As the lesson was drawing to a close, Frank gestured for everyone to stop practicing.
He stood on the podium, his gaze slowly sweeping across the class, and said in a deep voice:
"Remember one thing, children—true Defense Against the Dark Arts is not merely about how many spells you've mastered, or what kind of score you'll get in the upcoming exam…"
"What matters most is survival! It's whether, in the shortest possible time, you can make that one choice that will let you stay alive!"
"Remember to always hold on to the will to live, to fight for survival—and even more, to fight for the people behind you who need your protection!"
His voice echoed through the classroom. Many students couldn't help showing expressions of admiration. At that moment, one student raised his hand high.
Frank looked at him and said, "Mr. Goldstein, do you have a question?"
Anthony Goldstein stood up and said, "Professor Longbottom, we've all heard about what happened to you and your wife… They say you were badly injured and remained unconscious for so many years because you were fighting the Dark Wizard Lestrange…"
He spoke haltingly, and quite a few students instinctively turned to look at Malfoy.
Pure-Blood Clans generally have a treasured family register that records the tangled branches of bloodline connections between the families, but in the past people didn't deliberately bring it up.
However, once the Longbottoms appeared on campus, the reason the couple had vanished from society for more than ten years, the scars all over their bodies and their slow, measured speech, the ties between the Malfoy and Lestrange families, and so on, had long since become common knowledge.
And the better Franky and Alice revealed themselves to be, the more loathsome those who once harmed them appeared.
Bathed in those needle-prick gazes, Malfoy kept his face stern, said nothing, and did not respond to any glance, like a pale stone statue.
But Anthony's purpose in bringing this up was naturally not to publicly put his classmate on trial in the classroom.
His complexion was no better than Malfoy's; with a trace of pain and confusion in his expression, he asked:
"If survival is the most important thing, then why… why didn't you make the choice that could have kept you alive back then?"
The classroom fell deathly silent; even the sound of quills scratching on parchment vanished. Every gaze focused on Anthony, then swung sharply toward the podium.
There was no offended anger on Frank's face. He knew very well why Anthony asked, and he also knew Anthony's real question was not directed at him, but at that Auror from the United States who had sacrificed himself.
He was silent for a moment, resting both hands on the edge of the podium, his body leaning forward slightly, and said with great deliberation:
"An excellent question, Mr. Goldstein. It's also precisely what I was about to address—'being alive' and 'being able to breathe' are, at times, not the same thing."
"For human beings, there are many things more important than the continuation of an individual life."
He fixed Anthony—and many students who were shaken by this—with an especially forceful gaze:
"There are different dimensions of survival: the continuation of the body is one, the passing on of one's will is another, and the absolute refusal to compromise one's convictions… is yet another, and the most costly of all."
"So, when facing a choice, what we consider is—why do we want to 'stay alive'?"
"Once we understand this question, then in that moment, the choice we make is precisely the one that allows us to 'survive'—not as Frank and Alice, but as Aurors, as Warriors, as the future possibilities of those people we swore to protect!"
"So we choose to trade everything we have for a future in which everything apart from our lives… can go on."
After he finished speaking, Frank fell silent for quite a while. His chest rose and fell heavily, as though he were adjusting his breathing and tamping down some fierce emotion along with it.
It was only after a long moment that he spoke again: "So, children, the 'will to survive' is not a coward's excuse. It's not something that lets you think only of saving yourselves when danger comes, nor is it something that makes you kneel before evil and injustice!"
"It is what allows you, in the darkest, most hopeless hour, to clearly distinguish: what is the true 'path to life'? Is it clinging to a shameful existence only to be devoured and assimilated, or is it exhausting everything to protect what must be protected?"
His gaze, seemingly unintentionally yet clearly, swept past Vid's direction once more. "Of course, I hope you will never have to face such a cruel choice. But if, one day in the future, fate pushes you to such a crossroads…"
"I hope you will remember what I have said today, and make a choice that will allow your heart to remain whole for the rest of your days, one that will not cause you to utterly condemn yourself in the stillness of midnight."
…
Amid the unusually heavy atmosphere, the bell rang for the end of class, and the students packed up and left one after another.
Vid also put his things away and moved toward the door with the flow of people. As he passed the podium, Frank suddenly said:
"Mr. Gray, please stay for a moment."
Vid stopped walking. Michael was already used to this—these past few days, every time Vid went to a classroom, the professor would keep him back to say a few words.
So he slung his bag over his shoulder, waved to Vid, and hurried out to catch up with Daphne in front.
Once all the other students had left and the door had been gently closed, Vid asked, "Professor, did you need something from me?"
The severe expression on Frank's face softened. Looking at him, he said, "I've heard from several professors that your rate of progress far exceeds everyone else's, so you're free to choose whether to attend class. Mr. Moody also said you've already mastered the lessons you missed earlier."
"That's right," Vid said. "If you think it's necessary, I can demonstrate."
Frank shook his head lightly. "No, that won't be necessary. I trust Mr. Moody's judgment. You've already demonstrated your level in today's class as well."
He took a handwritten Notebook from his bag and handed it to Vid:
"I've heard you're very fond of reading. This is a collection of practical spells and reflections that I compiled based on my Auror experience and a few lessons learned firsthand."
He smiled, his expression notably open and unreserved:
"Perhaps you've already mastered most of what's in here, and may even have more refined insights. But I hope—that even if only one or two sentences prove useful—I hope it will bring you some help in the future."
Vid accepted the heavy Notebook with both hands. He lifted his eyes, and his gaze met the gentle look of Frank Longbottom.
"You're far too modest, Professor. There's nothing like this record of an outstanding Auror's experience anywhere in the school. Truly… thank you."
…
As the night lamps were being lit outside, Vid was sitting by the window, carefully leafing through Frank's notebook, when he suddenly heard a "tock, tock, tock."
He turned around and saw his owl standing outside the dark windowpane, tapping the glass with its hard beak.
"Eva?" Vid opened the window to let the owl fly in, and said in surprise, "I'll be going home in a few days—why have you come now?"
The owl, of course, couldn't answer him. It only swiveled its head, fixed its round eyes on its master, lifted one claw, and let out a low "coo-oo."
"Did Father send you with this? What's inside?"
Vid spoke as he untied the small dark suede pouch, roughly the size of a palm. Inside was a note from his father Ferdinand, and a Crystal Bottle the length of a finger.
[Vid, this is something that was delivered to our home, specifically addressed to you, and said to be extremely urgent. Eva has been a bit agitated lately, probably missing you, so I let her make a trip.
Also, examine it carefully. If there's any danger, don't handle it on your own—remember to go to a professor!
—Ferdinand.]
Vid took out the Crystal Bottle and saw that a silvery liquid was slowly flowing inside. Unlike the clear brightness it normally had, it looked a little murky, its glow somewhat dimmed.
On the stopper, two tiny letters were engraved—
V.N.
This was from Vine… in other words, from Braun.
A bottle of memory.