Being able to talk face-to-face with your friends inside a smooth mirror was especially fun.
The young wizards shouted excitedly. Through the mirror, they could even see the surroundings each person was in.
Hermione, for example, was in a room piled high with bookshelves; Neville was beside brown furniture and a blazing fireplace; Justin was in a garden.
The magic hand mirror gave off a faint glow. Ripples moved across its surface, making every face look vivid and endearing.
Sean tapped the mirror with his index finger, and his face vanished from it.
Only a tiny "Sean" remained—closing his book to show he was still listening.
That was the magic hand mirror's second function: when wizards didn't need to see each other, it could transmit voice only.
Even more interesting—its mechanism for carrying sound came from a particular kind of magical object, a rare kind of magical object.
—A fae-made magical object: a pair of binoculars.
When Will had handed Sean those binoculars on the fire-dragon carriage, Sean had been startled to discover they could pick up voices.
And for the first time, he learned that the Summoning Charm could be used on sound… summoning sound. Now that was magic.
So the magic hand mirror gained a "sound focusing" function: it could focus only the sound between two wizards talking, or gather all sound—
like it had a "noise-canceling mode."
Sean put the mirror away. While listening to everyone chatter enthusiastically, he headed toward the Alchemy office.
"Oh—Sean never talks. He prepares a surprise this huge, and still won't say a thing. Sometimes I feel like he's preparing surprises every second of the day. Sometimes they're more like jump scares."
That was Hermione.
"Even though I can't see him, I'm guessing Sean is quietly listening right now," Justin chimed in.
"Couldn't agree more. Maybe he's also quietly watching," Ron said.
"He's definitely 'peeking at the screen,'" Hermione concluded.
"Sean?" Harry tested softly.
Sean glanced at the hand mirror one last time, feeling slightly caught out, and turned into the Alchemy office.
Inside, all sorts of old instruments were making click-clack coupling noises.
Wooden ones, iron ones; constantly moving ones; ones hanging from the ceiling; floating ones; one shaped like a fire dragon…
Professor Tayra's office was always full of magical, wild ideas.
"Come on, my dear student."
Professor Tayra looked travel-worn; even the tips of her silver hair were damp with morning dew.
They left the room and walked quietly toward the office area near the North Tower, close to Gryffindor Tower.
It was filled with teleport-like hubs, like something inside the Ministry—at least five fireplaces, all connected to the Floo Network, all burning with green flames.
The door clicked open.
Sean studied the walls and ceiling inside—rough stonework, rounded.
Beneath an exquisitely carved mantel in front of them, a fire crackled, lighting up Professor Tayra's delighted face.
"Come, my student. You remember the trick to using Floo Powder, right? Don't say it wrong. It's Jade Workshop—"
With that, she took Sean by the arm, strode to the fireplace, grabbed a handful of glittering powder from a bottle on the mantel, and tossed it into the flames.
Green fire swallowed them both.
…
Jade Workshop.
This village-sized place was Professor Tayra's personal alchemy workshop, hidden behind the brick wall of a crumbling alleyway in London.
Occasionally, the workshop received visitors—but most of the time, it was a gold rush for wizarding merchants.
Flora Olivia Tayra—second only to Nicolas Flamel—never produced shoddy magical creations.
To merchants in the wizarding world, that meant partnering with her was a sure-win deal. The only question was how much they'd profit.
So plenty of merchants came by often, keeping up relations.
Some were descendants of ancient wizarding families; some were students Professor Tayra had accumulated over decades; some were procurement agents working for various national wizarding governments.
Among them, Tayra's students came the most.
After all, these relatively young wizards all carried a deeply buried thought—
Flora Olivia Tayra, our beloved teacher, has no disciple.
When Sean stepped out of the fireplace, the first thing he saw was an utterly unremarkable black iron door, mottled with green patina.
Beside it stood a bright-eyed witch who looked about twenty.
"You are? Another one of my aunt's students? Fine, no problem. Come with me."
"Yes," Sean said.
He turned his head and saw a line of runes on the door:
[When we speak in public, we're really saying nothing. But when we write, what's hidden is the truth.]
It fit Sean's impression of alchemy perfectly.
For over a thousand years, alchemists' drafts had been full of symbols and codes, to prevent malicious people from stealing information.
"What's your name?" The young witch seemed lively and energetic.
"Sean Green," Sean answered, bowing slightly as she did.
He glanced around again—Professor Tayra was already nowhere to be seen.
That was strange, since they'd entered the fireplace together.
"I've never seen a wizard as young as you. Though I've heard that decades ago in Britain, there were wizard merchants your age.
My aunt helped them a bit. Some of them turned out to be quite outstanding."
The red-haired witch said it, crouching down so her face was level with Sean's.
Decades ago… Britain…
Sean couldn't help thinking of child labor in London—lives you could only describe as hellish: forced to work long hours under horrific conditions, no safety, bodies and minds crushed. Most didn't even make it to adulthood.
"I'm not a merchant," Sean said.
"Oh, right—you're a student who hasn't become Professor Tayra's disciple yet?" The red-haired witch giggled.
Sean sighed softly, and suspected Professor Tayra was watching from somewhere with great interest.
"Alright then—come in, future Alchemy Master."
The young witch stretched out her long arm and dripped a drop of pure mercury into the mouth of the ouroboros carved on the door.
The door opened.
Inside was a colossal machine run entirely on steam and magic. It chug-chugged as it vented smoke, and the smoke lined up neatly and drifted away into the distance.
"My aunt Tayra's teacher helped build the Hogwarts Express. And by her generation, she's still researching the balance between steam and magic…"
The young witch explained excitedly.
"Look behind…"
Following her gaze, Sean saw, beyond it, a sprawling complex of huge structures scattered through London's hidden corners.
~~~
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