The bustle of Diagon Alley would not change because Sean was poor—but bustling Diagon Alley could change Sean's poverty.
Shop No. 93, Diagon Alley.
"Please withdraw these Galleons, they'll be recorded in the enchanted ledger. Oh—and if next time you still want to see your manager witch here, and not a manager biscuit, be sure to complete your replenishment on time.
The owls will come find you."
At the first sight of Sean, Manager Gurt's smiling face paused—then, seeing the biscuit box in his hands, her smile spread again.
She received the Animal Party series with great respect, then ushered Sean out the back door.
Why not the front?
Because it was already jammed solid.
Robed witches and wizards chattered and jostled, animals of all kinds bounded about—there wasn't a sliver of space left.
While depositing and withdrawing Galleons, Sean discovered a problem—he no longer had his Undetectable Extension Bag.
So he could only carry a small amount of coin—barely a tenth of current revenues.
Just then, Professor McGonagall was still chatting with the impeccably coiffed blonde witch at Twilfitt & Tatting's.
The proprietress was a smooth talker, and often brought a gentle smile to the professor's face.
Diagon Alley still thronged. From a dim little shop Sean heard soft, low hoots. He looked up. The sign read: Eeylops Owl Emporium—Screech Owls, Horned Owls, Tawny Owls, Brown Owls, Snowy Owls.
As he passed, a few boys about his age had their noses pressed to the next shop window—brooms on display.
"Look," Sean heard one say, "that's the new Nimbus 2000—fastest."
He went by the second-hand robe shop, then the shop selling telescopes and all manner of curious silver instruments.
In its window were baskets of bat spleens and eel eyes, stacks of spellbooks, quills, rolls of parchment, phials, orreries—
"Marcus wants me to ask you—when summer comes, will you have time to come home—to the family?" Outside the shop, Professor McGonagall, holding Sean's hand, asked softly.
Sean thought of the three little McGonagalls who'd rolled in a heap at his door.
When the wind cut bitter outside, the McGonagalls would cluster round the warm hearth, munching sweet roast yams, waiting to catch Sarah—who had turned into a cat.
Marcus and the professor would watch them with delight, glance at the snow-lashed window, and sip the mate tea steeped so long.
In winter, people feel no distance.
The drifting flakes tugged time back to the present. Looking at the Portkey glove in his hand, Sean nodded quietly.
And so he and the professor returned to Hogwarts.
The Black Lake still wore ice; wherever the snow lay white, there were wizards waging snowball fights.
Back in the Hope Nook, Sean found a pouch with an emerald pendant tucked in his bag.
A slip of parchment slid out of it into his hand and unfolded itself:
[You are no longer alone, child.]
The hearth burned hot—burned long—until Sean set out a gleaming broom.
—Nimbus 2000.
To grant an object movement like magic—that is the domain of low-tier alchemy.
Even flight brooms, however many generations they've spawned, haven't escaped that framework. But now Sean wanted the broom to have a measure of will.
If a broom could navigate on its own, perhaps he could free his hands.
Practice time flew by. In just a day, Sean's plan had results.
After all, the method for imbuing will was the same as chess. Since he could sense the broom's internal magical lattice, he simply added a bit of Transfiguration to it.
It's worth noting: a flight broom has a strict secrecy enchantment inside—something like a Confundus field—preventing ordinary wizards from sensing it clearly.
Outside the castle, Sean felt the newly added cluster of charms in the broom—Wayfinding, Disillusionment, Muffliato, and a small intent to evade—
Without much hesitation, he mounted the broom.
The panel didn't ping—meaning the broom still had issues. Where?
He found out quickly. As he skimmed past the castle, Nearly Headless Nick let out a shout:
"Only-Headed—Sean Green?!"
Imagining for a moment the Disillusionment gone wrong—a lone head flying in the sky—Sean swiftly corrected the runic sequence.
[You practiced crafting a Leisure Broom at an Apprentice standard. Proficiency +1]
Leisure Broom was the name Sean gave his modified broom. He also wrote to Manager Gurt to post him a battered broom so he could grind proficiency on something inconspicuous.
His panel now showed many changes:
[Mrs. Norris Biscuit: Adept (10/900)]
[Owl Biscuit: Beginner (10/300)]
[Reindeer Biscuit: Beginner (1/300)]
[Mid-Tier: Wizard's Chess: Apprentice (29/30)]
[Mid-Tier: Leisure Broom: Apprentice (1/30)]
[Three Adept mid-tier alchemical constructs and six Beginner alchemical constructs unlock the Alchemy—Adept domain title]
In the days that followed, Sean focused single-mindedly on grinding the two mid-tier constructs.
When he flew past the Great Hall, no one noticed—Disillusionment and Muffliato masked him well.
Inside, though, the Hall was uproarious.
Ever since the strange chess arrived, first-years had become obsessed with these unfathomable, infuriating pieces.
No one knew whether, the next second, they'd fight like lions—or stab their own side in the back.
Gradually, however, everyone learned the pieces' personalities.
For example: Knight Ralf Schneider. A hero-worshipper—tell him to retreat and his creed collapses; he'll do all sorts of odd things. Falling in love with the queen (perhaps the other side's). Claiming he ate too much yesterday, then refusing to move.
Or King Henry. A lecher—blindfold him and he won't make a mess of things; or if you're a pretty witch, his fighting spirit flares. But beware the queen—Jana has a spine of iron; once she discovers the king's misdeeds, she'll kill him.
All told, it was the same board—but with distinct personalities added, the duels became endlessly delightful for the first-years.
Sean watched a while as the students hashed out tactics tailored to each piece's quirks.
Are we really going to cultivate a clutch of little strategists? the thought popped into his mind, absurdly unbidden.
~~~
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