That afternoon, Professor McGonagall dropped Morris off at the orphanage gate and hurried away. Rumor had it she still had mountains of work to deal with.
Morris had already bought everything he needed—everything except a pet.
Hogwarts allowed students to bring an owl, a cat, or a toad.
But Morris already had Canned Food. There was no need to spend extra money.
It seemed Canned Food was good for something after all.
At the very least, it saved him some money.
When Morris pushed open the door, hauling the free trunk he'd gotten from the grocer, he found Harold pacing back and forth in the parlor.
He looked like a picture of restless anxiety.
"Mr. Green?" Morris greeted politely.
Harold looked up, glanced past him, then asked nervously, "Where's Professor McGonagall?"
"She's gone," Morris replied.
Only then did Harold let out a long breath.
Morris rolled the trunk over to the sofa and prepared to rest. He'd dragged the thing all over Diagon Alley. Although the trunk itself was feather-light thanks to whatever charm had been placed on it, he was only eleven years old, hated exercise, and possessed no stamina to speak of.
Harold eyed the trunk curiously. "What's inside?"
"School supplies," Morris said, flopping onto the sofa. "Bought them in Diagon Alley—books, robes, odds and ends."
"May I take a look?"
Harold leaned closer, and Morris caught the scent of tobacco on him.
"Sure," Morris said after a moment. In a sense, the man was his guardian.
He pressed the brass clasp, and the lid popped open.
Harold bent over the trunk.
Inside were neatly folded black robes, a stack of books, and various strange items. The most eye-catching of all was the wand resting on top—dark wood etched with mysterious lines.
Harold remembered Professor McGonagall using a similar little stick to perform magic.
"These are… magical items?" Harold asked, his voice dry.
"Probably," Morris replied calmly. "Hogwarts requires them. I don't even know what half of them do."
Harold reached toward the wand, then froze with his hand hovering in midair.
Wait—wasn't it dangerous to touch a wizard's belongings?
Morris found the mixture of curiosity and fear on the man's face amusing.
"You can pick it up, Mr. Green. It's my wand," he said. "Just be careful."
Only then did Harold gingerly lift the wand.
It felt lighter than he'd expected.
He raised it to eye level. "This thing can really cast magic?"
"Only in the hands of the right wizard," Morris reminded him. "To a Muggle, it's just a stick."
Harold clearly knew which category he belonged to.
He handed the wand back, rubbed his palms together, and said in a low voice, "Well then, Mr. Black… could you show me a spell? Just a small one?"
"I'm not sure I can," Morris admitted. "I haven't started school yet."
Then he added, "But I can try. Please hold still, Mr. Green."
Harold stiffened instantly, even holding his breath.
His eyes locked onto the wand in Morris's hand.
Instead of raising it, however, Morris casually shifted the wand to his left hand and stretched out his right palm toward him.
The truth was, Morris had no idea how to use a wand at all. The only spell he knew was the Weakening Curse—and it didn't require any tool.
Mr. Green had the honor of becoming his first test subject.
Morris had practiced the spell hundreds of times on empty air, succeeding only once.
This time, however, his mind felt unusually clear.
The spell model formed smoothly, without resistance.
Success was within reach.
"Uh… you're going to cast it on me?" Harold croaked.
"Weakening Curse!"
Before the words had fully left his mouth, the harsh incantation spilled from Morris's lips. A faint gray haze flickered across his right palm.
Harold didn't even have time to react.
An icy chill shot straight up his spine.
His legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the sofa behind him.
"What…?" He tried to stand, but even lifting an arm felt like a monumental effort. He stared at Morris in alarm. "What did you do to me?"
"How do you feel?" Morris asked, studying him. "The spell makes you tired and weak."
Only then did Harold realize he'd been hexed.
After quickly checking his condition, he relaxed slightly.
Just as Morris had said, he felt drained—
like the morning after an all-night drinking binge.
So this was magic.
A force science could never explain.
"But I noticed you didn't use the wand…" Harold muttered, exhaling shakily. "Never mind. Just cancel it already—I can't stand up."
"…"
Silence.
"Well?" Harold urged, an uneasy feeling creeping in. "Undo it!"
Morris scratched the back of his neck, embarrassment appearing on his face for the first time. "I… haven't learned how to cancel it yet."
"%￥#&%!"
…
Thirty minutes later, Harold finally began to regain his strength.
"Sorry," Morris said sincerely.
"You're sure there won't be any side effects?" Harold asked uneasily, flexing his stiff limbs.
"Positive."
—In truth, Morris had no idea.
But giving a reassuring answer seemed like the wiser choice.
Reassured, Harold let out a sigh. "Morris… can magic do other things?"
"Of course."
"For example?"
Morris thought for a moment. "You saw Professor McGonagall turn one thing into another, or disappear and reappear miles away. Magic can do all that and more."
A spark of longing flashed through Harold's eyes. "Then… could I learn magic?"
"I'm afraid not," Morris replied. "Professor McGonagall says it's usually something you're born with."
The answer visibly deflated him.
"Let's change the subject," Harold said, waving it off. "Where did you go with Professor McGonagall today?"
"A place called Diagon Alley. It's full of wizards."
"Could I go there?" Curiosity cracked through his voice.
Morris almost said no—but if he guided him personally, maybe it was possible.
Harold seemed genuinely fascinated by the wizarding world.
Perfect leverage, Morris thought.
"I can take you," he said with a small smile, "but I have one condition."
"And that is?" Harold asked, surprised.
"I want pocket money."
Sharp little devil, Harold thought, chuckling inwardly.
But that wasn't a bad thing.
"We'll leave tomorrow morning," he said with a nod. "I'll bring the car."
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