Morris invented this Transfiguration Potions for only one purpose: to enhance his own physical abilities.
Until now, he has never seen any magic or Potions with similar functions.
For wizards, physical strength is of paramount importance (seriously).
A wizard who cannot fight in close combat is not a good wizard.
Three minutes later, the Potions's effects wore off, and Harry and Ron's heads contorted for a moment before returning to their original state.
"That's amazing, Morris," Harry looked over eagerly, "Can I buy two bottles from you? I can pay."
Morris wanted to say that it wasn't cheap, but then he remembered that the other party was a rich second-generation, so he swallowed his words.
He took two small bottles out of his pocket and placed them on the table. "Twenty Galleon each, are you sure you want them? Seriously, that's a bit expensive for a toy."
Harry answered without hesitation, "No problem, I'll get the money for you in a bit."
Ron looked on with envy. Suddenly remembering something, he turned and asked, "Wait, Morris, you just said that the ingredients for this Potions cost you over a dozen Galleon?"
"Probably," Morris said, "That I actually wasted more."
If you really want to calculate it precisely, he probably spent hundreds of Galleon.
He never hesitated to invest in magical research.
"Where did you get the money to buy them?" Ron asked, puzzled. "I mean, I remember you weren't..."
He didn't finish his sentence, but his meaning was clear.
It's illogical that Morris, an orphan, would spend so much money researching Potions.
"People always have to find ways to make money," Morris shrugged casually. "Like, getting a job during the holidays."
Ron was extremely surprised. "Work? My mom would never allow me to go."
" Mrs. Weasley is right," Morris chuckled. "If you want to make money, why don't you ask your two brothers? They have plenty of ways."
Ron pursed his lips. "Forget it."
At that moment, Hermione suddenly remembered that Morris had mentioned to her before that he had sold a lot of Skeleton Dog to Lockhart.
Is this what the part-time job entails?
Hermione was a little curious, but she didn't ask.
She didn't want to talk about Lockhart at all right now. Just a few days ago, the Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts came to visit her with a greeting card. She took the opportunity to ask him some questions, but he couldn't answer any of them. He even gave vague answers to some details in her book.
The facts are already clear.
Without a doubt, Morris was right.
Lockhart isn't very capable.
After leaving the Hospital Wing, Morris went straight back to his dormitory.
Pushing open the door, a complex smell wafted out.
His dormitory was in a mess. Several cauldrons were on the floor, a large pile of Potions ingredients were scattered everywhere, and open books and crumpled papers were piled in the corner.
It's definitely a bit chaotic.
Lately, he's been engrossed in various studies, including Potions, and has no interest in tidying up his room.
After spending nearly half an hour tidying everything up, Morris sat on the bed and began his daily Meditation.
When he opened his eyes, he found that his two pets, Guantou and Yanhua, had returned.
Yanhua had somehow acquired a Wizard's Chess and was playing against his own shadow, while Guantou was lying on the ground tearing something apart—it looked like a book.
Upon seeing its owner finish Meditation, the Guantou immediately stopped its destructive behavior and trotted over with the book in its mouth.
"What's this?"
When Morris took it, he found it was a thin notebook with a black, worn cover and several clear teeth marks on the edges.
The cover is undecorated, but judging from the date, it should be from fifty years ago.
The Guantou gave two soft squeaks.
The general meaning is: It found this.
Morris carefully sensed it and noticed a subtle flow of magic.
He flipped through it casually; the paper was very rough. On the first page was a name: Tom Riddle.
Apart from that, the entire notebook was blank, containing no content.
This is probably a magical notebook—not uncommon at Hogwarts; there are quite a few in the Restricted Section of the library.
Morris became interested.
He picked up a quill pen from the table beside him and scribbled a few words on a blank page of his notebook. "Hello."
Just as he expected, the ink was instantly absorbed by the paper, leaving no trace.
He didn't stop, and continued writing, "Can we talk?"
Similarly, the handwriting was instantly swallowed up.
Just when Morris thought there was no more news, a line of neat handwriting slowly appeared on the surface of the paper. "Hello, I am Tom Riddle, and you are?"
interesting.
Morris raised an eyebrow.
He didn't want to write his real name in this notebook of dubious origin, so he casually wrote, "Hello, Riddle, my name is Albus Dumbledore."
This time, the notes reacted much faster.
A question mark first appeared, then quickly faded away, and a new line of text appeared even faster.
"You're lying, my friend. Your handwriting is completely different from Dumbledore's."
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Morris smiled and continued writing, "Just a joke, you can call me Mark. So, who are you? And what is this notebook?"
This time, the laptop's response was very smooth.
" Mark, you're very cautious, that's good. If it were me, I wouldn't give out my name right away either."
"As for me, as I said before, I am Tom Riddle, a former student of Hogwarts. This notebook is a small invention I made during my student days, a container for storing memories, and a means to communicate with others and share my knowledge and insights."
"So, Mark, what do you hope to gain by initiating this conversation with me? Knowledge? Or secrets about Hogwarts?"
A memory stored in a notebook...
Morris stroked his chin.
This kind of magic is no simple matter; if someone possesses such an ability, they are definitely not an ordinary person.
They might still be alive today.
In short, let's try to get on their good side first.
Just as he was thinking this, a new entry appeared in his notebook. " Mark, can I ask you your parents' names?"
Morris paused for a moment.
What does this question mean?
He wrote cautiously, "I am an orphan, without parents."
The laptop remained silent for a moment.
"An orphan... I understand. In fact, I also lived in an orphanage when I was a child. Let's get back to the point. What do you want to ask me? I'm happy to answer anything I know."