Chapter 42: The Wisdom of Slytherin (Revised)

Maurice often had dreams.

Sometimes, when he woke up, all that remained in his mind were fragmented images, like shattered glass pieced together without any clear meaning.

He remembered dreaming of an endless sea, its surface as calm as a mirror, reflecting an uncertain moon.

That moon was larger than any ordinary moon, yet it never cast any light.

The seawater gently lapped against his ankles, so cold it made him almost forget where he was.

Sometimes, he dreamed he was in a dimly lit room, the corners piled high with things nobody knew the purpose of.

The air was filled with an unknown fragrance, like a memory from a distant place, both familiar and strange.

Maurice would always reach out to touch those objects, but he could never quite touch them; his fingertips met only cold air.

At that time, he did not yet know what these dreams represented, whether they had any meaning, or if they were merely a silent cry from the depths of his soul.

He never bothered to ask.

Until—

These dreams grew increasingly clear, increasingly real.

...

"You mean... you have the exact same dream at regular intervals?"

The old man in front of him looked at Maurice.

Maurice nodded, then gave a slight nod to the waiter standing nearby.

"A whiskey, please."

"Sir, this is a café, we don't serve whiskey."

"Call your boss."

"He's sitting right in front of you."

The old man smiled apologetically at Maurice, then took out a wallet from his pocket, handed it to the waiter, and gestured for him to buy a glass from the neighboring pub.

"You don't frequent this place, do you?" he asked again.

Maurice did not answer. His gaze was fixed steadily on the street outside the window, his sight passing through the neon reflections to linger under that dim, yellowish streetlamp.

"Do you mean those dreams are related to a certain period of your past life?" the old man asked tentatively, his voice lowering, as if exploring a sensitive area.

Maurice turned his head and finally spoke: "Not the past, or rather... not entirely the past. What I see is not just my own reflection." He paused, his expression complex. "They are like someone else's memories, mixed into my own dreams."

"Mixed?" The old man raised an eyebrow, looking puzzled.

"Yes." A trace of pain flashed across Maurice's eyes, but it was quickly concealed. "I don't fully understand it, only that... every time I wake up, those images and feelings seem more real. In my dreams, I become a fragment of someone else, and I can even feel what they feel."

The old man was silent for a moment, seemingly weighing whether to say anything. "This is not uncommon," he said. "Some people, under certain circumstances, might be able to... perceive remnants of the past."

"Remnants?" Maurice frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

"You know," the old man smiled gently, "life is like a flowing river, and our individual memories or experiences are like stones in the water. Sometimes their existence leaves traces on others."

"So... I broke the river, drained the water, and took out the stones," Maurice said slowly.

Before he knew it, a glass of whiskey had appeared in front of him.

"What did you say?" The old man looked slightly confused.

"Every time I dream, I experience a different life."

Maurice crossed his hands, speaking as if to himself, yet also to the old man.

"The first time, I learned many powerful spells."

"Those forbidden arts burned away my life, turning me into something neither human nor ghost."

"I stormed into the manors of those pure-blood families."

"They knelt and begged, their eyes filled with terror and entreaty, but I did not stop."

"I killed them one by one."

"They fell in pools of blood, their mouths full of curses and maledictions against me."

"The entire magical world regarded me as a demon."

"But I knew they must be wrong. So, I picked up my wand once more."

"..."

Hearing this, the old man's pupils shrank violently, but Maurice acted as though he saw nothing, lost in his own memories as he continued.

"The second time, I didn't want to kill them one by one anymore."

"That method is truly exhausting."

"So, I decided to change my strategy."

"I went to the Muggle world, choosing a seemingly ordinary path—going to university, determined to solve the problem once and for all with the power of science."

"Yes, I became a physicist."

"Starting from magical fluctuations, I researched wizard detectors, developed magic-suppressing shackles, and even invented more complex instruments—"

"Driven by me, nations reached an agreement to no longer tolerate those possessing special abilities."

"I knew their fear, just like ordinary people in the X-Men fearing mutants—the ability to take lives without any justification."

"So, the year 2025."

"Since the Middle Ages, the second large-scale witch hunt officially began."

"Five years later."

"A world without wizards."

"..."

Maurice paused, then continued.

"The third time, I didn't want to be enemies with the entire wizarding world anymore."

"Hatred has no meaning; I wanted to become good friends with them and turn hostility into friendship."

"So, I began to propagate my ideas."

"My words resonated with quite a few people, and gradually, I gained numerous followers."

"They followed me, charging all the way to the gates of the Ministry of Magic."

"We broke in."

"I kicked that old man Dumbledore right to the ground."

"He seemed to want to say something, but I pretended not to hear and kicked him a few more times in the backside."

"..."

"..."

"Last time, I didn't do anything at all; I simply acted as a completely ordinary professor at Hogwarts."

"I raised those three into entirely different people."

"That savior was like Monk Tang, chattering endlessly when facing the dark wizard who had just cast the Killing Curse at him, unable to bring himself to kill."

"That girl became a new Dark Lord, unleashing a new European storm."

"As for that freckled boy, I told him the story of Confucius, and he became the last Confucius of the twentieth century, establishing Confucius Institutes across the European continent—except that what he taught was not The Analects, but The Art of Beatings."

"The entire world changed once more, transforming back into the way I wanted it to be."

"..."

Having said all this, Maurice paid no heed to whether the old man had understood a single word.

He slowly stood up and drained the glass of whiskey in one gulp.

"This time, I have a new game to play—"

However, the moment Maurice turned to leave the café, his heart received a sudden, heavy jolt.

He involuntarily cast his gaze toward a corner—there, a wooden door bearing the sign "Nott Manor" hung quietly, as if silently calling out to him.

It felt as though... someone was crying for help.

......

......

......

"......"

"The Caged Star?"

Maurice's expression turned subtle for a fraction of a second.

"So, you intercepted me bright and early this morning over a confiscated item?"

"It's very important to Harry!" Hermione quickly added. "Besides, Professor Snape probably doesn't know how deeply meaningful this is to Harry. We thought perhaps you could help us persuade him."

Maurice shifted his gaze to Harry. "Mr. Potter, why did Professor Snape confiscate it?"

Harry replied somewhat sheepishly, "I... was distracted while the register was being called in Potions. The professor saw me playing with the Caged Star and took it away."

"Distracted?" Maurice frowned slightly. "Mr. Potter, being distracted in class is a very impolite behavior toward a professor... especially since it was your very first class."

"I know, professor," Harry said hastily, a trace of remorse in his tone. "I'll correct it. But... that was a birthday gift from you, and also the very first birthday present I've ever received. I really, really want to get it back."

Maurice fell silent for a moment, appearing to contemplate.

Finally, he let out a soft sigh. "Very well, I will help you get it back. But you must remember, this is only an exception. From now on, no matter whose class it is, you need to focus on the present moment, understand?"

Harry nodded gratefully. "I understand, professor. Thank you!"

Maurice looked at the three of them, withdrew the hand he had been keeping behind his waist until now, and smiled. "You Gryffindors really are never a moment's peace."

"We just didn't want Harry's gift to stay with Snape," Ron muttered under his breath.

"Alright," Maurice waved a hand, signaling that they were free to go. "I'll handle this matter. In your upcoming classes, you'd all better pay close attention. I certainly don't want to hear about the three of you getting into trouble again."

The three hurriedly nodded in thanks and then turned to leave.

Watching their receding figures, Maurice shook his head gently, a silent lament rising in his heart—

Youth is truly wonderful.

...

When Maurice stepped into the classroom, several people were already seated inside.

Compared to last time, the number of attendees had increased by two or three. Although it still could not be called lively, compared to the desolation of the previous class, it was already a sign of progress.

Maurice quickly scanned the classroom.

To his surprise, Penelope, Percy, and Marcus, who had appeared last time, had returned as promised.

Especially the one in the middle—Percy. Last time, he had sensed that the young man was not particularly interested in the lecture's content, yet he still showed up. What did that mean?

Soon, Maurice locked his gaze onto Penelope.

How did the saying go?

Within seven steps of a viper, there is always an antidote.

And wasn't the antidote sitting right there?

"Now then, let's begin."

With those words, Maurice walked up to the podium and tapped his desk with his wand.

"Today, let us start with last week's assignment."

At his command, the students' prepared rolls of parchment flew up one after another onto the podium.

Maurice glanced at the pile of assignments, not immediately opening them, but instead setting them aside. He placed both hands on the edge of the podium and swept his gaze slowly over the students.

"First of all, I am deeply grateful that you all completed my first assignment," he said, a touch of appreciation in his voice before his tone abruptly shifted. "However, we will not be discussing the content of your assignments today."

The classroom fell dead silent; almost everyone was stunned.

Percy, in particular, was utterly taken aback, his disappointment written all over his face.

Maurice paid no heed to their reactions and continued: "I know you have probably prepared many answers and perhaps even anticipated my judgment of right and wrong. But I believe the true meaning of learning lies not merely in searching for correct answers, but in understanding the value of the questions themselves."

"Therefore," he paused slightly, sweeping his gaze across the room, "toward the end of this academic year, I will set aside a class dedicated entirely to discussing every single one of your assignments. By then, perhaps you will have a deeper understanding of what you wrote, and perhaps you will even discover entirely new questions."

Penelope nodded slightly, seemingly in agreement with the arrangement, but Percy's expression remained stiff.

He had poured an immense amount of time and energy into this assignment, hoping to showcase his brilliance before Penelope through it... and now Professor Maurice's decision left him somewhat at a loss.

"Professor," Percy raised his hand hesitantly. "Do you mean... we need to rethink our assignment content before that class?"

"You could put it that way," Maurice nodded, elaborating further. "But you do not need to rewrite them. Rather, I hope you preserve your initial thoughts while reflecting upon them in light of the material covered in upcoming lessons. When we finally discuss these assignments, you will find a wondrous connection between your initial answers and your subsequent reflections."

Percy slowly lowered his hand, his expression complex, but eventually, he nodded. "I understand, professor."

Instead of starting the lecture immediately, Maurice turned and wrote a short sentence on the blackboard:

Rules and Choices: Are they contradictory, or do they coexist?

Then, he turned back, looking calmly at the gathered students.

"This is our topic for today."

Absolute silence filled the classroom as several pairs of eyes locked onto the line of writing on the blackboard.

"Rules and choices." Maurice paced slowly toward the center of the room, his tone steady yet thought-provoking. "They seem contradictory at first glance, don't they? Rules represent constraint, while choices represent freedom. So, are they truly nothing more than opposites?"

His gaze swept over the students once more, finally coming to rest on Penelope. "Miss Clearwater, what do you think?"

Penelope was slightly startled, not expecting to be called upon first.

She lowered her eyes in thought for a moment, then looked up, her voice clear. "Rules and choices are not contradictory. I believe rules provide a framework and direction for our choices. Choices without rules might lead to chaos, whereas choices made within rules bring greater efficiency and security."

Maurice nodded, speaking approvingly, "Very well put—a sensible perspective. Rules bring order to choices."

He turned to Percy. "Mr. Weasley, what is your view?"

Percy appeared a bit tense, but he quickly composed himself and answered earnestly, "I agree with Miss Clearwater's point. However, I feel that rules are sometimes more than just a framework; they are also a symbol of authority. Choices should remain within the bounds of rules so that social order can be maintained."

"Mm." Maurice nodded gently. "In other words, you believe rules supersede choices, correct?"

"Yes, professor," Percy replied with a firm nod.

Maurice shifted his gaze to Marcus. "Mr. Flint, what is your take?"

Marcus leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, and said indifferently, "I think choices are much more important. Rules are made for people who don't know what they want. If a person knows what they want, they don't need to be bound by rules."

To be honest, Marcus had been trying not to look entirely foolish in this class, hoping to actually understand Maurice's teachings and perhaps even cause a bit of trouble—

Lately, he had even found himself zoning out during Quidditch practice.

This was the first time he had ever taken anything this seriously.

The feeling was strangely unfamiliar.

For some inexplicable reason, doing all this made him feel remarkably fulfilled.

A subtle silence fell over the classroom.

Percy's brow furrowed in clear disapproval of Marcus's view, while Penelope tilted her head slightly, weighing the logic of the statement.

Maurice showed no emotional fluctuation whatsoever. He simply watched Marcus quietly before speaking in a measured tone: "A fascinating perspective. You believe rules are for the lost, while truly powerful individuals can transcend them—might I interpret that as Slytherin wisdom?"

"Perhaps, professor," Marcus answered unblinkingly.

Maurice paused, his gaze sweeping across the entire room, and finally said: "Rules and choices—these two concepts play immensely important roles in each of our lives. I must remind you that they are neither absolute opposites nor a simple matter of coexistence."

With that, he turned around and wrote another sentence on the blackboard:

Do rules that bind the weak end up giving choices greater meaning?

"Next, we will discuss this issue through several classic cases in wizarding society," Maurice turned back, his tone lifting slightly. "Today, every single one of you will participate in this discussion, because there are no absolute rights or wrongs here—only profound contemplation."