Chapter 455: Marcus's Invitation
By the time they left the Emerald Workshop, the sky had turned dim and sullen.
Sean had finalized the last details of the Magic Hand Mirrors with Mr. Mall and Sua. The standard two-person communication version was the most common, while the three-person and four-person versions were priced exorbitantly high.
Mr. Mall had explained it this way: "Respected Mr. Hermes, this is necessary. Without such a high price point, how could one truly reflect the exclusivity of the multi-way mirrors? Besides, these are handcrafted by you, Merlin's beard... You have absolutely no need to worry. I'll stake my reputation on it: in three days, all thirty of the multi-way units will be sold out."
Mr. Mall droned on about "celebrity endorsement" and "scarcity value" before throwing himself into refining the product designs with frantic energy.
"The Slimline Version must be half the weight of the standard model—five centimeters! It's too thick, it's like a brick! Do you use bricks to communicate? Get a grip, my dear Lawrence, stop churning out trash—do you expect our prestigious clients to carry iron blocks? It weighs a whole kilogram! And the engraving on the back? Didn't I emphasize that already?"
Mr. Mall rolled up his sleeves and dived straight onto the production line. He seemed intimately familiar with the alchemical apprentices at the Emerald Workshop, directing them with effortless precision. Sean and Professor Terra watched in silence as he expanded the variety of the mirrors to a staggering degree.
Magic proved far more wondrous than Sean had imagined. In a single afternoon, they overhauled the exterior designs of the mirrors they had previously manufactured. Sean now held a prototype in the shape of a Kneazle. It featured a Kneazle-print back and two soft, fuzzy ears perched on top. By Sean's estimation, it was much like a smartphone case.
It wasn't just Kneazles. Mr. Mall had designed a Niffler edition for the young witches, complete with a tiny plush pouch for trinkets; a Fwooper edition that opened its mirror face when you squeezed its chubby belly; and a Unicorn edition, crafted with iridescent powder and pure white materials, featuring a glowing, soft-horn decoration...
For the wizards, there were Dragon editions that remained perpetually warm and heated up if someone other than the owner touched them; Pegasus editions that could float in mid-air; and Phoenix editions with ornate, regal feather reliefs. Naturally, Mall hadn't forgotten simple versions, as well as more eccentric designs like the Swooping Evil, the Dementor, and the Golden Snitch.
Sua stood by his side, recording every detail in breathless awe. Once the massive overhaul of aesthetics and thickness was complete, Mr. Mall set his sights on the display capabilities.
"Respected Mr. Hermes, beyond displaying the wizard, could it potentially display the environment as well? If we incorporated some film, could it record the surroundings?" Mall asked tentatively.
"Yes," Sean thought. Isn't that just a camera function?
"By Merlin... we are going to make a fortune this time!" Mall whispered, before diving back into the production line. The apprentices, who had been working without a break, watched him return with expressions of pure dread.
"New feature addition—we must finish the entire modification by tomorrow!" Mall announced.
Dozens of wizards stood in dead silence.
"Mr. Mall, with all due respect, that is simply impossible!" one wizard protested.
"Double the wages!" Mall waved a hand dismissively.
"B-but, modifying three hundred mirrors in less than a day? We'd have to work without sleep just to have a chance—" the wizard in the grey-black robe muttered weakly.
"Double the bonuses!" Mall continued.
"I have no complaints! Mr. Mall!" The wizard's eyes lit up with sudden fervor. Alchemists—even apprentices—were well-paid, and now their wages were being doubled.
Sean knew money was powerful, but he hadn't realized its reach was this absolute. By the time they stepped out of the Emerald Workshop, he held prototypes of every single modified version in his hands.
"Time is short; forgive me for not seeing you off properly—you can use this pair of mirrors to contact me—Merlin, how is this thing so good? It's ten times better than owls or fireplaces—" After ushering Sean and Professor Terra out, Mr. Mall vanished back into the production line, beaming and muttering about his impending fortune.
In the twilight-drenched workshop, the evening breeze brushed against the clouds. Under the sunset, the young wizard and the old were tinged with a warm, orange glow.
"Mall is a decent merchant. He has all the cunning of a businessman, but at the same time, he possesses a conscience. That is rare," Professor Terra said as they headed toward the fireplace.
The second day of the Easter holiday.
Sean was still busy in the dungeons; it seemed his unauthorized departure with Professor Terra a few days prior had deeply irritated Professor Snape. Snape hadn't even returned to his office that day, keeping his face cold and fixed near the cauldron until the swirling steam obscured his features. Sean brewed his potions, thinking he probably wouldn't make it to Diagon Alley for the sale today. He didn't find it a pity, turning his thoughts instead to the Polyjuice Potion he was brewing and how to break the curse on the Resurrection Stone.
Green bubbles rose and burst in the cauldron; outside, the flames flared and ebbed. It wasn't until the Polyjuice Potion was finished that Snape impatiently shoved an owl holding a letter toward him.
Sean took the letter from Snowy's talons and tucked her into the Wizard's Tome—though she chirped indignantly and tried to peck at Snape's robes.
[My dear Sean: I hear a fine new shop has opened in Diagon Alley. Would you have time to take an old man out for a stroll? With love, Grandpa Marcus.]
Sean looked up, only to be met with a cold, unyielding scoff from Professor Snape. He knew Grandpa Marcus's hopes were dashed. Just as he prepared to write a reply, a knock came at the door. Minutes later, Professor McGonagall ushered the young wizard out of the dungeons.
"Olivia told me the Magic Hand Mirrors have gone on sale," McGonagall said gently. "You should be there."
And so, Sean met up with Grandpa Marcus at the Leaky Cauldron.
The pub was dark and dingy. A few old crones sat in the corner, sipping sherry from tiny glasses, one of them puffing on a long pipe. A small man in a top hat was chatting with the landlord, who looked like a wizened walnut. Marcus stood before the landlord, setting down a butterbeer, his voice brimming with uncontrollable joy:
"Come over, come over! Let me get a good look at the lovely child of my McGonagall family."
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