"Got mice at home? No problem—try this Spirit Cat Biscuit! Turn your kid into a rat-catching pro!"
"Wanna feel like you're floating? Owl Biscuits—just seven Sickles a pack, no tricks!"
"Always oversleeping? Ha! You've come to the right place. Rooster Biscuits—your wife'll be your new alarm clock."
The pitches sounded totally sketchy, but wizards ate it up. Every day, crowds lined up to buy.
On top of that, the prank gear was a huge hit. No wonder the Weasleys could afford to hire help—this place was gonna be wild once it opened.
Diagon Alley, Shop 93—the not-yet-open store. Snowflakes drifted onto Sean's head again.
Minerva McGonagall's lips pressed into a stern line, but her eyes held deeper disappointment. They'd come too late. They hadn't even seen what the unopened shop was selling.
"Maybe we can come earlier tomorrow, Mr. Green," she offered gently.
Sean had a fuzzy feeling she'd misunderstood something, when a witch behind them let out a squeal:
"Mr. Green! Merlin—finally! Please, come in!"
He turned. A super-friendly witch was hurrying over, beaming.
She nodded to McGonagall. "Professor McGonagall, an honor. Mr. Green—I'm Emily Gert, acting manager of Weasley & Green Wizard Wheezes."
Wizards milling around froze, watching the manager drag Sean inside without a word.
Remember us: 101 Book Net
"Green? Who's that?"
"Sounds familiar…"
"Of course it does, dummy—didn't you hear? Weasley & Green Wizard Wheezes."
Compared to their confusion and shock…
McGonagall was stunned. She listened, wide-eyed, as the tall and short wizards chatted.
Sean was a head shorter than the manager, but somehow he was the one in charge. No—definitely the boss.
The shop was mostly set up. Different sections, all stocked with magical gear.
Magic Props Display: Headless Hats, fake wands, edible Dark Marks—stuff that actually worked.
Candy Corner: Tongue-Tying Toffees and other trick sweets, dazzling and colorful.
Fireworks Zone: A chimney puffed smoke. Weasley's Whoosh-Bang Fireworks were the star—basic and deluxe. Deluxe ran 15 Galleons a pop.
And front and center: the Animal Party Biscuit series. They stood in front of an empty display case.
"Oh—Mr. Green, the Animal Party Biscuits are sold out! I can't believe I'm meeting you here!
Please restock—those wizards outside might eat me alive!"
Acting manager Emily Gert was frantic.
Life's full of surprises. Sean hadn't expected his transformation biscuits to vanish—thanks to a manager who came out of nowhere.
"The Freds hired me as acting manager. I'm Hufflepuff, but I'm obsessed with new alchemy gadgets… especially the candies. And the Animal Party Biscuits.
They paid me a fat advance and killer commission. Thank you—and the Freds—this is the best job!"
Emily calmed down after restocking, chatting respectfully with Sean about other stuff.
"Oh, right—the ledgers…"
She opened a magically locked cabinet. Inside: stacks of notes and parchment records.
Sean grabbed a sheet and froze—December 30: 101 Galleons, 10 Sickles.
Wait… how much?
"We're not even open yet. Once we are, that'll double!"
Emily reported proudly, freckles glowing.
Walking out of Weasley & Green Wheezes, McGonagall couldn't hide her grin.
Sean's eyes glazed over. No wonder the Weasleys ended up with sixty stores—alchemy and potions were cash cows in the wizarding world.
Especially with the Weasleys' killer marketing. They'd already made the Animal Party Biscuits famous this Christmas.
Sean knew he was the angel investor, but he hadn't expected returns this fast…
He wouldn't touch shop decisions—that was the deal with the Weasleys. In exchange, he got 51% of the profits.
The Weasleys had said:
"With this, we offer our highest respect to the great Green! The Weasleys will forever support you—unchanging!"
…
On the narrow back alley out of Diagon Alley, Sean and McGonagall were in totally different headspaces.
Sean was wondering if he'd just gotten rich. McGonagall carried deep joy—and a tiny, hidden pang of loss.
He never made people worry. That was good. And… not so good.
"Nice idea—the Weasley boys picking you, right?"
She asked.
Sean nodded, pulling a magical contract from his bag.
McGonagall looked even prouder. She was always proud of him.
A ridiculously fat owl flew out of Eeylops Owl Emporium. Next door at Twilfitt and Tatting's, McGonagall had already dressed Sean up with serious… class.
Deep black robes threaded with silver. Hem lifted just right. Crisp white collar, silver lines weaving complex patterns that drew the eye straight to his deep, bright green eyes.
Overall: sharp, cool, and totally polished.
Then, like she'd just remembered something, McGonagall dragged Sean back into the clothing shop.
A while later, she led him out of Diagon Alley—with a silver-striped hat to top it off.
…
The McGonagall farm sat on a quiet spread not far from London. Wizards living among Muggles with magic wasn't easy—so they kept to themselves, out in the sticks.
Until—
"Green! Come on, little Green! Gotta give you a proper hug—"
A wizard around fifty, flanked by two guys in their thirties, stood by a small villa's fountain.
Beech trees surrounded the place. Owner Marcus McGonagall was bursting with excitement.
Sean was about to learn what farm-owner hospitality really meant.