"The article exaggerated a lot."
Sean answered.
"You admitted it…"
Ron's pupils blew wide; he froze like he'd been hit with a Body-Bind Curse, stuck in his previous pose without moving an inch.
"You just entered the wizarding world and you already turned into Nicolas Flamel—Merlin's sense of humour…"
He stared back and forth between the newspaper and Sean again and again, then finally accepted it calmly.
Nothing Sean did was really surprising anymore.
"What is it, Sean? Oh—can I know what it is?"
Ron asked carefully, feeling like maybe he and Sean were not living in the same magical world at all.
"Just some transformation biscuits."
Sean replied. His wand flicked almost lazily, and a biscuit floated into Ron's hand.
Ron gaped, turning it over and over, seeing nothing strange—so he opened his mouth to take a bite.
"That one turns you into a hippogriff."
Sean said.
"AAAH—!"
Ron dropped the biscuit at once. The baked biscuit did indeed have the shape of a hippogriff, but no one would have expected it to actually have that kind of power.
Out in the garden, Ron was inspecting the biscuit from every angle, while at the table the rest were deep in discussion.
"Witch Weekly says he's the most talented alchemist of the century—and that he's a handsome little fellow!"
Mrs Weasley was peering at a well-designed, colourful magazine tucked inside the Daily Prophet.
This was Witch Weekly, the magazine adored by witches of all ages.
It mainly ran celebrity gossip, including Quidditch stars; plus personality quizzes, advice columns, recipes and so on.
Incidentally, the "Most Charming Smile Award" was also given out by Witch Weekly.
Right now Mrs Weasley was pointing at a photo where the subject's back was turned to the camera. Even from behind you could see a slender, straight-backed figure and a slightly aloof air.
Of course, that might also just be the skill of the photographer—but either way, even a shot of someone's back was enough to set witches' imaginations running wild.
"Transfiguration Today says they've been waiting for this alchemist to appear. I've never seen them that humble before…"
Percy's focus was a bit different from Mrs Weasley's; his eyes were full of hunger for prestige.
Only Mr Weasley was unusually quiet that day, glancing from time to time toward the garden.
Once the latest issues of The Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, Transfiguration Today and others came out, the whole magical world erupted.
"Biscuits that can turn you into magical creatures?! Merlin—someone actually did it?"
"The shop runs on an invitation system, and the cheapest one starts at seven hundred Galleons? That… almost sounds reasonable—Merlin help me, I actually said that…"
"Where is this Hermes fellow? Is he really, like Rita said, a Hogwarts student? That's terrifying."
Everywhere you went, wizards were gossiping—in particular in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, where people both shopped and chatted.
At the same time, the Ministry's testing was underway in full swing. When Mr Weasley arrived at work, he found the entire second floor in ruins, holes blasted in the walls and everything still radiating heat.
"Arthur, you're here!"
A friend greeted him.
"You have to see it—those idiots in the Enforcement Squad turned themselves into a fire-dragon! Tsk, look at these walls—that's just the power of the Baby Fire-Dragon Biscuit. They say real fire-dragon biscuits are coming next.
I reckon when that happens, the whole second floor of the Ministry won't survive.
But you have to admit, the biscuits really do work. Makes me wonder who this Hermes really is…"
…
Far away at Hogwarts, Dumbledore was chatting with Professor McGonagall.
Summer had quietly crept across the grounds. The sky and the surface of the lake were the same pale blue, washed with violet; from the Headmaster's office you could still see the honey-coloured spires.
"Minerva, I do hope I can get used to the days ahead without you."
Dumbledore said with a kindly smile, taking a newspaper from a passing owl and looking almost wistful.
"An amusing alias… Minerva, he's a fine child, isn't he? We both know—fame is a tempting thing. For some wizards it's synonymous with power. Very few can refuse it, and seeing how this turned out, I often think this is your doing…"
McGonagall took the article from his hand. Even from a back-view shot, she could tell at a glance which student it was.
Her lips pressed into a tight line, as if she were forcibly holding something down, and everything she didn't say overflowed from the way she gazed at the page.
"Albus, I should be going."
She left the office quickly. Looking back at the old wizard who seemed forever imprisoned in that room, she said softly:
"I used to think nothing would ever change—but in truth, it's memories that are the road with no way back."
The Hogwarts castle had seen a thousand years of winters and summers. Its stone walls were steeped in secrets buried under snow and wind.
Once, two people who had both lost their beloved had shared such secrets here—and today, one of them was leaving the castle.
Albus Dumbledore stared blankly at the article. Faint sighs drifted through the Headmaster's office.
Outside the Burrow.
Fields and clusters of trees painted dark shapes against the land. A pair of high leather boots lay by the gate, next to a rusty cauldron. A few plump brown hens pecked about the yard.
Ron, jittery like he was hiding the world's biggest secret, stood beside Sean, still chattering about whether Sean would be Prefect and Head Boy one day.
Then he smacked his own forehead. He really was short-sighted.
At the very least, Sean ought to be a future Professor of Alchemy!
Soon Professor McGonagall's figure appeared on the lane below the hill—an entire hour earlier than they'd agreed.
It caught Mrs Weasley completely off guard in the kitchen; she tossed her pots and dishes aside and let them wash themselves, then hurried out and thrust a hand-knitted scarf into Sean's hands.
"You'll be needing this, little Green."
Sean looked down at the scarf. An elegant little eagle was stitched into it, with the letters "Green" embroidered beneath.
"Thank you."
He glanced back; the path in front of the Burrow was now crowded with wizards. Ron was dying to know why Professor McGonagall was personally coming to collect Sean—and too afraid to ask.
Percy kept insisting that if Sean needed anything at Hogwarts, he should come to him, while the twins howled:
"Percy only says that to people he thinks are useful—he never says it to us!"
Which made Percy go bright red.
And at the very back, clustered around the garden gate, was a ring of gnomes, huddled together, shoulders hunched, sniffling as if they were sending him off too.