Early the next morning, Morris put on his wizard robes, shouldered a large backpack, and left the orphanage, preparing to head to Diagon Alley. He had originally wanted to ask Harold to give him another ride, but constantly troubling others wasn't good.
He'd originally considered asking Harold for another ride to Diagon Alley. However, Morris had never been one to impose unnecessarily on others' kindness.
Therefore, this time he would travel by Knight Bus.
The Knight Bus was a peculiar form of public transportation unique to the wizarding world. Morris had learned how to summon it and what precautions to take from a Ravenclaw upperclassman.
"Unless absolutely necessary, I don't recommend taking the Knight Bus. The experience is... memorable, shall we say. But if you must ride it, if there's simply no other option available to you, then for Merlin's sake, it's best not to eat anything beforehand. Trust me on this. I learned that lesson the hard way."
Morris had taken her warning seriously and obediently skipped breakfast, though his stomach now protested with quiet growls of complaint.
He adjusted the backpack straps one final time, pulling them higher on his shoulders to distribute the weight more evenly, then made his way to a relatively open spot by the roadside.
The street was quiet at this early hour—most of London's Muggle population was still snoozing in their beds. Morris glanced around to ensure no one was watching, then extended his wand arm into the air, mimicking the gesture Muggles used to hail black cabs.
He held the position awkwardly. Just as he had held this position for thirty seconds, feeling his arm getting sore and wanting to switch hands—
Bang!
The sound was deafening in the morning tranquility. A purple, triple-decker bus appeared out of thin air with a screech. It stopped inches from where Morris stood, executing what could only be described as a beautiful if utterly terrifying drifting turn that stirred up a powerful gust of wind.
The turbulent air tousled Morris's dark hair, sending it flying in all directions and nearly dislodging his backpack.
The door was yanked open with such force that it banged against the side of the bus. A young man in a garish purple uniform stuck his head out enthusiastically.
His expression was eager but empty, like an overeager puppy who hadn't quite mastered the concept of personal space. He couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard!" he announced with rehearsed cheerfulness. "Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this morning. Please board, sir."
Morris nodded calmly, keeping his expression blank despite the chaotic introduction, and climbed aboard with careful steps.
The interior of the Knight Bus was far larger than the exterior showed. The cabin was spacious and oddly furnished.
Instead of the rows of conventional seats one might expect in any normal vehicle, the entire space was filled with brass-posted beds with fluffy pillows and thick blankets.
An elderly wizard was sprawled across one of the beds in the back row, snoring with the volume and enthusiasm of a hibernating dragon. His nightcap had slipped over one eye, and he clutched his blanket with fingers even in sleep.
"Where to, then?" Stan asked enthusiastically, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet like an excited child.
Morris found the bed closest to the conductor and sat down carefully, testing the mattress. "The Leaky Cauldron, please. Thank you."
"Eleven Sickles!" Stan announced cheerfully, extending an expectant hand.
"But for fifteen Sickles, just four more!—you get hot chocolate, a hot water bottle, and a toothbrush in the color of your choice! We've got red, blue, yellow, green, purple—"
Morris handed over exactly eleven Sickles, cutting off what promised to be an exhaustive listing of available toothbrush colors. He had no need for hot chocolate or novelty toiletries at this particular moment.
The bus lurched into motion without warning, and Morris immediately understood why the upperclassman had advised against eating beforehand.
The Knight Bus didn't simply drive—it bowled, hurtled, and occasionally seemed to defy the very laws of physics as it tore through London's streets.
The vehicle moved with reckless wildness, accelerating to extreme speeds before making hairpin turns that should have sent all passengers tumbling across the floor.
Morris gripped the bedpost watching as they approached obstacles. Whenever it seemed certain they would crash, those obstacles whether people or walls would simply move aside in ways that violated laws of physics.
Morris watched in stunned amazement, his mind was trying to categorize the magic involved even as his stomach protested the violent motion.
He thought that Newton's coffin lid probably couldn't be held down anymore—the legendary physicist would be rising from his grave to file formal complaints about the blatant violations of his laws.
Unfortunately, while magically impressive, the actual experience of riding the Knight Bus was far from pleasant.
The vehicle jolted and bounced with such wildness that Morris felt certain his internal organs were being rearranged with each sudden movement.
Behind him, the elderly wizard continued snoring peacefully, apparently accustomed to the chaos that it no longer disturbed his slumber.
When the bus finally screeched to a halt, Morris felt as if his internal organs had been displaced by several inches and were only now settling back into their approximate original positions.
"The Leaky Cauldron," Stan announced cheerfully, apparently completely unaffected by the journey that had left Morris looking slightly green. "We're here! That'll be all for today's trip!"
"Have a pleasant journey!" he added with enthusiasm, as if Morris had just enjoyed a relaxing cruise rather than survived what felt like a near-death experience.
Stan helped pull open the door with another metallic bang.
Morris grabbed his backpack with trembling hands and stepped out onto the solid, wonderfully stationary cobblestones with somewhat unsteady footsteps.
His legs felt like jelly. The ground seemed to sway beneath him, though he knew logically it was perfectly still.
All around him, Muggles passed by on their morning commutes but not a single one noticed the enormous purple bus that had appeared out of nowhere. They simply walked around it unconsciously, their eyes sliding past it as if it weren't there at all.
Morris took several deep breaths of cold morning air, willing his stomach to settle and his legs to remember how to function properly. Then, he pushed open the door to the Leaky Cauldron and stepped inside.
The pub was already surprisingly full despite the early hour. Wizards and witches of all ages occupied the wooden tables engaged in conversations over mugs and plates of breakfast.
The air was filled with the mingled aromas of frying bacon, fresh bread, and the musty smell of old magic that seemed to permeate every wizarding shop.
A witch in lime-green robes was arguing loudly with her companion about the proper technique for de-gnoming a garden. Two elderly wizards played what appeared to be a very intense game of Gobstones in the corner, occasionally cursing when the stones squirted foul-smelling liquid at the loser.
Now safely away from Muggle eyes, Morris could finally cast proper magic. He pulled out his wand and murmured a Levitation Charm, feeling instant relief as the backpack's weight lifted from his aching shoulders.
He approached the bar where Tom, the elderly barkeeper, was polishing glasses. Tom looked up with a toothless smile that was somehow both welcoming and slightly unsettling. His bald head reflected the firelight from the hearth.
"What can I get you, young sir?" Tom asked in his raspy voice.
"A butterbeer, please," Morris requested, settling onto one of the rickety bar stools. "And a sandwich, if you have any available."
"Coming right up!" Tom disappeared into the back room and returned moments later with a foaming mug of butterbeer and a thick sandwich stuffed with cheese, ham, and some kind of tangy magical pickle that Morris couldn't identify but tasted surprisingly good.
Morris ate slowly, savoring each bite and giving his stomach time to fully recover from the Knight Bus ordeal. The butterbeer was sweet and warming, spreading pleasant heat through his chest.
Around him, the pub's ambient noise created a comfortable backdrop.
After his brief rest and meal, Morris felt considerably more human. He paid Tom, shouldered his now-magically-lightened backpack, and made his way through the pub toward the back courtyard where the entrance to Diagon Alley was located.
The courtyard was small and enclosed, with brick walls on all sides and a few scattered trash cans. This was where he'd first entered the magical shopping district months ago.
Morris approached the wall, pulling out his wand with confidence. He'd done this before. He knew the pattern. Count three bricks up from the trash can, then two across, and tap three times with the wand. Simple.
He counted carefully—one, two, three bricks up then moved two across and tapped the designated brick repeatedly with his wand tip.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Nothing happened.
The wall remained stubbornly solid, showing no sign of the magical transformation that should be occurring.
Morris frowned, puzzled. He was certain he'd followed the correct procedure.
'Did I miscount? '
He stepped back and examined the wall more carefully, mentally retracing his steps. Three up from the trash can, two across... Wait.
"Which bastard moved the trash can!" Morris muttered under his breath, his eye was twitching with annoyance.
Morris twitched the corner of his mouth and tapped three times on the correct brick. This time, the archway to Diagon Alley opened smoothly.
Diagon Alley was still as noisy and bustling as Morris remembered. Christmas was rapidly approaching, and many of the shops had already begun decorating for the holiday season.
Christmas trees sparkled with enchanted ornaments that changed colors in patterns. Ribbons of gold and silver floated unsupported in the air, waving gently despite the absence of any breeze. Strings of glittering magical lights crisscrossed the street, casting rainbow reflections on the cobblestones below.
However, Morris didn't linger to enjoy the festive spectacle. He had a specific purpose for this visit, and it wasn't Christmas shopping. His eyes scanned the shops near the entrance until he spotted what he was looking for—a rather shabby-looking establishment with a faded sign that read "Secondhand Goods & Sundries" in shedding gold lettering.
Morris ducked inside quickly, the bell above the door jingled to announce his arrival. The shop's interior was cramped and musty, filled floor-to-ceiling with a bewildering range of used magical items.
Broken wands sat in jars alongside chipped cauldrons. Stacks of yellowing magical texts teetered on every available surface. A moth-eaten set of dress robes hung from a hook, next to what appeared to be a taxidermied Kneazle with one glass eye missing.
The proprietor barely glanced up from her ledger as Morris browsed. He found what he needed quickly: a map of Diagon Alley spread out on a table near the back, marked with careful annotations.
When he emerged from the shop minutes later, Morris held a piece of parchment in his hand.
It was a detailed map of Diagon Alley, marking all the shop names and their locations with surprising accuracy. More importantly for a budget-conscious student, it included notations about recent discount periods—useful information like "Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, buy one get one free every Wednesday afternoon" and "Potage's Cauldron Shop, 20% off copper cauldrons on Tuesdays."
Practical, informative, and cheap, only one Sickle for the entire map. A bargain by any standard.
Of course, none of this discount information was Morris's main reason for purchasing the map.
His eyes focused on a specific detail in the corner—a section of the parchment depicting a narrow alleyway that branched off from the main shopping district.
In that corner, someone had scrawled a huge X in pitch-black ink that had bled slightly into the surrounding parchment.
Beside the X, written in large capital letters, were the words: "ABSOLUTELY DO NOT ENTER!"
This place was, almost certainly, the entrance to Knockturn Alley. And it was precisely Morris's main objective for today's outing.
Following the map's path, Morris navigated through Diagon Alley's crowded streets. After taking several turns down narrower and less populated side streets, he found himself standing at the threshold of a shadowy alleyway.
The contrast between this place and Diagon Alley was stark. Where Diagon Alley was bright, festive, and welcoming, this alley was narrow, dark, and distinctly unwelcoming. T
he cobblestones here were cracked and uneven, with suspicious dark stains marking their surface. The buildings on both sides were dilapidated and leaning at concerning angles, as if they might collapse at any moment onto unwary passersby.
Their windows were either boarded up completely or covered with such thick grime that nothing could be seen through them. Faded, peeling signs hung crookedly from rusted chains, advertising services and goods that sounded vaguely sinister even without detailed knowledge of what they might entail.
The very air felt different here. The cheerful holiday decorations of Diagon Alley stopped abruptly at this threshold, as if even enchanted ornaments knew better than to venture into this particular district.
Morris stepped forward calmly. He walked carefully, occasionally feeling the characteristic stickiness of something foul beneath his shoes, he deliberately avoided examining too closely what that substance might be. His eyes moved constantly, surveying his surroundings.
There weren't many pedestrians visible in Knockturn Alley, at least not out in the open. Only a few shadowy figures lurked in doorways and alcoves, wrapped in dark robes. They huddled together in small groups, conversing in voices too low to overhear, occasionally glancing around with wariness.
A small child appearing in such a notoriously dangerous place was inevitably conspicuous, attracting attention like a candle flame draws moths.
Morris was aware of this reality. He'd only walked a few dozen meters into the alley before he'd already felt numerous gazes fixing on him from various dark corners and shadowed doorways.
Those looks carried a mixture of emotions—assessment, as if weighing him for some unknown purpose; curiosity, wondering what brought a child to this place; and more often than either, undisguised malice that made his skin prickle with instinctive warning.
However, despite the attention and the obviously threatening atmosphere, no one actually approached or attempted to stop him. This was because Morris had taken precautions. He hadn't ventured into Knockturn Alley unprepared or naive about its dangers.
His disguise was simple but effective. He wore a black mask that covered almost his entire face, leaving only his eyes visible and even those were shadowed by the mask's design.
He'd deliberately enlarged his robes, making them billow around his small body and adding several inches to his apparent height. His hood was pulled up and forward, creating deep shadows that further obscured his features and age.
The overall effect made him look less like a vulnerable child and more like... well, something considerably more mysterious and potentially dangerous.
More importantly, he held his Skeleton Dog in his arms.
Whenever someone looked at Morris with ill intent, the Skeleton Dog would turn its skull toward them and "stare" back with those flame-filled sockets.
The effect was remarkably effective as a deterrent.
Morris could even faintly hear people around him discussing his presence in low, wary voices that carried just far enough for him to catch fragments.
"Who's that?"
"Don't bother with 'im," another voice responded. "Probably a dwarf. You know how they get when you mess with 'em. Not worth the trouble."
"I'd guess Polyjuice Potion," a third voice chimed in thoughtfully. "Could be anyone under there. Best leave well enough alone."
Such conversations were commonplace.
Once, purely for his own amusement and to test the effectiveness of his disguise, Morris deliberately stopped walking directly in front of a group of people who'd been whispering about him.
He simply stood there motionless, the Skeleton Dog cradled in his arms with its blue flame eyes fixed unblinkingly on the group.
The group scattered like a startled flock of crows, melting into shadows and disappearing down side alleys with remarkable speed for people who'd appeared so menacing moments before.
'Heh heh heh, how interesting,' Morris thought with amusement.
In reality, even if someone did actually attempt an attack, Morris wasn't worried in the slightest about his ability to defend himself.
As long as he wasn't suddenly surrounded by a large group attacking simultaneously from multiple directions, he was fully capable of handling himself in a confrontation.
He had an arsenal of spells at his disposal.
Weakening Curse, Wailing Curse, Shadow Concealment, Bone Summoning... Whether for offense, defense, or even escape, he had corresponding methods.
Unfortunately or perhaps fortunately, depending on one's perspective, no one actually came forward to provide an opportunity to test these preparations in actual combat.
After walking for several more minutes through the passages of Knockturn Alley, Morris pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. He glanced at the faded writing, squinting slightly in the dim light to make out the words.
"Ezra Frick, Knockturn Alley No. 21, basement."
This was precisely the address given to him by the owner of that secondhand robe shop during his last visit to Diagon Alley. His Skeleton Dog had also been purchased from this person.
Knockturn Alley No. 21—in any case, he should first go see what kind of place it was.