The three successful conspirators made their way back toward the Great Hall, their steps were lighter with the satisfaction of a mission accomplished.
As they proceeded through the corridors, Morris caught a whiff of that same foul odor he'd unfortunately encountered earlier on the dungeon stairs. And this time, it was unmistakably getting stronger with each step forward.
When they were about to pass by the first-floor lavatory, the overwhelming stench reached its absolute peak.
Fred couldn't help but cover his nose with his hand, his face was scrunching with disgust. "I say, what's going on with this bathroom? Did it explode or something? Did someone die in there? This is worse than Dungbombs!"
"No," Morris shook his head slowly, his expression becoming thoughtful as he listened carefully. "There are people talking inside."
At these words, Fred and George immediately fell completely silent and moved a bit closer to the lavatory entrance with interest, their curiosity was overcoming their disgust.
Indeed, when they concentrated and held their breath, they could faintly hear conversation from within the closed bathroom. And combined with that terrible smell permeating the air... something was very wrong with this situation.
The twins' eyes lit up with mischievous interest that usually meant trouble.
But because the bathroom door was firmly closed and the voices were muffled, they couldn't make out the specific content of the conversation or identify the speakers. Even pressing their ears against the wall didn't help.
"Allow me to remind you both," Morris said calmly, "this is the girls' bathroom. Your current behavior of pressing against the wall and listening is quite risky and highly inappropriate. If someone sees you..."
Fred and George immediately sprang back from the wall as if the stone had suddenly become burning hot, looking somewhat embarrassed. Their faces flushed slightly.
Indeed, as gentlemen or at least as young men who aspired to appear gentlemanly, this kind of behavior really didn't suit their image.
"Click!"
At precisely that awkward moment, the lavatory door handle suddenly turned with a sound.
The three of them instantly flattened themselves against the opposite wall in a panic, holding their breath and trying to minimize their presence as much as possible, pressing into the shadows.
A girl's familiar figure rushed out through the opening door, it was one of Morris's acquaintances, Hermione Granger.
Her face was flushed and her eyes looked suspiciously wet, though whether from tears or the bathroom's humidity was unclear. She immediately hurried away from the scene and ran away, not looking back.
Then, before Morris and the hidden twins could relax or emerge from their hiding spot, two more figures emerged from inside the bathroom.
This time it was Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, who, like Hermione, quickly left the scene with haste. They were moving so fast they even forgot to close the door behind them, leaving it wide open.
The two boys didn't even glance in Morris's direction or notice the three figures pressed against the wall.
"Seems like something interesting is going on," Fred said with curiosity, his eyes were gleaming. "I'll go have a quick look inside."
'What an incurably curious fellow,' Morris thought with some exasperation.
Morris opened his mouth, about to suggest Fred should at least use a Disillusionment Charm for safety and discretion, but Fred had already eagerly poked his head toward the open lavatory door, peering curiously inside to see what had caused such commotion.
And then, disaster struck.
"Mr. Weasley! What are you doing here!?" an unmistakably angry and authoritative shout erupted from inside the lavatory.
Fred froze completely in place, his entire body went stiff like a statue.
Morris knew that particular tone and distinctive voice all too well from, it was Professor McGonagall in her full fury.
George's reaction was lightning-fast, honed by years of escaping from tight situations. The instant Professor McGonagall's angry voice rang out through the open door; he had already grabbed Morris's arm. "Run! Now!"
Fred was beyond saving at this point having been caught red-handed, but the two of them could still escape before being identified and caught.
The two conspirators bolted from the scene in a desperate flash of movement.
As long as they weren't definitively caught and identified, everything would be salvageable.
When they finally reached the entrance to the Great Hall, gasping for breath and clutching their sides, they found the place completely empty with no one inside.
"The students have all returned to their common rooms already," Morris deduced logically, his breathing still somewhat strenuous. "Something must have happened to end the feast early."
Then he glanced at George with a strange, somewhat judgmental look. "We just abandoned Fred like that, is that really okay? He's your twin brother."
"It's fine," George said with remarkable emotional detachment, without even a trace of guilt in his tone or expression. "That's what he gets for not being careful enough and rushing in."
'What a good, supportive brother,' Morris thought to himself with amusement.
So, the two of them each returned to their respective common rooms, as there was clearly no point wandering around outside the castle anymore with everyone in their quarters.
As for poor Fred's fate, hopefully he'd be all right and escape with minimal punishment.
After returning to the Ravenclaw common room through the eagle-knocker's riddle, Morris found the prefects were taking careful attendance, checking names against lists.
Morris slipped quietly into the back of the line of students, and fortunately no one noticed his absence or questioned where he'd been.
After everyone had been properly accounted for and the prefects were satisfied, Morris subtly gleaned from casual conversations with a few older students exactly what had happened to end the feast.
Halfway through the Halloween celebration, their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Professor Quirrell with his nervous stutter and purple turban, had suddenly burst into the Great Hall. He'd been shouting about a troll, announcing in panic that a troll had somehow gotten loose in the dungeons, then had promptly fainted dead away on the spot in front of everyone.
Headmaster Dumbledore had been forced to immediately order all students to return directly to their house common rooms for safety, to prevent anyone from potentially getting hurt by the wandering troll.
Morris privately thought Professor Quirrell had overreacted quite dramatically to the situation.
He'd read about trolls. They were large, cumbersome, not particularly intelligent humanoid monsters with thick hides. A single competent adult wizard familiar with even basic offensive spells would be more than capable of handling one without much difficulty.
That being the case, Morris now understood that the terrible smell they'd all detected at the lavatory must have been the troll's odor, not a plumbing disaster.
However, the whole troll incident had nothing to do with him or his activities, so he felt no guilt or responsibility.
The only benefit was that because the feast had ended so abruptly and prematurely, some of the uneaten food had been thoughtfully sent to the various common rooms so students wouldn't go hungry.
Morris was fortunate enough to claim a generous portion of still-warm, steak with rich gravy, which finally appeased his complaining stomach.
The next morning, during breakfast, Morris heard through the school gossip network that Professor McGonagall had deducted exactly five points from Fred for his inappropriate bathroom investigation.
Fortunately, he hadn't been required to undergo "labor reflection" or any extended detention. It was just a minor, relatively painless punishment, probably because McGonagall had bigger concerns with the troll incident.
During the morning History of Magic class, which followed breakfast, Morris spent the entire tedious period completely ignoring Professor Binns's droning lecture.
Instead, he studied intensively the methods and crucial key points for brewing the Draught of Living Death from Advanced Potion-Making, simulating the complex process countless times in his mind with obsessive focus.
The Draught of Living Death was a very complex, unforgiving potion with multiple failure points, and he only had two complete attempts worth of ingredients.
If both attempts failed terribly, he'd have to find some way to collect the expensive ingredients again. That was clearly not a situation he wanted to face, the heist had been risky enough the first time.
Going back to raid the potion ingredients storeroom again wouldn't be quite appropriate or safe. Lightning rarely struck the same place twice, and their luck would eventually run out.
Therefore, every minute detail, every precise step had to be rehearsed repeatedly and obsessively in his mind until he knew them by absolute heart, until the process was burned into his memory.
Fortunately, Professor Binns had no interest or intention of managing the students' attention and simply lectured on his own at the podium in his monotonous voice. Meanwhile, the other students around Morris mostly wore drowsy, glazed expressions, some were actually sleeping with their heads on their desks.
Finally, History of Magic class ended with the bell.
Morris immediately gathered his unused materials and returned directly to his private dormitory, his steps were quick with anticipation.
The cauldron had been carefully set up in the center of his room. All preparations were complete.
It was time to begin the most challenging brew he'd ever attempted.
The brewing method sounded simple when written out: you just needed to add the ingredients to the cauldron in precise order and cook them at controlled temperatures.
But in actual practice, in this delicate process, the specific technique for adding each material, the exact timing between steps, the number of stirs, and even the precise direction of stirring with the wand all had strict, challenging requirements. A single mistake could ruin hours of work.
Morris didn't dare let his attention waver for even a single moment.
The good news was that the Draught of Living Death didn't take an eternity to brew like some potions, only a few intense hours. Some advanced potions required days or even months of continuous monitoring and adjustment.
Processing ingredients with careful knife work, starting the precisely controlled fire, adding wormwood infusion drop by careful drop, adding sopophorous beans after crushing them just so, stirring exactly seven times clockwise, then counter-clockwise...
Morris seemed to enter some kind of peculiar state of profound, almost meditative focus.
Everything around him, the walls, the furniture, the distant sounds of the castle seemed separated from his awareness by a transparent membrane of concentration.
In his entire world, only the steadily bubbling cauldron before him remained, its contents shifting through various colors as the transformation progressed.
He didn't know how much actual time had passed, lost completely in the work, but with the final prescribed stir performed at exactly the right moment, the liquid in the pot turned a perfect pale blue-green color.
It was complete.
Success.
Morris moved his stiff neck, which had been locked in position for hours, and heard his spines crack. Then he carefully poured the precious potion into crystal vials he'd prepared beforehand, measuring each portion.
One batch of ingredients didn't produce much finished product, the yield was disappointingly small. It was barely enough to fill five small crystal vials, each one containing perhaps two mouthfuls.
After everything was processed and safely stored, he let out a gentle breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
Only then did he feel the slight but noticeable fatigue that came from such intense, prolonged concentration.
But more than the tiredness, he felt deep satisfaction and accomplishment.
Potions—what a fascinating, rewarding subject!
The precision, the transformation, the tangible results!
"It's gotten rather late," Morris murmured to himself.
He turned to look at the clock on the wall, and his eyes widened.
Never mind lunch, which he'd completely missed, he was about to be late even for the first class of the afternoon, which was starting in perhaps ten minutes.
And it was Potions class with Snape, no less, the worst possible class to be late for.
Morris didn't have time to properly clean up his workspace or store the cauldron. He immediately set off at a run for the classroom, grabbing his bag and books.
It looked like his long-anticipated attempt at the mysterious "The Gate Between Realms" spell would have to wait until this evening, after all his classes were complete.