" Malfoy!?"
Upon hearing this name, everyone present was taken aback.
"What does this have to do with Malfoy?" Ron asked immediately, having long forgotten about the robes.
Morris explained honestly, " Malfoy burned Kyle's tent. Oh, right, the old Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy."
"I knew it!" Ron's face flushed red upon hearing Morris's reply. " The Malfoy were involved too. I have to tell Dad; maybe he can—"
-"
"Stop causing trouble, Ron," Fred interrupted him, his tone much more serious than usual. "We don't have solid evidence; we'll only be accused of something we don't have. You know how influential the Malfoy family in the Ministry of Magic."
Ron opened his mouth as if to retort, but ultimately remained silent.
Thinking about it carefully, it does seem to be true.
"By the way, Morris," George leaned closer and asked, "How did you teach Lucius a lesson? Tell us quickly."
All eyes were on Morris.
"A little magic spell that makes people sick." Mori smiled.
"Makes you sick?" George pressed. "What kind of sickness?"
"It's a very painful kind of pain, and it lasts for a while."
Morris did not elaborate.
Fred suddenly looked regretful and sighed, "You should have burned off that awful hair of his."
"Good idea," George immediately chimed in, "And burn Draco Malfoy's too while you're at it."
Everyone laughed, and the air was filled with a joyful atmosphere.
Just then, Fred suddenly stopped.
"Look," he said softly, gesturing with his chin in a certain direction.
Morris followed the other person's gaze and saw that it was Draco Malfoy.
The other party was still the same as before, arrogant in expression, with his two henchmen, Goyle and Crabbe, by his side, heading towards the train.
Morris was considering whether to ask about Lucius Malfoy's condition.
He was quite curious whether his curse had been broken.
The question is, how should he ask?
Hey Draco, how's your dad?
Hmm... I have a feeling he's deliberately picking a fight.
However, the fact that Draco is here, rather than at a hospital or a funeral, means that Lucius is at least still alive.
Just then, the train's whistle sounded.
"Time to get on the bus!" Ron shouted hurriedly.
The Weasley family children quickly said goodbye to their family.
Once on the train, Morris, as usual, shared a carriage with Fred and George.
Lee Jordan was there too; he was the first to arrive and was sleeping in his chair, snoring on and off, with a book spread out on his lap.
Fred glanced at it and read out the title of that page.
"Flirting with Potions! Twelve Love Potion recipes!"
"Wow!" George's eyes lit up when he heard that, as if he had discovered a new continent.
Morris, however, was quite moved.
The child has grown up.
About five minutes after the train departed, Lee Jordan woke up.
He opened his eyes to find Fred and George staring at him, both wearing identical, unsettling smiles.
Then, as if realizing something, he quickly shoved the book off his lap behind his back.
"We've seen it, Lee Jordan," Fred teased. "If you want to brew Amortentia, maybe you can ask Morris; his Potions skills are better than ours. Tell us, which girl have you got your eye on?"
"Asshole!"
The two started playfully fighting.
Upon seeing this, Morris smiled slightly.
He's really young... uh, wait a minute, he doesn't seem to be old enough to be making such pronouncements.
Although he's over thirty years old across his two lifetimes, how can you calculate his age like that?
He's just a teenager now.
As time went on, the carriage gradually quieted down, and Lee Jordan continued to sleep leaning against his chair, snoring even louder than before.
Fred and George were busy tinkering with their inventions, and the entire seat was covered with all sorts of gadgets.
Skiving Snackboxes, Portable Swamp, a fake magic wand, and a miniature Dungbomb about the size of a marble.
Then, unsurprisingly, the two of them blew up the miniature Dungbomb.
Morris had no choice but to take refuge in the next carriage, where Harry and his two companions happened to be.
" Morris, what brings you here?" Hermione asked curiously, pulling Crookshanks next to her onto her lap and making room for him.
Morris sat down and sighed, "I've come to take a look around."
He noticed that Ron across from him was holding up an old-fashioned robe and gesturing at himself.
It was a dark purple robe with lace trim.
"Is that your dress?" Morris asked.
"Yeah, isn't it?" Ron's lips twitched twice. "It's ridiculous, isn't it?"
"I think it's alright," Morris said seriously. "Doesn't the retro style suit the aesthetics of wizards?"
Ron muttered, "Why don't you try it on?"
Morris didn't answer, but tugged at his collar.
His light gray robe began to change, gradually turning from light gray to dark purple, and a lace trim slowly appeared around the collar and cuffs.
A few seconds later, the robe he was wearing became exactly the same as the robe in Ron's hand.
Ron remained silent.
He had to admit that, while the robe itself was rather ridiculous, it seemed... acceptable on Morris?
So, we still have to rely on modeling?
This world is so unfair! He thought angrily.
"Very handsome," Hermione commented.
Harry nodded in agreement.
"Alright, you win." Ron tossed the robe down, draping it over his owl cage. " Morris, could you alter this robe for me? You used Transfiguration, didn't you? At least get rid of the lace."
Morris glanced at him. "You can try it yourself. It's very simple. You learned Transfiguration in first grade."
"If I could do it, I wouldn't need to trouble you," Ron said sullenly, looking at Hermione. "What about you, Hermione? Can you do it?"
"Maybe," Hermione said somewhat uncertainly, "But I certainly can't do it that precisely."
"Keep it up, Ron," Morris said.
"Yes, keep it up, Ron," Harry chimed in, his tone cheerful.
" Transfiguration..." Ron muttered, "That's too difficult."
He took out his wand and waved it a few times at the robe, but the lace on it became even more noticeable.
In the end, he put down his wand and stared blankly at the scenery rushing past the window.
"Don't give up so quickly," Hermione said, her tone tinged with disappointment.
Ron waved his hand dismissively, "It's okay, I don't need to wear it now anyway."
Why the rush?
"Why do we need to prepare formal attire this semester?" Harry suddenly asked.
"It's probably some kind of event, like a ball or something," Morris said, standing up. "I'm off now, see you at Hogwarts."
The smell of the Dungbomb should have dissipated most of the time.