The soft, golden beams of a late-afternoon sun cut horizontally through the dormitory windows, casting long, warm patterns across the wooden floorboards.
Harry opened his eyes slowly, letting out a deep, thoroughly satisfied stretch that caused several joints in his spine to pop in rapid succession. He lay still for a moment, simply staring up at the canopy of his four-poster bed, feeling an overwhelming sense of clarity. A quick glance at the clock on the bedside table confirmed his suspicions. It was exactly three in the afternoon, and it was a Wednesday. He had been asleep for a staggering eighteen hours.
"Now that," Harry muttered to himself, his voice thick with the gravelly residue of a truly deep slumber, "was a proper rest."
The past week had been an absolute nightmare of overlapping responsibilities. Between designing comprehensive testing parameters for all seven years of his Basics of Magic course and balancing the intricate logistics of his personal engineering projects, his brain had been running at maximum capacity. But as he sat up and tossed the heavy blankets aside, he consciously pushed all those thoughts out of his mind. The exams were set, the lecture schedules were cleared, and for the first time in months, he had absolutely nothing on his official Hogwarts itinerary.
As his feet touched the cool floor, the tangled blankets behind him smoothly rearranged themselves, the sheets snapping taut as the bed made itself without a single whisper of sound.
Harry grabbed a fresh change of clothes from his trunk and made his way straight to the adjoining bathroom. He turned the heavy brass handles of the shower, bypassing the heat entirely, and stepped directly beneath a heavy cascade of ice-cold water. He had always despised hot showers. The freezing, sharp bite of the water against his skin was exactly what he needed to wash away the lingering lethargy of an eighteen-hour sleep.
A short while later, Harry walked back into the dormitory, drying his face with a towel while his dark hair remained damp and casually styled.
He dressed deliberately, choosing a light blue striped shirt, crisp white jeans, and matching white sneakers. Finally, he reached for his wrist, fastening a stunning Audemars Piguet timepiece. It was a masterpiece of high horology, meticulously adorned with rare gemstones that caught the sunlight. There was nothing vulgar or loud about the design; the stones were integrated with absolute geometric precision, serving as a subtle testament to the flawless craftsmanship of its maker.
Stepping out of the dormitory, Harry descended the spiral stone staircase into the Gryffindor common room. As expected on a Wednesday afternoon, the room was entirely deserted. The younger years were locked away in their standard classes, while the older students were undoubtedly holed up in the library, frantically sweating over revision sheets for the upcoming exam season.
Since the room was entirely empty, Harry saw absolutely no reason to waste time walking down the corridors. He stood perfectly still in the center of the Gryffindor rug, adjusted the cuffs of his light blue striped shirt, and relaxed his posture.
Without a single gesture, without a vocal incantation, and without even the slightest disruption to the ambient air pressure, Harry simply vanished soundlessly. Reappearing in the entrance of the sprawling garage back home. He could see the cars hanging in air like perfectly balanced constellations.
Harry stepped into the garage, as he intended to decide which car he was going to take today. There was no vertigo as the localized gravitational anchoring changed depending on his position.
As much as he loved the McLaren F1, he had been driving it quite heavily as compared to his other cars. So instead, he casually strolled through the garage with his hands in his pocket as he began weighing his options.
He passed by the Lamborghini Diablo, and the Diablo Coupe, stepping sideways as the gravity rotated to present a pristine Lotus Esprit, and briefly glanced up at the Bugatti EB110 suspended vertically against what looked like nothing. He walked past his Ferraris, which had grown in numbers to more than 10.
Harry didn't even consider the SUVs or sedans. At long last his gaze finally locked onto a low-slung, sweeping silhouette positioned on a thirty-degree to him.
The silver Jaguar XJ220.
A slow, satisfied grin spread across Harry's face. The British hypercar was an absolute rocket, carrying a distinct, flowing elegance that perfectly matched the late-spring afternoon.
"Well let's see how the big cat handles my driving."
As he crossed the threshold toward it, the world rotated gently, leveling the silver beast out perfectly before him. Harry reached for the handle, slid into the low-set driver's seat, and the dashboard immediately awakened with a soft, clean pulse of light. A faint violet line materialized ahead of the nose, mapping out a safe exit trajectory through the layered fields.
The powerful engine purred to life with a deeply controlled, smooth mechanical hum. Harry eased the Jaguar forward off its suspended position, the car riding the rail of light seamlessly down the launch corridor, exiting the floating structure, and merging onto the open coastal roads of the White Cliffs of Dover.
The tires bit into the fresh asphalt as the XJ220 cleared the final boundary of the estate's launch corridor. The heavy mechanical hum of the twin-turbo V6 grew into a deep, resonant rumble, vibrating right through the carbon-fiber seats as Harry eased the silver hypercar into a smooth, sweeping turn.
The Dover coast was beautiful today. The Channel breeze was sharp and clean, cutting through the open window and stirring up his damp hair. To his left, the massive white chalk cliffs dropped sharply into the shimmering blue expanse of the sea, while to his right, green, sun-drenched hills rolled out as far as the eye could see. Harry leaned back against the headrest, a casual hand resting lazily on the top of the steering wheel. He wasn't tracking vectors or analyzing ambient magical densities; he was just listening to the mechanical rhythm of the engine and watching the sunlight dance across the long, silver hood of the car.
He subconsciously started humming his favourite song, tapping his fingers against the leather wheel to the beat. There was an incredible, grounding peace to driving like this. No destinations mapped into a screen, no administrative deadlines waiting for him. Just a quiet, unbothered stretch of open road with food at the end of the journey.
As the Jaguar rounded a long, wide bend that sloped downward toward the main highway, a sharp, brilliant streak of crimson caught his eye coming from the opposite direction.
It was a Ferrari Testarossa, its iconic side strakes gleaming brightly under the afternoon sun.
Harry let out a small, amused chuckle as the car drew closer. As the two vehicles drew level, Sirius leaned half his torso out of the passenger window, a massive, windblown grin on his face as he waved both arms aggressively. Next to him, Dan kept one hand steady on the streering wheel but offered a broad, cheerful wave of his own.
"They are certainly enjoying the afternoon," Harry waved back as the crimson Ferrari flashed past and vanished around the bend behind him.
The open coastal landscape slowly began to give way to smaller towns and peripheral suburbs as Harry left the Dover cliffs behind. The traffic was relatively light, allowing the big silver cat to slide effortlessly through the afternoon lanes. Harry kept the car at a leisurely, rhythmic cruise, simply enjoying the tactile feedback of the steering wheel and the changing scenery outside.
Navigating through the vibrant grid of the city streets, Harry kept his eyes peeled for anything that looked promising. The XJ220 drew immediate, open-mouthed stares from everyone on the sidewalks. After all, a pristine, silver million-pound machine cruising through the streets of 1993 London was a sight akin to a spaceship landing in the middle of the city.
His first stop turned out to be a brightly lit Burger King located on a busy corner. Harry pulled into a nearby parking slot, drawing a crowd of curious onlookers before he even opened the door.
Stepping out of the vehicle, Harry adjusted the collar of his light blue striped shirt and walked inside. Even with the constant, subtle glamour he always kept layered over his appearance to dull it out, it was completely impossible to hide his striking features. People instinctively looked up as he entered. The heavy glass door swung shut, and half the patrons in the dining area paused mid-bite, their gazes following the exceptionally handsome, tall young man walking toward the counter.
Behind the cash register, a young female counter staff looked up, ready to give a standard, tired greeting. The moment her eyes locked onto Harry's face, her words caught cleanly in her throat. She stared at him wide-eyed, her cheeks flushing a sudden, deep pink as her brain scrambled to process his presence.
Harry offered a polite, gentle smile, entirely used to the reaction. "Afternoon. Could I get a couple of the double bacon cheeseburgers, a large chicken royal, and a coke to go, please?"
The girl snapped out of her trance with a visible start, frantically nodding as her fingers flew across the keys of the register. "Right, yes, absolutely! To go. Just a moment, sir."
While waiting for his order, Harry leaned casually against the side counter. A few feet away in a corner booth, a little boy about seven years old was sitting with his mother, staring at Harry with wide, unblinking eyes, completely captivated by his appearance. Harry caught the boy's gaze, offered a warm wink, and gave a small wave.
After his order arrived, he took it, paid and walked out of the joint, making his way towards his car. Back inside his car, Harry unpeeled the first double bacon cheeseburger and took a massive, deeply satisfying bite. The rich, savory meat and melted cheese were exactly what he was craving today. He shifted the car into gear with one hand, steering back into the traffic flow while contentedly chewing, his eyes already scanning the storefronts for the next destination on his spontaneous food tour.
A few blocks later, a large KFC caught his attention. He parked along the curb, ignoring the small crowd that instantly gathered around the silver cat, and strolled inside. The reaction was exactly the same. The ambient chatter of the restaurant dipped by a visible baseline as customers followed him with their eyes, completely captivated by the effortless aura he carried. Harry stood before the menu board, entirely unbothered trying to think what to order.
Turning to the cashier, he smiled, "Can I get 4 21-piece buckets, 36 Zingers, 3 Rotisserie Gold, 6 large chips, 4 large coleslaw, 6 small tubs of popcorn chicken and 40 cornbread muffin?"
The cashier, a young guy who couldn't have been more than nineteen, froze mid-blink. His fingers hovered over the keys of the register like static lightning, his mouth parting slightly as his brain completely stalled out.
He stared at the menu board, then looked down at his screen, and finally looked back up at Harry, his eyes wide with absolute, unadulterated disbelief.
"I'm... I'm sorry, mate," the boy stammered, his voice cracking slightly under the sheer weight of the list. "Did you say... four twenty-one-piece buckets? And thirty-six Zingers?"
"And the three Rotisserie Golds, the sides, the popcorn tubs, and the forty cornbread muffins," Harry confirmed smoothly, his polite, easy smile completely unbothered by the sheer astronomical scale of the order.
The cashier swallowed hard, glancing toward the kitchen where the staff was working at a standard, mid-afternoon pace. "Mate, with all due respect, that is... that is an immense amount of food. Are you absolutely certain? We don't usually see an order of this volume without a call ahead this morning."
"I am entirely certain," Harry chuckled, leaning a casual elbow onto the side of the counter. "I happen to be responsible for feeding a rather large, exceptionally hungry group of people today. Trust me, not a single scrap of it will go to waste."
The boy swallowed hard and began hitting the keys, and the restaurant counter immediately filled with a frantic, rhythmic clack-clack-clack-clack as he hammered the specific bucket sizes and mechanical toggles. When he reached the Zingers, he had to press the individual item key thirty-six separate times to ensure the matrix layout on the kitchen's printing system wouldn't error out.
Clack-clack-clack-clack-clack...
Suddenly, the register let out a sharp, definitive electronic whine. The screen froze, flashing a bright, restrictive override code across the tiny digital text line. The transaction had crossed the fifty-pound store threshold, and the sheer volume of a single item had triggered an automatic security lock to prevent employee error.
The boy looked mortified. He quickly leaned over the counter and called out into the back, his voice cracking slightly. "Manager on till one! I need a manager override on till one, please!"
Within seconds, a harried-looking man in a crisp white shirt and a black visor stepped up to the front counter, wiping his hands on a white towel. He took one look at the flashing code, then at the towering list of items the boy had managed to input before the machine locked up. His eyes widened, and he immediately looked at Harry, taking in the light blue striped shirt, the flawless gemstone-adorned Audemars Piguet on his wrist, and the absolute, unbothered calm he radiated.
The manager reached down to his belt, pulling up a heavy ring of brass keys. He selected a small, notched metal key and slotted it directly into the physical lock mechanism built into the top right corner of the register. With a sharp, mechanical click, he turned the key, unlocking the system and forcing the override through.
"Good afternoon, sir," the manager said, his tone instantly shifting into deep professional respect, though he was staring intently at the screen. "Just to confirm... the system is reading thirty-six Zingers and four twenty-one-piece buckets. Is this correct?"
"And 3 Rotisserie Gold, 6 large chips, 4 large coleslaw, 6 small tubs of popcorn chicken and 40 cornbread muffin," Harry chuckled softly, shifting his weight slightly.
The manager looked back toward the kitchen line, his brow furrowing as he calculated the sheer volume of the order. "To be entirely frank with you, sir... our fryers and ovens simply can't process that volume of chicken instantly. It's going to take at least an hour and forty minutes, possibly closer to two hours, just to clear the baseline production without grinding the entire store to a halt. Can you wait?"
"I completely understand," Harry said smoothly, entirely unbothered by the logistics. "I wouldn't want to back up your kitchen line. Tell you what, I have a few more errands to run across the city anyway. If I come back to pick it up in about two and a half to three hours, will that give your team enough time to pace everything cleanly?"
The manager let out a visible, massive sigh of relief, his shoulders dropping instantly. "Oh, absolutely, sir. That would actually be incredibly helpful. We can spread the batches out perfectly so it's all fresh and piping hot the exact moment you return."
The manager nodded to the cashier, who hit the final "Total" key. The register gave a loud, mechanical whir as the narrow internal paper printer awakened, spitting out a long, narrow paper chit listing every single item in tight black ink. The manager ripped the top kitchen copy off the machine, walking over to the sliding metal window to spike it directly onto the kitchen's production line, shouting instructions to the cooks behind the wall.
He walked back, counting the items on the duplicate customer receipt. "Your total comes to exactly one hundred and ten pounds and ten pence, sir."
Harry reached into his pocket, pulling out a stack of cash. He counted out two £50 notes, and one £10 pound note. He then took out a £1 pound coin and placed them all in the counter.
"One hundred and eleven," he said smoothly.
The manager picked up the large notes, holding them up to the late-afternoon sunlight coming through the front windows to check the watermarks and ensure they weren't counterfeit, a standard protocol for a cash payment of this size. Satisfied, he popped the cash drawer open, dropped the notes inside, and handed the change to Harry.
Harry took the change and the receipt with a polite nod, turning on his heel as the heavy weight of dozens of eyes followed his exit. He stepped out into the late-afternoon London air, entirely amused by the spectacle he had just caused inside the fast-food joint.
Sliding back into the low, leather driver's seat of the XJ220, he listened to the twin-turbo engine purr to life with that deeply controlled, smooth mechanical hum. He looked down at the dashboard clock. It was just past five o'clock. Driving around the crowded urban grid of London for the next two hours just to kill time seemed like a monumental waste of functional energy, and he certainly wasn't going to drag the hypercar through stop-and-go city traffic for no reason. He would just Apparate back to the city to collect the massive order around 8.
However, the domestic logistics at Moonstone Dunvegan needed immediate sorting. If he didn't intervene right now, the elves would spend the next two hours executing a massive, elaborate dinner that would go completely to waste the moment he rolled up with the KFC order. The drive back to the White Cliffs of Dover would take time; by the time the Jaguar cleared the estate gates, it would be nearly seven anyway, which was far too late to stop the kitchens.
So instead of doing that, Harry decided to call for one of his elves.
It was an interesting quirk of this alternate universe, how the elves bonded to him didn't need to be within earshot to hear him. Harry had absolutely no idea how this worked but he wasn't in any particular hurry to figure it out either.
"Pippin!" Harry spoke clearly into the quiet cabin of the car.
With a sharp, microscopic pop that barely displaced the air inside the luxury interior, a tiny house elf materialized perfectly in the passenger seat and bowed as low as the leather constraints allowed.
"Master Harry called Pippin?" the elf squeaked, his large tennis-ball eyes blinking with absolute devotion.
"Yes, Pippin," Harry smiled softly, resting his wrist against the steering wheel. "Tell the elves not to prepare a single scrap of dinner tonight. I'm bringing home a massive feast for everyone."
"Pippin will tell them immediately, Master Harry! No cooking tonight!" The elf nodded frantically, and vanished from the passenger seat just as cleanly as he had arrived.
With the kitchen logistics entirely sorted, Harry shifted the silver cat into gear and eased back out onto the thoroughfare. Leaving the heavy urban perimeter of London behind, he guided the hypercar onto the open highway leading south toward the coast. The twin-turbo engine roared as he pressed down on the accelerator, the silver beast slicing through the physical world with absolute precision.
By the time the sweeping chalk architecture of the White Cliffs of Dover materialized ahead of him, the dashboard clock registered exactly 7:00 PM. The high spring sun was finally beginning to dip, casting long, rich amber shadows across the landscape, though the late-afternoon sky remained wide and clear.
As the Jaguar neared the perimeter of the estate, the underlying magic of Moonstone Dunvegan instantly recognized its master. Deep within the floating architectural matrix of the structure, a luminous trajectory descended from the vast garage opening above. The moment the tires of the XJ220 touched the smooth energy path, the vehicle's manual systems disengaged. The localized gravitational fields took hold of the hypercar, guiding it seamlessly up the launch corridor and settling it perfectly on its designated thirty-degree inclined plane.
Harry shut off the engine, the powerful mechanical hum fading into absolute silence. He stepped out of the low cockpit onto the invisible floor, his white sneakers completely grounded as he adjusted the cuffs of his light blue striped shirt.
Leaving the garage, Harry walked through the grand fluid corridors of the estate and stepped into the main living room. The space was staggering in scale, stretching outward with layered dimensions that completely dwarfed the great hall at Hogwarts.
The vast area was mostly quiet, but Harry immediately noticed a familiar figure seated at the massive oak desk near the panoramic windows. It was Victor, his primary operations manager. The older wizard looked utterly dynamic in his distress, completely buried under a towering, chaotic mountain of Muggle financial journals, corporate ledgers, and magical parchment sheets. He was chewing aggressively on the tip of a fine quill, muttering frantically to himself as he tossed one document aside only to pull another closer. He looked deeply confused, intensely stressed, and entirely out of his depth.
Harry walked over casually, his footsteps making no sound against the polished floorboards, and stood right beside the desk.
Victor blinked, finally noticing the shadow casting over his workspace. He looked up with a startled, exhausted expression, rubbing his temples. "Oh. Harry. You're back?"
"I am," Harry said, leaning slightly against the edge of the desk. "You look like you're trying to resolve a structural collapse of the universe, Victor. What is all this?"
Victor let out a long, heavy sigh, waving a hand over the chaotic spread of corporate documents. "It is the automotive files you ordered me to pull months ago, Harry. You told me to look into the performance car brands because you wanted to find a clean avenue to invest capital into the Muggle markets. I have spent the last week tracking their baseline financials, and to be completely frank, I am utterly bewildered by how these Muggles run their societies."
Harry raised an eyebrow, his analytical mind instantly sharpening. "What seems to be the problem?"
"I don't think you should invest a single Galleon in these companies," Victor said firmly, tapping a stack of red-inked balance sheets with his quill. "Magical investments require stability, and the Muggle exotic car market is a complete disaster zone right now. The global recession has dried up their consumer base entirely. They are losing staggering amounts of money. Take this British company, McLaren Cars. They spent a fortune developing a vehicle called the F1, but so far they have sold just one. The one you got. The board is in an absolute panic because the other cars aren't even ready to enter market yet."
Victor picked up another sheet, shaking his head in sheer disbelief. "And it gets worse. The Italian brand, Lamborghini, is being treated like a financial disease. Their current parent company is completely desperate to offload them just to stop the internal bleeding. Then there is Bugatti Automobili in Italy, which is buried under a mountain of debt from a new factory building, and Lotus Cars over here, which is practically bare of funds. Even the ones backed by larger entities are looking to sell immediately. They view these legendary engineering houses as massive liabilities."
"While you own cars from all these companies, the companies themselves aren't doing so well." He sighed.
The moment those words left Victor's mouth, a sharp, electric jolt shot straight through Harry's mind. How could he have forgotten. The global recession of 1990s that had pushed the supercars brand to brink of bankruptcy. But that was but temporary because 10 years from now, these cars would dominate the supercar and hypercar industry.
But more importantly, his mind was already mapping the architectural bridge of his ultimate goal, introducing magitech principles into high-end Muggle machinery to subtly pave the road for seamless coexistence between the two worlds.
"Let me see that," Harry said, his voice dropping into a low, commanding cadence.
He reached down and cleanly snatched the papers straight out of Victor's hands, pulling the ledgers under his line of sight. His green eyes scanned the data columns with terrifying velocity, verifying the numbers. The total value to buy out the absolute ownership of Bugatti, McLaren, Lotus, and Lamborghini didn't even total fifty million Galleons. It was an absolute pittance, a mere fraction of his annual four-hundred-million-Galleon income.
The excitement building inside his chest was unlike anything he had felt in months. He was looking at a golden egg-laying goose sitting directly in his lap.
He closed the final ledger with a sharp, definitive thud and locked his eyes onto his manager. "Victor. How long have you been sitting on this specific data?"
Victor blinked, slightly taken aback by the sudden intensity radiating from the boy. "I have been mulling over and organizing all these reports for a week now. I was about to give it to you tomorrow."
For the first time since Victor was assigned his manager, Harry felt a flash of irritation. He pinched the bridge of his nose, "A week Victor? You have held the absolute key to the entire global supercar segment on your desk for a week, and you didn't think to alert me instantly?"
"Harry, they are losing millions," Victor protested.
"For now, Victor," Harry interrupted him. "Do you have any idea what this is? This isn't a liability, Victor. This is the single greatest acquisition opportunity we have had so far. Bigger than the broom companies we acquired. You are looking at absolute peak of muggle engineering and design, and they are practically giving it away because they lack the vision to see past a temporary market dip."
Harry leaned over the desk, "We are buying them. We are buying all of them immediately. Bugatti, McLaren, Lotus, and Lamborghini. One hundred percent total ownership. Every single share, every factory, every patent, and every single acre of their testing tracks."
Victor's jaw dropped. "All of them? Harry, that will cost tens of millions of Galleons to convert and execute across the Muggle financial corporate structures."
"Well take it from my vault, Victor!" Harry almost shouted. "This is but a fraction of what we will earn this year. I don't care how you get it. Get it. Place it under Nexus."
Victor swallowed hard, his hands moving quickly to reach for a fresh piece of parchment to write down parameters. "So in total we will need roughly 70 million galleons..."
"I'll give you authorization to use hundred million. Get me these companies by end of this week, Victor. They are practically golden egg laying Goose." Harry replied his earlier irritation melting away. "You get me these and I'll literally give you a million galleons as a bonus."
Cough, Cough, Cough...
"A million.. Harry?!" Victor repeated wide eyed as he couldn't believe his ears.
"Yes, Victor. A million." Harry smirked. "By the way, have you looked into any other companies?"
Victor pulled a separate, heavier leather folder from the middle of the stack, flipping it open with a frown. "Aston Martin is a wall, Harry. Ford Motor Company completely consolidated their control over the brand recently. We aren't dealing with independent boards or desperate private owners there; we are looking at a massive global Muggle conglomerate. I don't think we should touch them just yet."
Harry let out a small, amused hum. "A temporary delay, then. Don't worry, I'll get it during the vacations. By chance did you look into Ferrari?"
"Ferrari is currently tethered to the Fiat group in Italy," Victor explained, running a finger down a column of astronomical figures. "Unlike the others, they carry a massive, unyielding cultural prestige that makes them incredibly expensive. To completely sever them from Fiat and acquire one hundred percent total ownership, you would need to deploy a staggering baseline of roughly one hundred and twenty million Galleons get the company, but even then there is no guarantee we will."
"Okay... Get them as well. But well, use Nexus money. I don't think my personal vault will have that much left since I already bought the jet." Harry commanded smoothly, his expression completely unbothered by the number. "You checked any other?"
"Well, there is one other," Victor reached for the bottom-most file on the desk. "I looked into Rolls-Royce Motor Cars, since it felt like a good company to invest in with it's pinnacle automotive status."
He paused, shaking his head as if he still couldn't entirely process the text written on the page before him. "But when my team pulled the certified ownership lineage and the active deeds from the Muggle registry... I found that we don't need to initiate an acquisition vector at all."
Harry raised an eyebrow, his analytical mind tracking the hesitation. "Why is that?"
"Because someone else beat us to it," Victor said slowly, turning the heavy folder around and sliding it across the polished oak surface toward Harry. "Someone acquired one hundred percent total ownership of Rolls-Royce and Bentley during the private corporate restructuring back in the winter of 1992."
Harry reached down, flipping the cover of the dossier open. His green eyes dropped to the very top of the absolute ownership tier, tracing the clean, legally binding Muggle signature stamped onto the final acquisition deed.
"What the fuck!!!! Dad?!!?"