1st July 1994 — 1:00 PM
Diagon Alley
The air behind the Leaky Cauldron rippled like disturbed water. Light bent inward, space folding with quiet precision, and a circular portal bloomed into existence just before the old brick wall concealing Diagon Alley.
Hermione Granger stepped through first.
Warm summer light brushed her curls, and for a moment she simply stood there, grounding herself in the familiar smells of old stone, butterbeer, and magic that always lingered around the old pub.
Emma Granger followed, blinking once as her surroundings rearranged themselves into something she had long since learned not to question too hard. Daniel Granger came last, hands in his pockets, gaze sharp and curious—still a dentist, still rational, but well past the point of disbelief.
Another portal opened, and Harry emerged with an easy grin, Sirius Black beside him, relaxed and self-assured, looking far too pleased with life now that he was no longer a wanted man. Remus Lupin stepped through last, a soft smile on his face, content simply to be in the company of the few people he considered family.
From the third portal came Neville Longbottom, flanked by his parents. Frank Longbottom walked with quiet confidence, posture straight, eyes clear. Alice Longbottom smiled warmly at the others, her presence still carrying the faint, precious wonder of someone who knew exactly how close she'd come to never standing here again.
Another portal shimmered open. Daphne Greengrass stepped through first, composed as ever. Tracey Davis followed her friend, with Astoria trailing behind her sister, eyes wide and sparkling.
The final portal opened.
Rachel stepped out first, excited and eager to begin. Luna Lovegood followed, pale eyes drifting upward as though she could see something no one else could. Ginny Weasley came last, red hair catching the light, her expression sharp and curious as she took in the scene with budding anticipation.
"Hey, Hermione," Rachel said with a smile, slipping an arm through Hermione's. "It's great to see you. How was skiing in the Alps?"
Hermione chuckled. "The Alps were gorgeous. But after falling one too many times in the snow, I've realised that skiing isn't really my thing."
Neville turned eagerly to Harry. "So, how goes following the Quidditch Cup around the world?"
Harry's grin widened. "Absolutely insane! We've been to four matches so far—different countries, different crowds. One group even tried to out-sing a thunderstorm."
"They lost," Sirius added with a smirk.
Neville laughed. "Well, the Greek islands were quieter. Though Mum nearly challenged a fisherman to a duel over lobster prices."
Nearby, Remus spoke easily with Emma and Daniel, answering their questions with gentle patience, while Sirius checked in with Frank and Alice—no theatrics, just genuine concern and respect for old friends.
At last, Remus raised his wand and tapped the precise brick. The wall shifted as the entrance to Diagon Alley unfolded before them.
The Alley beyond was alive.
Not merely busy—transformed.
Witches and wizards moved through the street with glowing rectangles in their hands, laughing with friends on the screens, angling devices for photographs that shimmered into motion the moment they were taken.
Others wore headphones or earbuds, bobbing their heads as they walked, to music only they could hear. Some leaned against lampposts and storefronts, amusedly watching pre-installed films such as Kung Fu Panda, How to Train Your Dragon, and Zootopia on their new Wiphones.
Ginny slowed, eyes wide.
"Merlin. It's everywhere."
And then they saw the crowd.
It spilled outward from a single point like a living tide—voices overlapping, excitement humming in the air. Even after three hours, the mass hadn't thinned—if anything, it had grown denser.
People pressed forward, craning their necks, while others emerged carrying small emblazoned bags, faces lit with the peculiar joy of someone who knew they'd just become part of something extraordinary.
At the centre stood the storefront.
Glass.
Light.
Clean geometry.
It looked utterly out of place in Diagon Alley—and completely inevitable.
A store employee stepped out and made his way toward them with purpose.
"Good afternoon. Mr Carter asked me to bring you all inside," he said with a smile.
They followed him past the queue—and the collective groan of protest—through the glass doors.
Inside, the world shifted again.
Sunlight poured through the glass façade and skylight, illuminating an open, airy floor plan that felt more like a gallery than a shop. Ashwood tables displayed Wiphones like curated artefacts. Information panels floated nearby, playing elegant infomercials. Along the walls, potted plants glowed softly, their bioluminescent leaves casting faint blues and greens across polished surfaces.
The glass staircase spiralled upward, light refracting through it like frozen magic.
Everyone stopped.
Neville's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"This," he said faintly, "is… incredible."
Hermione barely heard him.
She had already drifted toward the glass cube.
Inside lay the first prototype—the one Ben had made not at Hogwarts, but in Middle-earth. It wasn't as polished or as slim as the Wiphones on display, but it possessed a distinct presence, a standalone quality the mass-produced variants lacked.
"Hey, guys. Glad to see you made it."
The voice came from behind her.
Hermione turned—
and her brain skidded to a halt.
Ben stood at the base of the staircase.
Ten days ago, he had been tall, handsome, familiar. Now?
Now he looked like someone had reached five years into the future and brought the results back early.
Broad shoulders filled out the grey sweatshirt. Muscle shifted effortlessly beneath the fabric. He was taller, more mature somehow—his presence charming, confident, undeniable.
Hermione's brilliant, analytical mind stalled completely.
Heat rushed to her cheeks.
Neville gaped. Harry squinted.
"Ben," Neville said carefully, "what happened to you?"
Ben shrugged. "Growth spurt."
Harry gestured vaguely at Ben's entire existence. "That's not a growth spurt! That's a cross between a supermodel and a bodybuilder who wrestles trolls before breakfast."
Ben chuckled, then glanced around at the nearby customers before lowering his voice. "I'll explain later."
He greeted Sirius and Remus warmly, welcomed Emma and Daniel with an easy smile, and asked Frank and Alice about their health—genuine concern underscoring his calm confidence.
"You came at the perfect time," Ben added. "We're just about to put out the new book."
Employees moved swiftly, decorating one side of the store with neatly stacked novels.
THE LIBRARIAN AND THE TABLET OF AHKMENRAH
The effect was immediate.
Excited murmurs swelled. A second line formed. Gold clinked against counters.
Ben stepped closer to Hermione.
"You're being awfully quiet."
"I'm still processing," she said honestly. "I don't see my boyfriend for ten days, and suddenly he looks like he borrowed his photoshopped body from five years in the future."
Ben nodded.
"I understand. It's a lot to take in. But hey—at least I look more dashing, right?"
Hermione mock-glared at him.
Ben chuckled, then added more seriously,
"It was a ritual, by the way."
Hermione's eyes sharpened immediately.
"Are there any side-effects?"
Ben shook his head.
"Nothing so far. I'm stronger, faster, more agile, and my magic is vastly more powerful than it used to be. I'll explain later, but—I want you to know it wasn't a decision I took lightly."
Hermione sighed.
"I know. You hardly do anything without thinking it over. That's one of the things I like about you." Then, firmly, "But from now on, whenever you decide to become the next stage of wizard evolution—you better tell me first."
Ben smiled. "Deal."
Hermione smiled back.
"Good. Now—an autographed copy of your new book. For emotional distress."
Ben chuckled, looking at her with unmistakable warmth.
And for a brief moment, amid the noise of the future unfolding around them, the world felt perfectly balanced.
---
1st July 1994 — 4:00 PM
Office of the Minister of Magic
Dolores Umbridge sat very still.
Her hands were folded primly in her lap, her back straight, her expression schooled into something approaching meek composure. It was a posture she had perfected over years—one that suggested patience, obedience, and injured loyalty.
Across the desk from her, Cornelius Fudge was apocalyptic with rage.
Steam might as well have been coming out of his ears.
"Minister, if I may—" Umbridge began, her voice soft and conciliatory.
"Don't!" Fudge snarled.
He snatched up the evening edition of the Daily Prophet and slammed it onto the desk between them hard enough to make the inkwell jump.
"Just don't."
The front page stared up at her in merciless ink.
One photograph dominated the page: the Wiphone store, glass-fronted and gleaming, utterly swamped by crowds spilling out into Diagon Alley.
UNPRECEDENTED SUCCESS — WIZARDING WORLD EMBRACES THE FUTURE
Beneath it, a second photograph.
Dolores Umbridge, pink robes rumpled, face twisted in outrage—being dragged bodily out of the store by Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks.
MINISTER'S UNDERSECRETARY ARRESTED FOR ATTEMPTING ILLEGAL SEIZURE
Fudge jabbed a finger at the paper.
"Would you care to explain," he demanded, voice trembling, "what in Merlin's name you thought you were doing?"
Umbridge swallowed. "Minister, I was only trying to protect the Ministry's interests. That device the boy is selling is clearly a modified Muggle artefact—a phone—"
Fudge let out a sharp, mocking laugh.
"Oh, really?" he said coldly. "How very interesting. Because Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office—a man whose entire career revolves around identifying and cataloguing Muggle contraptions—submitted a full report a week ago."
He leaned forward.
"Unequivocally stating that the Wiphone is not derived from, inspired by, or connected in any way to Muggle devices known as 'cellphones'."
He tilted his head slightly. "But I suppose you know better."
Umbridge stiffened. "Even if that were true, Minister, it has only been ten days since the boy unveiled the device at Hogwarts. There is no possible way he could have obtained all the necessary permits for the sale and distribution of those devices in that time."
Fudge exhaled sharply through his nose.
"Yes," he said flatly. "There is a mandatory thirty-day waiting period for Ministry approval of any permit application."
He reached into his desk drawer, withdrew a thin folder, and placed it neatly atop the newspaper.
"However," he continued, "you of all people, Dolores, should know that the Ministry has certain… expedited pathways."
He opened the folder.
Inside lay a completed permit application for the sale and distribution of Wiphones.
Alongside it rested a formal request for the immediate approval of the application.
Signed by—
Cyrus Greengrass — Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Greengrass
Sirius Black — Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black
Frank Longbottom — Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom
Amelia Bones — Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement
Umbridge's breath caught.
"It only takes a formal request by three Lords of Noble Houses," Fudge said icily, "to secure immediate approval of a licence or permit."
He tapped the page with one finger.
"And these," he added, "are not merely Noble Houses. They are Ancient and Noble ones."
Umbridge's voice wavered.
"I… I had no idea, Minister. I was only trying to help you."
Fudge scoffed.
"Oh, I know exactly what you were trying to do," he said coldly. "You wanted to seize those devices, make a public show of authority, and take credit for 'protecting' the public from dangerous Muggle contraptions—while quietly diverting them to certain pure-blood traditionalists who would happily use those same devices for their own gain. In fact, they are probably the ones who suggested this moronic scheme to you in the first place."
His eyes hardened.
"Unfortunately for you, the boy you dismissed as a nobody is far more connected than you ever imagined."
He gestured toward the names on the page.
"And not just to them."
Fudge leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples.
"A few days ago," he said wearily, "Dumbledore used his Wiphone during an ICW session. In full view of the representatives of the International Confederation."
---
26th June 1994
International Confederation of Wizards Chambers
The ICW chambers were in recess.
Delegates lingered in small clusters beneath the vaulted ceiling, discussing the more interesting events of the day. Albus Dumbledore stood near one of the tall, arched windows, hands clasped behind his back, cheerfully speaking with several colleagues about the upcoming Triwizard Tournament.
"It will be rather nice to see the schools gathered again," Dumbledore was saying pleasantly. "A reminder that competition need not come at the expense of cooperation."
A melodious ringtone emanating from his pocket interrupted him.
Dumbledore blinked, then smiled—still not entirely accustomed to receiving calls.
"Excuse me," he murmured.
He reached into his robes and withdrew his ringing Wiphone. A few nearby delegates paused mid-conversation, their eyes drawn to the unfamiliar, slim, glass-fronted device.
With a casual tap, Dumbledore accepted the incoming video call.
Minerva McGonagall's face appeared on the screen, framed by the familiar shelves of her office.
"Albus," she said briskly. "The Quill of Acceptance has finished writing the names. The Book of Admittance has closed for the year."
"Wonderful," Dumbledore replied warmly. "If you would be so kind, Minerva—could you scan the page and send it along?"
McGonagall nodded. "Of course."
The call ended.
A few seconds later, Dumbledore's device chimed. He glanced down, tapped once, and a crisp image of the Book of Admittance's latest page filled the screen.
Around him, conversations had stalled.
Several members of the Confederation were now openly staring.
The Japanese representative, a dignified witch with silver-streaked hair, inclined her head politely.
"Headmaster Dumbledore," she asked, "may I ask what kind of device that is?"
Dumbledore looked up, following her gaze.
"Ah—this? It is called a Wiphone."
He held it up slightly, allowing the gathered delegates a clearer view.
"It is a communication and information-storage device," he explained, "capable of instant audio and video calls, messaging, and the storage and sharing of image, audio and video files—regardless of distance."
A murmur rippled through the group.
"It was developed," Dumbledore added with casual pride, "by one of my students."
The American representative chuckled appreciatively.
"As expected, Hogwarts continues to prove itself the premier magical institution of Europe," he said. "Your NEWT students are clearly working on fascinating projects."
Dumbledore's smile widened.
"Oh, it wasn't a NEWT-level student," he corrected gently. "The device was created by a third-year."
The chamber fell very still.
"A… third-year?" someone echoed.
Several delegates leaned closer.
"And who," asked the Canadian representative slowly, "might this prodigy be?"
Dumbledore's eyes sparkled.
"Why, I believe some of you might have heard of him," he said. "His name is Benjamin Carter."
There were several audible gasps of recognition.
"Benjamin Carter? The novelist?" the Canadian witch asked incredulously.
"The very same," Dumbledore confirmed.
The Japanese representative's composure finally cracked into open interest.
"Will this… Wiphone be available for public purchase?"
"Indeed," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "It goes on sale in Diagon Alley on the first of July."
---
Back in the Present
"They were obviously interested," Fudge continued. "Several members of the ICW reached out to me directly. Now they're all eagerly awaiting the Wiphones' international availability."
Umbridge's eyes widened.
"And you nearly jeopardised it all."
He stared at her, jaw clenched.
"But the worst part," he said quietly, "is that Benjamin Carter may now believe I put you up to this."
Umbridge rushed to speak. "Minister, I apologise—"
"Save it," Fudge snapped, raising a hand.
He stood.
"Because of you, I now have to go and personally apologise for your appalling conduct to a fourteen-year-old prodigy with half the wizarding world watching him," he said bitterly, "lest an influential rising wizard think ill of me."
Umbridge straightened abruptly.
"But—Minister," she said urgently, "there is another matter. Carter used magic in public. Underage magic. A clear violation of the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery."
Fudge paused.
Slowly, he turned back toward her.
"What did you just say?" he asked flatly.
Umbridge swallowed but pressed on.
"He used magic to immobilise Amycus Carrow and Walden Macnair—froze them in place before my very eyes."
Fudge frowned.
"Did he use his wand?"
"No," Umbridge admitted.
"Did he utter an incantation?"
"No."
Fudge's eyes narrowed.
"Did he at least raise his hand? Point at them? Make any visible casting gesture?"
"…No," she said tightly.
A long, incredulous silence followed.
Fudge stared at her as though she had just suggested the moon was made of cheese.
"So," he said slowly, "you are accusing Benjamin Carter of immobilising two fully grown Ministry wizards using nothing but his mind."
He let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
"Something not even Albus Dumbledore has ever been recorded doing."
Umbridge opened her mouth, but Fudge cut her off.
"Or—" he continued, his voice sharpening, "the far more likely explanation is that Carrow and Macnair briefly rediscovered their brains and stopped following your orders before you could cause any more damage."
He leaned forward, eyes hard.
"Frankly, Dolores, that would be the least embarrassing interpretation of events."
He looked at her then—truly looked at her.
"I had high hopes for you, Dolores," he said. "I was planning to promote you to Senior Undersecretary within a few months."
His voice hardened.
"But clearly, you are not up to the job."
Umbridge opened her mouth.
"You are hereby placed on administrative leave for three months," Fudge said sharply. "Effective immediately."
He turned away.
"What happens after that will depend entirely on how my conversation with Carter goes."
He did not look at her again.
"You may see yourself out."
Slowly, stiffly, Dolores Umbridge rose.
She smoothed her robes, inclined her head, and walked to the door.
As it closed softly behind her, the mask finally slipped.
Her lips curled.
Her eyes hardened.
And hatred—cold, focused, and poisonous—took root, fixed squarely on the boy who had undone her.
Benjamin Carter.
---
1st July 1994 — 8:00 PM
Wiphone Store, Diagon Alley
Nearly ten hours had passed since the doors of the Wiphone store had first opened.
The line still hadn't ended.
It stretched far beyond the glass storefront, curling down Diagon Alley like a living thing—long, restless, and growing rather than shrinking. The first wave of customers, now several hours wiser and far louder, had become the store's most effective advertisers. They stood outside animatedly demonstrating features, replaying videos, snapping photographs, and initiating calls on the spot.
"It's works instantly," one witch insisted to a doubtful friend.
"No mirrors, no Floo, no delay—look!"
Scepticism didn't survive first contact.
That second wave hit hard.
Inside, the employees were exhausted.
Even with a scheduled thirty-minute lunch break rotated carefully to keep the floor staffed, ten straight hours of smiling, explaining, troubleshooting, and crowd control had taken its toll. Feet ached. Voices were hoarse. Hands were sore from constant handling of devices, packaging, and gold.
And yet—
They kept smiling.
They kept their patience.
Because Benjamin Carter was paying each of them ten times the standard daily wage of any shop employee in Diagon Alley—and every single one of them knew exactly what kind of day they were living through.
By evening, the staff no longer felt like individuals so much as components of a perfectly tuned machine.
Five employees worked the main floor, guiding customers to the ashwood display tables, explaining features, demonstrating calls and videos, answering questions, calming disputes, and gently but firmly maintaining order as the crowd flowed in controlled waves through the space.
Three more manned the counter.
One linked each newly purchased Wiphone to its new owner, synchronising identity charms and personalised enchantments with practiced efficiency. Another handled packaging—boxing the Wiphone, selected back cover, and chosen headphones or earbuds, then sliding everything neatly into an elegant, emblazoned bag. The third registered the sale, collected payment, and deposited the gold into the enchanted cash register.
It was fortunate that Ben had thought to expand the register's internal capacity.
The store had sold its ten thousandth Wiphone nearly two hours earlier.
By now, the amount of gold collected that day would have strained even a respectable Gringotts vault. An ordinary cash box wouldn't have lasted past the first 30 minutes.
At the far end of the store, the final two employees worked a quieter—but no less profitable—section.
Stacks of The Librarian and the Tablet of Ahkmenrah disappeared steadily into waiting hands.
The novel's sales had benefited enormously from the Wiphone's success. After spending 26 galleons on a device and another 3 or 4 on accessories, most customers found themselves far more comfortable parting with a few extra sickles for the latest book by the same young wizard who had just reshaped their understanding of magical communication.
In that quieter section of the store, Benjamin Carter stood behind a lectern, the excited chatter of the store silenced by Sound-muffling charms as he read aloud. Rows of chairs were filled with customers clutching freshly bought copies, eyes fixed on him, pages already marked with eager fingers.
---
(Ben's POV)
"As the sun dipped beyond the horizon, the golden Tablet of Ahkmenrah began to glow, its ancient Egyptian glyphs shining with an otherworldly light. Flynn watched in stunned awe as the museum exhibits slowly came to life.
Neanderthal hunters stirred and stretched, Mongol warriors mounted spectral steeds, stone statues cracked and moved with grinding inevitability. Miniature figurines marched across display cases in perfect formation. And in the great hall, the skeleton of a long-dead dragon rattled, wings of bones unfurling with a sound like ancient thunder…"
I stopped there.
For a moment, there was silence—then applause broke out, warm and enthusiastic. I smiled, closed the book, and stepped down to shake hands, exchange a few words, and accept more than a few wide-eyed compliments before excusing myself.
The Wiphone counter was still buzzing.
"Evening, everyone," I said, and earned a chorus of tired but genuine smiles.
Roxie slid the final tally toward me.
I glanced down.
Wiphone units sold: 13,692
Back covers sold: 10,311
Headphones / earbuds sold: 13,429
I stared at the numbers, while my sputtering brain did the math.
Then I quietly exhaled.
In a single day, I had cleared well over four hundred thousand galleons.
That made me—rather abruptly—one of the richest men in Wizarding Britain.
I had known the Wiphone would be popular. I had planned for popular. I had not planned for this. Not on day one.
Thank Merlin for the benefit of foresight. The modified Gemino charm—permanent duplication tied to available raw materials—had just saved my entire supply chain from collapsing in on itself.
I straightened, stepped toward the center of the store, and raised my voice.
"Ladies and gentlemen—if I could have your attention, please. I'm sorry to say this—but it's closing time."
A collective groan rolled through the room even before I finished.
"It's been a long day, and my employees need some rest so they can continue giving you their best tomorrow," I said with a smile.
More groans, but good-natured ones.
"Please do come back tomorrow," I added. "And thank you. Truly. Good night."
Slowly, reluctantly, the crowd filtered out.
Once the doors closed, I turned back to the staff.
"Thank you, everyone," I said simply. "You were incredible today. And to show that I really mean it, there will be a bonus for you all."
A chorus of cheers rang out.
As they began tidying up, the front doors opened again.
I didn't look up from the automated sales register.
"Sorry," I said mildly. "We're closed for today. Please come back tomorrow."
"I understand," a man's voice replied. "But I was hoping you might make an exception."
I looked up.
Cornelius Fudge stood just inside the doorway, his wife Amaryllis Fudge beside him.
I blinked once.
Then smiled. "Minister—what a pleasant surprise. And Mrs Fudge as well."
Fudge chuckled apologetically. "I'm sorry for coming so late. It's been a very... hectic day."
"I can imagine," I said easily. "What can I do for you?"
"I'd like to purchase a couple of these Wiphones," he said, "and a copy of your new novel—for my wife."
Mrs Fudge smiled. "And if it isn't too much trouble, Mr Carter… would you mind signing it?"
I chuckled. "No trouble at all, ma'am."
Fudge lowered his voice. "And I'd also like to have a word with you. In private."
"Of course."
I turned to Roxie. "Could you show Mrs Fudge the Wiphones and their functions?"
"With pleasure," Roxie said, already leading her toward the display tables.
I gestured to the staircase.
"If you'd kindly follow me to my office, Minister, we can speak there."
Fudge nodded and followed me upstairs.
---
My office door closed softly behind us.
I moved around the desk and took my seat, gesturing for Fudge to sit opposite me. He did, smoothing his robes as he settled into the chair.
"Would you like something to drink, Minister?" I asked. "Tea? Coffee?"
He waved a hand politely. "No, thank you."
I inclined my head and folded my hands on the desk. "So—what would you like to talk about?"
Fudge sighed, the sound heavy and tired.
"There's no point beating around the bush," he said. "I learned about my Undersecretary's actions earlier today. I came to apologise—personally—for her atrocious behaviour."
He met my eyes squarely.
"And to make one thing absolutely clear: Dolores Umbridge was acting entirely on her own. She was not following my orders, nor anyone else's in the Ministry, when she attempted to seize your products."
I studied him for a moment.
Then I nodded.
"I figured as much," I said calmly. "If she'd had Ministry backing, she would have arrived with a squad of Aurors and hit wizards—not just a couple of brainless goons."
Fudge winced.
"Still," I continued, "the incident left a rather bad taste in my mouth. If not for the timely arrival of Madam Bones—and Aurors Shacklebolt and Tonks—things might have turned quite messy."
"Indeed," Fudge said grimly. "I assure you, Umbridge will be properly punished for her actions. And you have my word that no one else from the Ministry will bother you."
I smiled faintly. "Thank you, Minister. I appreciate that."
There was a brief pause.
"Since you're here," I added, "there's something I wanted to discuss with you."
Fudge straightened slightly. "Go on."
"I received quite a few international orders for Wiphones via owl post today," I said. "I believe the devices will do very well in the international market."
His expression sharpened with interest.
"With that in mind," I continued, "I was planning to open a temporary Wiphone outlet store at the venue of the Quidditch World Cup final next month—with your permission, of course."
Fudge hesitated.
"I'd have to discuss that with the heads of the relevant departments," he said cautiously.
"I understand," I replied easily. "The World Cup final will be a massive undertaking. Setting up a new shop space won't be simple."
I leaned back slightly.
"Still, I believe the results would be worth the effort. After all—in just ten hours today, the Ministry made about forty thousand galleons."
Fudge blinked.
"…What?"
"The sales tax," I explained. "Ten percent on Wiphone unit sales alone. About forty thousand galleons—today."
His mouth opened, then closed.
"If allowed to set up shop at the finals," I added, "I can conservatively guarantee at least one hundred thousand galleons in sales tax for the Ministry."
I watched his eyes light up.
Internally, I smirked.
"That is, uh," Fudge said carefully, clearing his throat, "very interesting."
"I'll let you know in a few days," he added.
"Of course," I said pleasantly. "Take your time."
We rose and made our way back downstairs together.
Fudge selected a gold Wiphone. His wife chose a lilac one, smiling faintly as she admired the colour. When they reached the counter and moved to pay, I shook my head.
"There's no need for that," I smiled. "They're gifts—a token of our appreciation for your hard work, Minister."
Fudge started to protest. I didn't let him.
I signed a copy of The Librarian and the Tablet of Ahkmenrah and handed it to Mrs Fudge, who looked genuinely delighted.
I watched the glass doors close behind the smiling couple. Fudge is far from an ideal leader. He is greedy, selfish, paranoid. But, so are most politicians.
It is always easier to work with an already established government than to form an entirely new one. And Fudge is... malleable. As long as you know how to handle him, you could get away with most things. Which would never be the case with someone like Amelia Bones.
My gaze drifted back to the now-quiet store.
The World Cup final loomed large in my thoughts—one hundred thousand witches and wizards from every corner of the world.
And in my mind's eye, I could already see it.
A Wiphone in every hand.
By the end of next month, I wouldn't just be one of the richest men in the entirety of the Wizarding World.
I would be untouchable.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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