HP: I got Transmigrated into the World of Magic [Chapter 52: Blood Purity?!] (Patreon)

"At Hogwarts, I guess," I say with a shrug. "We didn't have Houses at my old school."

She regards me silently. Apparently reassured that I haven't made a move, she lowers her wand, but does not put it away. "I spoke to my father about you," she says, voice softening slightly. "About...what you said."

"About blood purity?"

"Yes," she says, but does not elaborate.

"Any conclusions?" I ask finally.

"You're either very foolish, or very brilliant."

I laugh. "If those are the only two options, then I shall endeavor to err on the side of brilliance."

Her lips tighten, but not before the edges curl up in a ghost of a smile. "Foolish it is, then."

I smile. "Would you like to walk? The sun sets on the other side of the quad." She doesn't respond, so I push a little more. "You can keep your wand pointed at me, if you like. Only I'd appreciate it if you didn't hurt me."

She nods and I smile again. Small victories. I push out a trickle of magic for another muffliato around the two of us. Since there isn't much sound up here, the buzzing is noticeably quieter.

"What's that sound?" Daphne asks in alarm, glancing around trying to find the source.

"That was me, just a little Privacy Charm. I didn't think you would want to be overheard by unfriendly ears. I can take it down if you like."

"I didn't see you use your wand."

I smile conspiratorially. "Why, we just met, Ms. Greengrass. I can't have you knowing all my secrets just yet. Would you like me to dispel it?"

She falls silent, her look inscrutable. "No, it is acceptable." Then her eyes light up. "You used this at dinner, didn't you? That's why Potter and Granger stopped reacting to others."

I give her a sly smile. "Guilty as charged." We resume walking. "So did your father elaborate?"

After a moment, she speaks. "My father is a brilliant man. My family is not as wealthy as the Blacks or Longbottoms or even the Potters, even though we can trace the Greengrass lineage just as far. We are not like the Malfoys, who marry into every rich family their sons can infect so they can build influence by greasing the hands of corrupt politicians and ruining honest ones. But neither are we like the Weasleys, who throw their lot in completely for lofty ideals and no guarantee of success. We were neutral in the last war."

She pauses, but I make no objection, so she continues.

"I expected you to say something exceedingly Gryffindor about cowardice," she says, pausing again. "Is it cowardice to want to ensure the safety of your family? Of your children? I think not. The Malfoys might seem to have come out of it unscathed, but it cost them quite a bit of their fortune to escape Azkaban with the Dark Mark on his arm. The Greengrasses could not afford that luxury. That's not to say my father would have joined them if he could afford it, of course. But the alternative – openly siding with Dumbledore and his ilk – would have been only slightly less damaging to our House and even more dangerous for our family."

That part doesn't sit terribly well with me, but I don't want to stop her.

"But my father thinks next time will be different. The Death Eaters are moving again. The World Cup was just the beginning, he says, and they will be more desperate. Thus, choosing a side will turn out to be very brilliant, or very foolish."

I sense this is the end of her spiel. "So by standing out against pureblood supremacy, I am supposedly choosing a side."

"Not supposedly, you are. And that's even without thwarting the Malfoy spawn, which put you solidly on the other side. My father says pureblood supremacy is indeed rubbish, but he also says we would be foolish not to use other people's stupidity for our own gain."

"Sounds quite Slytherin of him," I say with a chuckle.

"He is a brilliant man," she says simply.

"It's a shame there aren't more like him," I say honestly. "Maybe then the fools would realize what it means that the so-called Dark Lord is barely even a half blood."

"What?" Daphne asks, taken aback. That is the most emotion she's shown the entire time.

I chuckle grimly. "His father, Tom Riddle Senior, was a muggle, before Tom Junior killed him. His mother, Merope Gaunt, barely ranked above a Squib: the inbred daughter of a brother and sister, whose parents were also no further than cousins, all within the desolate Gaunt family." Not sure how closely related Riddle magical ancestors were, but I know that was about right. "If I recall correctly, Merope herself was married to her brother Morfin, but she dosed Riddle with love potions and raped him. Then she stopped and hoped he would stay, but he left her. She died when her son was very young."

Daphne's eyes are bulging at this new piece of information.

"Dumbledore...he would tell you that this is the reason Tom Riddle Jr. turned out to be so evil. He would say that Riddle never knew love, and so grew into the monster that he is."

I have a feeling that would have earned a scoff any other time, but she still seemed to be too stunned to say anything, so I continued.

"It's not true, though. You've probably heard from your Head of House that Harry is a spoiled, pampered child, but he never was except maybe before his parents died, and of course he doesn't remember that. His aunt and uncle made him sleep in a cupboard all the way up until he came to Hogwarts. In fact, the first time he can remember ever receiving a hug was from Hermione after she was cured of her petrification in your Second Year."

I chuckle at her still flabbergasted expression.