Chapter 165: Harry's Dream
"Currently, Communicator sales only cover the European continent," Vaisey explained. "Even in remote parts of Eastern and Southern Europe, sales are low. The wizarding populations are scattered, and the local Ministries don't support the business, so it's not spreading fast."
Vaisey had been holding down the fort at the Tower of Wonders, managing the Communicator business day in and day out. It was paying off; he had successfully built a name for himself that now overshadowed the Selwyn family. The boy who was once targeted because of his family's background now had a family that was defined by his background.
On Ryan's advice, he had even recruited some of his former rivals (the ones who had been hostile but hadn't taken action), a move to display his own magnanimity and willingness to bury the hatchet. As for the Selwyns still rotting in Azkaban, Vaisey never answered directly, but his implication was clear: their retribution had nothing to do with him.
This one-two punch of strategy had worked. Those who were hostile to the Selwyns successfully separated Vaisey from his family. They became friendly toward Vaisey and the Tower of Wonders, while reserving their scorn for the other Selwyns. At the same time, Vaisey had established himself to the various European Ministries as a new business tycoon, one who held a product capable of moving the global wizarding economy.
"Don't worry about the other Ministries not cooperating," Ryan said, taking a sip of his pomegranate juice, which had been breathing for a while. "Fudge was the problem. The new Ministerial Council will greenlight the Communicator business all the way."
"If you run into any issues, talk to Senior Ralvin. If that doesn't work, go to Scrimgeour."
"The 'iron-willed hardliner' of the Ministry? Scrimgeour is one of yours?" Vaisey asked, surprised. He never knew Ryan had a connection with Scrimgeour.
"Of course not," Ryan said. "But there's no rule that says a tough guy can't be a smart guy."
"Smart guys..." Vaisey also raised his glass of fresh pomegranate juice. "I do love dealing with smart guys."
After the joyous feast, everyone headed back to their dormitories.
Moonlight illuminated the corridors, the ancient, rough stone walls seeming to absorb the light. The carved patterns, worn and blurred by time, seemed to connect with their original, pristine splendor under the pale glow, making it difficult to distinguish history from reality. The moonlight was beautiful tonight.
It was like the students themselves, moving from one reunion to the next, connected by a train—boarding and disembarking, returning to school and returning home.
After saying goodbye to the Weasleys, Harry, claiming he wanted to walk for a bit, paced the corridors. He passed window after window, the moonlight washing over him, feeling almost too bright. At the entrance to the common room, the Fat Lady, slightly drunk, watched the little wizard pace back and forth, not bothering to ask for the password, just observing with mild interest.
Finally, the fear of the Dursleys overpowered everything else. Harry made a decision and returned to the Adventurers' Club.
A crow cawed outside the window.
Ryan was still there, writing. He was documenting all the theories he had learned from Ollivander and all the ideas they had discussed together regarding the Magi-Alloy wand. The long scroll of parchment had large blank spaces between the lines—room for future experimental notes, changes, and deletions.
Suddenly, the door pushed open. Ryan looked up and was surprised to see Harry. Plenty of people came to find him at night—Vaisey, Penelope, Percy, Pablo... but Harry? He didn't seem to have a reason.
"Harry? What's up?"
"The holidays start tomorrow," Harry said, his voice small. "I don't want to go back to my Uncle Vernon's house." He began to pour out the story of his eleven years of misery living with them.
As Ryan listened, he remembered the first time they had met in Diagon Alley. Harry had been swimming in oversized clothes that made him look even smaller and thinner. But now, after one term at Hogwarts, Harry no longer looked small or malnourished.
"So, you don't want to go back," Ryan summarized. "You want to stay at Hogwarts, like me?"
"Yes."
Ryan paused. He remembered Dumbledore always insisting that Harry must return to his blood relatives. It was because of the protective magic Lily Evans had left, which Dumbledore had reinforced—a charm that kept Harry safe from Voldemort as long as he was near his mother's blood. Ryan recalled this from several of his late-night chats with the Headmaster.
"You have to go back to your aunt and uncle's for your own safety," Ryan explained. "It's a protection the Headmaster placed on you, to keep Voldemort from harming you."
"But Voldemort's already been captured!" Harry argued, pulling out a chair. He sat down, then immediately shot back up, too agitated to stay seated. "I can even use his power now!"
I can't explain Horcruxes to him, Ryan thought, or that Voldemort can be resurrected... He was about to try and dissuade Harry again when he suddenly realized something. Harry was no longer a defenseless child. He was now one of the most powerful duelists in the Adventurers' Club, perhaps even in all of Hogwarts. His practical combat experience was low, but the power of his spells was already on par with a typical Auror's. And that Disarming Charm... Ralvin had specifically mentioned that even elite Aurors didn't have that kind of mastery.
Harry did have a strong and powerful guarantee of his own safety now.
"You have a point," Ryan said, putting down his quill. "I personally support your idea. Let's go to the Headmaster and ask his opinion." He gathered his notes, locked them in a small cabinet, and led Harry straight to the Headmaster's office on the eighth floor.
The Headmaster, too, was not asleep.
But when they knocked, he wasn't the only one disturbed. When Harry entered the office, he was shocked to find that Mr. Gellert—the man who had been so helpful in his "Voldemort Jinchuriki" training—was also living in the Headmaster's office.
He couldn't believe it. The two adult wizards he respected most in the world lived together.
One was Dumbledore, the beacon of light in his eleven years of misery, the saint whose name on the Hogwarts letter had saved him from a sea of suffering.
The other was Mr. Gellert, the patient and profound elder who had helped him transform from an ordinary wizard into someone who, in Senior Ryan's words, was at an elite Auror level. Harry remembered Mr. Gellert's patient teachings during every experiment and his precise assistance every time something went wrong.
"Headmaster, Mr. Gellert, I'm so sorry to bother you this late," Harry said, trailing in after Ryan, a small pang of guilt in his heart.
He bowed his head and quickly made his request. "I was hoping... I could stay at Hogwarts castle over the holidays, just like Senior Ryan."
~~~
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