The International Confederation of Wizards was founded in France by Pierre Bonaccord as a global magical organization to promote cooperation across the wizarding world. It's basically the United Nations of magic.
It doesn't get much attention, though. Most young witches and wizards never really interact with it. Along with the Wizengamot, it's one of those high-level groups kids vaguely know exists but don't know much about.
Now, this mysterious organization had come knocking.
They met in a special room inside the castle. The door literally read "Special Meeting Hall."
As they stepped inside, Sean suddenly realized something and whispered, super quietly:
"Professor Tela, I don't think I saw any—"
"Silly boy," Professor Tela cut in, still beaming. She kept her tone light and playful:
"No silly Ministry of Magic reps? Or no nosy Confederation officials?
"If you're worried the International Alchemical Conference might be labeled an illegal gathering, you might as well worry that we consider the Ministry illegal. Did I ever tell you Vinda once went to war with the African Magical Union—and won?"
Sean's jaw dropped. Professor Tela shook her head. Her student had the potential to flip the entire magical world upside down, yet he didn't have an ounce of ambition in that direction.
But on a higher, nobler level—he was wildly ambitious.
That made her prouder than ever.
As they talked, they entered the room.
Sean followed the two professors, taking in the space.
It was a small, cozy room on the west side of the castle—cramped but warm.
Towering bookshelves stretched to the ceiling, overflowing with books that spilled across the floor in living stacks. In the center, an ancient stone fireplace crackled cheerfully, the dancing flames lighting up the worn rug in front of it.
The only window was a narrow arch set deep in the thick stone wall. Outside, the castle was lashed by wind and rain. Every now and then a gust rattled the old panes, but inside it stayed peaceful and safe.
Three sharply dressed wizards had clearly been waiting a while—and they looked a little confused.
"Master Tela," said the one in the middle, wearing crisp black robes. "Allow me to ask—have the young geniuses of this generation really not filed a single patent?"
Professor Tela's smile grew even brighter.
"Just wait, August. Maybe they're the ones waiting—"
The wizard called August's eyes sharpened instantly. His intense gaze swept the room, lingered on Professor McGonagall for a second, then locked onto Sean behind the professors.
"Too young—so young for a Gold Award. Truly a prodigy—"
He strode over and thrust out his hand. "Lyle August, Vice President of the International Confederation of Wizards and current Head of the Department of Magical Education. My deepest thanks for your contributions to the wizarding world."
Sean's hand was shaken so hard he felt it in his bones. This guy was enthusiastic.
"Mr. August, isn't that a bit… improper?" the younger witch beside him frowned. She was from the Auror Office and clearly didn't get his excitement.
Ten minutes later:
"Mr. Green, please consider—five hundred Galleons each!" She leaned in urgently. What had she heard?
Catnip charms that detect good and evil and auto-track. Invisibility-granting Treeguard figurines. That blasted dragon. And the endless future products no one could even imagine—
After today, offers would flood this alchemist from every corner. Especially from those ancient, half-dead alchemists. What price wouldn't they pay?
Lyle August gave his dear Deputy Head Auror a strange look. He totally got where she was coming from.
As a frontline Auror, she knew better than anyone how priceless silent detection and perfect stealth could be.
If these ever hit the market, no Auror would turn down three months' salary for a lifeline.
"My dear Ollie Mitchell, you're being rude."
August stopped her. In alchemy circles, going over a teacher's head to their student was incredibly bad manners.
This was the most protective corner of the magical world. Threaten an old alchemist's protégé? They'd fight you with one foot in the grave.
And give them time? You had no idea what kind of alchemical monstrosity you'd be facing.
"Sorry," Ollie muttered, head dipped, eyes still burning with frustration.
Rain hammered the windows. Not long after, Sean followed the professors out.
In the end, August only secured a vague promise: when the Auror Office wanted to request Fairy Tale Biscuit quotas, they'd get a chance to ask—once every six months.
Only then did Sean realize what kind of storm those biscuits were about to unleash in the wizarding world.
"Noticed yet?" Professor Tela asked, watching his expression shift with a subtle smile.
"Rumors are the one thing wizards can't control. Fame brings endless trouble. My student, it's time you found yourself a spokesperson."
After politely declining her offer, Sean settled into a plush chair in a cozy little cottage.
Once the banquet ended, the hidden conference rooms vanished, replaced by private spaces dripping with alchemist flair.
Like the seats under the Undetectable Extension Charm, every inch here was deceptively huge.
It looked like a simple cottage, but it came with a garden, a swimming pool, and a massive alchemy lab stocked with materials and tools.
Sean nibbled on dessert while flipping through Professor Dumbledore's notes, looking pretty content.
He hadn't had real food in ages.
"Spokesperson…"
As rain streaked down the window, Sean felt something. He pulled a button from his bag—it was glowing faintly warm.
This was the special button he shared with Justin, enchanted with a Summoning Charm that only responded to soil, thestral tail hair, and wood.
Such specific triggers meant it could sense each other's call even from miles away.
Sean's deep green eyes turned to the storm outside.
Hogwarts. Tonight. While he was gone. While Headmaster Dumbledore was gone.
What had happened?