Sure enough.
No matter where you are, some things have commonalities.
Since it's a homework assignment.
How could it be easily completed?
Ian felt he would definitely become the least popular student at Hogwarts, while Hermione in the Iron Triangle merely surpassed peers and students of the same grade.
But he.
Hasn't even enrolled yet.
And is already starting to study a subject that's not until third year at Hogwarts, an elective usually reserved for those who handle their regular studies with ease.
The ultimate study master.
That's about it.
"Ah, the more capable you are, the more you learn. What can I say, I have a smart brain." Ian carefully placed the fragments of his robe, extinguished the glow, and crawled back into bed.
A night filled with dreams.
The next morning at sunrise, Ian quickly got up, tidied himself, and dashed to the bookstore in Hogwarts Village—many might not even know there's a bookstore there.
In fact.
Most little wizards who attend Hogwarts may never realize that there's a nondescript second-hand bookstore behind the Feather Pen store owned by the literati of Hogwarts Village.
Even though this bookstore is so humble it doesn't even have a sign, every year it takes in a large number of unsold textbooks and old, stockpiled books from Li Hen Bookstore in Diagon Alley and resells them to students who wander the village during the weekends. Of course, few little wizards visiting Hogwarts Village would think to browse a bookstore.
After all, most come here just to relax. Nevertheless, this doesn't deter the existence of the bookstore. Who knows how the bookstore owner survives!
"Hello, do you have any materials on Rune Language?"
Having lived in Hogwarts Village for about a week, today was Ian's first visit to this bookstore. Upon entering, he saw an old man reclining in an old-fashioned rocking chair.
The old man's face was ruddy, his hair was a mix of white and grey like the first snow covering pine branches in winter, sparse yet shiny, with a pair of slightly antique round glasses perched on his nose.
He exuded a scholarly aura.
"Are you the little wizard who's been living in the village recently?"
The bookstore owner seemed to have heard about Ian—a little wizard staying in Hogwarts Village before school starts was quite rare.
"Yes, sir."
Ian maintained his usual politeness.
"For a little wizard your age, learning Rune Language is still a bit early." The bookstore owner remained reclining in the rocking chair, not moving.
"I'm just very interested in this aspect and want to begin studying early... Well, I believe I can become a great scholar in Ancient Magic Rune studies in the future."
Ian used his youthful advantage to display a hopeful and dreamy attitude.
"Not bad, quite ambitious."
The bookstore owner looked Ian over again.
Finally, he sat up.
"But ideals and reality often differ. Most little wizards struggle with basic courses." Though he murmured, the bookstore owner still went inside to find a book for Ian.
His movements were somewhat slow, and he seemed a bit unsteady. However, despite appearing slightly frail, his face showed no signs of aging.
It was a peculiar situation.
"You did say most, but isn't there still a small part that's different?"
Ian smiled, his teeth neat and white.
"Hmm?"
The bookstore owner turned to look at Ian again.
"Young, handsome, self-assured... perhaps with some talent as well. It seems you'll be a Slytherin," the bookstore owner commented.
Subsequently.
He began searching through the books in the store.
"Let me take a good look. I've only run this store for three months; the previous owner wasn't diligent about it, and I suppose I'm the same."
The bookstore owner made a little self-deprecating joke.
"I'm not in a hurry, sir."
Ian waited quietly.
He was used to disguising himself as a "good kid."
"Here they are, I found them."
The bookstore owner, after only a slight bit of movement, was already somewhat out of breath. Perhaps he suffered an injury in his youth that affected his physical abilities.
As he spoke.
He picked out three books from the piles not placed on shelves but strewn on the store's floor and handed them to Ian with slightly trembling hands.
Ian noticed that the inside of the bookstore owner's arm had a lifelike tattoo, a Golden Snitch—it caught Ian's eye as a soul from China.
"It's really beautiful."
Ian noticed the bookstore owner looking at him and quickly apologized for his rudeness.
"Yes, it used to be beautiful."
The bookstore owner's response was somewhat cryptic, but Ian noticed that his eyes were a bit dim, so he didn't press further about the story behind the tattoo.
He thought.
It's either nothing more than a cliché romance.
Or a deeply moving friendship?
Things in England.
It's hard to say, really hard to say.
"How much in total?"
Ian wasn't in the habit of prying into strangers' pasts, so he naturally changed the topic.
"Six Golden Galleons."
The bookstore owner reclined back into the rocking chair.
"Whew, so expensive!"
Ian gasped audibly.
"That's the price for used books. If you go to Diagon Alley to buy new ones, the price can be double. It's not just hard to learn because it became an elective subject."
The bookstore owner seemed to imply something.
"..."
Ian finally understood why every era sees a group of scholars monopolizing knowledge—the profit from selling knowledge is truly beyond imagination.
"Alright, thank you."
Ian didn't suspect he'd been overcharged—questioning wouldn't help, and he couldn't go to Diagon Alley anyway, so why maliciously speculate and add to his grievances?
He carefully counted out six Golden Galleons from the much-shrunken money bag from his pocket and placed them on the counter the bookstore owner pointed to.
"If you decide to give up studying, the buyback price I'll offer is three Golden Galleons." The bookstore owner smiled, seemingly sure Ian would choose to give up.
"I don't think that will happen."
Ian politely smiled.
He picked up the three books and chose to leave.
In the quiet bookstore.
Only the aged bookstore owner was left, falling back into silence.
After a long time.
Perhaps Ian's words had touched him, the bookstore owner, lying in the rocking chair, sighed gently, and lifted his somewhat dry arm to stroke it a few times with his other hand.
The Golden Snitch tattoo.
In the sunlight.
As if it took him back to a memory of sworn allegiance.