Conflicts between boys come and go quickly.
Especially when one of them (Basil) possesses the regal aura of the legendary King of Britain.
A young boy like Ron stood no chance against such charisma.
Unlike yesterday's conflict with Harry, which was resolved by Basil publicly questioning Professor McGonagall...
Today's minor conflict ended the moment Basil glared at Ron. Ron surrendered instantly.
"My bad. If Fanta really wanted to eat Scabbers, he probably would have done it already."
"Mmh," Ron rubbed his stomach, walked to his bedside table, and picked up a half-opened, slightly sluggish Chocolate Frog. "Want some? It's left over from the train yesterday."
"No thanks." Basil felt a wave of nausea.
Even though he had used a Cleaning Charm to remove any traces of "Scabbers Sauce," psychologically, he still couldn't accept it.
"Let's go check on Harry. I asked where the Hospital Wing was yesterday."
This is a lie!
Actually, he had just located the Hospital Wing on the second floor via his mental map of Hogwarts.
"Okay." Ron swallowed the Chocolate Frog whole and nodded.
Have you ever seen the Gryffindor Common Room at 6 AM?
Percy saw it often.
The Scottish Highland sun, rising earlier than in other regions, shone through the circular window onto the scarlet tapestries.
The witch in the tapestry who always had her back to them—wearing a long scarlet robe, holding her hat behind her back, looking down at a black cat by her feet—would also reveal her true face at this time.
A young Professor McGonagall.
Percy saw these scenes almost every day.
As a Gryffindor Prefect, he had to wake up early every day to update the noticeboard next to the portrait hole.
School announcements, various advertisements, posters, etc., all had to be posted there.
Not to mention today was the day the first-years started their first classes.
He needed to distribute timetables to every new student.
Thinking this, he used a Sticking Charm to attach the list of Forbidden Items in the Castle to the board.
When Ron and Basil arrived in the common room, this was the scene they saw.
Percy was yawning, sitting sprawled out in a chair, waving his wand lazily.
Ron's expression was complex, as if he were witnessing something shameful.
However, he was ashamed of himself.
He had only seen the glory of being a Prefect, never noticing the hard work behind it.
Percy saw them too.
He quickly sat up straight and fixed his appearance.
"You're up so early?"
Basil: "We're going to see Harry. He didn't come back last night. He's still in the Hospital Wing."
At this point, Ron spoke up. "This is the first time I've seen you look so tired."
"Is being a Prefect that hard?"
"Is this so-called 'power' really that important?"
Percy froze.
He didn't expect Ron to ask such a profound question.
Then, he nodded without hesitation. "It is. And this isn't hard work. It's the Headmaster and teachers valuing me."
"The fruit of power is not bitter. On the contrary, it is incredibly sweet."
"Just thinking that someone values me, that this record will add points to my resume when I look for a job after graduation... I get so excited. I am happy!"
He looked at Basil. "From that map of yours, I can see your ambition."
"The best jobs in the world are in the Ministry of Magic."
"It controls the food, clothing, housing, and transportation of all British wizards—everything!"
"Money, honor, respectability..."
"Everything you can imagine can be found there."
His expression darkened. "As long as you don't end up like our father. Content with mediocrity, sacrificing your future for so-called dreams."
"Content to rot in an undignified, disrespected, low-paying position as the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office."
He looked at Ron solemnly. "Ronnie, do you know? Have you ever seen Dad's work environment?"
"Level Two of the Ministry, at the end of the corridor, opposite the broom cupboard. It's smaller than the broom cupboard. As the Head, he only has one subordinate. Their two desks are jammed inside, taking up the entire space. It's hard to even stand up and stretch."
"Files are stacked along the walls, overflowing from the cabinets. Teetering piles of documents are stacked on top of the cabinets, ready to fall."
"Personal space is pitifully small. The only bit of usable wall space is covered with things Dad loves: a few car advertisements, one showing a disassembled engine; two illustrations of mailboxes cut from a Muggle children's book; and a diagram of how to install a plug. Next to the overflowing inbox on his desk is a photo of our family."
Percy's voice was low. Even years later, he remembered every detail of that office perfectly.
Ron lowered his head, his face turning red as a baboon's backside.
Basil was confused.
His family knew the structure of Ministry positions very well.
Before his memories awakened, back when he was picking mushrooms all day, he had absorbed this knowledge.
"Your father's position is 'Head of Office,' right? And the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office is an independent department, right? Under the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
Percy nodded. "Is there something wrong with that?"
Basil asked tentatively, "Where does your understanding of the Ministry come from?"
Percy composed himself.
He wasn't Ron; he keenly sensed the implication in Basil's words.
Is Dad's job actually amazing?
"My father, and that map of yours. I haven't looked into it in detail otherwise. I've been studying hard, taking 12 classes while being a Prefect."
Basil took a deep breath.
"Okay, I'm going to tell you something that will flip your worldview. Don't be too shocked."
"The Head of a department within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is not comparable to Heads of other random departments. Especially since your father runs an independent office."
"To some extent, as long as your father is unwilling, neither the Minister for Magic nor the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement can order him around."
"Judging by the department name, your father is likely the one who drafts the laws regarding Muggle items."
"In fact, your father could probably spearhead and write any laws related to Muggles if he wanted to."
Percy was still confused. "Having autonomy is nice, sure. But Muggles? Is there any profit in that?"
"Jobs involving Muggles... although discriminating against them is politically incorrect, no wizard really respects that kind of work."
Basil felt incredibly frustrated. "Are you crazy? Do you know the global population census for 1991? Do you know how many Muggles there are? 5.383 Billion!"
"There are 57.42 Million Muggles just in the UK!"
"And all the wizards in the UK combined are only about four thousand!"
"Don't you get it? The Muggle world is a massive market!"
"And your father is the one writing the laws for that interface."
"Especially now. We say we have the Statute of Secrecy, but in reality, aspects of the Muggle world have already invaded the wizarding world."
"Like Ron's sneakers! Or the suits Fudge and the Ministry higher-ups like to wear!"
"Even our wizard robes—the plain ones we wear daily—could be mass-produced in Muggle factories. Or we could buy the fabric and make them ourselves!"
"And magic cameras! Aside from the enchantments and the developing potion, they are no different from Muggle cameras. We could buy them in the Muggle world and modify them. There's no need to spend 100 Galleons at Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment for a finished product."
"Let me do the math for you. According to the current official exchange rate at Gringotts, 5 Pounds equals 1 Galleon."
"Right now, a camera in the Muggle world—far more advanced than wizarding ones—costs about 300 Pounds. That's only 60 Galleons."
"Developing potion costs 1 Sickle a bottle. The enchantment for the camera isn't hard; you can self-study it."
"So for 60 Galleons and 1 Sickle, you have a magic camera."
"And I'm using the official Gringotts rate. Normal Muggle-born families have a cap on how much they can exchange. In the black market, people are willing to trade way more than 5 Pounds for a Galleon. Maybe even 40 Pounds!"
Ron interjected, eyes wide. "50 Pounds? Would someone really trade that?"
He was already daydreaming about exchanging his few Sickles for Pounds, buying fabric and stationery in the Muggle world, and selling them back in the wizarding world.
Basil shook his head. "Twenty Galleons weigh about a tenth of a kilogram. The price of gold is roughly 10,000 Pounds per kilogram. So the melt value of a single Galleon is actually around 50 Pounds."
"If someone offered 50 Pounds or more, why wouldn't they just melt the gold or trade it at Gringotts?"
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