Sure enough, at dinner that day, Harry, Harry, and Morris found him looking somber.
"We've decided that Snape will target the Philosopher's Stone tonight," he said. "Before that, we must get our Philosopher's Stone on it."
Morris took a bite of his pie and asked, "Have you found a way to deal with Three-Headed Dog?"
"That's right," Harry said. "All we need to do is play some music for it, it's that simple."
It looks like the operation will take place tonight, Morris thought.
Things are finally getting interesting.
He immediately said, "I'll go with you."
However, Harry shook his head upon hearing this. "I can't let you take too much risk, Morris. Besides, we need someone to keep an eye on Snape for us."
Hermione added, " Harry said your Disillusionment Charm was very well done. You just need to cause Snape some trouble when Snape goes out at night. Make some noise, even if it only delays him for a few minutes."
"Of course, your most important thing is to make sure you don't get caught. If you get caught sneaking out at night, Ravenclaw will have no chance of winning the House Cup. Your scores are very close to Slytherin's, aren't they?"
Ron patted his chest. "Leave the more dangerous tasks to us, Morris."
His tone carried a hint of tragic grandeur.
So Morris took on the task of delaying Snape.
But he knew in his heart that he didn't need to do anything.
Because it wasn't Snape who wanted to steal the Philosopher's Stone, but Quirrell.
At 11 p. m., seeing that it was almost time, Morris cast Disillusionment Charm and walked out of Ravenclaw's common room.
Instead of following Harry's plan to go and cause trouble for Snape, he quietly headed straight for the forbidden corridor on the fourth floor.
Stopping in the room where the Three-Headed Dog was kept, Morris noticed that the door was ajar.
Without hesitation, he immediately used his Shadow Concealment to sneak inside.
Inside the room, the enormous Three-Headed Dog was still there, with a harp at its feet.
Besides, the Trapdoor was open, clearly indicating that Harry and the others didn't have the good habit of closing doors behind them.
Following the shadows, Morris passed through the Devil's Snare and arrived at the room filled with flying keys.
The room's mechanism had clearly been solved, as the door to the next room was already open.
Harry and his friends moved quickly.
Morris continued onward.
Inside the chessboard room, he sensed Ron lying on the ground.
Once out of the shadows, Morris quickly went to Ron's side to check on him carefully, only to find that the man was merely unconscious.
The cause is likely a blunt force trauma to the head.
It's worth mentioning that the force of this blow was perfectly controlled, enough to knock Ron unconscious for a while, but without causing serious permanent damage.
Next is the Troll's room.
The Troll was lifeless and clearly dead. The cause of death was most likely a curse, probably the work of Quirrell.
Just as he was examining the Troll, a sudden burst of hurried footsteps rang out.
Morris immediately used the Disillusionment Charm.
Hermione suddenly rushed out, brushing past him, muttering, " Dumbledore, Dumbledore, Dumbledore..."
It looks like they went to ask for help.
Morris stood at the door for a while, waiting until Hermione's footsteps had completely disappeared before entering the next room.
However, that's all for now.
A purple flame appeared before him, blocking his path.
Morris pondered for a moment, unable to recall any past methods.
Charging straight in is definitely not realistic, and the Shadow Concealment is also unusable.
What should we do?
Meanwhile, in the last room, Harry is confronting Quirrell.
The situation is extremely serious.
Although the Philosopher's Stone was already in his trouser pocket, pressed tightly against his thigh, Quirrell already realized something was wrong.
No, that's not Quirrell anymore.
Because Quirrell was talking to him with the back of his head.
And embedded in the back of that head was a pale face.
The face looked as if it had been carved from wax, with narrow eyes and two thin slits in its nostrils, like a venomous snake, incredibly eerie.
Voldemort.
Harry felt the scar on his forehead throbbing more and more, making him almost unable to stand.
"Grab him!"
Voldemort shrieked.
Quirrell pounced on him, knocking him to the ground, straddling him, and grabbing his throat tightly with both hands.
This behavior is nothing like that of a wizard; it's more like that of a maddened beast.
Just as Harry thought he was about to suffocate, Quirrell suddenly let out a terrible scream, abruptly released his grip, and fell backward.
Harry seized the opportunity to scramble back, panting heavily, and stared at Quirrell in astonishment.
The other person's palms were covered with terrible blisters and swelling.
"Use your Killing Curse, you fool!" Voldemort roared. "I taught you!"
Harry's brain was spinning rapidly in agony.
If he uses a wand, as a first-year student, he has absolutely no chance of winning.
what to do!?
Harry, in a fit of rage, let out a low growl and lunged at Quirrell.
He figured it out. Although he didn't know the exact principle, he knew that whenever he touched Quirrell, Quirrell would feel pain.
This is his only chance to win.
Quirrell had just taken out his wand and hadn't even had a chance to use his magic when Harry grabbed his arm.
For a moment, the two were entangled.
"Ugh—" Quirrell cried out in pain, trying to shake Harry off, but Harry clung to him like an octopus.
At the same time, the pain from the scar on Harry's forehead intensified, almost tearing his consciousness apart.
"Keep going! Keep going!"
Only this one voice echoed in Harry's mind.
However, Quirrell, with his superior size, quickly gained the upper hand and pinned him to the ground, where he could only desperately pull on Quirrell's neck and arms.
Just then...
"Bang!"
A dull thud sounded, and then Harry felt the weight on his body suddenly disappear.
Quirrell was violently shoved from the side by something and crashed heavily into the wall several meters away, where he fell silent.
Harry used his last bit of strength to lift his head.
Then, he saw a scene that he couldn't understand, yet it chilled him to the bone.
Not far in front of him, a Knight covered in hideous white armor stood silently, riding a strange skeletal horse.
Harry opened his mouth, trying to make a sound, but his body began to tremble uncontrollably, and darkness quickly filled the edges of his vision.
"Well...
He groaned and then completely lost consciousness.