Vizet, having spent his previous life in an orphanage, was no stranger to insecurity. For him, the easiest way to feel safe was by ensuring his "wallet" was full.
Though he now had 500 Galleons, Vizet couldn't help but think of the future. Saving for the unknown was his priority, which meant finding ways to increase income and reduce expenses. While new opportunities for earnings hadn't yet presented themselves, cutting costs was something he could act on immediately.
In the wizarding world, books were notoriously expensive, with most priced at no less than one Galleon. Even with a scholarship, acquiring the required school textbooks would devour nearly half of it. Vizet, unwilling to part with his money so easily, had a better idea.
He carefully reviewed his list of required materials and set about finding each title in the shop. Immersing himself in the "sea of books," he diligently flipped through their pages, absorbing their contents. When hunger struck, he munched on a biscuit from his pocket before returning to his task.
The bookstore clerk, standing at a distance, watched Vizet's movements with growing irritation. She had encountered plenty of customers who loitered around reading without buying, and her experience allowed her to assess people quickly.
This young man wasn't hard to figure out. He carried a cauldron, wore unassuming clothes, and was fixated on first-year Hogwarts textbooks. Clearly, he was a new student.
From his modest appearance, she could tell he wasn't from a wealthy pure-blood family. He also seemed hesitant and indecisive, suggesting he didn't plan on buying anything.
Annoyed, the clerk decided to approach him. "Excuse me, sir," she said, her tone impatient. "You've been here most of the day. Would you like me to get you a cup of black tea?"
Vizet looked up, puzzled. "Black tea? How much is it?"
In his previous life, he had worked at a bookstore that also sold drinks, so he assumed this one might do the same.
"That would be next door," the clerk replied curtly, pointing toward the exit. "There's a cold drink shop over there."
Just as Vizet was about to leave, the clerk froze. Her eyes widened, and a bead of sweat rolled down her temple. "Wait... You're the Obscurial, aren't you?"
Vizet, accustomed to such reactions, sighed softly and returned the book to its shelf. "Don't worry. I'm leaving now."
He had already accomplished his goal of mentally recording a stack of books and saw no reason to linger. Besides, Hagrid hadn't returned, and it was time to visit Ollivander's Wand Shop to get his most crucial school supply.
"N-No, wait!" the clerk stammered, her earlier confidence melting into panic. "Please, stay! I-I didn't mean what I said. You're welcome to keep reading!"
"What's going on here?"
A middle-aged man in elegant attire approached. His polished shoes and refined demeanor immediately set him apart as the bookstore's owner. He glanced between the flustered clerk and Vizet, his brow furrowing.
"Boss," the clerk stammered, wiping her damp forehead, "I-I thought the guest had been here too long, so I suggested he visit the cold drink shop next door."
The man studied Vizet for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a courteous smile, he said, "My young friend, why don't you join me upstairs for a drink? We can sit and chat."
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Although Vizet was filled with questions, he followed the bookstore owner up the staircase to the second floor.
The moment his foot touched the upper level, the bustling noise of the first floor seemed to vanish, replaced by an atmosphere of serene tranquility.
It was clear that magic had been used to create this peaceful oasis. The decor was exquisite, with an undeniable sense of classical elegance in every detail. The furnishings were antique yet impeccably maintained, evoking a timeless charm.
Vizet couldn't help but admire the space. "This is an amazing place to study," he said, his voice filled with awe.
"Thank you," the bookstore owner replied warmly, gesturing for Vizet to take a seat. "Would you like some black tea?"
Vizet, slightly embarrassed by the attention, nodded. "That would be lovely, thank you."
The owner poured tea with a practiced hand. "I am Clothar Bagshot, the proprietor of Flourish and Blotts. May I ask your name?"
"Vizet," he replied. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bagshot."
Bagshot smiled. "I hope you'll forgive my clerk. Their income is tied to sales, which sometimes leads to... less-than-ideal behavior."
"It's not a problem," Vizet said quickly, though curiosity tugged at him. Why was the bookstore owner treating him with such kindness?
"Besides," he added, "the clerk wasn't wrong. He really did ask if I needed black tea."
Bagshot chuckled, sipping his own cup. "And did you take him literally?"
"I did," Vizet admitted. "I thought there might be a tea or coffee shop inside the bookstore for the convenience of readers."
"A tea shop in a bookstore?" Bagshot leaned forward, his interest clearly piqued. "Tell me more about this idea."
Encouraged by the owner's genuine curiosity, Vizet shared his experiences from his previous life. He described how some bookstores combined their spaces with small cafés, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere for patrons.
As Vizet spoke, Bagshot conjured a quill and parchment with a flick of his wand, taking detailed notes.
"This second floor," Vizet continued, gesturing around him, "is already a perfect environment. It's tranquil, elegant, and ideal for book clubs or small gatherings."
"Adding a service element — like offering black tea or desserts — would elevate the experience. Even customers who don't buy books might come for the ambiance and stay for the refreshments. It could transform your bookstore into a cultural hub and enhance its reputation."
Bagshot's eyes lit up, and a wide smile broke across his face. "That's a fantastic idea! You've given me an entirely new perspective."
He leaned back, visibly energized. "Flourish and Blotts has been in my family for generations. I've always wanted to make my mark on it, but I never quite found the right way. What you've shared today... it's a revelation."
Vizet waved his hands modestly. "I'm glad I could help. Honestly, I've spent the whole morning reading here, so this is the least I could do."
Bagshot shook his head, clearly appreciative. "Don't downplay it. Your insight is invaluable."
As a token of gratitude, Bagshot made a generous offer: all of Vizet's required school textbooks would be covered, and he would always have a reserved seat on the second floor of the bookstore.
"Any time you wish to read here," Bagshot said with a grin, "you'll have access to tea, desserts, and anything else you need — free of charge."
Vizet left the conversation feeling a mix of surprise and gratitude. What had started as a simple effort to save on books had turned into an unexpected alliance with the bookstore's owner.
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Bagshot escorted Vizet to the entrance of a small, weathered shop. Its faded sign read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
"Vizet," Bagshot said warmly, "this is where you'll find your wand. And remember, you're always welcome at the bookstore. I hope to see you often."
Vizet nodded, his gratitude evident. "Thank you for everything, Mr. Bagshot. I'll be sure to visit when I can."
As Vizet stepped into the wand shop, Bagshot turned and headed in the opposite direction. Instead of returning to Flourish and Blotts, he made his way to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour nearby.
Inside, the shop was bright and inviting, but Bagshot bypassed the main counter and went straight to a secluded corner. There, a silver-haired man sat, his demeanor both relaxed and contemplative.
Albus Dumbledore was enjoying a small bowl of ice cream, surrounded by a modest pile of sherbet lemons.
"Clothar," Dumbledore greeted, his eyes twinkling with curiosity, "you're here. So, tell me — what's your impression of young Vizet?"
Bagshot took a seat, his face alight with enthusiasm. "He's a remarkable boy, Headmaster. Exceptionally sharp and thoughtful. Were it not for the rumors and those Daily Prophet reports, I'd never have guessed there was an Obscurus within him."
He paused, leaning forward. "There's a maturity about him that's far beyond his years. And his insights — Merlin's beard! The boy has a mind for innovation."
"Oh?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What sort of insights?"