Chapter 9: The Burden of Blood
Solim left Snape's office without waiting for a reply. The offer he had laid on the table was one he was certain the Potions Master could not refuse. If he did, then the man in the dungeon was not the Severus Snape he had studied and calculated for.
It was Thursday evening, a time usually reserved for his tutoring sessions with Hermione and Neville. However, the afternoon's flying lesson debacle had forced a change in his plans. Solim had little personal interest in the petty schoolyard "plot" unfolding around Harry Potter. To him, this was a world of wizards and deep, ancient magic, not merely the story of "The Boy Who Lived." His own background granted him a perspective far grander and more ominous. Voldemort? A dangerous fanatic, to be sure, but one who would be crushed in moments if he ever truly threatened the entrenched powers of the wizarding world—Horcruxes or not.
In the Great Hall, Solim ate with his usual swift efficiency. The culinary offerings of wizarding Britain were, in his opinion, only a marginal improvement over those of the Muggles.
"Draco, finish up. You're coming with me," Solim said, interrupting the other boy's methodical dissection of a chicken leg.
Draco looked up, his mouth full, a question in his raised eyebrow.
"We're paying a visit to the Gryffindor table. And you will remain silent until I tell you otherwise." Solim stood, brushing crumbs from his robes. "Hurry. If you're still hungry, you can have a house-elf send a cake to the common room later."
With a deeply confused Draco in tow, Solim strode towards the roar of the Gryffindor table. He spotted Hermione sipping soup and Neville tackling a large slice of cake. Nearby, Ron Weasley was eating with a ferocity that suggested he was personally waging war on the food, his cheeks bulging like a chipmunk's.
"Merlin's beard," Solim murmured. "Do the Weasleys not feed that boy at home?"
Hermione and Neville looked up at the sound of his voice, their expressions shifting to surprise and then suspicion as they saw Draco standing behind him, his face a mask of disdain.
"Why is he here?" Hermione asked, her voice cold. Her opinion of Malfoy had plummeted even further after the "Mudblood" incident.
"You'll see," Solim said with a slight shrug. "You two, bring Weasley and Potter to the usual place later. I need to speak with them." He glanced at Ron, who was still oblivious to their presence. "I suggest you hurry. It's a Thursday. Don't let them cut into your study time." With that, he turned and led a fuming Draco away.
The mention of her precious tutoring time being shortened was all the motivation Hermione needed. She immediately stood, pulling a cream-smeared Neville with her, and descended upon Harry and Ron.
Solim led Draco to a secluded corridor on the third floor, lined with portraits of dozing witches and wizards. He stopped before a painting of a knight sleeping against a door and tapped the painted doorknob three times with his wand. With a soft click, a real, solid doorknob shimmered into existence on the wall.
"What is this?" Draco whispered, his eyes wide.
"A secret room. Hogwarts is full of them." Solim turned the knob and stepped through the wall. After a moment's hesitation, Draco followed. As the door closed behind them, the knob vanished, leaving the portrait as it was.
The room they entered was circular, with three doorless arches leading to adjoining chambers. It was sparsely furnished but clean, clearly a space Solim had claimed for his own use.
"I never knew this was here," Draco said, turning in a slow circle.
"I tutor Neville here. And Hermione, by extension," Solim said, leading him into a side chamber that served as a makeshift sitting area. He took a seat, propping his feet up on another chair. "Now, about this afternoon. You're usually clever, Draco. Why do you turn into a blithering idiot the moment you see Potter?"
Before Draco could retort, the main door opened and Hermione ushered a confused Harry and a belligerent Ron into the room.
"Draco," Solim said, his voice low and firm. "You will not use that word again in my presence. Understood?"
Pop. Solim clapped his hands together, drawing everyone's attention. "Now that we're all here, sit."
Surprisingly, Harry and Ron sat, their compliance likely due to whatever Hermione had hissed at them on the way.
"We all know each other, so I'll be direct," Solim began, lowering his feet and sitting up straight. "First, Draco was in the wrong today. I apologize on his behalf." He shot a warning look at Draco, who looked ready to explode.
"Can't he apologize for himself?" Ron snapped, glaring at Malfoy.
"Harry, may I call you Harry?" Solim asked, turning his attention to the boy with the lightning scar and offering a small, conciliatory smile. "You can call me Solim. I believe you know who I am."
Harry nodded cautiously. "Alright, Solim." His impression of the Slytherin boy was neutral; at least he hadn't joined in the mockery during Potions.
"The truth is, you were caught in the crossfire today. Just as you were on the train." Solim paused, letting his words sink in. "The Malfoys and the Weasleys have a long-standing feud. You just happened to be standing in the middle of it."
He held up a hand to forestall any interruptions. "I'm sure you've noticed that most pure-blood families view the Weasleys with disdain. They're ostracized, and the only ones who associate with them are half-bloods and Muggle-borns. Correct?" He then turned to Draco. "And you, Draco. Why do you hate Weasley so much? And Ron, why do you despise Malfoy?"
"They're blood traitors! The scum of the wizarding world!" Draco spat, his composure cracking.
"The Malfoys are all dark wizards!" Ron shot back, his ears turning red. "Why wouldn't I hate him?"
"Tsk. Listen to yourselves." Solim's voice was laced with contempt. "Draco, explain to me, specifically, how the Weasleys are 'traitors' and 'scum.' And Ron, the fathers of Crabbe and Goyle were Death Eaters, just like Lucius Malfoy. There have been dark wizards in the Macmillan, MacLaggen, and even the Longbottom families. Why single out the Malfoys?"
"The Weasleys consort with Muggles! They—" Draco began, but Solim cut him off.
"Many pure-blood families have connections to Muggles. The Diggorys, the Bones... are they 'scum' too? No. You hate each other because you've been taught to since you were children. 'Stay away from the Malfoys, they're dark.' 'Don't trust the Weasleys, they're traitors.' Am I right? You've heard these phrases your whole lives."
He looked between the two boys, who were now silent, their anger mingling with a dawning confusion.
"Think about it. The two of you have no personal history. No direct reason for this animosity. It's a grudge passed down through generations, a poison fed to you with your mother's milk." Solim's tone softened, becoming almost weary. "I know the history between your families better than you do. The truth is, the original conflict is so old, so buried, that it's time to let it go. The price has been paid. The losses have been suffered. Do you really want to carry this forward? To let your children, and their children, inherit this same pointless hatred? Until one of you finally kills the other?"
"Solim," Hermione interjected, her voice sharp with curiosity, "are you saying you know the real reason for their feud?"
"I do. And so do their fathers," Solim confirmed, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "But I suspect the full story was never shared with the sons."
"Why not?" Hermione asked, her logical mind rebelling. "If you're going to burden your children with a family feud, the least you can do is explain why! This is just... illogical."
"It's a long story, Hermione," Solim said. "You have a grasp of wizarding history now. But how much do you know of the real history? The ancient wars wizards fought for the very survival of our kind?"
Hermione leaned forward, intrigued. "You mean the wars against magical creatures? When wizards established their place in the world?"
"Precisely." Solim's gaze grew distant. "Life for ancient wizards was brutal. Before the invention of the wand, we were prey. Our magical talent is poor compared to beings born with power. Many creatures hunted us."
"The wand changed everything," Hermione supplied, her eyes alight.
"It did. It gave us a fighting chance. But our greatest enemy was always the elves."
"Elves?" Harry asked, confused. "Like house-elves?"
"No," Solim said sharply. "These were different. Ancient, powerful, and long-lived. They were the true masters of magic, born with power that dwarfed our own. A single elf could wield more raw magic than a dozen adult wizards. We only survived because they were few in number and we were... prolific."
He continued, painting a picture of a long, bloody war. The wizards formed a Council of Elders to unite, and founded schools like Scuol to weaponize their knowledge. They learned, they adapted. They even stole magic from the elves, reverse-engineering spells that would eventually become curses like the Imperius.
"The elves learned from us, too," Solim said grimly. "They learned the destructive potential of a wand. The war escalated. But they couldn't match our numbers. So, they retreated. They licked their wounds, and they planned their revenge. They are intelligent, patient creatures. They used their unique magic to ensnare a wizard, to twist him. They laid a trap, using him to lead a group of wizards to their doom."
He let the silence hang in the room, his eyes moving from Draco's pale face to Ron's stunned one.
"The fallout from that betrayal," Solim said quietly, "the blame, the shame, the lost lives... that is the root of the poison between your families. A secret shame from a war so old most have forgotten it. And you two are still fighting it, without even knowing why."