When they arrived at the grandest bookstore in Mahogany Town, Ryan and his friends discovered it was Student Purchasing Day. To draw in the school crowd, the bookstore had invited several famous writers, and the result was a swarm of wizards—so packed that they could hardly squeeze through the aisles.
It was too chaotic for any serious shopping or reading, so Ryan quickly ruled the place out as a travel destination. He then thought of trying a secondhand bookshop instead. In a world where book prices rival those in the UK, plenty of such shops existed—but they typically couldn't afford premium locations. Instead, they clustered in quieter backstreets, away from the bustle.
Worried about stepping into a remote area—especially given his knowledge from a previous life that South American towns could be unsafe—Ryan discreetly pocketed something he'd procured earlier and joined Hermione and their friend as they headed off in search of the shop.
After asking around and circling the neighborhood, they finally discovered the store tucked away in a low-traffic lane. A narrow shopfront gave way to a surprisingly spacious interior, with shelves filled to overflowing. It didn't look like a simple used bookstore—it was more like a secondhand emporium.
There were strings of colorful feathers, old wands marred by scratches, bizarre stone carvings, various (possibly fake) herbs, glowing magical props, and books emitting faint arcs of colored light. The shelves, crossed by chaotic aisles, felt more like a collector's junkyard than a tidy retail space.
They stepped around unidentifiable specimens and even a half-dismantled broomstick, until Ryan spotted the shop's owner: a white-haired wizard, probably in his seventies, slumped behind the counter in a black robe, napping.
When he noticed them, he stirred and lazily waved a hand. "Prices are on the shelves. Pick what you want, and bring it to me to check out. Once you touch it, it's yours. We have magical surveillance—no funny business."
Ryan wandered among the aisles, noting price tags ranging from one Sickle to ten Galleons. He felt the owner must be a soulless fixer—charging top price for what looked like trash. The runic glyphs above each shelf prevented any magical detection, meaning you couldn't examine an item before you removed it. That explained the rule: if it left the shelf, you paid for it.
Hermione browsed some used Ilvermorny and Castrobrook textbooks while Ryan slipped away to check other shelves. Although each shelf was warded to block ordinary magical inspection, Ryan had a different skill—Taoist perception. He surreptitiously scanned each shelf and could faintly sense magical essence.
The owner had done his homework—or so he thought. Taoist perception was a completely different mystical system, and the shields here had gaps. For instance, Ryan detected something labeled as "wood essence" on a shelf—Castrobrook taught that this rare ingredient, akin to Ginseng, had strong vitality benefits. The price tag read ten Galleons—almost too good to be true.
Under Taoist scrutiny, however, the "wood essence" turned out to be a shell. Inside was the root of some unknown, worthless plant. The wizard had almost perfectly replicated the outer layer—fraud at a masterful level.
But not everything here was faux. The shop clearly used deception—but it had endured. If everything had been fake, it would have been shut down long ago.
Ryan soon spotted a genuine treasure: a piece of thousand-year-old lightning-struck wood, about the size of a forearm. It glowed faintly; not peach wood but Mahogany. Ryan's heart raced—it would make an excellent magic sword, or even a set of talismans.
He also tucked away a few magical minerals that piqued his interest. Soon, he assembled a modest pile and approached the counter to pay.
Behind the counter, however, Ryan noticed something chilling: a black leather notebook glinting in the sunlight. A triangle, circle, and vertical line were embossed on the cover, forming a single triangular eye. Ryan froze—he recognized the symbol as that of Grindelwald's Saints.
Looking more closely, the owner's nameplate read "Skorzeny," and even his appearance hinted at great antiquity. Ryan's blood ran cold—the man sitting before him was almost certainly one of Grindelwald's famed Saints, an elite group far more organized than even Voldemort's Death Eaters.
Ryan's breath caught. A person's reputation could be a curse—and if the shopkeeper knew what Ryan had recognized, the consequences could be dire. He reached for Hermione and silently prepared to flee.
But before he could react, the old man smiled, his eyes gleaming. "Boy, you have sharp eyes," he said in a slow, rich accent. "Would you care to see the real treasures in the back warehouse?"
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