Evening had settled lazily over Cairo, the air warm and humming. The boys—Ron, Percy, the twins, and Bill—trailed behind Harry up to the penthouse after the coming back from the pyramids. Inside, the city's glow spilled through the balcony glass, catching on silver bottles and tumblers.
Harry, as usual, had already shrugged off his shirt, his lean, sculpted frame catching the evening light. It had become routine enough that the others followed suit with a laugh, each of them realizing just how much they'd grown into themselves.
Even Percy—prim, rule-loving Percy—looked more carved than cautious now. Harry glanced at him and grinned. Penelope's going to fall all over again.
Soon, the air was hazy with the smell of cigars and whiskey. They lounged on the wide couches, trading jabs and jokes, pretending not to care that they were underage. It wasn't about rebellion—it was about being boys, untethered for once.
Between the laughter, Harry's gaze lingered on Percy, who kept pushing his glasses up every few seconds. Harry finally sighed. "Alright, sit still, four-eyes."
Percy frowned. "Excuse me?"
Harry reached into his pouch and pulled out a thin glass vial filled with faintly glowing liquid. "I brewed this a while back. Restores eyesight. At least… it should. Never tested it on anyone but myself."
The room went silent. The twins leaned forward, eyes wide. Ron blinked. "You're joking." Harry shook his head, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Nope. But it's not exactly pleasant. You might want to think before—"
"I'll do it," Percy interrupted, firm. "If it means not wearing these blasted things anymore, I'll take the chance."
Harry raised a brow, then nodded. He soundproofed the room with a flick of his fingers. "Alright. Pour it directly on your eyes. Don't blink until I say."
The boys leaned in, half-morbidly curious. Percy uncorked the vial, inhaled once, and tipped it carefully over his eyes. They waited for the scream—Harry most of all.
Fifteen seconds. Then a full minute. Then fifteen more. Percy finally blinked and turned toward them, wide-eyed. "I can see," he said, astonished. "Perfectly. It's just… warm. That's all."
Harry froze. "Warm?"
Percy nodded.
Harry let out a disbelieving laugh and threw his arms up. "Bloody hell, it worked this time!"
Ron blinked. "This time?"
Harry grinned, leaning back. "When I used it, it felt like I'd poured lava into my eyes. Nearly blacked out."
Every single one of them went pale. Fred coughed. "You're mad, you know that?" George nodded. "Completely mental."
Harry only laughed, pouring himself another drink. "Brilliance requires a bit of madness."
Bill chuckled. "So what'll you do with it?"
Harry took a sip, gaze glinting. "Hand it over to the Sage group. Let them handle sales and distribution. We'll sell it on demand—no more kids squinting over their textbooks."
The laughter lingered long after that. The air in the penthouse felt charged—the kind of youthful chaos that teetered between brilliance and recklessness. The boys lounged back again, their shirts long forgotten, trading stories of pranks, girls, and professors they'd outsmarted.
Ron was halfway through describing the time he'd charmed the Gryffindor tower stairs to turn into a slide when Harry suddenly sat forward, that familiar glint sparking behind his eyes.
"Get dressed," he said, standing up.
Bill looked up, eyebrow raised. "Why?"
Harry was already pulling on a dark shirt. "Because you lot dress like you escaped a charity drive. We're fixing that."
Fred groaned. "Oh, Merlin. He's going fashion-conscious on us."George mirrored him. "Next thing you know, he'll start critiquing our color coordination."
Harry smirked. "You don't have any to critique."
Before they could argue, he snapped his fingers; their cigars vanished into smoke, glasses cleaned themselves mid-air — and with a flick, he shut the penthouse lights. "Let's go."
The Weasleys exchanged glances but followed, because when Harry got that look, it was safer to follow than to ask.
The city was alive — pulsing gold and noise and scent. They walked through narrow alleys and wide bazaars, the heat softened by desert breeze.
The others had no idea where they were going, but Harry did — his stride confident, eyes sharp, every turn deliberate. The twins whispered theories behind him.
"Maybe he's taking us to a pub," Fred said."Or a fight club," George muttered."Or to get cursed," Ron added helpfully.
Bill chuckled. "My money's on something expensive."
He was right.
They stopped in front of a gleaming storefront — tall glass, deep mahogany interior, golden Arabic calligraphy scrolling across the sign. The place looked like luxury incarnate.
Ron's jaw dropped. "This looks—uh—pricey."
Harry only smiled. "Don't worry they have taste."
Inside, the air smelled of cedar and leather. A well-dressed attendant hurried over, greeting them in Arabic. The boys froze — but Harry responded in flawless Egyptian Arabic, tone smooth, gestures precise. The exchange was rapid-fire, polite but commanding.
The attendant blinked, nodded quickly, and ushered them deeper into the store.
Ron turned slowly. "Bloody hell. You speak Arabic too?"
Fred gawked. "Mate, what don't you know?"
Percy muttered, half to himself, "How does anyone even learn like that?"
Soon, they were each being fitted and styled — shirts, casual robes, watches, even sleek desert boots.
Harry gave minimal input, but every time he did, it worked. Percy's structured lines made him look like a young aristocrat; the twins looked like roguish charm personified; Ron — with rolled sleeves and a simple chain at his throat — actually looked dangerous.
Bill watched the transformation with amusement. "You're turning them into heartthrobs."
Harry shrugged. "They already had the raw material. Just needed polish."
Fred spun in front of a mirror. "Merlin, look at us!"
George winked. "We'll have half of Hogwarts fainting."
Harry chuckled. "Only half? You're aiming too low."
After the twins paid for the stuff, they walked back through the Cairo streets like a band of young kings. Laughing, careless, the night heavy with spice and sound.
They stopped for street food, Harry insisting on gyros from a vendor tucked in a corner stall. He ordered in Arabic again, flipping coins between his fingers while the others tried not to look impressed.
They ate standing by the waterfront, the Nile glinting under lamplight.
For the first time in ages, there was no pressure, no prophecy, no expectations. Just boys — alive, laughing, and free.
Harry raised his paper cup of soda toward them. "To bad decisions and better stories."
The twins echoed, "To both!"
Percy smirked, lifting his own. "And to clear vision — finally."
Ron grinned. "And good bloody taste."
Bill laughed. "Cheers to that."
They drank, and the night folded around them — Cairo glowing like an ember behind their backs.
Morning came soft and golden over Cairo, brushing the skyline with amber light. The city was barely awake, but the hotel lobby buzzed with the chaos of departure. The group was walking out, after checking out as they were headed for a two day cruise in the Mediterranean sea.
Harry was settling his bills for the penthouse as the group waited on him.
Behind him, the others were gathering — a small army of suitcases, hats, sunglasses, and chatter. Sirius was in animated debate with Ted about the superiority of Muggle versus magical steering systems. Molly was doing a final headcount, lips pursed, while Arthur fumbled with the camera strap around his neck.
"Honestly, Arthur, if you take one more picture of the floor, I swear—"
"I'm just getting the settings right!" Arthur protested.
Hermione laughed softly, taking the camera and fixing it with a tap.
"Here," she said. "Now you can actually photograph things that exist."
Nearby, Daphne was helping her sister adjust a sunhat. Astoria's wide-brimmed ivory hat framed her face perfectly. Quiet elegance under soft morning gold. She wasn't loud like Pansy or effortlessly magnetic like Abigail; she had a stillness to her—poised, calm, a grace that didn't demand attention but earned it all the same.
Harry glanced over his shoulder once and caught her smiling faintly at something Luna said. A small moment — but it lingered.
After about an hour, everyone was in front of the majestic, "The Nereid's Song". The ship dominated the horizon. A colossal vessel of white and silver, layered decks glinting beneath the morning sun. It wasn't fantasy-class, but it came close: nearly 1900 passengers, eight restaurants, four poos, and many other things ranging from theatres, shops, casino. It also boasted a sprawling open deck that looked like it could host a quidditch match.
Even Vernon, usually unimpressed, let out a low whistle.
"Now that," he said, "is a ship."
Everyone could only nod in agreement. It was quite the sight.
The group spilled onto the dock, a spectacle in itself — a mix of wizards, Muggles, and everything in between. Staff hurried to assist, guiding them through the private embarkation lane Harry had arranged.
"Harry, this is insane," Hermione said quietly as they stepped through the gangway. "You booked out half the executive deck?"
"Nope," Harry replied. "You will have to credit that to dad."
Sirius barked a laugh. "And he claims he is not flashy."
Each room was a marvel — wide glass balconies overlooking the endless blue, polished floors, crisp white linens, and just enough luxury to remind everyone this wasn't an ordinary vacation.
Molly and Arthur were positively glowing as they unpacked. Sirius had already raided the minibar. Andromeda and Ted were admiring the sea view, murmuring to one another about Muggle shipbuilding techniques.
Harry, meanwhile, dropped his duffel on the floor of his suite and took a slow breath. The ocean stretched endlessly outside, sunlight scattering over the waves. For the first time in months, the air around him felt… weightless.
He turned toward the corridor, where voices were already calling everyone down to the main buffet.
The buffet hall gleamed like a cathedral of sunlight and polished glass — long tables piled high with silver platters, stacks of fruit, trays of steaming bacon, eggs, sausages, and enough bread to feed a small battalion.
The group arrived in waves — Weasleys in laughter, Blacks in style, Greengrasses in quiet composure, and the Grangers trying not to look completely overwhelmed by the sheer scale of everything. The Parkinson's and the Dursley's were the only one that had this irrefutable air around them as they arrived.
Harry, however, had already stationed himself at the food line.
"Merlin," Ron muttered. "He's already started."
Indeed, by the time everyone else sat, Harry had polished off four plates. Then six. Then ten.
By the time he reached twenty-two sandwiches, thirty-one strips of bacon, and roughly thirty eggs — not counting the sausages and pastries that vanished somewhere in between — the new arrivals were staring outright.
Percival Parkinson blinked, fork halfway to his mouth. "Is he— is he eating for four?"
Ted coughed into his napkin. "Or for a regiment?"
Andromeda arched an eyebrow. "Does he do this often?"
Petunia sighed, completely unbothered. "Since he was eleven."
Molly smiled faintly. "It's actually quite impressive when you get used to it."
The twins leaned forward eagerly.
"Oh, this is nothing," Fred began.
"Remember first year?" George grinned.
"The Great Gryffindor Lunch Massacre," Fred declared solemnly.
Ron groaned. "Oh, Merlin, that day."
Bill laughed. "I thought you were exaggerating. I can see why you call him, The Boy Who Ate"
Fred grinned wide. "We're not. He ate half the table. No spells, no tricks. Just kept going."
George nodded. "We were waiting for him to explode."
Harry chuckled between bites, a little sheepish. "I didn't even realize back then. I was just… hungry."
Astoria blinked, clearly trying to reconcile the quiet boy she'd known so far with the unstoppable force currently demolishing a platter of sausages.
"Doesn't it ever hurt?" she asked curiously.
Harry swallowed, shaking his head. "No idea why, honestly. Must be my magic burning through food faster than normal. At least that's what the healers said."
Percy smirked. "You mean you're magically predisposed to eat the ship out of business."
Harry shot him a dry look. "Jealousy's not a good color on you, Percy."
Laughter rippled around the table.
By the time breakfast finally wound down, Harry had consumed: sixty-one sausages, sixty bacons, fifty sandwiches, an indeterminate mountain of pastries, three liters of fruit juice, and enough dessert to make the twins gape.
And he still looked untouched — lean, sculpted, as though breakfast had been an illusion.
The cooks, far from offended, were delighted. The head chef — a burly man with kind eyes and a thunderous laugh — came out personally to shake Harry's hand.
"Kaló orexi!" he boomed in Greek.
Harry grinned, answering easily in the same language. The two exchanged a rapid-fire conversation — to the utter bewilderment of everyone watching — and ended with the chef laughing so hard his shoulders shook.
When Harry finally returned to the table, Ron raised an eyebrow. "What did he say?"
Harry smirked. "Something about giving me my own table tomorrow. Just in case."
The twins burst out laughing.
After breakfast, most of the group drifted back to their suites — some to rest, some to unpack, some to explore the sprawling ship.
Harry, on the other hand, barely made it past the doorway of his room. He kicked off his shoes, collapsed onto the wide white bed, and buried his face into the pillow.
For a fleeting moment, he let himself feel it — the quiet, the warmth, the hum of the ship beneath him.
For once, there was no prophecy, no pressure, no saving the world. Just sun, sea, and sleep.
Within minutes, the Boy Who Ate was snoring softly, dead to the world — while outside, the Nereid's Song was getting ready to sail on into the glittering blue.
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Evening light slanted through the cabin's sheer curtains, soft and gold, rippling gently with the motion of the ship. Somewhere outside, laughter drifted up from the lower decks—music, chatter, the sound of the sea blending into the background hum.
Harry stirred when someone shook his shoulder. A familiar voice followed, half-annoyed, half-amused.
"Harry. Come on, wake up already."
He blinked, squinting at the ceiling, momentarily disoriented. The soft rocking beneath him wasn't the penthouse floor he'd fallen asleep on. His brows knitted. "Where—?"
Ginny Weasley stood over him, hands on her hips, auburn hair spilling over her shoulders, her lips twitching as if she were fighting back a laugh. "You're on the cruise, genius. You fell asleep after breakfast. Been out for 12 hours I think."
Harry groaned, running a hand over his face. "Did I?" He sat up slowly, the sheets sliding down, revealing his bare chest—lean, toned, sculpted in a way that just screamed greek god. The dim cabin light traced the lines of muscle across his torso as he stretched, arms rising lazily over his head.
Ginny's words caught in her throat. Her face went from mildly teasing to a brilliant shade of red in half a heartbeat. "Oh, for Merlin's sake—" she muttered, spinning on her heel.
Harry smirked, "Like what you see?"
"Hmph, you're insufferable." Ginny huffed, trying to look away but failing, so she just turned around.
Harry chuckled lowly, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "Relax, Gin. It's not the first time you've seen me shirtless."
Ginny shot him a look over her shoulder, "That was one time before and that too because my brothers basically dragged you to the pool at our place."
He laughed, stretching before slipping on a loose white shirt that did nothing to hide how effortlessly good he looked.
Ginny crossed her arms, trying for composure. "Honestly, you should come with a warning label. 'Approach only with protective eyewear.'"
Harry laughed, slow and lazy, pushing himself to his feet. "I didn't know I had that kind of effect."
"Oh, you do," she shot back, but her voice betrayed her—just a little too high-pitched to sound casual.
Harry took a step closer, grinning in that infuriatingly calm way of his. "You sure you're not just blushing because you missed me?"
Ginny backed up automatically, only to find herself cornered by the edge of the desk. "You're unbelievable," she muttered, glaring up at him. The color in her cheeks deepened until it rivaled her hair.
Harry tilted his head, studying her with mock thoughtfulness. "You know, if you keep glaring like that, people might think you actually like me."
Ginny made a strangled noise somewhere between exasperation and embarrassment. "You—! I—oh, forget it!" She ducked around him, hair flying, and yanked open the cabin door. "You're supposed to be at the restaurant on Deck Six! Everyone's waiting!" she yelled back before slamming the door behind her.
Harry laughed under his breath, shaking his head. "Adorable menace," he muttered, still smiling.
He headed for the shower, letting the cold water wash over him until the world sharpened again. His mind, however, refused to slow down. The rhythmic sound of water hitting tile triggered an idea—a bright, reckless spark.
If they couldn't buy a fantasy-class cruise ship… why not build one?
He leaned against the shower wall, mind racing. With magic, engineering, and their resources, they could design something beyond anything on the market. Bigger, faster, self-sustaining. A true floating fortress of comfort. The only obstacle would be the paperwork. And Harry knew the patriarchs would handle that in a heartbeat.
Ten minutes later, he stepped out, towel-drying his hair. He threw on a light half-buttoned shirt, casual bermuda shorts, and sandals. A simple look, but somehow he made it look deliberate—effortless confidence personified.
When he finally stepped out into the corridor, the hallway chatter dimmer for a second. Heads turned, whispers followed. Harry on the other hand was just thinking about the whole process in which he could finish the fantasy class ship build in the shortest time as he walked past them making his way toward the restaurant.
The restaurant on Deck Six shimmered with golden light, the scent of salt and roasted spices drifting in from the open veranda. Plates clinked, laughter rolled through the air, and the long family-style table buzzed with overlapping conversations.
Arthur was deep in discussion with Ted about magical propulsion systems, while the twins debated whether enchanted drinks could refill themselves indefinitely. Hermione, as expected, was already organizing a trivia challenge between tables, and Abigail was teasing Bill over dessert.
Harry sat quietly amid the noise, content just watching them all — this odd, mismatched family he'd somehow pulled together. It felt… right. Whole.
When dinner ended, people slowly filtered off — some toward the lounges, some to the casino, some out onto the deck to watch the waves. Harry drifted outside, drawn by the quiet pulse of the ocean at night.
The air was cool, sharp with salt. The ship cut through the dark water like a glowing city on the sea. Harry leaned against the railing, eyes half-closed.
Then his magic unfurled.
A silent current spread from him like a breath — unseen but vast. It rippled across steel, wiring, enchantments, pipes, and engines. Every rivet, every screw, every structural seal lit up in his mind like constellations. The entire ship existed within him for a moment — memorized, catalogued, mapped.
He exhaled slowly, opening his eyes. "Perfect," he murmured. "Now we build our own."
A soft rustle of fabric drew his attention. Petunia stood beside him, her shawl fluttering in the breeze. Without a word, she slipped her arms around him from behind — tentative but warm.
Harry turned slightly, smiling. "Hey, Mum."
She looked up at him, searching his face. "So… did you figure out whatever it was that had you so restless all day?"
Harry nodded, gaze turning back to the dark horizon. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I did. It's solved."
They stood there for a while, the sound of the waves filling the space between them. Then Harry looked at her fully — really looked. His eyes softened.
"I just wanted you to know," he said, voice low but steady, "that I'm proud to call you Mum. And you're the best mother anyone could ever have asked for."
Petunia froze, eyes wide. Before she could reply, Harry leaned down, pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, and smiled — the kind that reached his eyes. Then he stepped back, giving her hand a light squeeze before walking off down the deck.
She watched him go, her throat tightening. The night blurred a little at the edges — happiness, sorrow, and pride all tangled together. She wished Lily could see this, could see the man her son had become. Maybe, somehow, she did.
A few decks below, Harry spotted Sirius just outside the casino, straightening his jacket with that familiar rogue's grin. The neon lights painted his face gold and blue.
"Sirius," Harry called.
Sirius turned, eyebrows raised. "Ah, finally awake, are we? Come to lose your pocket money?"
"Not tonight," Harry said, tone shifting. "Round up the boys and the patriarchs. Balcony. Now. Emergency meeting."
The grin vanished from Sirius's face. "Understood."
Harry nodded once and turned away, already heading for the upper deck. Sirius glanced at the casino doors, exhaled, and pushed them open.
Inside, the place was alive — roulette wheels spinning, laughter echoing, Arthur arguing over bets with Ted, Bill and the twins in the corner pretending not to count cards. Sirius smirked to himself.
"Well," he muttered, cracking his knuckles, "this shouldn't take long."
He strode in to gather the troops, the lights flickering behind him as the night deepened over the open sea.
The balcony stretched wide across the upper deck, half lit by the glow of the sea and half by the moon hanging heavy above the waves. The hum of the engines below was distant, rhythmic — like the heartbeat of the ship itself.
Harry stood near the railing, hands in his pockets, looking out at the dark horizon. The breeze tugged lightly at his half-buttoned shirt, his expression calm but unreadable.
One by one, the others arrived. Sirius first, followed by Bill, Arthur, Ted, Vernon, and Edward. The Weasley twins came next with Ron, still whispering about the poker match they were watching, and then Percival, Dan, Vernon and Xenophillius, looking mildly curious but expectant.
Sirius leaned against the rail beside him. "Alright, Harry. Everyone's here. What's this all about?"
Harry turned, his gaze sweeping over them. The heads of families, the builders of Nexus. He smiled faintly. "Simple," he said. "We're building a ship."
Bill blinked. "A ship?"
Arthur frowned. "Harry, we're already on one."
Harry chuckled. "Not this kind. Not like this one," he paused. "As you all know, when me and my dad went to buy the fantasy class cruise ship, we were informed that there are only two such ships and neither are for sale."
He straightened, voice quiet but firm. "So I decided, that we're going to make one."
For a moment, there was absolute silence. Then Percival coughed. "You mean like... build one? From scratch?"
Harry nodded.
George's jaw dropped. "Bloody hell."
Dan looked almost offended by the audacity. "Harry, do you have any idea what that entails? The sheer tonnage, the stabilization, the—"
"I do," Harry cut in, calm as ever. "And I've already mapped it. Every bolt, every pipe, every wire of this ship is in my head."
Edward frowned, crossing his arms. "You mapped it? How?"
Harry's eyes gleamed faintly under the deck lights. And just before he was going to explain how he did it, Ron jumped in.
"He let his magical energy loose in the entire ship and used that to come up with a detailed map. The bloke has photographic memory, so he remembers anything and everything about the design."
Everyone suddenly nodded as if it made sense, no matter how impossible it sounded.
Harry was flabbergasted. "Wait... How did you know I have photographic memory?"
"Oh, please. You can recite a sentence from a book and even tell me which page and paragraph it is from, when I ask. Anyone would know it." Ron explained it as if it was a matter of fact.
Harry looked at Ron in disbelief. "Didn't take you for a observational kind..."
"Hey!!!" Ron retaliated, causing everyone to laugh.
"So, yes coming back to the topic. I can create one, now that I have the design in my mind. And I'll even include magical wards and stuff to make the thing better." Harry returned back to the group.
Vernon rubbed the back of his neck. "Merlin's beard son… you're talking about a vessel that can hold thousands of people."
"Yes, dad." Harry said simply. "And we'll make it better than the other two fantasy class cruise ships. Faster. Smarter. Safer. More Luxurious. A true Nexus-class cruiser."
Sirius chuckled under his breath. "You've officially gone mad, pup."
"Maybe," Harry said, grin widening, "but I've already seen it in my mind. Now I just need to build it. Most of the material I can just conjure up. But I won't be able to conjure each and everything. So yes, the decoration part will be left to you guys."
"I mean I'll make the decorations, but you will decorate it. And since we are wizards, I don't think we will need anymore than a week."
Finally, Ted spoke for the first time, "If you can truly do this… if you can create something of that scale in a week—"
Harry's eyes met his, unwavering. "Then the Nexus will own the most advanced cruise ship on the planet."
A heavy silence fell — and then, almost simultaneously, the Weasley twins whooped.
Every other adult was sitting in their seat, gripping it tightly thinking about what it implied.
"Now that's an idea worth drinking to!" Fred grinned.
George raised an imaginary glass. "To insanity, brilliance, and whatever the hell Harry's planning."