Going Concern

Year One: Part 1

The shop lay toward the northern end of Covent Garden, the newer bit that was more or less completely Muggle. Angelina liked to go to a café there for lunch after Saturday Quidditch matches. There was an alley, which opened into a courtyard full of different kinds of shops and places to eat, and in the courtyard all the buildings were brightly painted, in colors that would've suited a kids' playhouse more than anything else.

Harry always thought the antiques shop looked out of place. The building's brick facade was bare, and it was tucked away in the corner behind a bright pink nail salon. The window-frames were a dark, military blue. One could almost imagine it wasn't even there—Harry definitely didn't spot it the first time he'd glanced around the bright courtyard.

The bold brass letters that hung over the door read only, ANTIQUES - no name or date. There was a display window, too. This, Harry noticed as he passed by the shop time and time again, never really changed. It always housed the same odd collection: an old wooden medicine cabinet full of tiny little drawers which had been stuffed with a variety of knick-knacks, from rings and wristwatches to fishing lures and a stray wine opener; an old mannequin, its fabric body faded and frayed with age, on which were stuck all kinds of pins and earrings; and, in the very center, a huge painted porcelain sink, the spacious counter stacked with multi-colored cola bottles. Some of them, he thought, must've been pretty old, because they weren't all quite the same size and shape.

It wasn't a proper window display for an antiques shop by any stretch of the imagination. This was what attracted Harry to it in the first place, that misplaced sort of feeling, like it was something hiding in plain sight. Something about it felt vaguely familiar. Even though he never went inside, it was his favourite shop.

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Harry noticed, as he polished off the last of his turkey sandwich, that there was a piece of paper tacked to the door of the antiques shop. He squinted, but even with the renewed charm on his glasses he couldn't make out the words.

"—then wham! Crashed straight into the bugger. Can you believe it?" He flicked his eyes back to the conversation, and shook his head in response to Oliver's question even though he'd missed almost half the story.

"Right," said Ron beside him, in a voice that Harry thought meant he was probably humouring Oliver, "unbelievable."

He was still curious about the piece of paper when the lunch ended, so instead of Apparating back to Ron's place to change as he'd planned, he made his excuses and headed off in the direction of the shop. 

When he got there, Harry stopped in his tracks. NEW OWNER SOUGHT, the paper read, in bold but rather old-fashioned handwriting, PLEASE INQUIRE WITHIN.

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The air in the antiques shop smelled of dust, in a way that reminded him of the Hogwarts library. It looked like a library, too. Tall wooden shelves housed various objects at the center of the room. The walls were lined with glass cabinets that went all the way up to the high ceiling; these were filled with what Harry guessed were more valuable or fragile antiques. The place was bigger than he'd thought.

A man stepped out from behind a shelf and flashed Harry an easy smile. He looked to be in his late twenties. "Welcome. Looking for anything in particular?" His eyes narrowed minutely. "Hold on... where do I know you from?"

Harry blinked. Then it dawned on him. The way the shop blended into the background, the weird window display, the glimmer that he could see around the cabinets and shelves if he stared hard enough. Magic.