31st December 1992
Breakfast at Dursley Mansion was unusually lively that morning. The winter sun slanted through the tall glass windows, glinting off the polished silverware and steaming plates of eggs, sausages, and toast that covered the long table. The scent of fresh coffee hung in the air, mingling with the faint crackle of the fireplace nearby.
For once, it was a quiet morning — just the Dursleys and Sirius. No Nexus meetings, no emergencies, no magical crises. A rare, almost domestic calm.
Vernon was in particularly high spirits, humming under his breath as he buttered toast, while Petunia was flipping through the morning Prophet with mild interest. Sirius, sprawled lazily in his chair with a half-buttoned shirt and coffee in hand, looked far too relaxed for someone who'd been scolded by Petunia not ten minutes ago for turning the sugar bowl into a snitch.
Harry, meanwhile, was floating upside down above the table, one leg crossed over the other, idly reading The Continuum — the book on Space and Time, which somehow no one else was able to even hold much less read.
He tilted the book aside just enough to glance at Vernon. "You know, Dad, since it's New Year's Eve and all… fancy going shopping?"
Petunia's fork froze mid-air. "Oh, I don't think so, young man. You and your father are not going 'shopping'. The last time you two went 'shopping', you came back with 5 cars, I don't want anymore reckless spending."
Harry grinned upside down. "That was one time. And technically, that was Sirius."
Sirius looked deeply offended. "Excuse me?! I wasn't even there. It was your and Vernon's idea."
Vernon coughed to hide his laugh, setting down his mug. "You heard your mum, son." Then, with a subtle wink, he added under his breath, "We'll sneak out later."
Vernon's wink hadn't even faded when Harry suddenly sat up midair, his book flipping shut and floating to the table with a soft thud. "Actually… speaking of shopping…" he began, eyes glinting with mischief.
Sirius raised a brow. "Oh no. That tone means trouble."
Harry grinned. "I just remembered — my cars have been sitting in the garage for weeks. I gave the Porsche to Dan and the Lambo to Victor, but the rest are just collecting dust." He snapped his fingers and a small keychain shimmered into existence between his fingers. He flicked it lazily toward Sirius. "Take the Ferrari 512 TR out today. It suits your style — loud, flashy, and constantly in trouble."
Sirius caught the keys midair, grinning like a teenager. "Merlin's beard, Ferrari? Now that's a Christmas gift."
Petunia blinked, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Excuse me—cars? As in plural?"
Harry froze, still hanging upside down. "Uh… yeah?"
Her tone dropped dangerously. "How many cars, Harry?"
"Erm… five," Harry said automatically — and immediately regretted it when Vernon began coughing so hard it sounded suspiciously like "Abort! Abort!"
Harry slowly turned toward him, eyes widening. "Oh… right."He turned back toward Petunia, whose expression could've curdled milk. "Mum…?"
"How. Much." Each word came through perfectly measured teeth.
Harry scratched his head, grinning sheepishly. "Not much, really. Just—"
"Ten million pounds," Abigail supplied sweetly from the other end of the table, sipping her tea with a wicked grin. "Cars and watches combined, if I recall correctly. He said it so casually you'd think he bought groceries."
Harry groaned, glaring at her. "Abi, not helping."
"Oh, I think I am helping," she said, all innocence.
Petunia's eye twitched. "Ten million?"
Harry laughed weakly, floating back down to his chair. "Technically… investment assets?"
Petunia stood up, wand sliding neatly into her hand. "Technically, you're grounded."
Harry's chair tipped backward as he jumped up, hands raised defensively. "Mum—wait—hear me out!"
"Oh, you'll be hearing something, alright!"
"DAD, DO SOMETHING!" Harry yelled, already sprinting for the door.
Vernon barely looked up from his coffee. "You're on your own, lad."
Petunia's wand sparked; Harry dove behind the sofa, laughing as the cushions exploded into confetti. "Okay, okay, I admit it! Maybe five was a bit much!"
Sirius leaned back in his chair, keychain twirling around his finger. "This is better than the telly."
Abigail grinned. "You're welcome."
By the time Petunia's last hex fizzled against the wall and Harry darted out of the room, Sirius called after him cheerfully, "Don't worry, I'll take good care of the Ferrari!"
"YOU SCRATCH IT, YOU DIE!" Harry shouted back from the hall followed by another crash and Petunia's furious yell.
Vernon sighed fondly and reached for more toast. "Normal morning, then."
Sirius smirked. "Perfect start to the new year."
After a few hours, Harry burst out of the front door, laughter echoing in front of him as Petunia's voice carried faintly from inside—"HARRY JAMES POTTER DURSLEY, YOU COME BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!"
He didn't.
By the time she reached the doorway, Harry was already halfway down the drive, sliding into the seat of Vernon's Rolls with Sirius and Abigail in the back seat. Vernon was chuckling so hard he nearly dropped the keys.
"Reckless spending, she said," Sirius muttered, straightening his jacket. "And here we are, heading out to spend even more."
Harry smirked, "In my defense, it's New Year shopping. That makes it... what's the word? Productive?"
"Delusional," Abigail supplied.
"Optimistic," Harry corrected smoothly.
After an hour drive, the car stood outside the dealer where they had gotten the cars before. The place gleamed—rows of freshly waxed machines lined like soldiers, every surface reflecting money and horsepower.
"Harry! My boy!" Mr. Collins boomed as he came out to greet Harry and Vernon. "Mr. Vernon, and who might these be?" He asked as he turned to Sirius and Abigail.
"This is Sirius Black, my godfather and this here is my little sister Abigail." Harry introduced them.
"Pleasure to meet you guys," Mr. Collins said as he shook their hands. "What a surprise to see you gentlemen on New Year's Eve!"
Harry grinned, "Well, I thought I'd start the year right—you know, with poor financial decisions."
The man laughed, shaking his hand vigorously. "You've already made five excellent decisions with me, lad. What are we looking for today?"
Harry wandered between the cars with Abigail beside him, like generals inspecting troops. His eyes caught the sleek, silver Jaguar XJ220, it's curves glinting beneath the lights. "This one," he said softly. "And the Diablo Coupe, and the Lotus Esprit over there."
"And as always, everything in black" Harry added with a smirk.
"Not bad," Sirius said, stopping in front of a bright red Ferrari F40. He circled it once, whistling low. "Now this… this is a car that makes a statement."
Harry glanced over, lips twitching. "The statement being, 'I'm definitely going to get arrested.'"
Sirius smirked, already crouched to inspect the lines of the car. "Aesthetic crimes, maybe. Look at her — pure perfection." He stood and turned to Collins. "I'll take it."
Harry blinked. "You'll—what?"
But Sirius wasn't done. He pointed next to a white Ferrari Testarossa, the twin to Harry's 512 TR. "That one too. Can't have the garage look uneven." Then, as he wandered toward another corner, "Oh, and the MX-5. Top-down. Red. And those two Porsches — the 911 Carrera and the Turbo Coupe."
Harry gaped. "You're just… buying the dealership?"
Sirius grinned broadly. "You think only you can do it?"
Vernon, who had been examining a brochure nearby, looked up with an approving nod. "A man after my own heart." He turned to Collins, gesturing decisively. "I'll take three Mercedes S-Class — your best luxury trims. One for business, one for family, one for… occasions."
Collins looked like he'd just been handed his retirement bonus early. "Excellent choices, gentlemen, excellent choices!"
Abigail stood frozen in the middle of the showroom, watching the three of them scatter in different directions like overgrown children in a toy store.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I cannot believe that. You're all adults. Allegedly."
Harry shot her a grin. "Correction — we're responsible adults."
Sirius, peering through the window of the Carrera, called out, "Responsibly bankrupt, maybe!"
Vernon chuckled, signing off another slip. "Can't take money to the grave, love."
Abigail folded her arms, exasperated. "You lot need supervision."
Harry leaned against the hood of the Jaguar, smirk tugged at his lips. "You are the supervision."
"Exactly my point," she muttered.
Collins clapped his hands together, absolutely radiant. "I'll have everything prepped and ready for delivery before the evening. Quite the start to the new year, eh?"
Harry exchanged a look with Sirius and Vernon — the kind that needed no words.
Sirius raised an imaginary glass. "To reckless decisions."
Vernon added, "To excellent taste."
Harry smirked. "And to hoping Mum never finds out."
Abigail groaned. "Oh, she's definitely finding out."
Mr. Collins stood before the trio, eyes slightly wide as he surveyed the sales slips spread across his desk. Sirius leaned back in his chair, humming as he signed another form, while Vernon adjusted his tie with the confidence of a man about to buy half the dealership. Harry, for his part, looked as though he'd just bought candy instead of supercars.
"So," Collins asked slowly, flipping through the stack of invoices. "If I may ask—how many cars are we talking about now?"
Vernon cleared his throat, puffing up proudly. "Between the three of us?" He straightened, grinning. "Twenty-one."
There was a long pause. Collins blinked. Once. Twice.
"The entire family is crazy, I see," he murmured under his breath before catching himself and forcing a salesman's smile. "Right then! Let's finalize the payments."
Harry slid his checkbook across the counter first, scribbling his signature with easy familiarity. "This should cover the Jaguar, the Diablo, and the Lotus," he said, tapping the slip lightly. "And a little extra — for early delivery."
"Generous as always, Harry!" Collins said, voice bordering reverent as he accepted it.
Next came Sirius, dramatically biting the end of his pen before scrawling his name with a flourish. "Ferrari F40, Testarossa, MX-5, Carrera, Turbo Coupe," he counted on his fingers. "Oh, and don't forget to throw in the detailing package. I want her to sparkle."
Collins blinked again, taking the second check like a man accepting fate.
Finally, Vernon stepped up, signing his own check with deliberate, confident strokes. "Three S-Class, top trims. I expect them home polished and ready before sundown."
"Of course, Mr. Vernon," Collins said faintly, tucking away the checks with trembling hands. As the group turned to leave, his gaze lingered on the mountain of paperwork left behind. "Twenty-one cars in total." he murmured. "The entire family is crazy."
Outside, the group piled into the Rolls — Sirius tossing the Ferrari keys in the air like a trophy while Abigail muttered something about "irresponsible adults." Harry slid into the driver's seat, started the engine, and they rolled out of the dealership's gates, sunlight glinting off the windscreen.
For a few minutes, the car was filled only with the low hum of the road and the soft crackle of the radio before Vernon cracked open a can of cola. "Harry," he said, glancing at his son through the mirror, "just how much did you make this year? You're not dipping into savings, are you?"
Sirius leaned back in the passenger seat, already draining his own can with a grin. "Yeah, pup. From what I know, you're reckless but not stupid. So, what's the damage? How much have you pulled in this year?"
Harry kept his eyes on the road, thinking for a moment. "Hmm… I don't have an exact figure, to be honest." He shifted gears smoothly, tone casual. "But roughly? Four hundred million galleons. Maybe a little more."
The car went silent.
Abigail blinked. "I'm sorry—what?"
Sirius nearly choked on his drink, coughing and wheezing. "Four hundred million—?! What in Merlin's name are you selling, golden unicorns?"
Harry snorted. "You didn't forget Elysium and Hearth & Hollow did you? That coupled with the broom companies I own and the rents from all the real estates, not to mention the already established Potter businesses, roughly 400 million galleons or more. I haven't done the full math."
Abigail leaned forward, brows furrowed. "What do you mean 'the broom companies'?"
Harry turned into the street where the salon was and answered absently, "I mean... I own every broom company except Nimbus."
There was a moment of utter silence before Sirius and Abigail exploded in perfect unison.
"YOU WHAT?!"
Harry blinked, realizing what he'd just admitted. "...Ah shit."
Vernon sighed beside him, already pinching the bridge of his nose. "You weren't supposed to say that, son."
Sirius was practically climbing over the seat. "Every broom company? As in—Cleensweep, Comet, Firebolt, Silver Arrow—"
"All of them," Harry muttered sheepishly, eyes fixed firmly on the road.
Abigail's jaw dropped. "How?! When?! What even—how is that possible?!"
Harry chuckled weakly. "It's a long story, alright? One thing led to another, and now… well, if someone's flying a broom from these companies, odds are I made money off it."
Sirius just slumped back into his seat, staring out the window. "I've been living like a peasant."
Vernon, still gripping his cola can, turned slowly toward his son. "Alright, one more thing, lad," he said carefully. "Just so I can make sense of all this — if you were to add it all up… your net worth, what would it be now?"
Harry hummed, eyes fixed on the road. "Net worth, huh?" He thought for a moment, running through mental figures with the same ease most people reserved for grocery lists. "If we're including valuation of all the companies, the restaurants, property, and the broom conglomerate... then I've probably crossed the ten-billion-galleon mark already."
Silence.
For a full five seconds, nobody breathed.
Vernon's hand froze halfway to his mouth. Sirius, who had been leaning casually back, slowly lowered his cola can until it rested on his knee. Abigail's eyes went comically wide, like someone had just told her the sky was made of gold.
"Ten… billion…" Vernon repeated slowly, as if tasting each syllable. His voice cracked on the last word. "As in—ten billion galleons?"
Harry nodded casually, as if he'd just mentioned the weather. "Yeah. Give or take a few hundred million."
Sirius blinked twice, then laughed hollowly. "A few hundred million, he says... Merlin's beard, I've been living in the wrong timeline." He turned to Vernon. "This guy can basically buy Magical Britain itself, Vernon."
Abigail just stared at her brother, her voice a mixture of awe and outrage. "Do you even understand how ridiculous that sounds? You're worth more than entire ministries! Ten billion, Harry?! That's— that's—"
"—A lot," Harry finished with a small grin. "Yeah, I get that."
Vernon sat back heavily, rubbing his temple. "Son, when I said make something of yourself, I didn't mean buy the economy."
Sirius was still shaking his head in disbelief. "You could literally build your own country. A floating one. With golden roads. And still have change left for dessert."
Abigail groaned. "Unreal. My brother's a teenage trillionaire—"
"Billionaire," Harry corrected absently.
"Don't correct me!" she snapped, though her lips twitched with reluctant amusement. "You're still insane."
Harry just grinned, steering the car smoothly into the boulevard. "Insane's subjective. I prefer entrepreneurially gifted."
Vernon gave a long, low whistle and finally muttered, "Okay, for the entire day, whatever we spend on, you are buying. Let me enjoy my son's money a bit."
Harry chuckled, "Sure, Dad. Whatever you want."
The Rolls glided smoothly into Mayfair's luxury row, pulling up in front of the Patek Philippe salon. A valet came rushing over, but one look at the car — and at Harry — and his professionalism snapped into something closer to reverence.
"Mr. Potter," he greeted quickly, taking the keys. "Welcome back, sir. Shall I have it parked up front?"
Harry nodded. "Please do. We won't take long."
The group stepped inside — and like before, the air was a whisper of wealth. Polished walnut, soft carpets, and the faint tick of timepieces that cost more than most homes. Leanne hurried forward, all smiles and faint nerves.
"Mr. Potter! Welcome back. Always an honor." She said as she shook his hand.
Sirius chuckled. "Add 'watch addict' to his list of accomplishments."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Leanne, meet my father, Vernon Dursley. That's my godfather, Sirius Black, and my sister, Abigail."
Leanne greeted each of them with practiced grace, her smile faltering only slightly when Sirius winked. "A pleasure, all of you. What brings you in today, Mr. Potter?"
"I'm afraid this one's a bit… unconventional," Harry said as they all took seats around the low table. "I need thirty watches."
Leanne blinked, then managed a polite laugh. "Thirty? As in—three-zero?"
"Precisely." Harry leaned forward, tone calm and businesslike. "Same model for everyone, but variations in color and casing. And each family will get their own presentation box."
Leanne, suddenly all professionalism, produced her notepad. "Alright then. Let's go over the specifications."
Harry began listing them with the ease of someone who had already visualized everything."For the Dursleys: silver casing, green dials — a box for three.The Blacks: black with blue dials, box for one.Weasleys: rose gold, box for nine.Parkinsons: white gold, box for three.Greengrasses: gold, box for four.Grangers: blue dial, box for three.Tonkses: platinum, box for three.Lovegoods: yellow gold, box for three.And Potters…" He paused, faint amusement in his eyes. "Black straps, green dial, platinum case. One box."
Leanne's pen slowed halfway through. "Mr. Potter, forgive me — this is one of the most detailed custom orders we've had all year."
Harry smiled faintly. "Good. Then I'm in the right place."
She finished scribbling notes, hesitated, and finally asked what everyone else in the store was thinking. "May I ask… what's the occasion? A corporate gift, perhaps?"
Harry leaned back, a small smile curving his lips. "No. Family. We'll all be together this New Year — properly, for the first time. Consider it an investment… a symbol. Everyone keeps their individuality, but this time, we'll wear the same clock."
There was a pause — a rare hush that even the ticking clocks seemed to respect.
When Leanne finally quoted the total — just a bit above five million pounds — Harry didn't blink. He wrote the check neatly, tore it off, and handed it across the counter. Then he pulled out another check and slid it forward with a warm grin.
"Fifty thousand. Happy New Year, Leanne. Make sure every person who works here gets a bit of it, yeah?"
Leanne looked at the checks — then at him — completely stunned. "Mr. Potter… I don't even know what to say."
"Please, Leanne. We have a long relationship and I'm just ensuring that we continue to do so." Harry smiled as he stood up adjusting his coat. "You can just send the stuff over to the same address as before."
As they turned to leave, Leanne finally found her voice again, murmuring to herself as the door swung shut behind them: "Thirty watches, five million pounds, and he calls it an investment in family…"
Her soft laugh followed them out into the winter air. "Only him."
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The quiet afternoon after lunch at Dursley Mansion was a rare thing nowadays. Sunlight spilling through the wide windows, the soft clink of Harry's spoon against the glass bowl, and the low hum of an enchanted clock somewhere in the hallway. Everyone else had scattered: Abigail off to Pansy's with some mysterious "girl discussion," Vernon and Sirius too had disappeared out on an errand, and Petunia had headed to the Greengrass Manor to help with dinner preparations.
Harry was lounged on the couch, a half-finished bowl of ice cream in one hand and a thick tome in the other. Continuum. Dense, ancient, and brilliant. He was about thirty-eight percent through it—the exact number noted by the charm on the book, and already he could feel his understanding of spatial and temporal constructs deepening. The way runic matrices interacted with temporal flow... the concept of layered dimensional compression... fascinating.
He smirked faintly. He was confident that no one in the entire world would be a match for him now when it comes to spatial and temporal magic.
Earlier it had taken him an entire night to finish a single page, but now he was faster. He was able to get through a single page in just about three hours.
Suddenly the fireplace across the room flared green.
Harry blinked once, lowering his spoon.
The flames rippled, and out stepped two figures—elegant, composed and entirely unexpected.
Narcissa Malfoy emerged first, pristine as ever in a tailored winter cloak of pearl-gray, every inch the image of aristocratic grace. Draco followed close behind, looking… not quite as smug as usual, his posture just a little uncertain.
Harry sighed, setting his bowl aside. "Mrs. Malfoy... quite unexpected to see you here. With Draco nonetheless."
Narcissa smiled. "Hello, Harry. Mind if we sit down?"
Harry nodded, "Please go ahead, Mrs. Malfoy. Is everything alright?"
Narcissa took a seat with her usual effortless poise, while Draco hovered a second longer before sitting stiffly beside her. The contrast between them and the casual sprawl of the living room—half-eaten ice cream, open book, warm sunlight—was almost comical.
Narcissa replied. "Everything is better than alright, Harry. I don't know what you did, or how you did it, but Lucius has changed. For the first time in years, I can say that I have a husband and Draco has a father."
Draco nodded, "My mother tells me that you are responsible for father's changed nature... I guess... I should thank you."
Harry smiled, "That's great than. Everyone deserves a loving family after all family should be family and not bargaining chips."
Narcissa's smile softened at that, the faintest shimmer of warmth flickering through her usual composed features. "You sound very much like your mother," she said quietly. "Lily believed that too—that family was meant to be a sanctuary, not a battlefield."
Harry's expression gentled. "She was right."
For a moment, silence settled over the room — comfortable, reflective. The fire crackled softly in the grate, its green light fading back to a mellow orange.
Then Draco cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable with the growing sentimentality. "Well… I suppose I should also apologize. For, uh… everything at Hogwarts. I was—" He hesitated, clearly struggling. "—a bit of a prat."
Harry snorted, amusement tugging at his lips. "A bit?"
Draco gave him a flat look, but reluctant grin crept through anyway. "Fine. A lot of a prat."
"Apology accepted," Harry said easily, leaning back on the couch. "Water under the bridge."
Narcissa inclined her head approvingly. "I'm glad to see that, Harry. I didn't know what to do, but you helped when no one even listened to me." She looked pained a bit at that thought of how everyone rejected her. "And for that, I'll forever be grateful."
"Please, Mrs. Malfoy. I just did what I could. And I believe a wife deserves a husband and a son deserves a father, so I did what I thought was best." Harry replied while waving his hand to make the ice cream bowl disappear.
Narcissa's smile deepened, graceful and soft. "You really are remarkable, Harry," she said, her tone warm in a way that seemed rare even for her.
Harry smiled lightly, then glanced to the corner. "Dinky!"
With a soft pop, the little house-elf appeared, eyes wide and bright. "Yes, Master Harry, sir!"
"Tea and some snacks, please. For our guests."
"Right away, Master Harry!" she squeaked, vanishing in another pop of displaced air.
As the silence settled again, Narcissa turned to Harry, an amused spark in her eyes. "You know, dear, you could call me Aunt Cissa. You are technically family, through Sirius. Which would make Draco here your… very distant cousin."
Harry blinked, surprise flashing across his face before he chuckled. "Aunt Cissa, then. Has a nice ring to it." He turned to Draco with a smirk. "Pleasure to finally meet you, cousin."
Draco froze, eyes wide. "Cousin?!" He looked like he might faint on the spot. Then, realizing Narcissa was watching him expectantly, he straightened and managed a wry, "Nice to meet you too… cousin."
Harry's grin widened. "There we go. That wasn't so hard, was it?"
Dinky reappeared with a tea tray, placing it delicately on the low table — steaming cups, clotted cream biscuits, and delicate pastries filling the air with a light vanilla scent.
As they began to sip, the conversation turned easy, almost familial. Narcissa spoke of their new home — smaller than Malfoy Manor, but brighter, warmer, free from the suffocating presence of dark enchantments.
"It's peaceful," she said softly, stirring her tea. "For the first time in years, I can sleep without feeling the house breathe around me."
Harry nodded, listening quietly, his expression thoughtful. "I'm glad," he said at last. "Are you happy now?"
Narcissa looked up, eyes bright. "Happiest I've been in decades."
Harry smiled, a genuine warmth in his tone. "That's all that matters, Aunt Cissa."
Then, turning his head slightly, he called, "Pippin!"
A second pop sounded, and another elf appeared, bowing low.
"Go bring Mum from Greengrass Manor," Harry instructed. "Tell her we have guests."
Pippin nodded and vanished instantly.
Meanwhile, Harry reached into the shimmering subspace pouch beside him, pulling out a sleek, chilled can. "Here," he said, tossing it lightly to Draco. "Try this."
Draco caught it, frowning at the odd metallic cylinder. "What is it?"
"Soda," Harry said with a grin. "Muggle drink. Here—" He tapped the tab, showing him how to pop it open with a crisp pssst. The sound made Draco jolt slightly, but he leaned forward curiously as bubbles fizzed to the top.
Draco hesitated, then took a cautious sip—immediately flinching as the carbonation hit his tongue. "Merlin's beard—what—why is it attacking me?"
Harry laughed. "Just drink, cousin. You'll get used to it."
After another tentative sip, Draco blinked, then smiled faintly. "It's… not bad. Sweet. Strange, but good."
Before long, Pippin returned with Petunia in tow. She stepped into the room, and her eyes widened instantly. "Narcissa? Draco?"
The two women stared at each other for a moment before polite smiles softened their surprise. Within minutes, conversation flowed easily — tea refilled, memories shared, and the faint laughter of two women who had once lived on opposite sides of an invisible line.
When it was time to leave, Narcissa stood, smoothing her cloak. "Thank you, Harry. For the tea… and everything."
Harry smiled. "Anytime, Aunt Cissa."
Draco reached for the Floo powder, but before he could toss it in, Harry flicked his wrist — a sleek black box appeared midair, landing neatly in Draco's hands.
"What's this?"
"Late Christmas gift," Harry said with a small grin. "Elysium sweets. And—happy New Year, cousin."
Draco smirked, catching the box easily. "Thanks, cousin."
With a shimmer of green fire, he and Narcissa disappeared, leaving behind a faint scent of smoke and sugar — and Harry, now alone again, sighed softly to himself as he reached once more for Continuum.