Under Snape's intense, unwavering watchful gaze that seemed to pierce through every movement, Morris began the process of brewing the Draught of Living Death for the second time.
However, this time he had absolutely no intention of following the textbook recipe exactly as written.
After successfully brewing the Draught of Living Death once before in his dormitory, Morris had been thinking about the process. He firmly believed the step of adding sopophorous beans could be significantly optimized for better results.
Of course, it wouldn't particularly matter if this experimental attempt failed. After all, the ingredients weren't his own to waste. And besides, he had been granted two chances anyway.
The sopophorous bean's precious juice contained an extraordinarily powerful sleep-inducing component, Morris knew from his research. But that valuable juice was wrapped in a tough, resistant outer skin that wouldn't easily break down in the brewing process. Adding the whole bean as the textbook instructed clearly wasn't the most efficient choice.
Therefore, Morris had decided to crush it thoroughly first with the flat of a blade and squeeze out the concentrated juice before adding it to the mixture.
Just as he was carefully using the silver knife to press down on the sopophorous bean with controlled force, Snape suddenly spoke up from his observation position. "Who taught you this specific handling method?"
Morris didn't stop what he was doing, his hands were continuing their precise work. He replied casually without looking up, "I figured it out myself through logical deduction. It seemed more efficient."
He had never been someone who followed established rules slavishly without question.
If he had an idea that made sense, he would put it into practice. That was one of his principles for learning.
A trace of faint surprise flickered through Snape's emotionless dark eyes.
The standard recipe printed in all the textbooks simply called for adding the whole sopophorous bean without any preparation, yet what Morris was doing right now, crushing and extracting was precisely the most ideal, most effective method for handling sopophorous beans to maximize their potency.
This was also a technique Snape himself had independently discovered during his own student days at Hogwarts, decades ago!
It could only be said that talented people, though separated by years and circumstance, often thought remarkably alike.
Time passed minute by minute, and Morris gradually entered that familiar focused rhythm of potion-making, that state where the world narrowed to just the cauldron.
Throughout this period, Snape remained completely silent and still. Interfering or offering commentary while someone else was brewing an advanced, delicate potion would be extremely discourteous behavior.
Finally, after Morris added the processed sopophorous beans and their extracted juice into the steadily bubbling cauldron with a gentle pour, the liquid inside underwent an intense reaction.
The previously cloudy liquid quickly lost its murky quality, rapidly transforming before their eyes into a clear, transparent pale cyan color that seemed to glow.
Stir seven times counter-clockwise, remove from heat source, done.
Morris looked at the final product critically and nodded with genuine satisfaction.
His judgment and theoretical reasoning had been completely correct. This batch was noticeably superior in quality, clarity, and potency compared to his previous attempt.
Seeing this successful result, Snape also stepped forward from his observing position, leaning slightly over the cauldron. His eyes focused intently on the liquid, examining it with a critical eye like a master evaluating apprentice work.
He didn't offer a direct verbal evaluation or assessment. Instead, with precision, he used his wand tip to lift a single small droplet of the potion from the edge of the cauldron, suspending the perfect sphere in midair for careful visual observation and analysis.
The droplet caught the lamplight, revealing its internal structure.
"How is it, Professor?" Morris asked, unable to contain his curiosity and need for feedback.
Honestly, he genuinely wanted to pry even a single word of praise from Snape's notoriously stingy mouth.
At least in his memory of all his classes and observations, his Potions professor had never openly praised anyone for anything.
"Hmph," Snape snorted coldly, his expression remaining severe. "Barely adequate."
"?"
Morris blinked in confusion.
'Was that supposed to be good or bad? Adequate sounds neutral at best...'
He didn't quite dare to judge or interpret Snape's cryptic assessment.
He asked cautiously, trying to sound appropriately apologetic, "Then about my punishment..."
"Thirty points from Ravenclaw," Snape announced, his expression still showing no emotional fluctuation at all. "And without my explicit written permission, you're absolutely not to enter the potions storeroom again. Is that understood?"
Morris secretly breathed a sigh of relief, his shoulders were now relaxing.
This result was considerably better than he'd feared and was entirely acceptable.
Moreover, the Weasley twins wouldn't be implicated or dragged into trouble because of his confession, which was also excellent news. He'd successfully protected them.
Thirty points, that was all. If he worked diligently in classes and answered questions, he should be able to earn them back within a few weeks.
He had honestly thought he would receive a far more severe punishment, perhaps detention for months, or restrictions on his movements, or confiscation of his personal brewing equipment.
It seemed Snape at least genuinely acknowledged and appreciated the quality of this batch of Draught of Living Death, even if he wouldn't say so directly.
The matter had ended as perfectly as could be expected here.
Morris asked quietly with appropriate respect, "May I go now, Professor?"
Snape raised his chin slightly in dismissal while his left hand waved out casually in a gesture of permission. "Go on. Return to your dormitory."
Morris immediately turned to leave with relief, walking toward the door.
Only after his small figure had completely disappeared behind the closing door did Snape slowly, thoughtfully return to the high-backed seat behind his office desk.
"Morris Black, hmm..." he murmured to himself in the empty office, the name was rolling around his thoughts.
Although the surname Black automatically reminded him of some deeply unpleasant memories from his past, particularly of Sirius Black and his band of bullies, that association was just a misunderstanding of identity.
He had already taken the time to roughly learn about Morris's actual background.
An orphan who grew up in a Muggle orphanage with no family heritage, no magical guidance, no resources at all.
Yet somehow this disadvantaged boy could independently complete the complex brewing of the Draught of Living Death in his first year at Hogwarts, even making reasonable, intelligent improvements to the established formula.
It could only be said that the situation was remarkably similar to another case.
Hogwarts had once had such a student as well—one born into a broken, impoverished background, subjected to cold stares and mockery, yet possessing exceptionally superior natural talent in potions...
Snape's breathing paused subtly as memories surfaced.
Just then, before he could sink too deeply into uncomfortable nostalgia, the office door was knocked twice, interrupting his melancholic thoughts.
Morris's figure sheepishly reappeared in the doorway, looking hesitant.
Snape looked up from his desk and said with expressionlessness, "Is there something else you need, Mr. Black?"
Morris showed a somewhat embarrassed, apologetic smile and pointed tentatively at the cauldron still sitting on the work table.
"Um..."
He seemed to struggle with how to phrase his request.
"Can I take the Draught of Living Death with me?"
Snape's face immediately darkened.
However, Morris acted as if he hadn't noticed the ominous change in atmosphere at all, still looking at Snape with hopeful, expectant eyes like a puppy begging for treats.
Several seconds ticked by in tense silence.
"Take it and get out of my office," Snape finally replied through what sounded like gritted teeth, not even looking directly at Morris again. His attention returned to papers on his desk with the dismissal.
"Thank you very much, Professor!" Morris said cheerfully.
He quickly picked up the cauldron containing the Draught of Living Death.
Having already invested the time and effort in brewing it, it would be a terrible waste not to use the potion for his own purposes.
He reasonably believed Snape wouldn't be particularly short on this bit of inventory anyway. He had stores of everything.
After returning to his private dormitory with his prize, Morris immediately and carefully divided this batch of more potent, effective potion into careful portions, pouring it into small crystal vials.
As for the borrowed cauldron, he would simply have to remember to return it to Snape during the next scheduled Potions class.
Next, barely able to contain his anticipation, Morris couldn't wait any longer to begin drawing the magic circle for the mysterious Gate Between Two Realms.
This preparation didn't require too long of a time investment, fortunately.
Half an hour later of careful work, the magic circle was successfully completed on his dormitory floor.
The materials were still ordinary red pigment purchased from an art supply shop, mixed thoroughly with several drops of his own blood for magical connection.
Its overall shape and structure was similar to Morris's previous Undead Creature Transformation Magic Circle that he'd used for his pets, only considerably larger in diameter. The center had enough open space to comfortably lie down an adult human body.
At this moment, his small room, lit only by dim, flickering lamplight, seemed like some kind of mysterious religious ritual site from ancient times.
After carefully locking the door and hanging a hastily scrawled "Do Not Disturb" sign on the outer handle, Morris slowly walked to the center of the magic circle.
He took out one of the crystal vials containing the Draught of Living Death he had just carefully portioned out.
According to the instructions in Advanced Potion-Making, just one single drop would put an average adult to sleep for approximately one hour.
Morris didn't hesitate or second-guess himself. He uncorked the vial and took an extremely small sip on the spot.
The liquid had a distinctive taste somewhere between sharply bitter and oddly cool like mint mixed with something medicinal.
It was neither particularly unpleasant nor particularly enjoyable, just strange and chemical.
Almost immediately after swallowing, a powerful wave of irresistible drowsiness swept over him.
He let himself fall backward onto the space specifically reserved in the center of the magic circle, not fighting the sensation. His consciousness rapidly sank into absolute darkness like a stone dropping into deep water.
No dreams visited him in this state.
Only a pure, peaceful void without thought or awareness.
He didn't know how long had passed when Morris finally opened his eyes again with effort.
Looking around with slightly blurred vision that slowly cleared, he found himself still lying exactly where he'd fallen in his dormitory room. The magic circle beneath him showed no change, no activation, no sign that anything had happened at all.
The clock mounted on the wall showed that only an hour and a half had passed since he'd drunk the potion.
As expected, it had failed. Morris sighed with disappointment but not surprise.
He sat up slowly from the cold, hard floor, rubbing his somewhat stiff neck that had been bent at an awkward angle. His body felt heavy and awkward.
Actually, if he was being honest with himself, he had experienced a premonition of failure the very moment he'd drunk the Draught of Living Death.
The Draught of Living Death was, after all, just a powerful sleeping potion though the strongest one known to wizarding kind.
It could indeed drag a person into deep, death-like sleep that mimicked death's stillness. But compared to actual death, true end of life, there was still quite a significant gap in the state it produced.
However...
"It seems like something crucial is missing..." Morris murmured to himself, frowning.
He had a vague, persistent feeling that he couldn't quite articulate.
The Draught of Living Death wasn't perfect for this purpose, or rather... it wasn't complete as a solution.
Yes, incomplete.
It lacked some essential key component, some missing ingredient or element.
Some decisive factor that could push sleep to an even deeper level, closer to actual death, bridging that final gap.
There was no other option or path forward that he could see.
Morris stood, brushed off his robes, and opened the door with determination. He walked toward the Potions classroom in the dungeons.
Perhaps his Potions professor, with his vast knowledge, could give him some clue or guidance about what was missing.
If anyone would know, it would be Snape.