Morris admitted that he was startled by those words.
He quickly composed himself and pressed on, asking, "Kill you… what does that mean?"
If he wasn't mistaken, Professor Binns was a genuine ghost. Logically speaking, a ghost was already dead—so how could one be killed again? It didn't make sense.
He needed a clearer explanation.
Professor Binns seemed to have anticipated Morris's reaction. Stroking his beard thoughtfully, he spoke in a steady, unhurried voice.
"I think you should know that not all deceased individuals become ghosts. A ghost is the result of someone actively choosing to remain in the living world after death."
He paused for a moment, as if recalling something distant.
"If I were to explain it in detail, it would take us back to the founding of Hogwarts. Simply put, I became a ghost because I was cursed. Personally speaking… I never had any intention of becoming one."
"What's worse," he continued calmly, "is that a ghost like me has no way to end his own existence."
Morris nodded slowly, understanding Professor Binns's meaning.
Becoming a ghost due to a curse… that truly was tragic.
Even suicide was impossible.
On impulse, Morris reached out and tried to touch Professor Binns, but as expected, his hand passed straight through the ghost's translucent body.
As everyone knew, ordinary people could not touch ghosts—naturally, they couldn't "kill" them either.
But Morris was a Necromancer.
He believed that one day, he would be able to do it.
"If it doesn't require me to pay some unbearable price," Morris said seriously, "I'd be happy to help you, Professor Binns."
He had always been the helpful type.
Upon receiving this affirmative answer, Professor Binns smiled faintly and narrowed his eyes.
"Thank you," he said. "Of course, this will have to wait until you are capable of doing so. It might take a few years… a few decades… or perhaps not even happen within your lifetime."
"I will work hard," Morris replied earnestly.
Professor Binns raised his hand and patted Morris on the shoulder with satisfaction—though, once again, his hand passed straight through.
"If you truly succeed, Morris," he said in a mysterious tone, "when you finally break the curse binding me and allow me to find peace… I will give you a surprise as your reward."
"A surprise?" Morris was taken aback. "What kind of surprise?"
"It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you," Professor Binns replied, a trace of slyness flashing through his eyes. For a brief moment, he looked almost alive. "Please look forward to it."
Morris wanted to ask more, but Professor Binns waved his hand gently.
"That's enough for now. After speaking for so long, my head is beginning to ache. I can't maintain this state for much longer."
"Goodbye, Morris."
As his voice faded, the lively expression on his face vanished instantly, replaced by the hollow, indifferent look he usually wore during class.
"Professor Binns?" Morris waved his hand in front of the ghost's eyes.
The ghostly professor merely gave a slight nod before his body merged into the blackboard and disappeared.
Morris felt somewhat helpless.
Yet he could vaguely sense it.
Professor Binns had two faces.
One was the version seen during lessons—devoid of emotion, like a rigid teaching machine operating strictly according to a preset program. The other was the version who had spoken with him just now—expressive, gentle, and warm, giving Morris the feeling of a kind old grandfather from the neighborhood.
What a peculiar ghost.
Fortunately, the agreement with Professor Binns didn't affect Morris's daily life.
A week passed in the blink of an eye, and Morris had now experienced all of the Hogwarts courses at least once.
There were eight subjects that first-year students needed to study: Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy, History of Magic, and Flying.
The professor for Charms was Filius Flitwick, whom Morris had already met before—and he truly lived up to his reputation.
Once, Morris's pet cat, Canned Food, had attempted to scratch Professor Flitwick's beard. It hadn't been Morris's idea at all. Yet before the cat's paw could even get close, it was knocked unconscious by a Stupefy spell.
The speed of the spell was terrifying—so fast that its trajectory was completely invisible.
There wasn't much to say about Astronomy or Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Astronomy consisted mainly of stargazing, while Defense Against the Dark Arts was taught by a stuttering professor named Quirrell, who simply followed the textbook word for word. It was pointless—and somehow even more boring than History of Magic.
Of course, no one dared to fall asleep.
The strange, pungent smell of garlic clinging to Professor Quirrell was more than enough to keep everyone awake.
What concerned Morris the most, however, was the Potions class.
Potion brewing was a precise and demanding art.
Morris had only tried it once, yet he was already deeply interested.
Processing ingredients, mixing them in exact proportions, and stirring at precise intervals to ultimately achieve a definite and predictable result—this entire process, filled with logic and control, fascinated him.
The professor in charge of the course, Severus Snape, appeared to be an extremely harsh individual. He criticized and mocked any mistake without restraint.
Surprisingly, Morris didn't dislike this type of professor.
Moreover, Snape gave off a terrifyingly powerful presence, especially when those sharp, penetrating eyes swept across the classroom.
For some reason, though, he seemed to pay particular attention to Harry Potter.
Or rather… hostility.
As if Harry were the child of a sworn enemy.
September 7th, Saturday.
This was Morris's first weekend at Hogwarts.
Students were not allowed to leave the school grounds at will. Only upper-year students could visit the nearby Hogsmeade Village, and only at specific times.
Fortunately, thanks to the existence of magic, extracurricular activities within the castle itself were rich and varied.
Morris took the opportunity to stroll through the castle, something he hadn't done properly in quite some time.
Of course, he wasn't simply wandering aimlessly.
As he walked, his mind remained focused on a single thing.
That was the new content that had appeared in the Book of the Mage—the Door of Two Realms.
Morris's intuition told him that this magic circle was extraordinary, and more importantly, a spell he had to master.
Unfortunately, the requirements for activating it were far too harsh.
It required being used in a state of death.
Morris had no intention of seeking death anytime soon, so he could only rely on alternative methods.
For example—suspended animation.
Yes, suspended animation seemed like a promising choice.
The reason magic was called magic was precisely because it made the impossible possible.
Since phenomena like ghosts existed, simulating a state of death didn't seem entirely unimaginable.
With that thought in mind, Morris decided to seek out someone who might be able to help him.
In truth, he didn't have many friends he could rely on.
So he headed toward the Trophy Room—where two unfortunate individuals were currently being punished by Professor Flitwick.
The moment Morris stepped inside, he saw two red-haired figures squatting on the floor, scrubbing trophies with rags in hand.
George—or Fred—was attempting to smear a glob of foamy polish onto Fred's—or George's—nose, while the other deftly dodged.
"Oi, look who's here!" one of them exclaimed, looking up with bright eyes. "You actually came to help us? You're a real pal, Morris!"
Before Morris could respond, a rag was shoved into his hands.
And just like that, he joined the ranks of trophy scrubbers—entirely against his will.
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