Harry Potter: Prince of Shadows

Indeed, no matter where one is, some things share common traits.

Since this was homework, how could it possibly be easy to complete? Ian felt he was destined to become the least popular student at Hogwarts. The Iron Triangle, including Hermione, likely only had to contend with their peers. Yet he was preparing to tackle material meant for third-years—not the sort of classes available to young witches and wizards who were still getting accustomed to their studies.

The study-overachiever label might soon apply to him.

"Ah well, the capable must learn more. After all, I have a clever mind," Ian thought as he carefully set down the gown fragment, extinguished the glow from his spell, and climbed back into bed.

A restless night filled with dreams soon passed, and when the sun began to rise the next morning, Ian hurried to tidy himself and dashed toward the bookshop in Hogsmeade. Many might not realize that there was a bookstore here.

In fact, most younger witches and wizards attending Hogwarts might go through their entire school years without discovering it. Behind the feather quill shop owned by the village literati, lay a small, unassuming secondhand bookstore.

Despite its lack of a sign, this quaint shop received an annual influx of unsold textbooks and various outdated books from the Leaky Cauldron. It then resold them to students leisurely strolling through the village on weekends. However, very few young wizards visiting Hogsmeade ever thought to stop by a bookstore.

After all, most came merely to relax, but that didn't diminish the existence of the bookshop. Heaven knew how the owner managed to make a living!

"Hello, do you have any study materials related to runes?" Ian asked, stepping into the shop.

Having lived in Hogsmeade for about a week, today marked his first visit to this bookstore. As he entered, he spotted an elderly man lounging in a vintage rocking chair.

The old man had a rosy complexion, his thinning white hair reminiscent of pine branches dusted with fresh winter snow. His nose was adorned with a slightly worn pair of round glasses, exuding an aura of scholarly charm.

"You're that young wizard who's been staying in the village recently?"

The bookstore owner seemed to recognize Ian, as it wasn't common for an unregistered wizard to temporarily reside in Hogsmeade before starting at Hogwarts.

"Yes, sir," Ian replied politely.

"For someone your age, studying runes is a bit early," the bookstore owner said, remaining reclined in his chair.

"I'm very interested in this subject and wish to get a head start on my studies... I believe I could become a formidable scholar in ancient runes one day," Ian declared, trying to project his aspirations with the enthusiasm of youth.

"Quite ambitious," the old man remarked, giving Ian a thorough look.

Finally, he sat up.

"However, ideals and reality often differ. Most young wizards struggle even with basic courses." Despite his words, the bookstore owner began searching for books in the store.

His movements were slow, almost shaky, yet despite his frail appearance, he showed no signs of weakness in his expression.

How peculiar.

"You've only mentioned the majority; surely there's a minority that can manage?" Ian smiled again, flashing his straight white teeth.

"Hmm?" The owner turned back, glancing at Ian once more.

"Young and handsome, with a certain flair for self-importance… maybe you have some talent after all. It seems you might very well become a Slytherin," he assessed, a hint of amusement evident.

With that, he resumed searching through the shelves.

"Let me have a good look; I've only been running this shop for three months. The previous owner wasn't much for keeping things organized, and, well, I'm not particularly different," he joked, a glimmer of humor in his eyes.

"I'm in no hurry, sir," Ian replied, patiently waiting.

He had grown accustomed to concealing himself beneath the guise of a "well-behaved child."

"Found it! Here we go!"

The bookstore owner exerted himself slightly, appearing winded, though Ian couldn't discern if he had suffered any past injuries that affected his stamina.

As he spoke, he pulled three books from a pile stacked on the floor, not even arranged on the shelves, offering them to Ian with slightly trembling hands.

Ian's gaze fell upon the owner's arm, where a vibrant tattoo of a golden snitch was inked into the skin. As a person with a keen appreciation for artistic expressions, Ian found himself captivated by the tattoo.

"It's beautiful," Ian commented, noticing the owner's gaze fixated on him. He hastily sought to apologize for any perceived rudeness.

"Ah, yes, it used to be quite lovely," the bookstore owner replied, but his answer held a hint of sorrow. Ian noted the dimness in the older man's eyes but chose not to press further about the story behind the tattoo.

It likely had nothing to do with a melodramatic romance; perhaps it was more about a profound bond or a cherished memory.

"Now, how much do I owe you?" Ian smoothly shifted the conversation away from any sensitive topics.

"Six Galleons," the owner said, reclining back in his rocking chair once more.

"Six? That's rather expensive!" Ian gasped, surprised by the price.

"That's already the discounted price for secondhand books. If you were to go to Diagon Alley and buy new ones, the price would be double. It's not just because they are hard to learn," the owner added, his tone indicating that he had seen many students pass through with similar protests.

Ian paused, finally grasping why, throughout history, there were text monopolies that scholars quite literally traded on. The profit margins from selling knowledge clearly exceeded all expectations.

"Alright then, thank you," he relented. Although he suspected the owner might be trying to take advantage of him, questioning him further wouldn't change the fact that he was unable to get to Diagon Alley anyway. There was no point in letting negative speculation ruin his mood.

Reaching into his somewhat deflated coin pouch, Ian carefully counted out the six Galleons and placed them on the counter where the bookstore owner directed him.

"If you decide to abandon your studies, I'll offer a buy-back price of three Galleons," the owner said with a chuckle, seemingly betting on Ian's potential to falter.

"I don't believe that will be the case," Ian replied, gifting the man a polite smile.

Gathering the three books, he opted to head for the door.

In the quiet little bookstore, only the old owner remained, drifting back into a state of silence.

After a long moment, one might wonder if Ian's earlier remarks had stirred something in him. The bookstore owner sighed softly from his chair, lifting his withered arm to brush against the tattoo.

(A/N: If you enjoyed the story, please leave a review! Your feedback really helps me keep going and motivates me to write more. Thank you for your support!)

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