Chapter 35: Extra — Trelawney’s Dream (Part Two)

After a burst of intense commotion, Morris’s voice dropped to a low, resonant tone once more.

"In this world, when it comes to confronting inequality, I believe there are generally three choices."

"First, do nothing and maintain the status quo, like the majority of wizards in this world. Second, curry favor with the pure-blood families, become a lackey for the pure-bloods, and exploit others in turn. Third, rise up in resistance and attempt to change the rules."

"Each of these choices requires immense persistence and perseverance."

"The first requires one to endure pain and oppression, to bear the despair of day after day."

"Many wizards, upon realizing the existence of inequality, often feel their abilities are limited or believe the cost of change is too high, and thus they choose to retreat."

"They are like most wizards in this world: they muddle along, allowing inequality to persist. For these people, perhaps daily life is already exhausting, leaving them with no strength to fight against grand injustices; or perhaps it is not that they lack a sense of justice, but that after careful consideration, they find it impossible to challenge the vast and complex wizarding establishment."

"However, behind the contentment with the status quo often lies a more enduring pain—a pain that stems not only from an unchangeable reality but also from the torment of one's own conscience. To endure the internal struggle and suppress the indignation against injustice is by no means an easy task."

Morris paused, his tone becoming even deeper.

"The second choice, compared to the first, requires even more suppression of self-respect and even the abandonment of one's conscience."

"Because to curry favor with those pure-blood families means setting aside personal dignity, fawning over them with humility, and even exploiting others at their behest."

"Such a path may appear glorious on the surface—you gain a more stable social status and secure more material benefits. But behind this 'glory' lies endless humiliation."

"Ordinary people might think that choosing to be a 'lackey' is merely about chasing benefits and requires little effort, but the truth is quite the opposite."

"To truly earn the trust of pure-blood families, one must often expend more heart and soul than others: you must learn how to serve and maneuver in words and deeds, constantly gauging the intentions of your masters; you must habitually twist your values to rationalize what is clearly unfair; and you must build high walls within your heart to seal off empathy and shame for others."

"These things require more persistent and complex endurance, making it even more arduous than that surface-level 'inaction.'"

"As for the third choice—"

Morris’s voice suddenly rose in intensity.

"The third choice, while appearing to be the most 'just' on the surface, is also the most perilous."

"The pages of history tell us that this requires immense courage and a determination for self-sacrifice."

"Because once you embark on the path of resistance, it means you must endure suppression from pure-blood families, misunderstandings from the wizarding world, and even the possibility of betrayal by your own companions."

"Often, those who resist must fight alone; they must stand up, defying death, to speak for the oppressed and bring long-neglected justice back into the public eye."

"To persist until the end, one needs more than just passion; one needs rational strategy and indomitable perseverance. Resistance cannot succeed on mere fervor alone; it often requires countless failures and the courage to rise again before true hope can be seen."

Morris’s voice slowed abruptly, and his gaze softened.

"But I want to tell you that no matter which of these three choices you make, it is your personal choice. None of them is easy, and none should be mocked by others."

"The choice belongs to each individual; there is no right or wrong."

He took a deep breath and said, enunciating every word, "What matters is whether you can bear the consequences of your choice and persist on that path to the end."

The square fell into a brief silence, followed by low murmurs spreading through the crowd.

Morris stood on the platform, watching the discussions below grow more heated with a calm gaze. He did not rush to interrupt, letting these voices ferment and spread, as if it were a natural continuation of his speech.

When the murmurs finally subsided, he spoke again: "You might ask me, since everyone has their reasons for their choices, what about me? Why does Byrne Morris stand here today?"

Morris’s voice seemed to possess a certain magic; from the moment he began, he commanded everyone’s attention. The crowd went quiet again, all eyes fixed upon him, waiting for his answer.

"I tell you, I too have faced these three choices."

"I once tried the first: patience and submission, thinking that if I did not resist, perhaps the pain would eventually dissipate on its own."

"But facts have proven that maintaining the status quo only turns pain into a habit and eventually corrodes your soul."

Morris’s gaze turned icy. "Later, I tried the second: compromising with power, bowing my head to beg for a scrap of mercy from those high-and-mighty pure-blood families."

"But I discovered that the price of this path is the loss of self. Even if you are accepted, you are merely standing at the feet of power, a pawn that can be discarded at any moment."

(PS: The above is merely Morris’s rhetorical strategy.)

He paused, his eyes burning with renewed intensity. "Therefore, I chose the third—resistance."

"Not because it is simple, nor because it is painless, but because this is the only choice that allows me to stand tall and, in my own way, control my own destiny."

Low gasps of awe came from the crowd, and many grew focused, feeling the profound power embedded in Morris’s words.

"Resistance is not easy." Morris’s voice dropped, carrying a heaviness that made people hold their breath. "It requires courage, wisdom, and, above all, countless sacrifices. But it has also given me something the other two choices never could: freedom."

"I am not here to tell you all to choose the third path," he said, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. "I only want to tell you that the power of choice is always in your hands. Do not let the words of others negate your decisions, and do not let fear cause you to ignore the true voice in your heart."

Morris reached out, pointing toward the crowd, sweeping over every person. "Ask yourselves: what kind of life do you want? What kind of wizarding world do you wish for your descendants to live in?"

"The answer lies within your hearts."

He paused, a faint smile touching his lips. "I am glad to see so many today who have made the same choice as I have."

"I am heartened, because we know our choice is not just for ourselves, but for the future that we cannot yet see."

"If we fail, I alone will bear the responsibility; if we succeed, I will never claim this glory for myself."

At this, Morris raised his right arm high. "Now, in the name of Byrne Morris, I officially unveil the curtain on this change! I want to use our voices to tell those high-and-mighty figures that our wands can also be used to kill!"

Before the last word had faded, he raised his wand and waved it toward the sky. A dazzling beam of light cut through the heavens like a shooting star, blooming with a soul-stirring brilliance that illuminated the entire square.

Then, Morris turned and walked off the stage.

He did not say another word, simply striding toward the Ministry of Magic.

Behind him, one person, then two, then three... more and more people followed.

There were no cheers, no clamor; they followed in silence, as if drawn by some invisible force, like a massive gear beginning to turn, pulling everyone into its motion.

Trelawney stood where she was, witnessing it all, when her body suddenly began to move beyond her control.

She looked down at her feet in terror, wanting to stop, but her steps were being guided forward, unable to halt, as if she had been forcibly swept into this torrent.

Gradually, the towering gates of the Ministry of Magic came into view.

And the crowd behind him, which had started as a few dozen, quickly swelled into hundreds and more.

However, just as she was involuntarily stepping toward the Ministry, inside the building, in a spacious office, a familiar figure was watching a crystal ball.

The mist in the crystal ball slowly cleared, revealing the scene before the Ministry gates: a group of people following in Morris’s footsteps, closing in, their numbers constantly growing.

Dumbledore sat in his office chair, his elbows resting on the desk, his hands clasped together, his gaze fixed on the image in the crystal ball with a complex expression.

His brow furrowed slightly, his eyes holding an indescribable gravity.

"Is this just a dream..." he murmured, his voice low, as if speaking to himself or asking an unseen entity, "or is it the future of Morris?"