Time flies, and August has quietly passed.
On September 1st, long lines formed outside every bookstore in Great Britain.
Alfred, from the flagship bookstore on Oxford Street, arrived at the store at four in the morning, a full two hours earlier than usual.
But when he arrived, there were already more than thirty people squatting at the door.
They were wrapped in sleeping bags or carrying thermos cups, and some even sat on folding chairs and dozed off.
"Boss, you've come at the perfect time!" Mary poked her head out from the back door, her face a mixture of excitement and nervousness. "Guess how many people I counted?"
"Let's not talk about that yet." Alfred slipped in through the back door, hung his coat behind the counter, and rubbed his hands together. "First, tell me how much stock you have."
"Thirty thousand copies. The warehouse is already full, and there are two more stacks piled up at the door."
Alfred nodded, walked to the shop window, and glanced outside.
The line meandered along the sidewalk toward the street corner, and after turning the corner, you could still see a long string of heads bobbing back and forth beside the sidewalk railing.
A student wearing round-framed glasses was flipping through an old, tattered edition of " The Chamber of Secrets," while an office worker in a trench coat was chatting casually with the person next to him while holding a coffee.
Also noteworthy were several young people dressed in homemade wizard robes, holding wands made of tree branches and muttering something under their breath.
"This is even more outrageous than the previous two times combined." Mary stacked a pile of change under the counter. "Do you think they've spent all their summer savings on this?"
"Possibly." Alfred rolled up his sleeves. "Ready?"
"Ready."
The situation was even more extreme at Simon Bookstore in Manchester, where the queue stretched all the way from the store entrance to the park across the street, completely blocking the sidewalk and forcing pedestrians to detour onto the street.
Simon stood at the doorway, personally acting as a traffic warden, holding up the megaphone and occasionally shouting, "Don't push! Everyone has a seat! Don't push!"
"Boss!" The shop assistant rushed out of the store, clutching a wad of change. "The line is too long! People at the back are already complaining that they can't see where the people at the front are!"
"Let them complain," Simon said calmly, taking a sip of tea from his thermos. "They have to wait in line to complain. We'd rather earn a little less than break the rules."
"Should we start selling earlier? I see those people up ahead are getting impatient."
Simon glanced at his watch; it was 8:50.
He shook his head. "No, nine o'clock is nine o'clock. If we start selling early, everyone will know they can come earlier, and no one will come on time next year."
"That's true." The shop assistant nodded admiringly. "Boss, you're as reliable as ever. Working for you is worry-free."
Simon smiled and said, "It's not that I'm being conservative; we just need to establish the rules first, so that the road ahead will become wider and wider."
At the entrance of Duncan Bookstore in Edinburgh, Duncan didn't bring the ladder sticker this time.
He stood directly at the door, clutching a handful of loose change, with a neatly stacked pile of new books beside him; the silhouette of a dark purple black dog on the cover gleamed coldly in the morning light.
"Everyone!" he shouted to the line, "No need to rush, we have plenty of stock today! Everyone gets one!"
Someone in the team waved to him. " Duncan, how many points did you score this time?"
Duncan held up one hand and made a "five".
Five thousand?
"Fifty thousand!"
A low gasp and a burst of laughter rippled through the ranks.
In the Liverpool bookstore chain, regional manager William stood in the central control room, the phone in front of him ringing incessantly. He had just hung up on the flagship store when another one rang.
"Manager! The North Branch says the queue has stretched all the way to the parking lot of the supermarket next door! What should we do?"
"Let them line up," William said calmly, as if reporting the weather. "Tell the North District to open all cash registers and speed things up; don't keep customers waiting too long."
"That inventory--"
"The inventory is sufficient; if not, I'll get more. You just need to focus on maintaining order."
"OK!"
London, Manchester, Edinburgh, Liverpool, Birmingham, Glasgow in the morning...
In every corner of Great Britain, wherever there is a bookstore, there are people queuing up.
"Have you heard? A prisoner escaped in the third movie."
"I heard about it, it's someone named Black."
" Merlin's beard, could what's written in that book be true?"
"What do you think? The other day on the news they said a serious criminal escaped from prison..."
"That's true..."
Nine o'clock sharp.
Peter pulled the doors of the Oxford Street flagship bookstore open from the inside, and as soon as the hinges turned, the crowd outside surged in like water flowing from a burst dam.
I want one!
"Three books! Give me three books!"
"Don't push! I've been waiting in line for two hours!"
Where is " The Prisoner of Azkaban "?
Alfred stood behind the counter, his hands flying as he took money, handed out books, and gave change, repeating the same phrase over and over. "Three pounds a book, change on the right."
Mary helped hand out the books, while Peter pushed a cart full of new books out of the warehouse.
But more and more people gathered in front of the counter, with arms reaching out from all directions, holding up colorful pounds and coins.
Some people tiptoed to push forward, while others bent over and crawled under each other's arms.
"Boss! I've been queuing for an hour, why did those who came later get their books first?" a young man in a plaid shirt shouted.
Alfred didn't even look up. "I don't care who gets the book first, I'll give it to whoever's in front of my counter first. Just squeeze forward a couple of steps."
The young man hesitated for a moment, then actually squeezed forward two steps, reaching the edge of the counter, and handed over the ten pounds in his hand.
Three books!
"Here's your change, take it yourself."
The young man, carrying three books, squeezed out of the crowd with an expression that looked like he had just finished a Quidditch Match.
Back in Manchester, Simon's loudspeaker had already announced that it was out of power.
He shoved the megaphone under the counter, stood directly on it, and gestured with his hands in the air like a conductor leading an orchestra.
"Those on the left, line up! Those on the right, don't push! And you in the middle—yes, you—don't cut in line!"
The shop assistants were running around downstairs, carrying stacks of books in their arms, from the warehouse to the counter, and from the counter to the warehouse, their legs were about to give out.
"Boss! That stack in the warehouse is empty again!"
"Then let's move some more! There's more to come!"
At the entrance of Duncan Bookstore in Edinburgh, Duncan handed over the cashier duties to a clerk and went to the door to maintain order.
He stood there, blocking the doorway like a low wall, leaving only enough space for one person to pass through.
"One at a time! Line up! Don't rush!"
An old woman squeezed to the front, clutching a handful of loose change. "I'm buying a book for my grandson."
"Okay, please wait a moment." Duncan pulled a book from the pile beside him and handed it over. "Three pounds."
The old lady counted the coins in her hand, somewhat embarrassed. "I only have two pounds and seventy-five pence..."
"It's alright," Duncan waved his hand. "Two pounds and seventy-five pence it is."
The old lady paused for a moment, then smiled and took the book and left.
Back in Liverpool, William received a call from the flagship store in the dispatch room, "Manager! The first batch of one thousand copies has sold out! Are there any more in the warehouse?"
"Yes. You wait, I'll have the main warehouse transfer it over right away."
He hung up the phone and nodded to his assistant beside him. "Restock two thousand copies for the flagship store. Go now."
The assistant grabbed the notebook and ran out.
All morning, every bookstore in Great Britain seemed to be on fast-forward.
The books piled up on the counter were snatched up again, the inventory in the warehouse was moved out and emptied again, and the change in the cash register was changed again and again.
By the afternoon, those who had managed to snag a book were already sitting at home or in cafes, having opened the first page.
Those who hadn't bought anything yet were still standing in line, chatting with the people next to them while waiting.
"Why do you think Black wanted to escape?"
"Who knows, but it must be written in the book."
"That's true, I'll wait and see what kind of person he really is."
Do you think he's a good person or a bad person?
"It's hard to say. Didn't the first two movies also have characters who seemed bad but weren't actually that bad?"
You mean Snape?
"Yes, Snape seems like a bad guy, but the more the book describes him, the more suspicious it becomes."
"And what about Black?"
"I don't know, we'll see."