—— — — — —
Headmaster's office
Dumbledore sat behind his desk, his untouched breakfast laid neatly in front of him. He didn't spare it a glance, his sharp blue eyes fixed instead on the newspaper in his hands: {Redefining the Pureblood Line: The House of Rosier}
{This article is reprinted from The Wizarding World News, and reflects only the author's views. The publication itself expresses no stance.}
The article began: {In 1936, Cantankerus Nott published The Pure-Blood Directory, insisting that only twenty-eight so-called 'sacred' families could be considered true purebloods.}
{Since then, this notion of the 'Sacred Twenty-Eight' has been wielded as both a badge of pride and a weapon of exclusion among Britain's purebloods. Its influence has spread far beyond our shores, shaping attitudes across the Continent and even North America.}
{But let's be clear: the very idea of 'sacred' pureblood families is nonsense. Muggle blood has mingled with wizard blood for centuries; in truth, every wizard alive today is a half-blood.}
{Take Cantankerus Nott himself. His great-great-grandfather married a Muggle novelist, and the family's literary bent seems to have been passed down ever since—hardly surprising given the Notts' lasting impact in publishing.}
{Consider the Gaunts, the last direct heirs of Salazar Slytherin. They practiced relentless inbreeding, even between siblings. The result? Their main line collapsed into extinction. Meanwhile, Isolt Sayre—descendant of the Gaunts—married a Muggle, and from her came the founders of Ilvermorny. Every Gaunt descendant in North America today is therefore, by definition, a half-blood.}
{Or look at the Weasleys, who have never denied the Muggles in their ancestry. And yet Nott's directory conveniently ignored such realities.}
{If we are strict about definitions, then pureblood wizards are already extinct. Which is why I propose a new standard: if both parents are wizards, and the family has remained active in wizarding society for three generations, that should count as pureblood. By this measure, Harry Potter—who, eleven years ago, ended Voldemort's rise—would be considered a pureblood, not a half-blood.}
{With this framework, the so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight is hopelessly outdated. What we need now is a more accurate, detailed, and objective way to measure a family's contributions and influence in the wizarding world. Not all purebloods are equal.}
{This series will identify one hundred and twelve families, divided into annals, houses, and biographies. And in this issue, we begin with the Rosiers.}
The article launched into a sweeping history.
{The earliest traceable Rosier ancestor is Clovis Rosier, court wizard to Pepin the Short in the eighth century. In French, Rosier means rose. Upon receiving land, Clovis established the Rose Manor, giving his descendants both wealth and legacy.}
{Over the centuries, the Rosiers all but monopolized France's magical herb trade, amassing enormous wealth. But during the Hundred Years' War, the family split, giving rise to the British branch of the Rosiers. Later, members settled in Spain, Italy, and beyond. Today, the Rosiers remain most prominent across Western Europe.}
Page after page listed prominent Rosiers across history. Some names were famous in their own right, others were revealed as aliases for wizards long thought unrelated.
Even for someone as well-read as Dumbledore, the article offered fresh insights, reshaping his understanding of the family's true reach.
From an academic standpoint, the piece was brilliant.
But… Dumbledore frowned.
Why had Tom written it?
The opening paragraphs alone had torn the veil off the pureblood myth. He'd dismantled the Sacred Twenty-Eight so thoroughly that the name itself now seemed laughable.
Dumbledore knew Tom understood exactly what such a paper would stir up. And for The Daily Prophet to reprint it? That required a great deal of influence and maneuvering behind the scenes.
All this effort, just for the sake of some academic exercise?
Dumbledore didn't believe it. Tom had other motives—he always did. But what they were, the Headmaster couldn't begin to guess.
That was the difference between people like Tom, a transmigrator with a cheat, and ordinary men. Dumbledore couldn't imagine that Tom's true purpose was as simple as chasing credits and achievement points.
And yet… there were other, unintended gains.
In the Muggle business world there's a saying: "Top companies set the standard, mid-tier companies build brands, and bottom-tier companies just sell products." The principle applies everywhere.
Tom was trying to set the standard—reshaping the very language of bloodlines until his definitions became the truth people lived by. When his words carried enough weight, when people accepted them without question, it would be as if he'd spoken the world into being.
Let there be light—and there was light.
Dumbledore, by contrast, had the power and reputation to do the same, yet whenever the Ministry whispered against him, half the wizarding world was quick to doubt his word about Voldemort's return.
...
In the Great Hall, the usual breakfast chatter had gone silent. Students hunched over their copies of the paper, reading word for word. The Slytherins, especially, seemed spellbound, hardly daring to breathe.
And inside Tom's mind, the system chimed.
[The battle for discourse has begun.]
[The host's article will ignite a storm across the world, striking at the heart of the old order.]
[ Large-scale mission issued: My Word is Truth.]
[Mission Objective: Expand the influence of {The History of Wizarding World.} Get the public to adopt your bloodline standard and accept your evaluations of the pureblood families.]
[Mission Reward: Upon 100% progress, receive 1,000 achievement points, 5,000 credits, and one Special Gacha Ticket.]
[Current acceptance: 2%.]
Tom let out a low whistle as he read the task.
This was hands down the hardest task he'd ever been given. But the rewards were no joke either. A thousand achievement points—that alone was the mark of a "Century King" level professor. And five thousand credits? Enough to last him ages. Since the day he'd gotten the system, his balance had never even come close to that number.
Luckily, "100% influence" didn't mean every wizard had to bow to his standard. It meant his theory would need to become mainstream, the default way people thought.
Which was far harder than the Sacred Twenty-Eight ever had it. That was just Britain. His framework would have to reach across borders, touching multiple countries and cultures. The scale was in another league entirely.
"Tom."
Rosier's voice broke his thoughts. His roommate stared at him, paper trembling in his hands. "This article… you wrote it?"
Every Slytherin nearby turned to look.
Tom gave a calm nod. "Yeah. I've been digging through a lot of records lately. The histories and family lineages we've got are far too one-sided, so I thought I'd write something more complete. Is there a problem?"
"No—no problem at all! This is brilliant." Rosier shook his head furiously, grinning so wide it looked like his face might crack. His cousin looked just as thrilled.
Sure, the article mentioned that the Rosiers had at least five marriages with Muggles on record, meaning they were long past being "pure." But compared to everything else, that detail was nothing.
Even they hadn't realized just how prominent their family really was. Their bloodline stretched back centuries, with branches thriving not just in France but across Europe.
The article hadn't exposed them—it had glorified them. Rebranded them as an ancient, sprawling Empire. The more people read it, the more prestigious their name became.
Nott's face flushed bright red with excitement. "So that's why you've been hounding me with history questions lately! You were building up to this. Grading the bloodlines, not just in Britain but internationally—Damn Merlin, why didn't I think of that?"
He leaned forward eagerly. "Who's next? Another annal? A biography? Or one of the major houses? When's it coming out?"
Tom only smiled. "Next piece will be a biography. As for who… I'll keep that a secret. What kind of writer spoils his own work?"
Some students were elated. Others… not so much.
Even in Slytherin—students well-trained in subtlety and restraint—there were plenty giving Tom hostile stares.
They had accepted him because of his skill, and because the Sorting Hat itself had vouched for him. That didn't mean they wanted him airing their dirty laundry.
How were they supposed to throw their family names around in arguments now, when Tom was peeling back the façade and showing just how flimsy some of their "pureblood" claims really were?
Especially the families with nothing but an old name and no real legacy. Once Tom's pen reached them, everyone would see the truth—that they were paper tigers.
To them, this wasn't scholarship. It was shaking Slytherin's very foundations.
But none of them dared ask the obvious question: what if their families weren't even worth mentioning in the records at all?
Tom felt the hostility in the air, but he had no intention of reacting.
If this had been about anything else, he wouldn't have let it slide. But when it came to academics, lashing out physically would only make him look insecure, like a child throwing a tantrum when his ideas were challenged. That would discredit the work itself.
The solution was simple: crush them with momentum. If the most powerful families acknowledged his framework, the rest would fall in line. The small fish could fume all they wanted—it wouldn't matter.
Finishing the last bite of bread, Tom stood up under the weight of countless complicated stares, then walked out of the hall with Daphne at his side.
"Tom," Daphne asked sweetly, "so where did you put the Greengrasses?"
He smirked. "Not telling."
"Ugh, you're awful."
The article didn't just shake Hogwarts. Outside the castle, pureblood households were in uproar. Witches and wizards shouted at newspapers, cursed Tom's name, and bombarded the Daily Prophet with demands to never print his articles again.
The letters piled up at the Prophet's headquarters, only to be dumped straight into the incinerator. The editor-in-chief didn't want to read them—and more importantly, he didn't dare.
He'd known there would be backlash. But what could he do? The owner had already given the order: publish, or you're fired. And if you're fired, don't expect another respectable job in wizarding Britain ever again.
As for why the boss insisted? Well, when a wand glowing green hovers above your skull, you learn to follow instructions.
---
Meanwhile, at Malfoy Manor—
Lucius Malfoy had flown into a rage after reading the article. But once the fury ebbed, he sank into deep thought.
Tom Riddle's definition of pureblood threatened the very foundation of their power. By his standard, plenty of so-called half-bloods were suddenly "pure."
And yet… there were benefits too. The essay had debuted in The Wizarding World News, a paper with global reach. After today, the Rosiers' name would echo across continents, their thousand-year lineage recognized everywhere. People might not revere them, but they'd certainly take them more seriously now.
That kind of publicity was irresistible. Who wouldn't want their family name etched into history?
Even Lucius, a man who preached blood purity yet lived by a more practical, self-serving creed, felt the temptation tugging at him.
"Perhaps… perhaps I should have Draco offer Riddle a gift. Persuade him to raise the Malfoys' ranking a bit—focus on our virtues, leave out the blemishes…"
The thought trailed off as Lucius froze.
"…but Merlin's beard. Do we even have any virtues worth writing about?"
He drew in a sharp breath, suddenly unsure of the answer.
.
.
.