The Swindler's Daughter

"Come on, you two. Go eat with the children." Mrs. Cole rose from behind her desk and glanced at the camera hanging from Nelson's chest. "Did you bring that to take a group photo with everyone?"

"Yes, Mrs. Cole." Nelson stepped forward first and opened the door for her. Tom waited by the doorway and made a gesture inviting her to go first.

"Are there any concerns? The flash on this camera isn't too harsh. It won't affect anyone's vision even if they keep their eyes open." Nelson repeated the sales pitch his boss had used on him.

"Nothing..." As she passed Nelson, Mrs. Cole turned and gave him a long look. The two children who had barely been able to speak when they first arrived had now grown into teenagers as tall as she was. "I mean, this may be the only photograph some of them ever take in their lives. I hope you're good at this."

Nelson twisted one of the dials on the camera, recalling the instructions Yagor had given him in the shop. According to him, this dial could switch the finished photograph between moving and still.

"This magical camera uses advanced Alchemy. The photographs it takes often possess a magic that ordinary cameras lack." Yagor demonstrated the simple buttons on the camera for him. "This is the shutter, and this is... uh, never mind that button. Just leave it alone. This dial determines the form of the photo—moving or still. These dials adjust the aperture. You probably don't know how to use those, so I locked them for you. You just need to stand here and take... uh..." He walked a few steps forward and stopped two or three paces from the shelf opposite him. "You can photograph things this far away."

"Moving photos are the result of Magical Drafts and Potions, but aren't still photos just ordinary photos?" Nelson turned the dial toward "still" and pressed the shutter at Yagor. After a burst of white light and smoke, a perfectly ordinary photograph emerged from the top of the camera.

"It's just an ordinary photograph." He frowned and looked skeptically at the embarrassed shop owner. If the instant camera concept had not been decades ahead of its time and the price had not been so cheap, he might have turned around and left already.

"I'm only a seller, not a manufacturer. Production, circulation, and consumption are separate stages that rarely intersect, you know," the shop owner began to ramble shamelessly. "But it does have magic. I guarantee it. I absolutely didn't open this shop to make money."

Nelson rolled his eyes and picked up the camera, ready to pack it up and leave. He had heard that line about not opening a shop to make money far too often. Just like how Professor Sakes could use Accio to summon Alphard's blank parchment, yet still stubbornly insist, "I wrote it, I just didn't bring it!" Or how, when you went for an evening walk and asked a fruit seller whether the oranges were sweet, the seller would peel one, stuff it into their mouth, get their face wrinkled up by the sourness, then still raise a thumbs-up and shout through a mouthful of drool, "Sweet! So sweet!" At times like that, customers were often willing to pay, because whether the oranges were sweet no longer mattered. The seller's breathtaking performance, like smashing a stone on their chest, was what won them the sale.

"Don't worry. I'll do my best."

Mrs. Cole said nothing. She gave him another deep look, then turned and led the way. They crossed the corridor and pushed open a wooden door whose rusty hinges creaked. The muffled din beyond it was suddenly released, making Nelson's head buzz. The instant Mrs. Cole stepped inside, the hall fell silent.

Calling it a hall was generous. It was only a slightly larger room beside the second-floor stairwell. More than a dozen mismatched tables stood crowded inside. Some were tall and round, some short and square. Some wooden tables wobbled unsteadily, while paint peeled from some iron ones. The surrounding walls were covered in wallpaper patterned with golden olive branches against white—a rather expensive decoration decades ago—but in the winter of 1938, only dark green-black mildew slowly seeped through from beneath it.

Children filled every one of those tables, tall and short, big and small. Boys and girls, fat and thin, children of every color, disabled and healthy alike sat scattered among them without distinction. To be honest, even decades later, such a sight could only be found in an orphanage.

Tom sniffed almost imperceptibly, then quickly returned to normal. Nelson felt ashamed as well. Although he spent holidays like Christmas at his aunt's house, he had lived here during ordinary days and often eaten in this dining room. Yet after only four months away, he could no longer stand the moldy smell in the air.

The children seated around the tables turned toward Mrs. Cole with expectant looks, then noticed the two people beside her and studied them with varying expressions.

"Come on, everyone, look over here!" Mrs. Cole waved and shouted. She turned around and asked, "Nelson, do you need me to call a caretaker in to take the picture?"

"No need. You and Tom should be in it. I'll just sign the back."

"I don't like having my picture taken." Tom took the cloth bag full of chocolate from Nelson.

Mrs. Cole heard that and shook her head with a bitter smile before going to stand behind the tables.

"Look at the camera. Come on, smile!" Nelson pressed the shutter.

Mrs. Cole patted them both on the shoulder and turned away to arrange that evening's dinner. They found several people they had once known well and walked toward their table.

After sitting down, Tom fiddled with the cloth bag he had taken from Nelson, his expression darkening. Though he knew little of social conventions, he could still sense how stiff and distant the movements were when the people who had once shared his table shifted their chairs to make room. They had only been gone from the orphanage for a few months, but it was as though they now belonged to two different worlds. No, they truly did belong to two different worlds.

"Nelson Williams. I know you." A Newsboy Cap across from Nelson slowly lifted. Nelson recognized her. She was the little thief who had stolen his wallet in the alley. He gave a soft whistle, and a small bee struggled out of the thief's pocket.

"Ah, hello..." Nelson was a little confused. How did she dare greet him first?

"I moved into your room after you left. My name is Christian Jewell—" Christian? Was she a girl? Only then did Nelson examine her closely. Beneath the Newsboy Cap was dirty black curly hair. Her pale little face was shadowed by heavy dark circles, and a thumb-length scar ran through the lower lid of her left eye and across her cheek. Though she appeared arrogant, she never looked people in the eyes. Instead, she tilted her face to the left and stared sideways at the other person's forehead.

"That's enough," Tom interrupted Christian. He tossed the cloth bag onto the table, then stood up loudly enough to knock over his chair. "We don't want to eat at the same table as a thief."

"Sorry," Nelson quietly apologized to the others at the table, then got up to chase after Tom. Almost everyone around them remained unmoved, watching the farce unfold.

"Why did you come back?" Christian stood and shouted at Nelson. "Do you think you're living so well that you came here just to show off to us?"

"Why should I listen to a thief lecture me? It sounds disgusting." Tom had somehow returned and was standing behind Nelson.

"You think I wanted to steal?" Christian lowered her head. When she raised it again, she seemed almost hysterical. Nelson noticed a crack appear on the teacup beside her, while the air around them began to stir. He stretched out an arm in front of Tom and turned to shake his head at him. When he got home, he had already written to Dumbledore explaining that he had discovered a young Wizard. This sort of matter should be left to professionals.

"Don't provoke her anymore. Young Wizards without magical education, especially Muggle-born Wizards, can easily become Obscurials under mental stress," he whispered to Tom. Tom nodded and said no more.

"Stealing is wrong." Nelson took a step forward and looked directly into Christian's eyes.

"I know stealing is wrong, but I'm a swindler's daughter. I was born knowing how to steal, wasn't I?" Her tone softened, but her words became sharper.

A blonde girl beside her tugged at her sleeve, seemingly trying to stop her. Nelson remembered the girl. Her name was Martha, and she had once lived next door to him.

"Do you know? In this place, people like you are freaks."

Christian ignored Martha's attempt to stop her. She lowered her head and spoke those words in a completely flat voice.

"You're tired. I'll come find you tomorrow, and we can talk then." Nelson suddenly said something strange and seemingly unrelated. Yet she really did sit down and lay her head on the table.

"Hurry up. I still need to write an explanation to the Ministry of Magic later." He turned and caught up with Tom, who had nearly reached the door, speaking quietly.

"Nelson!"

Nelson and Tom were passing through the iron gate. The camera in Nelson's hands trembled and continued making clicking sounds like twisting Gear, as though this large group photograph required more paper and ink.

Hearing his name, Nelson turned and raised his eyebrows in surprise toward the dark courtyard. He looked at the small building, but no one stood by the windows. Thinking it was someone's prank, he was about to leave when a panting figure in a gray dress emerged from the thick darkness of the yard.

Martha had chased after them. The little girl, once as skinny as a bean sprout and timid in everything she did, shouted after them before quickly stopping to brace her hands on her knees, gasping for breath.

"Nelson, you saved me, didn't you?" She straightened up and looked directly into Nelson's eyes. Her face and hair were thin and yellowed from malnutrition, yet that only made her eyes seem especially large. They were black eyes clearer than the midnight sky, as though they could reflect everything before them.

She took another two steps closer, still staring fixedly at Nelson. Yet Nelson did not quite dare meet her gaze. He looked away and even took two steps back.

"They say you're a freak," Martha pressed forward step by step, "but I know you're a good person!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Nelson muttered. He passed through the iron gate and fled the orphanage as though running for his life.

After walking some distance, he turned back toward the orphanage. In the faint light beneath the gatehouse window stood a slender girl. She seemed to be shouting something, but before the words could reach him, they were torn apart by the wind.