Chapter 19: Rita's Pen Broke

“Freedom?” Morris repeated the word softly, a faint smile playing on his lips.
“Ms. Skeeter, your question is quite intriguing.”
“Freedom is never something granted by others; it must be fought for oneself. If one always depends on others to give them freedom, they will never truly possess it.”
Rita narrowed her eyes slightly, probing, “So, Morris, do you believe the current state of the wizarding society is not free enough?”
“I’m not here to criticize,” Morris replied calmly, “but I do believe every era has its own problems.”
“And the problem of this era,” he continued, “is that many have grown accustomed to accepting established rules without questioning their fairness.”
“Education should teach students how to ask questions, not just accept answers.”
“You mentioned the freedom of students and the responsibility of education—so, I’m curious, how would you implement your philosophy in a Hogwarts classroom?”
“Simple,” Morris answered serenely, “I would encourage students to think critically and seek answers on their own. I am not their savior; I am merely a guide.”
Rita seemed dissatisfied with the ambiguous reply and was about to press further when Sean interjected, “Professor Morris, in your opinion, what is the most important thing in a Hogwarts classroom?”
“The most important thing is making them understand that knowledge is not the end, but the beginning. True learning is always about exploring the unknown, never settling for existing answers.”
Sean diligently jotted down the words, while Rita’s quill flew swiftly over her parchment.
“Morris,” Rita’s smile returned, sharp and pointed, “one last question—do you think you can be a role model for the students? After all, your past... not everyone can accept it.”
A brief silence fell over the long table.
Morris did not answer immediately; his gaze lowered as if lost in thought.
After a few seconds, he looked up.
“Ms. Skeeter, a role model isn’t necessarily someone flawless, but someone who learns from their mistakes and continually improves.”
“If the students can learn anything from my experiences, it’s this—people can err, but they must rise from those errors.”
Rita’s smile was forced, but she refrained from pressing further and quietly resumed taking notes.
At the end of the interview, Rita stood, her face bearing her usual professional smile as she softly said, “Thank you, Morris. I believe our readers will find this piece quite fascinating.”
Indeed, very fascinating.
If published on the front page of The Daily Prophet as recorded, Rita was certain that by the next day, Morris would become a reviled pariah.
But perhaps, he deserved it, didn’t he?

They insisted on opposing them and even invited that disreputable fellow to join the interview.
Morris didn’t respond, merely nodded slightly, then turned toward the bar, seeming utterly disinterested in what was about to unfold.
Seeing this, Rita gently arranged her parchment and quill, preparing to leave.
However, just as she turned toward the bar’s exit, Sean suddenly mustered the courage to call out, “Wait!”
Rita paused, glanced back at him, her brow lifting slightly, “What is it, Phillips? Any last additions?”
Sean stepped forward, urgency in his voice, “Ms. Skeeter, what you wrote today... I hope you’ll remain faithful to Professor Morris’s true intent, rather than twisting facts for sensationalism.”
Rita chuckled lightly, amused, “Young Sean, you’re far too naive. Reporting is never just about recording facts, especially with someone like Morris. Readers want a story, not dull facts.”
“But—” Sean tried to protest, only to be stopped by Morris holding out a hand.
“Let her go.” Morris didn’t even look back, waving him off as he continued toward the bar.
Rita’s smile grew more triumphant. She gathered her notes, pushed open the tavern door, stepping out with a brisk pace.
Yet, just as she crossed the threshold, Morris raised his hand and flicked his fingers softly.
The wizards, who had been quietly drinking, suddenly stood as one.
They moved with silent precision, surrounding Rita swiftly and wordlessly.
Sensing something amiss, Rita turned, her smile stiffening, “What do you think you’re doing?”
At that moment, the elderly bartender wiping glasses looked up and called out, “Take it outside.” His tone suggested this was not the first time such an incident had occurred; he appeared unfazed.
“Of course, Albus, you know us well.” The lead wizard smiled faintly, signaling his companions to escort Rita out.
“Hey! You can’t do this! Don’t touch my notes!” Rita shouted sharply, struggling fiercely.
“Stop! Don’t tear them!” Her voice grew more desperate. “Do you know what you’re doing?!”
“I’m a reporter for The Daily Prophet! I have a press badge! By Ministry law, I have the right to interview and report!”
“Snap—”
“My pen! You broke my pen!” Rita’s voice became shrill.
“Just you wait! You’re all criminals! I’m going to report you to the Ministry!” she screamed hysterically. “I’ll have you all thrown into Azkaban!”
But amidst a series of sharp thuds, the bar’s uproar gradually subsided.
Rita’s once piercing screams reduced to muffled sobs and whimpers.
“I was wrong, I was wrong...”

The tavern fell into a brief, heavy silence once more.
Sean stood rooted, listening to the fading sounds outside, his face a mixture of shock and unease.
He glanced toward Morris at the bar, seemingly about to speak, but found Morris focused intently on stirring his cup of honey lemon black tea, as if the earlier chaos had nothing to do with him.
“Professor...”
Morris looked up, and seeing his gaze, the sharp questions swirling in Sean’s mind softened into a single, spontaneous query, “Professor, may I ask... why is there honey lemon black tea here?”
Morris paused, smiled faintly, and took a gentle sip from his cup without answering.
“That’s specially prepared just for him, lad.” The bartender, Albus Dumbledore, drying glasses behind the bar, looked at Sean with a hint of impatience. “This is the Hog’s Head, not a tea party for your Daily Prophet.”
Sean was taken aback by the unexpected reply, barely able to respond before Albus continued, “If you don’t leave soon, it’ll be dark. Better to hit the road while you still can.”
At that moment, a noise came from the doorway.
The wizards who had escorted Rita out returned one by one, heading back toward the bar.
Seeing this, Sean quickly nodded, hurriedly said goodbye to Professor Morris, and turned to leave.
However, just as his foot crossed the threshold, the curiosity within him—like a cat—gave a sudden tug, making him stop and glance back.
That look stayed with him for many years to come.
Inside the tavern, the returning wizards all stood, forming a faint semicircle around Morris, who stood at the center.
Their expressions solemn and dignified, standing quietly and orderly, as if a sacred rite was quietly unfolding.
Such a scene was hard not to associate with—an envoy delivering the will of the divine.
Behind the bar, Albus watched coldly, clearly accustomed to such moments.
He said nothing, resumed wiping glasses, mumbling something so softly Sean couldn’t catch it.
And Morris, under the watchful eyes of those wizards, stood silently.
His figure stretched long in the dim light, motionless and speechless, simply standing there.