The three of them crept over to the fireplace.
Mrs. Weasley—Molly—was humming away in the kitchen.
The wizard radio was blasting a tune, and the Weasley twins were bopping their heads to the beat.
"Great Mr. Green, any idea what song this is?"
Fred put on his "ask me and I'll enlighten you" face.
"Oh no, we're outta time—the high note's coming!"
George yelped in panic.
"Too late—George, plug Green's ears!"
Fred jammed earplugs into George's ears, then—before Sean could react—his own ears were covered too.
He gave the kitchen a confused look:
Mrs. Weasley tilted her head back like she was winding up. A flick of her wand and potatoes peeled themselves, jumping into the sink; carrots lined up on the cutting board and sliced themselves into perfect chunks. The stew pot bubbled on the stove, beef rolling in thick gravy, filling the air with rich, meaty aroma.
"Ohhh, my poor heart, where'd it go?
It left me, snatched by magic's hook…
Now you've torn it all apart—
Give my heart back, you big crook—!"
Sean didn't hear a thing—the earplugs were charmed—but he saw the glasses on the table vibrate.
"There's a few days every month…"
Fred shrugged, also plugged up.
"Reason being, Dad would rather bleed from the ears than say Mum sings off-key…"
George was already stepping into the fireplace.
A ratty but clean sofa stood a few feet in front of the hearth; Sean was on the far side.
"Diagon Alley!"
He watched George vanish in green flames.
"If Mum's male idol is Gilderoy Lockhart, then her female idol is Celestina Warbeck. She's been obsessed with Celestina's songs since she was young—listens for decades."
Fred gestured grandly toward the fire.
"Great Green, after you. But keep it quiet."
This was Sean's first time using a proper fireplace for travel—the portable one from the alchemy conference didn't count.
He paused, double-checking the name Diagon Alley in his head. Wouldn't want to end up in Knockturn Alley.
That place was crawling with dark wizards. For a kid… yeah, dangerous.
"Diagon Alley."
He grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the pot and—whoosh—gone.
He stumbled out into a dazzling row of shops, all lit up with warm corridor lamps.
"Let's go!"
George led the charge, buzzing with excitement.
"Ahh, coming here as the owner beats being a customer any day!"
"No one could argue that."
Fred tumbled out of the flames behind him.
Weasleys' & Green's Wizard Wheezes was fully renovated. Above the door, a clown tipped his hat—and a white rabbit popped out.
The opening-day crowds were long gone, but every so often a kid would stop, stare, and ask their parents:
"Is it open yet?"
So the trio slipped in through the back.
"Twenty Peruvian Instant Darkness Powders ready, George?"
Fred asked.
"Check. Thirty Tongue-Burning Toffees?"
George rattled off the list like a pro.
"Check—"
"Then—sixteen Reindeer Cookies, twenty-three Squirrel Cookies, one hundred thirty-six Pygmy Puff Biscuits, and three hundred Skiving Snackbox sets?"
A ghostly voice floated from the dark, unlit shop.
Sean turned slowly. There stood Manager Gert, black circles under her eyes like she hadn't slept in a week.
"We're that short?!"
Fred jumped a foot in the air.
Gert flicked on the lights. The twins' window display exploded into color like a fireworks show. Within minutes, a small crowd of mesmerized wizards gathered outside.
"Mr. Green, if you don't restock before opening, I'm quitting. You know what desperate wizards will do—especially in Diagon Alley where magic's fair game."
Gert pouted dramatically.
"I got it."
Fred said, dead serious.
"Me too."
George, for once, looked solemn.
"Oh—oh?"
Gert perked up, rubbing her eyes and plopping down beside a row of neon-pink products, ready for the show.
Too bad there was no popcorn… she thought sadly.
What happened next blew her mind.
"Make some, Great Green!"
Fred wailed like a banshee, practically in Sean's ear.
"Great Greeeeen—"
George squeezed his eyes shut, trying (and failing) to cry.
Sean was used to the twins' antics by now.
He shoved Fred off his leg, pulled box after box of cookies from McGonagall's Undetectable Extension bag.
The Skiving Snackboxes were shrunken and tucked inside too.
"You guys always do this?"
Gert asked, stunned.
…
Back at the Burrow, Fred and George were still obsessing over their business plan.
"Rent for one Diagon Alley shop is seven hundred Galleons, and we'll make enough in six months to cover ten shops—before we even open… You know what that means?"
Fred said, stepping out of the fireplace.
Sean glanced behind him. Mrs. Weasley was standing there, steam practically coming out her ears.
"Shhh—"
George hissed.
"George, what was that? Weird, I was just saying it means we could open shops all over Britain—Mum!"
Fred froze, then spun around with a forced cheerful tone.
"Good evening, Mum."
"Do you have any idea how worried I was?"
Mrs. Weasley's voice was low and terrifying.
"Sorry, Mum, but we had to—"
Her sons towered over her, but when her temper flared, they shrank.
"Rooms empty! No note! Gone—with Green too… I was losing my mind… Did you even think?
…I have never… Wait till your father gets home. Bill, Charlie, and Percy never pulled anything like this…"
"Perfect Percy,"
Fred muttered.
Mrs. Weasley stepped forward and yanked Sean out from in front of the fire.
"Poor dear, Fred and George are hopeless when they get an idea. Next time, don't listen to these two."
"Oh, Mum, we have to tell you a tragic truth—if anyone's giving orders, there's only one voice that matters—Great Gree—"
Fred dropped to one knee in mock worship.
"You're blaming little Green?!"