Nora fell silent.
She suddenly understood why the old man had said earlier that “your life will become wonderfully exciting and thrilling.”
This kind of trade was stranger than even the Ministry of Magic’s Department of Mysteries.
Behind every transaction, there might be a breathtaking story hidden away, or even a secret no one had ever uncovered.
How was this a leisurely job?
This was clearly throwing herself into a whirlpool full of unknowns and danger.
She almost stood up at once to take her leave.
Something like this went completely against her personal creed of “laying low until the very end.”
And yet…
Deep in her heart, a tiny voice was whispering: Isn’t this exactly what you’ve always wanted?
To stay far away from the main plot, yet still come into contact with the most wondrous side of this world.
To avoid facing Voldemort’s green killing curse, yet still see a world far broader than the one described in the original story.
When little Nora, still in her third year, first read the original Harry Potter books, had she truly never felt any curiosity toward that vast and mysterious magical world?
Besides, those “special guests,” those “transactions”…
They sounded as though they really were somewhat fascinating.
She had transmigrated into this world nineteen years ago.
Since childhood, she had struggled in an orphanage.
At Hogwarts, she had carefully hidden everything that made her different, studying hard only so she would not draw attention.
She had lived like a delicate puppet on strings.
She had always told herself that all she needed was to survive the war, that it would be enough as long as she could go to Australia and bask in the sun.
But deep down, had there truly not been even the slightest trace of curiosity?
Curiosity about this magical world.
Curiosity about those unknown things.
Curiosity about the excitement that existed beyond an ordinary life.
The old man seemed to see the struggle within her, but he did not urge her.
He merely sat there quietly, like an ancient statue, waiting for her decision.
Nora took a deep breath, picked up the contract on the table, and opened it.
The contract was written on parchment.
The handwriting was neat, with a faintly classical flourish.
The terms written on it were more or less the same as those in the invitation letter: a salary of 150 Galleons per month, including room and board allowance.
Her work would consist of handling daily operations, appraising items, receiving guests, and completing transactions.
There was only one core clause: all transactions had to follow the “principle of fairness.” Money and goods must be exchanged clearly, the price paid must be equal to what was obtained, and there must be no coercion or deception.
There were no traps, nor any unreasonable demands.
It was so simple that it looked just like an ordinary employment contract.
After reading it, Nora closed the contract and looked up at the old man.
The corners of her lips curved into a faint, self-mocking smile.
“You told me all of this.
Aren’t you afraid I’ll be frightened enough to turn around and leave without signing?”
The old man smiled as well.
The wrinkles on his face relaxed, and a trace of understanding flashed through his deep eyes.
“You won’t, Miss Nora.”
“Oh?
You’re that certain?”
“Because you are the same as me,” the old man said softly, yet his words were like a stone dropped into the lake of Nora’s heart.
“Hidden deep in your bones is a desire for the unknown.
You seem to want to hide inside stability, but in truth, you simply never found a reason worth stepping out of your comfort zone for.”
Nora’s heart trembled sharply.
Yes.
She had always thought that all she wanted was to live a peaceful life.
But when a chance truly filled with unknowns and challenges was placed before her, that tiny bit of unwillingness and curiosity deep within her was ignited like a spark, spreading into a wildfire in an instant.
To hell with basking in the Australian sun.
To hell with laying low until the very end.
If this world was destined to be extraordinary, then why couldn’t she see it for herself?
She picked up the quill on the counter, dipped it into the nearby ink bottle, and, at the signature line at the end of the contract, wrote her name stroke by stroke:
Nora Fitzka.
Her handwriting was elegant, yet carried an unquestionable firmness.
After signing her name, she pushed the contract back toward the old man and asked without even raising her head, “By the way, I haven’t asked yet—how long is the term of employment for this job?
You’re not expecting me to guard this shop for the rest of my life, are you?”
Her voice fell, but no answer came from the old man.
Nora raised her head in confusion.
Then she froze.
Behind the counter, the old man was becoming transparent at a speed visible to the naked eye.
His body was like a drop of ink cast into water, dissolving little by little, turning into countless tiny, faintly glowing particles that drifted through the air.
His smile still lingered where he had been, gentle and mysterious.
“As for the term of employment…” His voice seemed to come from somewhere very far away, carrying a trace of relief, yet also a trace of anticipation.
“It lasts until you have found your own successor…”
The final word scattered into the air.
The old man’s figure vanished completely, as if he had never existed at all.
On the counter, only the still-steaming cup of mint tea and the contract bearing Nora’s signature remained.
Nora sat blankly in her chair, unable to recover for a long while.
He disappeared?
Just like that?
What was this supposed to be?
A handover?
Or was it possible that… this old man had not been “alive” for a long time?
The faint, barely perceptible sound of the wood breathing, which she had been able to hear moments ago, was gone.
The air seemed to freeze in place.
Only the rain outside the window continued to patter against the glass of Diagon Alley, reminding Nora that this place was not some vacuum cut off from the world.
She held the quill she had used to sign the contract.
The shaft was warm, carrying the delicate texture unique to bird feathers.
Her gaze fell on the parchment contract before her.
The ink of her signature had already dried.
The black letters stood out clearly against the yellowed page, like a brand she could no longer take back.
“A successor, huh…” Nora murmured, repeating the old man’s final words.
Her fingertips unconsciously brushed over the gilded heading that read Merlin’s Antique Shop.
“That old man sure dumped everything on me nice and clean.”
She stood up and moved her slightly stiff neck.
Earlier, all her attention had been drawn by the old man’s words.
Only now did she truly begin to examine the shop that was about to belong to her.
Overall, the condition of the shop was far better than she had expected.
Although it looked old, every corner showed signs of careful maintenance.
The dust on the shelves was as thin as a layer of gauze, clearly wiped down often.
Although the antiques on display were old-fashioned in style, there were no signs of chips or damage.
Even the edges of the most fragile ceramic pieces were perfectly intact.
Cobwebs in the corners?
Nonexistent.
Even the cracks where spiders might hide were clean enough to shine.
“Looks like the previous owner liked things clean,” Nora said with a nod, adding another note to her impression of the mysterious old man.
She herself was not the sort of person who could tolerate mess.
Evelyn always laughed at her for being a clean freak, saying her dormitory was as spotless as a hospital’s sterile ward.
But Nora herself felt that, at most, it was merely “a basic attitude toward keeping one’s living environment tidy.”
She rummaged through her backpack and pulled out a microfiber cloth from the Muggle world.
It was something she had been used to before transmigrating.
In this world, where most cleaning was done with magic, it could be considered something of a rarity.
Then she found a copper basin filled with clean water beneath the counter, rolled up the sleeves of her wizarding robes, and began her “first duty after taking office.”
While wiping the shelves, she discovered that extremely shallow patterns had been carved into the oak shelves.
If one did not look carefully, they would not notice them at all.
Only when she leaned closer did she see them clearly.
Those patterns were not ordinary decorations, but tiny runic letters.
Linked together, they seemed to form some kind of protective charm.
No wonder these antiques had been preserved so well.
It seemed magic had been quietly protecting them all along.