After telling Morris the name of the person in the photograph, Dumbledore completely refused to answer any of Morris's subsequent eager questions about the mysterious blond man.
He simply said flatly, "It's been far too long, Mr. Black. I've forgotten most of the details. An old man's memory isn't what it once was."
The lie was obvious even to Morris's ears.
Morris had no choice but to accept this evasion. He could clearly sense that Dumbledore was being evasive. Adults always used such frustratingly vague excuses and dismissals when dealing with children, especially when the truth was complicated.
"Too long ago."
"You're too young to understand."
"It's not important."
"Perhaps when you're older."
The standard deflections that meant: I don't want to tell you, and you can't make me.
However, Morris wisely didn't press the sensitive matter any further. Just knowing a concrete name was already significant progress in solving this mystery.
It gave him somewhere to start.
In fact, Morris realized with a flash of recognition, he actually had a vague, distant impression of the name Gellert Grindelwald lurking somewhere in his memory.
He had once read a book called The Most Famous Hundred Wizards in History.
In the chapter dedicated to "Albus Dumbledore" and his many achievements, there had been some description, some mention of this Gellert Grindelwald person. The name had appeared multiple times in that section, he was certain of it.
Unfortunately, it had been quite a while since he'd read that book. While he retained some vague recollection of seeing the name, he had completely forgotten the specific crucial details and context.
Fortunately, that book was currently lying forgotten under his bed in the dormitory, gathering dust. He hadn't yet gotten around to throwing it into the rubbish bin.
Back in his dormitory, Morris immediately dropped to his knees and retrieved the old book from its position under his bed.
He pulled it out, sending up a small cloud of dust that made him sneeze.
Morris remembered quite clearly that when he had been browsing the cramped, overstuffed secondhand bookshop in Diagon Alley during that first overwhelming trip, this particular book had been priced at only three Silver Sickles, it was remarkably cheap even among the already discounted used books on offer.
It had looked like a book nobody wanted.
Now he was grateful for that previous owner's carelessness.
Settling onto his bed and opening to the relevant chapter, Morris quickly skimmed through the dense text with speed, his eyes were moving rapidly across the pages.
The content specifically about Gellert Grindelwald wasn't particularly long or detailed—just a few short, frustratingly brief sentences tucked into the larger narrative of Dumbledore's life:
"In 1945, at the height of global wizarding conflict, Albus Dumbledore defeated the dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald in what many historians consider the most legendary duel of the twentieth century. This hard-won victory represented the absolute pinnacle of Dumbledore's already illustrious career and served as the crucial turning point that saved the European magical world from Grindelwald's brutal reign of terror.
After the war's conclusion, Grindelwald was imprisoned in Nurmengard Prison where he remains incarcerated to this day, never having been released or escaped."
Upon carefully reading and re-reading this passage, Morris could now roughly determine Grindelwald's basic identity and significance: a powerful dark wizard who had once been Dumbledore's enemy, possibly his greatest enemy.
And most importantly for Morris's purposes, someone who was very likely still alive right now, currently being held in custody at this place with the ominous German name "Nurmengard."
If it were somehow possible, Morris would very much like to immediately travel to this Nurmengard place and personally question Grindelwald face-to-face about the Gate Between Two Realms.
After all, as the old saying went, standing on the shoulders of giants allows one to see considerably farther than struggling alone.
Since Grindelwald had somehow managed to leave a personal photograph in that mysterious realm, he almost certainly possessed some significant understanding of or research into that strange world between life and death.
Maybe Nurmengard allowed visitors? Maybe they permitted strangers to visit important prisoners under supervised conditions for research purposes?
Well... actually, Morris knew perfectly well in his heart, with crushing certainty, that since Nurmengard held such an extraordinarily important and dangerous criminal, it absolutely, definitely wasn't a place one could casually enter and tour like some kind of museum attraction.
He didn't even know where exactly Nurmengard was geographically located.
However, Morris reminded himself firmly, having a concrete goal and then finding practical ways to achieve it was his consistent personal style and methodology. After clarifying his thoughts and organizing his priorities, Morris stretched his arms above his head, working out the tension in his shoulders and back.
This particular matter couldn't be rushed or forced. It would require patience, planning, preparation.
With his current limited abilities and resources, he absolutely couldn't accomplish such an ambitious objective yet. The gap between his current state and his goal was vast.
For now, his main task and focus remained steadily learning more knowledge.
Everything else would follow in time.
"Meow!" came a sudden sound from across the room.
"Coo coo coo!" followed another distinctive call.
"Clatter clatter clatter!" finished a third voice.
At that moment, unexpected commotion and noise in the corner of his dormitory caught Morris's wandering attention. He looked up from his contemplation with surprise.
Without him even noticing their arrival, both Tin-Tin and Sparkles had apparently returned from whatever adventures they'd been having around the castle and were now enthusiastically frolicking with the recently advanced skeleton dog, all three having what appeared to be a wonderful time together.
Tin-Tin was playfully stepping all over the skeleton dog's exposed bare ribs with its paws, treating them like a xylophone or jungle gym. Meanwhile, Sparkles fluttered its wings energetically nearby, persistently trying to peck at the two ghostly blue flames burning in the skeleton dog's hollow eye sockets with its sharp beak, apparently finding them fascinating.
The owl seemed convinced the fires were some kind of treat or toy.
Despite these impolite, even disrespectful behaviors from its supposed peers, the skeleton dog which had now achieved the status of a proper second-tier undead creature showed no intention of resisting or defending itself at all.
It simply lay there on the floor, completely motionless.
The hierarchical relationship and social order between them seemed quite clear. Morris watched with fascination and couldn't help but feel growing anticipation about what Tin-Tin and Sparkles would actually look like after completing their own undead creature advancement rituals in the future.
Several days later, on Tuesday afternoon, Morris sat in the Great Hall at noon, mechanically eating a large baked potato that had been slathered with generous amounts of rich, creamy butter. The warm, starchy comfort food helped settle his anxious thoughts.
Because the Christmas holiday was rapidly approaching, students all around him seemed somewhat distracted and unable to focus properly on anything academic. The air throughout the castle was filled with a lighthearted, restless, anticipatory atmosphere.
Conversations buzzed with excited plans for the break.
People discussed going home, seeing families, visiting Hogsmeade, sleeping late, avoiding homework.
During these past several days since his conversation with Dumbledore, Morris had returned multiple times to the Gate Between Two Realms to condense more energy crystals from the ambient death-energy.
But the quantity accumulated was still far from sufficient to conduct another complete undead creature advancement ritual. More concerning still, his last reserves of the Draught of Living Death had also been completely depleted during these trips. He was trying desperately to figure out some kind of solution to this urgent problem.
Just earlier that morning, during breakfast, Professor McGonagall had approached him at the Ravenclaw table. She had asked whether he wanted to stay at the school for the Christmas holiday.
Morris had politely declined the offer because he had already developed other plans. He wanted to try his luck in Diagon Alley, see what opportunities might present themselves in the broader wizarding world outside Hogwarts'.
At the same time, he had also collected his modest pocket money allowance from Professor McGonagall—the small portion he had managed to save by purchasing secondhand items instead of new ones at the start of term.
The annual fund that Hogwarts provided him as an orphan with no family support varied flexibly according to assessed educational needs and had no fixed guaranteed amount. The amount was determined each year by the administration based on what they thought he required.
It came once per year in a lump sum and was extremely, painfully tight. Combined with the pathetically small amount he had previously managed to saved, he had accumulated only about a dozen Galleons in total.
It didn't look like much when counted out, and indeed it truly wasn't much by any reasonable standard. It was rather pitiful and depressing, actually.
Thus, feeling somewhat desperate, Morris turned to seek advice from the Weasley twins at the neighboring Gryffindor table. They were currently engaged in some kind of discussion involving hand gestures and suppressed laughter.
"Excuse me," Morris interrupted politely, leaning over slightly. "I have a question for you both. Are there any practical ways to earn Galleons? Methods that actually work for students?"
After hearing Morris's unexpected question, Fred was visibly taken aback. He exchanged a quick glance with George.
"Why would you think to ask specifically us about money-making schemes?" he asked with genuine curiosity. "We're not exactly known for our vast wealth."
Morris answered with complete, brutal honesty,: "Because I think you're probably as poor as I am, financially speaking, so you might have developed creative solutions to the problem."
He had indeed heard more than once from certain sneering Slytherins various nasty, remarks and jokes about the Weasley family's financial situation. "Poverty" was the most frequently appearing keyword in those insults, often accompanied by "secondhand" and "shabby" and "pathetic."
However, Morris genuinely didn't think much of those idiots.
And despite this obvious "poverty" that everyone mocked, the Weasley twins had still somehow managed to develop so many strange, unusual, and genuinely impressive magical devices and joke items. The Ton-Tongue Toffees alone demonstrated serious skill.
They must have their own clever sources of research funding and materials.
Fred and George exchanged odd glances at this blunt assessment.
"Is your financial situation very bad right now?" Fred asked, his tone becoming considerably more serious than his usual joking manner.
"Yes, quite bad," Morris nodded straightforwardly, as if discussing someone else's problems rather than his own. "After all, I'm an orphan."
Fred didn't think this was something one could say so casually and openly.
But Morris's expression was far too calm as if he were talking about a stranger's situation in a textbook rather than his own lived reality.
Poor child.
For a moment, both twins felt sympathetic toward Morris.
George cleared his throat and leaned in, lowering his voice. "How much money do you actually have on hand right now? Be honest. And how much do you need?"
Morris sighed heavily. "I only have about a dozen Galleons left in total, plus some Silver Sickles and Bronze Knuts."
Upon hearing this specific figure, Fred and George were momentarily rendered completely speechless.
They stared at Morris in disbelief.
A dozen Galleons? Twelve or thirteen Galleons was already a considerable, even substantial sum of wealth for ordinary students their age!
And he was calling himself desperately poor?
Morris continued, oblivious to their shock: "I want to travel to Diagon Alley during the break to buy some things I need—specifically several rare potion ingredients."
He paused, then said blow: "This purchase will likely require over a hundred Galleons."
Fred nearly choked on his own saliva and coughed. "There's no way we can help you with that kind of sum!"
George nodded vigorously in agreement.
Although the twins had indeed developed various clever ways to make money over their years at Hogwarts—they sold small items and joke products they had developed themselves within the school to willing customers, operated a modest trade in contraband treats, and occasionally smuggled certain goods to Hogsmeade through secret passages they'd discovered—their profit margins were tiny.
A few Sickles here, maybe a Galleon there on a really good week.
A hundred Galleons? They couldn't possibly earn that much even if they somehow sold themselves in a complete package deal to the highest bidder! It was an impossible sum for students.
"All right then," Morris sighed again.
He had originally wanted to ask whether selling potions might be a viable option. But upon more careful consideration, examining the idea from all angles, he knew it wasn't very feasible or realistic.
Who would actually buy potions brewed by an eleven-year-old wizard?
Moreover, he knew far too few types of potions to make a real business of it.