Chapter 5: Three Conditions

Dumbledore listened, a look of gratification blooming on his face.

He watched Morris quietly, as if, through these words, he could see a young, idealistic boy standing before him once again.

Just as it had been back then.

"A very good answer, Morris," Dumbledore said with a gentle nod. "It is precisely for this reason that I believe you are capable of teaching this course. The very existence of this subject is to help our students learn to think and to understand the world—both magical and non-magical."

To be frank, the reasons behind the current state of affairs were not merely Dumbledore’s desire to save a young man.

There was another factor influencing his decision—for some reason, Dumbledore felt that certain events were destined to unfold in the coming years.

It was an ethereal, inexplicable feeling.

Yet, as the most renowned white wizard in the magical world, Dumbledore had always placed immense faith in the existence of such premonitions.

Fate.

Yes, that ethereal, inexplicable feeling was called fate.

After eleven long years, he felt the presence of fate once more.

Morris nodded slightly, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his teacup as if lost in thought. Then, he looked up and said solemnly, "Rest assured, Professor Dumbledore, I will do my best to teach this course well."

"I have never doubted it," Dumbledore replied.

"Since it is an elective, I assume the students' course selections were finalized at the end of last term?" Morris asked, a thought suddenly occurring to him.

"That is indeed the case," Dumbledore nodded. "Therefore, to ensure you have a good start, I intend to allow the students to reconsider their elective choices after the opening ceremony. Believe me, Professor Morris, your course will pique their interest."

"Certainly," Morris affirmed.

When it came to persuading others, he had never once doubted himself.

Hearing Morris's categorical answer, Dumbledore’s smile deepened. He watched Morris with a gentle gaze, though a moment later, his expression turned serious. "However, before you begin, I would like you to agree to three conditions."

"Oh?" Morris was intrigued. "Three conditions? That doesn't sound like your usual style."

"Yes, three conditions," Dumbledore repeated. "None of them are harsh, but they may help you integrate better into this castle and put my mind slightly more at ease."

"I am all ears," Morris said, gesturing for him to continue.

Dumbledore sighed softly, weighing every word. "First, no matter what happens, please remember that the growth of the students is always more important than the transmission of knowledge."

Morris was taken aback for a moment, then nodded thoughtfully. "That doesn't sound difficult."

"Second," Dumbledore continued, a glint of mischief in his eyes, "no matter what, you must attend every Hogwarts staff and student gathering, including the opening feast, the Christmas banquet, and all other important holidays."

"What for?" Morris asked, surprised.

"So that the students know their Professor of Wizarding Sociology is also a person they can trust," Dumbledore said meaningfully. "You may not understand it, but the atmosphere at Hogwarts often allows people to find a sense of belonging."

Morris’s mouth twitched. He said nothing, merely marveling once more at the old man’s stubbornness.

"Third," Dumbledore slowed his pace, his eyes locking with Morris's, "please remember—no matter what you have experienced in the past, no matter how much you doubt yourself, you still belong here. Hogwarts will always welcome you, Morris."

Morris was completely stunned. His fingertips stopped tapping the chair, and he could no longer hide the expression on his face.

After a long silence, he said softly, "These three conditions are... far more clever than I anticipated."

"Some things are harder to predict than 'Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans,' but they are often more meaningful," Dumbledore winked, his gaze holding a rare touch of playfulness.

Morris lowered his head and sighed, then looked up, the smile that seemed permanently etched onto his face returning. "Very well, Professor Dumbledore, I agree to all three of your conditions. However... I must warn you in advance: if I make a mess of things, you will have to take the responsibility for it."

"That goes without saying," Dumbledore replied, his smile overflowing with contentment. He extended his weather-beaten hand toward Morris. "Welcome, Professor Morris."

Looking at the hand so close to him, Morris did not hesitate. He reached out, and the two hands—one large, one small—met in the air and clasped firmly together.

...

As Morris left the headmaster's office, he was met by a middle-aged witch wearing neat black robes. Her hair was pulled up, giving her a capable and stern appearance.

"Professor... Morris?" She stopped before him, observing him closely with a scrutiny that was quickly masked.

"Professor McGonagall." Morris recognized her and gave a polite nod.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts." McGonagall nodded and handed Morris a piece of parchment. "This is your schedule and the location of your office. I have been assigned to help you familiarize yourself with the school, though if you still remember the way, you may proceed on your own."

Morris took the parchment and glanced at it; it was filled with times and locations.

He noted that his office was located in a remote tower in a corner of Hogwarts, separated from the other professors' quarters, but he said nothing, merely smiling. "Thank you, I believe I remember the way."

McGonagall nodded and turned to leave, but after a few steps, she paused and looked back at him. "Professor Morris, I hope you understand that every professor at Hogwarts is not merely a source of knowledge, but a guide for the students. You will find this is not an easy job, but perhaps... it is exactly what you need."

Morris was silent for a moment, then nodded slightly. "I will keep that in mind, Professor McGonagall."

Watching her silhouette disappear in front of the headmaster's office, Morris couldn't help but marvel at the passage of time.

That stern Transfiguration professor from all those years ago seemed not to have changed a bit.

But what about him?

He looked down at his own rough hands and the faint scars on his wrists, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

...

Elsewhere, the atmosphere in the headmaster's office was somewhat heavy.

Professor McGonagall walked into the room with a hurried stride, her expression laced with unconcealed anxiety.

"Albus," McGonagall began, her tone carrying its usual sternness mingled with hesitation. "I must be honest—I am concerned about Morris's arrival."

Dumbledore slowly looked up, his deep blue eyes calm behind his half-moon spectacles as he gazed at her. "What is your concern, Minerva?"

"You know, Albus," McGonagall frowned, her voice slightly urgent. "The name 'Byrne Morris' has caused so much controversy in the wizarding world. His departure, his actions last year... even his later imprisonment in Azkaban—these things are still the talk of the wizarding world today. Bringing him back to teach at Hogwarts, won't this cause unnecessary trouble? Especially with the parents—have you considered how they will react when they hear that someone who came out of Azkaban will be their children's professor?"

Dumbledore listened, his expression never wavering—he had weighed these questions long ago.

"Minerva, I understand your concerns, but it is precisely because of those misunderstandings and controversies that Morris needs this opportunity. He needs Hogwarts, and Hogwarts, in turn, needs him."

McGonagall’s brow furrowed deeper. "But Albus, how can you be sure he won't become a liability for Hogwarts? When he left, many said he had gone too far, and his return... his past will become a point of contention between students and staff."

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, then slowly rose and walked to the window, his gaze traveling through the tall panes to the rolling mountains in the distance.

The rays of the setting sun illuminated his silver-white hair, making it look exceptionally bright.

"You are right, Minerva," he finally spoke. "Morris was once lost, but who hasn't had moments of confusion? The mistakes he made may be more notable than others, but the wisdom, foresight, and profound understanding of wizarding society he possesses are what Hogwarts needs."

Dumbledore turned to face McGonagall. "You call him trouble, but sometimes, trouble is the catalyst for change. I believe he will find his place here."

This time, it was McGonagall who fell silent.

Dumbledore’s words were like a key, slowly prying open the sturdy lock in her heart called "prejudice."

Although she was not yet fully convinced, Dumbledore’s words left her with no easy rebuttal.

"Albus," McGonagall sighed, her tone finally softening. "I know you have always trusted those you value, but I hope you understand that if something were to happen to Morris, the consequences..."

"I will bear them," Dumbledore interrupted, smiling. "Just as I have always done."

McGonagall looked at him, and in the end, she said nothing more, merely nodding slightly in concession.

She knew she could not shake the old man’s resolve, just as had been the case countless times over the years.

"Albus," McGonagall asked, a sudden thought occurring to her. "What about Potter? Who will go to fetch him for school?"

"I have just asked Morris to go," Dumbledore replied nonchalantly, as if this were the most natural arrangement in the world.

"Morris?" McGonagall was visibly stunned, her brow furrowing once more. "But... I recall Hagrid saying he very much wanted to be the one to fetch Harry."

"Indeed, Hagrid did mention it," Dumbledore nodded. "But I will explain it to him later. I believe Hagrid will understand. Sending Morris is the most appropriate choice this time—just as it was for that other matter."

McGonagall’s brow did not unfurl, but she clearly did not wish to dwell on the issue.

She was silent for a moment, then sighed. "I hope so." With that, she took a small metal object from her black robes and placed it gently on Dumbledore's desk.

It was a Time-Turner.

"This term," McGonagall said softly, "no students have signed up for an excessive number of courses, so there is no need for a Time-Turner to be allocated to them. I am returning it to you to avoid another accident like the last one while it sits idle."

Dumbledore looked down at the Time-Turner and nodded slightly. "Very good, Minerva. Safety is paramount."

McGonagall straightened up, smoothing the wrinkles in her robes, and looked at Dumbledore with a complicated expression. "In that case, I will not disturb you further. I hope these arrangements of yours do not leave me, as Deputy Headmistress, with endless trouble to handle."

"Rest assured, Minerva, everything is going according to plan."

McGonagall said nothing more, nodded slightly, and left the headmaster's office.

The door closed softly behind her, and the room returned to silence.

Dumbledore stood where he was, his gaze fixed on the Time-Turner on the desk, his fingertips brushing lightly over the metal surface—where a long, thin crack ran across it.

"Morris..." he whispered the name, turned, and walked to the window, his gaze cast toward the distant Hogwarts courtyard, lost in thought.

...

The office was located on the top floor of an old tower, with a small sign hanging on the door, marked in scribbled handwriting: "Wizarding Sociology—Professor Byrne Morris."

He pushed the door open and found the space much more spacious than he had imagined. The bookshelves were already filled with various magical texts, and a large wooden desk sat in the center, scattered with a few sheets of blank parchment and a quill.

Beyond the window lay the vast Hogwarts lake, its surface shimmering in the sunlight—a truly refreshing sight.

Morris set down his documents and walked over to the bookshelf, pulling out a book at random.

He flipped through the pages, only to find an old photograph tucked inside the first page.

The people in the photo were clearly students from many years ago. Two young boys were laughing at the camera, and standing between them was a boy with a radiant smile on his face.

It was himself.

Morris stared at the photo for a long time, finally tucking it back into the book and carefully returning the book to its place.

Having done this, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

A short nap.

He had to go pick up Harry this evening—it was his first task since joining the staff at Hogwarts, and he couldn't afford to mess it up.

At the thought of the Savior who had been locked away in a cupboard for eleven years, an inexplicable smile slowly crept onto Morris's face.