"Don't just stand there—grab your caterpillar and let's roll!"
The wide-faced, big-eared clerk from the Floo Regulation Panel was practically oozing flattery.
These guys worked for the Floo Network Authority under the Department of Magical Transportation. Their job? Build, maintain, monitor, and babysit the entire Floo network.
And in just thirty minutes flat, they'd hooked up Fairy Tale Boutique to the grid.
Now any fireplace—from the Great Hall at Hogwarts to Sean's little cottage—could connect straight to Professor Quirrell with a handful of Floo powder.
(Though actually Floo-ing into Hogwarts? Yeah, that's still locked down tighter than Gringotts.)
"Have I mentioned I've been dying to meet you, sir?"
The same clerk was bowing and scraping like Sean was the Minister himself.
Give me a break. This kid was basically Dumbledore 2.0—teen edition. At eleven years old he'd already racked up honors most wizards only dream of. His future was so bright you needed sunglasses.
"Thanks for your help," Sean said politely.
…
Fairy Tale Boutique's grand opening was officially set: one day after the joke shop next door.
When Professor Quirrell heard that, he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Mr. Green clearly had some serious pull at the Ministry… Sure, fame brings galleons, but it doesn't last.
In the end, a shop lives or dies by the quality of its goods.
After leaving Fairy Tale Boutique, Sean headed straight to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.
The twins were in full frantic-last-minute-prep mode. They'd even hired two older Hufflepuff guys to help out.
Every shelf was stuffed to bursting, and the promotional posters were plastered everywhere like Dragon Pox.
The night before opening day was anything but calm.
Wednesday finally arrived—opening day.
Mrs. Weasley dragged everyone out of bed at the crack of dawn. They each scarfed down five or six bacon sandwiches, threw on coats, and lined up by the kitchen fireplace.
Mrs. Weasley grabbed a flowerpot off the mantel and peered inside.
"Not much left, Arthur," she sighed. "We'll have to stock up today… Alright, guests first! Sean, you're up!"
She shoved the pot under his nose.
"Speak clearly, dear," she instructed. George was already elbow-deep in the powder. "There are lots of different fires; you've gotta pick the right one. Just say the words nice and clear—"
"Mum, Sean's doneaged this a million times," Ron cut in. "But elbows in, eyes closed—soot everywhere—don't fidget or you'll tumble out the wrong grate. And don't panic and step out too early."
…
Diagon Alley
"Come on, kids! I'm too excited for words!"
Mrs. Weasley was practically bouncing.
Sean trailed behind her, the only one whose hand she refused to let go of.
In her words: "Every Weasley grew up roaming Diagon Alley. Only one little wizard here needs extra looking after."
The place was already a madhouse.
It was barely sunrise, fog still clinging to the cobblestones, sky still half-dark, but nothing could dampen the witches' and wizards' excitement.
Every product line from this shop had blown up across the entire British wizarding world. Affordable prices, top-notch quality, totally unique—those three words were now synonymous with this store.
Only one problem: there wasn't enough stuff.
Wizards had been counting the days until opening. No way they were missing this.
Sean and the Weasleys fought their way through the crowd. Reporters from every wizarding magazine were crammed in there too, cameras flashing like a thunderstorm.
This shop was so dazzling it made every other storefront look like a dusty old shed.
Because every other storefront was buried under Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes posters.
Meanwhile, Fred and George's window displays were exploding like a fireworks show. Even Muggles walking by did double-takes. Some stopped dead, jaws on the ground, and joined the queue like they were under a Confundus Charm.
Left window: a riot of spinning, twitching, flashing, hopping, screaming gadgets in every color of the rainbow.
Right window: a massive poster in blinding yellow:
Why worry about headaches?
You should be worried about constipation!
Skiving Snackboxes—the sweet that makes the whole nation skip class!
"Mum, let go of the Great Green; we gotta go!"
Fred yelled.
Mrs. Weasley finally released Sean's hand.
"See you inside the shop!"
Sean nodded, then slipped through a tiny side alley that led to the back door.
From the back entrance, Fred and George were pacing like caged graphorns.
Shop manager Mr. Gribble was staring out front, equal parts terrified and thrilled.
The turnout was beyond anyone's wildest dreams.
The crowd surging in looked ready to shout: Take my galleons and give me your damn products!
Sean managed to yank Justin and Hermione out of the stampede before they got carried off to who-knows-where.
"Sean, Merlin, this is insane," Hermione panted, still shaken.
"Looks like both shops might sell out…" Justin observed.
Then the two of them followed Sean inside, instantly distracted by the merchandise.
"What's this?" Justin held up something that looked like a telescope.
"No clue."
"And these?" Hermione was surrounded by a gaggle of witches cooing over neon-pink products.
"No idea."
Hermione blinked. "Then what do you know?"
"None of this stuff is mine," Sean explained.
Before he finished, Justin suddenly had massive black eyes, and his own face screamed why did I do that.
"Who on earth thought punching yourself through a telescope was a good prank?" he groaned.
A quick dab of special ointment later, the black eyes vanished.
But not everyone in the shop was so lucky. Screams kept echoing every few minutes.
Sean just waved his wand casually. Every dropped product zoomed back to its proper shelf like it had grown wings.
Not easy—every item needed a different trajectory and just the right amount of force based on weight.
Old Sean couldn't have pulled that off. New Sean? Piece of cake.
"Three galleons, nine sickles, one knut," Fred announced from the stairs, eyeing the mountain of boxes in Ron's arms.
"Pay up."
"I'm your brother!"
"Oh right. Three galleons ten sickles; I'll knock the knut down to a sickle."
"Why did it go up?! I don't have that much!"
"Then start putting stuff back. And don't mix up the shelves."
Ron grumbled and ditched a few boxes.
…
By late afternoon—not even evening—the shop was dead quiet.
Customers left looking like they'd lost a bet with a goblin. Everything was gone.
Even after all their prep, they'd still underestimated British wizards' shopping frenzy.
Every time Fred and George waved goodbye to a customer, it felt like they were kissing a breathing galleon goodbye. Their hearts were bleeding.
But then they saw the warehouse stuffed with gold, and they nearly hoisted Sean into the air and tossed him like a Quaffle.
For every winner, there's a loser.
Professor Quirrell watched the mob next door and felt his worry spill over like potion from a cauldron.
When he saw Sean finally step out of the joke shop, it got even worse.
"Mr. Green… their Animal Party series really is impressive. Maybe we should… reschedule?" he suggested timidly.
He had zero confidence about tomorrow.
Anyone could see the crowd had come for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Most wizards were walking away with bags full of dream purchases.
Once those products hit the streets, standards would skyrocket. And that joke shop was high quality and cheap; good luck competing.
Plus, their own products? Still nowhere to be seen.
Night fell quiet.
Occasionally a wizard leaving the joke shop glanced at Fairy Tale Boutique, shrugged, and wandered off.
Exactly like Quirrell feared.
Sean calmly stocked the shelves with cookie tins—maybe fifty boxes total. Quirrell's anxiety dialed up to eleven.
"These are…?"
"Our products."
"Oh… oh, r-right…"
Quirrell stammered, face crumpling.
Inside, he'd already made up his mind: tomorrow was doomed.
"Relax, Professor," Sean said, seeing how down Quirrell had been for days.
He didn't know how to explain; tomorrow the professor would understand.
Suddenly the bell jingled. Quirrell looked up hopefully—only to see silver-haired, sharp-eyed Professor Tyra stroll in.
"My dear disciple, like I said: tomorrow is our one and only public day."
Her gaze could cut glass.
"One and only public day…?" Quirrell echoed, brain buffering.
"For truly great alchemists," Tyra explained, loud enough for both Sean and Quirrell to hear, "their creations start in the hands of a select few.
It's not just about price; there are many factors.
Take Floo powder; its first distribution was top-secret because it was too important to risk.
But no alchemist wants their work to stay unknown forever. So they open to the public… for exactly one day."
She was talking to Sean, but making sure Quirrell got the message too.
"So… these cookies… are only on sale to the public… for one day?" Quirrell's vision went black.
Limited stock. Secret sale. Next door to the hottest shop in Britain…
His future looked darker than the bottom of the Black Lake.
Something felt off, but after days of nonstop bad news, his brain had officially shut down.