"Got rats at home? No problem—try this Lynx Biscuit! Turn your child into the ultimate mouser!"
"Want to feel light as air? One Owl Biscuit is just seven Sickles—fair to all!"
"Always oversleeping? Ha! You've come to the right shop—Rooster Biscuits! Your wife will become your punctual alarm clock."
However implausible the pitches sounded, wizards seemed to love them—every day crowds lined up to buy.
Beyond that, lots of prank items were wildly popular. It wasn't hard to imagine how booming business would be; no wonder the Weasleys could afford staff to help sell.
Outside Shop No. 93, Diagon Alley—the not-yet-open shop—snow fell on Sean's head again.
Professor McGonagall's lips were pressed in a stern line, but her eyes were full of a deep, aching disappointment. They had come too late—hadn't even seen what the unopened shop was selling.
"Perhaps we can come a bit earlier tomorrow, Mr. Green," she said, trying to console him.
Sean had a hazy sense the professor had misunderstood—when a witch behind them cried out:
"Mr. Green! Merlin—you've finally come! Please, come in!"
Sean turned. The friendly young witch was hurrying toward him, delighted.
She glanced at Professor McGonagall: "Professor McGonagall—what an honor to meet you. Oh—Mr. Green, I'm Emily Gurt, acting manager of Weasleys & Green Wizard Wheezes."
The scattering crowd stopped, watching as the manager all but swept Sean inside.
"Green? Who's that?"
"Sounds familiar…"
"Of course it does, you dolt—didn't you hear? Weasleys & Green Wizard Wheezes."
While the crowd muttered in confusion and surprise, Professor McGonagall was struck dumb—listening, a bit stunned, to the exchange between the tall and the small wizard.
Sean was a good head shorter than the acting manager, yet their dynamic was upper-to-lower. No—very likely exactly that.
The interior looked mostly fitted out already—multiple sections stocked with magical goods.
A Magical Devices area: Headless Hats, trick wands, edible Dark Marks—practical gag kit.
A Confections area, glittering with sweets that did things—Ton-Tongue Toffees and more.
A Fireworks section with a smokestack prop chuffing away: Weasley Whizz–Bang fireworks were the signature line, in simple and deluxe versions—the latter a whopping 15 Galleons.
And, up front, the Animal Party Biscuit series—their flagship—now just an empty window.
"Oh—Mr. Green, the Animal Party Biscuits are sold out! What a surprise—and to think I'd see you here! Please, restock—quickly! Or those wizards outside will eat me alive!" Emily Gurt blurted, all in a rush.
Life is full of surprises—like Sean discovering his stash of transformation biscuits had been stripped bare by an unexpected manager.
"Mr. Freds found me to serve as acting manager. I'm a Hufflepuff, but I'm very interested in these novel alchemical gadgets… especially the sweets—and the Animal Party Biscuits. The Mr. Freds paid a big advance, and my commission is very high—oh, I'm so grateful to you and the Freds—this job is fantastic!"
Once Emily had replenished the stock, she calmed down, and chatted deferentially with Sean about other matters.
"Oh, and the books are here…" She opened a magically warded cabinet stuffed with chits and ruled parchment.
Sean picked one up—and froze. December 30: revenue 101 Galleons, 10 Sickles.
Wait… how much?
"We've not even opened yet—once we do, that number will double," Emily reported, freckles bright with pride.
Leaving Weasleys & Green, Professor McGonagall couldn't hide her smile.
Sean's eyes were out of focus, thinking it was no wonder the later Weasley shop grew to sixty-plus branches—alchemy, like potions, was a cash cow in the magical world.
Especially with the Weasleys' marketing not one whit behind—they'd already made a name with the Animal Party Biscuit series this Christmas.
Sean knew he was the angel investor, but he hadn't expected returns this fast…
He wouldn't take part in any store decisions—that was his agreement with the Weasleys. In exchange, he held 51% of the profits.
The Weasleys had put it thus:
["We present our highest respect to Great Green! The Weasleys will rally to you—unchanging forever!"]
…
Down a narrow back lane in Diagon Alley, Sean and Professor McGonagall emerged from the rear door in very different states.
Sean was wondering whether he had suddenly become rich; McGonagall wore deep joy and a trace of almost imperceptible sorrow.
He never gave people cause to worry—wonderful, and yet… not entirely.
"A very good idea—the Weasleys found you, didn't they?" she asked.
Sean nodded and pulled a magic contract from his bag.
She looked even more pleased. She was forever proud of him.
A comically fat owl launched from Eeylops. At Twilfitt & Tatting's next door, Sean now cut a figure of… aristocratic polish under the professor's wardrobe guidance.
A robe of deep black shot with silver threads, hem lifted with deliberate line, a white, crisp collar, silver stitchwork converging in complex patterns—drawing every eye to those bright, deep green eyes.
Deep, keen, and still—not without grace.
Then, as if remembering something, McGonagall whisked Sean back into Twilfitt & Tatting's.
A while later, she emerged with him in a silver-white striped hat, and they left Diagon Alley.
…
Marcus McGonagall's family lived on a farm not far from London. It isn't easy for a wizard to keep house among Muggles, so they were remote and kept to themselves.
Until—
"Green, come—little Green! Let me give you a proper hug—"
A wizard of about fifty stood before a small villa's fountain, flanked by two witches and wizards in their thirties.
Beeches ringed the place; Marcus McGonagall was beside himself with excitement.
Soon Sean learned what a farmer's hospitality meant.
~~~
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