"Turn around, child," the old man said, his voice was remarkably calm, revealing neither pleasure nor anger.
At the same time, Morris's mind raced rapidly, calculating his realistic chances of successfully escaping from this situation.
At this time and in this place, the Restricted Section's basement, after midnight, the old man in front of him was most likely a Hogwarts professor rather than a student or intruder. Who else would be here?
And Morris had absolutely no confidence in his ability to escape from under a professor's direct watch, especially in such a limited space. They knew spells he'd never heard of, had decades of experience, and could probably track him anywhere.
Moreover, his face had probably already been seen clearly in the wand-light. So, there was no point in running now.
So, Morris obediently did as he was told, suppressing his flight instinct, and turned around slowly to face the old man honestly.
Running into this kind of accident on his very first venture into the Restricted Section was truly terrible luck. He'd been so careful and prepared.
He quietly sized up the old man in front of him.
The professor as it must be a professor, was looking at Morris with an amused smile, wearing an expression of great interest and curiosity rather than anger or disapproval. His eyes sparkled with something that looked almost like delight.
That was... unexpected and potentially promising.
"No need to be so nervous, child," the old man said, beckoning to Morris with his right hand in a friendly gesture. "Come a bit closer so we can talk properly. I can promise not to tell anyone about you being here tonight. You have my word."
His tone was gentle, almost grandfatherly like someone coaxing a lost or frightened child rather than confronting a rude kid.
"Thank you, sir," Morris replied politely, taking several cautious steps forward across the stone floor. "That's very kind of you."
It seemed he had encountered a magnanimous professor, someone who remembered himself being young and curious.
If it had been Professor McGonagall who'd caught him, Morris calculated, he would probably have already lost fifty house points minimum and earned at least a month's worth of detention scrubbing cauldrons. Possibly a letter home, if he had a home to send it to.
He relaxed slightly at the professor's friendly tone, but still didn't dare to let his guard down completely. Experience taught caution.
The old man in front of him looked very amiable with his gentle expression, but his presence here in the Restricted Section's hidden basement at this unusual hour was suspicious in itself. What was a professor doing here after midnight?
"Very good, very polite," the old man nodded with evident satisfaction, carefully closing the book in his wrinkled hands with a soft thump. "Now then, let's discuss business. You should be a first-year student, shouldn't you? I don't recognize you from upper years. And appearing in the basement of the Restricted Section in the middle of the night—what's your reason?"
His question was very direct, cutting through pretense.
Morris's answer was equally direct and honest.
"I'm simply curious about the contents of the books here, sir," he said, meeting the professor's eyes. "I wanted to read things not available in the regular collection."
Upon hearing this straightforward response, the old man looked Morris up and down with obvious approval, taking in his dark clothes and alert posture.
"Ravenclaw student, I'd wager? Or possibly Gryffindor? Though I think it should be the former—Gryffindors usually come in groups and make more noise." He smiled. "And tell me your name, child. I like to know who I'm talking to."
Morris answered honestly. "Morris Black, a first-year Ravenclaw student, sir."
There was no point in concealing his basic information any longer. His face was known.
"Oh! I guessed correctly! Ravenclaw!" The old man's eyes lit up with triumph, and he leaned forward slightly with interest.
"I knew it from your answer. Read things not available huh—very Ravenclaw. You probably don't know me, being so new. I'm Silvanus Kettleburn, but you can call me Professor Kettleburn. If you like, you can also call me just Silvanus—I'm not one for excessive formality, ha-ha."
He laughed warmly, the sound was echoing slightly in the small basement room.
"I'm sorry, Professor Kettleburn, but what subject do you teach?" Morris asked with curiosity.
He had not previously heard of such a person at Hogwarts, which was strange if the man taught commonly.
"Care of Magical Creatures!" Professor Kettleburn said, his voice was carrying unmistakable pride and enthusiasm. Then he shrugged. "Unfortunately, though, the little first-years aren't allowed to take my class yet. School regulations. You'll have to wait patiently until third year to learn about dragons and grindylows and all the rest."
As they spoke, Morris noticed something unusual about the professor's left hand, the movements seemed stiff, and slightly unnatural. Looking more carefully, he realized it was actually a prosthetic limb.
Noticing that Morris's gaze had fallen on his left arm with curiosity, Professor Kettleburn not only didn't hide the injury or seem embarrassed but laughed heartily instead, the sound was warm and looked unbothered.
He actually raised his prosthetic arm up between the two of them, displaying it almost proudly, and explained with good humor, "Seven years ago, a young Hebridean Black dragon—magnificent creature, twenty feet long carried off this arm of mine in her jaws. Clean off, just like that. Quite the experience, I can tell you."
He paused, his expression was softening with genuine affection. "But don't worry. She's doing very well in the reserve in Scotland now, I'm told. I heard she became a mother last year. Three healthy dragonets."
Looking at Professor Kettleburn's genuinely smiling face as he discussed the creature that had maimed him, Morris didn't quite know what to say in response.
'Compared to the dragon's wellbeing, you're clearly the one we should be worried about, Professor,' Morris thought but didn't say aloud.
He steadied himself mentally and cautiously asked, trying to redirect the conversation, "Speaking of which, Professor, I'm rather surprised to find someone still here in the Restricted Section at this hour. Is the library always open to professors at night? Or is there some special reason?"
Professor Kettleburn was taken aback by the question, his eyes widened in surprise. "What time is it now, exactly? I seem to have lost track."
"About twelve-thirty in the morning, sir," Morris replied.
Following Morris's answer, Professor Kettleburn fell into embarrassed silence for a moment. A flash of embarrassment appeared on his wrinkled face, his expression shited to sheepish.
Even if he was a professor with certain privileges, being caught here at this hour would likely not earn him a pleasant look from the strict Madam Pince.
Being too absorbed in one's work and research was also a bad thing sometimes, losing track of time and propriety.
It seemed there was some special research project or personal reason driving him. Morris thought this but wisely didn't press the issue further.
Instead, his curious gaze returned to the book Professor Kettleburn still held in his hands.
In the dim wand-light, the cover's title reflected faintly in gold lettering:
"How to Dissect a Crup in the Most Reasonable Manner (With Illustrations)"
Morris unconsciously read the title aloud, his voice was carrying his surprise.
From the name alone, it seemed... rather more ordinary and academic than he'd imagined for a Restricted book?
It sounded like some kind of specialized veterinary medicine textbook or anatomical guide.
In his imagination, books in the Restricted Section should be darker—forbidden curses, dangerous rituals, black magic. This didn't fit that dramatic style at all. He had thought the books here would be considerably fiercer and more brutal in content.
But he found himself quite interested regardless, because he happened to have a Crup skeleton in his possession.
That skeleton was still lying uselessly in pieces in his trunk back in the dormitory, still in scattered fragments, not yet successfully assembled despite his attempts.
He spoke hopefully to Professor Kettleburn, "Professor, that book in your hands... may I take a look? I'm actually very interested in Crups specifically. For research purposes."
"Oh?" Professor Kettleburn seemed somewhat surprised by this claim, his eyebrows rose. "Can you tell me specifically why you're interested in them? They're not the most exciting creatures. Rather dog-like, really."
Morris had the distinct feeling that the professor's enthusiasm had increased noticeably at this topic.
It was like when someone knowledgeable is showing off their expertise and suddenly discovers their audience is genuinely interested and informed, making the conversation actually engaging rather than one-sided lecturing.
Morris hesitated for a brief moment, considering how much to reveal, then decided on partial honesty.
"During the summer holiday, I bought a Crup skeleton model from a shop," he explained carefully. "But unfortunately, what I actually received was just a pile of disconnected bone fragments with no organization. And they didn't provide me with any corresponding assembly diagrams or instructions. I've been trying to figure it out."
'A skeleton model?' Professor Kettleburn thought and was momentarily stunned.
That was truly a niche hobby for an eleven-year-old child, for anyone. And most students that age wanted stuffed animals or Quidditch equipment.
And while Kettleburn understood every aspect of the living magical creature called the Crup like their behavior, diet, breeding, magical properties, he honestly hadn't done much specific research on their skeletal structure and anatomy. Living creatures were his passion, not bones.
He extended the book to Morris. "The back section of this book has detailed pictures of a Crup skeleton that should serve as excellent reference for your project. However..."
He paused, his expression becoming more serious. "I would suggest that you don't look at the earlier content for now. It's rather... intense. Not appropriate for young students."
The well-meaning suggestion was completely ineffective.
Morris took the weighty book eagerly and casually opened it to a middle page.
After browsing through several pages roughly, flipping between sections, he finally understood why this particular book had been placed in the Restricted Section rather than the regular collection.
Apart from a relatively small amount of clinical text introduction and technical terminology, the book was almost entirely filled with magically moving pictures that moved and demonstrated.
It completely documented the full orderly process of someone, presumably the author dissecting a Crup corpse from initial cut to final skeleton. And the pictured operations were quite brutal and graphically detailed, showing every cut, every organ removal, blood and all.
For a typical first-year student, it was indeed rather intensely disturbing.
Fortunately, Morris was an adult mentally with two lifetimes of experience. This kind of anatomical content didn't particularly affect him or make him squeamish.
He carefully flipped to the end section and finally located the detailed skeletal diagrams Professor Kettleburn had mentioned, those full anatomical drawings from multiple angles.
After studying them quickly, Morris made a preliminary confident judgment that with these diagrams as reference, he could definitely assemble that skeleton properly.
Immediately, his sharp gaze began rapidly comparing and cross-referencing between the printed diagram and the vivid images of bone fragments stored in his memory from examining his collection.
The distinctive curvature of the skull... the correct number of cervical vertebrae... the specific way the thoracic vertebrae connected to the rib cage... the unique angle of the pelvic tilt...
"This is perfect!" Morris couldn't help but exclaim with delight, his eyes were lighting up. "Exactly what I needed!"
While Morris was completely absorbed in this enthusiastic study, Professor Kettleburn had been quietly observing him.
How to put it? He felt this child was a bit strange.
Most first-year students, even intellectually curious Ravenclaws, when faced with a forbidden book filled with detailed moving dissection diagrams showing blood and organs, should be frightened pale or at least disturbed.
But look at this child named Morris!
Like a small child receiving favorite candy, his eyes were almost glowing with excitement and hunger!
It was very strange indeed.
But also perhaps... rather promising for a future Care of Magical Creatures student.