Fairy Tale Workshop had made its name.
That much was undeniable.
Almost every witch and wizard who stepped into the shop came out talking about it—this place that opened without a sound, then suddenly began selling a handful of items rare enough to change the structure of the magical world.
The most unforgettable part was: they simply couldn't get any.
Wanting something and not being able to have it… always leaves people obsessed.
"An invitation system… From now on, only seventy invitations will be issued each month. Only customers holding an invitation for that month can enter…"
A wizard stepped out of Fairy Tale Workshop, looking dazed. The shop was nothing like what people had imagined—it was invitation-only.
He glanced at the street outside, where a crowd of reporters was bottlenecked at the door—the entire interior was warded with powerful magic, and no journalist without permission could cross the threshold.
Even so, none of them dared publish anything reckless.
Anyone with a bit of perception could see who'd just gone inside—the head of Information Collection for the Chocolate Frog Card Committee. What did that mean?
The last wizard she'd interviewed was Dumbledore.
You could reasonably assume someone of a Dumbledore-like level was sitting inside that shop.
Someone who, in certain respects, possessed power comparable to the Headmaster's—though not necessarily his character.
With no certainty over whether Gellert Grindelwald might be the one behind that door, no one was eager to test it.
Sean had barely stepped out of Fairy Tale Workshop before the twins boxed him in.
"Great Green, what did you find out?"
Fred, in a tall hat, asked eagerly.
"We saw you go in—what does this rival shop even sell?"
George looked freshly off a shift at the joke shop; he'd tried to go over, only to find Fairy Tale Workshop already closed.
He couldn't understand it. The sun was still high; it was only early afternoon.
"Rival… shop?"
Sean held an armful of books—Professor Quirrell's tomes on ancient runes.
He genuinely didn't follow the twins' logic. The customer bases for the two establishments were completely different; how did that make them rivals?
"Of course! Rival—shop!"
Fred said with absolute conviction.
Sean still didn't quite understand why Quirrell and the twins seemed to loathe each other on sight, but he still answered calmly:
"Fairy Tale Workshop sells biscuits that can turn you into magical creatures."
That much would be common knowledge soon enough. It wasn't something Sean had ever planned on keeping secret.
"Merlin…"
Fred yelled.
"We're doomed."
George shouted as well.
Sean, not quite sure why, simply walked off. It was time to pack his trunk and say goodbye to the Burrow.
Professor McGonagall would be coming to pick him up tomorrow.
…
The fireplace flared, and in a flash of flame, Sean appeared in the little room stacked with books.
Before he left, there was one more thing he wanted to see: the flying car. Fred and George had promised to explain it all to him, but they'd genuinely been too busy the last couple of days, so the plan had been pushed to this final evening.
"Wait for me!"
Ron burst out of his room. His room was on the Burrow's sixth floor, just below the attic. Everything in it was a blazing orange: walls, bedding, and all those posters of the Chudley Cannons.
The twins kept their word and came home early.
The four of them spent the evening studying the flying car until it was very late.
Life at the Burrow was always loud but comfortable. The Weasleys freely used their magic to make daily life easier and more efficient.
Sean had a wonderful time there—and more importantly, he finished all his summer homework.
The next morning.
A pale strip of sky showed between the thick curtains, like watered-down blue ink: that colour that lives between night and dawn. Everything was quiet.
In that hush, the clink and clatter of plates from the Burrow's kitchen was the first sound to rise.
Sean went downstairs with Ron for breakfast and found Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny already at the table.
Ginny was a small witch who blushed easily, the spitting image of the little McGonagalls.
She was just more reserved. She'd stand quietly in the garden, watching Sean marshal the garden gnomes into neat lines and send them off to eat roots in someone else's fields, listening to him say things like "sustainable development" and "don't strip the land bare," without really knowing what it meant—but admiring it all the same.
Sometimes Sean practised Transfiguration in the back garden, and a head would appear at the window, eyes glued to the scene.
As the boys came down, Ginny accidentally knocked her bowl of porridge to the floor with a loud crash.
No one reacted. Everyone seemed distracted.
Mrs. Weasley wasn't humming today. The twins were wailing dramatically, clinging to Sean's legs and refusing to let go.
Percy couldn't even look; he dropped onto the only chair left—and sprang up again at once, yanking out from under himself what he thought was a dusty grey feather duster, only to realize it was breathing.
"Errol!"
Ron yelped.
He took the sickly-looking owl from Percy's hands and pulled a bundle of newspapers from beneath its wing.
The front-page headline of the Daily Prophet's "Ten-Year Impact Edition" screamed:
"MAJOR UPDATE TO CHOCOLATE FROG CARDS"
"They updated them?!"
Ron was thrilled.
The biggest photograph on the front page was of a Chocolate Frog card.
Strangely enough, the portrait was only a back view—silhouetted in the single beam of light that cut through the otherwise black card, the figure seemed deep, compelling.
Even stranger—it was far, far too young. No matter how you looked at it, that back belonged to someone who wasn't yet grown.
"Let me see—"
Everyone at the table had their own paper. Cries of shock and surprise rose and fell.
"'Known as the Thrice-Great Hermes, shortlisted by the Chocolate Frog Committee as a candidate for the greatest wizard of the twenty-first century.
His honours include:
Uladah International Alchemy Symposium Pioneering Contribution Gold Medal; Transfiguration Today's 'Century Special Guest' (interview declined); and the alchemical legend who seized the magical rights of magical creatures.
Committee Evaluation: It will not be long before the long slumber of alchemy is truly over. We celebrate the arrival of a genius worthy of standing beside Nicolas Flamel.' (This evaluation has been confirmed by Nicolas Flamel himself.)"
"So that old bat was telling the truth?"
Ron dug out the previous Daily Prophet. Rita's oily, saccharine praise was printed right there.
The phrase "connected to Hogwarts" made a wild idea explode in Ron's head.
He looked at Sean's back as he finished eating and stood up to leave. He couldn't even say it "looked similar"—it was exactly the same.
"That wouldn't be you… right, Sean?"
He blushed bright red but forced the question out anyway.
Sean was silent for a long moment.
"I swear I won't tell anyone!"
Ron added quickly, suddenly remembering something.
~~~
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