Diagon Alley—this was Sean's second visit.
Unlike last time, when every Knut had to be carefully counted, Sean could now tally up their Galleons.
Bright sunlight glinted off a stack of cauldrons outside a nearby shop. Above them hung a sign: Copper – Brass – Pewter – Silver Cauldrons, All Sizes, Self-Stirring – Collapsible.
Below it, a price list shimmered in color-changing ink.
"We're heading to Gringotts," Professor McGonagall said softly.
Her mind drifted to that gloomy morning under a dark sky. The hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley seemed to pass Sean by. They were always studying price lists—something no other kid their age bothered with.
They passed Eeylops Owl Emporium, its windows filled with screech owls, barn owls, and tawny owls, and Slug & Jiggers Apothecary, brimming with telescopes and curious silver instruments. McGonagall led Sean to a towering snow-white building that loomed over the surrounding shops.
Its door knocker was bronze, and a goblin in a scarlet uniform stood guard.
Sean assumed the professor was here to withdraw money, but instead—
"This is yours," McGonagall said, glancing at Sean and then at the vault behind them. "Your pocket money and any future rewards can be kept here. Severus and I deposited some funds for you. We trust you'll make good use of it."
"Three thousand Galleons in total," the goblin escorting them added.
Sean couldn't help but think the professors' idea of "some" was wildly different from their own.
Before leaving Gringotts, the goblin kept nudging Sean to sell the few potion vials in their vault to the bank. Those were ones Professor Snape had sneeringly tossed in to keep the vault from looking too "shabby."
"We'd offer a thousand Galleons for them. What do you say?" the goblin, a head shorter than Sean, said temptingly while McGonagall was off registering something.
Sean understood why wizards often distrusted goblins. If they thought a thousand Galleons was fair for potions worth at least three thousand, it was no wonder Voldemort had no qualms about killing off a few of these greedy creatures.
Sean's thoughts wandered to 1998, when Harry, Ron, and Hermione broke into Bellatrix Lestrange's vault to steal Hufflepuff's Cup, a Horcrux. Enraged, Voldemort had personally killed several goblins working at the bank. It was a stark reminder: in the wizarding world, magic was power.
Sean's mind drifted, but McGonagall was in her element, joyfully shopping. Sean hadn't realized Diagon Alley had three clothing shops. Hogwarts' plain robes weren't exclusive to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. There was also Twilfitt and Tatting's, with higher quality and prices, and a secondhand robe shop, cheaper but lower quality.
They were now at Twilfitt and Tatting's, where McGonagall debated robe styles with the shopkeeper, a man with impeccably combed blond hair who was eager to sell. For the professor, buying an expensive robe was as effortless as transfiguring a desk into a pig.
Snowflakes drifted outside as a pair of witches passed the shop window.
"Why did we only get one owl biscuit? We had two Knuts left!" the younger witch asked, holding a beautifully wrapped box of biscuits.
"Because if we do it this way, another kid like you, craving a biscuit, gets a chance to feel happy," the older witch replied, her eyes crinkling warmly.
Inside Twilfitt and Tatting's, Sean froze. Owl biscuits?
Could it be those biscuits?
They gazed toward the end of Diagon Alley, where a crowd of witches and wizards gathered, someone shouting, "Not yet open, limited stock…"
The commotion was so lively it seemed to shake the snow off nearby shop signs.
Sean stared for a long moment, remembering that Weasley & Green's Wizard Wheezes had recently been approved. The Weasleys had even asked Sean for some transformation biscuits to sell…
The conversation in Twilfitt and Tatting's had quieted.
"Want to check it out?" McGonagall asked, her eyes softening like a calm lake rippling, then swelling into a tidal wave.
Sean was so quiet, it was easy to forget what a young witch or wizard their age should be like. McGonagall noticed a noisy pair pass by—a young wizard excitedly saying they had to snag a biscuit today—while Sean just watched, gazing distantly.
Before Sean could respond, McGonagall pulled them along.
At the shop's entrance, a chaotic crowd of witches and wizards milled about, with Kneazles, owls, and toads scurrying everywhere. Someone shouted, "My cat!" but no one could tell which one they meant.
After squeezing through the crowd, they reached the storefront—only to find it wasn't open. Owls swooped in, delivering all sorts of packages.
Sean was certain now: this was the yet-to-open Weasley & Green's Wizard Wheezes. The Weasleys had been using a "mail-order" system for a while, with deliveries handled not by Muggle couriers but by the wizarding world's postmen—owls.
"Sorry, sorry, today's stock is sold out. Come back tomorrow!" a friendly young witch in a green robe called out, sounding exhausted as she apologized repeatedly.
"I know Ron Weasley! Can I get one?" a young wizard piped up, loud enough to be heard but not shouting.
"Ron Weasley?" the witch repeated, confirming.
"Yeah, yeah!" the wizard said, eyes lighting up. The crowd turned, watching him with envy.
"And you are?" the witch asked eagerly.
"Dean, Dean Thomas," he replied, buzzing with excitement.
"Alright, Dean Thomas. You're out of luck for tomorrow and the day after," the witch said, barely holding back a laugh, her voice trembling with amusement.
"What?!" Dean yelped, looking like he might faint. The crowd burst into laughter.
As the group dispersed, everyone buzzed about the new shop. Word was it was founded by a pair of Hogwarts twins and their friend. The items were novel and fun—especially their flagship animal biscuit line, which could transform witches and wizards into animals. Wildly entertaining.
Though the shop hadn't officially opened and was only taking pre-orders, it was already a hit. When the Christmas holidays began, they'd rolled out a slew of catchy slogans that got everyone's blood pumping.
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