Some people's pride is justified.
Like Shirin and Seko, their confidence comes from their outstanding strength.
If Snape hadn't used the house-elves to pass a message back then, drawing the professors over early and interrupting the duel, it might have taken only a few minutes before Seko pinned him to the ground and ground him into the dirt.
Snape's accumulation was simply too shallow.
In the first two years, he had been working behind closed doors on his own, and even with systematic study, it had only added up to a bit over two months.
Before he had the chance to harvest experience on a large scale, he was ultimately no match for upper-years who had years more development backed by family legacies, or for true once-in-a-generation monsters.
But some people's pride is utterly ridiculous.
Like so-called bloodlines.
Like so-called pure-bloods.
From Snape's perspective, Mulciber was the most classic example.
Though he too was born into one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, his talent wasn't particularly remarkable. At best, early education made him a little better than ordinary students his age.
But that small advantage meant nothing once he met Snape.
So-called pure blood didn't grant him greater power, but it did wrap him in a halo of arrogance without ability.
He refused to admit defeat to a mere half-blood, even launched a one-sided challenge, and only after hearing that Snape was about to join the Black Eye Society did he finally slump and admit he had lost.
Yet in truth, Snape had already forgotten the harsh words the boy had thrown out when school first started, and had never taken him seriously at all.
That said—
The moment Snape saw Mulciber finally willing to admit defeat, he knew it was time to begin one of the actions he had planned.
"Mulciber Avery, why do you study magic?"
He strolled to the window.
A clean crescent moon hung high in the sky, leaving Mulciber and Leo with only Snape's gaunt, proud back.
The icy question was like a bucket of cold water, extinguishing the anger Mulciber had just felt at being ignored, and making him freeze for a moment.
"You don't actually need to compete with anyone at Hogwarts, do you?
As long as you graduate step by step, once you come of age you will inherit part of your family's influence. At the very least, as a noble you will live a fairly comfortable, privileged life. That is the innate confidence pure blood gives you."
"Pure blood. What a beautiful phrase.
As long as you are pure-blood, you will never starve in this world, and the wizarding world will always have a place for you.
As long as you are pure-blood, you are born with the capital to stand above others, and Mudbloods are nothing but toys you can step on whenever you like."
Snape spoke slowly, word by word.
His deep voice flowed like a quiet stream, and Mulciber instinctively lifted his chin, pride rising on his face.
Which meant he failed to see the cold, deep gleam brewing in Snape's eyes.
"But the reason pure blood is noble from birth ultimately comes down to the family behind you.
If the family prospers, pure blood thrives. If the family declines, pure blood declines."
"In other words, anything that could cause pure-blood families to decline is an enemy that every pure-blood should resist.
While they enjoy benefits granted at birth, they also bear an unavoidable, heavy responsibility.
This is their shackle, and also the source of their glory.
So now let me ask you: when you look back on your life, do you think you are a qualified pure-blood?"
Mulciber swallowed hard.
Snape watched with satisfaction as panic flickered in the boy's eyes, darting left and right.
"Why do you think we must resist Mudbloods?"
Snape abruptly changed direction and asked.
"Uh… because they're trash living in this world, with filthy blood that pollutes noble magic?"
Mulciber didn't notice.
His earlier momentum had already been crushed by Snape's interrogations.
This no longer felt like facing a peer he had once wanted to catch up to out of spite.
It felt like facing a senior family elder with a rank far above his own, someone he could only bow his head to and accept instruction from, whether it was right or wrong.
"You're right. Then where does that filthy blood come from?"
Snape's praise gave Mulciber a bit of courage.
With Snape's encouraging look, Mulciber rallied, racking his brain for the correct answer.
A few seconds later his eyes lit up and he blurted it out.
"Muggles!"
"Yes. Yes.
Muggles."
Snape clenched his fists, a blazing fire burning in his eyes, and stepped closer to Mulciber with fanatic intensity.
The sight of it made Leo feel cold fear from the bottom of his heart. He tried to speak more than once, then stopped, shrinking into the corner, trembling and not daring to interrupt.
"Then why are Muggles our enemy?"
Mulciber never realized that Snape was, in essence, a half-blood, not truly part of the "we" he was saying.
The air felt thick with gunpowder, ready to ignite at a spark, with only Mulciber's heavy breathing repeating again and again.
Snape closed in inch by inch until their eyes were less than a foot apart.
Mulciber trembled with excitement.
In Snape's dark eyes, he could clearly see his own sweaty, pathetic appearance, yet it made him feel proud.
Because every drop of sweat he shed now was shed to defend the glory of pure blood.
No longer like before, obsessed with foolish, lowly rivalry. Even if Snape were ten thousand times better, Mulciber would no longer feel jealous, because he had begun to sense that he stood at a crossroads of fate.
From this moment on, his entire life would fight for a greater, grander goal.
And he could not wait.
"Because Muggles threaten our families."
Snape leaned to Mulciber's ear.
His gentle voice struck like a terrifying bomb, blasting Mulciber's reason into pieces.
Outside the window, the cold wind whispered without end.
Inside the warm room, separated by a single pane of glass, a devil who excelled at seducing hearts kept drawing a magnificent blueprint, about to harvest his first batch of fanatical followers.
From the technological explosion of the Muggle world, the First Industrial Revolution, and the Second Industrial Revolution still underway.
To the terrifying blazing sun rising over Japan, a sun that in a single day wiped out hundreds of thousands of lives, leaving nothing behind.
To the two world wars launched by Muggles, with the dead enough to fill tens of thousands of Diagon Alleys.
To the countless weapons, meticulously designed in endless varieties for the slaughter of life.
Poisoned ideas flowed silently.
In a late night no one noticed, they quietly replaced the narrow, laughable pure-blood doctrine, mocking its self-enclosed arrogance and ignorance.
Snape stood at the desk, delivering a passionate speech like the finest actor in the world.
That towering figure of righteous fury burned itself into the deepest parts of Mulciber and Leo's eyes, and left an eternal scar in their hearts.
"A person's life should be lived like this:
When one looks back on the past, one will not regret wasted years, nor feel ashamed of accomplishing nothing.
When facing death, one can proudly say: I have devoted my entire life and all my strength to the most precious cause in life—
To fight for greater interests!"
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