When Alan stepped out of the Gringotts gate, he held a heavy small cloth bag.
"The service attitude of those goblins was simply terrible," Harold couldn't help but complain. "And why do they use a scale to judge the value of paper money?"
Just now, the goblin had placed his ten fifty-pound notes and a bag of gold coins on opposite ends of the scale, and the scale remained perfectly balanced, without moving an inch. Presumably, that was also due to magic.
Alan weighed the money bag in his hand; the clinking of the gold coins made a pleasant sound. "At least they exchanged the Galleons for us."
"Are these real gold?" Harold asked.
"I guess not." Alan shook his head. "Now it's time to shop. Do you want to buy something as a souvenir?"
"Can I?" Harold looked slightly surprised.
"Mm," Alan said lightly. "It's your money, after all."
Since he accepted a gift from someone else, he had to 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 child in front of him. Looking at the crowds coming and going around him, he felt like a lamb that had wandered into a pack of wolves.
Alan pondered for a moment. "Follow me."
In fact, his main purpose for visiting Diagon Alley again was singular: the skeleton frame he had seen yesterday in the secondhand robes shop. He didn't know why, but he was particularly concerned about that bone frame; it kept lingering in his mind. If possible, he hoped to buy it. This was also why he had brought Harold along. After all, it wasn't really appropriate for an ordinary eleven-year-old child to buy something like that.
Alan led Harold to the front of the dusty secondhand robes shop. Looking at the worn-out storefront, Harold stopped in confusion. "I remember you already bought your robes yesterday."
"Don't talk," Alan lowered his voice and tugged on his sleeve. "Just come in with me. And remember to follow the plan."
"Wait!" Harold looked bewildered. A plan? Did they make a plan? Why didn't he know?
Before he could ask any questions, Alan had already pulled him into the shop. He led Harold straight to the corner where the skeleton had previously been displayed, but strangely, the skeleton was gone, replaced by a proper wooden mannequin already draped in robes.
"Need help, customers?" The shop owner walked up and asked. It was still the same bespectacled old woman from yesterday. She scrutinized Alan carefully, then suddenly realized, "Oh, you're the child from yesterday. Is there something unsatisfactory about our merchandise?"
"No, the robes fit perfectly." Alan shook his head. "Excuse me, where did the skeleton that was placed here yesterday go?"
"Skeleton?" The shop owner was startled, seemingly surprised that Alan would ask about it. "Ah, that's my son's stuff. He just likes messing around with all this random junk. Sometimes he brings it to the shop to display. I had him take it back yesterday. Why, are you interested in that?"
She pushed up her glasses, looked at Alan with a strange gaze, and added, "That's definitely not a toy."
Alan immediately flashed a shy smile and secretly kicked Harold's calf. "Actually, it's my uncle who's interested. He always likes these special kinds of things."
Harold didn't react immediately, but prompted by Alan, he quickly straightened his back and cleared his throat. "Ah, yes, I am very interested."
The shop owner looked Harold up and down dubiously, taking in his neat suit, then glanced at Alan. "It's quite surprising that a Muggle would be interested in that."
"We are not Muggles," Alan replied without changing his expression. "We just appreciate their style of dress."
"That really is terrible taste." The shop owner glanced at Harold again and said, "Fine, if you came here for that skeleton, then contact my son. I can give you his address."
Harold immediately bowed slightly. "Thank you for your trouble, madam."
"It's nothing much. My son will be happy if he knows I introduced customers to him, but..."
While muttering, the shop owner took a yellowed slip of paper from a drawer and quickly wrote down an address with a quill.
Harold took the slip, scanned it, and handed it to Alan.
Ezra Frick, Knockturn Alley, Basement 21.
That was all the paper contained. Alan had heard about Knockturn Alley from Professor McGonagall. It was a side alley branching off Diagon Alley. If Diagon Alley was a bustling, prosperous commercial street, then Knockturn Alley was a dark, dirty, illegal area. It specialized in trading items unsuitable for the open market. Simply put, it was a black market.
"That's not a good place, is it?" The shop owner suddenly looked worried. "I don't know why he chose that kind of place to open a shop..."
Listening to her rambling, Alan said earnestly, "We will visit him. Please don't worry."
"Tell him for me to remember to eat on time."
Standing back on the bustling street, Harold asked, "Are we going to this place called Knockturn Alley next?"
"I don't want to die yet," Alan answered frankly.
Of course, he wouldn't rashly venture into Knockturn Alley with Harold. A Muggle and a young wizard who hadn't started school yet—that combination didn't look reliable at all. Although Alan didn't know exactly how dangerous Knockturn Alley was, being careful never hurt. Besides, now that he had Ezra Frick's contact information, there was no need to rush.
Hearing Alan's words, Harold was stunned for a moment. "Is it a very dangerous place?" he asked quietly.
"Wizard duels can break out there at any time," Alan deliberately scared him. "Strangers who rush in easily become targets."
Wizard duels? Harold found it hard to imagine. "Then where are we going next?"
Alan looked at the pet shop not far away and said, "I'm going to buy an owl."
"An owl?" Harold looked surprised. "Why suddenly want to keep a bird?"
"Just for sending letters," Alan replied. Although he already had Canned Food, on second thought, an owl was still necessary. Since he now had a sufficient budget, it would be best to buy one.
"Wizards use owls to send letters?" Harold looked unconvinced. "That's too strange."
As they spoke, the two were already standing at the entrance of the pet shop. Through the window, various owls could be seen standing quietly on their perches, occasionally turning their heads to look at the approaching customers. Alan pushed the door open. The bell gave a crisp ring, and a faint smell of feathers and hay wafted out.
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