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Upon hearing this, Fred and George were speechless.
A dozen Galleons is a considerable fortune for an average student.
"I want to go to Diagon Alley to buy some things, a few potion ingredients," Morris explained. "It might cost a hundred gallons."
Fred nearly choked on his own saliva. "Then there's nothing we can do to help you."
Although they had ways to make money, they only sold some gadgets they had researched on campus and occasionally smuggled some goods to Hogsmeade through those secret passages.
Even if you sold them all in bulk, you wouldn't make a profit!
"Alright." Morris sighed again.
He had initially considered asking if selling potions would be a good option, but upon closer examination, he realized it wasn't feasible.
Who would buy a potion brewed by an eleven-year-old wizard?
Moreover, he has far too few types of potions at his disposal.
Chapter 66 Perhaps shampoo would be a good choice
December 19th.
Finally, the Christmas holiday, which all the students had been eagerly anticipating, arrived.
After breakfast, the students gathered at Hogsmeade Station, waiting for the Hogwarts Express to arrive.
Despite the cold weather, everyone was excited.
After being locked up at Hogwarts for so long, I always wanted to go home and visit.
The Christmas holiday at Hogwarts will last until early January, which is quite a long holiday.
Most students chose to go home to reunite with their families, but a few stayed at school—such as Harry and Ron, and the Weasley twins.
The Weasleys stayed because their parents were going to visit Charlie in Romania.
Charlie is their second brother, and he works as a dragon tamer in Romania.
Morris was quite interested in the job, after all, he also wanted to see the legendary fire dragon with his own eyes.
Of course, as a necromancer, he was more interested in the corpse or skeleton of a fire dragon than a living one.
I wonder if the undead creature conversion magic circle will work on a massive magical creature like a fire dragon.
Owning a fire dragon would be so cool!
Morris shook his head, knowing full well that the idea was currently pure wishful thinking.
However, who can predict the future?
Soon, the train arrived at the station on time.
After boarding the train, Maurice randomly found an empty seat at the very front of the carriage and sat down.
Perhaps because some students chose to stay on campus, no one shared a carriage with him this time, and those familiar faces did not appear.
A rare moment of peace and quiet.
Morris wasted no time and pulled out a few books from his suitcase to read.
He brought very little luggage home this time, basically nothing else, just books, a skeleton dog, and canned food.
As for fireworks, they symbolize that one can fly home faster and more freely.
It can only be said that it truly lives up to its reputation as the owl of the magical world, possessing astonishing stamina and speed.
Time slips away quietly while reading and meditating.
The train gradually slowed down and finally came to a smooth stop at Platform 9¾ at King's Cross Station.
Steam filled the air, and the noise of voices returned.
Morris closed the book in his hand, carefully put it away, stretched, and followed the crowd off the train.
There were many people on the platform, but the person who came to pick up Maurice was obviously not among them.
He pulled his luggage, which was covered with cans, and walked straight to the entrance of the train station.
Winter twilight enveloped London early, and the streetlights gradually lit up, casting clusters of dim yellow light.
Morris stopped at the exit, looked around, and quickly locked onto his target—a bald man in the crowd...
Oh no, bald.
There are still some subtle differences between the two.
The man who arrived was Harold Green.
Maurice had written to Harold while still in school, asking if he could come pick him up, and Harold readily agreed.
"Harold?" Morris pulled his suitcase over.
"Ah, Morris," Harold turned around, took the suitcase from him, and said with a smile, "you seem to have grown taller."
Morris nodded and added politely, "Your hair looks thicker too."
"..."
Harold's expression was somewhat subtle.
If you can't speak well, then speak less.
The two got into the car and drove into the London streets in the evening.
In the carriage, Maurice changed out of his robes into Muggle clothes, just as Harold had said, he was growing and his old clothes no longer fit.
Fortunately, he had used magic at Hogwarts to make his clothes a little bigger.
They are not allowed to use magic outside of school.
Once magic is used, something called "trace threads" will be triggered, immediately alerting the Ministry of Magic that an underage wizard is casting spells outside of school areas.
However, in wizarding communities like Diagon Alley, using magic is perfectly acceptable.
Because the trails trace magical traces in a certain area, not an individual.
Harold skillfully drove the car and casually asked, "How's life at Hogwarts?"
"Not bad," Morris said. "Magic is a good thing."
He knew perfectly well that Harold was very interested in the topic of magic.
Sure enough, Harold's eyes lit up. "What exactly can it do?"
"I can do almost anything." Morris looked out the window at the flowing street scene and explained, "For example, turning water into paint, making objects disappear or appear out of thin air, or repairing broken things... Unfortunately, according to the rules, I can't use magic in the world of ordinary people."
Harold visibly disappointed when he heard that Maurice couldn't use magic.
On the rest of the journey, he kept asking Morris about Hogwarts.
Morris answered basically truthfully.
He had already asked Professor McGonagall beforehand that while information about magic should not be revealed to Muggles, guardians were an exception.
Of course, guardians must also abide by confidentiality regulations, otherwise relevant personnel from the Ministry of Magic will come to visit.
While we were chatting, the car slowly pulled up in front of the orphanage.
Morris got out of the car, and a familiar, faint smell of fermenting garbage wafted over.
Yes, that's the taste!
I've smelled it since I was a child, and it has never changed.
Only at this moment did he truly feel that he had returned to the Muggle world.
"I'll be going now," Harold said as he helped Maurice take his luggage out of the car. "Oh, by the way, would you like to come over for Christmas?"
"OK."
Morris agreed without hesitation.
Since he didn't have any plans for Christmas anyway, why not take advantage of the opportunity to freeload a meal?
Harold smiled. "Then I'll come pick you up. Goodbye."
"goodbye."
...
While having dinner at the orphanage, Maurice was suddenly told by a caregiver that his former roommate, Scott, had moved to the next city.
Morris felt a little regretful, after all, he and Scott had known each other for a long time.
After losing contact, they will probably never see each other again.
After dinner, Maurice returned to his old room.
Sure enough, everything on Scott's bed was gone, and his own bed was covered with a thin layer of dust.
At this moment, Morris particularly missed the convenience of magic. If he could, he would love to use a cleansing spell.
Unfortunately, there's that damn thing called "Traces of Silk".
After a quick cleaning, Maurice had nothing to do, so he started preparing Christmas gifts for others.
Although he knew many people, upon careful consideration, it seemed that the only people he needed to send Christmas gifts to were the Weasley twins.
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