The street thrummed like a living thing as Cassius threaded through the crowds.
Merchants cried their wares, owls hooted from iron cages, and cauldrons clanged as apprentices tested them in shopfronts.
But Cassius' eyes were already fixed on the next destination.
Knowledge was the truest wealth.
Coin might be stolen.
Magic, disrupted.
But knowledge… knowledge remained, hidden within the mind until the moment it was wielded.
And so he came to Flourish and Blotts.
The bookstore rose like a great wooden cavern, its bowing shelves visible even through the glass-paned front.
Tomes were stacked to the rafters, some so high ladders rolled along rails to grant access.
Enchanted quills scribbled notes onto parchment price tags, while a bored-looking clerk tried to corral a stack of books that had sprouted legs and were wandering off in protest.
Cassius pushed the door open, and the soft scent of ink, parchment, and binding glue washed over him.
It was almost comforting.
Inside, the noise of Diagon Alley faded, replaced by the rustle of turning pages and the faint scratch of quills.
The air was alive with the faint hum of magic—books muttering to themselves in the corner, bindings glowing faintly, protective charms whispering against probing fingers.
Perfect.
Cassius paused, slipping once more into his carefully crafted role.
A boy, a little too young to be here alone.
He arranged his expression into mild exasperation, then made straight for the nearest clerk.
"My brothers were supposed to meet me here," he said, letting just the right edge of irritation lace his voice. "They're off running about with their friends, but I was sent to collect their school supplies before Mother finds out. I'll need all the required texts for first through third year. Every subject."
The clerk blinked, taken aback at the clarity of the order, then hurriedly pulled a parchment list from beneath the counter.
"Y-yes, of course. That would be History of Magic, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, and—er—Defence Against the Dark Arts. Plus Herbology, Astronomy, and Care of Magical Creatures once they reach third year."
"Exactly," Cassius replied. His tone brooked no argument. "Bundle them all."
The clerk scurried off toward the shelves, muttering titles.
Cassius moved deeper into the shop, eyes scanning spines.
He knew what he wanted beyond the standard curriculum.
He remembered the names—the texts whispered in films and novels, the books that Harry and his friends had leaned upon in desperate hours.
The Standard Book of Spells.
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.
Magical Drafts and Potions.
Defensive Magical Theory.
But also the rarer works: Moste Potente Potions, Secrets of the Darkest Arts, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Magik Moste Evile.
He would need them all.
Though the chances of finding books on dark magic in a reputable shop like this was slim, however that did not deter him.
With methodical precision, he plucked books from the shelves.
Some, he knew, might raise eyebrows if seen in the hands of a child—but he could always excuse them as "history" or "curiosity."
Before shuffling the actual blame off on his 'brothers' while reading out the titles he hastily scratched onto parchment in his hands like a reverse shopping list.
Besides, the ownership lock on his new bag would keep prying eyes out.
Cassius lingered in the history section, fingers trailing over spines older than nations.
He took works on the Goblin Rebellions, the formation of the Statute of Secrecy, and a treatise on Grindelwald's war.
Knowledge of past revolutions was not idle reading—it was fuel, a guide for when his own machinations grew teeth.
And beyond even that, he sought the deeper past.
Histories of the Founders, of the magical dynasties that rose and fell before Hogwarts even existed.
He found an entire volume on Salazar Slytherin's lineage, its cover scaled with faded green leather.
That one, especially, he claimed without hesitation.
By the time the clerk returned, red-faced and lugging a wobbling stack of curriculum texts, Cassius had already gathered another dozen tomes on his own.
"Here we are, sir," the clerk wheezed, dropping the pile onto the counter. "All the set works for first through third year, as requested."
Cassius nodded, calm and measured.
"And these as well," Cassius added, laying his chosen supplemental stack beside the others. "Put them all on one bill."
The clerk hesitated, eyes flicking from the child before him to the titles—some of which bore unmistakable warnings etched into their spines.
Then his gaze fell on the pouch no doubt containing gold at Cassius' belt.
He swallowed, and wrote out the slip without protest.
The total would have made most families balk.
Entire wardrobes of robes, broom upgrades, or weeks of rent.
But after totalling the lot up, the clerk decided Cassius being the good boy that he was needed a bonus, and after abandoning the mountain of books at the front shelf led him to the furthest reachest of the shop, where a couple of bins looked to be a recycling bin where old books go to die.
"Special offer, only 2 sickles for anything you want out of these bins? When you're ready we'll settle up at the front counter."
Seeing this as a hell of a deal, Cassius practically dove head first into the bins, swimming among the various books, pages, and assortments of papers.
Almost immediately Cassius began grabbing up titles, or pieces of books, even string bound paper collections that could perhaps be a students study notes or a wizards research notes.
In the end by the time he returned to the front counter the total count of books being purchased exceeded 100.
But the total cost was not enough to make Cassius flinch.
Cassius counted it out with unhurried precision, each coin striking the wood like the tolling of a bell.
Gold could purchase silence as easily as it purchased knowledge.
When the last Galleon slid across, the clerk cleared his throat.
"Er—will your parents be coming to collect these as well?"
Cassius met his eyes, cool and steady.
"No. I'll see to it."
Flipping open the messenger bag at his side, sliding in book after book until the mountain of pages before him disappeared from sight entirely.
Ending with a simple 'click' as the bags clasp secure itself in place sealing away the collective knowledge under his protection.
And with that, he turned, adjusting the strap of his bag across his shoulder.
The weight of knowledge pressed against his side—weightless in truth, but heavy with promise.
Giving a hand wave in the air, and a hearty "Thanks!" as he headed for the door.
He stepped back into the light of Diagon Alley, the bustle rising around him once more.
His two largest purchases were now over but even still plenty more shopping yet to happen before he was ready to set out.