In June, London’s air always carried a dampness that seemed impossible to wash away.
A light drizzle just past noon had polished the flagstone road of Diagon Alley until it gleamed, reflecting the swaying magical halos from the shop signs on both sides.
The silver feather hovering outside Ollivanders was still dripping water.
Droplets ran down the colorful awning of Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, and even the tip of the goblin statue’s nose at Gringotts had a trembling raindrop hanging from it.
Nora lifted the hem of her dark-blue wizarding robe slightly, avoiding a small foamy puddle in the accumulated rainwater.
Her ice-blue hair had been tied into a neat high ponytail today, and the ends brushed lightly against the straps of the backpack on her shoulders as she walked.
Inside the bag were A Complete Guide to Appraising Ancient Magical Objects and a spare wand, both of which she had brought on purpose.
It was not because she was worried about running into danger.
Mainly, she was afraid of exposing her lack of expertise if she ended up discussing professional knowledge with the shop owner later.
“Good morning, Mrs.
Sanders,” she said, waving at the plump woman in the newsstand who was drying copies of The Daily Prophet with her wand.
“Oh, Nora!” Mrs.
Sanders lifted her head, her face breaking into a warm smile.
“Looking for work right after graduation, are you?
A top student from Ravenclaw like you will definitely have no problem!”
“I’ll take your blessing, then.” Nora answered with a smile, without slowing her steps.
She had lived in London for nineteen years, so calling herself a “true old Londoner” was not much of an exaggeration.
From following the matron to the Muggle districts for shopping during her orphanage days, to later sneaking back to Diagon Alley to work part-time during Hogwarts holidays, she knew every flagstone and every shop in this alley like the back of her hand.
Which shop had the richest butterbeer, which one sold the best-value cauldrons, which shopkeeper liked to kill time with ancient jokes…
All of that information had long been carved into her mind like multiplication tables.
Just like now.
The moment she passed the entrance of Flourish and Blotts, she heard George and Fred’s unmistakable laughter coming from inside.
Those two juniors of hers were already rather famous throughout Hogwarts.
There was no need to think.
Those two living troublemakers were probably testing some new invention again.
Nora instinctively quickened her pace.
It was not that she disliked them.
It was just that Gryffindor’s “the world isn’t chaotic enough yet” energy always made her feel that getting too close would easily drag her into some inexplicable trouble.
She had not forgotten that, when she read the books in her previous life, those two brothers later became ruthless enough to directly go against Voldemort.
“Stay away from lions.
Stay away from trouble.”
She silently repeated her life motto in her heart, turned a corner, and finally saw the inconspicuous little shop at the end of the alley.
Merlin’s Antique Shop.
Compared to the surrounding shops, which either hung glittering signs or were decorated with flashy magic, this place looked almost like a forgotten corner.
Its dark-brown wooden storefront looked rather old, and a faded copper plaque hung on the door.
The shop name was engraved on it, though the letters had already become blurred and hard to read.
The most eye-catching feature was the huge floor-to-ceiling window facing the street.
The glass had been wiped exceptionally clean, yet it was oddly strange.
Looking in from the outside, one could only see a hazy gray shadow, as though a layer of mist that would never disperse covered the interior.
Forget seeing people—even the outlines of the shelves were difficult to make out.
“It really is mysterious enough,” Nora muttered, reaching out to push open the heavy-looking wooden door.
Ding-ling—
A crisp sound suddenly rang beside her ear.
It was not the ordinary ding-ling of a doorbell.
Instead, it sounded as though someone had gently plucked a string of crystals hanging in midair with slender fingers.
There was a trace of coolness in the sound, yet also a strange warmth, like spring water freshly scooped from a mountain stream dripping onto a floor paved with jade.
Nora instinctively looked up at the door lintel and saw only a string of transparent beads the size of fingernails, threaded together with silver wire.
Something seemed to be flowing inside the beads, but when she looked closely, there was nothing there at all.
She frowned and was just about to take a better look when the door behind her closed by itself with a soft click, shutting out the rain and noise of the alley outside, as though she had suddenly fallen into another world.
The shop was much brighter than she had imagined.
The light did not come from the windows, nor from any chandelier.
In fact, she did not see any lamps at all.
The light seemed to seep out from the cracks between the walls and the floor, softly covering every corner.
It carried the yellowed hue of old book pages and the warmth of aged wood.
The shelves were made of dark-brown oak.
It was clear they had been around for quite some time, their edges worn smooth and rounded.
All kinds of things were displayed on them.
A chipped ceramic bowl.
A rust-stained brass candlestick.
A thick leather-bound book whose cover color could no longer be made out.
There were also strange metal parts of unknown purpose and peculiar shape.
A complex smell filled the air: dust, old paper, and a faint trace of fragrance that seemed like sandalwood, yet also like the lingering scent of some other kind of wood after it had burned.
At the very back, against the wall, stood a counter also made of oak.
Behind the counter sat an old man.
Nora had stared from the doorway for quite a while earlier without seeing anyone.
Yet now that she had entered, she found the old man sitting there, as though he had always been present and her eyes had simply gone “blind” for a moment.
The old man looked very, very old, as old as a dead tree that had stood in a forest for hundreds of years.
His skin was dark brown, covered in deep, crisscrossing wrinkles, and clung tightly to his bones as though it would crumble at the slightest touch.
His hair and beard were both snow-white, long and somewhat messy.
They hung down until they almost reached the counter, making it difficult to tell where his hair ended and his beard began.
He wore a dusty gray robe.
The fabric looked like rough linen, yet it was unusually clean, without the slightest bit of dust.
But what left the deepest impression were his eyes.
They were exceptionally bright eyes, not cloudy like those of an ordinary old man.
Instead, they resembled two deep wells—dark, profound, and seemingly capable of reflecting the entire starry sky.
When he looked at Nora, fine starlight seemed to shimmer within those eyes, carrying a gentle quality that felt as if it could see through everything.
“You have arrived, Miss Nora,” the old man said.
His voice did not quite match his appearance.
It was not as aged and hoarse as she had imagined.
Instead, it was like sandpaper gently brushing over wood: low, slow, and carrying a peculiar penetrating power.
He stood up from behind the counter.
His movements were somewhat slow, but very steady.
He extended his hand.
It was also covered with wrinkles and age spots, with thick knuckles and neatly trimmed nails that showed a healthy pale pink.
Nora froze for a moment before remembering to reach out and shake it.
The old man’s hand was cool, but not biting.
It felt like holding a piece of old jade that had been polished smooth by time.
“Hello, sir,” she said, trying to make her tone sound polite and professional.
“I’m Nora Fiteska.
I received the invitation letter from your shop.”
“I’ve heard so much about you, truly so much,” the old man said with a smile.
The wrinkles on his face bunched together, making him appear less severe.
“The youngest Head Girl since the founding of Hogwarts, twelve Outstanding marks on your NEWTs… Professor Flitwick praised you to the skies in his letter.”