Chapter 60 60: Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes
Their first stop was the Ministry. Tonks led him through the visitor's entrance—a dilapidated red telephone box tucked into a grimy London side street.
"Still haven't fixed the dial, I see," Ethan muttered, punching in the code. As the box began to sink into the ground, he felt the familiar stomach-flip of magical displacement.
When the floor opened up, the sheer scale of the Atrium hit him. The golden fountain, the dark, polished wood paneling, and the hundreds of interdepartmental memos flying overhead like paper pigeons were far more chaotic than any film could capture. The ceiling was a shimmering blue, inlaid with golden symbols that moved according to some celestial clockwork.
The "Fountain of Magical Brethren" was still in pieces from Voldemort's earlier "visit" during the battle between the Dark Lord and Dumbledore. Workers were currently levitating the massive statues of the wizard, witch, centaur, goblin, and house-elf back into place.
A violet memo zoomed past Ethan's ear. With the casual grace of a Kamar-Taj master, he swiped it out of the air between two fingers without even looking. A passing clerk dropped a stack of files in shock.
The hideous "Magic is Might" statue—a monument to pure-blood supremacy—had been smashed to rubble. In its place hung a temporary, shimmering banner celebrating the victory at Hogwarts.
"It's smaller on screen," Ethan whispered, looking up at the towering tiers of offices that seemed to stretch into a subterranean infinity.
"What screen?" Tonks asked, leaning her head on his shoulder. Her hair was currently a professional, sleek bob in a deep auburn shade—her 'official Auror' look.
"Nothing, Pinky. Just a figure of speech. My world has... very detailed imagination."
*****
From the Ministry, they Apparated directly to the brick wall behind the Leaky Cauldron. Ethan didn't even wait for Tonks to tap the bricks; he simply waved a hand, the golden rings of his Eldritch magic causing the bricks to fold inward with a mechanical whir.
"You really love showing off, don't you?" Tonks teased, stepping through the archway.
"It's a gift," Ethan replied, but his voice trailed off as he took in the Alley.
It was bustling. The victory had brought every wizard and witch out of hiding, turning the cobblestone street into a riot of color and sound. The air smelled of roasting chestnuts, expensive parchment, and owl droppings. They passed Ollivanders, which looked like it hadn't seen a broom in three centuries, and headed straight for Flourish and Blotts.
Ethan spent over an hour there, much to Tonks's mounting annoyance. He moved through the aisles like a predator, hoarding rare scrolls, ancient history books, and advanced Transfiguration texts. He needed to understand how this world's "stick-and-word" magic functioned compared to his own spatial manipulation.
"You're like a kid in a candy store," Tonks said, finally dragging him toward the street. "Come on, I want to show you something that isn't made of dust and ink."
*****
They stopped in front of a shop that stood out like a firework in a funeral parlor: Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The windows were packed with objects that popped, whirled, and shrieked.
"That's the one," Tonks explained. "Opened by two very troublesome guys. They're basically legends already."
"Yeah, I met them at Hogwarts," Ethan smiled. "They've got the right kind of chaos."
Ethan walked inside, the bell chiming over the sound of a miniature explosion in the back. Fred and George appeared almost instantly, their faces lighting up as they recognized the man who had turned the tide of the war.
"The Hero of Hogwarts!" Fred shouted.
"The Master of the Mystic Arts!" George added. "Come to buy some Skiving Snackboxes? Or perhaps some Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder for those... private moments?" He winked at Tonks, who turned a bright shade of magenta.
Ethan laughed, looking at the shelves. "I was thinking of something to prank a friend back home. A guy named Wong. He's a bit... serious. Needs a little spice in his life."
He browsed the inventory, genuinely impressed by the ingenuity. These weren't just toys; they were clever bits of portable magic. He selected a crate's worth of Decoy Detonators, U-No-Poo pellets, and Extendable Ears.
As he neared the counter, Fred waved his hands dismissively. "Put your gold away, Mr. Ethan. You saved our brother, you saved the school... you're not paying for a single dungbomb."
Ethan looked at the twins. He knew they were barely keeping their heads above water after the war, their family still recovering from the financial strain of the resistance. It was hard to imagine the original timeline—where Fred died and George was left a shadow of himself. Here, they were whole, and Ethan intended to keep it that way.
"I can't take these for free," Ethan said, a smirk playing on his lips. "It's bad for business. But if you won't take my payment... how about an investment?"
"Investment?" the twins asked in unison.
"I'm quite impressed by your talent," Ethan said. "And I don't want financial problems holding back such... mischievous genius."
He reached into his dimensional pocket. Instead of a few coins, his hand came out overflowing with heavy, glittering gold Galleons. He dumped them onto the counter with a loud, metallic clank. There were at least fifty coins.
The twins' eyes widened, but before they could speak, Ethan reached in again. One handful. Two. Three.
Even Tonks gulped. The pile was growing into a small mountain of gold. By the time Ethan stopped, there were over a thousand Galleons gleaming on the counter—more than enough to buy the shop three times over.
"This is..." George started, his voice cracking. "...too much," Fred finished, looking genuinely stunned. "It's enough to buy our whole shop fifty times over, Ethan."
"I don't want to buy the shop," Ethan chuckled, patting the pile. "As I said, it's an investment. Let's settle for a thirty-three percent stake... but not for me. I want it for my good friend Tonks here."
"Thirty-three percent?" Tonks squeaked, her hair flickering from auburn to a stunned, snowy white. "Ethan, I can't—I'm an Auror! I don't know the first thing about running a joke shop!"
"You don't have to run it, Pinky," Ethan said, leaning against the counter. "You're the silent partner. The 'security consultant.' Every business needs someone who can look like a different person every ten minutes. Think of the marketing."
"That's too little!" Fred argued, looking at the gold. "You should have ninety percent of the business for this much!"
"Hey," Ethan said, his voice softening but firm. "Why are you considering yourselves so cheap? The value isn't in the bricks or the products. It's in the two of you. I'm investing in your minds, not just a storefront."
The twins were speechless, their usual wit failing them. For the first time in their lives, someone had treated their "nonsense" as a legitimate, high-value talent. They looked like they were on the verge of either crying or hugging him.
Ethan chuckled, patting the pile. To them, it was a fortune. To Ethan, it was a small fraction of what he had "strategically reallocated" from Bellatrix Lestrange's vault. It felt good to spend a mass-murderer's inheritance on something as joyful as a joke shop.
"Think of it as a grant for the advancement of magical chaos," Ethan said, leaning back. "Keep the change. I expect to see some very creative new products next time I drop by."
Author's Note:
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