Magic Store Task

Past the magical bricks of the Leaky Cauldron, far down the wondrous street of Diagon Alley, a new fascinating store had reached its opening. A seven-foot-tall door made purely from a shimmering glass had finally become seeable. The whole front face of the shop was in fact made solely from this strange glass rumored to have been forged by the fiery breath of a Hungarian Horntail. This mesmerizing wall of honey looking material reflected the light in a way that from every different angle, it seemed to have a different hue ranging from sparkling yellows to striking purples. It cast a very intriguing effect as, being all made from the same substance, the storefront and door were seemingly one. That is until you pushed gently on the doorknob, made from the same material, and walked between the windows showing off eye-catching necklaces and under the sign of pure black obsidian saying OBY’S CHARMS AND JEWELS and into the store.

Upon stepping foot into the store hundreds of voices whispered hushed screams for your attention.
Look at me!
No don’t look at her she’s ugly, look at me!
Can’t you see I am the most beautiful?
Look at me!
All these sounds slipped silently into your head shrugged off as imagination when in reality they were all very, very real. Each charm and each pendant was horribly cursed and if it weren’t for the heavy enchantments on the store your eardrums would be a very very fine powder by now. That’s why with every purchase you are sent quickly to Trevor Dolohov’s Curse Removal opposite the store. But with the enchantments cast, the only thing you heard clearly was the jingle of the bell as you walked into the store.

Opposite the door was a desk that took up the whole far wall. Sitting behind the desk was a quiet man named Mr. Oby who simply watched you solemnly as you browsed. As your eyes darted from piece to piece, you could feel his striking grey eyes like lightning boring into the back of your head, causing waves of goosebumps to rise upon the sea that was your neck. The room was bare except for the well-oiled oak desk where Mr. Oby sat watching you like a predator watching prey.

Either side of the desk the two walls were strewn with so much jewelry, you couldn’t see the color of the wall. Medallions, pendants, everything seemed to be up on that wall. Once your eyes faced the spotlight of glint emitted by a piece, one that stuck out from the rest, you would be filled with a desperate want for it. Sucking the sweet, yet overpowering saffron scent into your nostrils you would walk over to the piece and pull it gently from the wall and free of its sticking charm. Gingerly, with an ear to ear grin, you would place it on Mr. Obys desk and wait patiently for his response. Donning his lengthy eye telescope, he would look at your piece and whisper, in his deep monotone voice, an often absurd price that was pushed easily down by your want for the item. Galleons given without hesitation were followed by the warning not to wear your purchase until consulting Trevor Dolohov across the road. Caution is advised when entering this small sparkly shop as so far, no one has walked in without making a purchase.