Chapter 182: Third Trip to Diagon Alley
Sean was back to being broke. By the time he returned to the McGonagall cottage, dusk had already fallen.
Meanwhile, on the rubbish-strewn streets of Croydon, the Hollysage Orphanage was experiencing its first-ever feast.
Roland Taylor, the new, mysterious director, stood in the hallway, watching the children tread carefully on the newly waxed wooden floor.
They wore clothes that weren't new but were clean and pressed. The girls wore rare ribbons in their hair. There was no pushing, no crying. Even the youngest child simply clutched the hem of their shirt, eyes wide and bewildered.
One child, staring at a plate heaped with stew and pudding, looked up and asked:
"Is this really for me?"
"Of course, darling," Roland Taylor replied.
"All of it?"
"All of it."
"I don't have to share?"
"No."
The child, named Leah, picked up her fork, put it down, then picked it up again. She repeated this three times, as if checking that this overly wonderful reality wouldn't suddenly vanish.
"We want to know why... If it stays like this, we'll do whatever you want... we can do lots of work," an older boy ventured timidly, his words met with vigorous nods from the other older children.
Hearing them eagerly list their skills, Roland Taylor's throat tightened.
"No need, children..."
She looked at each small face illuminated by the firelight, at their hopeful eyes, and knew that once, someone else's eyes had burned with the same longing.
He hadn't waited for this day, but they had.
"Because... someone has been here."
That night, tombstones were raised at Hollysage Orphanage. When they had quietly departed this world, everyone assumed no one cared, no one remembered.
But someone did.
Roland Taylor dug the graves herself. As snowflakes melted on her feverish skin, thin children ran out from the orphanage.
"We can help dig," the older ones said.
"We can help carry the dirt," the younger ones added.
Roland Taylor's tears burned through the night. When the tombstones stood tall, she fell to her knees.
Not kneeling to anyone, but to all the suffering and kindness of humanity.
It was the last night of gathering at the McGonagall cottage.
Sarah noticed her grandfather had become quiet after a long trip.
Like Grandma Minerva, he stared into the distance for a long time. Dust rose on the horizon as a carriage drew nearer.
"It's brother Green!"
Sarah finally felt safe enough to steal the last biscuit. She knew that once the wizard, who looked cold but was actually quite nice, returned, her siblings wouldn't chase her anymore.
"Sarah! You stole it again! That was our last one!" Bard exclaimed.
The little girl's last words before turning into a cat were:
"The cat ate it, not Sarah."
The feast began.
It was as lavish as ever, but when Marcus McGonagall announced that Professor McGonagall and Sean were leaving, the wails of the McGonagall children nearly lifted the roof.
After dinner.
Three pitiful figures were piled up outside the spacious upstairs room.
They rolled in through the door just like the first time, caught by a large, soft cushion transfigured from books.
Sean sighed. He had planned to go to Diagon Alley to get some Animal Party Biscuits, but Emily Gurt wouldn't give him a single one.
She pointed to the date stamped on each biscuit. "My esteemed Mr. Green, these are dated. We barely have enough for five days. If you, a Master Alchemist, have any business sense, you should give poor Manager Gurt some more stock. Otherwise, the angry wizards outside might turn me into a biscuit. Do I look like a biscuit to you?"
Emily Gurt had practically thrown Sean out of the shop. Fortunately, her professionalism outweighed her personal feelings.
Sean had to ask for some ingredients, making the night in the cottage exceptionally busy and warm.
[You have practiced crafting a Mrs. Norris Biscuit to the Adept standard. Proficiency +10]
[You have practiced crafting a Mrs. Norris Biscuit to the Adept standard. Proficiency +10]
...
The three McGonagall children watched, alternating "oohs" and "aahs" in the firelight.
Sean thought three frogs had invaded his room.
Outside, at the bottom of the stairs, two people were talking.
"I need to know, is Hogwarts... truly safe?" Marcus McGonagall asked.
"It is the safest place in the world," Professor McGonagall replied calmly.
"I'll give him this Portkey. You know where it leads, Minerva."
"Marcus, this will increase the danger for you..."
"We're family. I have nothing to worry about. My only uncertainty is whether a child like him will stay away from danger..."
Silence fell over the stairway.
The next morning, Professor McGonagall didn't carry her suitcase, and Sean was still staring at the Portkey glove in his hand.
A Portkey was an enchanted object that transported anyone touching it to a specific location. Usually, they were inconspicuous everyday items to avoid Muggle attention. Using a Portkey felt like being "hooked behind the navel" and pulled to the destination.
Hogwarts allowed Portkeys. Before the Hogwarts Express, Portkeys were a common way to transport students without alerting Muggles.
However, Portkeys were strictly regulated by the Ministry. Creating one required authorization; using an unauthorized one carried severe consequences—as Lupin said, "taking your life in your hands isn't enough."
But just as Dumbledore boldly used one in front of Ministry officials to get to Hogwarts, some people realized that certain things trumped rules.
As Sean examined the glove, a note fell out:
Hidden in a place easy for you to reach, it can take you away from danger.
Under the beech tree, Marcus McGonagall shouted his farewells, while the McGonagall children wept loudly.
It was a morning without goodbyes. Sean and the Professor returned to the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley.
This time, Sean didn't have to count a single Knut, because his wallet was gone.
His robe pockets were empty, but as he stood in the sunlight, his presence carried a heavy weight.
(End of Chapter)
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