Chapter 370: At the Fairy Tale Workshop
"Hermione."
Sean offered a small, calm greeting. His expression was a perfect mirror of the quiet man standing beside him.
"You went to Ilvermorny! I mean—good heavens!"
Hermione came sprinting over, followed by a panting Neville.
"Is that... Master Scamander? When did you get back? Why are you with Master Scamander? What is the connection between you two? Honestly, Sean, is there ever a time you go out without causing a massive stir?"
Hermione's questions hit him like rapid-fire spells from a wand. Neville, meanwhile, stood behind her, craning his neck with wide-eyed curiosity.
Sean thought back on the journey. He realized that, technically, they had probably broken at least a hundred Ministry laws during the trip. Illegal use of Undetectable Extension charms, operating a dragon-drawn vehicle, unauthorized cross-border travel...
"I've been studying spatial magic with Mr. Scamander," Sean replied, tapping the cover of the Wizard's Tome.
In response, the book unfolded itself in a series of intricate, clicking layers, revealing a shimmering wooden portal. Through the gap, they could see the spacious interior of the log cabin, the warm glow of the hearth, and the snow-covered hills and forests of the pocket dimension.
"What?!"
Hermione let out a strangled shriek. When a three-foot-tall, grey-skinned, goblin-like creature stepped into the doorway and offered her a formal bow, she looked as though she might actually faint.
"Is there any regulation you haven't violated today?" she managed to gasp.
Newt Scamander couldn't help but let out a soft, amused chuckle. He remembered his brother, Theseus, asking him that exact same question many years ago.
"You brought back a goblin! That is strictly prohibited without a Ministry permit!" Hermione cried, looking panicked.
"Actually, he isn't a goblin," Newt explained gently. "A Pukwudgie is classified as a 'Being,' not a 'Beast.' As a person, provided his immigration paperwork is processed, he is free to travel to any country he wishes."
"But... but..."
Hermione, who held Master Scamander in the highest regard, felt it was improper to argue. However, after a few seconds of internal struggle, her stubbornness won out. "A Pukwudgie is a 'Being'?"
Clearly, despite a year of intense study at Hogwarts, Hermione hadn't quite reached the more obscure chapters on the legal classification of magical humanoid species.
"Heh... there are many stories behind that classification. Why don't you come with us? The Fairy Tale Workshop is about to close for the day," Newt said, a warm smile spreading across his face.
"The Workshop..." Hermione repeated, her eyes widening.
"Oh, I should have guessed."
Hermione understood perfectly why a man who had spent his life studying magical creatures would be drawn to biscuits that allowed a wizard to experience their forms firsthand.
As they walked along the cobbled path of Diagon Alley, Hermione stole glances at Master Scamander, who was clutching a gilded parchment and looking at Sean with a very specific, fatherly pride. She leaned in and whispered to Sean.
"You're always keeping secrets. If you're willing to explain... how on earth did you track down Mr. Scamander?"
She noticed that Newt seemed to treat Sean with an unusual amount of deference. She didn't believe for a second that a world-renowned master would teach spatial charms to just any student who asked.
"Mr. Scamander is an Honorary Professor at Ilvermorny," Sean answered.
"That is... unexpected. But what is your real relationship with him?" Hermione pressed. She was convinced that if Sean's identity as "Hermes" hadn't been a factor, Newt wouldn't be here.
Sean went silent. He thought about it. Throughout the trip, Master Newt had gone above and beyond to mentor him, even extending his stay at Ilvermorny to provide extra lessons. Sean knew it wasn't just about the biscuits.
To whom would Master Newt be so loyal? he wondered. It was a difficult puzzle. His mind drifted back to Hogwarts, to the Headmaster's office where an old, silver-haired wizard was likely watching the sunset.
"I believe young Sean is the most gifted student I have ever had the privilege to teach," Newt said, having overheard the whispering. He offered the explanation with a shy smile.
Of course, Sean was also a kindred spirit—an "interesting" young wizard who treated magical beasts as partners rather than subjects.
Before Hermione could ask anything else, they arrived at the storefront of the Fairy Tale Workshop.
It was an opening day, but since they had arrived late, the crowd had mostly thinned out. The beauty of the invitation system was its efficiency: every biscuit was numbered and reserved. If ten biscuits were allocated to five wizards, those five were guaranteed their share regardless of when they arrived.
Inside the shop stood a massive Christmas tree decorated with shimmering icicles and dozens of flickering candles. At the very top, several glowing, silver letters hovered in the air: S.G.
The muffled sounds of conversation drifted from the back of the shop.
"This shop has the best magical items in the Alley," a wizard in a high silk hat sighed. "It's a shame they only allow two biscuits per customer—a dragon and an owl—it's positively heart-wrenching."
"Merlin's beard, it's heart-wrenching because you've already used up your quota, you dunderhead," the witch beside him snapped.
"Lisa—you're wounding my soul," the wizard replied with a dramatic hand over his heart.
The witch ignored him, vanishing with a sharp crack of Apparition.
Such scenes were common in the shop, but the Proxy Manager was known for his perpetual gravity; rumor had it that no customer had ever seen him crack a smile.
"Honored Mr. Green—"
Professor Quirrell had spotted Sean. He let out a low cry of delight and Apparated directly in front of them. His eyes seemed to hold no one but Sean until the boy had stepped fully into the shop. Only then did Quirrell lower his gaze to the other two.
"Master Scamander, please be aware that my Master has issued a new standing invitation for you. You are permitted to purchase our biscuits without limit."
He then turned to Hermione.
"Miss Granger, we meet again. You may enter. However, aside from the Professor's reserved stock, today's inventory is sold out. You'll have to be earlier next time."
Quirrell offered a rare, slight smile to the girl who had once stood against Voldemort.
"I... I can come back next time?!" Hermione gasped, looking thrilled.
"Of course. Why not?"
Over a year of quiet labor had softened Quirrell. He was beginning to remember the man he had been before the darkness—a brilliant, witty wizard.
"Thank you, Professor!" Hermione chirped, scurrying inside.
The title made Quirrell pause. He watched her go, a small, genuine laugh escaping his lips.
Outside the door, Newt's eyes looked particularly bright. He followed them in, his gaze sweeping over the displays.
"The dragon biscuits... sourced from Norbert? The Bowtruckle... from the one on your shoulder? The Hippogriff... I saw you riding one once..."
Hermione was darting around the tree, her voice rising over the crackle of the hearth. "I should have come sooner! This is extraordinary—there's even a biscuit that gives you cat whiskers, owl wings, and dragon claws all at once!"
[End of Chapter 370]
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