The note is taken, opened, scanned, and the corner of Lucius' mouth curls both at the stupidity and audacity shown in equal measures. It probably started this way, the old prejudices, the divide between magic and not.

It just didn't end that way.

He glances at Severus, then back down at the note. "An unfortunate thing, about imbeciles," he says, folding the note in half once more and handing it back, gesture loose, "they can do a remarkable amount of damage when there's a fair amount of them in accord. How many?" A beat, and he clarifies; "Lives."