"Seriously," Morris asked, looking up as he polished the base of a trophy for the "First Wizarding Deadpan Joke Competition," "why aren't you using magic? Scourgify-I think that spell would work quite well."
"Professor Flitwick calls this reflection through labor." Fred spread his hands. "Besides, these trophies have all been enchanted. Cleaning charms don't work on them."
So that was why.
He had no particular objection to this sort of work-he had grown used to it at the orphanage.
Still, the number of trophies here really was staggering. They filled several entire walls.
And some of the trophies were rather baffling.
Like the one for the deadpan joke competition in Morris's hands.
The winner's name was inscribed on it: Lily Evans.
After working for nearly half an hour, the three of them tossed their cloths aside and leaned against a nearby wall for a short rest.
Fred turned to Morris and suddenly said, "Morris, I imagine you came to find us for something else."
"That's what I think too," George agreed. "And you're definitely up to no good."
"I never thought that was how you saw me." Morris put on a wounded expression and smiled. "I just wanted to ask you a rather strange question."
"What is it?" Fred and George grew interested.
"I was wondering..." Morris looked very serious. "Is there any way for a wizard to enter an extremely convincing state of suspended death?"
"Not just unconsciousness or sleep. A state that looks infinitely close to death under both magical and physical examination, but lets the person return at a preset time or under preset conditions."
The twins exchanged a glance.
"Draught of Living Death!" they blurted out in unison.
"Draught of Living Death," Morris repeated. "Is that a potion?"
"Yes," Fred replied. "The Draught of Living Death, also called the Living Hell Draught, is a potion that puts people into a deathlike state. In large doses, your pulse will almost stop, and your body will turn cold and stiff. But it's actually just a deep sleep."
George added, "We've never used it, but a skilled wizard would definitely be able to tell it wasn't real death."
I see. Morris nodded.
He did not know whether its effects would meet his needs, but it was worth a try.
Fred scratched his head, a little puzzled. "So, Morris, why are you asking?"
"Just curious." Morris smiled. "I want to experience what death feels like."
He was not lying. That was one of his goals too.
The twins exchanged another glance, each seeing the same thought in the other's eyes-
Don't understand it, but respect it.
Morris might be a new student, but he was a Ravenclaw, after all. It was quite reasonable for him to have a few bizarre ideas.
"Can you buy the Draught of Living Death in Diagon Alley?" Morris asked next.
His finances were not in good shape. He hoped this potion would not be too expensive.
Fred shook his head. "It's not some ordinary cold medicine, Morris. The Draught of Living Death is regulated by the Ministry of Magic. You need a special permit to buy or sell it."
"I figured as much." Morris had expected that. "Then do you know the recipe? How difficult is it to brew?"
"All I know is that its ingredients include asphodel root powder and infusion of wormwood," Fred said. "That's all our textbook mentions, and yours is the same. But I imagine the actual recipe and procedure are much more complicated, and extremely dangerous. It's not something a first-year should-"
He had meant to say it was not something a first-year should attempt, but remembering that Morris was the sort of tough guy who kept an Acromantula as a pet, he swallowed the rest of his sentence.
"Maybe you could try looking for the recipe in the library," George said. "It might be in the ordinary section, or the Restricted Section? Anyway, go and have a look."
"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you," Morris said gratefully.
He immediately turned around, intending to head to the library to look for information.
Only in the ordinary section, of course.
Entering the Restricted Section required a professor's permission slip, and a professor would not simply give one to a first-year who had only recently enrolled.
"Wait." Fred called him back.
"What is it?"
Morris turned back in confusion and found a cloth tossed into his hands.
"At least help us finish polishing the trophies," Fred said with a grin.
At noon, after eating lunch, Morris set off for the library.
He had just left the Great Hall when Guantou suddenly jumped down from the eaves and circled around him.
Who knew where the stupid cat had been? A few blades of grass and some suspicious, glittering slime clung to his fur, and his head was soaking wet.
"Where have you been?"
"Meow~~"
Feeling a little repulsed, Morris cast several cleaning charms on him in succession before picking him up.
Guantou purred contentedly and rubbed his head against Morris's chin.
Over the past few days, neither pet had spent much time with him.
Yanhua did come back every night, but Guantou had been missing almost constantly. There was no telling what trouble he had caused outside.
Carrying the cat, Morris reached the library entrance.
He had barely stepped inside when someone with a stern expression stopped him.
It was Hogwarts's librarian, Irma Pince.
Madam Pince stared at Guantou in Morris's arms and said coldly, "Pets are not allowed in the library, sir."
"No problem, madam."
Morris obediently put Guantou down.
With remarkable understanding, the black cat pushed the door open with his head and darted out like a shadow, disappearing behind it.
"That will do." Madam Pince gave an exceedingly faint smile. "Go in. Remember, do not damage any books, and do not make any loud noises."
This was Morris's first visit to the library. Looking around, he found it astonishingly large, bigger than any library he had ever seen. Some sort of space-expanding magic must have been used.
Towering bookshelves stood in the dim light, packed with books. The distinctive scent of parchment and ink filled the air, lending it a sense of weight.
Not a bad place, he thought.
Since it was the weekend, the place was very crowded.
Almost every table was occupied, and people moved back and forth through the aisles between the shelves, most of them older students.
What drew Morris's attention most, however, was an area off to one side enclosed by iron railings.
The Restricted Section.
Through the bars, Morris could also see a familiar figure-Robert Hilliard.
The Ravenclaw Prefect was looking down at a battered notebook.
He seemed to notice the gaze and looked up, meeting Morris's eyes.
Robert paused in surprise, then smiled slightly, closed the book in his hands, passed through the iron gate, and walked over to Morris.
"Good afternoon, Morris," he said gently.
"Hello, Prefect Robert," Morris greeted him in return.