"Picking up money again," Hermione murmured to herself, weighing the heavy gold coins in her palm. The cold metal pressed against her skin, a tangible reminder of her bizarre reality.
In fact, the description wasn't quite appropriate. It wasn't just "picking up." It was a curse of accumulation.
Elara Vance had often found things since she was a child. Among the lost treasures, money was undoubtedly the most frequent. Even traveling to this magical world was the direct result of picking up that cursed parchment—the Hogwarts acceptance letter.
If one were to subscribe to conspiracy theories, the entity that delivered the letter to Elara must have had an unspeakable secret. Perhaps Elara wasn't even the first soul to be dragged into this world.
Hermione shook her head, her bushy brown hair swaying. She didn't want to let herself spiral into dark conspiracy theories so soon after crossing over.
The reality was simple: she had found money for the first time in this world, and it was quite a lot. Enough to get started.
Hermione allowed herself a small smile.
Diagon Alley was overwhelming in its liveliness. The cobblestones vibrated with the footsteps of hundreds of witches and wizards. Unlike the first-years like herself and Harry, the senior students navigated the chaos with practiced ease, needing no guidance.
To Hermione's eyes, the contrast was stark. Magicians were mostly eccentric people.
In the Muggle world she had left behind, survival required sophistication and flattery. People were slowly smoothed out like river stones; only the smooth could survive the friction of society. Even if it was hypocrisy, one had to live with a different mask every day.
Magicians were different. They didn't need to conform. Their characters weren't constrained by mundane social norms; they could expand their personalities arbitrarily. Coupled with the fact that many were half-magical creatures, it was natural that everyone here had a distinct, often loud, personality.
Through the crowd, Hermione noticed a towering figure early on.
It was hard to miss him. Rubeus Hagrid.
He was a half-blooded giant standing at a staggering height of 3.5052 meters. He wore an oversized moleskin coat that smelled of musk and damp earth, and his face was almost entirely hidden by a particularly long, bushy black beard.
Although he appeared to be a bit simple—a gentle, lumbering giant—Hermione knew he was kind and possessed a strong sense of justice. He was trustworthy to a fault.
Hagrid was particularly good to Harry Potter. Not only did Harry's late parents trust him, but so did Headmaster Dumbledore.
Hermione watched from the shadows of a cauldron shop awning. She knew the careless but loyal Hagrid would take Harry to Gringotts, not only to show the boy the mountain of gold his rich-second-generation father had left him but also to retrieve a specific item from Vault 713.
The highest product of great alchemy—the Philosopher's Stone.
Nicolas Flamel was the only known maker of the Stone. It could turn any metal into pure gold and create the Elixir of Life, immortalizing those who drank it.
Immortality and infinite wealth.
This was a good thing. As a pragmatic girl who had transmigrated here, Elara naturally wanted to use her crooked brains to acquire it. Who wouldn't want eternal life?
But Hermione also understood that this treasure was currently a hot potato. Whoever held it was painting a target on their back.
Nicolas Flamel, the 665-year-old maker who had survived centuries, and his 658-year-old wife—essentially living fossils—felt threatened enough to hand over the Stone to Hogwarts. They trusted Albus Dumbledore to keep it safe.
Dumbledore, hearing the whispers of danger, felt that even Gringotts was no longer secure. He had sent Hagrid to retrieve it and store it in the forbidden corridor on the third floor.
As a time traveler, Hermione knew that while this world and the original movie world were not exactly the same, the main timeline was likely unchanged.
She didn't want to die young. Regarding the Philosopher's Stone and Voldemort, Hermione didn't want to be involved at all right now.
Stay away, she told herself. Don't join in the fun. Stay away from Hagrid and Harry Potter.
However, whatever you are afraid of will inevitably come to find you.
At this precise moment, the blue light curtain flickered into existence, blocking her view of a stack of cauldrons.
[Option 1: Tell Hagrid that you know about the Philosopher's Stone and Voldemort. Reward: 1 Feather.]
[Option 2: Take Ron to see the huge legacy left by Harry Potter's father. Reward: 1 Bottle of Ink.]
[Option 3: Follow Harry Potter to buy a magic wand of your own. Reward: A Magical Space Ring.]
Hermione stared at the text, her jaw tightening.
So cruel!
None of these three options allowed her to escape or avoid the plot. She couldn't just walk away and not get caught up in the karma of the protagonist.
But Hermione wasn't a fool, either. Compared with a feather and a bottle of ink, that Magical Space Ring was undoubtedly exciting.
In Elara's perception, although the magical world was amazing—capable of teleportation, time reversal, and dragons—she didn't recall seeing storage rings like those in Eastern fantasy novels.
Her imagination suddenly ran wild. If she completed tasks like this, could she eventually get a flying immortal sword? Could she fly on a sword instead of a broom?
No matter what, the choice was clear.
Hermione, having just picked up the Galleons, needed to buy her own wand anyway. She also needed a magician's robe and books.
As for an owl pet? Hermione wrinkled her nose. She didn't think it was necessary.
Animals carried pathogens. If the hygiene wasn't managed perfectly, it could lead to cross-infection with humans, not to mention various parasites. Although in the original stories, magicians rarely seemed to visit doctors for flu or lice, as a traveler from the modern world, Hermione still paid great attention to personal hygiene.
Besides, most magician pets didn't have a particularly important role; they were dispensable.
Wands and money were necessities. Pets were vectors for disease.
Thoughtful and prepared for a rainy day, Hermione also decided she would buy a magic broom.
If there were no Space Ring, Hermione might have hesitated, because first-years weren't allowed to have brooms, and walking around with a Nimbus would be really noticeable. But if she completed this task, she could hide the broom in the ring.
Sitting on a broom to escape felt infinitely more reliable than running on two legs.
Plan in mind, Hermione navigated the crowd, dodging a witch selling dragon liver. She continued to pretend to meet them by chance and made her way to Ollivanders.
The shop was very old, peeling gold letters above the door reading Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. The space inside was tiny, dusty, and cramped.
Hagrid, being a giant half-breed over three meters tall, couldn't even walk in easily. He would have knocked over the stacks of wand boxes just by breathing.
So, he let Harry Potter go inside to pick his wand alone.
"I'll wait out here, Harry," Hagrid grunted. "Gonna go get yeh an entrance gift. An owl, maybe."
Hagrid, who liked animals, lumbered off down the street.
Hermione watched Hagrid leave from the corner of her eye, waited a beat, and then stepped into the shop. The bell above the door jingled softly, a lonely sound in the quiet, dust-mote-filled air.
She acted as if nothing had happened, feigning surprise as she saw the boy with the glasses standing by the counter.
"Hey, Harry, you're here too!"
Harry Potter turned. He was already too famous; people had been staring at the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead all day. Almost all of the magical world recognized him.
If it wasn't for the System option task, Hermione would have run in the opposite direction. She really didn't want to approach this trouble center.
Harry Potter was like Detective Conan. Wherever he appeared, there must be countless troubles, murders, and dark lords.
But Hermione had no choice. Among her three options, only the Space Ring was reliable. She had to bite the bullet and complete the task.
"Hermione," Harry said, offering a shy smile.
Harry was smart. On the train, Hermione had used magic to repair his glasses. At that time, she had claimed she forgot her wand and used Ron's. Now, she was in a wand shop. It made sense.
"Harry, are you here to buy a wand too?" Hermione asked, stepping up beside him.
Harry nodded. "Yeah. Hagrid's gone to get... something."
From the shadows of the shelves, a pale, moon-like face appeared. Mr. Ollivander, with his silvery eyes, looked at these two children with great interest. He seemed to look right through them.
"A good match," the old man whispered, though whether he meant the children or their potential wands, it was impossible to say.