A beat of silence—then the entire room erupted in chuckles. The mighty mastermind of a monster had turned back to a slightly bewildered twelve-year-old in the space of a sentence.
Fred slapped the table. "Brilliant. Truly inspiring, our leader."
George stood, already stretching. "Right, then. We'd better head to Gringotts to revamp the vacation plans since the headcount has exploded—"
"Wait," Harry's head snapped up, eyes refocusing like someone had thrown a switch. "No one's going anywhere yet."
The twins froze mid-step. Everyone felt the shift; Harry's mind was back in gear.
"If we're revamping the trip, everyone's pitching in this time," Harry said. "The headcount just jumped to thirty people. No way we're footing this solo."
Every patriarch around the table—Arthur, Vernon, Sirius, even Adorabella's husband—nodded immediately. "Fair enough," Arthur murmured. "Shared clan, shared cost."
Harry leaned back, a slow grin spreading over his face. "Good. Because if we're doing this properly…" He drummed his fingers on the table. "…this calls for a shopping spree."
Petunia's face went pale. "Oh no. Not your shopping spree." She said standing up immediately.
Around the table, the younger ones exchanged alarmed looks; they'd seen "Harry's shopping spree" before. "Harry," Daphne hissed, "don't you dare—"
But the patriarchs had all caught the glint in Harry's eye. Vernon's moustache twitched, Arthur's grin widened, Sirius's eyes lit with mischief. One by one, they sat back with that unmistakable look that said, Now we're talking.
Percy muttered to Bill under his breath, "This is either going to be brilliant… or catastrophic."
Bill smirked. "With Harry? Both."
Harry's grin widened until it was almost feral. He turned to the patriarchs and smirked. "All right. Hear me out."
The chatter dimmed instantly. They'd all learned by now that this tone meant some new bombshell.
"If the Nexus is going to be a real clan," Harry began, "we need two things: mobility and a way to generate clan revenue without dipping into personal vaults. Something that can handle our frivolous expenses that we are about to make."
He held up one finger. "Step one — our own transport. A private jet. Nothing too gaudy — think Gulfstream class. I can expand it magically, fit everyone comfortably, enchant it with wards and stealth. No more Portkeys and Ministry paperwork."
A ripple of surprised murmurs went around the room. Sirius's grin was already threatening to split his face. "You're joking. A plane?"
Harry raised his second finger. "Step two — a cruise ship. Or at least a large yacht we can expand. Outfitted as a floating resort and casino. In international waters, outside of any one government's grip. The clan uses it for our own travel and rents it out to clients. We make our money back within a year."
He paused, eyes glittering. "Or…" Harry's grin turned positively wicked. "Both. Both the yacht and the cruise."
The room erupted.
Fred actually slid off his chair laughing. "This boy's gone mad, George. Madder than a bag of nifflers."
George was grinning ear to ear. "Mad, yes — but I like it."
Vernon's brows shot up. "Both?" he repeated, but his voice had a hint of fascination. "A proper yacht and a proper liner?"
Petunia buried her face in her hands. "Oh no. Not the shopping spree face again."
Sirius leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. "I like the way he thinks."
Pandora smothered a laugh behind her hand. "You're twelve," she reminded him, though she didn't sound like she was against it.
Harry just tilted his head, still smiling that wolfish smile. "If we're going to do it, let's do it properly. One for the clan, one for the business. Magical expansion, full wards, the works. We don't have to buy the cruise at once — we can get the yacht and then put the order in for the cruise."
Across the table, several patriarchs were exchanging knowing looks, the same glint of "now we're talking" in their eyes.
Arthur muttered under his breath, "Merlin help us all."
Harry raised his hands a little, calming the chatter. "Okay, okay—before we all start picking cabins, listen up." His grin softened into something sharper, more deliberate. "I'll handle the plane myself. That's my headache."
He glanced at the twins. "Fred, George—you two will go handle the vacation fund revamp. We've got thirty people now; budgets have to stretch. I need someone to go with them to Gringotts to set the accounts properly."
Mr. Parkinson straightened a little. "I can go. I've dealt with the goblins before; they like straight talk."
Harry nodded once. "Perfect. Mr. Parkinson goes with the twins."
He turned to the rest, eyes flicking over faces. "And later, when it's time to order the yacht and the cruise ship—I'll need someone to come with me." He paused, then looked straight at Vernon. "Dad, you'll come with me. It'll be the best way to stop… my spontaneity."
The words hung in the air like a dropped chandelier.
Hermione swayed on her feet and hit the floor with a soft thud.Daphne followed a heartbeat later, sliding out of her chair in stunned silence.Pansy, eyes rolling, slumped sideways onto the armrest.
Ginny, pale as parchment, just sat down hard and buried her face in her hands. Abigail, meanwhile, grinned so hard her cheeks hurt, practically vibrating in her seat. "A cruise ship. A real one…" she whispered, eyes shining. Even she knew what a cruise ship was being a magical pureblood.
Petunia shot out of her chair, hands gripping the table edge. "Harry James Potter-Dursley!" she snapped. "This is not a game! Do you have any idea what kind of ridiculous, unnecessary expense you're—"
"Pet," Vernon said softly, still staring at Harry. "He's serious."
"I know he's serious, that's what terrifies me!" Petunia hissed back. "Private planes, cruise ships, magical casinos—he's twelve!"
Across the table Sirius was grinning like Christmas morning. "He's twelve and brilliant. Let him cook, Petunia."
"Cook?!" Petunia barked. "He's planning an armada!"
Harry raised both hands, trying not to laugh at the pile of fainted girls and his mother's expression. "It's an investment, Mum. Not an expense. The cruise ship will pay for itself. Promise."
Petunia closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "You… you're going to kill me before the anything else."
Soon Fred and George vanished with Mr. Parkinson between them. The twins apparation being completely silent but Mr. Parkinson's having a small crack.
Before anyone could ask where they'd gone, Harry held out a hand to Vernon. "Come on, Dad. We'll sort the plane and the yacht together."
Petunia shot up. "Harry—!"
But the green-eyed boy had already clasped Vernon's arm. With a sharp turn, the room vanished.
They landed without a sound on a small empty sunlit pavement near the dealer where Harry got his cars. Vernon then followed Harry towards the glass-frontend dealership.
Harry straightened his jacket like this was an errand for milk. "Right. This is where I bought the cars."
Vernon froze. "…Cars?"
Inside, the dealership owner looked up, did a double-take, and practically sprinted out. "Mr. Potter! My boy! How are the motors treating you?"
Harry smiled easily. "Phenomenal, as always."
Vernon's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline. "Motors?" he echoed, voice tight.
The owner's gaze flicked to Vernon, curiosity sparking. "And this is—?"
"My dad," Harry said simply.
The man blinked. He had clearly expected a white-haired patriarch, not the solid, middle-aged man standing beside Harry. "Ah… pleasure, sir."
Vernon shook his hand numbly.
Harry cleared his throat. "We're not here for cars this time. We're in need of something… different."
The owner tilted his head, still smiling. "Different?"
Harry's tone dropped a notch, casual but precise. "We are looking for a private jet. And while we are at it, we'd also like a yacht."
The color drained from the man's face, but only for a heartbeat. He nodded briskly. "I… know someone who can source both. Give me a moment." He stepped aside, pulling out a sleek phone and dialing quickly.
Harry turned to Vernon and gestured for him to follow into the showroom. "Come on, Dad. Might as well have a look around while he makes the call."
They walked between gleaming machines—Rolls, Bentleys, Jaguars. Harry stopped beside a deep green Bentley Continental R, running a hand along the hood.
"You should get three or four of these," Harry murmured under his breath. "Most of our business will be muggle-side. Appearances matter."
Vernon stared at the car, then at his son. "What motors was the person talking about Harry?"
Harry cut him a sheepish smile. "I'll show you everything later. Promise. You'll like them."
The dealership owner, finally recovering from the initial shock, straightened and wiped his palms on his jacket. "Right… the person to handle the jet and the yacht—actually, they're already on their way here. Should be here 15 minutes."
Vernon nodded, giving a polite, almost automatic smile. "Thanks, Mr…?"
"Derek Collins," the man said, adjusting his tie nervously.
"Thanks, Mr. Collins," Harry said, glancing at Vernon.
Vernon, still inspecting the green Bentley Continental R like a man who had finally found something to rival his curiosity for numbers, gestured with one hand. "And the price?"
Derek coughed slightly. "£175,000 for this model, sir. Customization is… limited to color options, interior upgrades, and security enhancements."
Vernon's gaze flicked back to the car. A slow smirk formed on his face, the first hint of amusement since leaving the Dursley house. "Does it come in black?"
"Certainly," Derek replied, hesitating. "Would you… like to order one?"
Vernon's smirk turned into a faint, almost mischievous grin. "Make that four."
Derek's eyes widened, his mouth opening slightly before closing again, a silent oh boy flashing across his face. He glanced at the staff in the showroom—young men and women frozen mid-adjustment on a display, mouths slightly agape, eyebrows raised, barely suppressing whispers. One assistant muttered under her breath, "That's… a lot of money."
In Derek's mind, a single thought struck: I can see where the son gets his crazy from.
Vernon continued, voice calm but firm. "All in black. Interiors upgraded for maximum comfort. If there are any additional features we can add, do so."
Derek swallowed hard, nodded, and his professional composure returned. "Absolutely, sir. We can make it happen. Truly…" His eyes flicked toward Harry, and a ghost of a smile curved his lips. "Quite the inspiration, young man."
"Please give me a moment, while I calculate the total." Derek said, rushing towards the counter.
Vernon reached into his cloak with practiced ease and pulled out a check book, waiting for Derek to confirm the total amount.
Derek returned promptly with a slip in his hand, which he handed to Vernon, "The total for 4 cars comes to £900,000."
"The upgrades will consist of: Bespoke Connolly leather in your chosen color, polished burr walnut veneers, custom-fit stereo system with a CD player, Power-adjustable and heated seats, and a 'flying B' mascot on the hood."
"Burgundy or a deep red would be the best, I think," Vernon added as he wrote up the check for £900,000. "For the interior, I mean."
"Of course, sir. Excellent choice." Derek flashed a smile as he took the check.
Harry leaned slightly over his dad's shoulder, whispering the delivery address—the same one used for his previous cars. Vernon scribbled it down without looking up. "Deliver them here when ready," he said casually, like placing a minor grocery order.
Derek and the staff exchanged glances, a mixture of awe, disbelief, and a touch of terror lingering in the air. One young assistant whispered to another, "I thought weird billionaire orders were bad… but this… this is a whole new level."
Derek finally led them to a pair of leather armchairs, muttering under his breath about how he should have insisted they sit sooner. "I can't believe I made you stand this long… I'm an idiot," he cursed.
Vernon chuckled softly, waving a hand. "It's no problem. Really. We're not delicate, Derek."
Just then, a young assistant stepped in, balancing a tray with two crystal glasses of whiskey. "Sir, your drinks," she said politely.
Harry reached out instinctively to take one, but Vernon cleared his throat loudly, making Harry freeze mid-motion. Slowly, he turned to his father with a sheepish smile. "Uh… here, you should take this." He handed the glass over.
Vernon raised an eyebrow but smiled faintly, taking the whiskey. Harry waved at the young assistant. "I'll just have a Coke… or water, please."
The young lady suppressed a laugh, nodding, and turned on her heel to fetch his drink.
They settled back, Vernon sipping his whiskey and Harry quietly watching the showroom, letting the ambient hum of engines and polished metal fill the air. Ten minutes passed without incident. Then, outside the large glass doors, a sleek black car rolled to a stop.
A tall, imposing man stepped out—well-built, around 6'4", dressed in an impeccable suit, carrying a large leather binder under one arm. His presence alone seemed to fill the space. Derek's eyes widened slightly as he strode toward the dealership.
"Richard!" Derek exclaimed, his voice a mix of relief and awe.
"Derek! Good to see you, old friend," Richard replied warmly, shaking Derek's hand firmly.
Derek guided him toward Harry and Vernon, and they all exchanged firm handshakes, Richard's grip strong, confident.
"I hear you've got quite the project," Richard said with a wide grin as he settled into the chair across from them. He glanced at Harry with curiosity, taking in the boy's intense green eyes. "So, what kind of plane are we looking at?"
Harry leaned forward, enthusiasm lighting up his features. "Something big enough for our needs, but still manageable. Comfort, speed, and range—enough for long-distance flights without too many stops."
He wracked his brain, trying to recall what private jets were available in 1992 London, but nothing concrete came to mind.
Richard opened the large binder in front of him, flipping a few pages. "May I know the number of people you're looking to carry and the longest distance you anticipate travelling?"
Vernon interjected smoothly, "About twenty passengers comfortably, with room for luggage and supplies. And the longest flight should cover at least ten hours non-stop—Europe to North America without refueling, ideally."
Harry turned to Vernon in shock. Since when did his father speak 'private jet'?
Richard nodded, scribbling notes. "Understood. For that, I would recommend a mid-size to large business jet. Something reliable, fast, and capable of long-range flights." He paused, tapping a page in his binder. "The Falcon 900 series would fit your requirements perfectly. Seats up to 19 in luxury configuration, range of roughly 4,500 nautical miles, and well-regarded for stability and speed."
Vernon leaned forward, interest piqued. "And the delivery timeline?"
Richard's smile faded slightly. "Well, given the customization you want, the plane itself isn't a problem, but the Falcon 900 isn't sitting idle. Delivery could take six to nine months, depending on interior specifics and scheduling."
Harry sighed, he had completely forgotten about the fact that planes and yachts are not just sitting around like cars to buy. Even cars need time for modification.
"So, I guess for the vacation we're flying commercial, Dad," He said glancing at Vernon.
Vernon looked at Richard and asked, "Are there any private jets we can charter for say 30 people?"
Richard leaned back slightly, adjusting his glasses. "I'm afraid there aren't any private jets that can comfortably seat thirty passengers. Even the largest executive jets max out around twenty-two, and those are already massive."
Vernon nodded thoughtfully, as if expecting this. "Then the Falcon 900 it is. Now, I'd like the interiors configured precisely. Seating for twenty with maximum comfort, convertible lounge and meeting areas, sleeping berths for long-haul flights, a small galley for meals and beverages, and, of course, state-of-the-art entertainment systems."
Harry's jaw dropped slightly. "You… you know all this, Dad?"
Vernon shrugged, calm as ever. "I know what I want. You and I will make it work with Richard here."
Richard scribbled down notes quickly, impressed at the clarity. "Understood. We can do all of that. It will take a bit of time for design approvals and customization, but nothing impossible."
Vernon continued, shifting gears smoothly. "Now the yacht. It needs to accommodate around thirty people as well. Dining areas, lounges, private rooms for certain guests, and some deck space for recreation."
Richard let out a small sigh. "A yacht that size isn't really available off-the-shelf. Building one from scratch for thirty guests would be expensive and time-consuming, with all the legal inspections, registrations, and certifications required."
Harry tilted his head, curious. "So what's the alternative?"
Richard smiled, finally seeing a practical solution. "The easiest approach is to take a mid-sized passenger ship and modify it. You get the capacity you need, can tailor the interiors exactly to your requirements, and avoid the headaches of construction and legal delays. Decks, cabins, lounges, dining halls—we can design it from the ground up."
Vernon nodded, satisfied. "Understood. Let's do that instead then. And how much are we looking at?"
Richard looked at the customizations and did some mental math. "We are roughly looking at £15 million."
"And do we have to pay that upfront? Cause that's a rather large amount of money." Harry asked.
Richard nodded slowly, scribbling a few notes. "No worries about payment just yet. I'll need to finalize the exact quote once we confirm the interior redesign of the ship. Typically, clients pay a small percentage upfront—around 5–10%—and then the rest in installments as construction progresses."
Vernon leaned back, nodding in agreement. "Then let's confirm the interior now. Harry, you take it from here."
Harry's eyes lit up, and he immediately began describing layouts, lounges, cabins, dining areas, and entertainment spaces. To Richard's surprise, every idea came with precise dimensions, traffic flow, and aesthetic details. "We'll have modular meeting rooms that convert into lounges," Harry explained, "a two-level main dining area with panoramic windows, private cabins with adaptable furnishings, and recreational decks split into themed zones—muggle luxury meets magical innovation."
Richard blinked, trying to keep up. "I… wow. That's… very impressive."
Truth be told, Harry wasn't just listing ideas—he'd cast a subtle hologram over his eyes, visualizing the ship and tweaking it as he spoke, projecting each change directly to his own imagination while communicating it with clarity to Richard. By the end of the session, Richard was leaning back, slack-jawed, utterly awed at how a young man could execute interior design at this level. After all to him, Harry didn't look any more than 17 or 18.
Richard finally cleared his throat, standing. "Well… this has been incredible. I'll send over a detailed letter with the actual quotes for both the jet and the ship, incorporating all your specifications."
Just as he began to step away, Vernon's hand shot up. "Not so fast—we're not done."
Richard paused mid-step, frowning in confusion. Harry smiled at him knowingly.
Vernon chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Actually, that's not all. A company I'm a shareholder in… well, they're also looking to get a cruise ship."
Richard's eyes went wide. His face paled. "Y-you... want a what?!" He froze, his mind racing. "A… a cruise ship? A full-sized one?"
Harry leaned forward, green eyes gleaming. "Yes. Large enough for roughly 2,000 to 2,500 passengers. Fully equipped for entertainment, dining, and… well, the main attraction: a casino."
Richard's jaw practically hit the floor. "I… I mean, that's… that's a massive undertaking. We're talking Fantasy-class ships—luxury liners, multiple restaurants, lounges, theaters, every amenity you can imagine. And you… want to buy it?"
"Not me personally, no... I don't have enough money to get something that huge," Vernon chuckled nervously. "The company I'm a shareholder in is interested. They'll handle ownership. But yes... that's the scope. We want the cruise to be fully functional out of the box. There won't be any need for redesign, since the company says that they are going to do the redesign themselves."
Richard ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. "Okay… that's not something you see every day. But I'll have to disappoint you. You see there are only two fantasy class cruise liners right now and they have just been launched."
He continued, "So there is no reason for the company to sell it since it's has only been like 2 years for the ships."
Vernon exhaled, running a hand over his hair. "Hmm... that makes sense. I guess we'll have to keep that plan for the future."
Harry and Vernon shook hands with Richard, confirming the Falcon 900 and mid-sized passenger ship deals. The formalities were done; and soon Richard will finalise everything and mail them the official quote.
The dealership watched the pair of father and son walk out their door, still in mild shock from the craziness that both of them seemed to share.
As soon as they reached a deserted alley outside the dealership, Vernon looked around briefly and whispered, "Ready?"
Harry nodded, and in a blink, both vanished—disapparating straight back to the Dursley Mansion.
They reappeared in the familiar sitting room. The house was quiet now, almost eerily so. The only occupants were Percy and Bill, sipping tea at the table, deep in discussion.
Vernon raised an eyebrow, glancing around. "Where's everyone gone?"
Percy looked up, mildly startled. "Oh, they left… for whatever work or errands they had before. Seems the room emptied fast once the clan meeting ended."
Vernon rubbed his forehead, realizing he had tasks waiting as well. "Right… I suppose I should get to mine." He gave Harry a quick nod and murmured, "See you in a bit," before disapparating again, leaving just Harry and the two older Weasley brothers.
Harry sank into a chair and called out casually, "Dinky!"
A small crack appeared in the air, and Dinky materialized, bowing promptly. "Yes, Master Harry?"
"Is there any ice cream left?" Harry asked without looking up.
"Of course, sir," Dinky replied, already heading toward the kitchen with swift efficiency. A few moments later, she returned with a bowl of Harry's favorite flavor. Harry called a muffled, "Thanks!" over his shoulder as he focused back on Bill and Percy.
"So… what were you two discussing?" he asked, tilting his head curiously.
Bill gestured toward the tea, "Percy and I were thinking of opening a law firm."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "A law firm?"
Percy leaned forward, eyes serious. "Yes. I've seen them in the Muggle world—companies that handle disputes, contracts, regulations. There's nothing like that here, and Bill thought it might be a useful venture."
Harry nodded slowly, considering. "Lawyers… in the magical world, not really a thing. Most disputes get handled through the Ministry, the Wizengamot, or family arbitration. You won't exactly have a client base unless you force one."
Both Bill and Percy absorbed the comment, and their shoulders sank slightly. Harry's blunt observation hit hard—they realized that even the best-laid plans in the magical world couldn't mirror Muggle systems perfectly.
Bill sipped his tea, letting out a quiet sigh. "So… we might be thinking about something that's… unnecessary?"
Harry shrugged, finishing a bite of ice cream. "Not unnecessary. Just... different rules here. You'd be trying to sell something the world doesn't really need. Better to figure out where real demand is."
Percy leaned back, fingers steepled. "Hm. I suppose… we could pivot. Perhaps consulting or contracts for magical businesses, though."
Harry smirked. "Nope. You should open a law firm in the Muggle world."
Percy blinked at him. "The Muggle world? There are already hundreds of law firms there, Harry."
Harry scooped another spoonful of ice cream, eyes glinting. "And what advantage do we have over them?"
Bill shrugged. "Money?"
Harry shook his head slowly. "Magic."
Percy frowned. "Magic in the Muggle world is forbidden."
"Then don't get caught." Harry's grin widened. "And who's to say a hand didn't just accidentally slip a drop of Veritaserum into a suspect's tea during cross-examination?"
Bill snorted into his cup. "That's wildly illegal, even by wizarding standards."
Harry chuckled. "Illegal in both worlds, yes. But effective." He set down his spoon. "I'm not saying you become dark wizards in pinstripes. I'm saying you have tools no Muggle lawyer can dream of—memory charms for false witnesses, truth potions for liars, wards to keep evidence safe, detection charms for hidden assets. Use them cleverly and you'll build a reputation for always winning cases without anyone realising why."
Percy's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "So… not overtly magical. Just… using what we know, subtly, to outwork the competition."
"Exactly," Harry said. "You'd still need real Muggle legal credentials, of course. But once you're inside their system, you'll dominate it."
Bill leaned back, a slow smile creeping across his face. "A wizarding law firm masquerading as a Muggle one. Merlin's beard… that could actually work."
Harry finished his ice cream, looking amused. "Told you. Stop thinking small. The magical world doesn't need lawyers—but the Muggle world doesn't know it needs magical ones yet."
Dinky reappeared to collect the empty bowl, and Percy and Bill exchanged a long glance. Both thinking the same thing.
"This kid is scary, but a genius."
Both brothers spoke almost at the same time, voices low but excited. "This could really work…" Bill said."…but we'll have to grind," Percy finished. "We'd need to actually study Muggle law properly, take their degrees, sit for the Bar Exam."
Harry chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, don't look so grim. I'll give you a spell that can imprint the contents of entire books directly into your minds. If you work through one or two books a day, you could master their law in a week."
Bill blinked. "You're joking."
Harry smirked. "Do I look like I'm joking? It's an advanced mnemonic charm—slightly uncomfortable at first, but it works. You'd still need to practice to pass as authentic, but the raw knowledge? Done."
Percy's eyes widened, the practical part of his brain already calculating. "That would cut years of study into days. We could… actually qualify."
Bill's grin turned wolfish. "And then launch our firm before anyone can copy us."
Harry rose, stretching, eyes gleaming. "Exactly. You'll still have to play by their public rules, keep the magic subtle, but the rest is up to you. Think of it as building your own empire."
The brothers exchanged another glance. The plan had gone from a fanciful idea to something frighteningly possible—and their monster had handed them the key.