Three days later, one morning, Morris had finished breakfast and was walking back down the corridor when he ran into Harry.
Harry walked absentmindedly, one hand covering his forehead, his brow furrowed, not paying attention to where he was going at all.
Harry didn't come to his senses until the two almost collided.
"Sorry," Harry lowered his hand, forcing a smile, "I didn't see you."
He looked very unwell.
She had slight dark circles under her eyes, as if she hadn't slept all night.
"What happened?" Morris asked. "Is your scar hurting again?"
Harry had told him a while ago that the scar would occasionally sting, and he had given the other man quite a few Potions to relieve the pain.
"That's right," Harry said in a low voice, glancing around at the students passing by. "Come with me, let's find a secluded spot."
He dragged Morris to an empty classroom nearby.
Unfortunately, the room was already occupied; it was occupied by two Slytherin students, one of whom was an old acquaintance Draco Malfoy.
Draco stood in the center of the classroom, pointing his wand at a mannequin beside him, waving it and chanting a spell.
Hearing the door open, the two quickly turned around, and Draco stopped what he was doing.
Harry's disgust was plain to see.
" Malfoy, what are you doing here?"
Draco ignored Harry, glancing at Morris beside him with a hint of apprehension in his eyes.
"None of your business, Potter," he replied coldly, then beckoned to the older student beside him, "Let's go somewhere else."
After saying that, he put away his wand and walked toward the door without looking back, with the older Slytherin boy following closely behind him.
Harry subtly stuck out his foot as the other person walked by.
Draco tripped and nearly fell flat on his face.
"You—!" He turned around.
"What's wrong?" Harry tilted his head, a smug smile on his face. "Watch your step, Malfoy."
"Don't think I wouldn't dare lay a hand on you." Draco's face was grim, and his hand was already reaching for his wand.
Harry was about to retort when Morris spoke first.
"Were you practicing Dark Magic just now, Malfoy?"
Draco paused, clearly flustered.
He said bluffingly, "Mind your own business, Black, I haven't done anything to you."
Morris shrugged and gave him a nonchalant look.
Indeed, ever since he cast a curse on Old Malfoy during the summer holidays, Draco hasn't spoken to him at all this year.
Draco had only recited half of his spell when he already realized what kind of magic the other person was practicing.
The Bone-Breaking Curse – a spell that Barty Crouch Jr. Crouch. once used against him.
Without a doubt, this is Dark Magic.
Morris's skeleton magic was well-known at Hogwarts, making it hard not to speculate about his motivation for practicing the Bone-Breaking Curse.
Targeting him?
That's probably not very useful.
At this moment, the other Slytherin, seemingly unable to tolerate Morris's attitude any longer, stepped forward, raised his chin, and glared at him, saying, " Black, don't think that just because you're in the Triwizard Tournament you can act recklessly here. Someone will teach you a lesson."
Reckless and arbitrary behavior?
Aside from saying a few words, he did nothing else.
Morris wasn't angry. He said calmly, "Really? Then could that person be you?"
The older Slytherin student's face turned bright red, and he was about to explode, but Draco pulled him back in time.
"Let's go, ignore these two guys."
The Slytherin student glared at Morris fiercely, then followed Draco away from the scene.
Harry locked the door, turned around, and his expression became more serious. "Be careful, Morris. As far as I know, some people in Slytherin really hate you. I've even heard that some people want to get rid of you so you can't participate in the final competition."
"I know." Morris nodded calmly.
In his view, this was not something that needed special attention.
He felt that Harry was more of a concern than himself.
Morris asked, "So, what exactly did you want to see me about?"
Harry then realized what was happening.
"Oh, I almost forgot," he said in a low voice, "You're right, my scar has been hurting for the past couple of days."
"It's obvious." Morris asked with concern, "Do you need some sleeping pills? My 'Life -Draught of Living Death' is dozens of times more effective than anything on the market."
One bottle down, and I guarantee you'll sleep soundly for the rest of your life.
Harry shook his head, his tone somewhat impatient. "It's not that, it's just... I sometimes share other people's perspectives in my dreams."
Morris's brow furrowed. "Whose vision?"
Harry paused for a second.
"I suspect it's something mysterious... Voldemort's."
" Professor Dumbledore told me that there was some kind of connection between me and Voldemort."
He subconsciously touched the scar on his forehead. "I think it's this connection that allowed me to see what Voldemort saw."
"That's terrible," Morris said. "So, how about the Draught of Living Death?"
He took a small glass bottle out of his pocket.
"No... okay, thank you, Morris, but I really need a good night's sleep."
Harry eventually accepted it.
Morris smiled slightly and asked, "What exactly did you see in your dream?"
"That's what I wanted to tell you," Harry's expression turned serious. "I saw a very thin man being reprimanded and punished by Voldemort. I feel like I've seen him somewhere before, but I can't quite place him."
Morris stroked his chin and suggested, "Why not try drawing him?"
Harry paused for a moment, "I don't think my drawing skills are good enough for you to recognize who that is."
"It's alright, I have a way," Morris said.
A drawing board had appeared in his hand without him noticing. He handed the drawing board to Harry and then took out an ordinary-looking quill pen from his pocket.
"Hold this pen," Morris said, "And then visualize that person in your mind, think it through clearly."
Harry took the quill and did as he was told.
Something amazing happened.
Harry felt his hands being guided and moved rapidly across the drawing board.
In less than half a minute, a lifelike portrait appeared on the canvas.
His face was almost bloodless, deathly pale, and sickly thin, with his hair sticking messily to his forehead.
Harry suddenly realized something and exclaimed, " Morris, doesn't this person look a lot like Mr. Crouch?"
"This is not Mr. Crouch," Morris said in a deep voice, staring at the portrait. "This is Barty Crouch Jr. Crouch., Mr. Crouch's son."