Chapter 302
Florin took out the gold galleons that Tom left from his pocket and placed it gently on the wooden table in the center of the warehouse.
The gold coins shimmered under the oil lamp, but Florin's eyes became darker and darker.
He reached out and opened the drawer on the side of the table and rummaged inside for a while, his fingers picking through layers of old ledgers, empty bottles, and scattered parchments.
"Where did you put it...?"
He murmured quietly, with a hint of anxiety in his tone.
Finally, his fingers touched a dusty card.
He carefully took it out and wiped off the dust on the surface with his sleeve, revealing a card that looked ordinary but contained faint magic fluctuations.
"Ouch, I haven't used it for almost seven years. I don't know if it can still be used."
Florin frowned, a hint of suspicion in his tone.
He raised the card and tapped it twice casually, his voice soft but with a sense of ritual.
For the next two minutes, there was dead silence in the warehouse.
Florin stared at the card in his hand, his eyes focused as if he were waiting for some mysterious response.
However, there was no response from the card. His brows furrowed more and more tightly, and he even couldn't help but rub his tired eyes.
The moment he lowered his head, the card in his hand suddenly glowed with a faint golden light, and then the patterns and words on it began to slowly change.
Florin was stunned for a moment, then his eyes lit up, and a long-lost smile appeared on his face.
"You're here!"
There was a bit of excitement in his tone, as if he was meeting an old friend he hadn't seen for many years.
He raised the card to his eyes and his tone was much lighter.
"Oh, it's been such a long time! Haha, you haven't come to my store for so long. Why are you afraid that I will charge you money?"
He seemed to be chatting with the card, with a hint of familiarity and ridicule in his tone.
Florin's initial joy was gradually replaced by a sense of heaviness. His smile disappeared, replaced by a deep concern.
He stared at the light on the card, his brows furrowed and the corners of his mouth pursed into a straight line.
"I……"
He hesitated, took a deep breath, and whispered.
"Hey - something feels wrong here. There is a problem in Diagon Alley, Tom..."
Florin paused for a moment, as if trying to form words, with a trace of struggle and confusion flashing in his eyes.
He raised his hand and rubbed his forehead, with a hint of helplessness and faint fear in his tone.
"To be honest, I'm not sure about his situation. I think... he may be contaminated, but the problem is, it's not like he's completely out of control. It's strange... Anyway, can you come here?"
As soon as he finished speaking, the light on the card began to flash, seeming to respond to his words.
Despite the silence around him, Florin's expression showed that he was hearing something that only he could sense.
"Ah, is that so?"
He repeated the card's "words" in a low voice and nodded, with a hint of anxiety in his eyes.
"Well, I know, you're not in a good condition either... then..."
His brows furrowed even more tightly, as if he had heard some less than ideal news.
He continued to respond, speaking a little more quickly.
"You mean the pharmacist exchange meeting? Devero Alexander, and Professor Snape? Well, okay, then I'll tell them the situation."
Florin said as he quickly pulled out a quill and a piece of parchment from the drawer.
He quickly began to record the information conveyed in the card, the tip of his pen rustling on the parchment.
His expression was focused, and even a few drops of sweat broke out on his forehead.
However, he didn't notice at all that while he was concentrating on recording, the gold Galleons placed on the table quietly changed.
The dragon-shaped pattern on the gold galon began to twist and gradually turned into a slender eye.
That eye looked lifelike, with a strange sense of agility.
What's even more frightening is that this eye seems to be conscious, turning slowly and closely watching Florin's every move.
Its gaze was cold and sharp, as if it was examining and spying.
——
"It's too late, it's too late..."
Tom's steps were slow and leisurely. He walked along the cobblestone path leading to Gringotts, muttering to himself in a low voice, as if the words were spoken to himself or to some inaudible being.
His figure was out of tune with the bustling crowd, and he looked a little lonely.
Light snow fell on his face, and a strange golden light flashed faintly in one of his eyes, as if it was ignited by some kind of power.
There was a slight smile on Tom's lips, but his expression was elusive.
His eyes wandered over the shops on both sides of the street, scanning the familiar yet unfamiliar signboards and display windows.
"Haha, is this what the wizard's world is like?"
He said softly, with a hint of sarcasm and regret in his tone.
He stopped and looked up at an old wand shop, his eyes lingering on the display window for a moment, as if he was reminiscing about something or saying goodbye.
"Oh, what a pity, I don't have this life."
His voice was low and hoarse, with some indescribable emotion.
He looked down at his wrist and gently rubbed the old watch with his fingers.
The surface of the watch is smooth and shiny, but if you look closely, you can see that there are some strange wolf-shaped symbols engraved on the dial instead of ordinary time scales.
"fine……"
Tom's voice suddenly became soft and pious, as if he was telling a secret.
"I met the Lord."
He stood there, closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if he was enjoying the air around him.
His expression gradually relaxed, even a little comfortable.
He opened his eyes and continued to walk slowly forward, his eyes sweeping over the pedestrians around him, as if everyone's face was worth engraving in his memory.
"Enjoy it,"
he whispered, with a hint of disturbing pleasure in his tone.
"After today, this place will no longer exist."
--
Deep underground in Diagon Alley, in the forbidden area of Gringotts where precious treasures are stored, the air is filled with a dull and humid atmosphere, as if even breathing is suppressed.
On a heavy iron door, three mottled numbers are engraved with special magic paint: "111".
These numbers emit a weak fluorescence in the dim light, revealing a certain uniqueness.
Behind the door, a low muffled sound is faintly heard, as if something is struggling and hitting, trying to break free from confinement.
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