As Lord Voldemort, insight had never been something she lacked.
In this world, no one understood the value of Dark Arts artifacts better than she did. No one else could so easily recognize the secrets hidden within objects that appeared broken, discarded, or worthless.
Her gaze swept past Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, drifted beyond Flourish and Blotts, and finally settled on a narrow shop squeezed into a crooked corner of the street. Its sign hung at an awkward angle, barely legible.
Second-hand Robes and Junk Shop.
Several large baskets were piled outside the entrance, overflowing with miscellaneous debris: cracked cauldrons, rusted brass scales, mold-stained books, bent cutlery, and unidentifiable scraps of metal.
[It looks like it's prepared specifically for poor people like the host.]
"That is a place prepared for fools," Tamara sneered softly. "But the wise find gold in such places."
She stepped forward.
Inside, the lighting was dim and sickly. Dust motes drifted lazily in the stale air, which carried the unmistakable scent of moldy parchment and long-dead rodents.
Behind the counter, an elderly wizard with thick-bottomed spectacles and hair resembling an abandoned bird's nest dozed with his chin resting against his chest.
Tamara did not wake him. Instead, she moved directly to a basket labeled:
Clearance Items — Average Price: 1 Sickle
She began rummaging through it.
A brass scale with one broken foot… useless.
A copy of Practical Potion Master missing its most crucial chapter… worthless.
A hairpin that resembled the bone of some exotic magical creature… fake. Upon closer inspection, it was merely a carved chicken bone.
Her fingers continued searching.
Then—
They brushed against something cold. Greasy. Heavy.
She paused.
It was a black metal sphere about the size of a clenched fist. Its surface was pitted and scarred, resembling a lump of burnt coal. Rusty spoons and twisted scrap metal had been carelessly piled on top of it.
It looked utterly unremarkable.
But the moment her skin touched it, Tamara felt it.
A faint, highly specific magical fluctuation.
Subtle—so subtle that only someone deeply attuned to the Dark Arts would detect it.
Is this… Goblin silver?
No.
More than that.
Without changing her expression, Tamara picked up the sphere and casually pressed her thumb into a shallow depression along its surface.
A faint green light flickered briefly within the cracks before disappearing.
Inside, she was ecstatic.
Externally, her face remained indifferent.
This was no lump of coal.
It was the outer casing of an Anti-Wizard Shock Grenade, manufactured during the Goblin Rebellions of the seventeenth century.
The explosive core inside had long since degraded into useless dust.
But the shell—
The shell was crafted from Magic-Absorbing Metal, an exceptionally rare material capable of absorbing and neutralizing most defensive spells.
To someone knowledgeable—Mr. Borgin in Knockturn Alley, for example, or a pure-blood collector obsessed with Goblin craftsmanship—this relic was worth at least one hundred Galleons.
And here it was, treated like scrap iron.
Tamara calmly added the sphere to her collection of purchases. She also grabbed a worn but intact copy of Hogwarts: A History and a second-hand robe that appeared relatively clean.
Then she approached the counter.
"Shopkeeper. I'd like to pay."
The old wizard stirred awake, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"A robe, a book, and… what's that? Oh. That iron lump." He yawned.
"Three Sickles for the robe. One Sickle for the book. Five Knuts for that metal scrap. Four Sickles and five Knuts total."
Tamara paid without hesitation.
The coins clinked softly against the counter.
Now, the item legally belonged to her.
Under ordinary circumstances, she would take it to Knockturn Alley and resell it.
But she was far too weak at present. Attempting to negotiate in Knockturn Alley in her current condition would likely result in extortion—or worse.
So she chose a different method.
Tamara did not leave.
Instead, she remained standing before the counter, idly turning the metal sphere in her hands.
"Shopkeeper," she said sweetly.
Her tone, however, had changed.
It carried something colder.
"Do you know what this is?"
The old wizard waved dismissively. "A broken cauldron base, maybe. Some prankster's toy. Little girl, you've paid. Run along."
"This," Tamara said calmly, "is not an iron ball."
She removed a handkerchief and carefully wiped away grime from one side of the sphere, revealing a faint line of ancient runes etched beneath the corrosion.
The old wizard froze.
"This is a contraband weapon from the Goblin Rebellions. Designation X-79. A Magic-Absorbing Shock Grenade."
Silence filled the shop.
"According to Article 72 of the Ministry of Magic's Dangerous Goods Control Act," Tamara continued, her voice almost sing-song, "the private possession or trade of Goblin military contraband carries a minimum fine of five hundred Galleons. Potential imprisonment included."
She looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes.
"You just sold this to an underage wizard."
The old man's face turned ashen.
"If I were to walk outside," Tamara continued lightly, "turn left, and inform the Auror currently patrolling the street…"
Cold sweat rolled down the wizard's temple.
How could this child recite legal statutes more fluently than Ministry officials?
"What… what do you want?" he stammered. "I can refund you! I won't sell it! I'll take it back!"
"A refund?" Tamara shook her head gently. "The transaction is complete. The item is my legal property."
She sighed theatrically.
"But I am kind. I wouldn't want to see you imprisoned."
[System Notification: Host is performing… reasonable rights protection through legal knowledge.]
[System Judgment: Methods slightly questionable. However, this constitutes legal education and correction of unlawful trade without violence.]
[Barely passed.]
The smile on Tamara's lips deepened.
"I believe this object is too dangerous for me," she said softly. "Therefore, I would like to sell it back to you."
The old wizard swallowed. "H-how much?"
"I'm not greedy."
She raised five delicate fingers.
"Fifty Galleons. Half its market value. You may resell it at profit. I avoid contacting an Auror. Everyone benefits."
"Fifty Galleons?!" he shrieked. "You're insane!"
Tamara turned toward the door.
"Perhaps I should speak to the Auror."
"Wait! Don't!" the wizard cried, rushing to open his cash box. His hands trembled violently.
With agonizing reluctance, he counted out fifty shining gold coins.
"Take it! Just take it and leave! And never return!"
Clink.
Clink.
The coins fell into Tamara's purse.
Fifty Galleons.
Combined with her existing funds, she could survive comfortably for now.
She tossed the sphere back onto the counter and executed a graceful curtsy.
"A pleasure doing business with you, sir."
She smiled.
"You see? Knowledge is wealth."
Then she walked out into the sunlight.
[Ding! Successfully identified an ancient magical artifact and promoted legal awareness.]
[Reward: Wisdom +10]
[Current Wisdom: 10]
[Congratulations! Wisdom has reached 10. First-Year Basic Spell Unlocked: Levitation Charm.]
Ten points in one instance.
She had not expected advancement to come so easily.
As she stepped into the warm sunlight, Tamara felt something within her loosen—an invisible seal weakening.
A new icon lit up in her consciousness.
"Levitation Charm…"
She extended her hand toward a pebble resting near the roadside.
"Up."
The pebble trembled.
Then rose.
Only a few centimeters—but it rose.
Her eyes gleamed.
Though her current strength was pitiful compared to her former self, this small act symbolized something far greater.
She, Lord Voldemort, had reclaimed magic.
"Very good."
She clenched her fist.
Gold in her purse.
Magic in her grasp.
A promising beginning.
Her gaze drifted once more toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.
Now that she possessed money, these rags she wore were unacceptable.
She tugged irritably at her worn dress.
"Improper clothing," she muttered coldly, "is beneath the dignity of a Dark Lord."
And with that, Tamara stepped forward, prepared to invest in something far more suitable for her status.
After all—
Power, wealth, knowledge, presentation—
Each was a necessary component of true dominion.
And she intended to reclaim them all.