It didn't take long before the dungeons were once again buried under an avalanche of post while Sean brewed potions.
Professor Snape stood with his brows drawn so tight they nearly touched, watching owl after owl swoop in and dump letter after letter onto the workbench. He only barely resisted the urge to dunk every single bird head-first into the nearest cauldron.
The mail was a mess.
First came the newspapers. The frenzy around "Mr. Hermes" had never died down; if anything, it exploded again once a few lucky witches and wizards actually pulled his Chocolate Frog card.
Then came the articles about the Fairytale Biscuit series. After two limited openings, reporters had finally confirmed the full lineup.
That should have been the end of it, but something new had appeared on the entrance plaque: in huge glowing letters, Three-Headed Dog Series – Coming Soon.
The wizarding public lost what little remained of its collective mind.
Every single day crowds camped outside the shop, praying the mysterious alchemist would take pity and hand out public invitations. A Three-Headed Dog biscuit was temptation enough, but the potential? If he could do Fluffy, why not a Thunderbird next? A Runespoor? An Occamy? A phoenix?
The idea alone was enough to set the whole country on fire.
So the shop that opened once a month now had permanent lines. Its proxy, Professor Quirrell, spent his days studying Dark Arts and Defense Against the Dark Arts in equal measure, occasionally yeeting would-be burglars out the door and owl-ordering the Ministry to ship them straight to Azkaban.
Wizards had always loved shortcuts.
Back when Nicolas Flamel still had the Philosopher's Stone, two or three thieves tried to steal it every week. None ever came back.
It was proof of a simple truth: the wizards at the very top of the food chain all had terrifying personal power. No titles required. Just raw magical strength.
Magic is might.
Buried among the newspapers was one lone letter:
Dear Mr. Green,
Upon your approval, one invitation has been delivered to the Chocolate Frog Card Committee. Fairytale Shop will open tomorrow.
Yours faithfully,
Q.
A hundred Galleons for a single invitation; that had been the Committee's offer last time. Sean had guessed what they were planning and hadn't objected.
After that came letters from Ron, Harry, and the rest of the cottage crew, begging to go school-shopping in Diagon Alley together in two days and asking when Sean was free.
While Sean scribbled replies, one owl made a beeline for Snape. The professor snatched the thick parchment from its leg with a glare that could curdle milk.
Sean's cauldron had long since cooled. He packed the finished crystal phials into a box.
Simple potions he could brew himself, but some of the ones Professor Quirrell needed were… less simple. Those usually came from Knockturn Alley.
…
July blew itself out in storms and howling wind.
Sean finally mastered his Animagus form. His soul transfiguration reached the official rank of [Beginner].
The day the rain finally stopped, Fairytale Shop opened its doors again.
All of magical Britain held its breath waiting for an invitation.
On the black market, invitations were now going for hundreds of Galleons each, but it was pointless; the invitations were charmed to work only for the intended recipient. One poor wizard learned that the hard way when his recently deceased father's invitation refused to let him in. The Daily Prophet splashed the story across the front page; even Gilderoy Lockhart's upcoming book-signing got pushed to page two.
Because, as if on cue, the Chocolate Frog Card Committee released an exclusive interview with "Hermes."
And dropped a bomb: one random Hermes card came with a real Fairytale Shop invitation glued to the back.
Diagon Alley tripled in population overnight. Witches and wizards from half of Europe flooded the streets.
Sean didn't care about any of it. He glanced sideways at the thundercloud in human form walking next to him and felt a flicker of surprise.
The professor was coming with him.
"Have you forgotten you are still serving detention?" Snape hissed, voice dripping acid.
"Move faster, Sean Green."
His name came out slow and dangerous, but somehow the threat felt… softer than usual.
In the corridor, Sir Cadogan had jammed his helmet back on so the Violet Lady and the Fat Lady couldn't see his face. Only after the two black-robed figures disappeared did he bury his painted face in his pony's mane and start chugging from a flask.
The ladies finally noticed he was crying.
"My lady, do you know there are two kinds of bravery?" he slurred. "The kind that charges straight at the dragon, and the kind that smiles while the dragon eats you alive. Which is nobler? We still don't know…"
Then he challenged the drunken monks to a duel because, apparently, three centuries ago they'd tried to peek up Sunflower Miss's skirt.
Everyone knew the monks were perverts; Hogwarts portraits never let them forget it. But only Sir Cadogan kept detailed blackmail notes spanning centuries.
The Fat Lady finally understood why he was never short of duel partners.
…
Outside 77 Diagon Alley.
The shop wasn't open yet, but someone had already set up a Chocolate Frog cart right next door. Wizards without invitations formed a desperate queue that snaked around the block.
Harry and Ron were in it, dragged along by Fred and George. Unlike a certain silent investor, the twins showed up every single day, practically vibrating with entrepreneurial glee. They'd already leased a second shop in Hogsmeade and were plotting world domination, one prank product at a time.
Thanks to them, Harry and Ron could at least afford to hunt for the ultra-rare Hermes card. Ron was obsessed.
Inside the shop, the fireplace suddenly roared to life with orange flames. Warm lamplight flickered on.
Fairytale Shop was open.
The crowd surged forward like a tidal wave.
Snape swept in like a storm front. The moment he laid eyes on Quirrell his face turned murderous.
He had his wand out and pressed against Quirrell's chest before anyone could blink.
"I thought you would have been smart enough to leave the country," he whispered, voice soft and deadly.