Chapter 13: Linfred of Stinchcombe

Harry's first week at school passed quite easily. As people gradually grew accustomed to his presence, Harry no longer had to hear someone mention the Dark Lord in front of him every day. Moreover, just as Professor Snape had advised, he felt very safe at Hogwarts.

However, Harry found it difficult to fully enjoy a relaxed school life because Neville seemed very serious; whenever he and Luo En were laughing and joking in the dormitory, Neville would earnestly exhort them to study hard. To avoid him, Harry often preferred to go to the library. He enjoyed sitting with Zhang Qiu to do his homework, and sometimes, even when the two of them didn't say a word, Harry still felt very comfortable.

Luo En liked the library the least. When Harry headed there, he would rather read that Muggle novel. Sometimes, Neville would also go to the library, and Harry saw him sitting with Hermione several times; other times, Neville would invite Luo En to go jogging on the grounds with him.

On Monday of the second week, Harry learned that flying lessons were about to begin, and he was somewhat expectant. What child wouldn't want to take to the sky?

"Oh, why do we have to have our flying lesson with Slytherin?" Luo En complained with dissatisfaction as soon as he saw the notice.

"I've been meaning to ask that for a long time," Harry said disapprovingly. "Why do you all hate Slytherin so much?"

"Pretentious, acrimonious, cold and depressed." Luo En rarely used such complex vocabulary. "They are just a bunch of scum, every one of them as disgusting as a slippery snake."

"I must correct you," Harry said. "If you have a prejudice against all of Slytherin, then how are you any different from Ma Erfu? I don't think it's a good thing for there to be malice between classmates, even if Ma Erfu isn't very likable, the other Slytherin students haven't done anything wrong."

Harry happened to be in the common room when he said this. Several Gryffindor students gathered around, explaining to him in a jumble of voices just how evil Slytherin was.

"Everyone quiet down, quiet down." Harry became serious; he naturally possessed a heroic temperament, and the children fell silent unconsciously.

"I would like to ask everyone to think: have you actually encountered a Slytherin classmate who is annoying, or are you simply drawing conclusions about Slytherin based on hearsay?" he said. "Just like in Potions class, when the two houses clearly don't talk much to each other, where did you learn of so many evil deeds?"

"You are too naive, Harry." Neville walked in at some point. "Slytherin has gathered all the self-important ambitionists, and that includes the damned Voldemort."

It was the first time Harry had felt Neville's overflowing hatred so vividly.

"Believe it or not, once Voldemort returns, this scum will all pledge their loyalty to him," Neville said through gritted teeth. "Starting from Salazar Slytherin himself, they have despised Muggle-borns, disregarded half-blood wizards, and covered their own cruelty with arrogance."

As Neville spoke, he walked to the center of the crowd, pointed at Harry's chest, and said with a hint of mockery: "Neville is my name, not yours."

The children rarely saw two students from the same house and the same dormitory have such a conflict of philosophy in public, so they gathered around curiously, wanting to see the spectacle.

However, Harry's next sentence left them somewhat confused.

"You mock me as Chamberlain, so is the Dark Lord the mustache-man? Are you trying to say that he isn't some gifted big villain, but a collective choice of the social group?"

Neville's expression softened visibly.

"No wonder, even though Voldemort is already dead, you keep saying he will return," Harry said thoughtfully. "As long as the ideas of Slytherin do not truly change, then Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort—there will always be such a Dark Lord representing their demands; his real name is actually irrelevant."

"Do you know what pure-blood nobility means in the Wizarding World?" Neville sat down by the fireplace, and Harry sat down opposite him.

"Monopoly," Neville said softly. "Every family monopolizes one aspect, even the Wei Silai—don't you monopolize everything that has to do with dealing with Muggles?"

Luo En's face was full of confusion.

"That includes you, Potter," Neville continued. "Except for the Sleekeazy's Hair Potion invented by Fleamont Potter, we still can't buy any other brand of shampoo to this day."

Harry recalled Ma Erfu saying he could "revitalize the Potter family"; perhaps the former glory of the Potter family was mainly reflected in shampoo.

"Since your family sells shampoo," Luo En joked, "you could give a few bottles to Snape."

Several of the watching children laughed, and the originally serious atmosphere was swept away.

"This is a question worth our deep reflection." Neville nodded, then left on his own.

Harry did indeed want to know about his background. From his aunt, he had learned some things about his mother, and from the family tree provided by Sir Tang Nade, he could also find a few "Evans" surnames on the edges. He could vaguely determine that his mother was likely an ordinary person who just happened to awaken magic, and just happened to have a few noble distant relatives; in fact, every British person had more or less a few noble distant relatives.

After coming to the Wizarding World, he began to gradually understand his father. When people mentioned James Potter, they would only say that he had once bravely resisted the Dark Lord, and that he was the father of the savior Harry Potter. But before that? What about the life that originally belonged to James Potter?

What kind of person was he, what kind of family was he born into, and what kind of people were his grandparents? Neville always kept his grandmother on his lips, but Harry hadn't even had a single relative talk to him for more than a few sentences. A faint sense of loneliness welled up in his heart; at this moment, how he longed to be like Neville, proudly saying "Grandmother once said" in front of everyone.

Melancholy lingered in Harry's heart, and when he came back to his senses, he found that he had walked to the library without realizing it. Harry hadn't brought any homework, but he walked in anyway.

Zhang Qiu was still sitting in their usual spot. Seeing that Harry was a bit listless, she asked with concern if he had encountered something.

Harry said dejectedly: "I know nothing about my parents, what they looked like, what their personalities were. The only thing I know is that they seemed very good at dealing with the Dark Lord, and now the Dark Lord might make a comeback at any time, but they are long gone."

"What exactly makes you so sad?" Zhang Qiu asked. "Is it your parents, or the Dark Lord?"

"Perhaps my parents make me sadder," Harry said softly. In fact, he was more afraid of confronting the twenty-eight pure-blood families behind Voldemort, and even the Wei Silai family was among them.

"What a coincidence." Zhang Qiu's tone was light, and she pulled a book from behind her like a magic trick. "Your ancestor's name actually appears in the second-year History of Magic textbook!"

Harry was a bit surprised: "History of Magic, I didn't expect you to actually read this book. I mean, I thought everyone was sleeping in Professor Binsi's class."

"Who isn't?" Zhang Qiu stuck out her tongue. "But precisely because I slept in class, I have to review even better after class."

Harry took the textbook and saw the dense, elegant small handwriting on the pages, and couldn't help but sigh: "Your grades must be very good."

"Of course, we Asians are born for A's," she said. "But at Hogwarts, the highest grade isn't A but O. I'll work hard for a hundred days, and I want to pass with all O's."

When Zhang Qiu buried her head back into her homework, Harry also flipped to the page introducing his ancestor. There were only a few sparse sentences in the book.

"Linfred of Stinchcombe is considered one of the outstanding potion masters of the Middle Ages. The formulas for Skele-Gro and Pepperup Potion he invented are still in use today. Linfred was also one of the typical Muggle-friendly wizards. Because he often enthusiastically helped his Muggle neighbors, he earned the nickname 'Potterer,' and passed the simplified 'Potter' as a surname to his descendants, the most famous of whom is Fleamont Potter, who invented Sleekeazy's Hair Potion."

The next page introduced Emeric the Evil, who once ruled southern England with terror. He lost to Egbert the Egregious in a duel; that battle was so cruel that people used "slaughter" to describe it.

Harry felt these two names were a bit familiar. After thinking carefully, he remembered that he had seen the story of Emeric in "The Study of the Elder Wand" before. He felt a wave of nausea and closed the book.

"If my ancestor is Linfred," Harry fantasized aimlessly, "then it makes sense that I have a talent for Potions. How great, bottling fame, brewing glory, storing death—I must study Potions well."

However, Harry had come to the library alone today, and he hadn't brought his Potions book. On a whim, he borrowed Zhang Qiu's second-year Potions textbook and flipped through it with relish.

Perhaps his talent was indeed good; Harry felt that he could easily understand the content of the book. Sometimes, the combination of certain medicinal properties made him feel it was only natural, while some potion formulas surprised him. Materials with completely unrelated medicinal properties could be perfectly combined after processing. This exquisite conception fascinated him.

"Oh, by the way," Zhang Qiu said as if unintentionally, "I saw a book called 'Most Potente Potions' on the shelf that day. It seems to be very profound Potions knowledge. If you are interested, you can borrow it and take a look."

Harry was certainly interested, but when he tried to find the book, he was warned by Madam Pince that it was a restricted book and required a professor's note to borrow. Harry had to give up dejectedly. ===== CHAPTER 14 =====