The Pain and History That Cannot Be Erased, and Dudley's Appearance

[Bear with this or skip it. It includes real-world history and the author's own understanding: although they're all British, wizards and Muggles aren't on the same side. Wizards also look down on British Muggles, so they're on the same side as the other countries bullied by Britain instead.]

[If you skip it, this chapter is basically about Little Dragon having his worldview rebuilt.]

After the museum, their next stop was the hotel.

After leaving their belongings in their rooms, the young wizards made their way to the hotel's conference hall. They sat in a circle. Outside the windows, night had settled over London, and neon lights cast mottled shadows across the floor through the glass.

Professor Burbage stood in the center and tapped her wand lightly. A three-dimensional projection of the British Museum appeared on the ceiling, its magnificent exhibition halls and ancient artifacts slowly revolving in the magical light.

"Children," she said, her voice lower than usual as her gaze swept over each young face, "do you remember what I told you in class? Human beings-whether wizards or Muggles-make mistakes."

The students nodded silently.

The projection shifted, focusing on the mummies in the Egyptian gallery, the Parthenon reliefs in the Greek gallery, and artifacts such as murals and Tang sancai pottery in the Chinese gallery. Professor Burbage tapped her wand again, and red magical markings appeared around the exhibits.

"Many of these 'collections' you saw today," she said softly, "were taken from their homelands by guns and brute force."

Draco Malfoy had been lounging against the back of his chair. At those words, his eyebrows rose slightly.

Robbery?

Though the Malfoy family prized Pure-blood status, they had always disdained stealing and robbing.

If he wanted something, he should use his strength to obtain it. That was what his father had taught him from a young age.

His disgust for Muggles deepened.

"The witch trials were crimes Muggles committed against us," Professor Burbage continued. The projection showed a harrowing scene of witches being burned, and several students sucked in sharp breaths. "And many of the objects in the British Museum are evidence of crimes Muggles committed against other Muggles."

Her voice was heavy. "These aren't things to be proud of. They're bloody evidence of historical crimes that cannot be erased."

Draco suddenly felt his stomach churn. He had been raised on the principles of Pure-blood Supremacy, and the word "robber" repulsed him on instinct.

He raised his hand, his tone sharp. "Professor, if that's true, doesn't that make Muggles a bunch of savage, unteachable robbers?"

Hermione whipped her head around, anger blazing in her brown eyes, but Professor Burbage raised a hand to stop her.

"Draco," the professor asked calmly, "in the beginning, your Malfoy family actually helped Muggles, didn't they?"

Draco froze and answered without thinking. "Yes. The Malfoy ancestors worked with Muggle nobles and even protected them. But later, we realized Muggles were beyond saving, so we chose to break away from them and return to the glory of Pure-blood status."

"Then," Professor Burbage said, her gaze piercing, "when your ancestors helped Muggle nobles, did they also indirectly become their accomplices? For example... by turning a blind eye to their oppression of commoners? Or their persecution of those of other faiths?"

Draco opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

The conference hall fell utterly silent.

"Regardless of their skin color, nationality, or blood status," Professor Burbage said, looking around at everyone, "any human being can make mistakes. What matters is-" She paused. "Facing those mistakes and trying to correct them."

Ginny Weasley raised her hand, her voice firm. "But Professor, the British Museum still hasn't returned those artifacts, and there hasn't been an official apology for the witch trials either... how is that 'correcting' anything?"

Professor Burbage nodded. The projection changed into a map of the world, specks of light appearing across the territories of different countries.

"You're right, Ginny. But please remember-'Muggles' aren't just Londoners." She waved her wand lightly, and the points of light spread across the map. "Like us, some are kind and some are evil. Some bravely resist injustice, while others follow along unquestioningly. The only difference is that they can't do magic."

After the meeting, Draco went out of the hotel with Goyle and Crabbe to find that hamburger place.

His hands were in his pockets, and his leather shoes stomped through a puddle, splattering mud onto the legs of his expensive tailored trousers.

"Has Professor Burbage had a Confundus Charm put on her by a Muggle?" he complained through gritted teeth to his two followers behind him. "'Muggles are just like us'? Ha! They can't even manage a decent Scourgify, and there's rubbish all over the streets-"

Goyle and Crabbe nodded mechanically, but their eyes had already drifted to the sign of the hamburger shop across the street, where the tempting aroma of grilled meat was wafting out.

Draco rolled his eyes and was about to continue his lecture on "Pure-blood superiority" when, with a sudden bang, he slammed straight into a body as hard as a wall. The impact knocked him flat on his backside, and a sharp ache shot through his nose.

"Are you fucking blind?!" Draco roared, clutching his nose. He looked up into a fleshy face.

It belonged to a burly man at least two meters tall, with a fearsome skull tattooed on his arm. He glared down at Draco.

The man grinned, revealing several gold teeth, and grabbed Draco by the collar, lifting him up like a kitten.

"Kid, say that again if you've got the guts."

When had young master Malfoy ever suffered such humiliation? His face flushed red, and he repeated himself word by word. "I said, are you blind-"

Thud!

A heavy punch smashed into his face. Draco's vision went black, and he fell straight back to the ground. Warm liquid gushed from his nose. He reached up to touch it—and his hand came away covered in blood.

"D-Draco!" Crabbe stammered, trying to step forward, only to be shoved aside by one of the man's companions.

Draco pulled out his wand with trembling hands. He was going to hit this filthy Muggle with a Cruciatus Curse!

"Hahaha! The little brat's got a crappy stick!" The tattooed man's companions burst into laughter.

Their burly leader suddenly pulled a metal object from the back of his waistband.

Bang!

A deafening blast exploded beside Draco's ear, and a smoking hole suddenly appeared in the asphalt by his feet.

His wand clattered to the ground, and his pupils shrank to pinpoints. Pressed against his temple was a pitch-black handgun with a cold gleam.

"Go on," the man said, patting his deathly pale face with the barrel. "Show me a trick with your little stick."

Draco trembled all over, cold sweat soaking his back. Goyle and Crabbe stood frozen to the spot like a pair of statues.

Just as the trigger was about to be pulled, a figure rushed in from the side and punched the gunman in the jaw.

The man's nearly two-hundred-jin frame crashed to the ground, and the handgun skidded several meters away.

Draco sat slumped on the ground, staring blankly at his savior.

He was a tall young man in a tight T-shirt, his muscles nearly bursting through the fabric.

"Are you all right?" the young man asked with a frown.

"Y-yes..." Draco answered mechanically. Then he suddenly jolted. "My name is Draco Malfoy! I'll repay you. What's your name?"

The young man bent down, picked up the fallen wand, and handed it to him, shaking his head. "Dudley Dursley. No need to repay me. Be more careful next time." He glanced at the wand and lowered his voice. "And don't go pulling this thing out whenever you like... You're not one of my sister's classmates, are you? How could my sister have a classmate stupid enough to wander around outside so late at night?"