After lunch, Morris handed the Acromantula over to the Weasley Twins and received a large box of Ton-Tongue Toffee in return.
It was a good trade for him.
He was very interested in the magical sweets the twins had made, and they tasted surprisingly good, too.
As for the Acromantula-it would not matter even if the twins killed it.
At worst, he could catch another one in the Forbidden Forest when he had some free time.
Considering he had casually picked one up by the roadside, there were presumably plenty of them.
As for the headmaster's warning at the start of term against entering the Forbidden Forest... Morris had not taken it to heart at all.
As long as he did not get caught, he was still a good, law-abiding student.
There was a Herbology lesson that afternoon.
Herbology was taught by a witch named Pomona Sprout. She was short and plump, with fluffy brown hair, and very approachable. She was also the head of Hufflepuff.
Their first lesson involved learning about a plant called dittany.
They were required to learn how to use dittany for basic wound treatment-only in simulation, of course. The students would not actually be injured.
Dittany was very simple to use. It only needed to be crushed and applied to the wound.
Morris deliberately scratched his arm with a thorny vine to test dittany's effects in detail.
Within just a few minutes, his small wound had healed completely, leaving not a single trace.
This immediate effect was far more impressive than that of any medicine he had ever seen.
By the look of it, keeping some dittany on hand was necessary.
After all, he might well get injured while practicing magic.
After dinner, Morris went straight back to his dormitory.
He opened the box of sweets the Weasley Twins had given him, unwrapped a piece of Ton-Tongue Toffee, and tossed it into his mouth.
He stretched, feeling the strangely addictive swelling of his tongue.
"An extraordinary day." That was his summary of the day.
Come to think of it, it was only his first day at Hogwarts, and he had already been attacked by a centaur for no apparent reason.
Perhaps the wizarding world was even more dangerous than he had imagined.
In that case, improving his strength was clearly very necessary, especially when it came to protecting himself or escaping.
"Book of the Mage."
At a thought, the book slowly appeared in his mind.
He was going to practice a new spell.
"Shadow Concealment."
As its name suggested, this was a spell that allowed its user to hide within shadows.
However, this spell was much harder than the two curses he had already learned, especially when it came to constructing the spell model.
If the difficulty of the previous two curses could be compared to writing a passage, then this spell was like creating a painting.
Although the two were not on the same plane, the latter was clearly more complex.
"Let's give it a try first."
Morris waved his wand and switched off all the lights in the room-the darker the place where this spell was used, the greater the chance of success.
Half an hour passed.
After more than a dozen failures, Morris finally succeeded in constructing the spell model.
Interestingly, there was a note at the very end of the spell: reciting the incantation was not recommended when using this spell.
The reason was obvious with a little thought.
If a spell for concealing one's form required an incantation before use, its concealment was greatly compromised from the outset.
Especially in a crisis, any unnecessary sound would pose a serious risk.
Of course, he was still in the initial stages of practice, so the incantation's assistance was essential.
Just as one had to learn to crawl before learning to walk.
Incidentally, Morris could already use the Weakening Curse and Wailing Curse without reciting their incantations, though they were much less powerful that way.
"Shadow Concealment!"
As the incantation ended, Morris felt an inexplicable force surrounding him, squeezing him continuously.
He knew he had probably cast it successfully.
Then the squeezing force grew stronger and stronger.
Suddenly, his vision went black. He felt as though he had been stuffed into an extremely cramped box, with hard, cold surfaces pressing against him from every direction.
He had successfully entered the shadows!
From outside, it looked as though a black cloth had covered him before he twisted and vanished on the spot.
"So this is what Shadow Concealment does?" Morris was somewhat speechless.
Entering the shadows sounded like an incredibly powerful and cool ability at first.
But only after experiencing it himself did he discover that it was simply torture.
Just imagine how it would feel to be stuffed into a suitcase roughly your own size.
This was far too different from the stealth he had envisioned, where he would "blend into the surroundings and move freely."
He tried to move, but it was like trudging through viscous water. Every movement required him to fight resistance from all directions.
About a hundred and fifty seconds later.
"Whew-"
Morris let out a breath and released the spell.
When his figure reappeared in the room, he had moved from beside the bed to beside the door.
By then, a fine layer of sweat had beaded on his forehead.
Entering the shadows really was an ordeal.
He had no idea why Yanhua found it so easy and pleasant.
After finishing his Shadow Concealment practice, Morris lay on his bed and began reading one of the miscellaneous books he had brought in his luggage.
Today, he was reading a book on wizarding history called The One Hundred Most Famous Wizards in History.
He had only ever been exposed to Muggle culture, so learning about wizarding society through books was very necessary.
"Albus Dumbledore."
He spotted a familiar name in the book's table of contents.
Wasn't that their headmaster?
Morris grew interested and turned to the corresponding page.
The account in the book was very detailed.
"The greatest wizard of the age," "recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class," "Supreme Mugwump," and so on-these were all Dumbledore's titles.
It also mentioned his early research achievements in various fields and his famous defeat of the dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald in 1945.
Beside the text was a photograph of a middle-aged man with a gentle gaze, long auburn hair, and a beard.
Presumably, that was Dumbledore when he was younger.
The entire book overflowed with praise and reverence for Dumbledore, its wording all but portraying him as a flawless modern-day saint.
A great man, Morris thought.
Still, although he had no recollection whatsoever of this character from his previous life, he could not shake the feeling that the descriptions in this book went too far.
This gave rise to a faint sense of unease within him.
He did, after all, understand that no one was perfect.
Knock, knock-
Just then, someone knocked on the dormitory door.