The door to Potter Manor slammed open with a bang, revealing a figure that was far too large to fit through.
"Lily! James! I came as soon as I 'eard!"
The giant of a man had to stoop to get in the doorway.
"Where is he!? I got ter see 'im with me own eyes!"
The upstairs lights flicked on. James emerged from the bedroom.
"Hagrid! You've returned from your mission!"
Lily followed him and smiled warmly down at their old family friend.
"I came back as quick as I could! Is it true, James? Has he really come back?"
"Who has really come back?" the backdoor opened with a clatter, revealing the boy in his strange armor.
Harry stepped into the house and then halted at the sight before him.
"What---" he managed to say before burly arms lifted him off the ground and smothered him into a great bushy beard.
"Harry! It's you! It's really you!" Hagrid blubbered.
The boy squirmed uncomfortably in the half-giant's arms.
"Lily, Drain," he said calmly, "this very large and very hairy ogrun is trying to crush me to death."
Hagrid loosened his grip, but only slightly. The giant of a man peered down at the Potters' long-lost twin through teary eyes.
"Merlin, Harry! Yeh look so much like yer father! And you've still got yer mother's eyes! You don't look a bit different from when I held yeh all those years ago!"
And then actual, giant-sized tears began to fall from Hagrid's eyes and onto Harry's face. The boy tilted his head to one side to avoid the worst of the waterfall.
"Lily, Drain," he said again, "this very large and very hairy ogrun is now trying to waterboard me to death."
James smiled slightly as he came down the stairs. Behind him, Lily dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.
"Can you… ah… let our son down, Hagrid?"
"O' course, James!"
Harry slid free from the embrace. Hagrid gazed happily down at him before turning towards the Potters.
"Have yeh told 'im everything yet? 'Bout us and our world?"
"We haven't had time to tell him everything yet," James said, which was in retrospect, perhaps the wrong thing to say.
Hagrid looked astounded.
"Yeh mean you haven' told 'im yet!?"
The Potters looked both amused and bemused at the same time.
"What haven't we told him, Hagrid?" Lily asked.
"Never mind that!" Hagrid exclaimed, "I'll do it!"
The giant man knelt in front of Harry. Even in this position, Hagrid towered over him. The half-giant placed his enormous hands firmly on both sides of Harry's shoulders. Earnest brown eyes stared resolutely into confused green ones.
"Yeh're a wizard, Harry!"
The boy looked at Hagrid. He looked down at the breastplate covered with winking runes protecting his chest. He looked further down at the sword swirling with arcane sigils sheathed at his hip. He looked back over his shoulder to the doorway he had entered from, where four obviously magical machines stood outside waiting for him.
He looked back at Hagrid.
"Yes," said Harry, "I noticed."
++++++
"Is what you say true, Rubeus?" Albus Dumbledore stared at the man over his moon-shaped spectacles, "Have the giants decided to fully align themselves with Voldemort?"
"I dunno wha' happened," Hagrid said through a mouthful of porridge. Molly had fixed a quick meal for the large man on account of his long journey, "Las' year all they wanted ter hear was what you had ter say, Dumbledore. But somethin' changed. They drove me straight outta their camp when I went to meet with their leader!"
"The Dark Lord must have upped his offer," growled Moody. The Order had been called into an emergency meeting to hear what their envoy to the giants had to say. None of it was good.
"What I don't understand," Sirius said slowly, "is why join him in the first place? They have to know that having Voldemort in charge won't do them any good. He's not going to give them anything they don't have already. He's certainly not going to give them better treatment. Knowing all that, what could he offer them that would make them want to join him? Just a chance to see the world burn? That doesn't make any sense, does it?"
"That is precisely the reason why they would want to join him."
All eyes turned to the new voice. The boy didn't sit with the others around the dining room table. He sat on a nearby windowsill, back leaning against the wall. His fingers fiddled idly with the strange sword in his lap. His arcane breastplate was still misaligned from when Hagrid had hugged him earlier.
"Would you care to explain, Harry?" Dumbledore asked tiredly.
"I am not well-versed in your society's laws and traditions," the boy-turned-warcaster began without preamble, "But I have gleaned a basic understanding over these past days. The various disparate magical races do not enjoy the same level of rights and protection under the wizarding government. In fact, there are laws in place that prevent exactly that sort of thing from happening. Am I correct in my understanding?"
"Some have tried in the past to change these laws," Lily said with a sad sigh, "But yes, you're correct, Harry."
"If that is the case, then this isn't their world. This is the wizarding world. A wizarding world that so far seems to be keen in shutting them out. Why then, would they care if this world burned or not?"
"I know we haven't done the best we can for the other magical races," Sirius shook his head, "But can't they see that what Voldemort will do to them will be worse?"
"Oh, they see it just fine. But can you say for certain that it will be worse? They have no rights, no protection, and no say in the way they are governed. From their perspective, it is choosing between one bad choice and another bad choice. And if I were them, I would choose to hurt the bad choice that has hurt me for as long as I can remember," Harry's fingers stopped playing with the edge of his blade only to start drumming rhythmically along the hilt, "Voldemort will never offer them anything remotely close to sharing power. But he will offer them a chance to hurt the one thing that has hurt them. And that, more than anything else, is what will draw them into his ranks."
"I've heard similar sentiments being whispered in the werewolf enclaves I've visited," Remus said softly.
"There you go," the boy said before tilting his head in Dumbledore's direction, "You should probably think about abolishing those laws when the Order starts running the government."
It took a full second for the implication to sink in. And then a murmur rose from within the room.
"Albus?" McGonagall glanced unsurely at the old headmaster.
"Harry and I have decided that the best way to combat Voldemort would be to tackle it with a two-pronged approach," the aged wizard said serenely, "One would be strictly on military terms and that would primarily be Harry's responsibility. The other approach is political in nature and that will be the Order's responsibility. We will use our years of experience in subterfuge and clandestine operations to slowly bring the Ministry back in alignment with our values while at the same time expunging Voldemort's followers from high-ranking positions within the government."
"How do we accomplish that?" James asked.
"By working closely with likeminded individuals on the floor of the Wizengamot, by persuading the voting population on the merits of our cause, and by changing the laws within the rule of law," said Dumbledore.
"By forming shadow coalitions, by buying votes to prevent unfavorable amendments from being passed, and by tainting Death Eater aligned politicians with manufactured scandals," said Harry at the same time.
The Order looked at Harry and then back at Dumbledore.
"We… haven't fully figured out the details yet," admitted Dumbledore.
"I'm not sure I agree with all of this, Albus," McGonagall murmured, "I know that in order to defeat Voldemort, we need the help of the Ministry. But if we're interfering this much in government affairs, then we are actively interfering with the choices made by the people."
"The people?" Harry made an undecipherable sound, "The choices made by the people are half the reason you're in this mess."
McGonagall's nostrils flared.
"I understand that you come from a different world and a different society, Mr. Potter, but please understand that in our wizarding society, it is the voice of the people and the choices they make that dictate the steps taken by our government. Yes, I admit that sometimes the people can be persuaded to vote against their own interests, but it is part of the process that makes our system of government fair. We operate on the premise of compromise and we certainly do not manipulate our people and the officials they elected just because they make decisions that some of us don't agree with!"
The boy smiled thinly. The rest of his expression, however, remained unfalteringly polite.
"So, we're doing it this way. Very well," he turned towards the rest of the Order, "Who is the current Minister of Magic?"
"Cornelius Fudge," said Sirius at once.
"And how's he doing given the current circumstances?"
"He's doing a good job of fudging everything up," Sirius said again.
Harry inclined his head at the choice of words before directing his gaze back to Order.
"Who ran against him?"
"Last time it was Rufus Scrimgeour," said James.
"What did he run on?"
"Tightening security, broadening the scope of magical enforcement, rewriting discriminatory laws, and enhancing relations with other magical races."
"What did Fudge run on?"
"Keeping everything exactly the same," Remus said.
"Who won?"
"Fudge did," said Sirius, not at all sure where this conversation was going, "By a landslide. That's why he's Minister of Magic."
"And what does that tell you about your choice of government, the standards of your society, and the people who voted him in?"
Awkward silence descended on the occupants in the room. None wanted to be the one to answer that particular question.
"They suck."
All heads turned to the one who had. The girl leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest.
"Thank you for that concise explanation, Rose," Dumbledore said solemnly, though his eyes twinkled.
"There is also the issue of compromising when the basic underlying assumption behind compromising has gone unchallenged. You compromise with people who are willing to compromise. How do you compromise with people who fundamentally believe that you are inferior to them?"
"You can't," said Fleur, who besides Remus, had more experience with magical prejudice than any other in the room.
"If you can't compromise, then you must fight. And if you fight, you must fight to win. And to fight to win, you must use every underhanded tactic available to erode the enemy's advantages while building up your own."
"That sounds like something I've read out of a book," Lily perked up, "It was called the Art of War, I think. It was written by a muggle."
"A muggle wrote this?"
"Yes," Lily looked at her son, "A muggle warlord or general. He wrote it some two thousand years ago."
"Then the muggles are two thousand years ahead in thinking compared to you," said Harry.
"I… understand that we are not in the best situation," McGonagall murmured, "But I still cannot fathom the Order of the Phoenix having influence over the Ministry."
"Why?" the Boy-Who-Disappeared stared at her blankly, "It should have been done the first time you won the war."
"You don't think there is anything wrong with the victors having absolute say over the defeated?" Shacklebolt looked like he was honestly interested in Harry's reply.
"In my world, I watched a resistance movement in an occupied land grow from a ragged band of no more than a hundred men to become a self-sustaining military force numbering in the tens of thousands. And when this resistance movement finally took back their country, their leader became its queen. And those who were with her from the very beginning? They are now her ministers, her generals, her dukes and duchesses, and her counselors. So, yes. The victors should have absolute say over the defeated. That is what is natural," emerald eyes looked slowly around the room, "What is unnatural is allowing the defeated to dictate terms to the victors. That's why you're in this second war. Because you never won the first."
"The boy may have taken a fall through a different dimension," Moody grinned, though his scarred face made it appear more like a leer than a grin, "but he is making a surprising amount of sense right now."
"I agree," Dumbledore said resolutely, "I have, in the past, mistakenly believed that by granting leniency to his followers, Voldemort's influence could slowly be removed from our society. I now have reason to believe I may have been too lenient. And this had led us to where we are now. Voldemort's control of the government will only grow if we allow it to. And I would rather have a Ministry focused on helping us prevent his rise than a Ministry already doing as he bids. If we do not do this, then the alternative will be much worse."
James pounded his fist into the table.
"How do we start?" the man's eyes glinted with determination.
"Start with families of the children I saved," said Harry, "They owe you. For that alone, you'll wrangle some concessions out of them."
"Those are dark families, Harry," Sirius warned.
"They are dark families who, when the darkest wizard in recent memory demanded their allegiance, did their utmost to stay neutral in the war. That makes me wonder just how dark they really are."
"The Order of the Phoenix working with families who are one step away from taking the Dark Mark," Moody glared appraisingly at the one who had offered the opinion, "What would you call that, boy?"
"Your society already has a word for it," Harry looked at McGonagall whose lips twitched ever-so-slightly, "It's called compromising, I believe."
++++++
"That thing is falling apart."
He nods.
"It is."
The resistance fighter scoffs and makes a shooing motion with his hand.
"Go away, kid. We don't have the supplies for a vagrant and his pet scrapjack."
He ignores the insult. He can no longer be hurt by words after what he has been through.
"I'm here to join you."
The man rolls his eyes.
"Like I said, we don't have the supplies to feed a vagrant and maintain his pet scrapjack."
"It's not a scrapjack," a lonely figure walks up to them. The woman is in full battledress. The tired way she carries herself suggests that the entire world has suddenly and inexplicably been forced onto her shoulders, "It's a Nomad. And it has seen its fair share of war."
The woman lifts a delicate hand to touch the warjack's doughty, battered head. The Nomad snorts in response.
"Is this yours?" she asks.
"It was once somebody else's," he says quietly, "Now, it's mine."
The woman nods. She turns to the resistance fighter.
"Let him join."
"Milady. He's just a kid!"
"He's a kid with a warjack," the woman says as she walks away, "and that means one more warjack we have that the enemy doesn't think we have."
The resistance fighter stares after her. He then looks back at him and shrugs.
"Welcome to the Resistance, kid."
++++++
The boy had stripped to his waist to repair his warjacks. Fleur could see the latent scar tissue forming on his arms and shoulders where the simple undershirt did not cover. They made for interesting patterns when they crisscrossed over his skin.
Rose sat on the drafting table Harry had scrounged up from somewhere. Her legs dangled aimlessly over the wooden edge.
The two girls were present, albeit for different reasons. One was there to begin the slow, drawn-out process of reconnecting with a long-lost brother. The other one was there because she had nothing better to do.
If Harry knew the underlying reasons for their presence, he showed no indication. The boy had opened the top paneling on one of his warjacks and had been preoccupied with what was inside for the past twenty minutes. The way he was perched on top of the twelve-foot behemoth reminded Fleur of some out of place ornament on top of a Christmas tree.
"Can you toss me that wrench on the table?" he finally broke the silence.
Rose looked at Fleur and shrugged. The Girl-Who-Lived flicked her wand and levitated the tool in question up towards her brother.
Another one of his machines, the one with the multi-barreled gun under each arm, snatched the wrench out of the air before it could reach Harry. It glared at the tool fully encompassed in its massive fist suspiciously before handing it to its master.
The warjack turned back towards the two girls and let out a challenging growl.
"What was that for?" Rose's eyes were wide.
"It does not yet fully trust you to be in my presence," came the boy's voice from behind the metal panels, "It will continue to display threat behaviors towards you until it no longer deems you to be a threat."
"Right, but does it have to act like a guard dog though?"
"You may not know it, but a guard dog is almost exactly how warjacks are programmed to act once they are fully bonded to their warcaster."
"Does it bark too?" joked Rose. Fleur smiled slightly at the attempt at humor.
"No, but other qualities such as loyalty and obedience are highly valued on the battlefield. For a warjack to pass muster, its connection with its warcaster must be flawless. The warcaster must be able to direct the warjack as though it was an extension of his or her own arm. The magic that binds man and machine together is a complicated thing. There are entire tomes devoted to the underlying theory, but in practice, the central cortex allows for the warjack to feel what the warcaster feels and make autonomous decisions based off of them. Going back to your original question, it does not fully trust you because I do not fully trust you."
"Well, that's one way to start the conversation," the Girl-Who-Lived muttered under her breath.
"Are you surprised?" the question carried no judgment nor malice in it. It was just a question, and perhaps that, more than anything else, was what made Fleur raise her eyebrow, "We have not seen each other for fifteen years. We have been separated, quite literally, by time and space. You do not know me, and I do not know you. There will be awkwardness between us. Maybe even hostility. It is only natural. Expected. Perhaps as time goes on we will gradually become more comfortable in each other's presence. Reacquaint ourselves, so to speak. But that time is not now."
Fleur wondered if her expression showed how stunned she was. There was being blunt and there was being this blunt.
Rose's expression did show how stunned she was.
"If it helps," Harry continued, "I have not yet found you to be disappointing."
"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Harry," the Girl-Who-Lived said sarcastically.
"You're welcome," the boy replied, missing the sarcasm entirely.
Rose gazed strangely at him.
"You're not at all what I imagined my brother would be like."
Cranking sounds coming from behind the metal panels told them Harry had found a use for the wrench.
"What did you imagine him to be like?"
"Someone who… well… someone who was like me. Someone who liked what I liked and liked doing things I liked to do. But you don't act or talk that way at all."
"It's the culture shock. It's to be expected. You are used to your culture and I am used to mine. Differences will naturally follow."
"Mom and dad don't think so," Rose said quietly, "They think you'll fit right in after spending time with us. They're still caught up in a dream. For the longest time, I was part of that dream. They always put your memory up on a pedestal. Did you know that, Harry? Ever since I was little, it was always 'Harry wouldn't have done this' or 'Harry would have known better' when I got in trouble. It was only when I started attending Hogwarts that they started looking at me as their own daughter rather than Harry's sister. I thought we were in a good place after that. Even with Voldemort lurking in the background. And then you came back."
"And you wish I never came back?"
"I wish you didn't have to come back," the Girl-Who-Lived said softly, "I wish you were here with us from the very beginning."
The cranking sounds stopped. When the boy next spoke, Fleur thought she detected a hint of melancholy in his tone.
"What is the past is in the past. What matters now is the present. Because what happens in the present will dictate the future."
"Is that why you're helping us with Voldemort?"
"That's one facet, yes," Harry said as shut the top paneling back into place, "The main reason though, is that in my culture, what he is trying to accomplish here would most likely get a multi-nation crusade declared on him."
"Why is zat?" Fleur couldn't help but ask.
"My world's version of wizards don't take kindly when a dark being suddenly decides he knows how the world ought to be run and starts putting people in graves because they won't listen to him," the boy leapt down from his warjack's back, clearly finished with the repair work, "The obsession with magical blood purity, the propensity to torture innocents for the fun of it, and the fixation on the belief that being magical makes you inherently superior to those that are not magical are merely egregious compared to that."
"That's what I tell everyone every day," the Girl-Who-Lived threw up her hands, "but nobody listens!"
"I find messages of that nature are better conveyed when you have the strength to back it up," said Harry as he strode towards them. The boy tossed his wrench back at Rose, who caught it with a slightly surprised look, "Power doesn't from words. It comes from the barrel of a gun attached to a multi-role combat chassis. The more guns, the better. More armatures wouldn't hurt either."
"Well, I didn't have those things when I was trying to convey my message," Rose muttered under her breath.
"But now you do," the boy looked pointedly in her direction.
"Were you serious about overturning some of ze discriminatory laws in magical Britain?" Fleur suddenly asked.
Harry turned to stare at her. The quarter-Veela felt slightly uncomfortable being the target of those burning green eyes.
"Yes," he said.
"It will be… hard to do. Many of zese laws have been in place for a very long time. Many will oppose you because zey are comfortable with zeir status in society and will not want to see zat change. In France, our government is more liberal but zhere are still laws like those in Britain."
"That's where the power coming from the barrel of a gun comes in," the boy said back. He gestured for Rose to get off the drafting table which she did with a slight grin.
"So what? You'll force ze issue?"
"I call it persuasion through military means."
"Which is?"
"Forcing the issue by pointing many guns at it."
Fleur blinked in response.
"You are saying some very outrageous zings right now."
"Good," Harry nodded, "It's about time I'm the one saying the outrageous things and not the other way around."
"Hey!" Rose picked up the hint instantly, "What's so outrageous about us?"
"Your society delivers mail by tying them to the legs of a larger-than-average avian species, believes transportation should be done by riding on broomsticks, and hoard literal piles of gold in underground vaults when paper money and bank notes already exist. And when faced with an existential crisis like Voldemort, you elected a man whose last name is synonymous with a baked good."
"This is coming from the guy who programmed his giant magical robots to act like guard dogs," Rose shot back.
"I didn't say my society wasn't outrageous," Harry leaned over the drafting table, "I just said yours was."
"Does your society not have… ah… magical discrimination?" Fleur pressed, "You speak like ze very idea is distasteful to you."
"There will always be prejudice against the unknown," the boy said offhandedly, "It is the natural order of things," he picked up a pencil and twirled it absentmindedly in his hand, "But if you are asking if there is systematic discrimination towards other magical species in my world, then of that, there is comparatively little. The Iron Kingdoms are fairly cavalier in their regard to interspecies relations. If you have talent, especially if it pertains to matters related to war, then you have value. Cygnar is perhaps the best example of a human kingdom that follows this reasoning. It has numerous port-cities that conducts trade with nations such as Rhul whose population are not human at all. This has steered Cygnaran culture to become rather cosmopolitan, which in turn has attracted other species to live within its borders. You'll find entire dwarven clans operating within the main cities of Cygnar, while trollkin and ogrun alike serve ably and valuably in the Cygnaran military."
"That sounds like a nice place to live," the quarter-Veela murmured.
"Yes," said Harry as he began sketching on the large piece of parchment fastened to the table, "Besides the hordes of slit-nosed pain fetishists trying to gut it from the east, the swarms of undead mechanikal abominations trying to harvest it from the south, the masses of obsessively angry northmen trying to subjugate it from the north, and the occasional civil war to decide the rights of royal succession, Cygnar is indeed a nice place to live."
Fleur turned towards Rose and wrinkled her nose.
"Is he being serious? I can't quite tell."
"I have no idea," the Girl-Who-Lived deadpanned.
"Why do you want to know?" the boy said above the faint, methodical scratching his pencil produced, "Why are you interested in what my society thinks about magical beings?"
A mischievous look appeared over Rose's face.
"Fleur here can't find a job because of magical discrimination," she said for the quarter-Veela.
"Zat's not all of it," Fleur huffed, "Veela are treated as objects to be stared at by wizards. Witches also don't trust us because zey zink we steal their boyfriends and husbands. Zough I have only a quarter of ze bloodline, I have encountered similar treatment before. It has only gotten worse after ze Dark Lord's return," she sighed, "But I wouldn't say no to a job right about now."
"Is that so?" Harry muttered. He had produced a ruler and compass from somewhere and was using both to draw geometrically perfect shapes on the parchment.
"Yes. My mother has warned me before about some of zis treatment, but I did not take her seriously until now. My father has in the past lobbied for better treatment for magical races but hasn't had any success. He is a mid-level government official in ze French Ministry and is seeking higher office to try and push some of zese laws through. No one is willing to back his candidacy, however. Since everyone seems to be asking for your opinion," the quarter-Veela sent the boy a good-natured look, "what would you do in his situation?"
One thing Fleur Delacour was about to learn about Harry Potter was not that he was quite good at multi-tasking, but he was alarmingly proficient at it. The boy immediately launched into a ten-minute dissertation that began with her father slowly gathering support from disaffected voting blocs and ended up with him as Minister of Magic of France and literally sitting on top of a throne made up of his defeated enemies. And all the while continuing to draw on the parchment tacked onto the drafting table as though it was a perfectly natural thing to do while discussing the toppling of established government entities.
"And that's what I would do if I were in your father's situation," Harry finished. Emerald eyes flickered up towards her, "You're taking notes," he observed.
Fleur blushed slightly. She had taken out a small notebook sometime halfway through his speech and had begun writing into the pages.
"Some of zose ideas are actually very good," she told him, "Zough I can do without ze… ah… predetermined assassinations of political enemies part."
The boy-turned-warcaster set his pencil down.
"Those are contingency plans. If your father follows phase one through eight thoroughly, there will not be any need for any assassinations."
Rose looked at her brother and then at Fleur.
"Harry, did you just come up with a plan to overthrow the French Ministry of Magic while drawing a picture of your giant magical robot?"
"It is not just a picture," said Fleur as she stared at what was displayed on the parchment. She could quite clearly see the specifications listed beside the drawing.
"Correct," Harry replied, "This is a schematic. A blueprint. For a specific type of warjack chassis. The various kingdoms produce their own types of warjacks with each having their own role to play on the battlefield. I am familiar enough with all of them to have a rough idea of what they should like on the inside."
"How many types are you planning to draw?" asked Rose.
It was then that Fleur noticed there was a significant amount of parchment waiting to be used on the drafting table.
"All of them," said Harry.
++++++
"I can't believe we pulled that off!" the resistance fighter says eagerly.
"You made that old Nomad of yours dance!" another pats him on the back.
"Two Juggernauts against an old tin can like yours and you still made them eat dirt!" a bearded old veteran grins, "Damndest thing I ever saw!"
"We've got our own warcasting prodigy is what we got," the resistance fighter says through the mouthful of rations he's shoved into his mouth.
Around him, dozens of dirty, bedraggled soldiers sit amongst the ruins of the destroyed Khadoran supply convoy. For many, this will be the first full meal they've had in weeks.
The noise dies down as the woman approaches. The fierce battlelight he has seen shining in her eyes has faded to a dim glimmer.
He rises to greet her. Out of courtesy but also out of respect.
The woman reaches out with a gauntleted hand and tousles his hair affectionately.
"Be more careful, next time," she tells him before walking away.
The noise returns once she is out of earshot, but it is a different kind of noise.
"You've got the Queen's approval now," the resistance fighter winks at him.
"The Queen?" he asks.
"She's not queen now," another soldier answers him, "but she will be when we take back our country."
"There's no other choice," a third soldier nods.
"And none better," a fourth declares.
"Now that you have her approval," the resistance fighter says, "we'll need to call you something else. We can't keep calling you 'kid'. Not after what you've done today," the man snaps his fingers, "I've got it. Our queen was a duelist before this war and a duelist always needs her sword. We've already got a Queen of Llael. Now we've got a sword. The Sword of Llael!"
The soldiers around him get to their feet. They are tired, defeated men with no country and no home. Nonetheless, they pump their fists into the air.
"The Sword of Llael!" they cheer the name, as though it was worth anything to cheer about.
++++++
"I hope you'll forgive me if I say all of this is very peculiar," the company executive scratched at his slightly balding scalp, "Don't get me wrong, our company welcomes your business, but you have to understand this isn't something we usually do. The ammunition won't be a problem," the man nudged his head towards the Metal Storm Chain Gun shell sitting on his desk, "I've never seen a round in this caliber, but we've got contractors who can rebore their machines. They can start churning them out tomorrow if you'd like. But those schematics you sent me… I'm sorry, but what were you trying to use these things for again?"
"For a steamed bun amusement park," James immediately said.
Seated next to the wizard, Vernon gripped the armrests of his extravagantly decorated chair so hard they creaked.
"For a steampunk amusement park," the portly man amended with a faint growl.
"Right, that's the part that confuses me. If it's just amusement park attractions you want made, the far easier route is to go with animatronics. There's no real need to go this much into detail."
"No," said Harry from his place seated between James and Vernon, "There is a real need to go this much into detail."
The company executive held up his hands placatingly.
"Hey, far be it from me to tell you how to spend your money. If you want us to go into detail, we can go into detail. Heck, we can even replicate all those strange markings you want done on the inside of the hulls. All I'm saying is that if you're just trying to scare some kids on a ride, you can do it cheaper with animatronics."
"I am not looking for cheaper. I am looking for quality. What comes out your factories must match my specifications exactly."
The man shrugged.
"Music to my ears. It'll be expensive. That's my only warning to you. Especially those odd devices you want made in a separate batch. What were they called again?"
"Cortexes."
"Right. Those cortexes will be half the production cost alone. You can source high quality steel from any steel mill these days, but the rare earth minerals you requested to be part of their construction will be harder to obtain."
"But it can be done?" Harry looked the man in the eye.
"Oh sure. Lots of countries sell rare earth minerals. We'll have to import most of them and pay duty fees on top of shipping fees, but if price isn't an issue, then I don't see a reason why we couldn't get it done. Though I got to say, with the amount of orders you're wanting us to complete, why, it's almost as though if you're trying to build an army of these things!"
"Yes," Harry said, missing the humor in the man's voice entirely, "That is exactly what I'm trying to do."
"For the amusement park," Vernon said quickly.
"Yes," James nodded along, "For the punk steam amusement park."
"Still can't wrap my head around that," the company executive smiled, "And you're wanting weapons to be mounted on these things too?"
"Will that be a problem?" Harry enquired.
"Not at all. Plenty of militaries around the world have surplus sales each year. It will be a relatively simple affair to source small arms for your project. Larger armaments may be an issue, but if you're serious about all this, I've got a contact in the Ukraine who may be of help. Ever since the Soviet Union broke apart, their various armies have been trying to get rid of their excess military stock. Cold War goods. Automatic rifles, light machine guns, mortars, infantry fighting vehicles, self-propelled artillery, heavy ordnance. You name it, they got it. And all for pennies on the dollar too. Only place I know where if you buy five tanks they'll give you one for free."
"I would like to visit this place," said Harry with a glint in his eye.
"Not a problem. It can be arranged at a later date and I'll be happy to take you gentlemen."
"And these weapons will work once they are mounted on the armature itself? I do not want compatibility issues to occur after the manufacturing process is complete."
"You can field check the weapons yourself. Doubt there will be any issues though. They're real weapons," an amused look appeared over the man's face, "What? Are the amusement park attractions going to start shooting at people?" he joked.
"Of course not," Vernon chuckled sycophantically.
"Definitely not," James laughed along, though he looked like he wasn't sure what he was laughing about.
"Only if they deserve it," said Harry seriously.
The executive looked at the boy in bemusement before turning to the two older men in the room.
"I like your kid. He's got a sharp sense of humor. Reminds me of me and my pa. Back in the old days, we started a company together and sold it off to some bigshot corporation out in New York. Landed me the position where I'm at today. It's good to see another successful business being run by a tight-knit family. Keep it in the family, I always say. Isn't that right, Vernon? That's what your old boss told me you did."
"Yes. That's exactly it," said Vernon, relieved, "We're a family business. I'm the director, of course."
"Exactly," added James helpfully, "We sell grills together. At Drummings."
"We sell grills together at Drummings to the steampunk amusement park," said Harry Potter.
"That's… a weird business model," the executive said with a slight frown.
"Because we're very tight-knit," Vernon hastily said, "We make it work. Because we're so close."
"Very close," James emphasized, "In fact, we're so close that every year when my daughter is about to leave for school, Vernon is there to see her off at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Isn't that right, Vernon?"
"Yes," Vernon said through gritted teeth, "Every year I go to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters to wave goodbye to my niece and all the frea… interesting people."
The executive nodded, clearly satisfied.
"That's what I like to hear. Extended family is still family. And obviously you're making it work if you can afford a project of this scale."
"How soon can you start?" Harry asked the man when he was finished.
"Well, that's the thing. We are currently in the bidding process for a few government jobs and so far, we're expecting to get them. It's all high-grade stuff and they will take precedence over your project. One of our principle clients will be the United States Armed Forces, for example. Accounting for that in our schedule, and I think we can start on a working prototype within a full calendar year. If you are pleased with the prototype, industry standards predict that mass production will usually occur within two to three years."
The boy looked at James and then at Vernon. He nodded at both of them.
At the signal, James lifted the heavyset suitcase by his feet and placed it on the executive's desk. He unlatched the locks and swung the case around.
The man stared at the contents.
"He has more of these cases in the back of the car," Vernon said sourly.
The executive looked back at them.
"How soon can you start?" Harry repeated.
"At once," the man said.