After that, Morin explained many other design concepts for the "Eyebrow-Level Wand" to Dumbledore.
For example, adding metal bands to both ends to increase striking power and prevent breakage.
Or, if necessary, attaching sharp metal spikes to the tip, turning it into a spear.
In short, the possibilities were endless.
Dumbledore responded to every proposal with insights of his own. As the greatest wizard of the age, his combat experience was vast. He had encountered almost every imaginable situation.
Being cornered without magic and forced to rely on physical means was not rare.
Otherwise, how would Dumbledore have developed such a robust physique in his youth?
"I have a few more questions, Mr. Morin," Dumbledore said. This time, his expression was exceptionally grave. "The device you created that automatically absorbs magic... can it absorb indefinitely? And as for usage-must magic be actively channeled into it?"
"Indefinite absorption is impossible. The materials impose a hard upper limit," Morin replied calmly. "As for usage-if someone truly insisted, magic wouldn't be required."
He raised an eyebrow.
"But the cost would be astronomical. Mass distribution would be impossible. And I'm confident that my methods would be nearly impossible for others to replicate."
"In short, for a very long time, only those with magic will be able to use wands."
"It seems you understand my concern," Dumbledore nodded.
"Of course," Morin said slowly. "But eras must change eventually. Whether for better or worse, stagnation only leads to decay."
"I chose to guide this era's change."
"And you?"
"You remind me of someone, Mr. Morin," Dumbledore sighed. "Equally brilliant. Equally... terrifying."
He paused.
"But unlike him, I cannot bring myself to oppose you. You have not deliberately harmed others. What you wish to change is the era itself-and at its core, it is for the better."
"Even I," Dumbledore admitted, "wish to take part."
"I would welcome that, Headmaster Dumbledore," Morin said. "If you are willing, I would be delighted to offer you a grand gift."
"For something to earn that description from you, I can't help but feel expectant," Dumbledore chuckled. "However..."
"Why not experience it first?" Morin interrupted.
"Oh?" Dumbledore hesitated. "May I ask what kind of gift this is, that it can be experienced?"
"Physical," Morin said, enunciating each word. "A robust body."
"..."
Dumbledore's brow furrowed instantly.
"Don't misunderstand," Morin said. "I'm not referring to dark magic. It harms no one else's interests. The principle is simple-using magic to repair the body."
"A fundamental repair. Allowing it to return to its prime."
"If such a thing exists..." Dumbledore fell silent for a moment. "It would be difficult to believe. Do Chinese practitioners truly possess so many miraculous methods, Mr. Morin?"
"First, I'm not a wizard," Morin said with a shrug. "Second, I'm an exception."
He paused.
"But it is a miraculous land. Nothing that happens there is surprising."
"Enough talk. With your level of magic, you'll be able to tell whether what I offer is beneficial or harmful."
"What reason would I have to refuse?" Dumbledore shook his head.
Even Dumbledore had moments where temptation was difficult to resist.
He was human.
He would age.
And he would die.
Dumbledore did not yet fully trust Morin. They had only met the day before. His original purpose in visiting had been to demand answers.
Regarding Harry, safeguards had already been placed. Protection. Monitoring.
That was why he had come so soon after Morin moved in.
The process had changed slightly.
But now, Dumbledore intended to accept Morin's "grand gift."
Not out of blind trust.
Out of aligned interests.
Through Morin, Dumbledore saw the dawn of a new era. A truly great one.
And Morin's gift was something he could not help but desire.
Through Dumbledore, Morin could bring that era about faster-and with greater reach.
A mutual benefit.
A logical partnership.
Morin raised his hand.
A white glow appeared, swirling with countless magical "units."
This was a magical method Morin had developed himself.
The principle was simple.
Convert base magic into standardized units with defined properties.
Arrange those units into structures.
Form systems.
Magic.
If traditional magic was instinct and intuition, this was construction.
Code and software.
Morin called it-
"Formulaic Magic."
No more vague perception.
No more obscure feeling.
To cast a spell, one simply built the formula.
Of course, the system was still incomplete. Bugs remained. Analysis and experimentation were ongoing.
But Morin wasn't in a hurry.
He had time.
"This is it," Morin said.
He opened his hand. The glow condensed into a sphere of light, floating gently in midair.
"Truly... astonishing," Dumbledore murmured. "This is an entirely different system from ours?"
"Correct," Morin nodded. "And until it's perfected, I won't spread it."
"A wise decision," Dumbledore said quietly. "Not everyone survives the process of refining something like this."
The shock in his blue eyes lingered.
After observing it for a long time, he finally raised his wand and lightly tapped the sphere.
...
"Tonight's exchange has been most enlightening," Dumbledore said as he stood, smiling. "Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Morin. If you have further plans, please inform me."
"Certainly," Morin replied. "I look forward to our cooperation, Headmaster Dumbledore."
"Pleasant cooperation."
...
Two days after Petunia and Morin reached their agreement.
Harry was hiding in the cupboard.
They called it a cupboard, but it was really a useless space under the stairs, meant for junk and repurposed as Harry's bedroom.
When the door was shut, the only light came from a single bulb.
Aside from this space, there was no trace of Harry's existence in Number 4, Privet Drive.
"This proves our earlier decision was correct," Vernon said smugly, folding his newspaper. "No one will ever know we have a nasty boy living here."
"We just have to keep him locked inside," Petunia agreed.
She was wearing her finest clothes and jewelry today, yet still looked like a wicked witch.
Vernon, stuffed into a suit, looked like a pig dressed for a funeral.
"Once he's older, we'll throw him out," Petunia whispered, her face twisted with hatred-and buried envy. "Once he's an adult, those freaks won't have any reason to interfere!"
"Cheer up," Vernon said, patting her hand. "As long as the little freak stays quiet, today will be perfect. It's a shame Dudley's away at camp. Mr. Morin would've loved him."
"Don't worry," Petunia said soothingly. "Mr. Morin is our neighbor. There will be plenty of opportunities once Dudley returns."
Harry knew nothing of this.
He sat in the cupboard, staring blankly at the dim light.
Or counting his messy hair for fun.
Hair that always grew back overnight, no matter how completely it was shaved.
"Hey... you can't eat my biscuit," Harry whispered, nudging a spider away.
He wasn't afraid of spiders.
After years in the cupboard, they were the only living things that moved besides him.
He had learned to keep his voice low.
Experience taught him that interrupting Vernon's conversations-especially with "important people"-led to consequences.
And that tin of biscuits was proof enough.
Harry nibbled one carefully, squinting in satisfaction.
A rare luxury.
If only I could eat whenever I wanted. Somewhere sunny. Somewhere Vernon and Petunia couldn't boss me around.
He sighed quietly.
That day would probably never come.
Except in his imagination.
Two o'clock in the afternoon.
Morin knocked on the door precisely on time, gifts in hand.
What followed was routine small talk.
Morin was worldly. Too worldly to slip up.
There was nowhere he hadn't been.
Nothing luxurious he didn't understand.
Vernon and Petunia loved it.
Within thirty minutes, Morin's image was firmly set in their minds.
Polite.
Worldly.
Wealthy.
Top-tier lawyer.
The conversation remained pleasant.
At least on the surface.
After half an hour, Morin stood and politely asked to use the restroom.
The path led past the stairs.
Past the cupboard.
At that moment, Harry was lying flat inside, bored, reaching for another biscuit.
He misjudged the distance.
His hand clipped the tin.
He reacted instantly.
Too late.
Clang.
Rattle.
The tin tipped over, loud and unmistakable.
Morin stopped mid-step.
He turned toward the cupboard, his expression shifting naturally into confusion.
"Oh no!"
In the living room, Vernon and Petunia froze.
Their confident expressions vanished.
That sound-
That direction-
Vernon launched himself off the sofa with surprising speed.
"Rat!" he shouted. "A damn rat!"
Morin ignored them and walked straight toward the cupboard.
Inside, Harry killed the light and pressed himself into the darkness, barely breathing.
His heart hammered.
"Mr. Morin!" Vernon rushed forward. "It's a rat!"
"A rat?" Morin turned, eyebrow raised.
"Yes! Rats!" Vernon stammered. "Old houses, you know how it is. This is where we keep junk-noises happen sometimes..."
"I see," Morin said, smiling politely. "I was just about to open it and take a look."
"No!" Petunia blurted out. "It's filthy and full of rats. Please, Mr. Morin-use the restroom. We'll handle it."
"Alright," Morin said, stepping away.
Hearing the footsteps retreat, Harry finally exhaled.
Relief.
And something else.
Disappointment.
Maybe if I were caught, I'd finally escape this life.
He smiled bitterly.
The odds of that were probably lower than an angel descending from heaven.
"However," Morin said.
Harry froze.
"I have a feeling..."
In the next instant, danger exploded through him.
Instinct screamed.
Harry flattened himself against the floor.
Air rushed.
CRASH!
When it was over, Harry looked up in panic, not even noticing his glasses had fallen off.
Light poured in.
The cupboard was gone.
Daylight filled the space.
A tall figure stood there, leg retracting.
"Are you... an angel?" Harry asked.
"I'm no angel, kid," Morin said, leaning down. He picked up the glasses and gently placed them back on Harry's face.
"And you..."
"You're no rat."
On an ordinary day, not long before his twelfth birthday, Harry met the man who shattered the darkness.
And brought the light.
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