After several days of testing, Morris had a general understanding of the Guantou.
This final conclusion left him somewhat incredulous, even finding it absurd.
That was a Accidental Magic.
Indeed, Morris attributed the occasional magic that the Guantou could produce to Accidental Magic.
Of course, it's different from the Accidental Magic of a wizard, since the two are different species.
They are only very similar in their form of expression.
In other words, Guantou now possesses a kind of wizarding magic.
A magical cat?
This is quite unexpected, but even so, it doesn't mean much to Guantou.
If young wizards can go to Hogwarts to study, what about cats?
There are no magic schools in this world specifically for cats.
On a whim, Morris bought a secondhand wand for his cat at a shop in Knockturn Alley.
The Guantou creature, holding a wand, could only occasionally shoot out a few useless beams of light, and that was about it.
Morris wanted to teach Guantou how to use spells, but he really didn't know how to pronounce " Lumos " in cat language.
In the end, he had to give up the idea of teaching the Guantou food magic.
As August arrived, Morris began trying to find a way to buy Dragon Blood in Knockturn Alley.
He visited several stores, but all he found were either counterfeit goods or ridiculously expensive items.
"I suggest you check out Borgin and Burkes's," Frick offered a sound suggestion. "The owner there... well... at least the items are generally safe. Besides, the Ministry of Magic has been keeping a close eye on things lately, and many people are dealing with their contraband. Dragon Blood, while not a serious offense, has been affected, so the price might be a bit lower recently."
So, on Frick's advice, Morris went to the Borgin and Burkes on a Wednesday in mid-August.
This shop is easy to find; it's the most famous and largest shop in Knockturn Alley.
According to Frick, it was an antique shop, but the owner also had a lot of shady business dealings in order to make money.
As soon as Morris walked in, he discovered that the shelves were not filled with antiques at all, but rather with odds and ends such as human hands, eyeballs, spiked collars, and whips.
Yeah, this is like Knockturn Alley.
A hunchbacked old man emerged from behind the counter like a ghost; he was the shop owner.
"Hello, Mr. Borgin," Morris stared at the man's greasy hair for a moment, "I need to buy some things."
Borgin was also sizing up Morris, and he said strangely, "Sir... could you take off your helmet?"
He noticed that the short guest in front of him was wearing a strange white helmet and had a rather childish voice.
"Oh, no," Morris said, "But I did come to buy something. Do you have Dragon Blood?"
He'd been wearing a mask for a long time lately, so on a whim today he switched to a helmet.
" Dragon Blood?"
Borgin glanced at Morris again, unsure whether he should kick him out—he rarely felt so uncertain about a guest.
" Frick introduced me," Morris added calmly.
"You should have said so sooner," Borgin said, his expression turning serious. "Wait for me."
He turned and disappeared behind a door, reappearing carrying two metal buckets.
"We haven't had time to repackage them yet," Borgin patted the lid of one of the buckets. "The one on the left is Antipodean Opaleye, and the one on the right is Welsh Green Dragon. I guarantee they're all pure, without any water added."
Morris stepped forward, opened the lid of the bucket, and after checking, said simply, "I want a little of it all."
Borgin immediately broke into a bright smile. "Then let's discuss the price."
In the end, Morris spent almost half of his savings.
The price of Dragon Blood is indeed outrageously expensive, but fortunately, the price offered by Borgin is still within a reasonable range.
After he paid, Borgin personally helped him divide the Dragon Blood into twenty small portions.
Morris was worried that the other party might tamper with the bottles, so he began to carefully examine each one on the spot.
During this time, more guests came in.
As Morris examined the seventeenth vial of dragon blood, he glanced casually to the side.
Standing behind the counter was none other than Draco Malfoy, an acquaintance from Hogwarts, and a haughty middle-aged wizard, presumably his father.
Old Malfoy was whispering something to Borgin, seemingly haggling over a price, while Draco wandered around the shop curiously, examining the strange items on the shelves.
Morris withdrew his gaze and continued examining the dragon blood in his hand.
He's wearing a helmet now, so Draco would never recognize him.
Meanwhile, inside a black cabinet to the right of the door, Harry was peering intently through a narrow gap, holding his breath as he watched the outside world.
While using Floo Network, he choked on some cigarette ash and unexpectedly ended up in this strange place.
In a panic, he hid in the nearest empty cabinet.
Fortunately, no one noticed his presence.
Harry certainly saw both Malfoy, but at that moment, the black-robed man with the strange white helmet, who was intently fiddling with a bunch of bottles, was more likely to capture his attention.
He recognized that helmet very well.
If he remembered correctly, at the end of last semester, a person wearing a similar helmet, fully armed, and riding a skeletal horse rescued Quirrell. And the one who knocked Quirrell away in the Forbidden Forest was probably the same person...
Unfortunately, his memory of that figure was very vague, and he couldn't even determine its size.
The man in black robes in front of him was short, only about a head taller than him, and probably not even an adult.
Is that really the case?
Just as he was pondering this, the Malfoy left the store, and immediately afterward, the man in the white helmet and black robes deftly picked up his trunk and pushed open the door to leave.
Harry adjusted his broken glasses and immediately decided to follow.
But when he stepped outside, he found himself in a completely unfamiliar alley.
Malfoy and the You-Know-Who had long since disappeared.
Only a small wooden street sign by the roadside tells him that this is Knockturn Alley.
Harry began to tense up, because the surrounding environment was worse than he had imagined. The streets were filthy, the buildings were crooked, and the few passersby all stared at him with cold eyes.
This is not a place for him to stay.
"Are you lost, darling?"
A hoarse voice suddenly rang out, startling him.
Harry turned his head and saw that the person who spoke to him was an old witch, holding a stack of fingernails and grinning at him.
what to do!?
Harry broke out in a cold sweat.
"Ah!!!"
Suddenly, without any warning, the old witch let out a painful howl, her face contorted in agony, and collapsed to the ground, convulsing, her fingernails scattering everywhere.
Harry was completely stunned, frozen in place, at a loss for what to do.
He didn't do anything.
The passersby all seemed indifferent, merely staring coldly at the old witch on the ground.
" Harry, what are you doing here?"
A familiar voice came from behind him.
Harry turned his head sharply and saw that it was the same person wearing the white helmet from before.