Harry was still staring at the ledger completely frozen. His mouth was literally hanging open, his green eyes locked onto the dark leather dossier in front of him with a look of absolute, unadulterated shock.
Victor stood beside him, waving one hand in front of Harry's face with increasing desperation.
"Harry? Harry, please. It's still in the family. That's the important part. Nexus still owns it. We can just… merge the portfolios or something..."
Harry didn't answer. He didn't even blink. It looked like his brilliant analytical mind that prided itself on being the best in any room had finally broken.
Suddenly three more figures materialized in the room without a sound. Ron, Fred, and George appeared near the couches, still mid-conversation. They stopped the moment they took in scene in front of them.
Harry, standing like someone had hit him with a Body-Bind, staring at a folder in front of him.
Fred and George exchanged a look. A ripple of amusement passed between them. George nudged Ron with his elbow and leaned in to whisper something. Ron's eyebrows shot up. Then he snorted.
He turned to Victor, one eyebrow raised.
"What happened to boy wonder?" Ron asked, amused. "Did someone beat him to finding the meaning of life or something?"
Victor let out a long-suffering sigh and rubbed his temples.
"Worse," he muttered. "Someone beat him in business."
Ron blinked. Fred's eyebrows shot up.
"No way," He said, stepping closer. "Someone actually managed to pull one over on him?"
George let out a low whistle. "Someone beat this guy in business? That's actually impressive..."
Ron flopped down on the couch. "Blimey. Who managed to beat you, without you noticing?"
Harry still didn't speak.
His fingers had tightened slightly on the edge of the desk, but that was the only sign he was still conscious.
Fred sat down beside Ron, "Whoever it is, I want to shake their hand. This is historic. We should mark the date."
"Put it on the calendar," George agreed solemnly. "The day someone finally make the great Harry Potter short-circuit."
Ron was still grinning when two people walked into the living hall.
Vernon stepped inside, still discussing something with Dan and rolling his shoulders like he'd had a long day. He was halfway through loosening his tie when he registered the scene in front of him. His son standing frozen in near the table, three Weasleys chuckling and Victor looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him.
Vernon paused. "What happened to him?"
The frozen shock cracked.
Harry blinked once. Twice.
Then he spoke.
"…Dad."
His voice was quiet. Almost calm.
Vernon paused, brow furrowing slightly at the tone. "Harry? What's going on?"
Harry let out a short, disbelieving laugh that didn't sound entirely sane.
"You," he said, pointing at Vernon with the ledger still in his other hand. "You bought Rolls-Royce. And Bentley."
Vernon's steps slowed. His eyes flicked to the open dossier on the desk, then back to Harry's face. For the first time, he looked genuinely caught off guard.
"I... did," he admitted, cautious. "How did you-"
"You bought a Muggle car company," Harry continued, voice rising just enough to carry. He took one step forward, still holding the ledger like it was evidence in a trial. "A Muggle. Car. Company!?!"
Fred made a quiet choking sound behind him. George was already biting his lip to keep from laughing.
Harry ran a hand through his hair, looking at Vernon like the man had personally invented chaos.
"What the fuck, Dad? How?"
The words came out half-laugh, half-disbelief.
From the couch, Fred didn't even hesitate.
"Oi," he said, raising a hand like he was calling a foul in Quidditch. "Language. You kiss your mother with that mouth?"
Ron immediately lost it, snorting so hard he had to turn away. George didn't even try to hold back. He just leaned against the back of the couch and cackled.
Harry didn't even look at them. His eyes stayed locked on Vernon, who was now standing there with the slightly stunned expression of a man who had walked into a completely different conversation than the one he expected.
Vernon blinked slowly.
"I wasn't aware you were looking to get them yourself," he said, voice carefully neutral.
"I was, now. But then I find out that my pureblood wizard father already went and bought Rolls-Royce and Bentley. Last Winter." Harry retorted.
Vernon was quiet for a moment. Then, almost carefully, he said:
"…I liked the Silver Spur you recommended."
Harry stared at him.
"Please tell me, why on earth when I told you about Bentley in the showroom few months ago... and you bought 4... when you own the freaking company?"
He paused.
Then his voice jumped.
"FOUR!"
"Of your own cars!"
Fred finally cracked.
"Oh this is beautiful," he wheezed, wiping at his eyes. "This is actual art. I want this framed."
George was still half-dead on the couch. "I can't breathe. I actually can't breathe."
Ron grinned, "Well if you look at it this way, your father just moved his 4 cars from the big garage to the small one."
Dan sighed at the bad joke, "I wouldn't really call a 90+ car garage small, Ron..."
Harry dragged both hands down his face and let out a long, defeated breath.
"You know what? I'm not doing this anymore. Since you already bought the company, go ahead and buy Pagani too. I'll save some money on my end."
"I don't think there is a car company like that Harry... I didn't find any when I was looking into the industry", Victor started.
"Well, not right now. They are just suppliers of carbon fiber, but I heard rumors that the founder is working on something that would put even Ferrari to shame."
Dan, who had been quietly listening, suddenly straightens up.
"Harry," he says slowly, "did you just say Pagani? As in the carbon fibre people?"
Harry nods.
Dan stares at him for a second, then lets out a short, disbelieving laugh.
"Harry... they make body panels for Lamborghinis. They're not even a car company. What do you mean they're going to put Ferrari to shame?"
Harry just shrugs as he looked at Dan.
"Hey, I just heard some rumours okay... The founder's apparently building something special. And even if he isn't, we are securing a supplier of carbon fiber so I don't think it's a loss at all."
Dan keeps staring at him like Harry just told him the moon is made of cheese.
"Right," He muttered, shaking his head. "A carbon fiber supplier putting Enzo Ferrari out of business. I'll believe it when I see it rolling down Park Lane."
"Yeah, well, you will have to wait about 6 years for that. Give or take" Harry thought. He turned to others, "Well, I'll just go and get the food. Fred, George, Ron.. You are coming with me."
Fred sat up straight, his eyes widening. "Wait, are we getting Dominos again? It's about time..."
"No, not Domino's," Harry chuckled. "But something just as good. Come on."
"Say no more, mate," George said, leaping off the couch with astonishing speed for someone who had been 'unable to breathe' two minutes ago. "I'll carry the entire shop if it means I get Muggle takeout."
Ron was already on his feet, grinning broadly. "Lead the way, Boy Wonder."
Fred and George grabbed onto Harry's shoulders while Ron took his forearm. And then without a sound, the four boys vanished from the living hall.
Vernon exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he walked over toward the bar. With a lazy flick of his index finger, a crystal tumbler drifted off the shelf, followed by a heavy bottle of aged whiskey. The cork unsealed itself in midair, pouring a generous measure into the glass before floating the drink straight into Vernon's waiting hand.
Dan settled back into one of the plush armchairs, stretching his legs out with a tired sigh. "Can I get some gin, Vernon?"
"Which one?" Vernon asked, casually gesturing toward the array of spirits on the mirrored shelves.
"The one with the elderflower," Dan replied. "The one Harry got for Professor McGonagall. I find it quite delicious as well."
Vernon gave a subtle flick of his wrist. A bottle with a delicate floral seal unstoppered itself, a second tumbler filled to a precise measure, and the glass drifted smoothly across the room, settling right onto the side table next to Dan's elbow.
"Btw, Victor... Why was Harry looking into automobile industry?" Dan asked as he took a sip of his drink. "What carnage is he planning this time?"
"He ordered me to acquire a one-hundred-percent controlling stake in four specific automotive manufacturers within two weeks," Victor read off, his tone flat with residual stress. "McLaren, Lamborghini, Lotus, and Bugatti. And he handed me a base budget of one hundred million."
Dan scoffed softly, shaking his head. "One hundred million pounds? Victor, a hundred million sterling isn't going to buy you the rights to McLaren and Lamborghini simultaneously. You'll get stonewalled by the boards."
Victor walked towards the bar, "Galleons. Hundred million galleons."
Dan froze mid-breath, his glass hovering halfway to his mouth as his mind automatically ran the conversion rates.
"…Ah," Dan said slowly, setting his drink down. "Galleons. Right. Well... that's not an acquisition budget, Victor. That's a financial bludgeon. It's absolute overkill, but it certainly will expedite the board meetings."
"Overkill is his default setting," Vernon remarked dryly, taking another sip of his whiskey. "Sometimes makes me wonder, where exactly did we go wrong in raising him..."
Amelia and Amaryllis stepped into the living hall at that exact moment, their eyes sweeping over the quiet, expansive space.
Amaryllis paused, tilting her head slightly. "Where is everyone? Isn't the room completely full by this time?"
"Still caught up in their respective affairs, I imagine," Dan replied, swirling his gin gently. "At the moment, it's just us, Victor, Vernon, Harry, and the three Weasley boys."
Amaryllis gave a nod, "I see," and made her way towards the bar with smooth, unhurried steps. With a subtle flick of her fingers, a slender crystal glass floated off the shelf, followed by a dark, amber-filled decanter that poured a measure before settling back onto the mirrored surface.
Amelia on the other hand looked unusually exhausted and she walked over to the couches and sank into it with a grateful murmur, resting her head against the high back.
"Long day at the Ministry?" Vernon asked, taking a quiet sip of his whiskey.
"Quite chaotic," Amelia muttered, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I'm trying to rearrange the Ministry and carry out certain changes and it's has caused quite the chaos among the Wizengamot and the Ministry itself."
"Well those old cronies will stick to their positions like leeches," Amaryllis remarked smoothly from the bar, taking a delicate sip of her drink. "They just want that power over the others."
"Precisely why I'm going to change everything," Amelia sighed.
"You have a monumental task ahead of you," Dan remarked sympathetically, taking a slow sip of his elderflower gin. "Systemic inertia is a hard thing to break, whether in government or corporate boards. People hate losing their comfortable routines."
"I am well aware," Amelia exhaled, leaning her head back against the cushions and closing her eyes for a brief moment. "Which is precisely why I fully intend to push it through anyway. But right now, I refuse to spend my evening contemplating Wizengamot bureaucracy." She opened her eyes, sweeping her gaze across the room. "What I need is a drink, a quiet corner, and perhaps a very long vacation."
Amaryllis settled gracefully into a high-backed armchair, holding her glass by the stem. "I couldn't agree more. A fortnight far away from London does wonders for the nervous system." She tilted her head, a soft spark of curiosity in her eyes. "Speaking of which... what are our holiday plans? Has anyone heard if Harry has been brewing up another grand excursion?"
Vernon let out a low, amused hum from his seat. "With him, a 'vacation' usually involves moving an entire mountain range or acquiring a small territory. Victor, do you have any inkling of what he's orchestrating this time?"
Victor, who had been quietly reviewing a scroll near the end of the seating area, looked up and sighed, rubbing his temples.
"I don't have the final itinerary," Victor admitted, his tone laced with absolute corporate exhaustion. "Because as usual, he didn't tell me. I only found out when I was running through his personal account logs last week and nearly had a cardiac arrest."
Dan raised an eyebrow, adjusting his posture. "What did he do this time?"
"He spent thirty million Galleons," Victor said flatly. "In a single afternoon."
Amelia froze mid-breath. Amaryllis's glass hovered halfway to her lips, her eyes widening slightly.
"Thirty... million?" Dan echoed, his voice dropping an octave. "On what?"
"A Boeing Business Jet 747-400," Victor replied, pulling a heavy dossier from his side folder and shaking his head in sheer disbelief. "Directly through his Muggle aircraft broker, Richard. The baseline price for a factory-fresh unit is around one hundred and ten million Pounds, but Harry casually dropped a check for one hundred and fifty million. Forty million extra just to rush the delivery window to early June it seems."
Vernon blinked, his brow furrowing slightly. "And why on earth does he need that plane? We already have two private jets."
"Well... we could easily fit the two jets we have inside this one," Victor almost groaned, tossing his hands up. "It's an entire flying fortress! And when I looked into the structural specs, an expanded VIP layout could comfortably seat over a hundred people. So from the looks of it, I can only assume the entirety of Nexus is going on this trip."
Amaryllis let out a soft, delighted laugh, taking a delicate sip of her drink. "A flying palace for the entire clan... lovely."
"And if I had to guess based on his previous habits," Victor muttered, leaning back into his chair, "our first stop will almost certainly be China."
Before anyone could reply, Harry and the three Weasley boys appeared in the center of the hall. Without missing a beat, Harry reached into his pocket, pulled out his subspace pouch, and pulled out an absolute mountain of food directly onto the center table.
Four towering 21-piece buckets of golden fried chicken, three whole roasted Rotisserie chickens, thirty-six wrapped Zingers, forty warm cornbread muffins, six large tubs of chips, containers of fresh coleslaw, and six smaller tubs of popcorn chicken settled neatly across the surface. The rich, savory aroma immediately filled the sprawling space.
"Pippin," Harry called out softly.
With a microscopic, soundless pop, the tiny house elf appeared beside the table, bowing until his nose nearly touched his feet. "Master Harry?"
"These six small tubs of popcorn chicken are exclusively for you and the elves. You can take anything else from this spread as well." Harry smiled gently.
Pippin's large eyes glowed with absolute delight. "Master Harry is too good to Pippin and the elves! Thank you, Master Harry!" The elf snapped his fingers, floating the tubs into his arms, and vanished just as cleanly.
Harry wiped his hands on a napkin and glanced around the quiet hall, his brow furrowing slightly. "Wait... where is everyone else? Isn't the room usually full by now?"
"Busy with various affairs," Vernon said, casually taking a cornbread muffin from the spread. "We're starting without them. Though Victor here was just telling us about your latest impulse purchase."
Harry paused, reaching for a zinger. "My latest what?"
Victor looked up from his dossier, glaring at Harry with absolute, long-suffering exhaustion. "The thirty million, Harry. Care to explain why you dropped thirty million in a single afternoon without telling me?"
Harry froze mid-un-wrap. His green eyes blinked once. Twice. His mind going completely blank as he stared at Victor in absolute, genuine confusion.
"Thirty million?" Harry repeated, his brow furrowing as he actively racked his brain. "Thirty million... what did I buy for thirty million?" He took a bite of the Zinger, staring at the wrapped like it held the answer. "I don't know... Victor, are you sure? I honestly don't remember spending thirty million on anything recently."
Fred made a quiet, strangled choking sound from the couch. George buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking violently.
Victor's jaw slowly dropped. He stared at Harry like the boy had just spoken in ancient Sumerian. "You... you forgot? You spent thirty million and you don't even remember what it was for?!"
"Well, give me a clue!" Harry said, looking genuinely bewildered as he took another huge bite of his burger. "Thirty million pounds isn't a small number, Victor, I'd usually remember..."
"Galleons!" Victor practically shouted, tossing his hands into the air. "Thirty million Galleons! One hundred and fifty million Pounds!"
Harry stopped chewing. A look of sudden, peaceful illumination washed over his face.
"Oh!" Harry let out a light, breezy laugh, waving a hand dismissively. "Thirty million Galleons. Well, you should have specified! I was losing my mind trying to figure out what on earth I bought for thirty million pounds. You meant the 747-400!"
Ron choked on his drumstick as he remembered the afternoon in the showroom.
"He... he was trying to remember what he bought for thirty million pounds," Fred wheezed, clutching his stomach as he collapsed onto the cushions. "I can't do this. I actually can't do this anymore. Someone put me out of my misery."
"The Boy Wonder," George gasped, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "Losing sleep over thirty million sterling, but a hundred and fifty million? 'Oh, that old thing!'"
Vernon just shook his head with a slow, long-suffering sigh, taking a sip of his whiskey. "So the rumor is true then. You bought a Boeing 747."
"Well technically I placed an order," Harry corrected smoothly, reaching for a drumstick. "It's not delivered yet, so technically I haven't bought it yet. But yes. Factory fresh. It should get delivered early June."
Amaryllis leaned back in her armchair, a amused smile playing on her lips. "And Victor's suspicion? Are we all going on a grand excursion?"
"Of course," Harry smiled easily, devouring that drumstick in matter of seconds and reaching for another piece. "The whole clan"
Before anyone could ask another question, two figures materialized near the edge of the living hall without so much as a whisper of displaced air.
Bill and Charlie stood there, slinging heavy leather travel packs off their shoulders onto the pale floorboards. Both of them looked utterly, thoroughly exhausted. Bill's long hair was tied back loosely, dark shadows lingering under his eyes, his sleek dragon-hide field gear worn and scuffed at the cuffs. Charlie looked windswept and sun-baked, his broad shoulders slouched with the deep, bone-weary fatigue that only weeks of physical labor could bring.
Ron froze, a half-eaten chicken thigh hovering near his mouth. "Bill? Charlie? What are you two doing here? I thought you weren't back until next month!"
Charlie let out a long, heavy exhale, dragging a hand across his face before dropping onto the nearest open armchair with a soft groan. "We wrapped up early. Well, I did. My supervisor finally approved three full weeks of back-logged leave before I lose my mind." He leaned his head back, closing his eyes. "If I had to wrestle another stubborn Hungarian Horntail into a nesting enclosure this week, I was going to let it roast me just to get some rest."
Bill tossed his heavy Curse-Breaker kit onto a side ledge with a dull thud, unbuttoning his outer jacket as he settled onto the couch beside Fred. He looked tired, but beneath the exhaustion, there was a distinct, relaxed sense of relief radiating from him.
"And you, Bill?" Vernon asked, casually swirling his whiskey. "More tombs in Egypt?"
"None," Bill said smoothly, taking a long, deep breath of the sea air circulating through the hall. "In fact, zero tombs for the foreseeable future. I handed in my official resignation to the Gringotts Board of Directors yesterday morning."
Amaryllis raised an eyebrow, taking a delicate sip of her glass. "Resigned? I thought the goblins considered you one of their top field ward-masters."
"They did," Bill chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "Which meant they kept assigning me to deep-burial crypts that haven't seen sunlight in three thousand years. I'm done dodging blood-curses and collapsing stone ceilings for goblin commission rates. I just want to sit down, enjoy some quiet time at home for a bit, and figure out my next move without a hex burning off my boots."
"Best decision you've made all year, mate," George declared, shoving a bucket of chicken towards him. "Though if you need a new job, Magic Pavilion is always looking for an overqualified elder brother to clean the shelves."
Bill laughed softly, reaching into the nearest spread. "I'll keep that in mind, George."
He took a Zinger and a rotisserie leg-piece, settling into the couch with a satisfied sigh. "Three weeks of dried goblin rations in ancient crypts, and I come home to Muggle fried chicken. I'm never leaving this couch."
"How were the dragons?" Dan asked curiously, leaning forward.
"Feisty," Charlie grinned, picking up a piece of crisp chicken. "The Hungarian Horntails are nesting early this year. Had to spend four days keeping a young bull from trying to roast a squad of Swedish inspectors."
The hall filled with warm chatter, laughter, and the steady sound of eleven people thoroughly enjoying a massive fast-food feast atop the floating estate.
Harry finished off an entire 21-piece bucket by himself, wiping his hands neatly on a fresh napkin, and took a long, refreshing sip of his cold Coke. He leaned back against the plush cushions of his seat, resting his hands comfortably over his stomach as he looked across the table at Amelia.
"Amelia..." Harry spoke up smoothly, his tone completely calm and unbothered. "How are things at the Ministry handling?"
Amelia set her chicken down on the paper wrapper, wiping her fingers with a napkin as her expression shifted from weary to fiercely focused.
"I am dismantling the seven sprawling departments," she said, her voice dropping into a quiet, unyielding cadence that commanded the entire room. "It is an administrative nightmare designed to manufacture busywork for pureblood third-cousins who couldn't cast a decent Shield Charm if their lives depended on it. I am collapsing the entire infrastructure down into four core pillars."
Dan set his gin down, his eyes sharpening with genuine interest. "Four?"
"Public Safety and Civil Defense, Global Trade and Economics, Resource and Environmental Oversight, and Archives and Research," Amelia enumerated, ticking them off on her fingers. "No more separate sub-offices for carpet licenses or accidental magic tracking. Everything streamlined. Unified command."
"And the Wizengamot is letting you do this?" Amaryllis asked, leaning forward, clearly intrigued. "That cuts off half their patronage networks overnight."
"They aren't letting me," Amelia said dryly, taking a slow sip of her drink. "They are fighting me tooth and nail because of the second part of the reform: mandatory proficiency examinations. Effective next month, every civil servant. From junior clerks to senior department heads. Everyone will undergo standardized practical and administrative testing. No more hiring through family connections. No more purchasing titles. If a wizard cannot demonstrate baseline competence in law and field magic, they are out."
She took a long sip of her drink before continuing.
"Furthermore, I am officially adopting the Magical Power Classification and Measurement system for the Ministry," Amelia continued, giving a nod to Ron who was flabbergasted. "Everyone will have to prove their credentials. No one can become a Department head on political seniority alone."
Silence settled over the living hall for a brief moment.
Vernon let out a low, appreciative whistle, swirling his whiskey. "A proper corporate purge. Strip the dead weight, raise the baseline, and measure by output. I like it, Amelia. It's about bloody time."
Amaryllis set her glass down with a soft, dangerous smile. "You aren't just rearranging offices, Amelia. You're stripping centuries of unearned pureblood privilege and calling it merit. No wonder the Wizengamot is screaming."
Amelia admitted, though a confident, dangerous smile touched her lips. "Half the Wizengamot is threatening to block the budget allocations. They know three-quarters of their favored sons won't pass the Sorcerer-tier baseline exam, let alone make Arch-Wizard-tier."
"You should have said something earlier Amelia," Harry, who had been listening quietly, let out a soft, amused chuckle. "You have votes from 7 pureblood households and the Chief Warlocks vote in Nexus alone. And that's 8 out of 50 votes. And I'm sure many others will vote in your favor as well."
Amelia paused, her glass hovering halfway to her lips as her eyes sharpened on Harry.
"Nine votes..." she murmured, her mind instantly calculating the political weight of the room.
That's right. Nexus has Dursleys, Blacks, Grangers, Weasleys, Parkinsons, Greengrasses, Lovegood, Potters and Dumbledore. Why didn't she think of that before?
Vernon took a slow, contemplative sip of his whiskey, his sharp eyes catching the subtle, icy glint in his son's green gaze. He picked up on the hidden layer behind Harry's words instantly.
'Many others will vote in your favor as well.'
Vernon knew his son. That wasn't a hopeful prediction; it was a cold, calculated guarantee. After all, Harry directly controlled the subconscious of many of those seat holders. If Harry decided Amelia's bill was passing, those votes would materialize on the floor.
A dry, thoroughly amused smirk touched Vernon's lips.
"He's right, Amelia," Vernon said smoothly, leaning back into his armchair with his rotisserie chicken. "Push for the official vote. Don't let them stall you in committee meetings. Bring the restructuring bill straight to the chamber floor."
Amelia sighed softly. "If it fails on the first reading, Vernon, parliamentary procedure locks the proposal out for another six months."
"Then we go for it again in six months," Charlie replied, his tone laced with total, unshakeable confidence as he devoured three drumsticks at once.
Vernon didn't even need to look at Harry to know the boy was already issuing his orders. There was zero chance Amelia was failing this vote. The Wizengamot just didn't know it yet.
Amaryllis let out a low, elegant laugh, swirling her amber drink. "It seems the old cronies are about to discover what actual political opposition looks like."
"Oh on that note, Amelia. Can I ask you something?" Harry turned to her again, his eyes shinning brightly with an idea.
Amelia took a slow sip of her drink, setting her crystal glass down on the polished side table as her gaze drifted back to Harry. "Ask away, Harry."
"Can you give me a train?" Harry asked, making Amelia spit out her drink in a coughing fit.