The grand dining hall of the castle glowed with soft, perpetual afternoon light filtering through the crystalline walls. Silver veins pulsed gently beneath the long obsidian table, casting faint ripples of light across silverware and crystal goblets. A gentle waterfall murmured down one curved wall before vanishing into the floor without a trace. The air carried the rich aroma of roasted meats, fresh herbs, buttered vegetables, and warm bread straight from the enchanted ovens.
Saturday lunch had become something of a ritual in recent weeks. Today the table seated a curious mix: Dumbledore at the head, robes of deep midnight blue; Bellatrix beside him, looking every inch the quietly recovering witch in simple black robes; Sirius and Amelia opposite them, the Minister's hand resting casually on Sirius's knee; Petunia at the other end, ever the graceful hostess; Snape, Burbage, Bill Weasley, and Charlie Weasley filling the remaining seats.
Platters moved of their own accord, refilling plates with perfectly carved roast beef, honey-glazed carrots, buttered peas, and golden Yorkshire puddings. A self-stirring gravy boat hovered attentively near Sirius.
Dumbledore took a measured sip of pumpkin juice before turning his gentle but piercing gaze toward Bellatrix. "My dear, the cure you published two weeks ago continues to cause quite the stir at St Mungo's. Healers are calling it revolutionary. I must admit I am curious about the process. How exactly did you isolate the regenerative thread in the neural pathways?"
Bellatrix's fork paused halfway to her mouth. She set it down carefully, fingers trembling just enough to sell the uncertainty. Her voice came out soft, almost fragile, the tone of someone still piecing together a shattered life.
"I… I only helped with the research, Professor," she said, addressing Dumbledore with the respectful title she had used since her "graduation" memory. "Harry did the majority of the work. I simply provided what data I could from… from the tests he asked me to run. The formulation, the stabilisation runes, the final brewing sequence — those were all his. The paper may have listed my name first, but that was Harry's decision, not mine."
Snape's dark eyes narrowed across the table. "I can certainly see him creating the cure, but why did he give you the credit for it?"
Bellatrix met his gaze steadily, "I don't understand myself. He said something about a new start. You can ask him for the details."
A quiet ripple of understanding passed around the table. No one looked particularly shocked. Harry Potter developing groundbreaking potions had become almost routine.
Petunia nodded once, passing the gravy boat to Bill. "He does that. Creates something impossible and then gives the credit away like it's nothing."
Sirius leaned back in his chair, a fond but weary smile tugging at his lips. "The boy's too generous for his own good. Always has been. He could have put his name in blazing letters across every journal in Europe and no one would have blinked. Instead he hands the spotlight to someone who needs it more."
Amelia set her goblet down with a soft click, her sharp eyes thoughtful. "Well to be fair, he already has his name plastered across the minds of magical Europe by now. But this move of his? Clever. Politically. The cure is already saving lives at St Mungo's. People who once feared Bellatrix Lestrange now whisper her name with cautious hope. Every healed mind chips away at the old hatred. Harry knows exactly what he's doing." She continued, pointing at Bellatrix, "Ministry cannot touch her anymore."
Bellatrix stared down at her plate, pushing a glazed carrot with her fork. "I told him he didn't have to. That it wasn't right. He just looked at me and said, 'Family doesn't keep score, Aunt Bella.' Then he walked out of the room like the matter was settled."
A heavy silence settled over the table, broken only by the soft clink of silverware and the distant murmur of the waterfall.
Charlie Weasley, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke. "That's all good and well, but I'm sorry. Can someone explain why Dumbledore of all people is here having lunch with us? Not to mention Professor Snape and Professor Burbage."
Bill added looking just as confused as his brother. "Yes, I'd like to know that as well. Also how is Bellatrix here of all places? Shouldn't she be at Azkaban?"
Amelia tensed at once, shoulders tightening. The matter was delicate, far too delicate for casual lunch conversation, and the last thing the Minister needed was two hot-headed Weasley brothers demanding answers about a former Death Eater now sitting at the same table as the Headmaster.
Petunia came to the rescue with perfect hostess grace. She tilted her head and asked mildly, "Have you boys not been reading the Daily Prophet lately?"
Bill and Charlie exchanged a sheepish glance.
"Been travelling," Charlie admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Dragon reserve in Romania doesn't exactly deliver morning papers on time."
"Same here," Bill added. "The Gringotts business I was on didn't exactly give me access to the Daily Prophet at the time."
Snape opened his mouth, no doubt ready with a cutting remark, but Charity Burbage leaned forward and cut him off smoothly, placing a gentle hand on his forearm.
"The entire Hogwarts staff has joined Nexus," she explained, her voice warm and clear. "All of us. So it really shouldn't surprise anyone to see professors at this table. Especially Dumbledore." She smiled sweetly at the Headmaster. "He would much rather spend his days trying to unravel the magical anomaly that is this mansion Harry built than sit behind a Headmaster's desk."
Dumbledore chuckled, the sound rich and genuinely amused. "Guilty as charged, my dear. This place is utterly fascinating. The way the architecture responds to intent alone… I could study it for decades and still not understand half of it."
Bill and Charlie stared, stunned into silence. This was clearly news to them.
Sirius muttered under his breath, "I seriously doubt that. You are the only one crazy enough to understand Harry. Considering both of you are off your bonkers. Both Headmaster and student terrorizing Hogwarts."
Amelia hit him on the shoulder as she heard what he said. Sirius made the face that asked her to disagree with him if she could.
Petunia gave a soft, knowing laugh and refilled Dumbledore's goblet herself. "Harry has a way of collecting the brightest minds and the most complicated hearts. It seems even the Hogwarts staff could not resist the pull. As for Bellatrix… well, the cure speaks for itself. Lives are being restored because of it. The Ministry, under Amelia's guidance, has granted her a conditional pardon. She remains under observation, of course, but she is free."
Amelia nodded, her expression warm but professional. "The healers at St Mungo's have already reported remarkable progress with the first batch of patients. Three minds that had been locked away for over a decade are beginning to surface again. It is… humbling work."
Sirius raised his goblet in a quiet toast. "To second chances, then. And to the stubborn idiots who insist on handing them out like sweets."
Bellatrix's lips curved in the smallest, most tentative smile. She still looked as though she expected someone to snatch the forgiveness away at any moment.
The conversation drifted naturally after that, the kind of easy talk that only happened when old wounds had begun, however slightly, to heal.
Charlie Weasley leaned forward, eyes bright. "Speaking of second chances, I've been thinking about the holidays. Romania has a new clutch of Ironbelly eggs due in June. If any of you fancy a proper adventure, the reserve always needs extra hands. No dangerous work, just observing and recording. The dragons are magnificent this time of year."
Bill chuckled beside him. "Only you would call watching fire-breathing lizards 'not dangerous,' Charlie."
Burbage, who had been unusually quiet, suddenly turned toward Snape with a soft, thoughtful smile. "I would love to see Romania someday. The ancient runes etched on some of the older dragon caves are supposedly breathtaking. Perhaps you would accompany me, Severus? I always find your insights on dark creature wards… illuminating."
She said the last word with the gentlest emphasis, her eyes lingering on his just a fraction longer than necessary.
Snape blinked once, then twice. His spoon paused halfway to his mouth. "I… have no particular interest in dragons, Professor Burbage. Their wards are crude at best."
Burbage's smile only deepened. "All the more reason for a fresh perspective, don't you think? We could make it a research trip. Just the two of us."
Snape stared at her, utterly lost. A faint flush crept up his neck. "I fail to see what value I would add to such an excursion."
Across the table, Sirius nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. Amelia hid her grin behind her goblet. Petunia's shoulders shook with silent laughter. Even Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with unrestrained delight.
Burbage leaned in slightly, voice warm. "Your company alone would be value enough, Severus."
Snape opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. No sound emerged. He looked like a man who had just been hit with a mild Confundus Charm.
Charlie coughed into his fist to hide his grin. Bill kicked him under the table, equally amused.
Just then, from the direction of the kitchens, a heavy, wet thud echoed through the hall, followed immediately by the sound of something massive sliding across the marble floor.
"Master Harry, sir! What is that?!" Taffy's shriek was so high-pitched it made the crystal goblets on the dining table hum.
"Lowland Gristle-Back, Taffy," Harry's voice drifted in, sounding slightly muffled. Thump-squelch. "Two of them. Already dressed and quartered. I even got the farmer to include the offal for the garden wards."
"Two?!" another elf, Teffy, wailed. "Master Harry, this is three hundred kilos of beast! We is just having lunch! The larder is full, sir, bursting!"
"Then make a bigger larder," Harry replied with the breezy, terrifying logic of a boy who considered physics a polite suggestion. "I came across a farmer in the Lowlands whose herd was over-crowded. It seemed a waste to leave them there."
"But why, Master?" Taffy's voice was bordering on hysterical now. "Why is Master bringing two whole Gristle-Backs into the kitchen on a Saturday afternoon?"
"For eating, Taffy. Why else?"
"Eating?! Master is wanting to eat a whole village's winter supply?!"
"Not in one sitting, obviously," Harry's voice moved closer, then further away, accompanied by the sound of heavy crates being slid across the floor. "Everyone's been working hard. The professors are practically living here now, Sirius is always hungry, and I'm... well, I'm growing. This should last us a week. Maybe ten days if we're conservative with the brisket."
"Conservative?!" Teffy let out a strangled sob. "He is bringing three hundred kilos of magical swine and speaking of brisket! Master Harry, there is no room for the sausages! The sausages is being squashed by the ribs!"
"Then cook the sausages," Harry suggested. "I'll take a tray of them later. And a gallon of fruit juice. I've got to come up with exams for all 7 years."
"Master is a monster!" a third elf squeaked, though the sound of a sizzling pan already hitting the stove suggested they were already obeying. "A hungry, meat-thieving monster!"
"I prefer 'generous patron,' Eddy," Harry called back. "Now, do remember to prepare some steaks of this tonight, I have to leave now."
In the dining hall, the silence was absolute.
Sirius slowly set his glass down, his eyes wide. "Three hundred kilos," he muttered. "He's twelve. He's twelve years old and he just bought a small ecosystem for lunch."
Petunia let out a long, deeply exhausted sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. "What will I do about this kid?!"
Dumbledore, however, simply popped a honey-glazed carrot into his mouth, his eyes twinkling brighter than the crystalline walls. "A growing mind requires a growing amount of protein, Petunia. Though I must say, I've always found the Gristle-Back particularly delicious when slow-roasted with a bit of sage."
Amelia was the one who looked confused, her fork hovering mid-air. "Wait, are Gristle-Back even bred in the UK? I was under the impression the nearest sustainable herds were in Scandinavia. Norway, if I recall my Department of International Magical Cooperation briefings correctly."
The table went quiet again. Bill and Charlie exchanged a look of pure bewilderment.
"Norway?" Bill repeated, his voice faint. "He just popped over to Norway... for lunch meat? Between courses?"
Sirius let out a hollow, barking laugh, leaning back and looking up at the crystalline ceiling. "Of course he did. Why bother with the local butcher in Hogsmeade when you can cross the North Sea for a better cut? It's Harry. He probably didn't even put a coat on."
Petunia's hand stayed firmly on the bridge of her nose. "I'm willing to bet anything that he took the entire children group over to Norway today for sight-seeing of all things..."
Bellatrix added, "Would explain why they didn't pop over today for lunch like they always do..."
The table went quiet again, the implication sinking in.
Amelia's headache started. "If anyone finds out, this is going to be a mess. An international magical mess. Unauthorized magical transport is nothing to scoff at..."
"Think of the experience, though!" Charlie said, his eyes bright with a sudden, sharp envy. "Can you imagine being twelve years old and having a friend who just... blinks you to Norway because the air feels different there? I'd have given anything for that at Hogwarts."
"It's one thing for that, and another for having a friend that blatantly ignores all magical law because he simply can." Snape noted. He looked like he was mentally calculating the sheer magical output required to apparate a group of 12 children over a distance of 700-800 miles.
The table went quiet again, the implication sinking in.
Burbage set her fork down gently, her expression caught somewhere between fascination and mild horror. "Is Harry always this… spontaneous?"
Petunia let out a long, deeply exhausted sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose once more. "Spontaneous doesn't even begin to cover it. He was even worse when he was younger. I wouldn't be surprised if one day he decides to apparate straight into space just for the thrill of seeing what the stars look like up close."
Burbage's eyes widened in genuine alarm. "He won't… would he?"
No one at the table rushed to disagree. The silence that followed was heavy with the uncomfortable knowledge that, yes, there was a very real chance Harry might actually do exactly that if the idea ever occurred to him.
Dumbledore chuckled softly, the sound warm and fond. "Perhaps we should all refrain from giving him the idea. With any luck, he won't think of it."
Snape, who had been unusually quiet through most of the conversation, finally spoke. His voice was low, almost reluctant. "I wonder what his MPU rating actually is. After all, his friends created the entire system specifically for him."
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled once more, a thoughtful look crossing his ancient features. "It would be very strange indeed for Harry to register anywhere below a million MPUs. Nothing else would explain the things that boy can do on a casual Tuesday afternoon."
Petunia's hand froze halfway to her goblet. "A million? That would make him a Grand Sage. The strongest mortal wizard alive."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, but his expression remained serious. "There is no doubt in my mind that Harry is currently the strongest wizard in the world. But I do not believe Grand Sage is the final stage of mortal power. Not for him. Perhaps not for anyone."
"I have been meaning to suggest to Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger that perhaps they ought to introduce more levels as Grand Sage might not be the limit of mortal magic," he added.
The silence that settled over the table this time was deeper, heavier. The soft pulse of silver light in the crystalline walls seemed to slow, as though the castle itself was listening.
Sirius let out a low whistle. "Merlin's hairy balls. We really are raising a god, aren't we?"
Petunia shot him a withering look, but there was no real heat in it. "Don't encourage him."
Amelia rubbed her temples. "At this point, I'm not sure encouragement is even necessary. I just hope he at least stayed in the same time zone."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he took a final bite of his carrot. "I shouldn't worry too much, Amelia. Norway is lovely this time of year. I'm sure they're having a very educational time in the snow."
"He'll be fine, Amy," Sirius said, reaching for a second helping of pudding. "The boy knows his way around a fjord."
But Harry was not in a fjord.
Harry was standing on the very top of the Moreris, the luxurious hotel where they had stayed during their Cairo vacation. The Egyptian sun blazed high above the city, turning the Nile into a ribbon of molten gold far below. The ancient pyramids shimmered on the horizon like distant dreams, while the bustling streets of Cairo stretched out beneath him in a living tapestry of sound and colour.
"I feel like 4000 km is my limit right now," He added as he took in the view from the top.
He took a slow, deep breath, letting the warm desert wind whip through his hair. The distance from Hogwarts had been exactly 3600 kilometres. But he could feel that 4000 km is his limit right now. Although this was a new record for him.
A small, satisfied smile curved his lips.
"Time for lunch," he murmured.
He vanished from the rooftop without a sound.
Minutes later, in a crowded side street near the Khan el-Khalili market, a boy in a simple hooded cloak stepped up to a busy gyro cart. The vendor, a weathered man with a thick moustache, barely glanced at him as he handed over order after order. Harry paid with a thick stack of Egyptian pounds he had kept from their previous trip, his voice low and unremarkable.
Fifty jumbo gyros. Extra meat. Extra everything.
The vendor's eyes widened, but money was money. He worked fast, wrapping each massive gyro in thick paper, the smell of spiced lamb, garlic sauce, and fresh tomatoes filling the air. Harry accepted the enormous bundle with a quiet nod, slipped it into his subspace the moment he entered a deserted corner, and disappeared again.
He reappeared near the edge of the Great Lake at Hogwarts, the Scottish air cool and crisp against his skin. Only then did he pull out of the still-warm gyros, took a massive bite, and began walking toward the castle with quiet satisfaction.
The flavour exploded across his tongue. Perfect.
He strolled through the corridors chewing contentedly, the gyro disappearing in steady, appreciative bites. Students gave him odd looks but no one dared question the boy because they knew about his legendary appetite.
When he finally pushed open the door to the Room of Requirement, the scene inside was one of focused chaos. The Room had reshaped itself into a comfortable workspace. Ron and Hermione sat at a large table covered in parchment and glowing runes, arguing quietly about adding new tiers beyond Grand Sage. The twins were hunched over a workbench, sparks flying as they tinkered with some new invention. Draco, surprisingly engaged, was helping them with a delicate charm. Ginny and Pansy practised advanced duelling spells in one corner while Daphne watched critically. Luna and Astoria worked together on a complex potion that bubbled with soft pastel colours. Abigail sat cross-legged on a cushion, carefully sketching something in a notebook.
All heads turned when Harry walked in, still chewing the last bite of his gyro.
Ron blinked. "Where've you been?"
"Experimenting," Harry replied casually, licking a bit of garlic sauce from his thumb.
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Experimenting with what, exactly?"
Harry reached into his subspace pouch and pulled out the remaining forty-nine massive gyros, still warm and fragrant. He set the enormous stack on the nearest table with a soft thud.
"Long-distance Apparition," he said, as though commenting on the weather. "Turns out my current limit is about 4000 kilometres. Popped over to Cairo to check. Got some gyros. You guys want some? They're fresh."
The Room fell into stunned silence.
Ron stared at the mountain of gyros. Hermione's quill slipped from her fingers. Ginny's mouth opened and closed. Even Draco looked momentarily speechless.
Abigail was the first to recover. She hopped up, grabbed one of the massive wraps, and took a huge bite without hesitation. "These are really good," she mumbled through a mouthful.
That broke the spell.
Ron lunged forward. "Gimme."
Hermione hesitated for half a second, then sighed and reached for one as well. "We're not questioning this. We're just… not."
Pansy took two. "Cairo. Of course he went to Cairo."
Luna accepted hers with a dreamy smile. "The pyramids must have been very sparkly today."
Harry dropped into an armchair, already reaching for a second gyro. "They were. Nice view from the top of the hotel."
Draco shook his head slowly taking two for himself. "Well that is something I guess."
Harry just shrugged and took another bite, perfectly content.
"By the way guys," he said around a mouthful of spiced lamb and garlic sauce, "we are going back for dinner tonight. I delivered two Gristle-Backs today, so dinner is going to be good."
Ron paused mid-chew, staring at him. "Mate, you are eating right now. How in the hell are you thinking about dinner?"
"I'm just saying, 'cause I remembered," Harry replied with a casual shrug, as if delivering two massive magical swine for a single meal was the most normal thing in the world.
The Room went quiet for half a second before the collective groan rolled through the group.
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "Harry. You cannot be serious. You already ate half the breakfast menu, and now you apparated to Cairo for takeaway, and now you're planning to demolish two entire Gristle-Backs tonight?"
Abigail, who was on her second gyro, looked up. "Do you ever not think about food?"
"Hey, I'm just saying that we are going back home," Harry replied, completely unbothered as he polished off the last bite of his third gyro.
Draco stared at both of them like they had grown second heads. "You two are actually related. I keep forgetting honestly."
"How did you turn out so different when you were raised together, I wonder…" Pansy muttered, shaking her head.
Ginny snatched another gyro from the pile and pointed it at Harry like a wand. "You're going to explode one day. I'm calling it now. We'll find you in the Great Hall, perfectly round, still trying to reach for a third helping of pudding."
Fred and George exchanged identical gleeful looks.
"Imagine the funeral," Fred said solemnly.
"We could sell tickets," George added. "'Come watch the Boy Who Ate Everything finally burst.'"
"I don't see myself dying from overeating, thank you," Harry retorted as he reached for his fourth gyro. "Also I'm a growing boy. Need the calories."
Luna tilted her head, examining her half-eaten gyro with dreamy interest. "The Wrackspurts say your stomach is a bottomless pit connected directly to another dimension. That makes sense."
Pansy snorted. "At this point I'm not even surprised. The boy casually pops over to Egypt for lunch like it's a trip to Hogsmeade and then announces he's brought home enough magical pork to feed a small army for dinner."
"Wait, aren't Gristle-Backs bred in Norway?" Daphne asked, looking thoroughly confused.
Harry nodded, wiping his hands on a napkin that had appeared beside him. "Yeah. I landed in a farm up there, saw the farmer was having real trouble maintaining his herd, so I bought two. Seemed like the right thing to do."
Hermione finally closed her book with a resigned sigh. "You know what? I'm not even going to ask how you transported two full-grown Gristle-Backs across international borders in the middle of the day. I'm just going to eat this gyro and preserve what's left of my sanity."
Draco leaned back in his chair, smirking. "You lot realise we're all enablers, right? We keep saying 'Harry, that's insane' and then happily show up for dinner to eat the results."
"Well, do you happen to have a solution as to how you intend on stopping that guy?" Hermione asked pointing at Harry.
Draco took another large bite, chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. He opened his mouth as if to speak, paused, and then simply shook his head and reached for a second gyro instead.