The Granger household was comfortably quiet, filled with the low hum of chatter between Hermione, Abigail, Ginny, Daphne, Pansy, Luna and Ron in the sitting room. Her parents, Dan and Emma, were in the kitchen preparing snacks for the kids when the unmistakable growl of an engine shattered the calm.
Not just any engine—this one purred with the precision of wealth. Dan frowned, drying his hands on a towel as Emma stepped toward the front window. A heartbeat later she gasped.
"Dan."
He joined her, only for his jaw to slacken. Parking outside their home was not the sort of car one saw in their neighborhood. Sleek, impossibly black, its polished bodywork caught the morning caught the morning light like liquid glass. Even from behind the curtains, they could sense its presence—more sculpture than automobile, as if it belonged on a showroom floor in high end dealers, not parked beside their mailbox.
Inside, the kids had noticed the sound too. Hermione got up and went to the window, brows raised.
Her hand flew to her mouth. "No... he didn't"
But he had.
The McLaren F1 slid into place with effortless grace, engine cutting off in a low, satisfied growl. For a moment the whole street seemed to pause, silence falling as curious neighbors peeked from curtains.
The passenger door opened first, and Tonks stepped out—except it wasn't the Tonks they knew. Her hair was styled, her outfit sharp: white jacket over fitted jeans, ankle boots clicking against the pavement. She glanced around sheepishly, tugging at the sleeve as though not entirely comfortable with them.
Then the driver's side lifted, and Harry emerged. All in black, the sunlight catching his Patek Philippe, expression calm as though arriving in a multi-million-pound car outside a suburban neighborhood was the most natural thing in the world.
The sitting room went silent. Ginny's cheeks went scarlet. Daphne and Pansy exchanged quick looks, both sitting a little straighter. Luna just tilted her head, dreamy eyes sparkling as if she were seeing a painting come alive. Ron's jaw dropped, somewhere between awe and indignation.
Dan Granger blinked hard, muttering under his breath, "That's… that's not just a car. That's the car."
Emma shot him a bewildered look. "What do you mean?"
"McLaren F1. World's fastest road car. Costs more than a million pounds."
Before Emma could reply, the doorbell rang.
Emma opened the door, still smoothing down her blouse as if that might make the scene before her any less absurd. Harry stood outside, looking unlike anything she had seen him look like before.
"Harry, dear, come in," Emma managed, though her voice carried a trace of disbelief.
Harry nodded politely, Tonks trailing behind him with a faint grin clearly enjoying the flustered situation of others, specially since she had gone through the same thing before.
The Granger living room erupted the second Harry stepped inside.
Ron blurted, "Bloody hell, mate, did you go out to buy that?"
Harry chuckled, and was about to answer when Tonks snorted. "Your bloody mate bought it ages ago. He has 4 other cars in his garage."
The room went still.
Hermione's eyes widened as though Tonks had just announced Harry secretly lived on the moon. Ginny's mouth fell open, Pansy arched a brow in amused disbelief, and Ron nearly choked on his own breath.
"Four?" Ron sputtered, his voice breaking halfway through. "You—you're telling me he's got five cars? Five! What the bloody hell do you even need five cars for, Harry? You're twelve!"
Harry just flopped back on the couch and gave a little shrug, as if the entire conversation was about something trivial like homework. "Need doesn't always enter it, Ron. I just love cars. I love collecting them."
The room erupted again.
"You collect them?" Hermione's voice cracked, hands flying to her temples as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Harry, people your age collect stamps, or Chocolate Frog cards—not McLarens!"
Ginny gave a half-laugh, half-scoff, trying to mask her disbelief. "That's not collecting, that's—what do you even call it? Madness?"
Pansy leaned forward, smirk curling her lips. "I call it power. Not that I'm surprised—Potter always did have a flair for the dramatic."
Ron, still gaping, shook his head violently. "You don't even have a license! You can't drive!"
Tonks snorted from her corner, arms folded. "Tell that to the motorway he nearly turned into his personal racetrack this morning."
All eyes snapped back to Harry. He just smiled faintly, completely unbothered by the storm around him. "Driving's easy if you know what you're doing. And moreover I don't look 12, so no one really stopped me."
Hermione groaned, sinking onto the arm of a chair, eyes fixed on him with a mix of frustration and something dangerously close to fear.
Abigail giggled, unfazed by the weight in the room. She bounded over and clambered straight into Harry's lap, her small arms wrapping around his neck as if to anchor him there. "Well, my brother's a little… different, Hermione. But that's what makes him brilliant." She beamed at him, utterly proud, as though Harry buying cars worth fortunes was no stranger than him winning a game of chess.
That broke the tension for a second.
Dan cleared his throat, arms crossed, his expression equal parts disapproval and reluctant amusement. "Different is one word for it. Twelve years old and driving like a man who's been on the road for twenty. I don't know whether to ground you or ask for lessons."
Emma, though, shook her head with a tight smile, trying to compose herself. "It's absurd, Dan. Completely absurd. Cars worth more than our house and he treats it like a toy—"
Her voice trailed off, but Harry leaned forward slightly, his expression polite yet brimming with certainty. "If you'd like, Mr. Granger, you can take one of the cars out for a drive. The Porsche, maybe—it's smooth, powerful, but forgiving if you've never handled a supercar. Cars like these aren't meant to sit idle in garages, they're meant to be driven."
Dan blinked, caught off guard, while Harry continued as if discussing something as ordinary as lending out a book. "Most of the year I'll be at Hogwarts. I can't take them out myself, and machines like this need to be run from time to time to keep them healthy. I was going to have Sirius and Viktor take turns with them, but if you're willing, Mr. Granger, you could handle the Porsche for me. That way I won't have to worry about it."
Hermione shrieked, eyes wide as saucers. "That's not possible! You can't just—just give my dad a Porsche!"
Harry only raised a brow, unbothered by her outburst. "Why not? I didn't buy these cars to admire them sitting still. If that were the case, I'd have bought a showroom and left them there."
The room fell silent for a beat, the sheer audacity of the statement leaving everyone gaping.
Pansy leaned in, her tone caught between curiosity and disbelief. "Alright, Potter. Enough mystery. Just how much did you spend on all of this?"
Harry tilted his head, genuinely thoughtful. "I… don't know exactly. I wasn't tallying receipts that day. I bought a lot. Three Pateks—those alone cost me about two million pounds. One Audemars Piguet, roughly three hundred thousand. And the cars—five in total. Honestly, I picked up the four extras just to get the McLaren offer expedited. The F1 had a long waitlist, so I paid double to cut through the nonsense."
He paused, then shrugged lightly as though speaking of a grocery bill. "So… ten, maybe fifteen million, give or take? I didn't really check. I was celebrating a huge success that day, and when I celebrate, I celebrate properly."
Emma was the first to find her voice, though it wavered. "Fifteen… million. In one day. Harry, that's—" She broke off, pressing a hand to her temple as though the figure alone gave her a headache.
Dan let out a slow, disbelieving laugh. "Harry, that's not the sort of money people spend lightly. That's the sort of money that buys businesses. Real estate. Not—" he gestured vaguely toward the window where the McLaren sat gleaming in the drive, "—toys."
Harry's gaze met his, calm and unwavering. "You're right. It could. If I didn't already own enough businesses as it is. Mind you, fifteen million pounds is only about three million galleons. And as I said, I was celebrating." His lips curved faintly. "Besides, the watches are an investment. These models only appreciate—double, sometimes triple their value as they age."
The room fell into stunned silence again before Daphne leaned forward, curiosity flickering in her sharp eyes. "Celebrating what, Potter? What sort of success makes you burn through that much money like it's spare change?"
"The launch of the Moonsbane Elixir program, what else?" Harry lied quickly, deciding not to tell them about his broom empire just yet.
Daphne's lips parted slightly at his answer, but she quickly masked it behind a thoughtful hum. "Of course. That program. That explains... quite a lot, actually."
Pansy narrowed her eyes, suspicion mingling with reluctant admiration. "So you spent 3 million galleons to celebrate the launch of a free program?"
Ron blinked hard, as though still not understanding. "How do you think about celebrating something that you are giving out for free, by spending millions?"
Harry sighed, "A man ought to celebrate his wins. Otherwise, what's the point of winning at all?"
Dan exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Harry, I don't know whether to be impressed or horrified."
Emma muttered under her breath, "Both seem appropriate."
Luna, dreamily, piped up. "Celebrations are important. Otherwise the Wrackspurts will settle in your head and convince you your victories aren't real."
That actually drew a few chuckles, lightening the heavy atmosphere for just a beat—though Daphne's eyes never left Harry, sharp and calculating, as if she wasn't satisfied with his answer.
Hermione sank into the sofa, hands twisting her robe nervously. "Honestly... I just don't understand how you even begin to manage all this. Hogwarts, magic, cars... watches... how does it all fit in your head?"
Harry smiled, "I don't know Hermione. I just do what I want to do."
Abigail clung to his side, peeking up at him with wide, unashamed admiration. "You're amazing, Harry. I mean... I knew you were clever, but this... " she waved vaguely toward the driveway, the McLaren gleaming outside, "...whenever did you do that? Does Mum even know?"
Harry chuckled, "No Abby, mum doesn't know it. No one does... Well now you guys do, so I guess that's not no one anymore."
Abigail slid off his lap at last, tugging his sleeve. "Harry, let's go. I wanna ride the car."
Harry's expression softened. "We will, Abby. Let's first have tea, okay?"
That single interaction broke the tension like a charm. The girls exchanged amused glances; even Ron stopped sputtering long enough to smirk. For all the noise about cars and money, Harry still sounded like a normal boy teasing his little sister.
Dan exhaled and clapped his hands once. "Right. Enough staring at cars. Emma and I made sandwiches and tea. Everyone to the table."
It felt like someone had flicked a switch; the group drifted from the sitting room to the kitchen, voices returning to a more ordinary pitch. Ginny and Abigail argued over which sandwich looked best. Luna was peering into a teacup as though it might reveal the future. Pansy and Daphne started a quiet conversation by the window, no doubt trying to piece together what Harry wasn't telling them.
Plates clinked as Emma poured tea, the smell of toasted bread and butter filling the kitchen. Conversation had drifted back to school gossip and Quidditch matches; even Ron was starting to relax, a sandwich halfway to his mouth.
Harry reached for his cup, then froze mid-motion as though some sudden thought had blindsided him. He turned slowly toward Hermione's parents.
"Mr. and Mrs. Granger," he said with that same polite tone he used for business meetings, "do you like SUVs?"
The table stilled. Dan blinked, caught between confusion and amusement. "Er… they're practical, I suppose. Why?"
Hermione's eyes went wide. She knew that tone. "Harry," she hissed, already bracing herself. "No."
Harry glanced at her as though she'd interrupted a perfectly sensible train of thought. "What? I never paid you back for the drinks, remember? Those crates of soda—what was it, a hundred and forty? I was thinking an SUV might be—"
"Absolutely not!" Hermione shot upright, cheeks flushed scarlet. "You are not buying my parents a car because of some fizzy drinks! You can just transfer the fifteen hundred pounds like a normal person!"
Harry tilted his head, looking genuinely perplexed. "But a car is more fun. Besides, it's not even that expensive. I know a dealer who can get—"
"Harry James Potter!" she snapped, slamming her palm on the table. "Pay. The. Money. Back. In cash. Not a ten-thousand-pound car!"
A snort escaped Tonks before she could stop it. Ginny bit her lip to hide a grin. Ron tried to hide his laugh behind a sandwich. Pansy and Daphne were both drinking tea trying to not react to it. Even Emma was struggling not to laugh behind her teacup.
Dan chuckled outright. "Well, I can't say I've ever been offered an SUV for a soda run before."
"Don't encourage him, Dad!" Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands.
Harry just shrugged, picking up his tea as if this were all perfectly reasonable. "Offer still stands," he murmured, earning a fresh round of laughter from everyone except Hermione.
Harry set his cup down and leaned his elbows on his knees, expression losing a bit of its teasing edge. "Actually," he said, looking straight at Emma and Dan, "can I ask you something about your practice?"
Emma blinked at the sudden change of tone. "Our practice?"
"You're dentists," Harry said. "You run a clinic. You know how to handle patients, staff, scheduling, regulations, finances — all the unglamorous bits that make things work." His voice stayed mild, but there was a shrewdness in his eyes. "If I wanted to build something on the Muggle side — medical wing, research unit, whatever — you'd know how to do it properly. I've got space. I've got funds. I don't have your expertise."
Dan and Emma exchanged a startled look. Hermione peeked between her fingers. "Harry…"
He raised a hand. "I'm not saying shut down your clinic tomorrow. I'm saying: if you wanted to expand, if you wanted a second base with full autonomy, I'd fund it. No strings attached. Just… think about it."
The room went quiet for a heartbeat. Then Harry's gaze slid to the rest of them — Tonks, Daphne, Pansy, Luna, even the Weasleys — and a thought hit him so hard he almost laughed. Why had he been thinking so small? Why only the Grangers?
His lips quirked, eyes sharpening with the idea. "Actually…" he said slowly, looking around. "Why am I only saying this to you?"
The others stiffened, caught by the new edge in his voice.
"I've been sitting on a fortress of land and gold acting like it's just my weird inheritance," Harry went on. "But it doesn't have to be. There's room — and need — for labs, training grounds, businesses, safehouses, whatever you can imagine. Magical or Muggle. If any of you have a project you've always wanted to try but couldn't because you lacked backing… I can give you backing. Space, funding, wards, security. You don't have to live there. You don't even have to decide now. Just know the door's open."
Tonks blinked. "You're… offering us a stake in your secret lair?"
Daphne's brows arched, intrigued. "It sounds more like building a clan instead."
Harry's head whipped round to her, eyes going wide. "You know…" a slow grin spread across his face, "that's actually a brilliant idea. Let's build a clan and get richer than anything on the planet."
The air went electric.Ron froze mid-bite, crumbs spilling down his shirt. "You're not joking."
"I never joke about business," Harry said lightly, but there was an edge of seriousness underneath.
Pansy tilted her head, studying him. "A self-funded, self-defended organisation spanning the magical and Muggle worlds…" Her lips curved. "I can think of worse ways to spend my summer."
Tonks gave a low whistle. "Merlin's beard, Potter, you've gone full crime-lord." She didn't sound entirely disapproving.
Harry leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, the grin fading into something far more deliberate. "Alright. Let me make this clear. I'm not offering you a room in my house and a paycheck. I'm talking about pooling resources — magical and Muggle — and building something none of the old families would ever allow us to build alone."
That caught everyone. Even Hermione stopped mid-protest.
Harry continued, voice low but steady. "Not under my name, or the Dursleys, or anyone here. A completely new house. New name. New banner. Run by an elder board made up of the heads of every family who joins. No one person controls it. We make key decisions together. We decide the rules together. We take the profits together."
Daphne's eyes sharpened. "A consortium with teeth."
'Exactly," Harry said. "We all have everything, ranging from networks and skills to fund and reach. Together, I think we can dominate the entire world. Training, real estate, trade, manufacturing, media, clubs, potions—the lot. We can build an economy that no one in the world dares to bully."
"Exactly," Harry said. "You have skills, networks, businesses. I have capital, wards, and reach. Together, we become a major player on both sides of the world. Training, real estate, trade, manufacturing, media, clubs, potions — the lot. We build an economy no Ministry or old family can bully."
Dan and Emma exchanged a look; for the first time, the numbers started making sense. Emma murmured, "So it's… like a cooperative?"
"A cooperative with a fortress attached," Tonks said dryly, but her eyes were alight.
Luna clasped her hands. "A new hearth," she said softly. "One no one's ever sat by before."
Even Hermione was silent, caught between outrage and the sheer audacity of it.
Harry's chair scraped back suddenly, cutting through the charged quiet. "Right," he said, already on his feet. "This is big enough that I need to talk to Mum and Dad immediately."
He pivoted sharply to Daphne. "Bring your family to the estate — all of them. 15 minutes."
To Hermione: "Same for yours. No excuses."To Luna: "Yours too. The more minds the better."
Tonks opened her mouth but Harry raised an eyebrow. She smirked and waved him off. "Already ahead of you. I'll bring my family."
Harry turned to Pansy last. "Your call. I know your parents won't exactly leap at this, but the offer's open. Decide for yourself."
Finally, his gaze snapped to Ron. "Magic Pavilion. Now. Get your mum and dad, and if you pass through Diagon Alley, swing by Elysium and drag Sirius with you if he's already there. Tell him it's an emergency council."
Before anyone could protest, he bent, scooped Abigail up like a rucksack — she squealed, arms automatically looping around his neck — and in the same motion bolted for the door. The blur of black hair and pale limbs vanished through the hall as he shouted over his shoulder:
"Emergency meeting! Fifteen minutes! Don't be late!"
The front door slammed. Out in the drive they could hear the low snarl of the McLaren spring to life, then the scream of tires as Harry shot off like a cartoon thief, Abigail's delighted shriek carrying faintly back to the house.
The sitting room sat frozen for a beat before Tonks snorted. "Well. Guess the council of doom is convening."
"No, but well... yeah I guess," Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples. "He is unpredictable."
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The Dursley Mansion's main sitting room had never felt so full.
Sunlight poured in through high mullioned windows, scattering over polished oak floors and velvet-upholstered chairs. Portraits of long-dead Dursleys glowered faintly from gilded frames, but the noise of so many voices softened even their stern expressions. The Grangers were perched together near the fireplace, cups of tea balanced in their hands like they'd done it a hundred times. The Weasleys occupied a cluster of couches, Arthur looking curiously at a silver-inlaid coffee table while Molly fussed over a tray of sandwiches she'd brought from the kitchen as though she still couldn't quite believe this was all real.
Petunia was handing out the other tray of sandwiches to the Greengrass family, Lovegood family and Tonks family. Vernon and Sirius looked lost, but they were among many who did.
The Greengrasses were impeccably composed in another corner; Astoria sat primly between her parents, while Daphne's gaze roamed the room, assessing it like one would a chessboard. The Lovegoods were the oddest yet most cheerful presence: Xenophilius in a violently orange waistcoat, Pandora in a flowing silver robe, Luna curled between them humming under her breath, her dreamy expression at odds with the steel-bright curiosity in her eyes.
And then the fireplace flared green and out stepped Pansy.
Everyone had heard stories about Parkinson family—cold, calculating, distant. The man who stepped into the room bore little resemblance to that reputation. Tall and well-kept, yes, but his one hand rested lightly at the small of his wife's back, his eyes softening every time they flicked toward his daughter. Mrs Parkinson glided in with a calm, poised smile, and Pansy herself walked between them like a princess entering court, every bit aware she had her father wrapped round her little finger.
Conversation faltered as the new arrivals took in the crowd. For a heartbeat, there was only the hush of bodies shifting and the faint hiss of the fire. Then Vernon gave a small nod of greeting, and Petunia bustled forward with surprising ease.
"Lord and Lady Parkinson," she said warmly, "welcome. Tea's in the sideboard — help yourselves. Harry's just upstairs at the moment, but he'll be down soon."
The Parkinson patriarch inclined his head graciously. "Thank you, Lady Dursley. This is… quite the gathering." His gaze swept the room, curiosity sparking behind his calm façade. "My daughter told me Potter was assembling people. I didn't realise he meant so many."
Daphne gave a tiny smirk at that from across the room. Tonks' parents had taken chairs near the far window; Andromeda raised a brow, whispering something to Ted that made him chuckle under his breath.
The room went still. And then—boom. The doors flung open. Harry barreled in, hair wildly disheveled as though he'd wrestled a thunderstorm, sleeves half-rolled, cuffs smudged with ink and dust from his latest project. A massive whiteboard hovered behind him, levitating as if guided by invisible strings, clanking gently against the ceiling as it bobbed into place.
Every matriarch in the room—Adorabella, Mrs. Parkinson, Mrs. Lovegood, and even Andromeda—gasped faintly. Something about the chaos of his appearance, the reckless confidence in his stance, made him absurdly, dangerously alluring. Ginny, Daphne, Tonks, Pansy, and Luna all turned a deep shade of tomato red, coughing or dropping hands to their faces in half-embarrassed awe.
Harry hurried to the front of the room, eyes bright, a manic sort of energy radiating off him. "First of all," he said, voice loud and commanding, "thank you so much for coming on such short notice!"
With a sharp gesture, he slammed the whiteboard down onto the stand. Scribbles, numbers, diagrams, flow charts, doodles, arrows, and magical symbols sprawled across literally every inch of its surface. It looked like the product of a genius on a three-day caffeine binge—or perhaps just Harry. Hermione's stolen whiteboard had never seen anything like it.
He took a breath, flashing a grin at everyone. "I hope you all know why you've been gathered here."
The room blinked back at him. Confusion was thick enough to taste. Even Sirius' lips twitched, unsure whether to laugh or reach for a whisky.
Harry waved a hand dismissively. "Ah, right. Fine, I'll say it again." He gestured to the whiteboard. "We're forming a clan. Not under anyone's name, not under the Dursleys, not under me. A true family of influence, pooling our resources, intellect, and magical—and muggle—capabilities. Elder board, decision-making councils, businesses, real estate, cafes, investments… the whole works. Every one of you has a seat at the table if you want it. And those who don't—well, you're welcome to watch this empire grow anyway."
Whispers spread. Vernon's jaw was half-dropped. Mrs. Weasley's hands flew to her mouth. Tonks' parents leaned forward, exchanging glances that said clearly this is Harry we're talking about; just roll with it.
Harry's grin widened. "Think about it. We combine our strengths. Magic, muggle know-how, clever investments, connections. We become… untouchable. Unstoppable. Richer than anyone's imagination—and for once, we control the story."
Harry casually tapped the whiteboard with a single finger. The scribbles and diagrams shimmered and shifted. Lines began to glow, arrows leapt from one cluster to another, and words rearranged themselves as though the board itself had a mind.
"Watch closely," Harry said, eyes gleaming. "I'm not here to just talk. I'm here to show you."
The chaos on the board transformed into a holographic projection hovering above it. A 3D model of the Dursley Mansion appeared, entire wings highlighted, rooms labeled: offices, living quarters, recreational areas, secure vaults. Tiny figures representing everyone in the room moved through the hallways, showing how each family or participant could inhabit the mansion and its surroundings.
Then a bar chart floated into existence beside the mansion: projected funds, investments, businesses, and properties. Animated coins tumbled from one pile to another, growing as they multiplied. A line graph showed projected growth over the next few years, skyrocketing impossibly.
Harry's finger tapped again, and the board zoomed into a sleek logo, hovering mid-air. "And the name—this clan won't belong to me, the Dursleys, or anyone else. We decide together. The brand, the identity, the empire—it's ours. Completely independent."
With another swipe, he displayed a network map, lines connecting the Grangers, Weasleys, Tonks family, Greengrasses, Lovegoods, Pansy's family, Sirius, and even the Dursleys' influence. "Roles, responsibilities, shares, elder board seats—everything. Matriarchs, patriarchs, council members. Everyone has a voice. Everyone has power. Every decision accounted for."
The board split further, showing a breakdown of industries: real estate, cafes, clubs, investments, magical and muggle ventures side by side. Tiny animated versions of their potential businesses opened doors, buzzed with activity, and attracted animated crowds.
Harry leaned forward, eyes dancing. "Funds, logistics, living arrangements, governance, profits, reinvestments, expansion—every single part is modeled. We're not guessing; we're executing."
The room was silent again—only this time, it wasn't awe at Harry's wealth or car collection. This was strategy. Every family member could see the scope, the thought, the sheer scale of what Harry envisioned. Even the Dursleys blinked at the projection, reluctantly impressed.
Ginny whispered to Ron, wide-eyed, "I… I think he's actually serious about this."
Harry smiled, tapping the board once more. "So… questions? Ideas? Suggestions? Or are we ready to build the most formidable clan the wizarding world—and the muggle one—has ever seen?"