"Great Green, the one and only!"
Before Sean could even step inside the lopsided little house, the Weasley twins were already hanging half out of a crooked window.
Sean looked up, saw nobody, then CLANG-CLANG-CLANG; the twins were already thundering down the stairs.
"You two better clean up that swamp before our guest walks in!" Mrs. Weasley bellowed.
She spun around to Sean, instantly all sunshine and smiles.
"Not you, sweetheart. You're an alchemy genius. Do whatever you want."
Fred and George swapped glances, shrugged like this was totally normal.
"What are you waiting for? No more messing around in the house; take it to your dad's pond!"
Mrs. Weasley roared at the twins again.
"You, Mr. Green, can do anything you like; just don't follow Fred and George."
She turned back to Sean with that sweet-mom voice.
"Remember how Mum always plays favorites with outsiders? Your sweater was way better than ours," Fred teased, then bolted.
Mrs. Weasley chased after him, swinging the chicken-feather duster like a Beater's bat.
George winked and led Sean inside the Burrow.
First thing you saw was a crammed but super-cozy kitchen and living room smushed together, separated only by the fireplace.
The kitchen was tiny and packed tight. A scrubbed-clean wooden table sat in the middle with a handful of mismatched chairs. On the wall hung a clock with just one hand; the face read stuff like "Time for tea," "Feed the chickens," or "You're late!"
Little moving photos were stuck to the hand; Ron and the others grinning and waving.
Fred and George's photos were glued side-by-side; every time the hand moved, their tiny heads twisted to follow it.
"It's beat-up, but it's home," Fred called as he sprinted past.
Mrs. Weasley whacked him on the butt with the duster; he yelped and bolted upstairs.
"He's doomed; there's swamp up there," George said with a smirk.
Sure enough, a second later:
"Muuuum! Could you pull me out? Muuuum; don't leave me; FINE, I'll just; is anyone there?!"
A very satisfied Mrs. Weasley came back downstairs and caught Sean staring, totally fascinated, at the knitting needles that were weaving a sweater all by themselves and the dishes scrubbing each other in the sink.
"They're just little household charms…" she said, cheeks pink.
"They're incredible," Sean said, not blinking.
He could never pull that off; not yet. It required ridiculous control over your magic, and that was exactly the skill he was missing.
"Could you teach me, Mrs. Weasley?"
That was one of the big reasons he'd come.
Fred and George had told him a million times: this kind of control comes from practice, and their mum was the undisputed master.
"There's nothing to teach… but of course, dear!"
Mrs. Weasley actually blushed.
"…Mum, have you seen my socks?" came a familiar voice from the other staircase.
Ron clomped down, then spotted Sean and his eyes went wide.
"SEAN?!"
"I figured you two knew each other. Come down and greet our guest properly, Ron," Mrs. Weasley said.
"Know him? That's an understatement…"
Ron muttered.
"Hmm?"
Mrs. Weasley raised an eyebrow.
"I mean…"
Ron shrank. What was he supposed to say?
That Sean was the leader of their secret Round Table? That Sean had led the charge to protect the Forbidden Forest and then stormed the final chamber alone to wreck Voldemort's whole plan?
Yeah, Mum would totally buy that.
"I mean… Sean's top of the year in every subject, perfect scores across the board, Ravenclaw Seeker, led us to the Quidditch Cup and the House Cup."
Ron couldn't believe how smooth he sounded.
"Oh! Oh! My goodness, what an outstanding boy!"
Mrs. Weasley looked at Sean like he was glowing.
"And you, Ron?"
She turned on him.
"I'm… eighth," Ron mumbled.
"Merlin's pants; that's brilliant! Come here, both of you!"
Next thing they knew, Sean and Ron were crushed into one of her famous rib-cracking hugs.
"We're celebrating tonight!"
Night fell fast. Sean stuck to Mrs. Weasley like a niffler to gold while she patiently walked him through household spells, step by step.
At the end of the day, these were just transfiguration on objects; making things move on their own.
But way trickier, because the instructions were super detailed and tiny.
All night long his panel kept dinging:
[You practiced advanced transfiguration at Proficient level, proficiency +30]
[You practiced advanced transfiguration at Proficient level, proficiency +30]
…
He hadn't expected household charms to count as advanced transfiguration; specifically the branch that turns objects into magical artifacts.
Before dinner he got his own little room; surprisingly spacious for such a cramped house.
The moment he stepped in, he saw fresh sky-blue and bronze everywhere; Ravenclaw colors, bright and clean.
The walls were lined with old books, a big window sat right by the bed; morning sunlight was gonna pour in like liquid gold.
There was even his own desk and a small corner protected by defensive charms.
Mrs. Weasley must've started prepping weeks ago. Everything was perfect.
He was here to master precision magic and finally unlock that Expert Alchemist title.
He pulled up his panel:
[Craft 6 Expert-level intermediate alchemy items + 12 Proficient-level alchemy items → unlock Expert Alchemist title]
[Intermediate · Self-Cleaning Broom: Proficient (1210/3000)]
[Intermediate · Lazy Broom: Expert (120/9000)]
[Intermediate · Wonky Wizard Chess Set: Expert (120/9000)]
…
Just one more intermediate item left; the cleaning broom; and Expert Alchemist was his.
Knock knock knock.
"Great Green!"
Fred's voice.
"Diagon Alley run!"
George chimed in.
"Gotta restock the shop."
They said it in perfect unison.
Sean opened the door; the twins were practically vibrating with excitement.
"We've been waiting for this day forever! We're on a tight schedule!"
Fred made a dramatic "after you" gesture.
"So much to do; can you believe we only have one week?!"
George was already halfway down the hall.
"Once we're stocked up, we'll have the best joke shop in all of Britain!"