"I can indeed hide myself within shadows," Morris explained, keeping his tone straightforward and slightly casual. "It comes naturally to me, has since I was quite young."
The matter of the Mage's Book was something he absolutely could not and would not mention under any circumstances, of course. That Book with its necromantic spells and questionable origins was a can of worms that, once opened, would create questions with no satisfactory answers.
For now, a casual deflection built on partial truth would have to suffice.
Besides, from a purely practical and objective standpoint, Shadow Concealment wasn't a particularly dangerous or morally questionable kind of magic compared to actual dark curses or mind control.
"Naturally?" Dumbledore repeated thoughtfully as he gave Morris a look. "Not learned from any book, and not taught by any person?"
"That's right," Morris said with certainty and unflinching eye contact.
In this magical world, Morris knew, there existed wizards and witches born with highly unusual, specific magical abilities that manifested without instruction or external magical influence. These gifts were simply part of their nature that emerged spontaneously rather than through learning.
He had come across many such examples in books.
Take Metamorphmagi, for the most obvious known instance: rare wizards born with the extraordinary innate ability to change their physical appearance at will, altering features, coloring, even body structure through pure magical instinct rather than transfiguration.
As long as Morris insisted his shadow magic was a natural talent that had simply always been present, he could spare himself a great deal impossible explanation. After all, in the wizarding world where people could transform into animals and paintings could hold conversations and staircases moved on their own, strange abilities were perfectly ordinary.
Dumbledore nodded slowly, seemingly lost in some thought or perhaps comparing Morris's claim against his magical knowledge and experience.
"As long as it wasn't learned from somewhere particularly unsavory," he said finally, his tone remaining gentle. "I heard from your Potions professor that he once spotted you in Knockturn Alley. Severus was quite... surprised to encounter a first-year student in such a location."
A genuine flash of embarrassment appeared across Morris's face.
"About that incident—I really wasn't doing anything wrong," Morris said quickly
"I know," Dumbledore said gently. "Severus explained the circumstances to me in full. He told me you had found a few days' casual work there with a merchant. Even so—"
His voice took on a more serious note of warning, "—I must remind you that Knockturn Alley is not a suitable or safe place for any student to be working."
He paused, and something complicated passed across his face.
"I knew a student once, many years ago, who also worked in Knockturn Alley during his school years," Dumbledore continued softly. "He was a remarkably gifted child, extraordinarily talented in magic, brilliant in ways that made his professors proud. But regrettably, he eventually strayed down the wrong path. That environment, those influences, contributed to choices that destroyed lives."
The silence that followed this statement was heavy.
"Who was that student?" Morris asked, his curiosity genuinely piqued despite the gravity of the moment.
Dumbledore simply shook his head slowly, and said nothing more on the subject.
'Surely not Voldemort?' Morris thought with sudden certainty.
He kept this speculation entirely private and said aloud instead: "I'll be extremely careful going forward, Professor. I genuinely was only there to earn a bit of badly needed pocket money."
"Good," Dumbledore replied, his tone warming again slightly. "That's all I ask of you—caution and good judgment."
At precisely that moment, Morris suddenly sensed something distinctly off.
An unfamiliar magical force was quietly pressing toward the edges of his consciousness.
'!'
His heart lurched violently in his chest, adrenaline flooding his system.
Dumbledore was attempting Legilimency on him. Right now. During this seemingly casual conversation.
No wonder my mind had been feeling strangely itchy for a while, like an almost-sneeze that wouldn't quite manifest.
So that was the source of that odd sensation he'd been unconsciously trying to identify.
Still, Morris's mental fortitude far exceeded that of any ordinary eleven-year-old child, or even most adults for that matter. The combined wisdom and self-discipline of two lifetimes, decades of accumulated consciousness, had given him an unusually resilient and organized mind.
A gentle exploratory intrusion like Dumbledore's probably wouldn't successfully extract anything meaningful before Morris could raise defenses or at least muddy the waters enough to prevent clear reading.
Morris cleared his throat softly, drawing Dumbledore's attention, and spoke in a slow tone.
"Headmaster, I'm only a first-year student. Surely there's no need to be reading my memories?"
Dumbledore's movements paused subtly.
The gentle magical pressure that had been testing Morris's mental boundaries withdrew at once, pulling back completely and vanishing without a trace, as though it had never existed or been attempted.
"Your perception is remarkably sharp for someone so young, Morris," Dumbledore acknowledged this openly without any attempt at denial, his tone was actually carrying a note of genuine admiration.
"Most adult wizards, even those with considerable magical training and experience, fail to detect Legilimency when it's being performed with any degree of subtlety."
"I'm naturally more sensitive to magic and its movements than most people seem to be," Morris explained.
"A rare gift indeed," Dumbledore nodded, his expression entirely untroubled and open.
There was not even a trace of embarrassment or discomfort at being caught.
"Please forgive my actions. The safety of the Philosopher's Stone demands considerable caution, and I needed to verify certain aspects of your story and intentions. However, I give you my word—I promise I will not attempt any further form of probing magic on you without your explicit consent."
"It's quite all right, Headmaster," Morris replied with composure, maintaining his respectful student demeanor. "I understand the necessity. I don't mind the attempt."
'That was a complete lie, naturally.'
Being caught and cornered by Dumbledore in this chamber, left Morris with little room to do more than silently fume while maintaining an appearance of acceptance and understanding.
Legilimency was an unquestionably offensive magical act—a profound violation of the mind.
Had Morris's mental defenses been any weaker, had his consciousness been that of an actual eleven-year-old rather than someone with adult memories and discipline, he would have been in serious trouble. Dumbledore would have discovered everything.
Never mind the Mage's Book with its necromantic spells—Morris's identity as a transmigrator, as someone who had lived an entire previous life in a different world and different time would have landed him in an absolutely impossible situation with no credible explanation.
What could he possibly have said if that had been discovered? That he suffered from delusions and constructed memories? That he was possessed by the ghost of an Australian financial analyst from the 21st century? That he'd somehow been reincarnated and remembered everything?
Any of those explanations would have ended very badly, probably with him being committed to St. Mungo's for intensive psychological evaluation or being examined by Unspeakables interested in incredible phenomena.
He would need to be far, far more careful going forward. This had been closer to disaster than he'd realized in the moment.
Dumbledore's Legilimency had been gentle—clearly restrained and exploratory rather than forceful extraction.
A dark wizard in Dumbledore's position would have been nothing like so restrained or gentle. They would have simply ripped the information they wanted from Morris's mind regardless of the psychological damage such violent intrusion would cause.
After a brief silence, Dumbledore shifted gears.
"Morris, I have a particular spell that may suit you. I'd like to show it to you."
Without waiting for Morris's agreement, he drew his wand from within his robes and gave it a light flick.
Morris could feel it clearly: a current of magic gathering at Dumbledore's wand tip.
The force that accumulated there was invisible to normal sight, utterly colorless and transparent, but to Morris's senses it appeared as pure, concentrated magical energy.
"Can you sense this?" Dumbledore asked, holding the spell at his wand tip without releasing it, allowing Morris to study.
"Yes," Morris answered immediately then wore a puzzled expression. "But why are you showing me this?"
"Because I have reason to believe you may need to know it," Dumbledore said somewhat cryptically. "The incantation is Magicam Revelare. Come now, take out your wand. Given your sensitivity and control, this should be quite simple for you to master."
Morris obediently drew his wand from his robes
Dumbledore performed the spell once more as a demonstration so Morris could observe every detail of the wand gesture and the precise pronunciation of the Latin incantation.
Morris watched with intense focus. Then he mimicked the wand movement as precisely as he could manage and spoke the incantation with clear pronunciation.
"Magicam Revelare!"
In an instant, the same quality of magical energy that Dumbledore had demonstrated gathered smoothly at Morris's wand-tip.
'A spell with no immediately obvious practical purpose,' Morris thought with mild confusion as he examined the magical thing he'd just created.
Why had Dumbledore gone specifically out of his way to teach him this particular spell rather than something more obviously useful?
"Very good indeed," Dumbledore said, and he appeared genuinely pleased with both the speed of Morris's learning and the quality of his first casting.
"Good in what way?" Morris asked with instinctive directness.
"Allow me to explain," Dumbledore said. "This spell causes one's magical aura to express and make visible the state of one's soul. And crucially, the souls of those who have regularly practiced the Dark Arts are fundamentally different in character from ordinary wizards' souls.."
Morris finally understood.
'Oh.'
Dumbledore had just performed a sophisticated magical background check. He had been testing whether Morris had ever dabbled in actual Dark Arts.
Fortunately, fortunately, everything Morris had learned from the Mage's Book was wholly and technically unrelated to what the wizarding world classified as "Dark Arts" in the formal sense.
Necromancy occupied a strange grey area, considered uncanny and disturbing and morbid, but not actually Dark Magic in the same category as Unforgivable Curses.
His soul remained unmarked by that particular stain.
"I'm relieved and genuinely glad to see that Knockturn Alley hasn't led you astray down darker paths," Dumbledore said with what sounded like warm, authentic relief. "Whatever you learned or observed there, you had the wisdom not to attempt anything that would damage your soul."
"I told you truthfully, Headmaster—I was only there for the Galleons," Morris said with a slight shrug. "If it weren't for the gold galleons I needed, who in their right mind would willingly set foot in a place like that?"
It was an honest answer, even if it wasn't entirely...
Well. Entirely sensible from an adult perspective.
What responsible person sends an eleven-year-old child to work in what was the magical world's most dangerous black market district?
Exactly.
"Don't go back to Knockturn Alley, Morris," Dumbledore said firmly. "Though Severus tells me your employer there was decent enough in character and didn't attempt to harm or exploit you, that was good fortune on your part. Good fortune, however, doesn't reliably come twice. Next time you might encounter someone considerably less scrupulous."
"I understand, Headmaster," Morris gave a dutiful nod.
'Not going back to Knockturn Alley? That's completely impossible.'
Not unless Galleons started falling from the sky.
In the end, Morris did not obtain the Philosopher's Stone. He hadn't even successfully seen it or confirmed its physical form, never getting past Dumbledore's elegant magical protection that bound the artifact to impossible-to-satisfy conditions.
The silver lining was that Dumbledore had ultimately imposed no formal punishment beyond verbal warnings. He had only instructed Morris to tell no one what had happened tonight and to completely abandon any further designs involving the Philosopher's Stone.
Morris had agreed verbally.
Privately, Morris was absolutely resolute: he was not giving up on at least witnessing the Stone.
There was, as Dumbledore had explained, a specific magical condition to retrieving the Philosopher's Stone from the Mirror of Erised: only someone who truly desired the Stone but simultaneously had no intention of actually using it for personal gain could draw it forth from the enchanted glass.
Who, then, in all of Hogwarts, would fit that seemingly paradoxical description?
The answer was obvious.
Harry Potter.
The Boy Who Lived. The protagonist of whatever grand story was unfolding this year.
Morris had already guessed, how this tired, predictable story would ultimately end: Harry Potter would somehow obtain the Philosopher's Stone through protagonist luck and story's necessity, and would use it to shatter whatever villain's scheme was in motion.
Heroes always won in their own stories.
Which meant that all Morris needed to do, strategically speaking, was follow carefully in Harry's trail at the critical moment. And in all likelihood, he would finally witness the legendary Philosopher's Stone with his own eyes.
There would be an opportunity.
He only needed to wait patiently for the right moment, and be prepared to act when that moment arrived.