As expected.
No matter where you went, some things were universal.
Since it was homework,
how could it possibly be easy?
Ian was sure he would become the least popular student at Hogwarts. Even Hermione, one of the Golden Trio, only outworked her peers and classmates.
But he—
hadn't even started school yet,
and he was already studying a subject that students could only qualify to take in their third year at Hogwarts. It was an elective, generally offered only to top students who could handle their regular workload with ease.
A study machine.
That was probably what it meant.
"Ah, the more capable you are, the more you learn. What can I say? I was born with a clever head on my shoulders." Ian carefully put away the scraps of his dress robes, extinguished the light, and climbed back into bed.
He dreamed all night.
The next morning, as soon as the sun rose, Ian hurried to get ready and rushed to the bookstore in Hogsmeade Village. Many people might not have known there was even a bookstore here.
In fact,
most young witches and wizards who attended Hogwarts probably never noticed it, even by the time they graduated. There was an inconspicuous secondhand bookstore behind Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop in Hogsmeade Village.
Though the bookstore was so shabby it didn't even have a sign, every year it took in large quantities of unsold textbooks and various old, overstocked books from Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley, then resold them to students who came to the village on weekends. Of course, hardly any young witches and wizards who visited Hogsmeade Village would think to browse a bookstore.
After all, most people came here just to relax. Even so, the bookstore still managed to stay open. Who knew how its owner made a living!
"Hello. Do you have any study materials on Runes?"
Ian had been living in Hogsmeade Village for about a week, and today was his first time visiting the bookstore. As soon as he stepped inside, he saw an old man reclining in an old-fashioned rocking chair.
The old man's face was ruddy, and his hair was streaked with gray, sparse and silvery like pine boughs dusted with the first snow of winter. A pair of slightly worn round spectacles perched on his nose.
He looked every bit the scholar.
"Are you the young wizard who's been staying in the village lately?"
The bookstore owner seemed to have heard about Ian. It was indeed unusual for a young wizard who hadn't started school yet to stay in Hogsmeade Village before term began.
"Yes, sir."
Ian maintained his usual politeness.
"For a young wizard your age, it's still too early to start studying Runes." The bookstore owner remained in his rocking chair without moving.
"I'm just very interested in the subject and want to get a head start... Well, I think I'll definitely become a great scholar of Ancient Runes someday."
Ian took advantage of his young age, putting on an air of hopeful ambition and bright dreams.
"Not bad. An ambitious goal."
The bookstore owner looked Ian over again.
At last, he sat up.
"Still, ideals and reality are two different things. Most young wizards struggle just to keep up with their basic courses." Though he went on grumbling, the bookstore owner still went into the back to look for books for Ian.
His movements were slow, and his frame wavered a little. Yet although he seemed somewhat frail, there was nothing in his face to suggest he felt old.
It was a strange contradiction.
"You said it yourself: most. Doesn't that leave a few who don't?"
Ian smiled, his teeth straight and white.
"Hm?"
The bookstore owner turned and took another look at Ian.
"Young, handsome, and sure of yourself... Perhaps you have a bit of talent, too. Looks like you'll become a Slytherin." The bookstore owner gave his verdict.
Then
he began searching through the bookstore.
"Give me a moment to look. I've only been running this shop for three months. The previous owner wasn't one for keeping things tidy—and I suppose I'm much the same."
The bookstore owner poked fun at himself.
"I'm in no hurry, sir."
Ian waited quietly.
He was already used to hiding behind the façade of a "good boy."
"Found them. Here."
The bookstore owner had only moved around a little, yet he was already breathing heavily. Ian wondered whether he might have suffered an injury in his youth that affected his physical health.
As he spoke,
he picked three books from the large piles covering the shop floor rather than sitting on the shelves, then handed them to Ian with a slightly trembling hand.
Ian noticed a lifelike tattoo on the inside of the bookstore owner's arm: a Golden Snitch. As someone with a Chinese soul, Ian was naturally drawn to tattoos.
"It's really beautiful."
Noticing the bookstore owner watching him, Ian quickly tried to make up for his rudeness.
"Yes, it used to be beautiful."
The bookstore owner's answer was rather cryptic. But Ian noticed the man's gaze had dimmed, so he didn't press him about the story behind the tattoo.
He figured
it wasn't some melodramatic romance.
Maybe it was a passionate bromance that had left a lasting mark?
Things in England—
were impossible to explain. Truly impossible.
"How much is it?"
Ian had no habit of prying into strangers' pasts. He naturally changed the subject.
"Six Galleons."
The bookstore owner reclined in his rocking chair again.
"Yikes, that's expensive!"
Ian drew in a sharp breath.
"That's the price for used books. If you bought new ones in Diagon Alley, they'd cost twice as much. Difficulty isn't the only reason it's an elective."
The bookstore owner seemed to be hinting at something.
"..."
Ian finally understood why every era seemed to produce a group of scholars who monopolized knowledge. The profits from selling knowledge really were beyond imagination.
"All right. Thank you."
Ian didn't suspect the other man of ripping him off. Even if he had, there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't go to Diagon Alley by himself, so why imagine the worst and make himself miserable?
He pulled the now much thinner money pouch from his pocket, carefully counted out six Galleons, and placed them on the counter where the bookstore owner pointed.
"If you decide to give up studying, I'll buy them back for three Galleons," the bookstore owner said with a chuckle, as though certain Ian would give up.
"I don't think that'll happen."
Ian smiled politely.
He picked up the three books and left.
In the quiet bookstore,
only the elderly owner remained, sinking back into silence.
After a long while,
perhaps because Ian's words had stirred something in him, the bookstore owner sighed softly in his rocking chair. He raised his slightly shriveled arm and gently stroked it a few times with his other hand.
The Golden Snitch tattoo.
In the sunlight,
it seemed to carry him back to a memory of having sworn to remain loyal unto death.