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Chapter 9 of My Necromancer of the Forbidden Academy
Diagon Alley.
Harold looked around, feeling a surge of excitement.
He had been to Charing Cross Road more than once, but he never imagined that there was such a hidden place there.
This is the world of magic!
He saw a snow-white owl fly over the Flourish and Blotts sign, and not far away, a copper kettle in front of the crucible shop was humming an off-key tune to itself.
A strange yet pleasant scent filled the air, making him feel refreshed.
Morris reminded him, "Now we should go explore a bit. By the way, how much money did you bring?"
Harold instinctively clutched his pocket and asked warily, "What do you need the money for?"
"The entrance fee," Morris said without changing his expression. "I can't take you on a tour of the magical world for free, can I?"
Harold stared at him, wide-eyed in disbelief. "You didn't tell me this. And... wizards use our money too?"
"I remember you said yesterday you'd give me pocket money," Maurice said, already walking toward the white building. "We're going to Gringotts, where I can help you exchange your pounds for gallons and siscoats, which are wizarding money. I also want to buy some odds and ends besides textbooks—come with me."
Harold followed, asking, "Do they use credit cards?"
After weaving through the bustling crowd, the two arrived at the entrance of Gringotts.
There were several fairies at the gate.
This was the first time Morris had observed these creatures up close. They were shorter than he had imagined, with dark, wrinkled skin, long, pointed ears that stretched back, and shrewd eyes.
To be honest, it's a bit ugly.
As the two passed by, the fairies bowed slightly to them.
"They seem very polite," Harold whispered to Maurice. "Are they even human?"
"It's a fairy," Morris replied.
Upon entering the main hall, one finds a long row of counters where fairies sit on high stools, busily engaged in their tasks.
Morris led Harold directly to an empty counter that handled currency exchange.
"Hello?"
Morris tilted his head back and greeted him—that was the only way he could do given his height.
The fairy looked up from behind the tall ledger and said expressionlessly, "What kind of service do you need?"
"I need to exchange some pounds for some Galleons, sir," Morris said.
The fairy looked Maurice up and down, then nodded knowingly. "A new student at Hogwarts, from the Muggle world, is that right?"
"What does it matter?" Morris frowned slightly.
"Of course," the goblin tapped the counter with her slender fingers, "if you're not a Hogwarts student, we simply won't exchange your currency. Muggle money is useless to us—we only offer this service to Muggle wizards of Hogwarts."
"Alright, I'm a new student at Hogwarts." Maurice nodded.
The fairy snorted softly and took out an exquisite scale. "According to the rules, you can only exchange for a maximum of fifty Galleons per year."
Fifty Galleons? Morris was slightly disappointed.
However, this is reasonable.
For a wizard, earning pounds is much easier than earning galleons.
Chapter 9 The Vanishing Skeleton
When Maurice stepped out of Gringotts, he was carrying a heavy little cloth bag.
"The service from those fairies was absolutely terrible," Harold couldn't help but complain. "And why use scales to determine the value of paper money?"
Just now, the goblin placed his five fifty-pound notes and a bag of gold coins on opposite sides of the scales, and the scales remained perfectly balanced.
That must be due to magic.
Morris hefted the money pouch in his hand; the gold coins clinked together with a pleasant sound. "At least they did give us the Galleons in return."
"Is this real gold?" Harold asked.
"I guess not," Morris shook his head. "Now it's time to go shopping. What would you like to buy as a souvenir?"
"Is that alright?" Harold asked, slightly surprised.
"Hmm," Morris said casually, "After all, it's your money."
If you accept a gift from someone, you must pay the corresponding price.
"Where should we go first?" Harold asked.
He knew nothing about this place and could only rely on the eleven-year-old boy in front of him.
Looking at the crowds coming and going around him, he always felt like a lamb that had strayed into a pack of wolves.
Morris thought for a moment and said, "Come with me."
In fact, he had only one main purpose for revisiting Diagon Alley.
That was the skeleton he saw in the secondhand robe shop yesterday.
For some reason, he was particularly concerned about that skeleton, and it kept lingering in his mind.
If possible, he hopes to buy that thing.
That's why he brought Harold along; after all, it's really inappropriate for an ordinary eleven-year-old to buy that kind of thing.
Morris led Harold to the door of the drab secondhand robe shop.
Looking at the dilapidated shop, Harold stopped in his tracks, puzzled. "I remember you bought the robe yesterday."
"Don't speak," Maurice said in a low voice, tugging at his sleeve. "Just come in with me… and then, remember to stick to the plan."
"etc!"
Harold looked bewildered.
plan?
Do they have any plans?
How could he not know?
Before he could even ask a question, Maurice had already pulled him into the store.
Maurice led Harold straight to the corner where the skeleton had been placed, but strangely, the skeleton had disappeared and been replaced by a proper wooden dummy.
Moreover, the wooden dummy has been draped in a robe.
"Do you need any help, sir?" the shop owner asked as she approached. It was the same elderly woman with glasses from yesterday.
She scrutinized Maurice closely, then suddenly realized, "Oh, you're that child from yesterday... Are you dissatisfied with our goods?"
"No, the robe suits you well." Maurice shook his head. "Excuse me, where is the skeleton that was placed here yesterday?"
"skeleton?"
The shopkeeper paused, seemingly surprised that Maurice would ask that. "Ah, those are my son's things. He likes to tinker with these random things, and sometimes he brings them to the shop to display. I told him to take them back yesterday—what, are you interested in that?"
She pushed up her glasses, looked at Maurice with a strange expression, and added, "That's not a toy."
Morris immediately gave a shy smile and quietly kicked Harold's shin. "Actually, it's my uncle who's interested. He's always liked these kinds of special things."
Harold didn't react for a moment, but after Morris reminded him, he quickly straightened his back, cleared his throat, and said, "Ah, yes, I'm very interested."
The shopkeeper looked at Harold's sharp suit with a hint of skepticism, then glanced at Maurice. "It's quite surprising that a Muggle would be interested in this..."
"We're not Muggles," Maurice replied without batting an eye. "We just admire their style of dress."
"That's really bad taste." The shopkeeper glanced at Harold again and said, "Well, if you're here for the skeleton, contact my son. I can give you his address."
Harold immediately bowed slightly. "Thank you for your help, madam."
"It's no big deal. My son would be happy if he knew I introduced him to clients, but..."
As the shop owner rambled on, he took a yellowed piece of paper from a drawer and quickly wrote down an address with a quill pen.
Harold took the note, glanced at it, and handed it to Maurice.
"Ezra Frick, basement of 21 Knockdown Lane".
That's all there is on the paper.
Morris had heard about Knockdown Alley from Professor McGonagall.
It is a side alley next to Diagon Alley.
If Diagon Alley is a bustling and vibrant commercial pedestrian street, then Knockturn Alley is a dark, dirty, and illegal area.
They specialize in trading things that are not suitable for the market.
Simply put, it's the black market.
"That's not a good place, is it?" the shopkeeper suddenly said, a worried look on his face. "I don't know why he chose to open a shop in that kind of location…"
Listening to her rambling, Maurice said earnestly, "We will visit, please don't worry."
"Tell him for me to remember to eat on time."
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