After lunch, Morris handed the Acromantula over to the Weasley Twins and, in return, received a large box of Fainting Fancies.
It was a favorable trade.
Morris was genuinely curious about the magical candy the Twins had created, and to his surprise, the taste was delightful. As for the Acromantula—he didn't mind if the Twins ended up killing it. Worst-case scenario, he could always venture into the Forbidden Forest to catch another one in his free time. Judging by the one he had stumbled upon by the roadside earlier, there were likely plenty of them.
As for the Principal's warning at the start of term about staying out of the Forbidden Forest? Morris didn't take it seriously. As long as he wasn't caught, he considered himself a law-abiding, responsible student.
Herbology class was up next.
The course was taught by Professor Pomona Sprout, the Hufflepuff Head and a witch known for her short, plump stature, frizzy brown hair, and approachable demeanor. Today's lesson focused on a plant called Dittany.
Students were required to learn how to use Dittany for simple wound treatment—simulated practice, of course, as no one was actually made to get hurt.
The procedure was simple: crush the Dittany and apply it to the wound.
Morris, always eager to test magic firsthand, deliberately scratched his own arm with a thorny vine. Within minutes, his minor wound had completely healed, leaving no trace behind. The effectiveness of Dittany far exceeded any medicine he had ever encountered. He made a mental note to keep some on hand at all times. After all, in the world of magic, injuries were never entirely avoidable.
After dinner, Morris returned directly to his dormitory. He opened the box of Fainting Fancies, unwrapped a piece, and popped it into his mouth. The strangely addictive swelling sensation on his tongue made him stretch lazily.
"An extraordinary day," he murmured to himself.
Indeed, his first day at Hogwarts had been eventful: he had even survived an attack by a Centaur. Clearly, the wizarding world was more dangerous than he had imagined. He realized that improving his own strength—particularly in self-defense and escape—was essential.
"Book of the Mage," he thought.
Almost immediately, the book emerged in his mind. He was ready to practice a new spell: the Shadow Concealment Charm.
As the name implied, this spell allowed the user to hide within shadows. However, the magic was far more complex than the two curses he had already learned. Constructing the Spell Model required intense focus and precision.
If the previous curses were akin to writing a sentence, this spell was like painting a detailed portrait. Both required skill, but this was in an entirely different dimension of difficulty.
"Let's give it a try," he said.
Morris waved his wand and extinguished all the lights in the room. Darkness improved the spell's effectiveness.
Half an hour passed. After a dozen failed attempts, he finally succeeded in constructing the Spell Model. A note at the end of the spell cautioned against incanting it during use.
The reason was clear: a spell intended to conceal one's presence would lose its effectiveness if preceded by a vocal incantation. In moments of crisis, even the slightest sound could be dangerous. Of course, at this preliminary stage, he still relied on the incantation for guidance. After all, one must crawl before learning to walk.
Interestingly, Morris could now cast the Weakening Curse and Wailing Curse silently, though their power diminished without an incantation.
"Shadow Concealment Charm!" he shouted.
Immediately, an unexplainable force enveloped him, pressing from all sides. He knew the spell had succeeded. The pressure intensified rapidly, until his vision blackened, and he felt as though he had been stuffed into an impossibly tight, cold box.
He had truly entered the shadows.
From an outside perspective, it appeared as if a layer of black cloth had descended over him, then warped and disappeared.
"Is this what the Shadow Concealment Charm feels like?" Morris muttered.
On paper, merging with shadows sounded like an incredibly powerful ability. In reality, it was torture. Imagine being forced into a suitcase the exact size of your body—the cramped, suffocating pressure, the constant resistance to every movement.
For about a hundred and fifty seconds, he waded through the viscous, oppressive darkness.
Finally, he exhaled in relief and canceled the spell. When he reappeared, he had shifted from the bedside to near the door, a fine layer of sweat covering his forehead.
Entering shadows, it seemed, was a harrowing experience. He wondered why Fireworks could find this process relaxing or enjoyable.
After finishing his practice with the Shadow Concealment Charm, Morris lay back on his bed and turned to the miscellaneous books he had brought along. Today, he picked up a history book about famous wizards: The One Hundred Most Famous Wizards in History.
Having been raised in Muggle culture, he felt it necessary to familiarize himself with wizarding society through literature.
The name Albus Dumbledore immediately caught his eye in the table of contents. He quickly turned to the relevant page.
The description was thorough: "The Greatest Wizard of Modern Times," "Order of Merlin, First Class," "Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards," and more. It also detailed Dumbledore's research achievements in his youth and his renowned victory over the Dark Wizard Gellert Grindelwald in 1945.
A photograph of a middle-aged man with gentle eyes, long auburn hair, and a beard accompanied the text. That must have been Dumbledore in his younger years.
The book's tone was overwhelmingly reverent, portraying Dumbledore almost as a flawless, modern-day saint.
A great man, Morris thought.
Yet, despite never having met or remembered Dumbledore from his previous life, the excessive praise made him slightly uneasy. Nobody was perfect, and he at least knew that much.
"Knock, knock—"
Just then, someone knocked on the dormitory door.
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