Morris admitted that those words had startled him.
He steadied himself and pressed, "Kill you... what do you mean by that?"
Unless he was mistaken, Professor Binns was a genuine ghost.
Logically speaking, ghosts were already dead, so how could they die again?
He needed a clearer explanation.
Professor Binns seemed to have anticipated Morris's reaction. He stroked his beard, his voice steady.
"I imagine you know that not everyone who dies becomes a ghost. Ghosts are the result of people actively choosing to remain in this world after death."
"To explain it in detail, I would have to start from when Hogwarts was first founded. Simply put, I became a ghost because of a curse, and I myself... never actually wanted to become one."
"What's worse, ghosts like me have no way of ending their own existence."
Morris slowly nodded, understanding what Professor Binns meant.
Becoming a ghost because of a curse?
That really was a miserable fate.
Even suicide was impossible.
He tried touching Professor Binns, but predictably, his hand passed straight through the professor's body.
As everyone knew, ordinary people could not touch ghosts, so naturally, they had no way of "killing" them either.
But Morris was a necromancer, and he believed he would be able to do it someday.
"As long as it doesn't cost me anything," he said, "I'd be happy to help you, Professor Binns."
He had always been willing to help others.
Having received an affirmative answer, Professor Binns smiled, his eyes narrowing.
"Thank you," he said. "Of course, that will have to wait until you're capable of it. Perhaps a few years, perhaps decades, or perhaps you'll never manage it in your lifetime."
"I'll do my best," Morris said earnestly.
Professor Binns patted Morris's shoulder in satisfaction-though his hand passed straight through it.
"If you really manage it, Morris," he said mysteriously, "when you successfully lift my curse and allow me to rest in peace... I'll give you a surprise as your reward."
"A surprise?" Morris paused. "What is it?"
"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise." A hint of slyness flashed in Professor Binns's eyes, making him look a little more alive. "Look forward to it."
Morris wanted to ask more, but Professor Binns waved a hand.
"All right, after talking to you for so long, my head is starting to hurt. I can't remain in this state for long."
"Goodbye, Morris."
As his words fell, the trace of animation instantly faded from his face, replaced by the hollow, indifferent expression he usually wore during lessons.
"Professor Binns?" Morris waved a hand in front of Professor Binns's eyes.
But the ghostly professor merely nodded slightly, then sank into the blackboard and disappeared.
Morris felt somewhat helpless.
He could also vaguely sense it.
Professor Binns had two faces.
One was the way he looked during his usual lessons, without much emotional fluctuation, like a stern teaching machine running according to a program. The other was how he looked when chatting with Morris, with richer emotions and a gentle tone, giving him the impression of an elderly neighbor.
He really was a peculiar ghost.
His agreement with Professor Binns did not affect Morris's daily life.
A week passed in the blink of an eye, and Morris had now experienced every class.
First-years at Hogwarts had eight subjects in total: Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy, History of Magic, and Flying Class.
The Charms professor was Filius Flitwick, whom Morris had met before, and he was indeed a powerful wizard.
Morris's pet cat, Guantou, had tried to scratch his beard-not on Morris's instructions-but before he could touch it, Flitwick knocked him unconscious with a Stunning Spell. The spell had been terrifyingly fast, so fast that its trajectory could not even be made out.
There was little to say about Astronomy and Defence Against the Dark Arts. The former was simply stargazing, while the latter consisted of a professor named Quirrell stammering his way through the textbook. It was meaningless, even more boring than History of Magic.
Of course, no one dozed off, because the strange garlic smell coming from Quirrell was so overpowering that no one could sleep.
The class that interested Morris most was Potions.
Brewing potions was a precise art.
Morris had developed a strong interest after trying it just once.
Various ingredients were processed, combined, and stirred according to strict procedures, ultimately leading to a definite result.
This process, full of logic and a sense of control, fascinated him deeply.
Then there was the professor for this subject, Severus Snape. He seemed to be a strict man, openly criticizing and mocking any mistake made by anyone.
But Morris did not dislike professors like that.
Besides, Snape gave the impression of being "terrifyingly powerful," especially with those piercing eyes.
Yet, for some reason, he seemed to pay particular attention to Harry Potter.
Or rather-did he hate him?
It was as though Harry were his enemy's child.
Saturday, September 7.
It was Morris's first weekend at Hogwarts.
Students could not leave school freely on weekends. Only older students were permitted to visit the neighboring village of Hogsmeade at designated times.
Fortunately, thanks to the existence of magic, the students had plenty of extracurricular activities.
For the first time in a while, Morris wandered around the castle.
Of course, he was not wasting time.
As he wandered, he kept thinking about one thing.
It was the new content that had appeared in the Book of the Mage earlier-the Gate of Two Realms.
Morris's intuition told him that this magic circle was extraordinary, a spell he had to master.
However, the requirements for using this magic circle were far too stringent.
It had to be used while dead.
Morris had no plans to die for the time being, so if he wanted to use this magic circle, he could only rely on some other method.
For example-feigning death.
Yes, Morris thought feigning death would be a good choice.
Magic was called magic precisely because it had the power to make anything possible.
Since even things like ghosts existed, simulating a state of death did not seem entirely unimaginable.
With that thought, Morris decided to first seek out people who might be able to help.
In truth, he did not have many friends he could turn to.
So he went to the Trophy Room-there were two poor fellows there being punished by Professor Flitwick.
As soon as he entered, he saw two redheaded figures squatting on the floor, scrubbing trophies with rags without a shred of dignity.
George-or was it Fred?-was trying to smear a blob of foam onto Fred's-or was it George's?-nose, while the other nimbly dodged.
"Oh, look who's here!" One of them looked up, his eyes lighting up. "You actually came to help us. That's good of you, Morris."
As a result, Morris joined the trophy-scrubbing crew too-under duress.