This was Sean's second trip to Diagon Alley.
Unlike last time—when he counted every Knut—today he could count in Galleons.
Dazzling sunlight washed over a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Above them hung a sign:
Copper – Brass – Pewter – Silver Cauldrons
All sizes – Self-Stirring – Collapsible
Beneath the sign, a price list shimmered in color-changing ink.
"Let's go to Gringotts," Professor McGonagall said softly. She always remembered that gloomy morning under a dark sky; the traffic of Diagon Alley seemed to pass by as if it had nothing to do with the small wizard at her side—who kept staring at the price lists no child ever bothers to study.
They passed Eeylops Owl Emporium with its screech owls, horned owls, and tawny owls, and Slug & Jiggers Apothecary with its telescopes and curious silverware. McGonagall led Sean to the gleaming white building that towered over the other shops.
A bronze door knocker. A goblin in scarlet livery at the entrance.
Sean had thought the professor was here to withdraw money. He hadn't expected—
"This is yours. Your pocket money—and any bonuses you may receive in the future—can be kept here," said Professor McGonagall, looking at him, then back at the vaults behind. "Severus and I have deposited a bit for you in advance. We trust you'll put it to good use."
"The total is three thousand Galleons," the goblin escorting them added.
Sean felt the professors' idea of "a bit" and his own were worlds apart.
Before they left Gringotts, the goblin kept trying to coax Sean to sell a few potions stored in his personal vault to the bank.
Snape had deposited those with a cold smirk—so the vault wouldn't look so "shabby."
"We'd be willing to pay one thousand Galleons for them. What do you say?" the goblin—half a head shorter than Sean—purred, taking advantage of McGonagall's brief absence to register some paperwork.
Sean began to understand why wizards so disliked goblins. If they wanted to pay one thousand for potions worth at least three thousand, it wasn't surprising Voldemort had casually killed such greedy creatures.
When Harry, Ron, and Hermione broke into the Lestrange vault in 1998 to take Helga Hufflepuff's cup (by then a Horcrux), Voldemort, on learning of it, personally slew several Gringotts goblins in his fury.
It was one more reminder: in the magical world, might is law.
Sean's thoughts drifted far, because McGonagall had fallen into a gleeful buying spree.
Only now did he learn there were three shops for robes in Diagon Alley. Hogwarts' plain school robes weren't sold only at Madam Malkin's.
There was the higher-quality, higher-priced Twilfitt & Tatting's, and a cheaper second-hand robe shop of lesser quality.
They were in Twilfitt & Tatting's now. McGonagall could talk robe styles with the manager (slick blond hair, impeccably combed) for ages; he was happy to upsell—after all, buying an expensive robe was, for the professor, as easy as transfiguring a desk into a pig.
Snowflakes fluttered outside; a wizard and a small witch passed before the window.
"Why are we only buying one Owl Biscuit? There are two left," the little witch asked, puzzled, holding a prettily boxed packet of biscuits.
"Because if we do it this way, other children who want them as much as you do will have a chance for a bit of joy, too," said the wizard, eyes creasing in a gentle smile.
Inside Twilfitt & Tatting's, Sean blinked.
Owl Biscuit?
Did they mean the one he was thinking of?
He looked toward the far end of Diagon Alley. In the distance a knot of wizards had gathered; someone was shouting:
"Not yet open—limited pre-release…"
It seemed even the snow on every shopfront shook loose.
Sean stared there for a long moment, remembering that Weasleys & Green Wizard Wheezes had been approved—and the twins had borrowed a few transformation biscuits from him…
The chatter in the robe shop had cut off.
"Shall we go have a look?" said Minerva McGonagall, lids low—like ripples rising on a placid lake, spreading into a surging tide.
He was so quiet, people forgot what boys his age were supposed to be like.
She had just seen a young wizard go clattering by with a little witch, vowing to snag a packet today; and there was Sean, only watching—looking into the distance.
Before he could react, the professor pulled him along.
Up ahead, a shopfront was packed. Kneazles, owls, and toads were scurrying everywhere. Someone shouted, "My cat!"
People glanced over—no one knew which one he meant.
After a long wait, they reached the doorway—only to find the shop wasn't open. Owls were dropping off all manner of parcels.
Sean was sure now. This was the not-yet-opened Weasleys… & Green Wizard Wheezes. The twins had adopted "online sales" early—the couriers weren't owls by accident; in the wizarding world, owls are the couriers.
"Sorry, sorry—today's allotment is sold out. Please come back tomorrow," said a friendly-looking young witch in green at the door, apologizing wearily again and again.
"I know Ron Weasley—can you give me one?" a boy piped up in a just-loud-enough voice.
"Ron Weasley?" she echoed, to be sure.
"Yes, yes."
The boy's eyes shone; the nearby wizards turned, eyeing him enviously.
"And you are…?" the young witch asked, barely concealing her eagerness.
"Dean. Dean Thomas," said the boy, now excited too.
"All right, Dean Thomas. Then you won't have an allotment tomorrow—or the day after," the witch said, clearly fighting a laugh; her voice trembled as she spoke.
"Huh?!" Dean yelped, nearly swooning, and the wizards around burst out laughing.
The crowd soon dispersed, buzzing about the new shop. Rumor had it the founders were a pair of Hogwarts twins and their friend. Everything sold there was novel and fun—like their flagship Animal Biscuit series, which could transform a wizard into an animal. Fascinating stuff.
Even though the shop hadn't opened—only presold a few items—it was already a hit. And when the Christmas holiday began, they rolled out plenty of big, bold slogans that set hearts racing.