As the bell rang for class, the students quieted down, waiting for the professor to arrive.
But even after half a minute, the podium remained empty.
"Where is the professor?" Hermione whispered, her voice barely audible.
Morris's gaze drifted to the blackboard at the front of the classroom, where an unusual aura seemed to shimmer faintly.
In the next instant, a transparent figure emerged from the blackboard.
Like all ghosts, Professor Binns was pale and translucent. His robe was old-fashioned, and his small, wrinkled face carried the weariness of centuries. His eyes were hollow, empty—but sharp in an unnerving way.
At first glance, Morris didn't even think he looked human. Well, he wasn't.
Professor Binns was a ghost, yet he had a distinct presence, far more "ghostly" than the spirits Morris had glimpsed at the opening banquet. His hollow-eyed stare and lifeless expression fit every stereotype of a spectral teacher.
The students whispered in surprise.
"Is he… a ghost?"
"Looks like it."
Morris could hear Ron and Harry exchanging hushed comments behind him.
Professor Binns, however, paid no attention. He began the lecture as if the students weren't even there.
"History of Magic, a subject that chronicles the rise and fall of the wizarding world, is often underestimated by young wizards," he said in a flat, almost lifeless tone. "Everything I teach is fact, not unfounded stories. Now, turn your textbooks to the section on the Early International Confederation of Wizards…"
His voice was monotone, barely carrying any breath. The students instinctively quieted, as if the stillness of the room demanded it.
Morris tried to focus, but soon realized that Professor Binns was reading directly from the textbook. Boredom crept in. Thirty minutes later, he glanced around: most students had glazed over.
Harry idly poked at the edge of his parchment, while Ron had completely slumped onto the table. Hermione, on the other hand, sat upright, focused, taking meticulous notes.
Even so, Professor Binns showed no sign of engaging the class. His gaze remained distant, fixed on nothing in particular.
Morris, finding the lecture dull, turned his attention to Binns himself. Compared to the dry facts in the book, the ghostly professor was far more intriguing. A living ghost—now that was truly magical.
"In the early fifteenth century, the Witch-Hunting Movement in Muggle society gradually spread, coupled with frequent cross-regional disputes within the wizarding community…" Binns droned on.
Hermione raised her hand. "Professor! I have a question!"
Binns paused, as though unprepared for interruption. "Speak," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.
Hermione stood. "Regarding the Witch-Hunting Movement, were the ones the Muggles hunted actually real wizards?"
Morris blinked in surprise. Hermione was paying attention.
Professor Binns turned slightly toward her. "An interesting question," he murmured, and began his answer.
But Morris noticed something unusual. Binns's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than necessary.
Once Hermione's question was answered, she sat down, satisfied. Yet Binns didn't return to the lecture. Instead, he floated silently across the podium and came to stand near Morris.
Morris instinctively looked up. The hollow eyes of the ghost were now focused, sharp, and fixed on him.
The other students were staring too, clearly curious.
"Is there a problem?" Morris asked cautiously.
Binns shook his head, floated back to the podium, and resumed his monotonous recitation. His eyes returned to their empty state.
Morris was baffled.
Class ended, and students streamed out, eager to leave.
"Hey, Morris, want to come to the Great Hall with us? We need to talk about last night," Ron called, patting Morris's shoulder.
Harry packed up and leaned in with a smile. "We have so many questions for you."
Hermione, as usual, gathered her notes quickly and left silently, her expression unreadable.
Morris glanced back at Binns. "You go ahead. I have other matters to attend to."
Harry nodded. "See you later, Morris."
The classroom emptied, leaving only Morris, Binns, and a broom quietly sweeping the floor on its own.
Morris approached the podium and addressed the ghost. "Professor Binns, I presume you wanted to speak with me."
Binns's eyes cleared, and he offered a slight, almost human smile.
"May I call you Morris?" he asked.
Taken aback by the friendliness in his tone, Morris nodded. "Of course, Professor."
Binns studied him for a moment before nodding. "Before we begin, I must confirm one thing."
"Are you—the Grim Reaper?" Morris asked, half-joking.
Binns's expression remained calm. "The Grim Reaper?" he repeated. "Perhaps I am mistaken, but one thing is certain—you are a Wizard Favored by Death."
Morris's heart skipped a beat. The statement carried an undeniable weight, leaving him unsettled.
"I don't understand," Morris said cautiously. "It doesn't sound like a blessing."
"It is neither a blessing nor a curse," Binns replied, floating closer. "Death is close to you. Those creatures at Hogwarts called Thestrals… they stay near you, do they not?"
Morris said nothing, not denying it.
"Then my suspicion is correct," Binns said, letting out a soft, almost amused chuckle.
Morris hesitated, then asked the core question: "Why are you telling me this? Simply to inform me?"
The faint smile disappeared. Binns floated away from the podium, collecting his thoughts.
"To be Favored by Death is a rare gift," he said calmly. "Only someone with this ability can help me. This is my personal request, Morris. When you are strong enough… if you can…"
He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in.
"…kill me."
Morris froze. The classroom, now empty, felt impossibly silent. The ghost of Professor Binns hovered before him, serene yet grave, leaving him with a chilling weight he could hardly comprehend.
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