Marietta leaned in sneakily, gently nudging Cho Chang with her elbow. She brought her mouth close to Cho's ear and whispered with amusement, "He just said you're pretty, you know. That's what that comment about the owl meant."
Cho Chang's face immediately flushed pink color that spread from her cheeks down her neck, showing her embarrassment. Then shook her head.
"Stop teasing me, Marietta," she protested, keeping her voice low so Morris wouldn't overhear from across the table. "I really don't think that's what Morris meant at all."
Having shared Ravenclaw Tower with Morris Black for most of the school year now, Cho had developed a certain understanding of how his mind worked.
She had somewhat picked up on the fact that this particular black-haired boy's way of thinking and his points of focus always seemed subtly different from their peers, operating on a slightly different wavelength that made him simultaneously interesting and difficult to read.
That comment just now about the owl preferring pretty girls hadn't been intended as a compliment to her specifically. It had been a simple statement of observable fact delivered with detachment, the way someone might note that it was raining outside or that breakfast included porridge today.
"Could you pass me the package, please? Thank you," Morris said politely from across the table.
"Oh, of course, sure."
Cho Chang snapped back to attention, abandoning her speculation about Morris's possible intentions, and quickly reached for the package to hand it across to him.
During the exchange, as she lifted the package with both hands, her fingers accidentally brushed against the loose rope that tied the bag's opening. The knot wasn't tied particularly tightly and in a moment of pure carelessness combined with unfortunate timing, the rope slipped free.
Some of the package's contents immediately spilled out through the now-open top and tumbled onto the table between them.
It appeared to be some kind of fine white powder mixed with slightly larger granules.
"Ah, I'm so sorry!" Cho Chang apologized immediately.
She instinctively reached forward with both hands, scrambling to gather the scattered powder and granules before they spread further or fell onto anyone's breakfast plates.
"Don't touch it," Morris's voice cut through her frantic movements. His wand was already in his hand.
Morris lightly tapped the table's surface with the tip of his wand, and those scattered white fragments responded immediately to his spell. They quickly gathered themselves together, flowing across the wood like liquid, and floated back into the bag through its open mouth.
"Good thing none of it actually got on the food," Morris observed with genuine relief, carefully retightening the bag's rope opening, this time securing it with a proper knot that wouldn't slip free.
Cho Chang, still feeling embarrassed by her accident and slightly frightened by Morris's sharp tone, asked instinctively, "What exactly is that stuff? Is it poisonous? Should I wash my hands?"
Marietta nearby had also been watching the entire exchange with curiosity, leaned forward to get a better look at whatever Morris was keeping in that package.
"They're just potion ingredients, nothing particularly poisonous," Morris explained in a reassuring tone. "But eating them would definitely make you feel rather strange and probably quite unpleasant."
In fact, the substance in question was simply cremated human ashes—the remains of specific individuals who had died harboring particular emotional states that gave the ashes certain useful properties.
Even if someone had accidentally consumed some of the spilled powder, it wouldn't actually harm the human body in any medical sense. It would just be profoundly disturbing psychologically to know you'd eaten human remains, and might cause some uncomfortable sensations depending on how sensitive the person was.
The ashes he'd obtained earlier from those who died harboring hope for life were nearly used up.
After making inquiries through letters to Ezra Frick in Knockturn Alley, Morris had learned that he actually kept stock of such specialized ashes in his inventory. So Morris had placed an order.
According to Frick's somewhat rambling response letter, these particular ashes had been sitting untouched in his warehouse storage for nearly ten years without a single buyer showing interest. The market for human remains was apparently quite limited, even in Knockturn Alley's ethically flexible commercial environment.
The previous buyer, Frick had mentioned had been none other than Professor Severus Snape.
Truly worthy of a genuine Potions Master, Morris had thought when reading that detail. Snape apparently had no hesitation about adding all sorts of unconventional and ethically questionable ingredients into his experimental brews.
Speaking of Snape and potions, having brewed so much Draught of Living Death over the past months, Morris had come to understand the complex recipe quite thoroughly. He'd even conceived numerous potential ideas for modifications and improvements that might enhance the potion's effectiveness or reduce its substantial cost.
He had been planning to find an appropriate time to consult with Professor Snape to see if the traditional formula could be safely modified to enhance the potion's effects, perhaps allowing Morris to remain conscious in the limbo world for longer periods, or alternatively to reduce the exorbitant material costs that were eating into his limited budget.
After all, the materials required for a single properly brewed batch of Draught of Living Death were genuinely, painfully expensive. The sopophorous bean alone cost several Galleons per ounce, and the recipe required quite a lot of carefully extracted juice.
For instance, if only a cheaper substitute ingredient could be found for that sopophorous bean without compromising the potion's essential properties, the cost savings would be substantial and would allow Morris to brew far more frequently.
At midday, as the lunch period was just beginning and students were flooding toward the Great Hall in hungry crowds, Morris was walking through the corridor on the first floor of the main castle's central wing.
He spotted Professor Snape ahead, moving through the relatively empty corridor with his typical swift stride, black robes wafting behind him. He was clearly heading toward his office in the dungeons, probably to enjoy his lunch in private peace rather than the noise of the Great Hall.
Snape's expression was particularly icy even by his usual standards, and his pace looked like he was in a rather foul mood.
This was completely normal and expected, Morris thought, considering that Gryffindor had achieved a spectacular victory in yesterday's Quidditch match against Hufflepuff.
Morris quickened his pace slightly to catch up. "Professor Snape? Might I have a moment of your time?"
Snape turned his head slightly, his dark eyes were fixing on Morris with the intensity of someone examining an interesting but potentially annoying insect.
"What is it, Mr. Black?" His voice was cold and clipped, showing his patience was already thin.
"I wanted to discuss some theoretical modifications to the Draught of Living Death formula," Morris said quickly, before Snape could dismiss him.
When Morris fully presented his concept explaining his reasoning about ingredient substitutions, Snape's thin lips curled into a mocking smirk.
"How utterly fanciful and presumptuous, Black," he said with cutting sarcasm, his voice was dripping with disdain.
"The Draught of Living Death's formula has been refined over centuries by master potioneers far more experienced than yourself. It is already as near to perfection as mortal brewing can achieve. If you don't wish to injure yourself or others through your own misguided cleverness, you would be wise to shelve these foolish notions for now."
Despite this harsh dismissal, Snape hadn't simply walked away.
"But Professor, don't you think the sopophorous bean could potentially be substituted?" Morris persisted, paying no attention to Snape's impatient expression or dismissive tone.
"For example, the Somnivora bean might be able to partially simulate some key properties of sopophorous bean juice to a certain degree, at least for the drowsiness-inducing components? Theoretically, if we adjusted the proportions and perhaps added a stabilizing agent—"
While Snape and Morris continued their heated academic discussion in the corridor.
In the empty classroom directly adjacent to where they stood, three familiar figures were pressed against the wall with their ears close to the cold stone, eavesdropping intently on the conversation happening.
"Did you hear what Snape was saying clearly, Ron?" Harry whispered urgently, pressing his ear even more tightly against the wall as if that might improve the muffled audio quality.
"I heard the words, but I didn't fully understand what they meant," Ron said in a frustrated whisper. "Snape seems to just keep insulting Morris, but Morris keeps arguing back. Something about beans? Why are they talking about beans?"
Hermione glanced at Ron with exasperation, keeping her own voice low. "They're discussing the Draught of Living Death potion formula, obviously."
Her expression showed curiosity mixed with confusion. "Morris is proposing substitute ingredients. Sopophorous beans, Somnivora beans, adjusting preparation methods... well, I don't understand the details either, honestly. Our textbook hasn't covered this level yet."
Harry breathed a sigh of relief, his tense shoulders were relaxing slightly under his Gryffindor robes.
So Morris and Snape were just discussing academic matters. That wasn't particularly unusual or suspicious when he thought about it objectively.
Harry knew that Morris, much like Hermione, took his magical education extremely seriously, perhaps even more seriously than Hermione in some ways, given that Morris seemed to study topics far beyond the standard curriculum.
Though Harry couldn't imagine Hermione voluntarily seeking out Professor Snape in her spare time to discuss theoretical potion improvements.
Gradually, as they continued listening with varying degrees of understanding, the conversation beyond the wall became clearer and more audible, then faded again into indistinct murmurs, as if Morris was asking final clarifying questions and Snape was providing brief, reluctant responses.
Then they heard distinct footsteps departing.
The three eavesdroppers waited in tense silence for several moments, barely breathing, making certain both parties had truly left before they dared move from their hiding spot.
Just when they were beginning to relax and think everyone had safely departed, the classroom door suddenly swung open with a creak.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione all jumped in startled alarm, spinning around to face the unexpected intrusion.
Morris Black stood casually in the now-open doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and a small, knowing smile on his face. "Hello there," he greeted them pleasantly, as if encountering friends in a classroom rather than catching them in the act of spying.
An awkward, uncomfortable atmosphere instantly permeated the previously empty classroom.
Bright midday sunlight streamed through the dusty windows, illuminating countless dancing dust motes suspended in the still air, making them sparkle like tiny stars floating through the golden beams of light.
"Uh... hi, Morris," Harry managed after a moment, laughing nervously.
"Don't be so nervous," Morris said easily. He shrugged with casual unconcern. "Professor Snape didn't notice you three hiding in here eavesdropping. And I actually knew you were in here from the very beginning of our conversation."
Ron couldn't help stepping forward. His face was full of genuine incomprehension. "Morris, why do you insist on seeking out Snape to ask him potion questions?"
Morris gave Ron an odd, slightly confused look, as if the question made no sense. "If I don't ask him potion questions, who else would I possibly ask? Hogwarts doesn't have a second Potions professor."
The simple factual logic of this statement left Ron temporarily stumped, his mouth was opening and closing without producing any response. He clearly hadn't considered the obvious practicality of Morris's reasoning.
"Snape is dangerous, Morris," Hermione took over, stepping forward to speak with obvious seriousness and concern. "You need to trust us on this. It's best not to get too close to him under normal circumstances, and definitely don't spend more time around him than absolutely required for classes."
Morris shifted his weight, leaning more comfortably against the doorframe, his arms still crossed in a relaxed posture that showed he was willing to hear them out. "That's a strong claim. At the very least, you should tell me why you believe he's dangerous?"
The three Gryffindors looked at each other, exchanging glances, their eyes communicating silently as they reached some kind of consensus about how much to reveal and who should explain.
Harry took a deep breath, steeling himself, and began speaking.
"Let us explain everything from the beginning, Morris. Do you remember what Professor Dumbledore said at the start-of-term feast? About the fourth floor, specifically the corridor on the right-hand side being forbidden to all students unless they wish to die a most painful death?"
Morris nodded immediately. "Yes, I'm aware of the restriction. There's a massive three-headed dog up there."
"Wait, how do you know about the dog?" Ron blurted out, his eyes were widening with surprise. "We thought only we knew!"
Morris spread his hands in a gesture of obviousness. "I imagine quite a few people throughout the school know about it by now, actually. Although Dumbledore issued a warning, there are definitely curious students who've sneaked a look despite or because of the prohibition."
He was certain that far more than just himself, the twins, and Harry's group knew about the three-headed dog at Hogwarts.
"So what exactly are you trying to tell me?" Morris asked patiently, genuinely curious now about where this explanation was heading.
Harry glanced at his companions once more for confirmation, then shared his group's complete theory and accumulated evidence with Morris, laying out their entire chain of reasoning.
According to their investigation and deduction, what was currently hidden on the fourth floor of the castle was the legendary Philosopher's Stone belonging to Nicolas Flamel.
Furthermore, Snape was actively attempting to steal this priceless object for his own purposes, and had been blackmailing or coercing Professor Quirrell into helping him bypass the various protections Dumbledore had arranged.
Beyond that primary theory, Harry explained with conviction, Snape had also evidently cast a dark curse on Harry's broomstick during last term's Quidditch match against Slytherin.
"Now do you understand, Morris?" Ron said, waving his arms with an agitated, emphatic tone. "Snape is genuinely a dangerous character with dark intentions. You should stay as far away from him as possible."
Morris stood quietly for a moment, processing everything he'd just heard, his eyes were thoughtful.
Finally, he slowly nodded. "I understand, and I appreciate you warning me. I'll certainly be more careful going forward. Thank you for trusting me with this information."