"Now... where should I start?"
Standing once more on the busy street, slightly nauseated but still wearing a small, calm smile, Ted looked over the many shops of Diagon Alley, quietly debating where to begin. It was already early afternoon, and he still had to return home by evening.
The vault-cart ride had been every bit as good as he'd imagined — a twisting, rattling maze of sharp turns, endless tunnels, and narrow rails carved deep beneath the earth.
His vault was located in one of the newer passages, closer to the upper levels of the ancient system. He had barely scratched the surface of what Gringotts had to offer and a part of him couldn't help but fantasize about exploring the deepest sections — about seeing for himself what kinds of protections were guarding those oldest, most dangerous vaults.
At one point during the ride, Ted had even heard a distant, guttural roar echoing up from the depths of a hole that looked like a bottomless pit. The rails themselves simply ended above that darkness, as though daring someone to jump.
When he had asked the goblin escorting him about it, the goblin had simply shot him a flat glare — and then turned away without answering.
Realistically, Ted didn't have time to visit every shop, nor did he have the budget to waste. After a short consideration, he settled on a simple method — he would check every other shop on each side of the street. The closest one, and the first on his list, happened to be a potions shop named 'Slug & Jiggers Apothecary.'
Without hesitation, Ted stepped inside.
Hesitation, after all, wasted time.
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Upon entering, Ted found himself surrounded by a heady mixture of scents – from the earthy undertones of dried herbs to the pungent essence of what he guessed were magical creatures.
The shop was dimly lit, with only the front window allowing a sliver of natural light to break in, further adding to the quiet, almost forest-like atmosphere. Wooden shelves lined the narrow space, neatly organised and brimming with glass jars and bottles, each holding a strange array of magical ingredients.
Glancing over the labels, Ted found plenty of unusual names.
Unicorn horns. Frozen Ashwood eggs. Beetle eyes. Bat wings.
Dozens of magical and non-magical ingredients filled the shelves in an orderly fashion — side by side, like any other well-stocked storeroom. Yet there was nothing ordinary about them.
As his eyes scanned over the prices, he couldn't help but shake his head slightly.
The cost difference between magical and non-magical ingredients was immense. Non-magical items ranged from affordable and cheep to merely a little expensive.
Magical creatures' parts, on the other hand, were priced on an entirely different scale — with most starting at a minimum of one Galleon per unit.
A strand of unicorn hair was one Galleon and single hair from a creature called a Demiguise cost over seven Galleons.
Ted paused at that.
A hundred twenty seven pounds — for a single hair.
Either those creatures were nearly impossible to find... or wizards were really bad at managing supply chains.
It was a similar story with the herbs.
In one corner of the shop, Ted spotted a small display table, laid out almost like an exhibit. Delicate bundles of dried plants sat carefully arranged, each one labelled in elegant, precise handwriting.
There were familiar names — lavender, sage — right alongside plants he didn't recognize, their magical properties unknown.
Behind the counter, an old wizard with a long, impressive white beard moved calmly among his customers, offering brief words of advice or wrapping up ingredients. Mounted on the wall behind him hung an ancient wooden cabinet, its shelves packed with vials of shimmering powders and liquids — every single one labelled with exact instructions for use.
Just beneath it, on a narrower shelf, sat several tiny glass cases — housing preserved magical creatures.
Fairies with gossamer wings. Miniature phoenix feathers. Even the occasional dried pixie wing.
Each case was enchanted to softly illuminate, casting a warm glow on the captivating contents within.
Ted was stunned; this place exceeded all his expectations.
From the outside, it looked like just another old shop — wooden beams supporting the structure, a sign that swung gently in the wind, nothing too special by any means.
But upon entering, he found it even more magical than Gringotts — the very place he had read legends of and dreamt of visiting since he was young.
He wanted to get everything.
And yet, he didn't have enough for it all — and there were still many shops he had yet to visit.
There was also another problem.
While he was in Gringotts, he had learned of a relatively new policy — one that limited the amount of Muggle money that could be converted into wizarding currency each year.
It was Gringotts's way of maintaining currency stability.
Every wizard who wished to convert pounds into Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts could only exchange up to 350 Galleons, 14 Sickles, and 16 Knuts per year — equal to 6,400 pounds, which was 80% of the average yearly expenses of a Muggle in Britain back in 1980, when the rule was established.
(A/N: I've made the calculations based on the currency value established in the last chapter. You really don't have to bother too much with the numbers, though if someone is interested, I can make a currency auxiliary chapter.)
'I don't know how to make potions yet. I do remember some recipes existing in the library, but I can still buy them later,' Ted decided at last.
He would skip buying the ingredients for now and return once he had gained enough knowledge about them — their applications, their value, and his own needs. After all, many of these ingredients were meant for specific potions — ones he had no idea how to make.
Finally Turning to leave the shop, Ted eventually had ended up buying no ingredients at all — though he wasn't empty-handed.
Reynold — the old shopkeeper, as he had introduced himself — had caught onto Ted's careful observation early on. Rather than pushing ingredients, he had instead recommended something far more useful.
A book.
A Hundred Concoctions for Beginners.
An original work by Horace Slughorn, a partner in the shop and a descendant of one of its founders, Archibald Slughorn.
Reynold himself, as it turned out, was a descendant of the shop's other founder — Walter, an orphan better known by his nickname Jiggers, given for a particularly effective potion he'd created and used so often the name simply stuck.
With the new book tucked securely under his arm, Ted left the shop and stepped back out into the noise and chaos of Diagon Alley.
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Crossing the alley, using the one-yes, one-no method, Ted passed two more shops before finally reaching a shabby-looking store with peeling golden letters painted over it's door that read:
'Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.'
Looking at the display, Ted was surprised to find only a single wand lying there, placed on an old purple cushion. Although it might have looked rather lacking, the wand itself was beautiful.
Golden-brown, with a texture like braided wood — five distinct branches woven together into a shape that resembled, but was far more elegant than, an olive tree's trunk. Its handle was smooth, inlaid with a single jade stone — set deep, like a watchful eye.
It wasn't really Ted's style, but he still found it breathtaking. Clearly, it was a masterpiece — one meant to be admired. It probably outshone the others, making it the only one chosen for display.
As Ted entered the shop, the familiar sound of a brass bell rang out.
It was small, almost delicate, and the dusty air inside was slightly hard to breathe. The shop itself was sparsely furnished — only a single, old wooden chair sat near the entrance. Along the walls on both sides, stacked neatly to the ceiling, were thousands of long, narrow boxes.
It made Ted all the more curious about the ancient shop.
As he stood there, he suddenly felt his skin prickle — lightly, as though tiny specks of something invisible drifted all around him.
A faint twist coiled in his stomach, and the hairs on his arms rose.
But unlike the warning signs from his "danger sense," this time, it wasn't unpleasant.
It wasn't fear. It wasn't threat.
It was like something intangible filled the room — something that surrounded him, pressed in gently, and settled into his skin. And Ted had a very good idea what it was as he looked around at the room, that seemed to be engulfed in many dim lights.
It might have been the first time he'd felt it so clearly, but it felt natural. Familiar. Like something that had always been there with him, waiting just beyond reach.
It was magic.
"Good afternoon."
A soft, elderly voice broke through his thoughts, snapping Ted out of his trance.
Turning, he saw an old man — thin, with long white hair, and wide silver-white irises that bore a faint resemblance to his own. They weren't identical, but similar enough to be noticed. The old man's eyes leaned more toward pale silver, like moonlight, while Ted's had a subtle undertone of light blue, giving them the appearance of an endless sea of stars.
They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds. Ted found that the man himself seemed to be glowing in dim white.
Then, suddenly, the old man's face paled.
He took a small step forward, his hand rising shakily to cover his mouth.
"I... I'm... impossible!" he finally gasped, as tears began to form at the corners of his eyes.
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This chapter was edited(I'm sorry if your comments were deleted as a result.)