"Hermione."
Sean greeted her with a light smile, his calm expression a stark contrast to the people around him.
"I thought you went to Ilvermorny! Oh my god!"
Hermione sprinted over, with Neville huffing and puffing along behind her.
"Is that... Master Scamander? When did you get back? Why are you with Master Scamander? What's your relationship to him? Good grief, Sean, do you ever go anywhere without causing a massive scene?"
Hermione's questions fired off like a machine gun. Neville, equally curious, subtly craned his neck to listen.
Her words made Sean do a quick mental tally. He realized that on this trip alone, they had probably broken at least a hundred Ministry laws. Unlicensed use of the Undetectable Extension Charm, traveling via dragon-drawn carriage, illegal border crossing...
"I've been studying Extension Charms with Mr. Scamander," Sean explained, tapping the Book of the Wizard.
In an instant, the book unfolded in layers to reveal a wooden door. Through it, they could see a spacious cabin, a warm fireplace, and snow-covered hills and forests through the bright windows.
"What?!" Hermione shrieked.
When a three-foot-tall, grey-skinned, goblin-like creature inside the book bowed to her, she felt the world go dark for a second, nearly fainting.
"Is there any regulation you haven't broken?"
As she spoke, Mr. Scamander couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle. These were the exact words Theseus used to throw at him all those years ago.
"You brought back a goblin! That is strictly forbidden in Britain!" Hermione said, her voice tight with panic.
"As for 'goblins,' it's actually fine," Newt explained gently. "Pukwudgies aren't classified as 'beasts' but as 'beings.' As long as their entry is approved, they can travel legally to any country."
"But—but—" His explanation left Hermione, who deeply respected the Magizoologist, a bit hesitant to argue. After a few seconds, she asked stubbornly, "A Pukwudgie is a 'being'?"
Clearly, despite a year at Hogwarts spent devouring books, Hermione hadn't quite gotten around to the more obscure legalities of sentient creature classification.
"Heh... there are many stories behind that. Why don't you come with us? The Fairytale Workshop is about to close for the day." Newt's smile spread from the corners of his mouth across his whole face.
"The Fairytale Workshop..." Hermione repeated in surprise. "Oh, I should have guessed."
She knew exactly how much allure those biscuits—which could partially transform a wizard into a magical creature—would have for a man who had spent his entire life studying them.
As they walked along the cobblestone path, Hermione looked up at Master Scamander and then whispered to Sean.
"You're always keeping secrets from us. If you're willing to explain, I'd love to know how you even found Mr. Scamander?"
Hermione stayed close to Sean's side. She noticed Mr. Scamander was holding a special gilded parchment and kept looking at Sean with a very particular gaze. Unfortunately, the young wizard was often oblivious to such things.
"Mr. Scamander is an Honorary Professor at Ilvermorny," Sean replied.
"How unexpected. So... do you have some sort of special connection to him?" Hermione had clearly been holding that question back for a while. If Sean hadn't revealed his identity, she didn't think Mr. Scamander would just teach his trade secrets to anyone.
This made Sean fall silent. Throughout their time together, Mr. Scamander had gone above and beyond to teach him, even staying at Ilvermorny for extra days and teaching additional classes just for his sake. Sean knew deep down that this had nothing to do with the Fairytale Biscuits.
So... who was Mr. Scamander so loyal to? It wasn't hard to guess.
Sean's gaze drifted toward the distant horizon where Hogwarts lay. In the Headmaster's office, a silver-haired old wizard was likely looking out the window with knowing eyes.
"I think young Mr. Green is the most gifted student I have ever taught," Newt said, as if overhearing their conversation. And, of course, a fascinating young wizard who viewed magical creatures as partners—just as he did.
Before Hermione could be shocked again, they arrived at the front of the Fairytale Workshop.
It was business hours, but since they arrived late, the shop was nearly empty. The beauty of the invitation system was that every biscuit was numbered and reserved. If they had ten biscuits, they only sold to five wizards—two each—ensuring those five would definitely get theirs.
A massive Christmas tree stood in the shop, hung with glittering icicles and dozens of flickering candles. At the very top, glowing letters shimmered: X.G.
Inside, the sound of conversation drifted out: "The magical items in this shop are the best in Diagon Alley. It's just a shame they limit you to two—the baby dragon and the owl. It's truly heartbreaking," a wizard in a top hat lamented.
"That's because you've used up your Merlin-forsaken quota, you idiot," the witch with him snapped.
"Lisa—you always break my heart," the wizard joked, feigning injury. The witch ignored him and Disapparated on the spot.
Scenes like this happened often, but the acting manager always maintained a stern face; they said no one had ever seen him smile.
"Respected Mr. Green—"
Quirrell spotted Sean and let out a surprised, low exclamation before Apparating directly in front of him.
His eyes seemed to see no one else until Sean stepped into the shop. Only then did he lower his gaze to the other two. "Mr. Scamander, please be aware that my employer has issued a new invitation for you. You may purchase Fairytale Biscuits without any limit."
He then turned to Hermione.
"Miss Granger, we meet again. You may enter. However, aside from Mr. Scamander's portion, today's stock is sold out. You'll have to come earlier next time." For Hermione, who had stood against Voldemort, he managed a rare, small joke.
"I can come back next time?!" Hermione was delighted.
"Of course. Why wouldn't you?" A year of laying low had almost made Quirrell forget that he, too, was once a brilliant and witty wizard.
"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said as she scurried inside.
The title made Quirrell pause. He watched her go and let out a low, soft chuckle. At the doorway, Newt's eyes—perhaps knowing some of the inside story—looked particularly bright.
"The baby dragon... is this from Norbert? Is the Bowtruckle based on the one you carry? The Hippogriff—I saw you riding one! Goodness, I should have come sooner. Everything here is so fascinating! You even have a biscuit that lets you grow cat whiskers, owl wings, and dragon claws all at once?"
Hermione explored every corner under the Christmas tree, her voice popping along with the crackle of the fireplace.
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