"The reports are totally over-the-top," Sean said.
"You're… admitting it?!"
Ron's eyes went comically wide. His whole body froze mid-gesture, like soone had hit him with a Full Body-Bind Curse.
"You've been in the wizarding world for, what, five minutes, and you're already the next Nicolas Flal? rlin's pants…"
He clutched the newspaper, holding it up next to Sean's face, comparing them over and over. Then he just… accepted it.
Sean doing sothing insane? Totally normal.
"So what is it, Sean? Can I know?" Ron whispered, like he wasn't sure he was allowed to breathe the sa air as this legend.
"Just so transfiguration cookies."
Sean flicked his wand. A single cookie floated over and landed in Ron's hand.
Ron stared at it, turning it this way and that. Nothing special; just a cookie shaped like a hippogriff. He opened his mouth to take a bite.
"It'll turn you into an actual hippogriff."
"AH—"
Ron dropped it like it was a live Blast-Ended Skrewt.
Out in the garden, Ron kept inspecting the cookie from every angle. anwhile, the kitchen table had turned into a full-blown gossip fest.
"Witch Weekly calls him the most talented alchemist of the century—and a handso little devil!" Mrs. Weasley read aloud from the glossy magazine tucked inside the Daily Prophet.
Witch Weekly: the magazine every witch from eight to eighty secretly devoured. Celebrity scandals, Quidditch heartthrobs, love quizzes, advice columns, recipes… oh, and they gave out the "Most-Charming-Smile Award."
Right now Mrs. Weasley was pointing at a photo of a young wizard with his back to the cara. Even from behind you could see the straight posture and that untouchable vibe. Maybe the photographer was just that good, but one blurry back-shot had half the witch population swooning.
"Transfiguration Today says they've been waiting centuries for an alchemist like him. I've never seen them this humble…" Percy's eyes were practically glowing with second-hand glory.
Only Mr. Weasley was oddly quiet today, occasionally glancing out toward the garden.
The second the newest issues of Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, and Transfiguration Today hit the stands, the entire wizarding world lost its collective mind.
"Cookies that turn you into magical creatures?! rlin's saggy left—"
"Invitation-only shop, starting bid seven hundred galleons a tin? That's… actually reasonable. Why did I just say that?!"
"Where's this Hers guy hiding?! Rita says he's a Hogwarts student?? That's terrifying."
Every street corner, every pub, Hogsade, Diagon Alley; people couldn't shut up about it.
anwhile, the Ministry's testing departnt was in full chaos mode.
When Mr. Weasley got to work, the second floor looked like a dragon had sneezed on it: holes blasted through walls, still smoking.
"Arthur, mate, you should've seen it!" his coworker greeted him. "The Enforcent guys turned themselves into an actual dragon! Look at these walls; that was just the 'baby dragon cookie.' Word is there's a full-grown version coming. Second floor's dood.
But bliy, those cookies actually work. Who is this Hers bloke…?"
…
Far away at Hogwarts, Dumbledore was having tea with McGonagall.
Sumr had slipped in quietly. The grounds were glowing; sky and lake both a soft lavender-blue. From the Headmaster's office you could see the honey-gold tips of the towers catching the sun.
"Minerva, I do hope I'll manage without you next term," Dumbledore said kindly, taking the latest magazine from an owl that swooped through the window.
"Interesting pseudonym… Hers. A fine young man, isn't he? Fa is a tempting thing; for so wizards it's the sa as power. Few can resist it. And yet here we are. I've always said that was your gift, Minerva…"
McGonagall took the paper. Even from the back, she knew exactly whose silhouette that was.
Her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes shining with everything she couldn't say.
"Albus… I should go."
She left quickly. Glancing back at the old wizard who seed forever trapped in that office, she murmured, "I thought change would never co. But mories… mories are a one-way road."
Hogwarts had stood a thousand years. Secrets were carved into every stone.
Two grieving people had once shared those secrets.
Today, one of them was leaving the castle for good.
Dumbledore stared at the photo, lost in thought. The only sound was the softest sigh.
…
Back at the Burrow.
Patchwork fields, clumps of trees, muddy boots by the gate, a rusty cauldron, fat brown chickens pecking in the yard.
Ron was vibrating with excitent like he was hiding the world's biggest secret. He kept poking Sean.
"D'you reckon you'll be Head Boy? Prefect? …Wait, scratch that; you're gonna be the Alchemy professor, easy!"
Then Professor McGonagall appeared down the lane; a full hour early.
Mrs. Weasley dropped everything in the kitchen (literally; the dishes started washing themselves) and rushed out. She pressed a hand-knitted scarf into Sean's hands.
"You'll need this, little Green."
It had a tiny embroidered eagle and the word GREEN in bronze thread.
"Thank you."
When he turned around, the front yard was packed with Weasleys. Ron kept staring at McGonagall, dying to ask why she was picking Sean up but too scared to open his mouth.
Percy kept repeating, "Anything you need at Hogwarts, just owl !"
The twins were cackling: "Percy only says that to people he thinks are useful. He never offers us anything."
Percy went red as a Weasley jumper.
And at the very back, a whole gang of garden gnos huddled by the gate, sniffling and dabbing their eyes like they were saying goodbye to their king.
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