The Sacrifices of Old

As expected.

No matter where one goes, some things share common traits.

Since it was homework.

How could it possibly be completed easily?

Ian felt he would surely become the most unpopular student at Hogwarts; even Hermione, one of the Golden Trio, only rolled up her peers and classmates.

But him.

He hadn't even enrolled yet.

And he was already starting to study subjects that Hogwarts students wouldn't be eligible to touch until their third year—elective courses basically offered only to top-tier students who found their daily academic workload effortless.

An overachiever.

That was probably the extent of it.

"Sigh, the capable must learn more; who told me to have such a clever brain?" Ian carefully put away the fragment of the dress robes, extinguished his Lumos, and climbed back into bed.

The night was filled with dreams.

The next morning, just as the sun rose, Ian hurriedly got up, tidied himself, and rushed toward the bookstore in Hogsmeade Village—many people might not even be aware that a bookstore existed there.

In fact.

Most young wizards attending Hogwarts might not even realize this fact until they graduate: behind Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop in Hogsmeade Village, there was an inconspicuous second-hand bookstore.

Although this bookstore was so shabby it didn't even have a sign, it received a large number of unsold textbooks and various backlog of old books from Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley every year, then resold them to students wandering through the village on weekends. Of course, very few young wizards coming to Hogsmeade Village would think of browsing a bookstore.

After all, most people came here just to relax, but even so, that didn't hinder the bookstore's existence. Heaven knows what the shopkeeper lived on!

"Hello, excuse me, do you have any study materials regarding Ancient Runes?"

Ian had been living in Hogsmeade Village for about a week, and this was his first time visiting this shop. As he walked in, he saw an old man lying on an old-fashioned rocking chair.

The old man had a ruddy complexion and white hair, sparse and silvery-bright like pine needles covered in the first snow of winter, with a pair of slightly aged round-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

He was full of scholarly air.

"Are you that young wizard who has been living in the village lately?"

The shopkeeper seemed to have heard about Ian; a pre-enrolled young wizard temporarily living in Hogsmeade Village before the start of school was indeed quite rare.

"Yes, sir."

Ian maintained his usual politeness.

"For a young wizard of your age, it is a bit too early to start touching upon Ancient Runes." The shopkeeper remained lying on the rocking chair without moving.

"I am just very interested in this field and want to get a head start on some learning... well, I believe I will definitely become a formidable scholar of Ancient Runes in the future."

Ian utilized the advantage of his young age to strike a pose full of longing and dreams.

"Not bad, lofty ideals."

The shopkeeper looked Ian over once more.

Finally, he sat up.

"It's just that there is always a difference between ideals and reality; most young wizards find it difficult enough to cope with the basic curriculum." Although he was grumbling, the shopkeeper still went into the back room to rummage for books for Ian.

His movements were somewhat sluggish, and his frame swayed slightly. Yet, although his actions seemed somewhat frail, there was no sense of twilight in his complexion.

It was a very awkward situation.

"As you said, that is only 'most,' aren't there still a few exceptions?"

When Ian smiled, his teeth were neat and white.

"Hmm?"

The shopkeeper turned his head to look at Ian again.

"Young, handsome, and self-conceited... perhaps with a bit of talent, it seems you will become a Slytherin." The shopkeeper made his judgment.

Immediately.

He began to search through the bookstore.

"Let me look carefully; I've only taken over this shop for three months. The previous owner wasn't one for tidying up, and well, I suppose I am much the same."

The shopkeeper teased himself.

"I'm not in a hurry, sir."

Ian waited quietly.

He was already accustomed to disguising himself under the cloak of a "good child."

"Found it, here it is."

The shopkeeper had only moved slightly, yet he was already panting heavily; one wondered if he had suffered some injury in his youth that affected his physical functions.

As he spoke.

He picked three books from the piles scattered across the floor rather than on the shelves, handing them to Ian with a slightly trembling hand.

Ian noticed a lifelike tattoo on the inner side of the shopkeeper's forearm—a Golden Snitch. As someone with a soul from China, Ian found his gaze easily drawn to the ink.

"It's truly beautiful."

Ian noticed the shopkeeper staring at him and quickly tried to make amends for his rudeness.

"Yes, it used to be beautiful."

The shopkeeper's reply was somewhat cryptic, but Ian noticed a dimness in the man's eyes and decided not to press for the story behind the tattoo.

I suppose.

It's either some melodramatic romance.

Or perhaps a deep, unforgettable bromance?

Things in England.

Hard to say, really hard to say.

"How much in total?"

Ian had no habit of gossiping about a stranger's past, so he changed the subject quite naturally.

"Six Galleons."

The shopkeeper reclined back into his rocking chair.

"Hiss, that's expensive!"

Ian drew a sharp breath.

"This is already the price for used books. If you went to Diagon Alley to buy them new, the price would double. There's a reason it's an elective, and it's not just because it's difficult to learn."

The shopkeeper seemed to be implying something.

"..."

Ian finally began to understand why a group of academic elites monopolizing knowledge appeared in every era; the profits from selling knowledge were truly beyond imagination.

"Alright, thank you."

Ian didn't bother suspecting the man of price-gouging; it was useless to be suspicious anyway since he couldn't go to Diagon Alley himself, so why add to his own troubles by maliciously second-guessing others?

He pulled his now much thinner coin purse from his pocket, carefully counted out six Galleons, and placed them on the counter where the shopkeeper had gestured.

"If you decide to give up on learning, my buy-back price is three Galleons," the shopkeeper said with a chuckle, as if certain that Ian would eventually choose to quit.

"I don't think that situation will ever come to pass."

Ian offered a polite smile.

He gathered the three books and chose to leave.

In the quiet bookstore.

Only the elderly shopkeeper remained, sinking back into a state of silence.

A long while later.

Whether it was because Ian's words had touched a nerve, the shopkeeper sighed softly while lying in his rocking chair, raising his withered arm to gently stroke the tattoo with his other hand.

The Golden Snitch tattoo.

Under the sunlight.

It seemed to carry him back to a memory of sworn loyalty.