Fairytale Workshop was officially a sensation.
No question about it.
Every wizard who stepped inside buzzed about the place: it opened quietly, then started selling rare, game-changing creations that could shake up the entire wizarding world.
The most unforgettable part? You couldn't get in.
Wanting something you can't have? That sticks with people.
"The invitation system… From now on, only seventy invites go out each month. Only guests with an invite can enter that month…"
A wizard stepped out of Fairytale Workshop. This place wasn't nearly as simple as anyone thought: invite-only!
Outside the door, a pack of reporters crowded the sidewalk. Powerful spells sealed the shop; uninvited press couldn't get through.
Even so, none of them dared print wild rumors.
They had eyes. They saw who was going in: the head of the Chocolate Frog Card Information Collection Department.
What did that mean?
The last wizard that guy interviewed? Dumbledore.
You could imagine someone inside on Dumbledore's level: same kind of power, maybe not the same character.
Until they knew for sure Grindelwald wasn't in there, nobody was taking chances.
Sean had just stepped out of the shop when the twins swarmed him.
"Great Green, what'd you find out?"
Fred, wearing a tall hat, was practically bouncing.
"We saw you go in! What's the rival shop selling?"
George had just come from the joke shop. He tried to get in Fairytale, but the door was locked.
Locked. In broad daylight. Mid-afternoon.
"Rival… shop?"
Sean hugged a stack of books: ancient rune texts from Professor Quirrell.
He didn't get the twins' logic. The two shops served completely different crowds. How were they rivals?
"Of course! Rival shop!"
Fred said with total conviction.
Sean wasn't sure why Quirrell and the twins were at each other's throats, but he explained anyway:
"Fairytale Workshop sells cookies that turn you into magical creatures."
Word that would spread fast, and not one Sean planned to hide.
"Merlin's beard—"
Fred yelled.
"We're done for."
George wailed.
Sean, still confused, walked off. He needed to pack; he was leaving the Burrow.
Tomorrow, Professor McGonagall would pick him up.
…
The fireplace flared and died. Sean appeared in the book-crammed shed.
Before leaving, he still wanted to check out the flying car. Fred and George had promised to show him, but they'd been swamped. So it got pushed to the last day.
"Wait for me!"
Ron bolted from his room on the sixth floor, just below the attic. Everything in there was blazing Chudley Cannons orange, walls plastered with team posters.
Fred and George kept their word and came home early.
They poked around the flying car until late.
Life at the Burrow was loud and cozy. Wizards used magic freely, making everything easier and more fun.
Sean had a great time, and best of all: he finished his summer homework.
Next morning.
A sliver of sky peeked through the thick curtains: cool, clear, like watered-down blue ink. That in-between color of night and dawn. Everything was quiet.
In the stillness, the clink of dishes at the Burrow started first.
Sean and Ron came down for breakfast. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were already at the table.
Ginny was a shy little witch, basically a mini-McGonagall.
Except more reserved. She'd quietly watch from the garden as Sean lined up the gnomes to march off and eat roots elsewhere.
She'd listen to him talk about "sustainable development" and "not draining the pond," totally lost.
Sometimes Sean practiced Transfiguration in the backyard. A head would pop up at the window, staring.
When the boys came down, Ginny accidentally knocked over her porridge bowl with a loud clatter.
Nobody cared. Everyone was distracted.
Mrs. Weasley wasn't humming. The twins were crying and clinging to Sean's legs, begging him not to go.
Percy rolled his eyes, sat in the last chair, then jumped up: he'd sat on a molting gray feather duster. Or so he thought. Then it breathed.
"Errol!"
Ron shouted.
He took the droopy owl from Percy and pulled out some newspapers from under its wing.
The Daily Prophet's "Decade of Impact" headline screamed:
"Chocolate Frog Cards Get Major Update."
"An update?!"
Ron was pumped.
The biggest photo was a Chocolate Frog card.
Surprisingly, the portrait showed only a back view. Under a single beam of light on the dark card, the silhouette looked deep and magnetic.
Even more shocking: way too young. No matter how you looked, this was a minor.
"Let me see—"
Everyone got a paper. Gasps echoed around the table.
> "Hermes, hailed as the Triple-Great. Officially recognized by the Chocolate Frog Card Committee as a candidate for the 21st century's greatest wizard.
>
> His honors include:
>
> Udara International Alchemy Conference Pioneering Gold Award, Transfiguration Today Century Special Guest (interview declined), Alchemical Legend who seized authority over magical creatures.
>
> Committee statement: It won't be long before the dormant field of alchemy is a thing of the past. We celebrate the arrival of a genius who rivals Master Nicolas Flamel (statement acknowledged by Master Flamel himself)."
"That old hag was telling the truth?"
Ron dug out last week's Prophet. Rita Skeeter's gushing review was right there.
The phrase "related to Hogwarts" sparked a wild guess in Ron's head.
He stared at Sean's back as he left the table after eating.
Not just similar: identical.
"This isn't you, is it, Sean?"
He turned red but asked anyway.
Sean was quiet for a moment.
"I swear I won't tell anyone!"
Ron blurted, remembering something.