Chapter 15: Is This Book Useful?

“Goodbye, Mr. Ollivander.”
“Never again, Mr. Morris.”
“No, just call me Thirteen Inches, Silver Linden, Dragon Heartstring.”
“Mr. Morris, I must remind you, the last time silver linden wands were famous was in the nineteenth century. Due to high demand, some unscrupulous wandmakers dyed inferior wood to fool buyers.”
“Thank you for the warning, Mr. Ollivander.”
“By the way, Mr. Morris, would you be interested in learning about wands with me—”
Ollivander spoke, anticipating a response.
However, when no agreement or polite refusal came, he suddenly looked up and realized that the three figures of Morris and his companions had vanished inside the shop. Only the slightly swinging door remained, a gentle breeze lifting the parchment on the counter.
“Is intuition really more important than experience?”
Ollivander shook his head, chuckled softly, then lowered it to begin tidying the scattered wand boxes.
Yet this time, his movements were slower than usual, his thoughts drifting with the touch of his fingers on the wands, gradually recalling a childhood argument with his father—
“Perhaps intuition itself is a form of experience.”

...

Outside the Litern Bookshop hung a gently swaying wooden sign, elegantly carved:
“Litern Bookshop—The Sanctuary of Wizarding Knowledge.”

Morris pushed open the door with Harry and Hermione, the crisp chime of the bell echoing through the shop.
Inside, towering shelves were piled high with books, the air tinged with a faint scent of ink. Light poured through the vast glass windows, making the gilded titles shimmer brilliantly.
“Oh my!” Hermione’s eyes were immediately drawn to countless heavy volumes.
Like a magnet, she darted toward the nearest shelf, her fingers sliding over rows of spines, excitement and eagerness written all over her face.
“This place is amazing! Harry, look at these books!” Hermione called out, turning around, but seeing Harry’s somewhat bewildered expression, she quickly softened her tone, “Uh… it’s okay, we can take our time choosing.”

“Mr. Potter, Miss Granger,” Morris interrupted Hermione’s enthusiasm, pointing to a section labeled “Hogwarts Freshmen Essentials,” “you should start with the books on this list, especially *Standard Spells: Beginner’s Edition*. It’s the foundation of all foundations.”

Harry walked toward that area and reached out for a book titled *History of Magic*.
On the way here, he’d noticed Hermione clutching this very book—she was quite attached to it.
The worn cover smelled faintly of ink.
Opening it, the text was meticulous, filled with dates and events, causing Harry’s already reluctant mind to momentarily freeze.
Who am I? Where am I? Is this really meant for reading?

“Is this book useful?” Harry whispered to Morris.
“Of course,” Morris replied without hesitation, “but I must warn you, it’s only 'useful' if you’re willing to read it.”

Harry sighed in resignation, set down *History of Magic*, and picked up another book, *Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them*.
Its cover depicted a fire-breathing dragon, looking far more interesting than the previous one.
“This book seems fun,” Harry said.
“Indeed, it’s a classic,” Morris nodded. “But don’t be fooled by its appearance. You’ll need not just curiosity but patience—it uses plenty of complicated terms that might confuse you.”

Hearing this, Hermione couldn’t help but interject: “I think all these books are great! I want to buy everything on the list and maybe a few extras, like *Advanced Alchemy* and *Mysteries of Astronomy and Magic*—”

“Slow down, Miss Granger.” Morris raised a hand to cut her off. “Books are wonderful, but before the term starts, focus on the essentials on the list, or you might be overwhelmed by the flood of knowledge.”

Reluctantly, Hermione nodded. “Alright, Professor.”

After buying the books, Morris helped the two youngsters gather other school essentials, including two owls.
Once they had everything, the three stood on Diagon Alley’s bustling street, drawing many curious glances.

Morris handed them two steaming cups of pumpkin juice. “A little celebration, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger. You’re officially Hogwarts freshmen now.”

Harry took a sip, savoring the sweet taste dissolving on his tongue.
Looking at the throng of people in Diagon Alley, an unfamiliar sense of belonging suddenly welled up inside him.
“Thank you, Professor,” he said.

As Morris handed Harry and Hermione their train tickets, ready to escort them home, an excited voice called out from the crowd:
“Mr. Morris! Bern Morris!”

Morris turned to see a tall, slender man quickly making his way through the crowd toward them.
His frame was lean, clad in a dark gray wizard’s robe, clutching a quill and a small notebook, his face bright with an eager yet respectful smile.

“Ah! It really is you!” The man panted as he stood before Morris, catching his breath before continuing, “Hello, I’m Sean Phillips, a reporter from *The Daily Prophet*. I heard you returned to the wizarding world. I caught a glimpse of you outside Litern Bookshop and couldn’t resist coming over to introduce myself.”

Morris narrowed his eyes, his tone calm, “Sean Phillips... yes, I remember you. You reported quite a bit about me in *The Daily Prophet* last year.”

He possessed a trait common among great achievers—a photographic memory, especially for faces. He had a deep impression of this wizard; the articles were intriguing, not merely neutral accounts but enriched with his personal insights and perspectives.

Morris preferred such people... it gave him a sense of power.
A new power.

“That’s right!” Sean smiled awkwardly, quickly pulling a business card from his pocket and handing it to Morris. “But today I’m here because—well, your return has caused quite a stir in the magical community. Many are curious about your current situation. I was wondering if I might interview you for a while, to talk about your life now and your views on wizarding society?”

Perhaps fearing a misunderstanding, Sean hastened to add, “Of course, Mr. Morris, I’m flexible with time and place—whatever suits you best.”

Morris pondered for a moment, then nodded, “Alright, I can do an interview. But first, I need to take these two young wizards home.”

Hearing this, Sean’s face lit up with excitement. “Of course, I completely understand! So, how about—”
“Wait for me at the Three Broomsticks.” Morris cut him off. “I’ll need about an hour.”

Sean blinked in surprise, then nodded. “Okay, no problem! I’ll be there!”

Watching Sean hurry away, Hermione couldn’t help but ask, “Professor, who was that? Why was he looking for you?”

Morris drained the last of his pumpkin juice before answering, “Just an interesting reporter. He wants some ‘stories,’ and I happen to fit what he’s looking for—but I promise, it’s nothing entertaining.”

“He looked like a fan chasing a celebrity,” Hermione murmured, puzzled, looking up. “Professor, are you really that famous?”

Morris glanced at her and said lightly, “Fame itself isn’t important, Miss Granger. What matters is that fame often comes with expectations, and expectations bring trouble. So I prefer to keep a low profile.”

“Then why agree to the interview?” Hermione, sensing a contradiction, pressed eagerly.

Morris smiled gently and patted her shoulder. “Miss Granger, in life, there are things you dislike but must do. Like interviews—sometimes, putting yourself out in the open protects you more than hiding in the shadows.”

Hermione frowned but nodded, half understanding.

“Alright, it’s getting late. I’ll take you both home.” Morris handed Harry and Hermione their train tickets. “The Hogwarts Express departs September 1st from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Don’t be late, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger.”