The familiar chill of Gringotts' marble halls never failed to remind Harry why goblins had cornered the market on magical banking—nothing quite said 'your money is secure' like an atmosphere that could preserve meat for centuries. As he and Ted made their way through the grand banking chamber, Harry reflected that this was probably the first time in history someone had come to Gringotts specifically to discuss storing basilisk skin.
Most twelve-year-olds worry about homework. I'm here to establish a hazardous materials storage facility.
Account Manager Dinak was waiting for them in the same small office where Harry had first established his business vault, though the goblin's immaculate appearance seemed even more polished than usual. His silver hair was swept back, and his amber eyes held the sort of sharp intelligence that made Harry suspect Dinak found the prospect of handling dangerous magical materials professionally stimulating.
"Mr. Potter, Mr. Tonks," Dinak greeted them with a slight bow. "I trust your recent... adventures... concluded satisfactorily?"
"Quite satisfactorily, thank you," Harry replied, settling into one of the chairs across from Dinak's desk. "Though they've created some rather unique storage requirements."
Dinak's eyes glittered with what Harry was learning to recognize as goblin anticipation of interesting business. "Indeed. Your message mentioned basilisk materials requiring specialized containment. I confess myself intrigued by the logistics involved."
Ted leaned forward with the sort of expression he usually wore when negotiating particularly complex Ministry contracts. "Before we discuss specifics, Dinak, I want to ensure we understand the security implications. These materials are not only valuable—they're potentially lethal if mishandled."
"Naturally," Dinak said smoothly. "Gringotts has extensive experience with hazardous magical materials. Dragon eggs, cursed artifacts, unstable potions, , the cloak of a dementor, a dead core of a Nundu, even a piece of Fortissax's lightning armor—we've housed them all. Though I admit, basilisk skin represents a rather... exclusive addition to our inventory."
Exclusive is one way to put it, Harry thought. Irreplaceable might be more accurate.
"The materials came from a creature that was, by all accounts, over a thousand years old," Harry explained carefully. "The magical potency is correspondingly intense. We'll need storage that can handle not just the raw power, but the... aggressive nature of basilisk magic."
Dinak made notes on a piece of parchment that appeared to be writing itself in elegant goblin script. "Aggressive how, specifically? Are we discussing materials that actively resist containment, or those that pose dangers to handlers?"
"Both," Harry said frankly. "Basilisk skin doesn't like being told what to do. It has opinions about how it should be used, and it's not shy about expressing them. Plus, the residual venom traces mean that even indirect contact could be problematic for anyone without proper protective measures."
"And the quantity we're discussing?"
Harry exchanged a glance with Ted, who nodded encouragingly. "Approximately two dozen separate pieces of varying sizes, plus scales and smaller fragments. Enough to supply a moderate magical research operation for several decades."
Dinak's eyebrows rose fractionally—a significant display of emotion by goblin standards. "That is indeed substantial. You understand, of course, that materials of this rarity and danger will require our most secure containment protocols?"
"Which would involve?" Ted asked with the sort of careful tone that suggested he was already calculating costs.
"Vault 1247," Dinak said without hesitation. "Sub-level seven, warded against magical interference, temperature controlled, and equipped with emergency containment protocols should the materials become... uncooperative. The vault features reinforced dragonskin lining, curse-resistant locks, and monitoring charms that alert our specialists to any unusual magical activity."
Sub-level seven, Harry thought with pride and concern. That's deeper than most countries keep their national treasures.
"And the cost?" Ted inquired diplomatically.
Dinak consulted another self-writing parchment. "For materials of this classification, the annual fee would be three hundred Galleons, plus a one-time setup charge of one hundred fifty Galleons for the specialized containment measures."
Harry did quick mental calculations. His basilisk materials were worth exponentially more than the storage fees, and having them properly secured would be essential for any serious magical research. "That seems reasonable. Though I should mention that this may not be a one-time arrangement."
"Oh?" Dinak's interest sharpened visibly.
"My work with magical creatures occasionally results in the acquisition of rare materials," Harry explained carefully. "Nothing quite as dramatic as basilisk skin, but items that require more than standard storage solutions."
Dinak leaned back in his chair with the sort of expression that suggested Christmas had come early. "Mr. Potter, if you anticipate regular deposits of rare magical materials, we should discuss establishing a comprehensive preservation and security package. Gringotts offers specialized services for clients with... unique inventory requirements."
"What would that involve?" Harry asked with a tone as if he were some businessman with experience.
"Enhanced security protocols, priority access to our most experienced curse-breakers for material assessment, and consultation services for optimal preservation techniques," Dinak explained. "Additionally, we could provide discrete transportation services for particularly sensitive acquisitions."
Ted cleared his throat meaningfully. "And the cost for such comprehensive services?"
"For a client of Mr. Potter's caliber? A modest retainer of five hundred Galleons annually, plus standard fees for individual services as utilized." Dinak's smile was sharp as a knife edge. "Though given the potential value of the materials involved, I believe you'll find our rates quite competitive."
Five hundred Galleons a year for the peace of mind that my dangerous magical materials won't accidentally kill anyone or escape into Diagon Alley, Harry reflected. Expensive, but probably cheaper than the alternative.
"There's one more thing," Harry said, making a decision that felt both prudent and slightly terrifying. "I'd like to establish a research account linked to the materials vault. Something that allows me to withdraw specific quantities for experimental purposes while maintaining detailed records of what's been used."
Dinak's pen began moving so rapidly it was practically smoking. "Excellent foresight, Mr. Potter. Many of our clients with rare materials fail to consider the administrative complexities of research applications. We can establish withdrawal protocols with various security levels—from minimal quantities requiring only your personal authorization to larger amounts that would involve additional verification procedures."
"Perfect," Harry said, feeling like he was signing contracts for his own private magical laboratory. Which, he supposed, was exactly what he was doing.
"One final consideration," Dinak said as he began assembling what appeared to be a small stack of official documents. "Given the nature of these materials and your apparent long-term plans, would you be interested in our consultation services for magical material authentication and valuation?"
"That sounds prudent," Harry agreed. "Though I assume such consultation would involve Gringotts' usual discretion regarding client holdings?"
"Naturally," Dinak assured him. "Professional confidentiality is fundamental to our business model. Your holdings and their nature remain strictly between Gringotts and yourself—or in this case, your guardians."
As Dinak produced an enchanted quill for the various signatures required, Harry reflected that his second year at Hogwarts had certainly evolved beyond anything he could have predicted. He'd started the year worried about the Italian Talisman, and here he was establishing a personal vault for storing materials that most adult wizards wouldn't dare handle.
Though I suppose, Harry mused as he carefully signed his name to documents that would formalize his transformation from student to magical entrepreneur, most people don't make friends with thousand-year-old basilisks either.
"Excellent," Dinak declared as the last signature dried. "Your materials will be transported to Vault 1247 within the hour, and you should receive confirmation of successful storage by owl this evening. Is there anything else Gringotts can assist you with today?"
Harry stood, shaking the goblin's hand with genuine appreciation. "I think that covers everything. Thank you for accommodating some rather unusual storage requirements."
"Mr. Potter," Dinak said with the sort of smile that suggested he was already calculating the long-term profit potential of their business relationship, "in my experience, the most unusual requirements often lead to the most rewarding partnerships. I look forward to our continued association."
As they left Gringotts, Ted clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Well done, Harry. You've just established yourself as a serious player in magical commerce. Not many twelve-year-olds can claim to have their own hazardous materials vault."
No, Harry agreed silently as they stepped back into the bustling chaos of Diagon Alley. But then again, not many twelve-year-olds have quite so many dangerous magical creatures as business partners.
Though I have a feeling this is just the beginning.
One Month Later
One month had passed since Harry's talisman achieved its Phoenix Crown ranking, and the Tonks cottage had been transformed into what could only be described as a diplomatic preparation center. Harry stood in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom, examining his reflection with the sort of critical intensity usually reserved for analyzing complex runic matrices.
Four different suits, Harry thought with growing frustration as he adjusted his tie for the fifteenth time. Four bloody suits, and I still can't decide which one makes me look like a serious magical entrepreneur rather than a child playing dress-up.
The current candidate was a deep charcoal gray with subtle silver threads woven through the fabric—formal enough for international diplomacy but not so ostentatious as to suggest he was trying too hard. The problem was that every suit he'd tried made him acutely aware that he was still twelve years old and approximately the size of a particularly tall garden gnome.
"Harry!" Andromeda's voice carried up the stairs with the sort of maternal authority that brooked no delay. "We will meet the Italian delegation within two hours, and you're still fussing with your appearance like a peacock preparing for court!"
"I'm not fussing!" Harry called back, then immediately undermined his argument by switching to the navy blue suit with the silver cufflinks. "I'm ensuring appropriate professional presentation!"
The sound of footsteps on the stairs announced the arrival of what Harry had come to think of as his personal diplomatic advisory committee. Nymphadora appeared first, and Harry nearly choked on his own tongue when he saw her.
Gone were her usual casual robes and constantly changing hair colors. Instead, she wore a sleek black dress that managed to be both professionally appropriate and devastatingly elegant, her hair settled into its natural black waves, and her makeup was applied with precision that emphasized the intelligence in her dark eyes.
Sweet Salazar's serpents, Harry thought, his brain temporarily short-circuiting. I knew she was beautiful, but when did Nymphadora become... when did she look so...
"Bloody hell, Tonks," he managed, his voice cracking slightly. "You clean up rather impressively."
Nymphadora's cheeks flushed pink—her natural coloring rather than metamorphmagus manipulation—and she smiled with what seemed like genuine pleasure at the compliment. "Well, someone has to make sure you don't embarrass yourself in front of international dignitaries. Though I have to say, the charcoal suit was better than this navy monstrosity."
"The navy is perfectly respectable," Harry protested, though he was already reaching for the charcoal jacket.
"The navy makes you look like you're attending a funeral," Andromeda said as she entered the room carrying what appeared to be a small arsenal of grooming supplies. "The charcoal suggests confidence without arrogance, which is exactly the impression you want to make."
Ted appeared in the doorway with his characteristic grin and a cup of tea that steamed suspicious colors. "Having trouble deciding what to wear for your wedding to the Italian Ministry, Harry?"
"I am not—" Harry began indignantly, then caught the mischievous glint in Nymphadora's eyes. "Very funny, Ted. Though if Minister Lombardi proposes, I'll certainly consider the political advantages."
"Mercenary," Nymphadora accused with fond amusement. "Here I thought you were motivated by pure noble intentions, and it turns out you're calculating the diplomatic benefits of international marriages."
"I prefer 'strategically minded,'" Harry replied with dignity, switching back to the charcoal suit. "And for the record, my noble intentions and strategic thinking aren't mutually exclusive."
From her perch on Harry's desk, Itisa watched the proceedings with the sort of offended dignity that suggested she found the entire situation deeply unreasonable. Her golden eyes tracked every movement as Harry adjusted his collar, and her tail lashed with obvious displeasure.
"I know you're not happy about being left behind," Harry said apologetically to his Nundu companion. "But bringing you to a Ministry meeting would create rather more excitement than I'm prepared to handle."
Itisa's response was a low sound that managed to convey both wounded feelings and resigned acceptance. From the windowsill, Hedwig hooted with what sounded suspiciously like amusement at Itisa's predicament.
"Don't laugh at her, Hedwig," Harry chided his Storm Bird. "You're not exactly invited either."
Hedwig ruffled her feathers with obvious superiority, apparently finding the distinction between 'not invited' and 'would cause international incident if discovered' quite meaningful.
"Besides," Harry continued to Itisa, "I'm leaving my wand at home again, so we're both making sacrifices for diplomatic necessity."
That got Nymphadora's attention immediately. "You are going wandless again! Harry, that seems rather... risky."
A wand with a Nundu core would set off every magical detection ward in the Ministry, and explaining that particular anomaly would require revealing secrets he wasn't prepared to share.
"The Italian delegation specifically requested a demonstration of trust," Harry said instead, which was technically true if you squinted at it from the right angle. "Going wandless shows I'm confident in my legal position and the Ministry's protection."
Ted snorted with laughter. "Legal position, my arse. You're worried about someone detecting that unusual core of yours and asking uncomfortable questions, and bringing little Nundu to the Ministry is like bringing a walking Cat-Nuke there, and expect everyone there to be cool about it."
"That too," Harry admitted. "Though I prefer to think of it as prudent operational security."
"Speaking of operational security," Andromeda said with the sort of tone that suggested she was about to deliver unwelcome news, "we need to discuss your behavior during this meeting. This isn't a Hogwarts evaluation with friendly professors. This is international magical politics at the highest level."
Harry nodded seriously, recognizing the shift from family teasing to genuine preparation. "I understand. What do I need to know?"
"First," Andromeda said, settling into lecture mode, "remember that everything you say will be analyzed for multiple meanings. Diplomatic speech is like dueling with words—every phrase can be a feint, an attack, or a defense."
"Second," Ted added, "Minister Lombardi may be impressed with your work, but she's also a politician. She'll be looking for advantages for Italy, not necessarily what's best for you personally."
"And third," Nymphadora said quietly, "don't underestimate the significance of what you've accomplished. A Phoenix Crown ranking isn't just impressive—it's unprecedented for someone your age. That kind of achievement makes people nervous as well as interested."
Harry absorbed this advice, but he was sure he was ready for this meeting, after all he had already met the Ministry of Italy, and he needed to bring peace between Abyssantica and the Magical French Community, and then attend a ball, where he had talk with important people of France, including the Minister himself, and his family, especially Fleur Delacour, Harry's heart did a little leap when he thought of Fleur, and when his thoughts went to Princess Crystal-Harmony, he remembered her saying she would be very happy if he was there when she took her first step in land.
"Any other cheerful observations about the political minefield I'm about to navigate?"
"Just one," Ted said with a grin. "Remember that you're Harry Potter. You've faced down Dark Lords and ancient magical creatures. A room full of politicians should be relatively straightforward by comparison."
"Politicians don't try to kill you with basilisk stares," Harry pointed out.
"No," Andromeda said dryly, "they try to kill you with contractual obligations and bureaucratic maneuvering. Much more civilized."
Harry was adjusting his tie one final time when Itisa suddenly went very still on his desk, her attention focused on something only she could detect. A moment later, the distinctive whoosh echoed from downstairs.
"That'll be our escort," Ted said, checking his pocket watch. "Ministry car service, courtesy of Amelia Bones. She wanted to make sure you arrived in appropriate style."
As the family began making their way downstairs, Harry caught Nymphadora's arm gently. "Tonks, I know you keep saying your contribution was minimal, but I need you to understand something."
She looked at him with curious eyes, and Harry was struck again by how different she looked in formal attire—older, more serious, but somehow more herself than he'd ever seen her, and definitely more beautiful.
"Without your metamorphmagus research, these talismans would just be very expensive individual protection devices," Harry said earnestly. "The communication network, the coordination capabilities, the ability to function as a tactical system—all of that comes from understanding how magical identity can remain constant through physical change. That's your innovation, not mine."
Nymphadora's cheeks flushed pink again, and for a moment she looked genuinely touched by his words. "Harry..."
"Besides," Harry added with a grin, "someone needs to make sure I don't accidentally agree to something catastrophically stupid. I'm counting on your political instincts to keep me from promising Italy my firstborn child in exchange for a good trade agreement."
That got a laugh from her, breaking the moment of seriousness. "Your firstborn child? Harry, you're twelve. I think we have a few years before that becomes a negotiating concern."
"You'd be surprised," Harry said darkly. "The way my life goes, someone will probably try to arrange a magical marriage contract before I turn thirteen."
Ted called up from the bottom of the stairs, his voice carrying the sort of urgency that suggested their escorts were getting impatient. "Harry! Time to go charm some Italian politicians!"
The two walked downstairs, and Tonks finally remembered something.
"Wait," Tonks said suddenly. "Father, when you called Itisa a 'cat nuke' earlier, what exactly did you mean by 'nuke'?"
Ted's expression shifted to one of mild surprise. "It's a muggle weapon, Tonks. Incredibly destructive—can level entire cities. I was making a joke about Itisa's destructive potential."
Harry glanced at Nymphadora and Andromeda, both of whom looked completely baffled by the concept.
"A weapon that can destroy cities?" Andromeda asked with obvious alarm. "Muggles have such things?"
"Oh yes," Ted said cheerfully. "Several countries have enough nuclear weapons to end civilization as we know it. Makes magical warfare look rather quaint by comparison."
The Ministry escort turned out to be a middle-aged witch with the sort of professional demeanor that suggested she transported important people on a regular basis. She looked Harry up and down with an appraising eye before nodding approvingly.
"Mr. Potter, I presume? I'm Auror Davies. Lady Bones sent me to ensure you arrive at the Ministry safely and on time."
"Thank you, Auror Davies," Harry replied with what he hoped was appropriate formality. "I appreciate the Ministry's consideration."
As they prepared to leave, Itisa made one final attempt to follow Harry to the front door. Her golden eyes fixed on him with an expression of such clear disappointment that Harry felt genuinely guilty about leaving her behind.
"I'll be back this evening," Harry promised, kneeling down to scratch behind her ears. "And I'll tell you everything that happens, I swear it."
Itisa's purr suggested forgiveness, though her tail continued to twitch with obvious displeasure at being excluded from important events.
Outside, a sleek black Ministry car waited in the drive, its windows tinted dark enough to ensure privacy.
"Ready, Harry?" Ted asked, opening the car door with a flourish. "Time to go show the Italian Ministry why they were smart to invest in British magical innovation."
Harry took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and settled into the plush leather seat beside his family. As the Ministry car pulled away from the cottage, he reflected that when he had started Hogwarts, he'd been mostly a fairly ordinary student whose biggest worry was passing his exams.
Now he was being chauffeured to negotiate with foreign magical governments about technologies that could save lives across multiple countries.
The Ministry of Magic
The Ministry car glided to a stop at the familiar sight of a rather shabby London street corner, where an equally shabby red telephone box stood like a sentry guarding the entrance to magical Britain's seat of power. Harry climbed out of the luxurious vehicle and immediately felt the jarring transition from diplomatic comfort to bureaucratic practicality.
Nothing quite says 'welcome to the magical government' like forcing people to squeeze into a phone box, Harry thought with familiar irritation as he surveyed the cramped entrance. You'd think after centuries of magical innovation, someone would have invented a more dignified way to access the Ministry.
Auror Davies led their small procession toward the telephone box. The box itself looked exactly as shabby as Harry remembered from his previous visit—red paint peeling, glass slightly grimy, and an overall appearance that screamed 'please ignore me, I'm just a perfectly ordinary muggle phone box.'
"Right then," Davies said briskly, pulling open the door with a creak that suggested the hinges hadn't been oiled since the Victorian era. "Everyone in, if you please."
Harry watched with amusement as his family squeezed into the confined space. Ted managed the transition with ease, clearly having done this before during his Ministry career. Andromeda entered with the sort of dignified composure that suggested cramped quarters were beneath her notice but not unexpected. Nymphadora, however, looked around the interior, having an expression as if the place they were in wasn't just an old, stupid phone box.
"There really should be better ways to enter the Ministry," Harry observed as Davies began dialing the appropriate numbers on the ancient rotary phone. "I mean, forcing international delegations to squeeze into a phone box hardly projects an image of sophisticated magical governance."
Davies paused in her dialing to give Harry a look that suggested she'd heard this complaint before. "We could have used the Floo Network to transport your party directly to the Ministry atrium," she said. "Much more comfortable and considerably more dignified."
"Why weren't we allowed to use it then?" Ted asked with obvious curiosity, his voice slightly muffled by the cramped quarters.
Davies's expression grew distinctly uncomfortable. "Minister Fudge felt it wasn't... necessary for this particular meeting."
Harry rolled his eyes at this obvious bit of petty politics. Of course, Fudge would make us use the least convenient entrance possible. Can't have Harry Potter arriving with too much dignity.
The familiar sensation of magical transport began as the phone box transformed into a primitive elevator, carrying them down into the depths of magical London. Harry had experienced this particular journey twice before, but he still found the transition from mundane London street to the grandeur of the Ministry atrium somewhat jarring.
When the doors opened, they stepped into the magnificent main hall of the Ministry of Magic, and Harry immediately noticed Nymphadora's reaction to the space. Her eyes went wide as she took in the soaring ceiling, the elaborate magical fountain at the center of the atrium, and the constant bustle of ministry employees moving between the golden lifts that serviced the various floors.
Right, Harry realized. Last year, I was here with just Ted. This is Nymphadora's first time seeing the full scope of the magical government.
The familiar security checkpoint awaited them near the fountain, staffed by the same efficient witch and wizard who had processed Harry's previous visits. The routine was exactly as Harry remembered—wands examined, registered, and returned with small metal tokens for identification purposes.
"Wands, please," the security witch said in the bored tone of someone who had performed this same request several thousand times.
Nymphadora, Ted, and Andromeda dutifully handed over their wands for inspection. Harry simply stood with his hands at his sides, the magical briefcase containing his prototype talisman held securely in his left hand.
The security witch looked up with obvious confusion when Harry made no move to produce a wand. "Sir? Your wand, please?"
"I'm not carrying one today," Harry replied politely. "Security precaution requested by the Italian delegation."
This was, technically, true if you interpreted 'security precaution' to include 'avoiding awkward questions about why a twelve-year-old has a wand core that would make every detection ward in the building scream bloody murder.'
The witch frowned slightly but made a note on her parchment rather than pursuing the matter further. Harry suspected that anyone arriving for a meeting with international delegations was probably given some latitude for unusual requests.
As they moved away from the security checkpoint, Harry noticed that while Nymphadora continued to stare around the atrium with obvious fascination, Andromeda moved through the space with the sort of casual familiarity that suggested extensive previous experience. He knew she had been with him when Harry had met with Minister Fudge and Umbridge near Christmas Holiday, but even in that visit, she hadn't shown any emotions when she had walked through this place.
"Have you been here before last time with me?" Harry asked Andromeda as they paused near the fountain to get their bearings.
Andromeda nodded, though her expression grew slightly guarded. "Many times. Though it's been several years since."
She didn't elaborate further, and something in her tone suggested that her history with the Ministry might be more complicated than casual business visits. Harry filed that observation away for future consideration—Andromeda's past as a Black family member who had chosen love over pureblood expectations probably involved more interaction with magical government than she cared to discuss.
"We have an hour before the meeting begins," Ted observed, consulting his pocket watch. "Would you like to explore a bit, Harry? Give Nymphadora the full tour of magical bureaucracy in action?"
Before Harry could respond, a familiar voice called his name from across the busy atrium.
"Harry Potter! My word, what a pleasant surprise!"
Harry turned to see Arthur Weasley approaching their group with a warm smile. He looked exactly as Harry remembered from their brief encounters—balding red hair, kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, and the slightly rumpled appearance of someone who cared more about people than presentation.
Right, Harry thought as Arthur drew closer. The man who brawled with Lucius Malfoy in Flourish and Blotts and thanked me with tears in his eyes for bringing Ginny home safely.
"Mr. Weasley," Harry replied with genuine warmth, offering his hand. "It's good to see you again. How is Ginny doing?"
Arthur's smile grew even brighter as he shook Harry's hand with obvious gratitude. "She's doing wonderfully, thanks to you. Back to her old self, though she still mentions you in her prayers every night."
That's... both touching and slightly embarrassing, Harry thought. Though I suppose being included in someone's prayers is better than being cursed in them.
"Ted! Andromeda!" Arthur exclaimed, his attention shifting to the adults in their group with obvious delight. "How wonderful to see you both again. It's been far too long since we've had a proper conversation."
Ted grinned and stepped forward to shake Arthur's hand. "Arthur, good to see you. Still keeping the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office from complete chaos, I hope?"
"Barely," Arthur replied with a laugh. "Though I have to say, your protective charm regulations have made my job considerably easier. Fewer enchanted teapots trying to achieve sentience these days."
"And Andromeda," Arthur continued, turning to her with respectful warmth, "you look wonderful. How are things at St. Mungo's? I heard through the grapevine that you've been doing groundbreaking work in magical trauma recovery."
Andromeda's guarded expression softened into something approaching genuine pleasure. "Thank you, Arthur. The work keeps me busy, but it's rewarding. Though these days I seem to spend more time keeping Harry from overworking himself than treating patients."
"Speaking of which," Arthur said, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he looked at Harry, "I understand congratulations are in order for your recent Phoenix Crown achievement. The entire Auror department is talking about your talismans."
"And you must be Nymphadora," Arthur said, turning to the youngest member of their group with a smile. "Ted's told me wonderful things about your contributions to Harry's innovations. Quite impressive work for someone still at Hogwarts."
Nymphadora's cheeks flushed pink—whether from embarrassment or metamorphmagus reaction to the compliment, Harry couldn't tell. "Thank you, Mr. Weasley, though really, Harry did all the important work. I just... provided some technical assistance and please call me Tonks."
"Don't let her fool you," Harry said immediately. "The communication and coordination features that make these talismans truly revolutionary are based entirely on her metamorphmagus ability. Without her contribution, they'd just be very expensive individual protection devices."
Arthur nodded approvingly. "Collaboration between brilliant young minds—exactly what the magical world needs more of. Too many of us get caught up in house rivalries and forget that the best innovations come from people working together."
"Speaking of which," Arthur continued, his expression growing more animated, "are you here for the Italian Ministry meeting? Because if you have some time before it begins, I'd be delighted to show you around the Ministry properly. Harry, I know you've been here before, but there are some fascinating departments that might interest someone with your... unique perspective on magical innovation. And Nymphadora, this would be an excellent opportunity to see how magical government actually functions."
Harry exchanged glances with Ted, who nodded encouragingly. "That's very kind of you, Mr. Weasley. I think we'd all enjoy a proper tour of magical government in action."
"Excellent!" Arthur exclaimed, clearly pleased at the prospect of playing tour guide. "We can start with the Experimental Charms department—they've been working on some fascinating applications of protective magic that might interest you. Then perhaps the International Magical Cooperation office, since you'll be dealing with them more frequently as your business expands."
And, Harry thought with growing appreciation for Arthur's political instincts, a tour guided by a respected Ministry employee will ensure that we're seen as legitimate guests rather than potential troublemakers. Arthur's vouching for us carries weight here.
"That sounds perfect," Harry said aloud. "Lead the way, Mr. Weasley. I'm always interested in learning more about how magical innovation happens at the governmental level."
As Arthur began leading them toward the golden lifts, Harry reflected that this unexpected encounter might actually improve their position for the upcoming meeting. Being seen moving through the Ministry under Arthur Weasley's guidance sent a clear message that Harry Potter had allies within the magical government—allies who respected his work and considered him worth their time and attention.
Harry was not sure yet what to think of Amelia Bones and Mad Eye Moody, but he knew he could rely on them more than he could rely on Minister Fudge and his frog.
"Right then," Arthur said cheerfully as the lift began to rise, "let's start with the Experimental Charms department. Fair warning—some of their current projects are quite... energetic. I do hope none of you are particularly attached to your current eyebrow configuration."
Harry couldn't help but grin at Arthur's obvious enthusiasm for magical chaos. This, he decided, is going to be interesting.