At first, the bookstores reported only scattered sales: twenty copies at one shop, thirty at another. The numbers were nothing remarkable.
But on the third day, things began to change.
A middle-aged man in a suit rushed into a chain bookstore and immediately asked, "Do you still have Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone?"
The clerk pointed toward the children's literature section. "There are still three copies over there-"
Before the clerk could finish, the middle-aged man had already strode over, snatched up the remaining three copies, and gathered them all into his arms.
The clerk blinked. "Sir, you're buying three copies?"
"One for my son, one for my nephew, and one for myself," the middle-aged man said, perfectly matter-of-fact.
Similar scenes played out in every corner of London.
A young woman walked into a bookstore, intending to buy the latest mystery novel.
But at the entrance, she saw someone holding a copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, engrossed in reading.
When she came out of the bookstore, she too had a copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone in her hands.
A retired old professor passed a bookstore, spotted a book with a distinctive cover in the window, and went inside to leaf through it. When he came out, he had a book in his hands.
A young repairman wandered into a bookstore during his lunch break, intending only to rest for a while.
But he casually picked up that book and flipped through it, then stood there until two in the afternoon, nearly getting himself told off by his boss.
By the afternoon of the fourth day, the managers of the major bookstores were beginning to panic.
"Hello? Is this Bloomsbury Publishing? I'm the manager of the bookstore on Oxford Street."
"The two hundred copies of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone we ordered have sold out. Could you send another shipment?"
"I'm sorry, the entire first printing has already been shipped. The reprint won't be ready for another two days."
"Two days?! Do you know how many people will come into my shop asking for this book in those two days?!"
"We're printing as fast as we can. Please be patient-"
"I can't wait! Rush my order! I'll pay whatever it takes!"
The same exchanges played out over and over at different bookstores.
Manchester, Birmingham, Liverpool, Edinburgh... bookstores everywhere were frantically pressing for stock.
And the small bookstores that had failed to secure stock from the first batch were even more frantic, like ants on a hot pan.
"Why did you only order thirty copies?!" a bookstore owner roared at his buyer over the phone. "Do you know how many people came asking for this book today? I haven't got a single copy left!"
"Who could have known it would sell this well back then..." the buyer said, feeling wronged.
"You didn't know? Couldn't you have ordered a few more even if you didn't know?!"
After hanging up, the owner stamped his feet in anger.
He picked up the phone and dialed another bookseller's number. "Hello, Old John, have you got any copies of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone left?"
"No, they sold out ages ago."
"How many did you order?"
"Fifty."
"All fifty sold out?"
"Yes, they were gone by yesterday afternoon. I wish I'd ordered more."
The owner sighed. "I've got it worse than you. I only ordered thirty."
"Thirty? You were far too cautious."
"At the time, I thought a new author writing fantasy was too much of a risk..."
"And now?"
"Now I wish I could slap myself."
Both men sighed into the phone at the same time.
Calls like these kept coming, as bookstore owners across Great Britain began phoning one another to lament their plight.
"Don't even mention it. I ordered eighty copies, and they sold out by noon today. Now the publisher says the reprint won't arrive until the day after tomorrow, and I've already got people queuing outside."
"All eighty sold out? You're doing much better than me. I only ordered fifty."
"Fifty isn't too bad. Old Simon's the one who's really in trouble. I think he only ordered twenty-"
"Twenty? Your information's out of date. I heard he ordered five hundred!"
"What?!"
The bookstore owners were all astonished when they heard the news and called Simon to confirm it.
There was an irrepressible delight in Simon's voice as he answered the phone. "Of course, it's good news-I ordered five hundred copies in the first batch."
The other end of the line was so quiet that a pin dropping could have been heard.
"Five hundred?!" The bookstore owner's voice rose an octave. "Are you mad?!"
"Where did you get the nerve to order five hundred copies?"
Simon leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and wore a broad smile. "I just thought this book would be a hit. Yes, intuition."
"Intuition, my arse! You just got lucky!"
"Luck is part of ability too," Simon said leisurely. "Don't feel too bad. Just remember to order more next time."
His tone sounded comforting, but anyone could hear the blatant boasting beneath it.
The bookstore owners on the other end listened through gritted teeth, bitter and jealous, yet unable to offer any rebuttal.
After all, his gamble really had paid off.
Simon was in an excellent mood after hanging up.
He lifted the teacup from his desk and took a sip, feeling that this ordinary black tea tasted especially fragrant and sweet today.
"Boss!" a clerk called from outside, hurried footsteps drawing closer.
Simon set down his teacup and asked unhurriedly, "What is it? More customers asking about the book?"
"No-" The clerk rushed to his office doorway, panting. "Boss, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone has sold out!"
"Sold out?" Simon smiled and waved a hand. "Don't worry. I ordered five hundred copies, remember? There are more in the storeroom."
"The storeroom stock has sold out too!" the clerk practically shouted. "Several groups came in this afternoon, buying two or three copies at a time. Someone even bought ten in one go, saying they were gifts for friends and relatives."
"Before I even had time to put them on the shelves, all the stock behind the counter had been snapped up!"
The teacup in Simon's hand nearly slipped.
He stared at the clerk, wide-eyed. "What did you say? All five hundred copies sold out?"
"Every last one! Not a single copy left!"
"But it's only been a few hours this afternoon-"
"I know! But they're all gone!" The clerk was sweating with anxiety.
"There are still seven or eight customers waiting outside, asking when we'll restock."
"I said I didn't know, but they won't leave the shop. They say they'll wait until the stock arrives to buy it!"
Simon sat stunned for several seconds.
Then he sprang out of his chair, grabbed the phone on his desk, and rapidly dialed Bloomsbury Publishing's number.
"Hello? This is Simon Bookstore in Manchester! I want to place an additional order for Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone!"
A weary voice came from the other end. "Hello, orders for the reprint are already backed up for three days-"
"Three days?!" Simon's voice almost cracked. "I can't wait three days! I need them today! Do you know I've still got customers queuing here?!"
"We're very sorry, but our production capacity is limited. We're already running the presses twenty-four hours a day-"
"Then move me to the front of the queue! I'll pay extra!"
"It's not a matter of money-"
"Then it's a matter of attitude!" Simon roared. "Do you know I ordered five hundred copies in the first batch? Five hundred! And every one of them sold!"
"What does that tell you? It tells you demand for this book is far beyond expectations! If your publishing house can't keep up, you're simply throwing away an opportunity!"
The other end fell silent for several seconds before the weary voice said, "Sir, I understand your urgency, but there's really nothing I can do."
"How about putting your order down first? I'll let you know as soon as the stock arrives."
Simon took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.
"Fine. Put it down. I want two thousand copies."
"T-two thousand?!"
"Yes, two thousand," Simon said through gritted teeth. "If you can print them, I'll take even more."
After hanging up, Simon slumped into his chair, a fine sheen of sweat covering his forehead.
The clerk asked cautiously, "Boss, what do we do now?"
Simon rubbed his temples and gave a wry smile. "What else can we do? Wait."
He looked down at the sample copy he treasured on his desk. The little boy on the cover still wore his round glasses and a radiant smile.
"It's only been four days..." Simon murmured to himself. "Just how much influence does this book have?"