Morris immediately and openly shared his practical thoughts with Harry, hoping the advice might help.
"Sincerity?" Harry repeated, visibly stunned by this suggestion. His green eyes widened behind his glasses. "You mean... I should actually go directly to Snape, walk up to him, and just say: 'Professor, why do you hate me so much?'"
Just imagining that scenario playing out made Harry's back feel cold, his spine was tingling with dread.
What would Snape's reaction possibly be to such a confrontation?
Even colder mockery delivered in that silky, dangerous voice?
Deducting fifty points from Gryffindor in one fell swoop? Or simply staring at Harry with those pitch-black eyes that could freeze a person solid through sheer contempt, then spitting out even more venomous, cutting words?
None of those outcomes seemed remotely appealing.
"Don't be fooled by Morris's advice," Ron whispered urgently from the side, leaning in close as a warning. "This sounds suspiciously like he's trying to trick you into getting in trouble. No offense, Morris, but that's terrible advice."
Harry nodded in instant agreement. He completely agreed with Ron's skeptical assessment of the plan.
Seeing their unified rejection, Morris shook his head with regret, sighing softly. "What a shame. If it were me in your position, I would absolutely ask face to face without hesitation."
He genuinely wasn't lying or exaggerating for effect. If a professor clearly and repeatedly expressed personal disgust or hostility toward him specifically, Morris would immediately and directly go ask them for the reason behind such treatment.
If there was a misunderstanding causing the conflict, he'd clarify it as quickly as possible and resolve the issue. If there wasn't any misunderstanding and the hostility was intentional, he'd still find some way to address and resolve the situation. That was simply his natural, practical approach to interpersonal problems.
But since Harry was clearly unwilling to take that confrontational approach, there was nothing Morris could do about it.
After all, everyone had different personalities and comfort levels with conflict.
He couldn't and wouldn't force others to act against their nature.
After chatting idly about lighter topics for a while longer regarding Quidditch, upcoming classes, the moving staircases, it was nearly noon. The sun had reached its zenith, warming the stones.
"See you at the library this afternoon, then," Ron reminded Morris before leaving, pointing at him. "Remember to bring your completed Potions homework so we can reference it."
"Thanks again for the homework help," Harry also said with gratitude. "You're really saving us."
"You're both very welcome," Morris replied warmly, waving his hand in casual farewell as he watched them disappear together around the corridor corner, their voices were fading as they walked away.
Now, with his afternoon free, Morris planned to return to his dormitory to practice magic for a productive while. Perhaps work more on the Bone Summoning spell variations.
Just as he was about to turn and leave the garden area,
"Meow~"
Tin-Tin, who had been resting quietly on his shoulder this entire time, suddenly poked Morris's cheek firmly with one paw, demanding attention.
"What's wrong?" Morris asked with some confusion, turning his head to look at his undead pet cat. "What is it?"
Tin-Tin pointed with its paw at the large stone beast statue beside them in the corridor entrance.
It was an imposing statue about as tall as Hagrid standing by the corridor.
"There's something there?" Morris asked softly, immediately understanding Tin-Tin's meaning.
He immediately walked carefully around to the back side of the massive statue.
In the deep shadows cast by the statue's height, a tall, thin black figure was silently leaning against the stone wall. Arms crossed over chest, eyes tightly closed, the person appeared to be resting with eyes shut or perhaps lost in thought.
That person was precisely the very subject of their recent detailed discussion.
Professor Severus Snape.
Morris's footsteps halted abruptly, freezing in place.
He genuinely didn't know when exactly Snape had appeared in this location or how long he'd been standing there.
But their entire conversation just now, the whole discussion about homework copying, about Snape's treatment of Harry, about Morris's respect for Snape's teaching had most likely been overheard in total.
Just as Morris hesitated internally about whether to quietly retreat and pretend he'd never seen anything, or to properly say hello and acknowledge the professor's presence (after all, the other party was a professor), Snape's eyes suddenly snapped open.
His sharp black gaze locked onto Morris with precision, like a predator spotting prey.
"Hello, Professor Snape," Morris said immediately, nodding politely in formal greeting.
He didn't intend to linger uncomfortably and immediately prepared to turn and leave the awkward situation.
"Stop, Mr. Black," Snape said sharply, his voice was eerily calm and flat, revealing absolutely no emotion.
"Is there something you need from me, Professor?" Morris asked quite directly, his attitude was open and frank despite the tension.
Unlike Harry Potter, Morris wasn't particularly afraid of Professor Snape or intimidated by his reputation.
And besides, he genuinely hadn't said anything inappropriate or disrespectful in that conversation. He'd even actually defended Snape's teaching abilities.
A few students privately commenting on and analyzing their professors' behavior—in Morris's view, this was perfectly normal.
If a professor would become genuinely angry over such a small matter as students discussing them, that would be far too petty and insecure.
Snape stared at Morris intently, his gaze was sharp as a freshly honed knife, searching for weakness.
"I heard very clearly what was said," he began slowly, his voice sounded soft and dangerous. He took a small step forward out of the shadows, the darkness seemed to move with him. "Just now you said you would lend your homework to your classmates for them to copy? Ah, you're so very generous with your academic work, Mr. Black."
His tone dripped with sarcasm.
Hearing this accusation, Morris responded without his expression changing even slightly, "You heard wrong, Professor. I said no such thing."
He had completely forgotten about that particular detail of their conversation in his concern about the Snape-Harry conflict.
The other party was a professor with authority, and openly conducting illegal homework transactions directly in front of a professor was obviously quite unwise and foolish.
"I'm absolutely certain my hearing is perfectly fine," Snape said coldly, raising his eyebrows in challenge. His lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Ten points from Ravenclaw."
Morris winced internally but maintained his composure. "Can I struggle against this decision a bit?"
"No," Snape sneered without mercy. "I remind you, Mr. Black—if Mr. Potter's and Mr. Weasley's homework content turns out to be suspiciously identical to yours when I grade them, they will each earn Gryffindor a twenty-point deduction. Each. Consider this your only warning."
"I understand, Professor," Morris sighed in resignation.
It seemed he wouldn't be able to help Harry and Ron with their Potions homework after all.
At least not in Potions class assignments.
"Very wise decision," Snape said with cold satisfaction, nodding slightly.
Then, to his surprise, he saw Morris calmly pull out what looked like a notebook from his robe pocket, along with a black quill.
"What exactly are you doing?" Snape asked sharply.
This abrupt, unexpected action left him somewhat puzzled and off-balance.
Morris opened the notebook to a marked page, his expression was becoming completely serious and focused.
"Professor, I happen to have accumulated several important questions about Potions theory and practice. Since you've initiated conversation with me anyway, I thought I'd take this opportunity to ask for your expert guidance on these matters."
Snape's eyebrows shot up high on his forehead, suddenly feeling the situation had become somewhat absurd.
This unusual student had just been docked ten house points and threatened with further punishment by him moments ago, yet here he was, pulling out a notebook matter-of-factly to ask Potions questions as if nothing had happened?
Was this nerves of steel, complete shamelessness, or perhaps some clever method of changing the subject and deflecting from his punishment?
Incidentally, Snape had developed a impression of the name "Morris Black" over the past month.
In his Potions classes, Morris was consistently able to complete all the practical exercises very well, his potions were brewed correctly, his ingredients were prepared properly, his timing was also precise.
For this demonstrated competence, Snape had even awarded Ravenclaw quite a few house points over the weeks.
Of course, Snape had already confirmed that Morris was definitely not a member of that particular notorious "Black" pure-blood family he had initially suspected.
"Mr. Black," Snape asked coldly, "do you genuinely think now is an appropriate time to discuss questions with me?"
Morris appeared taken aback by this response, blinking. "It's not allowed? I thought—"
Snape snorted coldly, cutting him off. He didn't bother answering the question.
His dismissive attitude was already completely self-evident.
"All right then," Morris said, closing his notebook with slight regret and disappointment.
He had genuinely thought that Hogwarts professors were all happy and willing to answer students' questions whenever asked. That seemed to be the general culture.
It seemed that assumption wasn't entirely accurate.
Snape's image in his mind dropped a notch from this.
Also, this genuinely wasn't a joke or deflection tactic—Morris really had accumulated quite a few questions about Potions theory and techniques. The deeper he delved into the serious study of Potions, the more complex questions arose that the textbook didn't address.
No help for it. He'd have to go back and trouble those senior Ravenclaw students he knew.
"Well then, goodbye, Professor Snape," Morris said politely, turning to leave.
"Wait!" Snape's voice cracked out sharply.
Morris turned back to find Snape looking at him with a completely expressionless face.
"If you truly have legitimate questions to ask," Snape said slowly, as if the words were being pulled from him reluctantly, "then ask them now. I have time."
Morris blinked, genuinely somewhat surprised by this sudden reversal and permission.
It seemed his initial feeling wasn't wrong after all, this professor named Snape genuinely wasn't bad or harsh to students in general.
He just possessed a somewhat peculiar, prickly temper, and was especially harsh and strict with Harry Potter in particular for mysterious reasons.
"Thank you very much, Professor," Morris said happily, gratefully reopening the notebook in his hand with new enthusiasm.
"I don't have many questions written down here. First, regarding the specific role of powdered porcupine quills in softening agents and how they interact with other ingredients... then there's the characteristic properties of fig skin when used fresh versus dried... and also the optimal brewing temperature for..."
He asked several long questions in rapid series, his voice was growing more energetic, forcing Snape to raise one hand to interrupt.
"Let me see your notebook," Snape commanded, his voice cutting abruptly into Morris's questioning.
Morris obediently handed over the notebook in his hand without hesitation, his face showing no guilt or anxiety about the contents.
"..."
Snape accepted the notebook and silently began flipping through the pages, his black eyes were scanning the handwriting.
Gradually, a trace of genuine surprise appeared on his usually expressionless face.
The questions recorded in the notebook were numerous and quite varied in complexity. Most of them were fairly simple for someone of Snape's expertise—basic theory questions, clarifications about ingredient properties, process optimization queries.
But that wasn't the significant point that caught his attention.
The point was this: even he, bored and cynical as he was, could clearly sense from between the lines the writer's authentic enthusiasm and passion for Potions.
This student was truly taking Potions seriously as an art form, not just memorizing facts for exams!
One must know, Morris had only been at Hogwarts for just over a month now.
That is to say, he had been in contact with practical Potions instruction for merely one short month.
This kind of genuine enthusiasm, this depth of engagement with the subject, in Snape's long and often disappointing teaching career spanning many years, was extremely rare, almost nonexistent.
It was almost like... himself from many years ago, when he'd been a student passionate about discovering Potions' secrets.
Before everything had gone wrong.