In the afternoon, after Professor McGonagall dropped Morris off directly at the orphanage entrance via another stomach-churning round of Apparition, she hurriedly departed. Apparently, she still had much work to complete.
Morris had successfully purchased everything on his supply list except for one item: a pet.
According to the list's specifications, Hogwarts allowed students to bring an owl, cat, or toad as their permitted companion animal. Most students chose owls for their practical utility in delivering mail, though cats were also popular among those who preferred something more traditionally affectionate.
Toads, Morris suspected, were an option only because of tradition, and he pitied any student who actually showed up with one.
But Morris already had Tin-Tin, his undead cat, who technically fulfilled the "cat" requirement even if the school didn't need to know about the "undead" part. He certainly didn't need to spend scarce funds on another animal that would require feeding and care.
From this perspective, Tin-Tin did have some tangible use after all, beyond providing occasional amusement and serving as a test subject for necromantic experiments.
At least he saved Morris several Galleons that could be put toward other purposes.
When Morris finally dragged his new suitcase which was a surprisingly nice leather case that the general store owner had thrown in as a "gift" after Professor McGonagall's intimidating negotiation tactics—through the orphanage's front door, he immediately spotted Harold pacing back and forth in the reception room like a detained animal.
He looked very anxious and uneasy.
He'd clearly been waiting for them, probably for hours.
"Mr. Green?" Morris greeted him politely, pausing in the doorway.
Harold's head snapped up at the sound of Morris's voice. His eyes immediately darted past Morris to scan the area behind him, and asked nervously. "Where's Professor McGonagall?"
"She's already left, sir," Morris replied calmly, stepping fully inside and letting the door swing closed behind him. "She had other business to attend to."
Only then did Harold's entire body could relax. He let out a long, shaky breath that seemed to deflate him.
Morris pulled the suitcase across the carpet to the sofa area, parking it beside the furniture with a thump.
He was planning to rest for a moment before hauling everything up to his dormitory. His arms ached despite the magical weight-reduction charm the suitcase apparently had.
He'd been dragging these supplies all the way through Diagon Alley for hours. The suitcase itself was enchanted with some kind of Lightening Charm, so it wasn't actually heavy in the conventional sense, but he was still only eleven years old with the physical conditioning of someone who'd spent his entire life avoiding exercise whenever possible.
Harold's gaze immediately focused on Morris's new suitcase with curiosity. He took a tentative step closer, craning his neck to get a better view. "What's inside it?"
"School supplies, mostly," Morris answered easily as he sank into the sofa with a satisfied sigh. "Bought everything in Diagon Alley. Books, clothes, and various miscellaneous items."
"Can I..." Harold hesitated, then leaned in even closer. Morris could smell the lingering tobacco scent clinging to his clothes. "Can I take a look inside?"
"Sure," Morris hesitated for a moment, but considering that the man was in some sense his guardian, he nodded.
Morris leaned forward and pressed the brass clasp on the side of the case and the lid sprang open.
Harold bent down to look inside.
The case was neatly arranged with several black robes, a stack of books, and various peculiar objects.
Most eye-catching was the wand on top, its dark wood carved with mysterious patterns.
The wand seemed to draw the eye, demanding attention despite its apparent simplicity.
He remembered that Professor McGonagall had used a similar little wooden stick to perform magic.
"These are all..." Harold's voice came out somewhat dry. "Magical items?"
"Probably," Morris answered calmly. "They're all things Hogwarts required me to acquire. The books certainly are about magic. The other equipment—I'm not entirely sure what half of it is actually used for yet. I haven't attended classes."
Harold reached out tentatively toward the wand. His fingers came within inches of the wood. Then he stopped mid-air, his hand freezing in place as second thoughts overtook initial curiosity.
Wait. Maybe it's better not to touch these wizards' things.
Morris observed the director's internal struggle showing on his face with some amusement.
"You can pick it up and examine it if you'd like, Mr. Green," Morris said, deciding to be generous. "It's just my wand. It won't hurt you. But please be careful with it."
Only then, did Harold carefully pick up the wand with both hands, as if handling a priceless antique or a live explosive.
The wand was surprisingly lighter than he'd imagined. He held it up to eye level for closer examination, turning it slowly in the light to study the grain patterns and natural variations in color.
"Can this really cast magic?" He asked in a voice filled with wonder and skepticism.
"It needs the right wizard to cast spells," Morris reminded him patiently, leaning back against the sofa cushions. "For ordinary people without magic, holding it is no different from holding an ordinary stick."
Harold clearly understood that he fell into the ranks of ordinary people.
He returned the wand to Morris, handling it with exaggerated caution, then rubbed his hands together nervously and lowered his voice to say.
"So, Mr. Black, Could you cast a spell for me? Just one small spell. Let me see real magic with my own eyes?"
His tone was almost pleading, like a child asking for a treat.
"I'm honestly not sure if I'll succeed," Morris said honestly. "After all, I haven't actually attended school yet."
Then he smiled slightly. "But I suppose I can try. Please don't move too much, Mr. Green. And try to stay calm."
Upon hearing this instruction, Harold immediately stiffened his entire body into attention, like a soldier at inspection. He even held his breath, his face was beginning to redden from the effort of remaining perfectly still.
His eyes fixed on the wand in Morris's hand with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness.
However, Morris merely switched the wand to his left hand and extended his right hand toward Harold, opening his palm toward him.
In fact, Morris didn't actually know how to use a wand properly at all. He had no training, no instruction, no practical experience beyond waving it in Ollivander's shop and producing some sparks. The wand was basically a very expensive prop at this point.
The only spell he currently knew with any reliability was the Weakness Curse from the Mage's Book. And according to that grimoire's detailed instructions, curse-work of this type didn't require any external tools or focus.
Mr. Green, standing frozen before him with his face turning interesting shades of red was fortunate or perhaps unfortunate enough to become Morris's first living experimental subject.
He'd tried casting this spell hundreds of times before, practicing alone in empty rooms and corners of the orphanage courtyard, directing his magic at empty air. And out of all those attempts, he'd only truly succeeded in completing the spell construction once.
But for some inexplicable reason, this time Morris felt different. His mind was exceptionally clear. The ambient noise of the building faded away until all he could hear was his own breathing and the pounding of his heart.
The spell model began forming in his mind with unprecedented clarity. Each component snapped into place perfectly, without the usual struggle and wrong starts.
This time, he could feel, he would succeed.
"Ahem..." Harold couldn't help but speak up, breaking the tense silence. "You're going to cast it on me?"
"Weakness Curse!"
Before Harold could finish his objection, the obscure incantation had already flowed from Morris's mouth.
A barely visible gray mist emanated from Morris's right palm.
Harold didn't even have time to react before he felt a bone-chilling cold shoot up his spine. Then his legs went weak, and he collapsed onto the sofa behind him.
"What's happening to me..." Harold tried to push himself up into a sitting position but found that even lifting his arm more than a few inches had become extraordinarily difficult.
He looked at Morris with terror widening his eyes. "What did you do to me!?"
"How do you feel?" Morris asked with interest, carefully observing Harold's condition like a scientist documenting an experiment's results. His voice remained calm as he continued. "This spell makes you feel fatigued and weak."
Only then did Harold realize that he must have been hit by actual magic. This wasn't his imagination or a panic attack—he'd been genuinely cursed by an eleven-year-old boy standing calmly three feet away.
After carefully assessing his body's current state, he relaxed slightly a little.
As Morris had described, his condition was just like extreme fatigue. It felt remarkably similar to the aftermath of a long night of drinking and revelry.
So this was magic? This was what wizards could do with a few words and a gesture?
Indeed, it was a power that science couldn't even begin to explain.
"But I noticed you didn't actually use your wand..." Harold managed to say, his words came out slightly slurred from exhaustion. "You just held it in your other hand. Does that mean—oh, forget it, that's not important right now."
He tried to shift his weight on the sofa, attempting to find a more comfortable position, but even that minor adjustment required enormous effort. "Help me remove this spell first. I can't stand up."
"..."
Silence.
"What are you standing there for?" Harold said urgently, his voice rose with growing panic as he registered Morris's lack of response. He was getting a very bad feeling about this situation. "Hurry up and restore me!!"
Morris awkwardly touched the back of his head. His face showed genuine embarrassment for the first time.
"Well..." Morris said slowly. "The thing is... I haven't actually learned how to remove this spell yet…."
"!~%$!~#&!"
Thirty minutes later, Harold finally felt his strength gradually returning.
"I'm truly sorry, Mr. Green," Morris said sincerely.
"Are you certain this won't leave any permanent aftereffects?" Harold asked, rotating his shoulders and stretching his neck, testing his restored mobility with lingering fear and paranoia.
"I'm certain!" Morris said with confidence.
—Well, he wasn't actually certain at all. The Mage's Book hadn't mentioned anything about long-term effects, but it also hadn't mentioned a lot of things that Morris suspected might be important.
But for now, giving a reassuring answer seemed like the better strategy for maintaining Harold's cooperation. The man was already traumatized enough without adding more worry.
Having received that confirmation, Harold relaxed somewhat, though he maintained a wary distance from Morris and his empty hands. But his curiosity, which had been temporarily suppressed by the terror of being cursed, began reappearing.
He sighed, running his hand over his balding head. "Morris, can magic do other things besides making people weak?"
"Of course," Morris replied. "Magic can accomplish almost anything if you have sufficient skill and knowledge."
"Like what?"
Morris thought for a moment, drawing on his observations from the day's shopping expedition. "You should have already seen some examples with Professor McGonagall—turning one thing into another through Transfiguration, or suddenly appearing hundreds of miles away through Apparition. Those are just basic applications. Magic can accomplish almost anything you can imagine and many things you can't."
A flash of longing appeared in Harold's eyes. He asked hesitantly: "So... could I learn magic?"
"Uh, probably not," Morris told him honestly, because lying seemed both cruel and pointless. "Professor McGonagall explained that magical ability is almost entirely innate—you're born with it or you're not."
This answer left Harold looking disappointed, his shoulders were slumping as another impossible dream died. His face went through a complicated series of expressions—sadness, resignation, bitter acceptance.
"Then let's change the subject," Harold said finally, forcibly shaking off his melancholy. He waved his hand dismissively, as if physically pushing away his disappointment. "Where did you and Professor McGonagall go this morning?"
"It's the main magical shopping district in London," Morris explained. "A place called Diagon Alley. There are many wizards there."
Harold leaned forward with interest, his earlier disappointment momentarily forgotten. "Can I go there?" His voice carried curiosity and eagerness.
Morris had initially wanted to answer that no. But thinking it over more carefully...
If he personally led Harold there, maybe it would actually be possible?
The brick wall had opened when Professor McGonagall touched it, but Morris assumed it would open for any wizard who knew the sequence. And once inside, he hadn't noticed any magical barriers preventing muggles from being present.
It seemed Harold was developing a very strong interest in the wizarding world.
That made things easier, Morris thought.
"I can take you to see it," he smiled slightly. "But I have one condition."
"What is it?" Harold was somewhat surprised.
Morris met his eyes directly. "I want pocket money."
For a moment, Harold just stared at him. Then he laughed.
'What a shrewd little brat,' he thought with admiration. 'But not in a bad way.'
"You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Black," Harold said, still chuckling. "But yes, I can arrange pocket money. Within reason. Don't expect a fortune."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Morris replied mildly.
"Then we'll make the trip tomorrow morning," Harold decided, nodding with satisfaction. "I'll come with the car."