A week passed quickly.
Fred and George still hadn't learned the Sound Transmission Technique.
As a teacher, Morris was naturally somewhat disappointed.
Fortunately, he still had Neville, his top disciple, who became increasingly skilled.
Now, when he encounters the other person in the corridor, he basically communicates using Sound Transmission Technique, saving him the trouble of speaking.
However, Neville would always subconsciously glare at him when he used Sound Transmission Technique.
This led to a misunderstanding, with many people mistakenly believing they were arguing.
Within days, everyone knew that Neville Longbottom of Gryffindor had angered Morris Black of Ravenclaw.
When these words reached Morris's ears, he didn't care.
There is never a shortage of baseless rumors among Hogwarts students.
As a result, the rumors intensified, eventually evolving into the claim that Morris was plotting to turn Neville into an evil skeleton.
This has led to some younger students who don't know him avoiding him when they see him in the hallway.
Morris could only smile helplessly.
baffling.
Saturday's Quidditch Match is between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.
For Morris, there is one very important aspect to watch in this game.
That's Harry Potter's new flying broomstick, the Firebolt.
Morris only recently learned that Harry's Firebolt wasn't something he bought himself, but a gift from a stranger.
As expected of Harry Potter.
Why doesn't anyone give it to him?
To be honest, he had previously written to Frick, asking him to help him out, but had not received a reply.
I don't know why...
As Morris pondered this, he left the Ship in a Bottle and headed towards the Quidditch Pitch.
It was still early, and there was hardly anyone on the road.
Suddenly, three blurry, tiny black dots appeared in his field of vision.
Morris stopped in his tracks.
He squinted and looked over there, where he saw three black dots floating in the air outside the field.
Oh ho! It's a wild, lost Dementor!
"There's a chance, "Morris thought.
Dementor are excellent materials for converting undead creatures.
Ever since he caught that Dementor, he's been looking for an opportunity to get a few more.
However, Dumbledore strictly forbade Dementor from entering Hogwarts, only allowing them to roam around the entrance and surrounding areas.
In this situation, it's difficult for him to make a move.
The loss of any one of them would attract attention.
Besides that, there's another difficulty: if Dementor wants to escape, he can't stop it.
The last time we caught the Dementor was purely by luck. The train was very narrow, and the Dementor was rather dim-witted, while its Patronus was stronger than a normal person's.
If it were in an open area, even if they could catch him, his Patronus would make a huge commotion, inevitably attracting attention.
but.
Morris smiled easily.
He was very confident this time.
The reason is very simple - he has an undercover agent.
That's right, an undercover agent.
Morris quickly approached, looking around.
After confirming that no one was around, he waved the hem of his robe and released the transformed Dementor.
The Dementor floated in front of him, bringing a slight chill.
The next second, a hoarse voice echoed in his mind, "Hunger..."
Morris ignored him.
Although the Dementor kept crying that they were hungry, he had no intention of feeding them.
As long as they don't die.
"Hold on," Morris pointed to the three small black dots in the distance, "See them? Go, lead your three companions to the Ship in a Bottle, can you do it?"
"Yes.
The Dementor turned and drifted unsteadily toward that direction.
Morris always felt something was off about him.
He followed at a safe distance, keeping a distance from where he wouldn't be detected.
Once we can trap those three lost Dementor in the Ship in a Bottle, we can deal with them slowly.
Meanwhile, outside the stadium.
Three Dementor have already landed on the ground on broomsticks.
They weren't real Dementor at all—they were clearly Flint, Crabbe, and Draco standing on Goyle's shoulders.
" Draco, your robes look so fake," Marcus Flint muttered, tugging at his oversized and tattered black robes. "While your idea is good, does this really scare Harry Potter?"
"Absolutely." Draco jumped off Goyle, his tone confident. "Once Harry Potter throws his broom again, Gryffindor is doomed."
Flint sneered at this.
He did not object to such despicable means in order to achieve victory.
He's willing to do anything to be the winner.
Crabbe awkwardly tugged at his hood and asked in a muffled voice, "Will the professors find out?"
"Are you questioning me?" Draco rolled his eyes. "As long as we do as I say, who will know it's us?"
Crabbe nodded.
He never disagreed with Draco's opinions.
Or rather, he couldn't think of anything he could object to.
"Alright, enough talk," Draco urged. "One more rehearsal. We can't afford to give ourselves away."
Goyle rubbed his shoulders.
Because of his height, he had to have Draco stand on him in order to successfully disguise himself as Dementor.
Even though Malfoy was very thin, it wasn't an easy job.
Suddenly, he caught a glimpse of a strange dark shadow rapidly approaching.
Goyle seemed to realize something, opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
He raised his hand and mechanically patted Draco on the shoulder.
"What?" Draco said, "Let me adjust this fabric first."
Goyle patted it again.
Draco then turned around impatiently, his words abruptly ending.
Because he saw it.
The dark figure had already drifted to within thirty feet of them.
A tattered black robe, a chilling aura, a face devoid of features.
This is exactly what they're trying to disguise—a Dementor.
The faces of all four people present turned pale instantly, without exception.
Draco's legs began to go weak.
Not far away, Morris looked at the four guys who were terrified and didn't know what to say for a moment.
He had expected to catch three wild Dementor today, but instead he witnessed this scene.
What are these idiots doing dressing up Dementor for no reason?
Let him get his hopes up for nothing.
Morris sighed.
However, the Dementor don't care about any of that.
It did not perceive the kind of creature Morris spoke of, so there was only one thing it needed to do now: eat.
The four creatures dressed in black robes were emitting a sweet, delicious aroma.
For a Dementor that has been starving for who knows how long, this is undoubtedly a tremendous temptation.
The Dementor immediately pounced on Draco, who was closest to it.
"Ah-!"
Draco screamed and fell to the ground.
Just as the Dementor's rotting hand was about to touch him, Morris rushed over.
Stop.
His voice rang out.
The Dementor ' movements abruptly ceased.