Today in 1991

For now, he set aside the matter of Ancient Magic.

As a soon-to-be Hogwarts student, Glen's top priority was to buy everything he needed for school.

After passing through the Leaky Cauldron's bar, he came to a small, walled courtyard.

Apart from a trash can and some weeds, there was nothing else there.

Although Revelio could reveal people or objects with magical properties, there was no need to use it just to enter Diagon Alley.

All he had to do was count three bricks up from the one above the trash can, then two bricks to the side, and tap the spot three times with his wand.

However, Glen didn't have a wand yet, so he used the back of his hand instead and tapped three times.

The next moment, all the bricks in the wall began to move, as if an invisible hand were rearranging them. In the blink of an eye, a wide archway appeared, leading to a winding cobblestone street whose far end lay out of sight. The noisy din of the crowd spilled toward him.

He stepped through the archway, and the wall behind him returned to normal.

Sunlight fell on the winding street before him. The shops lining either side were packed with all sorts of strange wares.

People in wizarding robes bustled back and forth. Some haggled over prices, children pleaded with their parents, and others chased one another around. The place felt especially noisy and lively.

"So this is Diagon Alley by day," Glen murmured as he took in the scene.

As a fifth-year transfer student at Hogwarts, he had actually visited Diagon Alley once, over a century ago.

But that had been at night. Apart from Professor Figg, who had come to meet him, there hadn't been a single person on the street, nor a single shop open.

And since he had transferred into fifth year, whenever he needed supplies, he had mostly gone to Hogsmeade, the "wizarding village," rather than Diagon Alley.

So strictly speaking, this was probably Glen's first time coming to Diagon Alley to buy supplies.

With that in mind, Glen took the school supply list from his pocket, glanced at it, then headed for the nearest shop, Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

Normally, he should have gone to a wizarding bank called Gringotts to withdraw money first, but he didn't have much faith in a bank run by Goblins.

So, whenever possible, he preferred to carry his money himself in a small purse he kept on him.

"Buying a Hogwarts School uniform, dear?" Madam Malkin was a short, plump witch with a kindly smile, dressed in purple.

"Yes."

"Then you've come to the right place. We have plenty. Anything in particular you're looking for?"

"Something with as much offense and defense as possible."

"?"

From Madam Malkin's puzzled expression, it was clear she had no idea what Glen meant.

That didn't stop her from leading him to the back of the shop to try on robes.

"If you don't make the Slytherin team, I'll have to say I'm terribly disappointed..." said a middle-aged man with pale blond hair and gray eyes.

Beside him stood a miniature version of himself.

"Can I bring a broom to Hogwarts, then?" asked the pale, thin boy with slicked-back hair, looking eager. The robe he was trying on bore the name Draco Malfoy.

The middle-aged man gave a cold snort. "No, Draco. Dumbledore would rather make room for impure-blooded wizards than let you bring a broom."

"Oh, that's a shame..." From Draco's drawn-out, trailing voice, it was clear that although he hadn't yet started at Hogwarts, he already had a dislike for the headmaster named Dumbledore.

"But if you do make the Slytherin team, I'll buy you a broom for the matches."

At that, Malfoy's spirits gradually lifted, and his excitement about going to Hogwarts took over again.

Still, when talking to an adult, he had to rein himself in a little. It was nowhere near as easy as talking to someone his own age.

Turning his head slightly, Malfoy caught sight of Glen, whom Madam Malkin had just led to the back of the shop.

"Hey, are you going to Hogwarts too?"

"Yeah." At Madam Malkin's instruction, Glen stood on the other footstool beside Malfoy.

"Do you have your own broom?"

"I did, but I can't use it now."

"Yeah, you can't... I really don't understand why first-years aren't allowed to have their own brooms." Glen's answer struck a chord with Malfoy.

"Have you played Quidditch?"

"No." Glen thought for a moment, then shook his head.

As a former Hogwarts transfer student, he could tell incoming students all about life at Hogwarts, but when it came to Quidditch, he couldn't offer a single bit of advice or insight.

Back then, the least popular headmaster in history had suspended all Quidditch activities. Glen knew it was a sport, but little else.

"That's a shame. I've played, though, and I'm pretty good," Malfoy said, lifting his chin slightly.

"You know, we pure-blood wizards are much better at handling brooms. Why should we give up the chance to train a good Quidditch player just because of certain wizards? Oh, by the way, what's your surname?"

"Howard."

As the common Muggle surname left Glen's mouth, the atmosphere seemed to turn cold.

Malfoy, who had been about to speak, suddenly fell silent, while the middle-aged man behind him—Malfoy's father—gave a cold snort.

"Draco, here's your first lesson: a person's worth depends not only on their bloodline, but also on their social circle."

After saying that, the middle-aged man turned and went to the bookshop next door to buy books.

Draco Malfoy remained standing on the footstool, trying on his robe. He pressed his lips tightly together and didn't say another word.

Glen merely shook his head, unruffled.

The Wizarding World of 1991 wasn't all that different from the Wizarding World of 1890.

Pure-blood wizards were still clinging to that ideology of "Pure-blood Supremacy."

Did blood really matter that much? Glen didn't think so.

He had seen a Muggle-born witch impress a senior professor with her exquisite skill in Potions; he had seen a member of one of the oldest Pure-blood families born blind, with no hope of ever recovering his sight.

A child raised among poachers could still become a wizard who shared a deep bond with magical creatures; an Auror's descendant could still go on to study Dark Magic...

A witch draped a black robe over Glen. "Malfoy, how many pure-blood wizards are there in Britain?"

At the question, Malfoy hesitated. His pride in being a pure-blood wizard made him want to answer, but his father's warning held him back.

After glancing around and seeing that his father wasn't there, he lifted his chin and answered slowly, dragging out his words. "About three hundred, only ten percent of all wizards!"

"Actually, it should have been fifty percent once."

"That's impossible!" Malfoy's brow furrowed at once. As far as he knew, pure-blood wizards had the noblest bloodline.

Fifty percent... Did that mean that any wizard he passed on the street had a one-in-two chance of being pure-blood?

Now Malfoy was even more certain his father was right, and he began to regret answering Glen's question.

No matter how noble one's bloodline was, how could anyone become an excellent wizard if their social circle was full of people spouting such nonsense?

Malfoy made up his mind not to speak again. Glen hopped down from the stool and offered no further explanation.

Wizards of the twentieth century couldn't understand that, in the late nineteenth century, pure-blood wizards really were everywhere.

Groups like poachers and Dark wizards made up the majority.

He still remembered a dark organization called the Ashwinder Party, which championed "Pure-blood Supremacy." Its members were all pure-blood wizards, and they had even allied with the Goblins, who were preparing to launch a rebellion, in an attempt to overthrow the Wizarding World.

Most wizards who opposed them met with misfortune. Even Glen, who had only just entered the Wizarding World, was targeted and nearly killed...

After changing into his new Hogwarts uniform, Glen left Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

The glaring yet pleasantly warm sunlight fell on his face, shone over the bright street and glinted off a golden nameplate, making the name "Glen Howard" shine brilliantly.

And then, just as Malfoy had said, the proportion of pure-blood wizards would dwindle over the next century, until by this day in 1991, they made up just ten percent.