Hello, Drinor here. I'm happy to publish a new Chapter of A Nundu for A Pet.
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The morning sun cast long shadows across the bustling streets of Diagon Alley as witches and wizards hurried to collect their copies of the Daily Prophet. The paper's distinctive purple delivery owls swooped between buildings, their talons clutching what would prove to be one of the most significant editions in recent memory.
At the Leaky Cauldron, Tom the barkeeper nearly dropped his coffee pot when he unfolded his copy, revealing a front page dominated by an enormous moving photograph of a young boy with messy black hair and brilliant green eyes, shaking hands with an elegant woman in burgundy robes.
"Blimey," Tom muttered, his weathered face creasing into a grin. "Would you look at that."
The headline sprawled across the top of the page in bold, golden letters that seemed to shimmer with their own magic:
THE SLAYER OF BASILISK STRIKES AGAINTwelve-Year-Old Wizard Prodigy Secures Massive International Contract
Below the main headline, smaller text proclaimed: "The Youngest Talisman Maker in Modern History," "International Magical Innovator," and "Britain's Rising Star."
The article, written by Prophet senior correspondent Barnabas Cuffe, began with characteristic dramatic flair:
Yesterday afternoon, in a meeting that has sent shockwaves through the international magical community, Harry James Potter—the same extraordinary young wizard who defeated the legendary Basilisk of Slytherin just months ago—concluded negotiations for a staggering 40,000 Galleon contract with the Italian Ministry of Magic.
At merely twelve years of age, Mr. Potter has achieved what many adult magical artisans spend lifetimes pursuing: the creation of a Phoenix Crown-ranked magical artifact, the fourth tier in the highly exclusive talisman classification system.
At Flourish and Blotts, Gilderoy Lockhart's replacement books were quickly forgotten as customers clustered around the newspaper stand, their voices rising in amazement and speculation.
"Phoenix Crown ranking?" gasped a witch in lime-green robes. "I've never even heard of such a thing!"
"My brother works in the Department of Magical Accidents," replied a wizard with a magnificent beard. "Says Potter's first talismans have been saving Auror lives left and right. Zero deaths this past year, compared to nine the year before as for the Rank, I think is like, the fourth level, the fifth being the Highest I think."
The article continued with technical details that few readers fully understood but all found impressive:
Mr. Potter's latest innovation incorporates materials from the very Basilisk he defeated—a feat that required not only extraordinary magical skill but also unprecedented access to one of the wizarding world's most dangerous creatures. The enhanced talismans, designed specifically for Italian Auror teams facing ancient Etruscan burial curses, represent a breakthrough in protective magic that has captured international attention.
"The sophistication of these devices is remarkable," stated Marco Bianchi, the Italian Ministry's Chief Magical Artificer. "To achieve such integration at his age... it is simply unprecedented in the history of magical craftsmanship."
But it was the quotes from Italian Minister Vittoria Lombardi that truly caught readers' attention, particularly those familiar with recent Ministry politics:
"Mr. Potter's innovations represent exactly the sort of magical advancement that benefits the entire international community," Minister Lombardi stated in an exclusive interview. "His work demonstrates the exceptional quality of British magical education and the remarkable talent fostered in your institutions."
When asked about the negotiation process, Minister Lombardi had only compliments for the young wizard: "I was particularly impressed by Mr. Potter's diplomatic maturity and professionalism. It is refreshing to work with someone who conducts business with such integrity and respect for international partners. One hopes that such qualities continue to be valued and supported by his own government."
At the Ministry of Magic, several officials paused their morning routines to read that particular paragraph twice, recognizing the diplomatically worded rebuke embedded within the praise.
The article's most dramatic revelation came in its discussion of the classification system:
For readers unfamiliar with talisman rankings, the Phoenix Crown designation places Mr. Potter's work in the fourth of five possible tiers: Ashborn (Basic), Kindleheart (Intermediate), Gilded Fang (Advanced), Phoenix Crown (Exceptional), and the legendary Eclipse Eternal (Masterpiece). To achieve Phoenix Crown status before his thirteenth birthday represents an accomplishment that has magical historians reaching for historical precedents.
"There are Master Artificers with decades of experience who have never achieved a Phoenix Crown ranking," explained Clara Dovewood, Senior Talisman Assessor for the British Ministry. "Mr. Potter has now accomplished this, with his second achievement surpassing his first in both complexity and practical application."
A smaller sidebar article, bordered in gold, provided statistics that made several readers gasp:
TALISMAN EFFECTIVENESS: THE NUMBERS DON'T LIE
British Auror casualty statistics since implementation of Potter-designed protective talismans:- Fatal injuries: 0 (compared to 9 in the previous year)
- Serious injuries requiring extended hospitalization: 3 (compared to 47)- Minor injuries treated and released: 12 (compared to 156)- Auror operations completed without injury: 847 (compared to 203)
"These devices have revolutionized our safety protocols," stated Senior Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Every Auror wearing a Potter talisman has returned home safely to their family. You cannot put a price on that kind of protection."
The main article concluded with information that had several readers making immediate travel plans:
Perhaps most intriguingly, Minister Lombardi confirmed that Mr. Potter has been invited to spend two weeks in Italy this summer as part of a cultural exchange program. While details remain confidential, sources suggest the visit will include tours of active archaeological sites and collaboration with Italian Master Artificers.
"Mr. Potter's innovations have already saved Italian lives, his first talisman." Minister Lombardi noted. "We look forward to sharing our own magical traditions with such a remarkable young wizard. International cooperation in magical safety benefits everyone."
The letter of invitation, personally delivered by Minister Lombardi during yesterday's negotiations, reportedly contains additional details about the summer program that have not been disclosed to the public.
At Hogwarts, several professors gathered around Professor McGonagall's copy during their morning break, their expressions ranging from pride to concern.
"Twelve years old," Professor Garlick murmured, her emerald eyes wide with amazement as she tucked a strand of long red hair behind her ear. "When I was twelve, I was still trying to convince my parents that talking to plants wasn't a sign of madness. And here's Harry conducting international business like a seasoned diplomat."
"The political implications are staggering," Professor Flitwick observed, his voice tinged with worry. "International contracts, diplomatic relationships... this is well beyond normal student experiences."
Professor Snape, reading over McGonagall's shoulder with his characteristic scowl, made a disparaging sound. "Potter has always attracted attention just like his father. Though I admit, this particular attention comes with rather more substantial financial backing than his usual adventures."
"Perhaps," Professor Garlick said with a pointed look at Snape, "if more professors focused on nurturing student potential rather than crushing it, we'd see more remarkable achievements like Harry's."
Snape's black eyes flicked toward the youngest professor with obvious disdain. "How enlightening to receive pedagogical advice from someone who has been teaching for all of three years. I'm sure your vast experience provides tremendous insight into the complexities of educating exceptional students."
"At least my students leave my classes feeling encouraged rather than terrified," Garlick replied sweetly, though her green eyes flashed with irritation. "Funny how plants and children both seem to flourish with a bit of kindness and respect."
McGonagall cleared her throat meaningfully before the exchange could escalate further. "Perhaps we should focus on the matter at hand. Harry's achievements, while remarkable, do raise questions about how we prepare our students for such... unprecedented responsibilities."
The article's final paragraph contained one last surprise:
When asked about future projects, Mr. Potter demonstrated the diplomatic discretion that has impressed international partners: "I'm honored by Italy's confidence in my work. My focus remains on creating magical protections that keep people safe, regardless of which country they serve. Magic should unite us in common purpose, not divide us by arbitrary borders."
Such wisdom from one so young suggests that Britain's magical community may be witnessing the emergence of a truly extraordinary wizard—one whose influence on international magical relations has only just begun.
As the morning progressed and more copies of the Prophet circulated throughout magical Britain, the reactions became increasingly varied and intense. Some readers felt proud that a young British wizard was achieving such international recognition. Others worried about the implications of a twelve-year-old conducting independent foreign policy. A few calculated the political ramifications of a child accumulating such wealth and influence outside traditional governmental channels.
The Burrow - Morning
The familiar chaos of the Weasley breakfast table took on an unusual quality of reverent attention as Arthur unfolded his copy of the Daily Prophet with care. The morning post had arrived late, and the entire family—minus Ron, the Twins, and Percy, who were still at Hogwarts, Bill Weasley had also decided to drop by and spend the morning with his parents, Charlie was at Rome or somewhere, chasing dragons—everyone else had gathered around the kitchen table.
"Listen to this," Arthur said, his voice carrying the sort of quiet pride usually reserved for discussing his own children's achievements. He cleared his throat and began reading aloud: "'Boy-Who-Lived Achieves Unprecedented Magical Innovation: Harry Potter's Latest Talisman Ranks Phoenix Crown.'"
Molly Weasley paused in her stirring of what appeared to be a cauldron of porridge, her maternal instincts immediately focusing on the young man who had saved her daughter's life just months earlier.
"Phoenix Crown?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron. "Arthur, what does that mean exactly?"
"According to this," Arthur continued, scanning the article with growing amazement, "it's the second-highest ranking possible for magical protective devices. The article says most professional artificers never achieve anything higher than the third tier in their entire careers."
From her place by the window, Ginny looked up from her own copy of the Prophet—she'd been allowed to return home early from Hogwarts to recover from her Chamber of Secrets ordeal, though she insisted she felt fine. Her voice was quiet.
"He saved my life," she said simply. "And now he's out there creating things that will save other people's lives too. I... I still pray for him every night. I pray that whatever he's doing, wherever he goes, he stays safe."
Molly's eyes grew bright with unshed tears. "That dear boy," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "After everything he's been through, he's still thinking about protecting others. James and Lily would be so proud."
Arthur nodded, his expression growing more serious as he continued reading. "The article mentions he's working with international magical governments now. Italy, apparently, and there are hints about other countries showing interest."
"International?" Molly asked with obvious concern. "But he's only twelve!"
"Thirteen next month," Arthur corrected gently. "And apparently brilliant enough to impress magical governments across Europe. Though I have to admit, the idea of Harry becoming an international figure does make me a bit nervous."
Hogwarts - Great Hall
The breakfast conversation at the Gryffindor table had taken on a distinctly different tone as Percy Weasley held court with his copy of the Prophet, his prefect's badge catching the morning light as he gestured emphatically.
"You have to understand the political implications," Percy was saying to anyone within earshot, his voice carrying the sort of authoritative tone he used when explaining complex Ministry procedures. "A Phoenix Crown ranking isn't just about magical ability—it's about international recognition. Potter's essentially been acknowledged as a legitimate player in magical commerce and innovation."
"Blimey," said a fourth-year Gryffindor, clearly impressed. "You mean like, he could actually make a career out of this?"
"More than a career," Percy replied, adjusting his glasses with obvious excitement. "He could potentially establish himself as an independent magical contractor. There are rumors that the Italian Ministry has placed substantial orders for his work. At thirteen, he's already achieved what most magical artificers dream of accomplishing in their entire careers."
From their position further down the table, Fred and George had been listening to Percy's analysis with growing amusement and what appeared to be genuine admiration.
"Did you hear that, George?" Fred said with exaggerated seriousness. "Harry Potter's become an international magical entrepreneur."
"Quite impressive, Fred," George replied in the same tone. "Makes our little joke shop ambitions seem rather modest by comparison."
"Perhaps we should pivot," Fred mused. "Forget pranks and trick wands. Let's get into the talisman business."
"Oh yes," George agreed enthusiastically. "How hard could it be? Just slap some protective charms on a piece of bronze and call it a day."
Ron, who had been listening to this exchange with growing irritation, finally snapped. "If it's so bloody easy, why don't you two make one then?"
The twins exchanged one of their wordless communications before Fred grinned wickedly. "Why, Ronald, what an excellent suggestion! Perhaps you'd like to be our first test subject?"
"I volunteer Ron for all dangerous experimental procedures," George added cheerfully. "After all, what are little brothers for?"
"Sod off," Ron muttered, returning to his eggs with obvious annoyance. "It's not fair. Potter gets all this attention for making some fancy magical trinket, and the rest of us just... go to classes."
"Well," Percy said with the sort of superiority that only an older brother could manage, "perhaps if you applied yourself to your studies with the same dedication Potter obviously has, you might achieve something noteworthy yourself."
Ron's response was lost in a mouthful of bacon, but his expression suggested it wouldn't have been particularly complimentary.
Slytherin Table
At the Slytherin table, the atmosphere was considerably more complex. Daphne Greengrass sat with her usual composed elegance, but her sharp eyes were taking in every reaction from her housemates as news of Harry's achievement spread through whispered conversations.
Sebastian Sallow was practically glowing with pride as he read over Anna's shoulder—she'd brought her copy of the Prophet to breakfast specifically to share with Harry's friends.
"Phoenix Crown," Sebastian repeated with obvious satisfaction. "Do you realize what this means? Harry's not just some talented student anymore—he's a legitimate magical innovator. And he's one of ours."
Anna, sitting beside her brother, nodded with quiet intensity. "The Aqualis crystal he gave me came from Princess Crystal-Harmony of Abyssantica. Now he's working with the Italian Ministry. Harry doesn't just make friends—he makes alliances across the entire magical world."
"It's more than that," Hermione said from the Hufflepuff table, sitting with Susan Bones, Neville, Astoria, much to Daphne's displeasure, and a few others. "He's revolutionizing magical protection theory. These aren't just improved versions of existing devices—they're entirely new applications of protective magic."
From further down the table, Daphne caught fragments of other conversations that made her jaw tighten with annoyance.
"—just luck," a fifth-year was saying dismissively. "Potter's famous, so everyone assumes his work is better than it actually is."
"The Dark Lord achieved more at his age," another voice added, before being immediately hushed by several alarmed housemates.
"Are you completely insane?" someone hissed. "You want to be overheard comparing Potter to You-Know-Who? In public?"
Daphne turned slightly to catch the speaker's eye and gave him the sort of look that could have frozen lava. The fifth-year immediately found his eggs fascinating and didn't speak again for the rest of breakfast.
Some Slytherins, Daphne thought with disgust, have no sense of political reality. Harry Potter is not just successful—he's connected. Insulting him is insulting someone who has the Italian Ministry's attention and Dumbledore's protection.
She caught Sebastian's eye and saw her own mixture of pride and protectiveness reflected there. Whatever their housemates might think, Harry was proving that Slytherin cunning and innovation could achieve remarkable things.
Ravenclaw Table
Luna Lovegood sat at the far end of the Ravenclaw table, apparently absorbed in reading an upside-down copy of the Quibbler, but her protuberant blue eyes occasionally flicked toward the other tables with an expression of dreamy satisfaction.
When a third-year Ravenclaw asked her what she thought about Harry Potter's latest achievement, Luna's response was characteristically cryptic.
"The Nargles have been whispering about converging paths," she said serenely, not looking up from her magazine. "Harry's light grows brighter, which means the shadows will try harder to reach him. But bright lights attract helpful things too—Bowtruckles, friendly spirits, people who recognize genuine magic when they see it."
The third-year looked baffled, but Luna continued as if her words made perfect sense.
"Destiny has a way of providing what's needed," she added, finally looking up with her characteristic serene smile. "And Harry Potter was always destined for greatness that extends beyond Britain's borders."
Hufflepuff Table
Neville Longbottom sat quietly at the Hufflepuff table, listening to the excited chatter about Harry's Phoenix Crown achievement with a mixture of admiration and something approaching awe.
Susan Bones was fielding questions from curious housemates with obvious pride.
"My aunt says the Auror department considers Harry's talismans essential equipment now," Susan was explaining. "They've saved dozens of lives already, and this new version is supposed to be even more advanced."
"But he's only twelve," a second-year said with obvious confusion. "How does someone our age create something that professional Aurors depend on?"
Neville, who had been quietly working up the courage to speak, finally found his voice. "He's brave," he said simply, his words carrying a weight that made several nearby students turn to listen. "I've seen Harry face things that would terrify most adults, and he doesn't just survive—he finds ways to help other people survive too."
Susan nodded approvingly. "Exactly. Harry doesn't just think about protecting himself. He thinks about protecting everyone who might need help."
"And he shares credit," added a sixth-year who had apparently been listening. "The article mentions his collaboration with Nymphadora Tonks. Most people would have taken all the recognition for themselves."
Neville smiled at that, remembering Harry's advice about courage and fear during their conversation after the Chamber of Secrets incident. "That's just who Harry is," he said quietly. "He makes everyone around him better."
Back to Slytherin Table
As breakfast wound down and students began preparing for their first classes, Daphne found herself walking alongside Hermione toward the dungeons, both lost in thought about their friend's growing reputation.
"He's going to need protection," Daphne said quietly, her voice carrying the sort of political calculation that came naturally to someone raised in pureblood society. "This level of international attention will make him a target for people who want to use his abilities or eliminate a potential threat."
Hermione nodded grimly. "I've been thinking the same thing. Fame is dangerous enough, but add genuine political and economic influence..." She trailed off, her expression troubled.
"At least he has the Tonks family," Daphne pointed out. "And Dumbledore's protection while he's at school. But once he starts traveling internationally..."
"We'll just have to make sure he knows he has friends watching out for him," Hermione said firmly. "Harry saved Ginny Weasley, helped Anna Sallow, and created devices that protect Aurors across Britain. He's earned loyalty from people who matter."
"Besides," Daphne added with a hint of her characteristic dry humor, "anyone foolish enough to threaten Harry Potter will have to deal with his unusual 'cat'. And I suspect Itisa has very strong opinions about people who try to harm her human."
Daphne said nothing more, but she felt her arm tighten a little, and she could feel her magic acting like it was a living thing inside her body. Soon, soon I will get rid of you, she thought.
Ministry of Magic - Auror Headquarters
Kingsley Shacklebolt set down his copy of the Daily Prophet, his dark eyes scanning the headline one final time before looking up at his assembled colleagues. The Auror break room had fallen unusually quiet, the typical morning chatter replaced by thoughtful murmurs and occasional whistles of amazement.
"Well," Kingsley said in his deep, measured voice, "this changes things considerably."
Senior Auror Dawlish nodded, tapping the newspaper with his finger. "Forty thousand Galleons for a hundred talismans. That's four hundred per unit—double what his standard versions cost."
"And worth every Knut, based on field performance," added Auror Proudfoot, unconsciously touching the talisman hanging at his chest. "Mine saved my life just last month during that curse-breaker incident in Kent."
Kingsley leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "The question isn't whether Potter's innovations are valuable—we all know they are. The question is what this level of international recognition means for British magical security interests."
"How do you mean?" asked a younger Auror.
"Think strategically," Kingsley replied. "Potter is twelve years old and conducting independent foreign policy. He's accumulating wealth and influence at a rate that puts him on par with established magical families. And he's doing it all outside traditional governmental channels."
Dawlish frowned. "You think that's problematic?"
"I think it's unprecedented," Kingsley corrected carefully. "Which means we need to understand the implications. Potter's success reflects well on British magical innovation, but it also creates expectations among our international partners for direct access to our most talented individuals."
He gestured at the newspaper. "Notice how the Italian Minister praised Potter while subtly criticizing our own Ministry's handling of the negotiations. That's diplomatic messaging, and it suggests they view Potter as more reliable than his own government."
The room fell silent as the Aurors absorbed this observation.
"So what do we do?" Proudfoot asked.
"We adapt," Kingsley said simply. "Potter isn't going anywhere, and neither is his influence. We can either work with that reality or be bypassed by it."
Ministry of Magic - International Magical Cooperation
Three floors above the Auror headquarters, a very different conversation was taking place in the polished conference room of the International Magical Cooperation office. Senior officials sat around a mahogany table, their expressions ranging from calculating to concerned.
"The precedent is what worries me," said Department Head Bartemius Crouch, his voice crisp with administrative precision. "If every talented young wizard begins conducting independent international business, how do we maintain a coherent foreign policy?"
"Perhaps," suggested another one, "the question isn't how to prevent such arrangements, but how to facilitate them within appropriate frameworks."
Assistant Director Clearwater, a sharp-eyed witch in her forties, consulted her notes. "The Italian response has been overwhelmingly positive. Minister Lombardi's comments suggest they view Potter as evidence of British magical education's excellence. That's valuable soft power."
"Valuable, yes," Crouch conceded, "but uncontrolled. Potter operates independently of Ministry oversight, which means his future decisions could either enhance or damage our international relationships."
"Has anyone considered," Clearwater said thoughtfully, "that attempting to control Potter might damage those relationships more than his independence does? The Italians clearly prefer dealing with him directly."
Crouch nodded slowly. "A fair point. Heavy-handed intervention could be seen as stifling exactly the kind of innovation our partners admire."
"So we monitor and adapt," Clearwater concluded reluctantly. "Though I suspect this won't be the last time Potter's independence creates... diplomatic complexity."
Gringotts Wizarding Bank
In the depths of Gringotts, Account Manager Dinak sat in his office, reviewing financial projections with the sort of methodical precision that had made him one of the bank's most trusted officials. His silver hair caught the light from the magical torches as he made notations in an ornate ledger.
"Forty thousand Galleons," he murmured to himself, his amber eyes gleaming with professional interest. "Plus his existing commission structure, vault fees, and accumulated interest..."
He pulled out a different ledger, one marked with Harry Potter's account details. The numbers told a fascinating story of rapid wealth accumulation driven by genuine innovation rather than inheritance or speculation.
A soft knock interrupted his calculations. "Enter," he called, and a younger goblin appeared in the doorway.
"Sir, the Board of Directors is requesting updated projections on the Potter accounts," the assistant said respectfully.
Dinak nodded thoughtfully. "Understandable. Mr. Potter has become one of our more... interesting clients." He closed the ledger and looked up. "Tell the Board that Potter's financial trajectory suggests continued growth. His innovations have proven market value, and his international relationships are expanding his commercial reach."
"Any concerns, sir?"
"Only the usual ones," Dinak replied with a slight smile. "Young wizards with rapidly accumulating wealth and influence sometimes make impulsive decisions. However, Potter has demonstrated remarkable maturity in his business dealings thus far."
He paused, considering. "Also note that his account activities suggest he's planning for long-term sustainability rather than short-term gain. That's... unusual for someone his age."
"Should we adjust our service offerings?"
"Indeed. Prepare proposals for enhanced financial planning services, international transaction facilitation, and secure storage for valuable materials. If Potter continues this trajectory, he'll need more sophisticated banking support."
Hogwarts - Headmaster's Office
High in the tower office, Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk, the Daily Prophet spread before him. Fawkes perched nearby, preening his brilliant red feathers while the various magical instruments around the room hummed and clicked softly.
"Remarkable," Dumbledore murmured, his blue eyes twinkling as he read Harry's quoted words about magic uniting rather than dividing. "Though perhaps not entirely surprising."
He leaned back in his chair, stroking his long beard thoughtfully. The boy who had once sat in this very office and had in a way threatened him when he had tried to say that limiting his beloved pet is the way to go, was now conducting international diplomacy with the wisdom of someone far beyond his years.
Dumbledore could still remember the day he gave Harry the talisman he had made himself to limit what Itisa, the Nundu, would be able to do, to ensure the safety of Hogwarts. Now, here he was, creating Talismans of such quality.
"The question," Dumbledore said aloud, addressing no one in particular, "is whether such rapid independence serves Harry's best interests, or whether it places burdens upon him that no child should bear."
Fawkes sang a soft, questioning note.
"You're quite right, my friend," Dumbledore replied with a gentle smile. "Harry has never been an ordinary child, and perhaps expecting him to follow ordinary paths is both unrealistic and unfair."
He picked up the newspaper again, focusing on the photograph of Harry shaking hands with Minister Lombardi. The boy's posture spoke of confidence and maturity, but Dumbledore's experienced eyes could still see traces of the lonely child he had seen in the Diagon Alley apartment four years ago.
"The challenge," he continued, "will be ensuring that his growing influence doesn't isolate him from the connections and experiences that make life meaningful. Power without love is a cold and dangerous thing."
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