HP: Pure-Blood Glory

"You think Humphrey's status is beneath you, that he's someone you can look down on. Well, I or Draco could just as easily look down on you. So, how you feel now is exactly how Humphrey felt. Enjoying it?"

Luke asked with a smile.

Blaise's face turned a deep shade of red, but he remained speechless.

"In the same way," Luke continued, now scanning the entire room—some students glaring at him sharply, others gazing at him with softer expressions—"if you believe your noble blood gives you the right to bully others without consequence, then at least half of you here should be licking my boots."

"If you're unwilling, then you'd have to fight me. And if you can't fight me, would you really resort to licking my boots?"

"Impossible!"

A tall upperclassman with large teeth and gray eyes glared furiously at Luke. 

"I'd rather die than accept such humiliation!"

With his words, a wave of nodding followed from the other Slytherin students. Proud as they were, they could never imagine themselves stooping to such disgrace.

Luke observed their pride and defiance with great satisfaction. 

Unlike some old nobles who had already bent their knees to power, the students before him, especially the Slytherins, hadn't yet been crushed by authority. This was the moment to strengthen their resolve, to metaphorically hammer nails into their legs so they'd never kneel.

"Yes! You should fight back! Fight with everything you've got to overthrow those who oppress us! Do it for the glory that runs through your blood from your ancestors, and for the honor of your own souls."

"The greatness in our blood comes from the efforts of our ancestors. But what about us? Should we rest on their laurels, waiting idly for the fruits of their labor?" Luke continued.

"I certainly won't! Shouldn't we be the ones making our ancestors proud?!"

Suddenly a voice echoed from the Hufflepuff table, coming from a boy with chestnut hair. Malfoy recognized him—Ernie Macmillan, a classic pureblood aristocrat.

"Then tell me, is bullying the weak and fearing the powerful something that would make our ancestors proud?"

Luke questioned.

"No! Only the weak prey on those weaker than themselves!" shouted a senior girl from the Ravenclaw table.

"Then, is stagnating, being ignorant and stubborn, something to be proud of?" Luke pressed further.

"Why don't the ancestors crawl out of their graves and strangle you?" Fred Weasley chimed in, joking.

Laughter erupted from some of the students, but Ron, sitting beside Fred, noticed the seriousness in his brother's eyes. Fred truly seemed to agree with what Luke was saying.

"And now, Blaise," Luke finally turned his attention back to the boy, who by this point had lost all traces of anger, "tell me, does vanity and fawning over the powerful make our ancestors proud?"

"No… it doesn't…" Blaise responded, somewhat dazed.

"And that," Luke concluded, "is what Draco and I are trying to tell you."

Malfoy shivered involuntarily at this remark.

What does this have to do with me?

"If you want to be respected as a noble, don't just boast about the greatness of your ancestors. What we should aim for is to make ourselves the pride of our ancestors—or even become the first generation of nobility in others' eyes. We must seek our own greatness!"

"Do you want to be mere Grave keepers for your ancestors, or Pioneers on the path to glory?"

As Luke said this, his eyes landed squarely on Malfoy across from him.

As Luke gestured and guided everyone's attention, all eyes naturally fell upon Malfoy. Draco found himself basking in the attention he'd always craved.

In that moment, as Luke's gaze met his, Draco felt an undeniable surge of adrenaline coursing through him.

"Of course, we'll be the pioneers! We'll rebuild the glory, forge a new legacy!"

He shouted, standing up, his face flushed with excitement.

Luke smiled and extended his hand. Malfoy, serious yet fervent, grasped it firmly.

It was as if the two had struck a sacred pact, a bond symbolizing their shared ambition.

At the head of the hall, crisp clapping rang out, followed by a tidal wave of applause that rolled through the room like thunder. The students' faces were alight with excitement, as though they were witnessing the birth of something historic.

"Minerva, this child you brought back isn't quite what you described, is he?" Snape commented as he clapped, his voice tinged with a mixture of intrigue and amusement. "He seems more like a budding politician—an ambitious one at that."

Professor McGonagall's expression remained steady. "I stand by my assessment. He's still a good child."

She glanced toward the man at the center of the applause—Albus Dumbledore.

The headmaster wore a proud smile, though his eyes, deep and inscrutable, making it difficult to see what he was thinking.

Meanwhile, Harry watched as Luke and Draco reveled in the crowd's cheers, feeling a familiar pang of envy. It wasn't just them—those who had spoken up during Luke's speech were also being celebrated at their own house tables. Fred Weasley, for instance, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the attention, even as he continued to joke around. But in his eyes, Harry noticed a new kind of admiration for Luke.

"If only I'd spoken up… but I'm just a Muggle-born wizard…"

Harry's thoughts lingered on the idea that Luke's speech had resonated more with the pureblood students, even though parts of it—like rejecting discrimination and standing up against oppression—applied to all wizards. The later focus on legacy and nobility, though, seemed distant to him.

"You come from a pureblood family too, Harry. You could have stood up," Percy chimed in, having overheard him. "The Potters are a well-known pureblood family, after all. Not one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but certainly a respected name."

Harry looked at Percy in astonishment. "Really?"

"Of course," Percy nodded, then hesitated. "Though, Harry… pureblood families aren't as good as Gaunt just described. Still, maybe things will change someday."

He glanced thoughtfully toward Luke, as if considering the possibility of such change under his influence.

Nearby, Taylor stared at Luke's back as though he were observing some rare magical creature, her eyes filled with curiosity and a burning desire to understand him better.

Malfoy, lost in the roar of applause, seemed utterly intoxicated by the admiration surrounding him, as if he were losing himself in the waves of approval.

Meanwhile, a subtle, almost imperceptible smile curled at the corner of Luke's lips.

Draco Malfoy had taken the bait.