As Lord Voldemort, the one thing she never lacked was insight.
In this world, no one understood the value of Black Magic items better than she did, and no one knew better what secrets were hidden within those seemingly broken things.
Her gaze passed over Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, passed Flourish and Blotts, and finally landed on a shop squeezed into a corner with a crooked sign.
Second-hand Robes and Junk Shop.
Several large baskets were piled at the shop's entrance, filled with all sorts of miscellaneous items: broken cauldrons, rusty scales, moldy books, and some unknown metal scrap.
[It looks like it's prepared for poor people like the host.]
"That is a place prepared for fools," Tamara's lips curled into a cold sneer, "but the wise pick up gold there."
She stepped toward it.
The light inside the shop was dim, and the air was thick with the smell of moldy parchment and dead rats.
An old Wizard wearing thick-bottomed glasses, with hair like a bird's nest, was dozing over the counter.
Tamara didn't wake him; instead, she went straight to the junk basket labeled "Clearance Items: Average Price 1 sickle."
She rummaged through it.
A brass scale with a broken foot... trash.
This copy of "Practical Potion Master" was missing its most crucial page... trash.
A hairpin that looked like the bone of some magical creature... fake, it was a chicken bone.
Suddenly, her fingers touched something cold and greasy.
It was a black metal sphere about the size of a fist, its surface pitted and scarred like burnt coal cinders.
It had been tossed carelessly under a pile of rusty spoons, looking completely unremarkable.
But at the moment of contact, Tamara felt a faint but extremely specific magical fluctuation.
This fluctuation was very subtle; if one weren't extremely sensitive to the Black Magic, they wouldn't be able to detect it at all.
Is this... Goblin Silver?
No, more than that.
Tamara picked up the sphere without a change in expression, quietly pressing down hard on a depression with her thumb.
A very faint green light flashed briefly within the cracks of the cinder.
She was ecstatic inside, but her face still bore an expression of disdain.
This wasn't coal cinder at all; it was the shell of an "Anti-Wizard Shock Grenade" manufactured during the Goblin Rebellions of the seventeenth century.
Although the gunpowder inside had long since expired, this outer shell was crafted from the extremely rare "Magic-Absorbing Metal," capable of absorbing and neutralizing most defensive spells.
In the eyes of those in the know—like Mr. Borgin from Knockturn Alley, or some pure-blood family collection enthusiast—this thing was worth at least 100 Galleons.
And here, it was being treated as scrap metal.
Tamara picked up the sphere, casually grabbed a tattered copy of "hogwarts: a history," and a second-hand robe that looked reasonably clean, then walked to the counter.
"Shopkeeper, I'd like to pay."
The old Wizard woke up dizzily, pushed up his glasses, and glanced at the items in Tamara's hands.
"Oh, a robe, a book, and a... what's that? Oh, that iron lump." The old Wizard yawned.
"Three sickles for the robe, one sickle for the book, and I'll charge you five Knuts for that iron lump. That's four sickles and five Knuts total."
Tamara paid the money readily.
Now, this item belonged to her.
According to the normal routine, she should take this item to Knockturn Alley to resell it.
But she was too weak now; it would be difficult to get a fair price in Knockturn Alley, and she might even be severely extorted.
Therefore, she was going to cash out in another way.
Tamara did not leave; instead, she stood at the counter, playing with the iron lump.
"Shopkeeper," she suddenly spoke, her voice still sweet, but her tone had become somewhat eerie, "do you know what this is?"
"What? Isn't it just a discarded cauldron base or some iron ball a prankster broke?" The old Wizard waved his hand impatiently. "Little girl, just go after you've bought it."
"No, this is no iron ball."
Tamara pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and slowly wiped a smudge off the sphere's surface, revealing a line of runic script that was faintly visible underneath.
"This is a contraband item from the Goblin Rebellions, designated X-79, a Magic-Absorbing Shock Grenade."
The old Wizard's movements froze.
"According to Article 72 of the Ministry of Magic's 'Dangerous Goods Control Act,' the private possession or trade of contraband Goblin weapons is punishable by a fine of at least 500 Galleons, and perhaps a few months in prison."
Tamara looked up, her large eyes blinking at the old Wizard, an innocent smile on her face.
"Sir, you just sold this to an underage Wizard. If I were to walk out, turn left, and hand it to that Auror on patrol..."
The old Wizard's face instantly turned deathly pale.
How was this girl more proficient at reciting legal statutes than a Ministry of Magic official?
"What... what do you want?" the old Wizard stammered, cold sweat trickling down his forehead. "I can give you a refund! I won't sell it!"
"A refund?" Tamara shook her head and sighed softly. "The transaction is complete, sir. This item is now my legal property."
"But I am a kind, good child. I wouldn't want to see you go to prison."
[System Notification: Detected that the host is performing... er... reasonable rights protection based on legal knowledge.]
[System Judgment: Although the methods are a bit shady, it is indeed 'popularizing legal knowledge' and 'helping others correct mistakes,' without causing bloody conflict.]
[Barely passed.]
Hearing that the system hadn't electrocuted her, the smile on Tamara's lips deepened.
"How about this, sir? I think this thing is too dangerous for me to play with. I'd like to... sell it back to you."
"As a professional antique shop, you must be willing to pay a high price to buy back such a rare piece of Goblin craftsmanship, right?"
Looking at the seemingly innocent little girl, the old Wizard felt as if he were being stared down by a Dementor.
"How... how much?"
"I'm not very greedy." Tamara held up five fair fingers. "50 Galleons. That's half the market price. You can still make a huge profit by reselling it to someone who knows their stuff, and I'll be saved the trouble of calling an Auror. Everyone's happy."
"50 Galleons?! You're crazy!" the old Wizard shrieked.
"Or should I go call the Auror?" Tamara made a move to turn around.
"Don't! Don't go!" The old Wizard gritted his teeth and opened his cash box with a look of extreme pain. "Take it! Take it! Take the money and get out! Don't ever come back to my shop!"
Clink, clink.
Heavy gold coins fell into Tamara's coin purse.
50 Galleons, plus the previous 20 Galleons; she could barely get by for now.
Tamara tossed the so-called dangerous contraband back onto the counter and performed an elegant curtsy.
"A pleasure doing business with you, sir. You see, knowledge is wealth, isn't it?"
She turned and walked out of the shop with light steps.
[Ding! Given that you accurately identified an ancient magical item and successfully popularized legal knowledge to others.]
[Reward: Wisdom +10.]
[Current Wisdom: 10.]
[Congratulations! Wisdom has reached 10 points. Unlocked first-year basic spell: Levitation Charm.]
It increased by ten points in one go.
Tamara was somewhat surprised; she had thought these points would be extremely difficult to obtain.
Walking in the sunlight, Tamara felt the seal within her body finally loosen a fraction, and the spell icon in her mind lit up.
"Levitation Charm..."
She reached out and gave a gentle tap toward a pebble by the roadside.
The pebble wobbled and floated up. Though it was only a few centimeters high, it represented that she, Lord Voldemort, had finally grasped this power once more.
"Very good."
Tamara clenched her fist, feeling the dual enrichment of gold coins and magic.
She glanced at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions not far away.
"Now that I have money, these rags should be thrown away." Tamara tugged at her old dress in disgust. "Improper clothing is detrimental to my status as the Dark Lord."