Mid-August.
Two weeks had passed since the birth of the undead owl, Fireworks.
On a warm, sunny morning, Morris sat cross-legged on his bed. Golden sunlight streamed in through the window, falling gently across his body. His breathing was steady and slow, his chest rising and falling in a calm, measured rhythm, lending him an air of inexplicable tranquility that felt almost out of place in the cramped dormitory.
"Hey, Morris," Scott's puzzled voice came from the bottom bunk. "You've been sitting like that for half an hour now. What on earth are you doing?"
Morris slowly opened his eyes. His silver-gray pupils were exceptionally clear, reflecting the sunlight like polished glass.
"I've already told you," he said evenly. "I'm meditating."
"But you're just sitting there not moving at all," Scott said, craning his neck upward. "Don't your legs feel numb?"
To be honest, they did.
Morris could already feel a faint cramping sensation creeping through his thighs, followed by the familiar pins-and-needles numbness. Perhaps next time, he should change his posture during Meditation sessions.
Seeing that the time was up, Morris uncrossed his legs and rolled off the bed. His knees immediately went weak, and he nearly collided with the nearby table before catching himself at the last moment.
"So what's the point of this, anyway?" Scott pressed, still unconvinced.
Morris carefully shifted his weight, rubbing his legs as the stinging sensation of returning blood flow spread through his muscles.
"It helps you concentrate more easily," he explained. "It's very useful. You should try it sometime. It's simple—first, clear your mind, then—"
"Forget it, forget it." Scott waved his hand dismissively and curled his lip. "No way I'm sitting still like that."
Expecting a young child to remain quiet and motionless for half an hour was clearly unrealistic.
Morris only shrugged.
In truth, the "Meditation" he mentioned was more than just a posture or mental exercise. It was a form of magic recorded in the Book of the Mage. Regular Meditation could significantly enhance one's focus, directly improving the precision and success rate of spellcasting.
At present, Morris's success rate with the Weakening Curse had climbed to nearly fifty percent.
That alone was enough to make him feel encouraged.
At the very least, he could now be considered to possess some degree of combat capability. If he ever encountered a mugger on the street, he wouldn't be completely defenseless.
Judging by Harold's condition after being afflicted by the curse earlier, its effects were remarkably potent. It could nearly incapacitate a fully grown adult, draining their strength and coordination in a short span of time.
"I'm heading out to play," Scott announced cheerfully. He fished a small knife out from under his pillow and tucked it neatly into his waistband with practiced ease. "You coming?"
Morris shook his head and pulled two fifty-pence coins from his pocket. "Help me buy two chocolate bars instead. You can keep the change."
Scott's eyes lit up instantly. He caught the tossed coins with a nimble motion.
"That's my Morris—always generous!"
"Remember to buy them from the shop on the next street over," Morris added. "I like the ones from there."
Scott flashed an exaggerated "okay" gesture and bolted out the door, his footsteps fading quickly down the corridor.
He really is full of energy, Morris thought. Just like a kid should be.
If Scott was heading to the next street, the round trip alone would take nearly an hour.
Soon, the dormitory fell quiet.
Morris pulled his trunk out from beneath the bed and retrieved his wand. Over the past few days, he had been experimenting with the spells listed in the standard Hogwarts textbooks.
"Lumos."
With a smooth flick of his wand, a soft sphere of white light bloomed at its tip, illuminating the room.
"…"
The casting was extremely smooth.
Morris rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
Although he had successfully cast magic once again, something felt off. The sensation was subtly different from what he had experienced while practicing spells from the Book of the Mage.
Why was this form of magic so completely different?
To cast the Wand-Lighting Charm, all one needed was precise wand movement, focused intent, and clear pronunciation of the incantation. While there were certainly minor details and nuances, the most critical aspect stood out clearly—
There was no need to construct a Spell Model at all.
According to the Book of the Mage, constructing a Spell Model should have been the core step of any spellcasting process.
Could it be… that these are two entirely different magic systems?
Morris could only speculate.
Still, this discovery wasn't necessarily a bad thing.
After all, being able to cast magic more easily was something worth enjoying. If every spell truly required the painstaking construction of a Spell Model, it would be nothing short of a nightmare.
He opened his copy of "The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1", purchased earlier in Diagon Alley, and began flipping through its pages.
The book contained only basic spells—charms like the Levitation Charm Wingardium Leviosa and the Unlocking Charm Alohomora. Still, each entry was carefully structured.
Notably, most of the incantations had clearly traceable linguistic roots, resembling forms of Latin or Greek.
This, too, was completely different from the magic recorded in the Book of the Mage.
The incantations there did not belong to any language Morris recognized. Instead, they carried an innate sense of power, as though the language itself had been specifically constructed for magic.
Morris continued reading with growing interest. The textbook meticulously outlined proper wand movements, pronunciation tips, and common mistakes for each spell.
"Very convenient," he murmured with a nod.
These spells were clearly designed to be learned and used quickly.
While Morris was practicing a few additional spells, Canned Food appeared outside the window at some point without him noticing.
"Where have you been lately?" Morris asked as he opened the window and let the cat inside.
He scooped the plump feline into his arms and stroked its head gently. He hadn't seen this silly cat for several days.
"Meow~"
Canned Food rubbed against Morris's palm and curled up comfortably, purring contentedly.
"Looks like you've been having a good time," Morris said softly.
As he groomed the fur along the cat's back, Canned Food's eyes narrowed in bliss.
Unfortunately, not everyone was pleased.
With a sudden ripple of shadows, Fireworks leaped out from Morris's shadow and landed gracefully on the table in front of him.
"Awoo!"
The undead owl spread its wings and let out a strange cry, glaring fiercely at Canned Food.
Startled, Canned Food looked up, fur bristling slightly, and returned the glare without retreating. A low warning growl rumbled in its throat.
The two undead creatures locked eyes, neither willing to yield.
Morris didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"Alright, alright," he said helplessly. "Go play somewhere else."
To appease the jealous Fireworks, Morris set Canned Food down and returned to his textbook.
Moments later, the two small troublemakers hopped onto Scott's bed and began chasing and wrestling with reckless enthusiasm.
Looks like Scott's going to have to wash his sheets again, Morris thought apologetically.
He stood up to close the window.
Then suddenly, his movement froze.
Outside the window, a pair of large, round eyes stared directly at him.
It was an unfamiliar owl.
The owl tilted its head slightly before tossing a letter neatly into Morris's hand.
"This is…"
Morris glanced at the envelope. The sender's name was unmistakable:
Ezra Frick.
He tore the letter open immediately.
Dear Guest,
The item you mentioned is not for sale and, regrettably, cannot be sold.
However, if you are interested in other items, I have enclosed a sales list for your reference. Quality is guaranteed for all items. Should you wish to make a purchase, please include the payment with your reply, and the owl will deliver the goods.
Sincerely,
Ezra Frick
After skimming the letter, Morris let out a small sigh.
Judging by the reply, it would be impossible to obtain that skeleton anytime soon.
Still, this only meant he would have to be patient.
And patience, after all, was something a necromancer could afford.
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