Nora’s heart skipped a beat.
Professor Flitwick?
Did this old man know Flitwick?
Without showing any change in expression, she quietly studied the old man, trying to find some trace of familiarity on him, but she found nothing.
She knew all the professors at Hogwarts.
Even the ghostly professors who had only ever appeared in History of Magic class—none of them had looked anything like this.
“The professor flatters me,” she said modestly, her gaze falling on the scattered objects on the counter.
A silver ring engraved with snake patterns, an old roll of parchment tied with red string, and a palm-sized crystal ball.
The inside of it was murky and chaotic, showing no images at all.
“Sit, sit.” The old man gestured for her to sit on the wooden chair in front of the counter, then sat back down himself.
“Would you like some tea?
Mint.
Freshly brewed.”
He did not move his wand, nor did he reach for anything.
Yet two white porcelain teacups appeared on the counter out of thin air.
Pale-green tea swayed gently inside the cups, giving off a fresh mint fragrance.
Nora raised an eyebrow.
That level of wandless magic was impressive.
At the very least, Nora herself was currently nowhere near capable of such a thing.
She picked up the teacup and took a small sip.
The temperature was just right, with a faint sweetness in the aftertaste.
“Thank you.”
“No need to be polite.” The old man also picked up his teacup and blew on it lightly.
“I know you must be very curious as to why I chose you.
After all, a talent like you is someone the Ministry of Magic is eager to recruit.
The great magical families would also be more than happy to invite you as a private tutor.
Why would you look twice at the position of manager in a shabby little shop like mine?”
Nora smiled but did not answer directly.
She set down the teacup and lightly tapped her fingertips on the tabletop.
“Before answering that question, I’d rather know this, sir.
This shop of yours… what exactly does it do?”
Her intuition told her that this shop was definitely not as simple as it appeared on the surface.
The floor-to-ceiling window that could not be seen through from the outside, the strange bell sound on the door, the old man’s masterful wandless magic, and that line in the invitation letter—”specializing in the appraisal and sale of antique magical items.”
No matter how she looked at it, everything about this place felt unusual.
The old man seemed to have expected her question long ago, and a mysterious smile appeared on his face.
He set down his teacup, took something wrapped in a black cover from beneath the counter, and pushed it in front of Nora.
“This is the contract.
You can look it over first,” he said.
“But before you read it, I must first help you understand what kind of place you are about to take over.”
Nora picked up the contract but did not open it right away.
She simply looked at the old man.
The old man cleared his throat and slowly began to explain.
“You see this shop.
It is located at 173 Diagon Alley, correct?” He pointed toward the window.
“From the outside, it is right here, just like every other shop.
It has a door, windows, and a roof.
But in reality…”
He paused, and the starlight in his eyes seemed to grow a little brighter.
“It is also not in Diagon Alley.”
Nora raised an eyebrow.
“Sir, what do you mean by that?”
“What I mean is,” the old man lowered his voice slightly, his tone carrying the air of someone telling an old story.
“This shop is alive.
Or rather, it is a magical building with a consciousness of its own.
It is rooted here, but its doors do not lead only to Diagon Alley.”
Nora’s heartbeat missed a beat.
Alive?
More than one entrance?
That sounded even more absurd than the Room of Requirement.
“What you’re saying is…” she asked tentatively, “people from other places can come in through other entrances?”
“Not just people,” the old man corrected, the corners of his mouth curving into a meaningful smile.
“Any guest, from anywhere.”
“Anywhere?
Any guest?” Nora’s brows drew together.
“Including… other countries?
Or perhaps… other times?”
She suddenly remembered the transmigration novels she had read in her previous life.
Could this shop actually be some kind of space-time hub?
The old man did not answer directly.
He merely nodded.
“You may understand it that way.
But there is no need to be afraid.
These guests come here for a very simple purpose—transactions.”
“Transactions?”
“Yes, transactions.” The old man pointed at the antiques on the shelves.
“Just like in an ordinary shop.
They come to buy things, we sell things.
Payment and goods are exchanged at the same time.
The only difference is that the ‘things’ we sell may be a little unusual.”
He stood up and walked over to a seemingly ordinary wooden cabinet nearby, then opened its door.
The cabinet was empty, with only a thick layer of velvet lining the inside.
“Look,” he said, pointing inside the cabinet.
“This is the Echo Cabinet.
When ordinary customers come to buy antiques, you place the genuine article inside.
After twenty-four hours, you will obtain an identical replica.”
Nora froze.
“A replica?
Identical to the real thing?”
“Identical,” the old man confirmed.
“The magical fluctuations, the material, even the traces of use on the surface—there will not be the slightest difference.
The only distinction is that the replica has no ‘history.’
For example, if you place a medieval knight’s sword inside, the original may have once slain a dragon.
The replica, however, is merely a sword that looks the same.
It carries no special meaning.”
He closed the cabinet door and turned back to Nora.
“Most of these ordinary customers come from Diagon Alley.
Some are collectors, while others simply want something to decorate their homes or businesses.
They all know our rules.
If they want an antique, they must wait twenty-four hours.
After all, no one wants to casually sell something that truly carries history, right?”
Nora nodded, but her confusion only deepened.
If the shop merely sold replicas, then it was not that different from an ordinary antique shop.
Why would the old man need to make everything sound so mysterious?
As if seeing through her thoughts, the old man smiled and continued.
“What I just described was for ordinary customers.
There is another kind of customer.
When they enter, the Star Bell above the door will ring—the very sound you heard earlier.”
He pointed toward the door lintel.
“That string of bells is no ordinary bell.
It is made from meteoric iron and star sand, and it can sense a ‘special’ aura.
Whenever a special customer enters, the Star Bell will ring.
Each time, the sound is different.
After hearing it enough times, you will understand.”
“These special customers… what do they want to buy?” Nora pressed.
Her intuition told her that this was the true core of the shop.
“They do not buy things,” the old man said, his voice becoming somewhat distant.
“Or rather, what they want to buy is not anything displayed on these shelves.
What they seek may be a memory, an opportunity, an ability, or even… the possibility to start over.”
Nora’s breath caught sharply.
A memory?
An opportunity?
The possibility to start over?
This had already gone beyond the scope of magic.
It was more like wishing in a myth.
“Then… what are we supposed to sell them?” she asked, her voice slightly dry.
“We do not need to ‘sell’ anything.” The old man shook his head.
“We only need to ‘complete the transaction.’ They will pay their own ‘price’ in exchange for what they desire.
And our task is to ensure that the transaction is fair, and that the price and the gain are equal.”
“The price?” Nora seized on the key word.
“What kind of price?”
“Any kind of price.” The old man’s gaze became profound.
“It may be a memory of theirs, a talent, several years of their future lifespan, or even… the thing they treasure most.”