Around ten o'clock in the morning, with the November air crisp and cold enough to see his breath, Morris arrived at the Quidditch pitch located on the grounds outside the castle.
Although Morris personally wasn't particularly interested in this sport as flying around chasing balls seemed somewhat pointless to his speculative mind; since the twins had specifically hoped that he would come watch the match, he couldn't possibly disappoint his friends.
Friendship had its obligations, after all.
Morris was among the earliest batch of spectators to arrive at the pitch, walking across the dewy grass.
Having arrived so early, well before the official start time, the stands were still quite empty and quiet. Only a handful of particularly enthusiastic fans had taken their spots.
He casually found a seat by the aisle near the back and sat down, settling in comfortably. Then he began absently playing with one of the Gate Energy Crystals from his pocket, rolling it between his fingers.
To be perfectly honest, after Morris had been fingering this particular little bead for several days now, turning it over and over during his contemplative moments, its surface had become even more rounded and lustrous from the constant contact and friction.
It had taken on a polished quality, looking smooth as glass.
It could even serve quite effectively as a marble for games; he thought with amusement.
More and more spectators began entering the viewing stands as the hour approached, their excited, noisy voices were blending into an increasingly loud murmur of anticipation.
At first, Morris paid little attention to the growing crowd as he was completely absorbed in reading a book about advanced potion theory that he had taken out from his bag. It wasn't until he came to his senses after finishing a particularly complex passage and looked up that he realized with some surprise that the several rows in front of him were already packed completely full.
The seats had filled without him noticing.
He himself was sitting in the rightmost position of the back row amid the dense crowd, and he was surrounded entirely by people wearing green and silver Slytherin robes.
It seemed he had inadvertently wandered into and claimed a seat in the Slytherin spectator section rather than finding his own house's area.
But it didn't particularly matter to him, honestly. He didn't mind the company.
House rivalries seemed rather pointless.
At that moment, a tall, thin Slytherin boy in the front row turned around, perhaps sensing someone different. He glanced back at Morris with curiosity, and let his gaze linger conspicuously on the blue and bronze Ravenclaw crest on Morris's chest for a moment.
"A Ravenclaw?" the person asked with doubt in his tone, sizing up Morris from head to toe as if he were something out of place. "What are you doing sitting here in our section? Your house's people are all seated next door in their own area."
"Oh, it's fine. I'm just too lazy to move now that I'm settled," Morris replied lightly, casually, returning his attention to the book in his hands without concern.
At the same time, another Slytherin student sitting nearby spoke up with clear displeasure.
"This is the Slytherin area. I'd like you to leave and find your own house's seat."
His words were superficially polite enough, but the unmistakable sense of superiority and cold distance in his tone was quite obvious.
Morris looked up from his book and saw that the speaker was a boy with pale, almost white blond hair slicked back and a thin face. He was sitting in the seat next to Morris.
Oh, Morris realized with recognition. He knew this person, or at least knew of him.
Harry had mentioned him before during one of their conversations—there was a particularly annoying, entitled first-year student in Slytherin who made everyone's life difficult.
His name was Ma... Ma... Ma-something starting with M?
Well, the specific name wasn't particularly important right now.
But since the person had said as much and made his unwelcome clear, Morris didn't want to continue sitting here being an unwanted presence. So, he closed his book with a soft thump and prepared to leave without argument.
However, perhaps because his movements were too leisurely and unconcerned, not showing proper response what that Ma-ma boy wanted, a flash of impatience appeared across the blond boy's face.
He suddenly reached out with shocking rudeness and snatched the book directly from Morris's hands with arrogance.
"This isn't a place for reading books, you know," the boy drawled in that pretentious, superior tone. He looked at the book in his hands with contempt, then paused in genuine surprise when he read the cover.
"Advanced Potion-Making Principles?"
He deliberately read the title aloud in a ringing, mocking voice that carried to nearby students, saying with dramatic scorn, "Can you really understand this book? What are you trying to pretend to be? Showing off?"
Several nearby Slytherins laughed along at the mockery, especially the two chubby boys sitting on both sides of the blond boy. They seemed to be his constant companions.
A first-year student reading Advanced Potion-Making Principles at the Quidditch pitch of all places?
This wasn't genuine studying; this was obviously just trying to attract attention and look intelligent, wasn't it?
Morris felt somewhat helpless at this childish show.
He had now remembered the full name of the person before him through the fog of memory.
Draco Malfoy.
The most annoying Slytherin student according to Harry's repeated complaints, whom Ron had colorfully called "the spoiled little brat from a disgusting family who's never been told no."
Judging by this current behavior, Morris had to admit the assessment was quite accurate and well-deserved.
What a... complete waste of his time and energy.
Morris stood up from his seat calmly and couldn't help but shake his head with visible disappointment.
"Childish," he said simply, his tone was flat.
After hearing this direct insult, the contemptuous expression on Draco's face intensified.
"Aha! Listen to this!" He looked at the people gathered beside him, his voice rising. He let out an exaggerated, mocking laugh. "Look at this Ravenclaw fellow, he actually says I'm childish? Has he read himself completely stupid from all those books?"
The two boys on his sides: Crabbe and Goyle, Morris recalled immediately cackled along obediently like trained animals.
Watching drama unfold is most people's natural instinct.
This growing commotion attracted the attention of those around them in the stands, and quite a few Slytherin students turned their heads with interest, watching this developing "good show" with amusement.
Some were even grinning, hoping for escalation.
Morris simply shrugged, unaffected by the audience.
He really didn't want to bother engaging with this kind of baseless mockery that had no logic or substance behind it.
There's absolutely no use arguing with fools, he'd learned.
Morris had understood this principle long ago in his previous life.
So, he didn't respond to any more of Draco Malfoy's increasingly desperate provocations, and didn't even bother to look at the boy again or acknowledge his existence.
He simply walked calmly to the aisle, drew his wand smoothly, and waved it at his book with clear intent. "Accio!" he commanded.
An invisible pulling force immediately acted upon that copy of Advanced Potion-Making Principles with considerable strength.
Draco only felt the book suddenly slip from his unprepared hands as it whooshed rapidly toward Morris through the air.
He instinctively tried to hold on tight, his fingers were clenching over it, but he completely lost his balance due to the sudden, unexpected force pulling him forward.
"Watch out!" came the alarmed cries.
Accompanied by Crabbe and Goyle's simultaneous shocked exclamations, Draco lunged in Morris's direction and fell quite embarrassingly forward, landing hard at Morris's feet in undignifiedly.
The book, meanwhile, flew steadily back into Morris's waiting hands.
Without even looking down at the fallen boy, without any acknowledgment of what had just occurred, Morris casually tucked the book under his arm and left the scene with a completely unchanged expression.
As if nothing had happened.
Draco clutched his forehead, which had nearly struck the hard floor, and propped himself up awkwardly on his elbows. He could only watch Morris's retreating back disappear into the crowd, feeling helpless and humiliated.
The surrounding Slytherin students fell into sudden, heavy silence for a long moment which felt worse than mockery.
Then, as if by some unspoken agreement, they collectively shifted their gazes away and began doing their own things with great interest, tacitly ignoring Draco's embarrassment.
Nobody wanted to be associated with the loser.
Draco returned shakily to his seat, his face was flushed an embarrassing red, he was too angry and humiliated to speak clearly.
Crabbe and Goyle beside him hunched their shoulders cautiously, not daring to say a single word or even make eye contact.
They could sense keenly that Draco's emotions were very unstable right now.
After two tense minutes of seething silence, finally, Draco calmed down enough to speak.
With a dark, venomous expression that promised retribution, he said to the two beside him in a low voice, "After the match ends, you're both coming with me. No arguments."
That Ravenclaw student must be taught a proper lesson!
Making him lose face like this in front of everyone—how could he possibly continue to get along in Slytherin? His reputation was damaged.
"Mm-hmm," Crabbe and Goyle both nodded clumsily, obediently, not saying another word or questioning.
They knew better than to argue when Draco was in this mood.
Meanwhile, Morris made his way across the stadium to the Ravenclaw spectator section on the opposite side, walking through the growing crowd.
He found an empty seat and sat down directly behind Cho Chang, a pleasant second-year student he recognized from the Sorting Ceremony.
The second-year girl turned around, noticed him, and even kindly handed Morris a few wrapped candies from her pocket without being asked, greatly increasing his already favorable impression of her.
What a thoughtful person.
Morris unwrapped one and sucked on the sweet candy, feeling his unpleasant mood from the Malfoy encounter completely swept away by the simple pleasure.
People from his own house were genuinely much better company after all, he reflected.
Cho Chang seemed to be a dedicated Quidditch enthusiast based on her energetic discussion. She spent the remaining time before the match constantly analyzing the respective strengths and weaknesses of the Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch teams with Morris and her friend Marietta Edgecombe sitting beside her.
She knew statistics, player histories, tactical formations.
Especially regarding Gryffindor, she noted with interest, they had added a new Seeker this year to replace their graduated player who was none other than the famous Harry Potter.
"What about Ravenclaw's team?" Morris asked with genuine curiosity, leaning forward.
Compared to the other houses and their players, he was naturally more interested in his own house's team and their prospects.
"..." Cho Chang was conspicuously silent for a while before speaking, her enthusiasm was dimming.
"Last year wasn't bad at all, we actually made it quite far," she said slowly. "But this year our most crucial Seeker suffered a minor injury during practice and hasn't fully recovered, and we have two completely new players who are still learning..."
She trailed off, then finished tactfully, "In short, as long as we have no regrets about the match and play our best, that's fine."
Morris nodded thoughtfully at this assessment.
It seemed the situation wasn't very optimistic for Ravenclaw's chances this season.
'No regrets about the match?'
He couldn't help but feel that particular phrase had a somewhat self-deceptive tone to it, the kind of thing people said when they expected to lose.
Finally, eleven o'clock arrived precisely, and the match began right on time.
As the sharp whistle sounded across the pitch, the Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch teams entered the field to thunderous cheering.
They emerged from opposite sides, walking with confidence.
Hogwarts didn't have many students in each house compared to larger schools, yet they could still assemble a full seven-person team for each house... Quidditch really was quite extraordinarily popular, Morris thought while observing.