For a long, a very long time, Muggles have been fascinated by the thought of young women trapped in towers. Brittle, fair creatures, their golden hair a stairway to some other plane, their sad eyes pleading for rescue, their thin wrists waving uselessly down at the ground: Help me! Help me, for I’m trapped! I seem to be so far above you, I seem so lovely as to be a goddess from another realm, but it’s a trick. It’s artifice. Oh, spend your blood to free me, sacrifice your eyes so that you might not be blinded by my loveliness, slay dragons and climb my golden stair and then tumble down to your muddy land for rebirth, and if you do all this I will descend, and I will be with you, and we will be together!

And perhaps, once, there really was a girl in a tower, and perhaps some Muggle, coming up and spying her in the window, asked her what he could do for her, what cruel parent had forced her there. And perhaps she looked at him with sad eyes and said he could do nothing, for she was the daughter of a witch, she was a child of magic, and so she would be forever above him.

The Muggles have written a thousand different endings to bring the girl down from the tower throughout the years, as they have spent blood to free themselves from old towers of caste and greed, as they have slain a million dragons with new inventions and new tricks; as they have tried to climb, again and again, a thousand different ideologies, stairs to the stars, only to tumble back down into mud to try all over again. As they have grown.

But the sons and daughters of witches and wizards are taught to hold themselves apart. They are trapped in dungeons, behind hidden doors, and — yes — in towers, where they learn to despise and fear Muggles, where they learn that Muggles are beneath them.

They have never heard this rescue story. They would not understand it even if they did. They peer from the clouded panes of their old houses at the filthy Mudblood (oh, what would they say if they were to learn that mud can be rebirth?), the blood-traitor climbing down to greet him, and they are afraid. They are trapped. They trap themselves.