromantula that Regulus kept was not afraid of fire, which was strange, but not that strange.

Hermes walked behind, passing the fireplace. His gaze lingered on Baruk for a moment, his brow furrowed, lost in thought. The first lesson of the new semester: History of Magic.

In the middle of the third floor, there is a narrow stone room with high and narrow windows that let in very faint, gray light.

The window faces the Forbidden Forest, where a thin layer of snow has accumulated on the treetops, forming dark silhouettes against the greyish-white sky.

Professor Binns floated in directly from the blackboard, his pearly white, translucent body passing through the edge of the podium, then he opened his mouth and began to read.

Just like before, dry and monotonous, the voice bounced back and forth between the stone walls like a worn-out phonograph. "Today we'll talk about the conflict between medieval wizards and Muggle."

On Ravenclaw's side, the scratching of quills rang out almost simultaneously with Professor Binns speaking.

On the Slytherin side, several had already rested their faces on their arms, their eyelids drooping, their voices echoing Professor Binns's.

"In the early Middle Ages, the relationship between wizards and Muggle was not adversarial. Most wizards lived in Muggle communities and existed as healers, Prophecy, or advisors."

The midwife in the village may also be Witch Doctor, and the lord's astrological advisor may also be a wizard with Prophecy abilities.

Muggle will actively seek help from wizards when they need it, and ignore or report them when they don't.

He continued speaking.

"This symbiotic relationship was fragile. In the fourteenth century, the Black Death Cleansweep across Europe, and the order of Muggle society collapsed amidst widespread death. They began to look for scapegoats."

"The first large-scale witch hunt broke out in Switzerland and southern Germany."

The Muggle Church, a faith-based Muggle organization, incorporates witchcraft into the framework of the Inquisition.

The Malleus Maleficarum became the legal handbook for witch hunts, and thereafter, witch hunts transformed from vigilante justice into legitimate public trials.

The classroom quieted down a bit, and several Slytherin students who had been lying down looked up.

Professor Binns continued reading.

"Bamberg, between 1623 and 1633, saw the execution of over nine hundred people; Würzburg, during the same period, saw the execution of over nine hundred people; Trier, even earlier, from the late sixteenth to the early seventeenth century, saw the execution of over one thousand people."

"What these regions have in common is that the bishop also serves as a secular lord, and religious and secular judicial powers are combined, which makes witch hunts extremely efficient."

Avery held the quill pen tightly in his hand, the tip resting motionless on the parchment, his lips pressed together, his jaw muscles twitching.

A Pure-bloods boy behind him also looked up, his face full of disbelief, his mouth slightly open, his chin jutting forward, as if he hadn't heard clearly, or as if he couldn't believe it.

A few rows back, another Pure-bloods girl stared at Bins with an expression as if she were listening to something completely illogical.

In their minds, Muggle are inferior species, not worth mentioning, not even as good as Gnomes.

How could a race without Magic possibly harm a wizard?

The wizard stands on the earth, Muggle are the mud beneath his feet, something he finds unsightly to step on.

Now Professor Binns tells them, in the tone of reading from an account book, that thousands of Muggles have been burned at the Muggle.

They knew it couldn't all be wizards; there probably weren't that many wizards back then, but there were definitely some among them.

For a Pure-bloods Slytherin, being harmed by Muggle is unacceptable.

They all sat up straight, frowning, some confused, some disdainful, but no one uttered a sound; they were unusually alert.

The reaction from Ravenclaw was different.

The rustling of notes intensified as several quill pens flew across the parchment, recording place names, years, and numbers.

One girl raised her hand, then lowered it again, probably realizing that asking wouldn't make a difference.

They are concerned with the knowledge itself, whether the data is accurate, whether the causal chain is complete, and whether there are other sources that can be cross-verified. In their eyes, the evil deeds of Muggle are historical events, materials that need to be recorded and analyzed.

Regulus glanced at the several contorted faces of the Slytherin, then at the lowered heads and flying pens of the Ravenclaw, before looking away.

Professor Binns is still reading.

"The vast majority of the victims were women, widows, midwives, herb gatherers, and elderly people living alone."

They have weak social connections, lack property protection, and face the highest costs in defending themselves after being accused.

But the Muggle Church's goal was not to eliminate true wizards.

"The essence of the Witch Hunts was a large-scale social control movement by the church in response to the impact of the Protestant Reformation."

"Using fear to solidify the church's moral authority, using trials to maintain ideological unity within the parish, witchcraft accusations were the tools, and the victims were the price." Professor Binns finished reading the last paragraph. "The Witch Hunts caused immense harm to the wizarding community."

That's it.

He didn't elaborate on what kind of damage it was, why it caused the damage, or why the wizard didn't retaliate.

He just kept reading, reading things that Slytherin was no longer listening to.

In 1689, the International Confederation of Wizards was established.

Regulus stopped listening.

He sat in the back row by the window, his right hand on the table, his left hand supporting his chin, his gaze shifting from Professor Binns to the view outside the window.

The treetops of the Forbidden Forest stood motionless under the gray sky, a thin layer of snow covering the bare branches, with the occasional piece sliding down from above and crumbling into fine powder among the canopy.

After reading the passage about the Witch Hunts, Professor Binns jumped to the International Statute of Secrecy in a single summary.

The deaths of thousands are justified by the claim of causing immense harm. Binns didn't mention how many of those burned at the stake were genuine wizards. There's a widely circulated version of this history within the Wizarding World.

The witch Wendelin was captured forty-seven times, and each time she was tied to the stake, she used Flame-Freezing Charm to feign pain and then vanish. This story was passed down with a smug, mocking tone, saying, "Look at these stupid Muggle, they can't even tell the difference between real and fake fire."

But the story doesn't say that Wendelin was a grown-up wizard; she had a wand, she knew Flame-Freezing Charm, and she was prepared for all forty-seven captures. What about those times when she wasn't prepared?

This is a statistical disaster.

The vast majority of those burned to death were Muggle.

Neighbors denounce each other, jealous people point fingers at their enemies, and a son fighting over an inheritance accuses his widowed stepmother.

Witch hunts operate within the Muggle community; they are a form of self-purification within the community and have little to do with Magic.

The church is not targeting real wizards.

The church certainly knew that Magic existed, but they attributed this ability to Satan. What they wanted to burn were witches, Satan's brides, and had nothing to do with Magic abilities.

Their target was something else entirely: those who made pacts with the devil, women who had turned their backs on God.

The bullets were aimed at heretics, but it just so happened that a few real wizards were standing in the path of the bullets.

The random violence of history will not spare those on its trajectory just because the target is off-target.

Professor Binns ' voice was buzzing as he read out the details of the signing of the International Statute of Secrecy of 1689: which countries' representatives were present, in which building they signed, and what ink they used.

Regulus wasn't listening to those; he was thinking about the second question.

The real wizards, indeed, some of them died.

Why?

How could a person with Magic, a wand, the Apparition, and the Shield Charm Muggle burned to death by a group of Muggles with torches and pitchforks? The answer is not in strength.

A medieval witch lives in Muggle village.

Her thatched hut was doused with kerosene in the middle of the night. She was awakened from her sleep with her baby in her arms. Her husband was at the door, being held down by five farmers with pitchforks.

She can Spellcasting, Apparition, and burn everyone to ashes with a single Fire-Making Spell.

But she first needs to find the wand, recite the spell, and hold the baby in her arms; all of this takes time.

Muggle don't need to duel her; they just need to throw torches onto the thatched roof in those few seconds.

The probability of a wizard being killed by Muggle depends on one thing: whether he is caught in an unguarded window.

As long as they aren't killed on the spot, wizards can recover. A blow to the head with an iron rod will cause bleeding and unconsciousness, but Potions and spells can heal fractures in a very short time.

That is, assuming they didn't die on the spot.

The damage that Muggle inflict on wizards is temporary, not permanent.

The real issue isn't whether you can fight, but whether you can survive the moment you're attacked.

Muggle use sheer numbers, chance, and unpredictability to cover the gaps in the wizards' defenses.

A wizard's individual strength can overwhelm any lone Muggle, but it can't stop fifty farmers from simultaneously dousing oil in the middle of the night.

There is a third problem: witch hunts are organized acts of group violence.

Muggle churches have parish networks, judicial processes, and dedicated judges and execution squads.

From indictment to arrest to trial to execution, the entire process is highly efficient.

What about the wizards?

There was no Ministry of Magic, no Auror, and no unified law.

Wizards live in scattered family units throughout Muggle society, without any mutual support networks or information sharing. If a witch is burned at the stake in Bamberg, another wizard in the next valley will only shut his door tighter.

Hoping they'll unite and resist?

Perhaps the feud between two Pure-bloods families is more direct than the conflict with Muggle. They are both wizards, fighting for a hundred years. When the Church came, they did not join forces. The power of one wizard can crush a hundred Muggle, but a hundred scattered wizards cannot stop ten thousand organized Muggle.

Individual power and group organization were examined separately in this period of history.

No matter how strong an individual is, scattered sand is still scattered sand.

The sky outside the window seemed to have darkened a bit more, with gray clouds slowly pressing down, and the treetops of the Forbidden Forest being swallowed up by the mist.

Professor Binns ' voice continued mechanically, already reading out the implementation details after the International Statute of Secrecy was signed.

Regulus continued to think.

But the Witch Hunts did something the church itself hadn't anticipated.

It forced the wizard to realize a thought that had never existed before: we are the same kind of people.

Before the Witch Hunts, witches didn't need this idea.

They lived among the Muggle, were neighbors with them, did business with Muggle, and intermarried with them.

Magic abilities are a private matter, a personal talent, much like eye color, and do not constitute a racial label.

A wizarding family living in the England countryside and a wizarding family living in southern Ireland have no connection whatsoever, and they may never even meet in their lifetime.

The Witch Hunts changed that.

When a witch is burned at the stake in Trier, an old wizard in a remote Welsh valleys might, for the first time, have an idea.

The person who was burned at the stake was the same kind of person as him, and the person who burned her was the same kind of person as his Muggle neighbor who couldn't use Magic. This idea didn't exist before the Witch Hunts; fear branded it onto the skin of every wizard who survived.

Fear breeds identity, identity breeds organization, and organization breeds rules.

In 1689, the International Statute of Secrecy was signed.

But the International Statute of Secrecy International Statute of Secrecy is not the starting point; it is the result.

Before that, a group of wizards must first sit down at the same table and reach a consensus: we need to hide ourselves. Only by sitting together can we achieve real change.

This is the first time that the Wizarding Civilization has made a decision based on our perspective.

We will no longer be scattered throughout Muggle society, waiting for the next witch hunter to knock on our door in the middle of the night. We will establish our own government, our own laws, our own armed forces, and our own communities.

The expansion of Hogwarts Castle, the formation of Diagon Alley, the establishment of the Ministry of Magic, and the refinement of the Auror system all occurred after the International Statute of Secrecy. Wizards took two hundred years to evolve from scattered sands into a civilization.

Professor Binns was already reading from the reading list, Ravenclaw were tidying up their notes, and Slytherin were stretching.

Regulus folded the parchment and tucked it into his textbook.

The paper had a line written on it: 1689, the International Statute of Secrecy, the beginning of cohesion.

He fastened his backpack, not rushing to stand up, his mind still racing.

This civilization, which has only been formed for less than three hundred years, is being torn apart from within.

How long has the Ministry of Magic been established? How long has the Auror system been operating? When did the Four Houses of Hogwarts become more than just four dormitories, but four different political labels?

The International Statute of Secrecy binds the Wizarding World together, but its source is fear.

They were afraid of Muggle, afraid of being burned at the stake, and afraid of witch hunters knocking on their doors in the middle of the night.

Once this fear disappears, Muggle forget the existence of Magic, and the cohesion begins to weaken.

With no enemies outside, cracks began to appear inside.

Pure-bloods and Half-bloods, Slytherin and Gryffindor, Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix.

The International Statute of Secrecy taught wizards how to unite, but it didn't teach them how to maintain unity when there are no external enemies.

Voldemort is doing what the Witch Hunts did: using fear to bind Pure-bloods together, and using fear to tear apart Half-bloods and Muggle-borns.

The tools that once bound wizards together are now cutting them apart from the inside.

It took wizards two hundred years to build a civilization from scattered sands, but Voldemort was able to dismantle it from within in less than two years.

It gathers slowly, but breaks apart quickly.

History is not repeating itself; it is accelerating.

This time, the witch hunters grew out of the wizards themselves.

Regulus stood up and slung his backpack strap over his shoulder.

He recalled the ultimate form of the Disintegration Charm: a wizard, a spell, and the destruction of a city.

That was the path he was walking, pushing the power of the individual to its limit.

But today's lesson showed him another side: the ultimate power of an individual may not be enough on a historical scale.

Before the International Statute of Secrecy, wizards never lacked powerful individuals; what they lacked was a consensus that could bind those individuals together, enabling the entire group to act and defend as a whole.

It was once burned out by fear, and now it is being torn down by fear.

Regulus stepped out of the History of Magic classroom. The light in the Stone Corridor was brighter than in the classroom, with torches burning on both sides.

Avery caught up with him and walked alongside him, his mouth starting to move again, probably because he hadn't spoken for a whole class and was now making up for it. "Professor Binns talked about witch hunts, did Muggle really burn wizards at the stake?"

Regulus glanced at him.

Avery then asked, "Why didn't the wizard fight back?"

Regulus didn't stop walking, only replying, "Think for yourself."

Avery paused for a moment, then stopped asking questions. His expression turned serious, and his brows furrowed.

Alex followed behind without saying a word.

Hermes walked at the very back, his hands in his pockets, his expression as usual—gloomy, impatient, and indifferent to the rest of the world.

The footsteps of the four people mingled in the Corridor as they walked towards the Great Hall restaurant.