Chapter 150

Zhang Qiu's translucent form halted, and Harry stopped too; the two thirteen-year-old wizards paused beside a dim cell, listening to the speech inside.

"Wizards have always been oppressed by Muggles, ever since the Middle Ages," the man continued. "Muggle oppression of wizards manifests in three main ways—first and foremost is the Muggle gaze. We may wear wizard robes, wizard hats, alchemical robes, or any magical ornaments we like—that is every person's rightful freedom. But what do Muggles do? They point and stare, demanding every wizard wear their Muggle clothes; the moment you put on a wizard robe, you face endless insults, suspicion, and unprovoked malice. Do you think this is normal?"

"Muggles always adore what's 'modern' and 'scientific.' They use these aesthetic standards to judge wizards, their true aim being to weaken our magical abilities so they can control us more easily—how vile!"

Harry scratched his head. He felt these words were strange, but couldn't say exactly why.

"What else have Muggles done? The stereotypes formed since the Middle Ages remain unchanged to this day. They believe all wizards are evil, and often resort to violence to stop our magic. How many examples are there of wizards being attacked simply for casting spells on the street?"

The speaker cited many cases—wizards suddenly beaten on the subway, wizards shot while walking at night, drunks in pubs snapping wizards' wands. Though Harry had never heard of these incidents, he felt a pang of empathy and a creeping sense of dread.

"This is inseparable from the Muggle gaze. We must fight for the freedom to dress as we choose, oppose robe-shaming, oppose stereotypes. Every wizard has the right to live equally—not to be maliciously attacked by Muggles merely for wearing a robe or casting a Cleaning Charm. This is an urgent matter we must resolve."

A burst of applause erupted from the opposite cell, startling Harry.

"Of course, after this, we must also discuss Muggle discrimination against wizards. Have you noticed? Nearly all high-paying positions are held by Muggles—engineers, lawyers, dentists, corporate executives… which industry dares claim it hires equal numbers of Muggles and wizards?" The speaker's tone grew fiery. "None! Even our own government has only one Ministry of Magic hiring wizards—all other departments—Agriculture, Health, Defense, Administration—are filled entirely with Muggles, not a single wizard among them!"

"They enforce educational discrimination, denying wizards access to education," the speech continued. "When you apply to Oxford or Cambridge, any Muggle school—even the worst—is accepted as valid education. Yet Hogwarts, Britain's finest magical school, is not recognized! When you present your OWL or NEWT scores, they don't even glance—they toss them straight in the trash! Muggle-borns might retain a primary school record, but what of us wizard children? We have no educational record at all. They even suspect I'm illiterate!"

Harry thought this was somewhat unreasonable—the curricula were entirely different; the two education systems could never be compatible.

"Wizards' intelligence is no less than Muggles'—often superior—yet why does society today remain entirely dominated by Muggles, and why can wizards never rise to the upper class?"

After this question, the speech paused, and Harry found himself pondering.

The answer was simple: wizards were too few in number, which meant society must remain Muggle-dominated, and wizards could only isolate themselves within their own magical circle.

Then Harry noticed another issue: for centuries, Britain had had only one school—Hogwarts. In other words, for centuries, the number of eligible children had remained roughly constant, and the wizarding population had stayed fixed.

The answer to this might not be complex either. Harry immediately thought of Death's manipulation: when He deemed wizards too numerous, Squibs appeared; when He deemed them too few, Muggle-borns emerged.

But under conditions of sparse and stable wizarding population, the Statute of Secrecy was already the best solution. If wizards rose up to demand rights, Muggles might grow weary and conclude the world would be better off without them.

"Friends, isn't this question not hard to answer?" the man resumed. "Yes, the answer is simple: we are too few, and each of us is far more powerful than any Muggle."

"So where lies our future? Clearly, as more Muggles learn of our existence, our living conditions will grow perilous."

Just as Harry expected him to spew hatred toward Muggles, the speech took a sudden turn.

"Precisely because of this, we must unite and win over Muggles who accept our existence and are willing to coexist with us. The most obvious are the families of Muggle-borns. Moreover, we should welcome any Muggle who acknowledges magic and is willing to serve wizards…"

"You're lying!" a voice suddenly roared from the opposite cell. "Muggles are filthy, stupid creatures. Muggle-borns carry base blood—how can you equate them with pure-blood wizards?"

"Calm down, my Death Eater friend. Listen to my good idea."

"If we wizards unite and, with a portion of Muggles, establish a new nation—like India," he began outlining his proposal. "Pure-blood wizards as first-class citizens, half-bloods as second-class, Muggle-borns and Squibs as third-class."

"Muggles and their descendants will forever be fourth-class citizens. We will establish special Muggle schools to teach them to serve wizards, since we always need people to farm, herd, or clean sewers." He spoke with seductive enthusiasm. "Imagine: in such a nation, the upper class are all wizards. Muggles, desperate for higher status, will go to any lengths to please wizards—hoping a wizard might favor their wife or daughter, so their offspring might rise to third-class status."

Some male prisoners began fantasizing about this kind of primae noctis privilege.

"Pure-blood families will forever remain noble, forever ruling this ideal wizarding nation—unless someone's child dares to marry a Muggle."

"Never!" came a sharp voice from the opposite cell. "Whoever dares defile the family's honor—I'll kill him."

Harry silently concluded the man in the opposite cell was a hardened Death Eater.

"Pay attention, friends—I'm not daydreaming," the speaker's voice rose again. "Imagine: all British wizards unite, seize control of the Northern Ireland government, then declare independence from Britain."

"We can continuously absorb persecuted wizards from Britain. We can leverage the Ministry of Magic's influence to secure ongoing aid from Britain, turning the British mainland into a colony of our wizarding nation."

"Once we gain some international standing, we can expand the Wizard Rights Movement worldwide—its platform being exactly what I first stated: oppose the Muggle gaze, oppose stereotypes, demand dress freedom, abolish educational discrimination—all reasonable political demands."

"Naturally, local Muggle governments will refuse. They will continue suppressing our movement—and then we can declare, 'Wizards help wizards,' rescuing oppressed wizards and bringing them to our nation."

"As our population grows and our scale expands, we can further expand southward. Ireland is a weak little nation—it can easily be transformed into a true wizarding nation."

"Then comes the most thrilling moment: when the entire island of Ireland belongs to our wizarding nation, we summon everyone to cast magic together, lifting the island from the sea. Thus, wizards will dwell in floating cities above the clouds, forever separated from base, ignorant Muggles."

"Of course, we need not use our noble, magic-wielding hands to till the soil. We can let half-bloods maintain contact with Muggles on the ground, drawing endless supplies from Britain. Pure-blood families need only proudly enjoy lives above all others—free from any trivial concerns."

After hearing this prison speech, Harry admitted: the speaker had proposed a plan almost every wizard could not refuse—and one with considerable feasibility.

"A grand plan. I was almost swayed," said Agent Johnny Ingley, stepping forward in his black longcoat, his expression arrogant. "But unfortunately, I won't allow you to carry it out."

"Harry? You came too?" Zhang Qiu's whisper came like a mosquito's hum.

Harry lifted a corner of the Invisibility Cloak, signaling her to enter.

"Did you notice? The speaker is William—that American agent," Zhang Qiu whispered into his ear as she slipped under the cloak.

"What?" Harry strained to recall. He remembered first-year events: him and Zhang Qiu witnessing the secret meeting between Xu and his superior in the Forbidden Forest—the superior had been named William.

"Oh, who are you?" William's tone instantly lost its confidence. "I was just joking with my cellmates—you know, nights in Azkaban are unbearable."

"I'd think you were joking if you said you wanted to invade France or bomb Warsaw—but not this." Johnny's voice was grim. "And if I recall correctly, you're just a smuggler. Why are you imprisoned with Death Eaters?"