The announcement was made at 09:03.
At 09:04, the quokkas fainted.
At 09:05, the gerbils declared a state of festive emergency.
By 09:07, Granite had produced a fourteen-page event management plan entitled Operation Butterbeer. By 09:08, Gadget had ignored it completely and was attempting to construct a functioning Hogwarts Express from three wheelbarrows, a vacuum cleaner and what appeared to be part of a tumble dryer.
The Bluestocking was transformed overnight.
The front door became the entrance to Hogsmead. The café counter became Honeydukes. The bookshop became Flourish and Blotts. The stationery cupboard became the Ministry of Magic.
“The cupboard is full of pens,” said Granite.
“Exactly,” said Gadget. “Government.”
By morning the entire village was covered in handmade signs.
- Platform 9¾ This Way.
- No Actual Dragons Beyond This Point.
- Please Do Not Attempt To Enchant The Quokkas.
The last sign existed because somebody had already attempted to enchant the quokkas. The quokkas had responded by falling asleep.
The day of the visit arrived.
Hundreds of gerbils lined the street in tiny robes. Some carried wands fashioned from twigs. Some carried copies of Harry Potter larger than themselves. Gadget had somehow acquired an owl.
“Is that a real owl?” asked Granite.
“No,” said Gadget.
The owl blinked.
“Then why did it blink?”
Gadget stared. The owl stared. Neither offered an explanation.
At noon a murmur spread through the crowd.
“She’s here.”
“She’s here.”
“She’s actually here.”
J.K. Rowling stepped through the gates of the Bluestocking and found herself facing what appeared to be an entire wizarding village populated exclusively by rodents. The cheering could probably be heard in Scotland.
Gladys immediately burst into tears.
Grace burst into tears because Gladys had burst into tears.
Gemini burst into tears because everybody else seemed to be enjoying themselves.
The quokkas, meanwhile, waddled forward in an official welcoming party. They had rehearsed. This had not helped. Queenie forgot her speech after three words and instead offered Rowling a daisy.
The crowd applauded wildly.
Rowling accepted the daisy.
The crowd applauded even more wildly.
Several gerbils had to sit down.
The tour began.
She visited Honeydukes, where every sweet had been replaced with strawberries because nobody trusted gerbils with sugar.
She visited Ollivander’s, where the wandmaker proudly demonstrated that every wand sold in the Bluestocking was made from ethically sourced sticks found behind the bins.
She visited the Three Broomsticks, where the famous Butterbeer turned out to be warm apple juice with an ambitious marketing strategy.
Everywhere she went, gerbils followed at a respectful distance while pretending not to follow.
Granite spent the entire afternoon ensuring nobody accidentally challenged a quokka to a duel.
Gadget spent the entire afternoon trying to convince Rowling that the Hogwarts Express could be improved by adding rocket boosters.
Then came the moment everyone had been waiting for. The quokkas gathered in the square. The gerbils gathered behind them. The booksellers emerged from the Bluestocking carrying a small plaque. Queenie cleared her throat. “On behalf of the Bluestocking,” she said, “and all creatures who grew up believing that books could contain entire worlds…”
The square became very quiet.
“…thank you.”
For once, nobody cheered. Nobody interrupted. Nobody exploded a novelty wizard cracker. Even Gadget stood still.
It was one of those rare moments when everybody understood the same thing.
Stories matter.
They create places that never existed and somehow become real anyway.
And looking around the Bluestocking that day—with its wizard signs, enchanted-looking quokkas, emotional gerbils and entirely unnecessary owl—it was difficult to argue.
After a few seconds Queenie added, “Also, if you happen to know how to get a vacuum cleaner out of a locomotive, Gadget would appreciate some advice.”
The silence broke. The laughter started.
And Hogsmead-on-Sea, population: several hundred gerbils and some very pleased quokkas, carried on celebrating long into the evening.
https://myrtlelion.substack.com/p/excitement