"An interview…"
Mr. Weasley muttered under his breath.
"I'm not going."
Sean replied.
He had no desire to let his quiet Hogwarts life be shattered.
The alchemy scholars all knew how to keep their distance, and the British Ministry of Magic and the alchemy world had their own tacit understandings. But the fame-chasing crowd of the magical world was another matter entirely.
Like a certain soon-to-be Defence Against the Dark Arts professor…
If he remembered correctly, Harry had once been kept behind for ages to help Gilderoy Lockhart reply to his fan mail.
To Sean, a Chocolate Frog card was mostly symbolic prestige, with little practical value. He didn't see reputation as anything essential.
Magic was the foundation of everything.
"I understand, Mr. Green."
Professor Quirrell nodded. He didn't ask any questions, just stopped the middle-aged witch and turned to leave with her.
At that, the witch's calm expression finally broke—it was unexpected, yet somehow made sense. Even one of the highest honours in the magical world—appearing on a Chocolate Frog card—was not enough to sway every wizard.
She was genuinely surprised that a wizard this young could refuse such prestige so easily.
No wonder they called him the "Thrice-Great Hermes".
"Please reconsider. We don't need all of your personal information,"
the witch said before leaving.
Sean frowned slightly, puzzled, and Quirrell halted, waiting quietly for instructions.
"The Chocolate Frog Card Committee collects everyone who should be remembered in magical history. We don't need a complete biography of you.
In fact, for figures whose lives cannot be fully verified, we write only their names and a short description—or leave portions of the card deliberately blank."
The woman spoke quickly, then waited respectfully.
Apart from Mr. Weasley, almost no one noticed this quiet corner.
Mr. Weasley suddenly felt as if he'd stepped into the middle of something enormous—heard something even bigger.
His back prickled with sweat. How had a "Hogwarts first-year" turned into a future Dumbledore-class figure in the space of one conversation?
"I don't have to show my face?"
Sean's voice was still boyish, but no one present dared take it lightly.
"If that is your condition, we can accommodate it."
The witch said.
Sean finally decided to hear her out.
"Mr. Weasley, see you later."
He excused himself politely.
"Oh—don't worry about me, child."
Mr. Weasley waved both hands quickly.
A short while later…
The witch, heart pounding, entered the side room.
The Chocolate Frog Card Committee was very strict about who qualified—after all, they curated witches and wizards from every era and field. With so many candidates, prioritization was essential.
On the current hundred-plus cards, most spots were reserved for well-known scholars and experts from magical history.
Famous magical theorists (such as Adalbert Waffling), Muggle researchers (Blenheim Stalk), arithmancers (Bridget Wenlock), geographers and astronomers (Ptolemy), inventors of important magical artefacts and spells, and so on.
Second in line were top-tier celebrities:
The wizarding world's most famous rock band, the Weird Sisters, for instance—the entire lineup from the lead singer to the last musician had made it onto cards.
There were also witches like Celestina Warbeck, and the "vampire singer" Eldred Worple liked to quote—plus stars from Quidditch and the literary world.
Finally came those who had completed major "firsts" in magical history: the first witch to serve as Minister for Magic (Artemisia Lufkin); the first wizard to cross the Atlantic on broomstick (Jocunda Sykes); and so on.
But the highest priority of all—the cards that simply had to exist—were for the greatest living wizards.
Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and the Founders of Hogwarts—no one questioned their place. They were the symbols of their eras; leaving them off would damage the credibility of the entire series.
And now, this small boy in front of her was, in the Committee's eyes, the candidate most likely to become the great wizard of the next age.
His importance had, for the moment, even surpassed Harry Potter's.
That was why the Committee had sent Louise Vick, head of the Information Collection Division, to perform what might become a historic interview.
The side room had a small fireplace enchanted to fill the space with warm light.
Books lined every surface—Quirrell's long-ago personal collection.
Sean sat on a soft leather stool. Quirrell stood nearby, face expressionless, like a butler on guard. To Louise, that's exactly how he looked.
"Just a shot of your back, Mr. Green,"
Louise explained gently.
…
The noise outside rose and fell. Soon, nearly all the Fairy Tale biscuits were gone.
The witch left the room clutching her precious notes, thoroughly satisfied. Tayra raised an eyebrow; the woman walked straight toward her.
"Master Tayra of Uagadou, would you have an hour sometime this week for an exclusive interview?"
the witch asked.
As an alchemist, Tayra's reputation had never quite reached the threshold for a card before, but now she had just crossed that line.
Tayra immediately understood. She nodded, just slightly.
Once again, she would stand a head above the other old masters.
She'd done so when young, again in middle age, and now, in the era of disciples, all they could see of her was her students' backs disappearing into the distance.
Victory, absolute and complete.
It put her in a very good mood.
Diagon Alley fully woke up; most shops were already open.
Fairy Tale Workshop at No. 77 had gone from dead quiet to bursting at the seams and back to quiet again in the space of three hours.
Over in the joke shop, the Weasley twins, watching from the window, were baffled.
"What do you make of that, George?"
Fred leaned out over the sill.
"I'm looking through the telescope, Fred."
George replied.
After a while, Fairy Tale Workshop was left with only the usual Diagon Alley traffic. Those who had rushed in earlier had been stunned into silence when they saw the products—and then by the prices.
"No wizard would not want to turn into a fire dragon—unless his wallet drags him down,"
said a blue-robed wizard, staring longingly, helpless.
Almost everyone inside was like that now. They had money, but not enough—at least not enough to buy with a clear conscience.
In the end, many of them could only watch as the biscuits sold out.
"The notice by the door says the remaining series will be continuously supplied…"
One sharp-eyed wizard understood exactly what kind of terrifying implication that held.