Chapter 251: Fairy Tale Cookie Committee (3k)

As July approached, the days grew bright and cloudless, scorching hot, making one Zhixiangdaishangjipintuobingzhennanguazhiliudadaoduijiaoxiangqu 。 Yexuhaikeyilaishangyifenfupenziqiaokelibingqilin ， Fuluolinlengyindiandebingqilinzongshimeiwei 。

It was on just such an ordinary yet extraordinary day at the end of June that a shop, never advertised, opened its doors.

The shopkeeper was a handsome but visibly anxious wizard; if any Hogwarts students had been present, they would have recognized him as Professor Quirrell, who had successfully defended against dark wizards.

Rumors spread that he had been injured by a dark wizard and cursed, never to return to Hogwarts as a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

This made some students who had mocked Professor Quirrell blush, and during the end-of-year feast, they clapped for him louder than anyone else.

Morning.

Diagon Alley remained shrouded in a thin mist; the Joke Shop still had a long queue, but no wizards stood before the Fairy Tale Emporium.

In just a few minutes, it would be eight o’clock—the opening time.

At this rate, Quirrell even doubted whether he could sell all fifty pieces.

Even so, their prices remained exorbitant, the cheapest costing several hundred gold Galleons.

It seemed he hadn’t considered whether anyone would buy them at all.

Professor Quirrell understood these might be powerful alchemical creations, but he simply couldn’t fathom why cookies could hold such value.

It was like the first mobile phone—no one knew how valuable that little black box could be.

While no wizards queued outside the Fairy Tale Emporium, applications from alchemists worldwide had flooded the Ministry of Magic’s entry offices.

Some alchemists even declared outright:

“Whether the Ministry approves or not, we will arrive in Diagon Alley at eight this morning.”

…

The entrance to the Fairy Tale Emporium was filled in an instant; wizards of every description arrived the very next second after eight.

Quirrell had never seen such a scene—these wizards seemed to materialize out of thin air.

He didn’t even know which countries they came from: some wore silk robes, sharp and efficient; others donned feathered headpieces and expensive leather garments; some were outright black panthers, swiftly securing front positions.

Yet without exception, they all recognized Professor Taila, who stood in charge.

“Master Taila…”

“So glad to see you, Master Professor Tela—the weather is splendid, isn’t it…”

“You’ve truly stumbled upon a treasure, Taila.”

After greeting one another, their gazes turned eagerly to the display window.

“To seize the magical authority of magical creatures—this alchemical art is like a miracle. Let me see—”

The Latina witch snapped her fingers, and a series of fairy tale cookies floated into her hands.

“Wagadu’s human transfiguration has reached its limit—but the vast Wizarding World always holds something waiting. Ten pieces each!”

No sooner had she spoken than the surrounding wizards glared at her:

“Do you think alchemists here can’t afford the price? I advise you to calm down, young lady—if you hadn’t missed the notice on the entrance plank, you’d know each person is limited to two pieces.”

Said a wizard draped in a black robe.

The crowd cast her a cold glance, then began selecting two suitable cookies from the four varieties.

For most wizards present, the research value of these cookies far outweighed their practical use, so their choices had to be made with utmost care.

Professor Quirrell’s mind was still reeling from the events when a group of wizards in Ministry of Magic uniforms entered.

They were from the British Ministry of Magic’s Department of Magical Law Enforcement, whose subordinate offices included the Auror Office, the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects, the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Abusive Magic, and the Wizengamot Administration.

It was the largest department in the British Ministry of Magic.

Now, they arrived with eager, anxious expressions—the Ministry had gone to great lengths to block entry applications from foreign magical governments, meaning those present were almost exclusively British wizards, enjoying a rare privilege.

Among them was Mr. Weasley, with his fiery red-gold hair—he was the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.

That very morning, he had received earth-shattering news:

The wizard hailed as the most gifted in alchemy in six hundred years, winner of the groundbreaking Golden Medal at the Udal International Alchemy Assembly, would open his alchemical workshop in Diagon Alley.

Every department in the Ministry scrambled to send a representative; ultimately, the British Department of Magical Law Enforcement secured the right—as previously stated, it was the largest department.

“Three thousand Galleons?!”

Mr. Weasley was stunned the moment he stepped inside.

That was nearly two or three years’ salary.

He grimaced—Ministry funding was insufficient; the cheaper categories had already sold out, and his remaining funds couldn’t possibly fulfill the Ministry’s orders.

Across the shop.

The alchemists spent lavishly.

“I’ll pay triple the price for one more.”

A wizard from Wagadu approached Quirrell, still dazed—ten minutes into opening, half the cookies were gone.

“Rules are rules.”

Quirrell snapped back to awareness and firmly refused.

“The shop restocks once a month, on the seventh, Miss.”

It was also written on the notice board at the entrance.

“….”

The Wagadu wizard fell silent for a moment, then sighed helplessly upon seeing the presence of Wagadu’s strongest alchemist, Taila.

“Damn Taila—won’t sell even one extra piece…”

She muttered.

Inside the Fairy Tale Emporium, chaos reigned—no less noisy than the Joke Shop next door.

More importantly, the purchasing power of the wizards inside was truly formidable; thousands of Galleons meant little more than numbers to them.

They spent without blinking.

And each description beneath the glass cases perfectly explained why:

“Fairy Tale Cookies series: grants the ability to transform a wizard into a true magical creature—currently only the Thestral, the Bowtruckle, the Hippogriff, and the Fire Crab.”

Seeing this description, even Professor Quirrell felt his heart race.

He immediately turned his gaze toward the partition, where Green was quietly practicing magic.

He finally understood—the Prophet’s report had been utterly accurate, and his fleeting doubt had been equally so.

… He had been foolish to doubt at all.

The cookies in the Fairy Tale Emporium vanished before their eyes; Mr. Weasley broke into a sweat:

“Funds insufficient—too expensive—”

His muttering was drowned out by louder voices.

Wizards outside the shop, curious about the bizarre crowd, tried to squeeze in—but were pushed back by a swarm of reporters with cameras.

They simply tried to barge in, but Quirrell blocked the entrance.

“No reporting allowed.”

“We’re from the Daily Prophet, sir!”

The wizard at the front said.

“The Witch Weekly, sir—the witches are desperate to learn about this young master.”

A young witch’s face glowed with anticipation.

Rumor said this master was incredibly young and handsome…

“Mr. Agent, The Daily Transfiguration requests thirty minutes—no, ten minutes will do.”

The scholar-like wizard spoke last.

Yet no matter how they pleaded, Quirrell refused to let a single wizard inside.

Outside, verbal battles raged; inside, it was no better.

While other wizards begged Professor Taila for more shares, Mr. Weasley never dared ask for a lower price.

Xiang Xiang Xien had been studying Professor Dumbledore’s insights on interspecies transfiguration, but overheard Mr. Weasley’s complaint.

After grasping the situation, he stepped out of the partition.

“Mr. Weasley.”

He greeted him.

“Green—glad to see you here—are you here to study?”

Mr. Weasley set aside his urgency for now; no matter how desperate he was, the task was likely impossible.

Worst case, he’d get reprimanded—the Ministry wouldn’t fire him over this… would they?

Unconsciously, a detestable face flashed in his mind—Lucius Malfoy, always adept at turning minor matters into scandals.

“I’m here to watch, sir.”

Xiang Xiang Xien explained.

This was his alchemical workshop.

Though Professor Taila personally oversaw operations, forcing him to retreat behind the scenes to avoid wizards’ manipulative flattery, he still had to remain here, quietly observing.

“Watch?”

Mr. Weasley didn’t fully understand, but didn’t press further, instead turning his worried gaze back to the products.

“One thousand five hundred Galleons—enough for the cheapest, the Bowtruckle series at seven hundred—but even the lowest-priced Hippogriff now costs a thousand Galleons. I can’t cover it…”

Mr. Weasley muttered to himself.

He unconsciously walked toward the Bowtruckle series—long sold out before they even entered.

He could explain the reason, but the Ministry officials might not listen.

He was frozen in thought when suddenly he heard a voice:

“Sir, there seems to be more.”

“Ah, Green, how could it be...”

He smiled bitterly, then noticed something new inside the glass display case—upon closer look, it was two pieces of the Tree-Protecting Toadstool series.

With lightning speed, he grabbed the two cookies, and after cheerfully paying, he suddenly realized the Ministry of Magic had credited him with an extra hundred Jin Jin Jialong.

This delighted him immensely.

But after the excitement faded, confusion filled his mind—where had these cookies come from?

Just then, Qiluo Sect entered the shop with a middle-aged witch.

He immediately spotted Xiang Xiang Xien in the secluded corner.

Ignoring Luo En beside Xiang Xiang Xien, he spoke in a careful, respectful tone:

“Mr. Green, this is an exclusive interview by the Chocolate Frog Card Committee—they wish to collect some of your information.”

As he finished, Luo En’s mouth hung open as if he could swallow an egg.