The night feast had yet to end. Candlelight flickered throughout the hall, and the fragrance of wine filled the air above the dining tables.
After the new students had taken their seats, Dumbledore raised his cup and delivered a speech in his usual gentle tone.
Once the formalities were over, the professors gradually resumed their conversations.
Professor Babbling—the Ancient Runes scholar who was always fond of stirring up topics—suddenly turned toward Ian, her smile carrying a hint of meaning.
"Professor Alvin doesn't seem interested in the Savior himself?"
Her voice was not loud, yet it was enough to silence the entire high table.
Everyone's eyes gathered on him.
Ian raised his eyes slightly, his expression unchanged. "The Savior? You mean Harry Potter?"
"Of course." Babbling raised an eyebrow. "You have to understand, if not for that child, the Dark Lord might still have ruled this world."
"I've always thought there was something rather laughable about that." Ian's tone was indifferent.
"Laughable?" Professor McGonagall frowned.
"A one-year-old child, whose magic had not even fully awakened, defeated the most powerful dark wizard in history? Do you truly believe something so absurd?"
The air in the hall tightened.
Harry's name had always symbolized hope and legend.
No one had expected the new professor to question that myth in public.
"As everyone knows, Lily Potter used her self-sacrifice to cast an ancient protective spell—the Love's Contract Mark—which caused the curse to rebound." Babbling retorted. "That was the miracle of Ancient Magic."
"I've never denied that magic exists." Ian nodded. "I only find it strange that the child who survived is the one praised by the world, rather than the mother who truly gave her life."
The entire table fell into a brief silence.
The wineglass trembled between Snape's fingers, his gaze gloomy.
Ian continued, "What Lily Potter demonstrated was the highest form of Ancient Magic—self-sacrifice. In all these centuries, she alone succeeded in awakening that primal force of the universe. Even the Unspeakables of the Department of Mysteries failed to control Love Magic. If we're speaking of saving the world, then the true Savior should have been her."
Babbling was rendered speechless.
Even Dumbledore paused in his movements.
Flitwick asked softly, "If everyone knows this, then why does the Wizarding World still bestow the title of Savior upon that child?"
Ian's gaze swept over everyone. "The reason is simple—Lily Potter was Muggle-born."
The words fell like a bomb.
The air froze, and even the crackle of the flames sounded grating.
"Nonsense!" McGonagall slammed the table and rose. "The Savior is celebrated because the prophecy made it clear long ago—the one who would end the Dark Lord would come at the end of July!"
"But only a handful of people truly knew the contents of that prophecy." Ian's tone was as calm as water. "Aside from Dumbledore and Snape, almost no one knew. Since the world had never heard the prophecy, why did it still blindly believe the myth of salvation? Simply because the child's surname was 'Potter'—the name of an ancient pure-blood family."
McGonagall was momentarily at a loss for words.
Babbling gave a light cough, trying to ease the atmosphere, only to find that the other professors had all fallen silent.
Ian lifted his wineglass. His voice was low, yet clear. "Discrimination does not always take the form of hatred. Sometimes, it hides beneath tradition and habit, draped in the robes of honor. Take Mr. Arthur Weasley, for example—that sincere wizard who loves the Muggle world, yet has never realized that he treats Muggles as exotic curiosities. A well-meaning gaze is still a gaze from above."
Flitwick looked thoughtful, while McGonagall's face stiffened.
Dumbledore finally spoke. "Ian, the Wizarding World is not as dark as you imagine. Lily is respected, and her sacrifice is engraved in everyone's hearts. It's simply that people want to find a living symbol, something tangible for hope to rest upon. Children are easier to worship than the dead."
Ian smiled faintly. "I've never doubted the headmaster's tolerance. It's only that your tolerance is built at the top of the structure—you possess the privilege to forgive the world."
The hall sank into stillness.
Several young teachers wore awkward expressions, while the older professors looked conflicted.
The ever-cheerful Hagrid said softly, "No one denies that Mrs. Potter was great, but people would rather commemorate living hope."
"Living hope?" Ian repeated softly. "Or merely a more convenient symbol?"
No one answered.
After a long silence, Flitwick forced a bitter smile and tried to smooth things over. "Perhaps Professor Alvin is reminding us that history books should not be so one-dimensional."
Ian inclined his head slightly. "I'm only reminding everyone that prejudice does not always exist with malice. It often takes the form of institutions, uses tradition as its shell, and takes root in silence. I myself have not escaped it—the Bones family has benefited from the system, and I have benefited from a corrupt structure as well. I know its flaws, yet I still ride upon the wind. That is the greatest hypocrisy of all."
His voice was calm, yet razor-sharp.
The professors' table was utterly silent.
Dumbledore sighed. "You're still as sharp as ever, Ian. It's just that the world may not be ready to hear the truth."
"The truth never needs preparation." Ian rose and gave a slight bow.
"It only depends on whether the listener is willing to understand."
The night was like water. Light reflected off the wineglasses, revealing countless scattered fragments of brilliance.
Ian turned and left the high table, his steps steady and silent.
Everyone watched him go from behind, yet no one spoke again.
When the students' laughter once more rang through the hall, everything seemed to return to normal.
Yet that conversation was like a grain of sand, quietly falling into everyone's heart—
Unremarkable, yet impossible to ignore forever.
After leaving the Great Hall, Ian entered a corridor where the lamplight alternated between brightness and shadow.
Ian raised his head and gazed at the night sky.
The distant moonlight was like silver, and the coordinates of the World Gate flickered in his mind.
"Ancient Magic, bloodline prejudice, the lie of salvation... All of it is merely a framework."
"To truly break it, I must rebuild the rules."
His wand spun lightly. A point of light rose, then fell into the distance like a fallen star.
It was a signal from the Moon Base—new research data was being transmitted back.
Ian smiled faintly.
The path of Truth had never stopped because of the clamor.
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