Pedestrians were few and far between along the streets of London’s northern Barnet District, but those who did pass by couldn’t help but glance at the young boy’s stall.
The boy appeared to be about eleven or twelve years old, with a head of platinum-blonde hair, and was dressed impeccably.
He looked every bit the young gentleman.
His polished, gentlemanly appearance, however, wasn’t the primary reason passersby stared; the true source of their curiosity was the stall set up in front of him.
Section 20 of Britain’s Children and Young Persons Act stipulates that, in principle, children are prohibited from engaging in street trading.
The Children and Young Persons Act 1963 raised the minimum age for independent street trading from sixteen to seventeen.
Meanwhile, the Employment Act specifically states that adolescents aged fourteen to sixteen may only engage in extremely limited, auxiliary trading under parental supervision, with special permission from the local council and a valid license, within restricted times and locations.
This regulation implied that while selling lemonade in front of one’s own house was perfectly fine, setting up a stall on a public street to conduct business was absolutely forbidden.
Yet, despite what the law dictated, Britain had its own unique social realities.
In poorer districts, one might occasionally see children setting up stalls to eke out a living, but this was the Barnet District—a proper, affluent neighborhood.
The wealthy residents of the Barnet District considered themselves kind-hearted and simply could not bear the sight of the poor or homeless in their neighborhood.
Consequently, whenever such situations arose, the young vendor would typically be driven away immediately, or in more serious cases, arrested on the spot.
Having never witnessed such a thing here, the passersby were naturally curious, throwing extra glances the boy’s way.
And just as they were watching, a pair of police officers arrived.
“What are you doing here, young man?” One of the officers walked up to the stall.
Perhaps noticing how impeccably dressed the boy was, his tone wasn’t particularly harsh.
“A street performance, sir.” To the officer’s surprise, the boy showed no signs of nervousness or fear.
Instead, he smoothly handed over a document.
“This is a performance permit approved by the Barnet District Council, specifically authorizing me to conduct ‘divination and prophecy experience’ street performances here in Barnet.
Would either of you officers care to try it?”
After reviewing the permit, the two officers declined to patronize his business—for no other reason than the thinness of their own wallets.
In London, the typical price for a standard street divination session was around ten pounds, rising by another five pounds at popular tourist spots.
Yet, a sign on the boy’s stall clearly read: Divination and Prophecy Experience: £30 per person/session.
These officers earned just over a thousand pounds a month before taxes.
Under the circumstances, asking them to shell out thirty pounds each just to humor a wealthy child playing at life was out of the question.
It was best to leave it alone.
Once the officers departed, the boy leisurely sat back down on the small chair behind his stall, waiting for his destined client to arrive.
Before long, that very person appeared.
“May I know your name, little prophet?” The speaker was a lady in a dark blue coat, holding the hand of a young girl with a thick, incredibly bushy mane of brown hair.
Notably, the young girl also possessed a pair of exceptionally large front teeth and warm brown eyes.
Isaac—for that was the boy’s name—let his gaze linger on the top of the girl’s head for a moment.
Hiding a fleeting trace of envy in his eyes, he addressed the lady with a serious, polite expression.
“Certainly, madam.
Isaac Valdore at your service.
Perhaps you would care for a pleasant prophecy?”
Only then did Mrs.
Granger, who was accompanied by her daughter, notice that this boy named Isaac possessed not only platinum-blonde hair but also a pair of rare, heterochromatic eyes.
This striking abnormality caused Mrs.
Granger to subconsciously tighten her grip on her daughter’s hand.
Hermione Granger felt the sudden pressure but said nothing, merely pursing her lips nervously.
“So…
is it truly possible to receive a prophecy?
I mean, predicting the future and all that, for just thirty pounds?” Mrs.
Granger’s words came out a bit haltingly, and even Hermione could sense her mother’s underlying loss of composure.
Hermione understood her mother perfectly.
After something as bizarre as receiving an acceptance letter to a school of magic had happened to her, anyone standing on the threshold of a completely new world would be filled with excitement and anxiety.
Yet, as the one directly affected, Hermione actually appeared the calmer of the two.
Taking over for her mother, she asked Isaac, who maintained his polite smile, “What my mother means is, can you truly predict the future for just thirty pounds?
Is there no greater price required?” To Mrs.
Granger and Hermione, cheap usually meant low quality.
While thirty pounds required careful consideration for the two police officers, it was nothing to the Granger family, who jointly ran a private dental practice.
Hearing their concerns, Isaac nodded understandingly.
“No other price is needed.
What I reveal to you is merely a possibility, not an unalterable future.
Any factor can alter the course of events; for example, the very act of you two stopping at my stall right now might have just changed things.
I can only choose to reveal the path with the highest probability.”
Eleven-year-old Hermione was a bit bewildered by Isaac’s explanation, but Mrs.
Granger understood completely.
Isn’t this just a standard disclaimer?
He wasn’t guaranteeing that his words were absolute; if he proved wrong, he could simply claim the future had been altered by some outside factor.
Mrs.
Granger had briefly thought she had stumbled upon a genuine young wizard or prophet, but as expected, she had been overthinking it.
Even though this boy named Isaac wasn’t the “real deal,” Mrs.
Granger had no intention of exposing him.
The fact that the police hadn’t driven him away proved he belonged to the same social class as the neighborhood.
People living in the Barnet District hardly cared about thirty pounds.
To hear a well-mannered young gentleman offer a few auspicious words, what did thirty pounds matter?
It could simply be considered a tip for the boy.
Mrs.
Granger opened her mouth to ask Isaac to divine her daughter’s future, but before the words could leave her lips, Isaac began to speak.
“In the future, your daughter will achieve outstanding accomplishments in a highly specialized field.
As for the near future…
I believe you will need to exercise a bit more patience.
After all, haven’t you already sent your reply?”
Hearing his first sentence, Hermione curled her lip in skepticism.
But a second later, she suddenly snapped her head around to look at her mother.
Mrs.
Granger’s eyes widened in sheer shock at his final words.
Was Isaac merely guessing, or had he truly seen something?
Not long ago, her daughter had received a letter delivered by an owl—an acceptance letter to a school of magic.
At first, the Grangers assumed it was a prank, but after testing a few things to verify it, they realized it was all too real.
They had written back following the instructions in the letter, and they had been anxiously waiting ever since.