The Quidditch match was exciting—Morris desperately wanted to say that with conviction, wanted to share in the enthusiasm from everyone around him.
But in brutal, honest fact, he couldn't see clearly at all from his distant seat in the stands and didn't understand what was actually happening on the field far below.
The players were just colored blurs moving at swift speeds like streaks of red and green against the gray sky.
At this moment, watching people squint and crane their necks around him, some even standing on their seats for a better view, Morris finally understood why most of the students in the surrounding seats had wisely brought binoculars or expensive omnioculars.
They'd come prepared for distance viewing, understanding something he hadn't.
This wasn't like watching Muggle sports on television with helpful close-up cameras.
"Look quickly! Over there!" Cho Chang raised her own binoculars enthusiastically and suddenly said with great excitement, nearly bouncing in her seat with the energy of it.
"Harry Potter is breaking through the Slytherin defense formation! They're going to let him through... oh, too bad, he was blocked by a Bludger at the last second. That had to hurt."
She winced sympathetically even as she kept watching.
"..." Morris said nothing in response, feeling somewhat inadequate.
All he could see with his unaided eyes was red and green figures colliding into an indistinguishable mass in the air somewhere over the center of the pitch before quickly separating again like a dispersing flock of birds.
He was completely unable to distinguish who was who, which position they played, or what strategic maneuvers were happening.
The game might as well have been taking place on another planet for all the detail he could make out.
Only the smallest figure among them, Harry Potter on his Nimbus 2000 broomstick, could he barely make out as a distinct person rather than just another blur. And that was only because Harry seemed to be flying somewhat apart from the main action.
So, this was the famous Quidditch everyone raved about constantly?
As expected, and perhaps inevitably given his personality, Morris didn't particularly enjoy watching this kind of match from the passive stands.
It felt too distant from the actual action.
But perhaps actually playing it, being up in the air with a broom beneath him and the wind in his face, would be another matter? Perhaps the appeal only made sense from a participant's perspective?
If he had the chance in the future, Morris decided thoughtfully, he might give flying and perhaps even the game itself a try. It seemed unfair to judge without experiencing it properly.
Cho Chang who seemed normally quite quiet and reserved, seemed like a completely different person while watching the Quidditch match, she was extremely lively and passionate and was serving as half a professional commentator for Morris and Marietta beside her, providing running analysis.
"Ooh, the Slytherin Seeker just made a beautiful feint dive toward the ground! Ah, never mind, he messed it up completely. He pulled up too early and the Snitch got away."
Cho Chang suddenly lowered the binoculars in her hands and turned enthusiastically to Morris with a wide smile. "Very exciting, isn't it?" she asked with interest, wanting to share her enthusiasm.
Her eyes were bright and shining with an almost feverish light.
"I used to watch the Quidditch World Cup matches with my dad when I was younger. Now those were real spectacles worth seeing. Even extremely difficult moves like the dangerous Wronski Feint, those professional players could execute them easily, perfectly, like it was nothing. You should definitely go see a professional match if you ever get the chance. It's completely different from school games."
Morris didn't know what the Wronski Feint was but before he could ask...
"Uh..." He pointed hesitantly at a certain figure jerking violently in mid-air and asked with confusion, "What kind of feint would that movement count as? Is that advanced technique?"
"What's wrong? What are you seeing?" Cho Chang asked, not following his line of sight.
She raised her binoculars again quickly and looked carefully in the direction Morris was pointing with his finger.
What she saw made her freeze.
Harry Potter was gripping his broomstick, his whole body was twisting and trembling in the air like he was riding a bucking bull in heat or being electrocuted.
His body jerked left and right without any apparent pattern, up and down without control.
He even spun several complete three-hundred-sixty-degree circles in rapidly, nearly horizontal to the ground.
It looked painful and completely out of control.
"How strange," Cho Chang frowned deeply and thought for a moment, lowering her binoculars with concern.
She said with uncertainty, clearly trying to make sense of what she was witnessing, "Maybe it's some kind of new tactic we haven't seen before? Something the Gryffindor team developed? To... to attract the opponent's attention and focus? Interfere with their vision and concentration while another player makes a move?"
It was the only explanation that made sense, even if it looked incredibly dangerous.
Morris nodded thoughtfully at this somewhat reasonable explanation, accepting her expertise.
That interpretation made sense, actually, from a tactical standpoint.
Look at the Slytherin team—several of them had already stopped what they were doing, completely distracted from their positions, and were staring at Harry dancing bizarrely in the air.
'What a brilliant tactical innovation,' Morris thought with genuine admiration for the cleverness.
But this positive thought only lasted a short while.
Because Harry had been completely out of control in the high air for a full five minutes without any sign of it being intentional.
During those five minutes, after the Slytherin players finally came to their senses and realized with growing certainty that this wasn't any kind of tactical feint but actual distress, they refocused on the game. They scored countless goals rapidly through the now-distracted and disorganized Gryffindor defense, taking ruthless advantage.
The Quaffle went through the hoops again and again and again.
The score differential was growing embarrassingly one-sided.
The stands were also filled with increasingly worried murmuring voices that grew louder with each passing minute. Quite a few concerned people had even stood up from their seats to get a better view of what was happening to Harry.
What on earth was going on up there? Why wasn't anyone stopping the match?
Finally, Harry suddenly stopped that bizarre, violent dancing movement as if released from invisible bonds or a spell.
He performed an absolutely reckless long-distance dive straight down at breakneck speed that made several people in the crowd scream.
It was nearly vertical, and insanely dangerous.
Morris could clearly see even with his naked eye a golden flash of light past directly beside Harry's outstretched hand as he plummeted.
Immediately after, Harry landed hard on the grassy field or rather, practically crashed down like a falling stone, rolling and tumbling multiple times.
Although his landing posture was rather ugly and clearly painful-looking, still...
"I caught the Snitch!" Harry shouted loudly, triumphantly, raising his right hand high above his head so everyone in the stadium could see the proof.
The tiny golden ball with its silver wings struggled futilely in his fist.
As the sharp whistle sounded and commentator Lee Jordan made his passionate announcement over the magical amplification system that carried to every corner of the stadium, the match officially ended.
Gryffindor's unexpected, wildly dramatic victory against all odds.
The Gryffindor section of the stands exploded with noise.
Seeing this remarkable conclusion, Morris nodded with genuine admiration and newfound respect.
Harry, you clever, brave fellow.
Pretending your broomstick was malfunctioning and completely out of control, making all your enemies completely let their guard down and focus on scoring easy goals while you were "helpless," then waiting patiently for exactly the right moment to seize the Golden Snitch in one decisive move.
That was your plan all along, wasn't it?
As expected, the famous Boy Who Lived had some real tactical skills and nerves of steel beyond just his reputation and scar.
If it were Morris himself up there, he honestly couldn't have managed such a dangerous, high-speed dive as that final plunge without serious injury.
The courage it must have taken was impressive.
Cho Chang, however, still looked like she hadn't quite processed what had just happened, staring at the field. She was murmuring with confusion, "What kind of tactic was that exactly..."
Although Harry had successfully caught the Golden Snitch and secured victory for his house, she still felt instinctively that something about the whole sequence was a bit off, not quite right.
After the Quidditch match crowd dispersed, Morris had originally wanted to find and congratulate Harry on his victory.
But as soon as the match officially ended s, Harry had immediately pulled Hermione and Ron away urgently in another direction, moving fast.
Their hurried destination, based on the direction, was probably Hagrid's cabin down by the forest edge or somewhere in the Forbidden Forest itself.
They'd disappeared into the crowd before Morris could even get close to the field, much less reach them for conversation.
Therefore, Morris had no choice but to return to the castle alone, walking across the grounds with his hands in his pockets.
Perhaps he'd find Harry later at dinner in the Great Hall and could congratulate him then.
"Hoot—hoot—"
When Morris reached the vicinity of the castle's outer walls, following the main path, a familiar cry came from not far away above him.
Following the sound with his eyes, he circled around to the side of the castle and looked up to see a black figure silhouetted against the gray November sky—no, wait, actually two figures struggling together in mid-air.
In the air perhaps twenty feet up, a pitch-black owl was flapping its wings powerfully to stay in the air, its two sharp talons were gripping tightly onto a... cat?
The cat was twisting its body frantically, wriggling and struggling with all its strength, but couldn't break free from the grip no matter what it did.
The owl's hold was too strong.
The scene looked somewhat bizarre and funny, like something from a cartoon.
But Morris was already completely used to such strange sights by now.
Because these were precisely his two undead pets: the undead cat Tin-Tin and the undead owl Sparkles.
The bird-and-cat combination swayed unsteadily in the air, made an awkward turn with Sparkles struggling to maintain altitude, and descended toward Morris in what could generously be called a controlled fall.
Actually, calling it a "descent" was somewhat inappropriate and generous.
Because Tin-Tin was unceremoniously, rudely thrown down from a height of about fifteen feet by Sparkles with clear vindictive intent.
"Meoow—" the black cat let out a miserable, dramatic shriek in mid-air.
It rolled twice on the grass upon impact before steadying itself with natural grace, then immediately bared its teeth viciously at the owl still suspended smugly in the air above, hissing.
Sparkles elegantly folded its dark wings with a snap, landed on a nearby low stone fence, shook itself with obvious satisfaction, and angrily turned its head to the side in dismissal.
Morris sighed with the weariness of a long-suffering parent dealing with misbehaving children. "Stupid cat, did you provoke Sparkles somewhere again? How many times have I told you both—no fighting!!"
What truly troublesome pets he'd created—especially Tin-Tin, who seemed to cause constant problems.
Sometimes he wondered if the necromancy had somehow given the cat a mischievous personality.
Hearing Morris's disappointed words and tone, Tin-Tin instantly deflated like a punctured balloon and whimpered twice pathetically, trying to look innocent.
Honestly, from Tin-Tin's perspective, it hadn't provoked that aggressive raptor anywhere or done anything particularly wrong.
It had merely, when the bird was napping on a low tree branch by the river early this morning, on a playful whim, pulled Sparkles along with the entire branch directly into the cold river water with one good yank.
Wasn't that just a perfect opportunity for a refreshing bath?
The bird had looked dusty.
Sure, the river water was admittedly a bit cold (nearly freezing actually) but they were both undead creatures who didn't fear the cold or even feel temperature properly—was there really any need to get so angry over such a small thing?
Of course, Morris didn't know these specific details of their conflict or Tin-Tin's questionable reasoning.
He only judged from accumulated experience and pattern recognition that it was most likely Tin-Tin who had started trouble first as usual.
This stupid cat had such a history.
Morris was about to lecture them both a bit more seriously about cooperation and not embarrassing him in public when Sparkles suddenly turned its head sharply toward the direction Morris had originally come from and let out a short, sharp warning cry.
Hearing this alarm, Tin-Tin immediately stopped whimpering pathetically and playing innocent. It arched its back with what little fur it had bristling slightly, and turned in the same direction with focused, intent attention.
This was a defensive stance, prepared for potential threat.
Morris's heart skipped a beat at these synchronized reactions from both pets, and he looked carefully in the direction of their gaze.
His hand moved instinctively toward his wand.
He saw three shadows emerge from around the stone corner of the castle.
It was Draco Malfoy and his two lackeys, Crabbe and Goyle.
Seeing this anticlimactic revelation, Morris breathed a sigh of relief and felt his tension release completely.
From his two pets' alarmed reactions just moments ago, he had genuinely thought they were about to encounter some kind of dangerous monster or hostile creature.
Like hostile centaurs with spears, a three-headed dog, an angry troll, or something of that genuinely threatening nature.
Fortunately, it was just three passing students, even if they were rather unpleasant ones.
Nothing actually dangerous.
He collected his thoughts and prepared to simply go around them and leave.
However, the three of them moved in sync, shifting their feet and blocking in front of him.
"Don't be in such a hurry to leave," Draco said coldly, raising his chin with obvious superiority. He revealed an ill-intentioned, unpleasant smile. "Don't you plan to apologize for what you did earlier?"
Morris was genuinely stunned by this absurd demand.
Apologize?
For what exactly had he done wrong that required apology?
If this was about what happened in the stands—it was clearly the other party who had rudely snatched away his book without permission or provocation. He was the victim in that encounter, wasn't he? He'd been sitting quietly, minding his own business.
"I don't understand what you mean," Morris said truthfully.