When Morris stepped out of Gringotts, he had a heavy little cloth bag in his hand.
"Those goblins have absolutely dreadful service," Harold couldn't help complaining. "And why use scales to determine the value of banknotes?"
Just moments earlier, the goblin had placed his five fifty-pound notes and a bag of gold coins on opposite pans of the scales, and the scales had remained perfectly balanced without budging.
Presumably, that was magic too.
Morris hefted the money pouch, and the coins clinked pleasantly. "At least they did exchange our money for Galleons."
"Are these real gold?" Harold asked.
"I don't think so." Morris shook his head. "Time to go shopping. Want to buy anything as a souvenir?"
"Can I?" Harold looked a little surprised.
"Yes," Morris said casually. "It's your money, after all."
Having accepted someone else's gift, he had to pay the corresponding price.
"Where do we go first, then?" Harold asked.
He knew nothing about this place and could only rely on the eleven-year-old boy before him.
Watching the crowds passing around him, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was a lamb that had wandered into a pack of wolves.
Morris considered for a moment, then said, "Follow me."
In fact, he had only one main purpose in visiting Diagon Alley again.
It was the skeleton he had seen in the secondhand robe shop yesterday.
For some reason, that set of bones particularly concerned him, and he couldn't get it out of his head.
If possible, he hoped to buy it.
That was also why he had brought Harold along. After all, it really wasn't very appropriate for an ordinary eleven-year-old boy to buy such a thing.
Morris led Harold to the entrance of the dingy secondhand robe shop.
Looking at the shabby storefront, Harold stopped in puzzlement. "I remember you already bought your robes yesterday."
"Don't talk." Morris lowered his voice and tugged at his sleeve. "Just come inside with me... and remember to stick to the plan."
"Wait!"
Harold looked utterly bewildered.
A plan?
Had they made any sort of plan?
How come he didn't know about it?
Before he could ask, Morris had already pulled him into the shop.
Morris took Harold straight to the corner where the skeleton had stood before, but strangely, the skeleton was gone, replaced by a perfectly ordinary wooden mannequin.
The wooden mannequin had already been dressed in robes, too.
"Can I help you?" the shopkeeper came over and asked. She was the same bespectacled old woman as yesterday.
She studied Morris closely, then suddenly recognized him. "Oh, you're the boy from yesterday... was there something about our merchandise you weren't satisfied with?"
"No, the robes fit very well." Morris shook his head. "May I ask where the skeleton that was here yesterday has gone?"
"The skeleton?"
The shopkeeper paused, seemingly surprised that Morris would ask about it. "Ah, that belongs to my son. He likes tinkering with all sorts of nonsense, and sometimes he brings it into the shop to display. I told him to take it back yesterday-why, are you interested in it?"
She pushed up her glasses and gave Morris a strange look, adding, "That's no toy."
Morris immediately put on a shy smile and secretly kicked Harold in the shin. "Actually, it's my uncle who's interested. He's always liked unusual things like that."
Harold failed to react at first, but at Morris's prompting, he quickly straightened his back and cleared his throat. "Ah, yes, I'm very interested."
The shopkeeper dubiously examined Harold's crisp suit, then looked at Morris. "What a surprise, a Muggle taking an interest in this..."
"We're not Muggles," Morris replied without batting an eyelid. "We simply appreciate their style of dress."
"That's truly dreadful taste, then." The shopkeeper gave Harold another look and said, "Well, if you've come for that skeleton, get in touch with my son. I can give you his address."
Harold immediately bowed slightly. "Sorry for the trouble, madam."
"It's no trouble at all. My son would be happy to know I'd sent customers his way, but..."
As she rambled on, the shopkeeper took a yellowed slip of paper out of a drawer and quickly wrote down an address with a quill.
Harold took the slip, glanced at it, and passed it to Morris.
"Ezra Frick, basement, 21 Knockturn Alley."
That was everything written on the paper.
Morris had heard about Knockturn Alley from Professor McGonagall.
It was a small alley branching off beside Diagon Alley.
If Diagon Alley was a lively, bustling pedestrian shopping street, then Knockturn Alley was a dark, filthy, lawless area.
It specialized in trading things that weren't fit for the open market.
Simply put, it was a black market.
"It's not a nice place, is it?" The shopkeeper suddenly looked worried. "I don't know why he chose a place like that to open a shop..."
Listening to her muttering, Morris said earnestly, "We'll pay him a visit. Please don't worry."
"Tell him to remember to eat on time."
Back on the bustling street, Harold asked, "Are we going to this place called 'Knockturn Alley' next?"
"I don't want to die yet," Morris answered bluntly.
Of course he wasn't going to rashly venture into Knockturn Alley with Harold.
A Muggle and a young wizard who hadn't even started school yet-that combination hardly seemed reliable, however he looked at it.
Although Morris didn't know exactly how dangerous Knockturn Alley was, being careful never hurt.
Besides, now that he had Ezra Frick's contact details, there was no particular hurry.
Hearing Morris's words, Harold stood stunned for a moment.
"Is it a very dangerous place?" he asked quietly.
"Fights between wizards can break out there at any moment," Morris said, deliberately trying to frighten him. "Strangers who blunder in can easily become targets."
Fights between wizards?
Harold found it rather hard to imagine. "Where are we going next, then?"
Morris looked at the pet shop a short distance away and said, "I'm going to buy an owl."
"An owl?" Harold looked very surprised. "Why do you suddenly want a pet bird?"
"It's just for sending letters," Morris replied.
Although he already had Guantou, on further thought, an owl was still a necessity.
Now that he had a sufficient budget, it would be best to buy one.
"Wizards use owls to send letters?" Harold didn't look particularly convinced. "That's so strange."
As they spoke, the two had already reached the pet shop's entrance.
Through the shop window, they could see all sorts of owls standing quietly on perches, occasionally turning their heads to look at approaching customers.
Morris pushed open the door. The bell rang clearly, and a faint smell of feathers and hay wafted toward him.