Chapter 370: In the Fairytale Workshop

“Hermione.”

Wizard Sean smiled faintly in greeting, his expression not much different from the man beside him.

“Aren’t you at Ilvermorny? Goodness!”

Hermione ran over, with Neville panting behind her.

“This is… Master Scamander… When did you return? How are you with Master Scamander? What’s your relationship? Goodness, has there ever been a time you left without causing a major commotion?”

Hermione fired off questions like a machine gun.

Neville also curiously stretched his neck.

Hermione’s words made Wizard Sean pause to reflect—he realized they had broken at least a hundred Ministry laws this time.

Unauthorized use of the Extension Charm, using a dragon to pull a carriage, crossing borders at will…

“I’m learning the Extension Charm from Mr. Scamander.”

Wizard Sean tapped the Wizard’s Book, replying.

Instantly, the Wizard’s Book unfolded in Cengcengdiedie layers, revealing a wooden door, inside which lay a spacious wooden cabin, a warm fireplace, and beyond the bright window, snow-covered hills and forests.

“What?!”

Hermione gasped in shock.

When a gray-skinned, three-foot-tall, goblin-like creature bowed to her inside, she felt her vision darken and nearly fainted.

“What law have you not broken?”

After she spoke, Mr. Scamander couldn’t help but smile lightly.

Thesius used to ask him the same thing back then.

“You brought back a goblin! That’s absolutely forbidden in Britain!”

Hermione was frantic.

“Goblins are fine… Puck doesn’t count as a magical creature—he’s a ‘person.’ As long as he’s approved for entry, he can go to any country legally.”

Newt explained softly.

“But—but…”

His words made Hermione, who revered the Master of Magical Creatures, hesitate to argue—but after a few seconds, she stubbornly asked:

“A goblin is a person?”

Clearly, after over a year at Hogwarts, Hermione had read many books, but such obscure knowledge about the distinction between person and creature had slipped past her.

“Hah… There are many stories behind that. Come with me—Fairytale Workshop is closing.”

Newt’s smile spread from his lips to his whole face.

“Fairytale Workshop…”

Hermione repeated it in astonishment.

“Oh, I should’ve guessed.”

Hermione of course knew about the magical cookies that could transform into magical creatures—how irresistible they must be to a Master of Magical Creatures who had studied them his entire life.

They walked along the cobblestone path; Hermione lifted her face, glancing at Master Scamander, then whispered to Wizard Sean:

“You always keep secrets from us. If you’re willing to explain, I want to know—how did you find Mr. Scamander?”

Hermione walked beside Wizard Sean, noticing that Mr. Scamander held a special gilded parchment and kept casting a particular look toward Wizard Sean.

Unfortunately, young wizards often failed to notice such things.

“Mr. Scamander is an honorary professor at Ilvermorny.”

Wizard Sean replied.

“That’s surprising. Then… do you have some special relationship with Mr. Scamander?”

Hermione seemed to have held it in for a while, but couldn’t help asking.

If Wizard Sean’s identity hadn’t been exposed, she wouldn’t have believed Mr. Scamander would teach the Extension Charm to just anyone.

“….”

That question left Wizard Sean silent. All along, Mr. Scamander had devoted himself to teaching him—even taking extra classes at Ilvermorny and staying a few extra days.

Wizard Sean knew it had nothing to do with the Fairytale Cookies.

Then… who else would Mr. Scamander show such loyalty to?

Hard to guess.

Wizard Sean’s gaze drifted toward distant Hogwarts, where in the headmaster’s office, an old wizard with white hair gazed wisely out the window.

“I think young Green is the most gifted young wizard I’ve ever taught.”

Newt seemed to have overheard their conversation and explained.

Of course, also a young wizard remarkably like him—someone who treated magical creatures as companions.

Before Hermione could react again, they had reached the door of the Fairytale Workshop.

Today was, of course, a business day, but they had arrived too late—the shop was nearly empty.

But the advantage of the Fairytale Workshop’s invitation-only system was this: each cookie had a number, assigned to specific buyers. For example, if ten cookies were sold to five wizards—two each—those five would definitely get theirs.

Inside the shop stood a large Christmas tree, adorned with glittering icicles, glowing with dozens of candles, and at the very top, a few luminous letters:

X.G.

Meanwhile, voices drifted from within the shop:

“Of all the shops in Diagon Alley, this one has the best magical items—but they only sell two cookies—Dragonfire Cookies and Owl Cookies—this is simply heartbreaking.”

A wizard in a tall hat sighed.

“That’s because your share ran out—idiot.”

The witch beside him said bluntly.

“Lisa—you always break my heart.”

The tall-hat wizard feigned heartbreak.

The witch ignored him and vanished with a pop.

Such scenes always happened in the shop, but the acting manager always wore a stern face—no one had ever seen him smile.

“Respected Mr. Green—”

At that moment, Quirrell spotted Wizard Sean and exclaimed in delight, appearing before him with a pop.

His eyes seemed to see no one else—until Wizard Sean stepped inside, then he lowered his gaze to the two behind him:

“Mr. Scamander, please know that my master has issued you a new invitation—you may purchase Fairytale Cookies without limit.”

He turned to Hermione.

“Miss Granger, we meet again. You may enter. But aside from Mr. Scamander, today’s quota has been sold out—you’ll have to come earlier next time.”

For Hermione, who had once fought Voldemort, he made a rare joke.

“Next time, I can come?!”

Hermione was delighted.

“Of course, why not?”

Over a year of hiding had nearly made Quirrell forget—he too had once been a brilliant, witty wizard.

“Thank you, Professor.”

Hermione hurried inside with quick steps.

That title made Quirrell pause—he watched Hermione, then smiled softly.

At the door, Newt, who seemed to know something of the truth, had unusually bright pupils.

“Dragonfire—does it come from Norbert?”

“Tree-keeper—does it come from the Tree-keeper on your person?”

“Hippogriff—I once saw you riding one…”

“Well, I should’ve come sooner—everything here is so fascinating—there are even cookies shaped like cats with whiskers, owls with wings, and dragons with claws—”

Hermione wandered beneath the Christmas tree, her voice rising with the crackling of the fireplace.