Harry's Summer Vacation

Ron Weasely
1 October 1994
Nervously, Ron walked down the main street of Hogsmeade towards the Hog's Head for his meeting.  The letter from Gringotts had been brief, but it left no wiggle room.  He was expected to be there at ten for a meeting in a private room concerning the Warhammer stuff.  No other details, but it was signed by Slipshard, and Ron knew that he was Harry's investment guy, so at least he knew that this wasn't coming out of nowhere, or some kind of prank or trap.

Once inside the dingy bar, he caught the eye of the bartender, who jerked his head towards the stairs.  Ron wiped the nervous sweat off his palms before he slicked his hair back, and mounted the stairs.

Inside the room, there were a few chairs, a table with a large box of sand atop it, and a goblin.  It was dressed in a much more modern suit than he'd seen at Gringotts, and it was puttering around with something Ron couldn't see on the other side of the table.

"Um, hello?" Ron asked nervously.  "I'm Ron Weasely.  Is this the right room?"

"It is," came the melodious, feminine voice.  "I am Gobrot.  Auditor Slipshard wanted me to meet you about an investment."

Ron blinked, closing the door behind him.  "I don't know what I can help with, but sure."

Gobrot sighed, working her shoulders.  "Do you mind if I get comfortable, wizard?"

"Go ahead," Ron replied, taking off his own coat and hanging it on a chair back.  Gobrot slid off her suit jacket, and Ron had to struggle not to stare.  At two and a half feet tall, the female goblin was stacked.  Broad hips, generous bust for her size, and, now that Ron was looking, a delicate, sharply accented, quite pretty face.  Now dressed in slacks and a dress shirt (and apparently no underclothes on her torso), Gobrot cut quite the image of femininity.  "So, what's all this about?"

Gobrot popped something in her mouth, chewed, and then swallowed before saying, "This is a magical sandbox of my own design.  Potter invested in it, and recommended that I work with you about some sort of wargame."

"Oh?  Oh!" Ron exclaimed, setting down the Warhammer 40K box.  "What does the sandbox do?"

"Muggles have used this sort of thing for millennia to plan battles," she answered, "so I decided to make a magical version.  Using a modified memory, the sand can take the form of any contiguous shape, any battlefield."

"That sounds cool," Ron breathed out, looking at the box with new eyes.  "See, the Warhammer stuff is a combat simulation game," he began, opening the box.  "Using the figurines, with rules and dice to mimic how battles can get random, two people can have a mock battle.  I'm guessing that Harry wanted us to combine ideas."

"Seems appropriate," Gobrot replied, dropping a vial into the box.  Instantly, the multi-colored sand began two come into shapes.  Within seconds, a scale model of Hogsmeade could be made out.

"I get it," Ron said, pulling out several figurines.  "Place them... here and here, and you've got two squads in a terrain.  We could make up any terrain we wanted, and let people battle it out with the figurines."

"What's your end, wizard?" she asked bluntly.

"I've been trying to get the figures to animate," Ron admitted, "like wizard's chess pieces.  It's slow going, but I'm making progress.  Between runes and a potion doctored paint, I think I'm pretty close.  So between the two of us, we could produce magical wargaming."

"I see the slice of the pick," she replied as she looked over the figures, which were jerkily moving between buildings.  "Yes, the two of us collaborating would be a good thing."

"So what did you do when Harry invested?"

"I purchased finer sand," she began.  "Originally, all I had was sand from the sides of the runoff pits.  Crude, but it worked for the concept.  This is the next version, with finely ground and colored olivine sand.  Ah, olivine is a sand used for finely detailed metal casting.  I was authorized use of the old Universal Broom site, and now I'm very close to a finished, marketable design."

"I get you.  Oh, please call me Ron.  May I call you by your name?"

"Very well, wiz- Ron," she replied with a huff.  "If we're to work together, we might as well."

"So if you can...  Wait."  Ron stood up from his crouch, eyes wide.  "Can the effects of the sand boxes be linked?"

"How do you mean?"

"If... if two tables could be linked," Ron began, "then we could simulate a 'fog of war' situation.  Two people, two tables, but they can't see each other's movements until the figurines come into a certain range?  And have them competing in different rooms so that they don't know who they're playing against?"

Gobrot's eyes narrowed as she looked over her enchantments.  "Advanced material, but I think we can get there eventually.  What of your end?"

"Getting the figurines animated was the biggest issue," Ron admitted.  "Now I'm working out how to get them to follow the dice, and the squad rules.  I have to be careful with the potion paint, because getting it set up is a right pain.  But for the controller," he continued, pulling out a thin stone tablet, "I think I'm on the right broom run with using a slate as a controller.  A bit of linked chalk, and the figurines obey," he stated, drawing a line, causing one set of Ultramarines to veer off between two buildings.

"Interesting," she replied, adjusting some controls as the squad of Chaos Marines were suddenly bogged down in 'mud'.  "Yes, I am liking this, wiz-Ron," she continued, still working out how to properly address her new partner.  "What have you got so far?"

"Well," Ron began, pulling out an unpainted figurine, "first I talked to some people about Wizard's Chess pieces.  They're animated with a spell, and the user's magic supports them, and has the side effect of getting them to be more cooperative with the owner's magic.  After that, I have been working out runes carved into covered joints; the pauldrons make masking those easy.  The runes link the figures to the tablet for control.  Lastly is a potion added to some paints to assign a figurine to a set of rules.  Like, the blue paint is for the ruleset for the Ultramarines, and the red is for Chaos Marines rules.  Basic stuff so far, but I think I can assign by color."

"Or base coat," Gobrot replied, turning over one of the figurines in her hands.  "Use a doped primer configured for the status of the figurine.  That way they can be painted however a user likes, but they'll still be locked into the base ruleset."

"Brilliant!" Ron huffed out with a grin on his face, writing that part down.  "As for the sandbox, if we can configure a ruleset for the table itself, rules for the battle conditions, that would be great, wouldn't it?"

Gobrot knelt down, peering over the runes etched into the base of the box itself.  "If we were to use your slate idea, we could inscribe specific set of instructions to be slid into a slot built into the box itself."

"Exactly!  Huh.  Do you think we can actually pull this off?" Ron asked nervously.

"In all honesty," Gobrot sighed out, "without a gimmick like you are proposing, the sandbox would only ever be a limited use item.  Between magic being able to produce illusions of nearly anything, pensieve memory viewing, and anything else that can be thought of, my sandbox wouldn't be appealing to most buyers given the alternatives.  Your idea has merit, and our collaboration can only be positive.  Potter clearly has a good head for investments."

"Harry's never been a dumb guy," Ron admitted, "but I think his time away has really made him start using his head.  Usually, Hermione's the smart one between us, and I'm the lazy one.  But this really has me working at it, putting out my best effort."

Gobrot's mouth quirked at that in amusement.  "You finally found something worth pursuing."

"That's it!" Ron laughed out.  "So, let's get to work, yeah?"

Draco Malfoy
1 October 1994
Draco sighed, sliding into the room at the back of the Leaky Cauldron, where he'd floo'd from the Three Broomsticks.  Inside was Lucius Malfoy, already seated at a table with a spread of food before him.  "Well?" Lucius asked, gesturing for Draco to be seated.

"Potter is stuck in Thailand," Draco began, piling up his own plate.  "Some sort of shipwreck, and now he's stuck there thanks to Timbul's idiocy.  According to Granger and Longbottom, he should be back by October or November."

"This isn't ideal," Lucius admitted, sipping at a goblet of wine, "but there's nothing to be done for it.  What else?"

"I decided to make inroads with Longbottom and Granger," Draco continued, ignoring Lucius' shudder of disgust, "under the guise of being concerned about the future.  Using the facts that Granger can easily research, I spun a tale of how we're the future of Magical Britain, and we need to cooperate to plan for that in a few years."

"Well done, Draco," Lucius smoothly stated, a small, proud smile on his face.  "Using truth to deceive is always the best option.  And remember, you need to get close to Potter.  My Dark Mark is growing in strength.  He shall return to us soon, and His most loyal need to be ready to receive him.  And having easy access to Potter would place us quite highly in His favor."

"I know, father," Draco replied, rolling his eyes.  "You've been telling me this since June; I'm unlikely to forget."  Draco wisely didn't mention that Lucius' screwup two years ago with the diary would very likely get his entire family tortured.

"So, anything else?" Lucius asked.

"The new Defense teacher, Moody.  He's insane, and he..."

Lara Croft
28 September 1994
"And that is why, Viscount DeMornay, you will release into Miss Croft's hands control over the Croft Estate," the blonde, stacked woman firmly stated, looking at Atlas Demornay with a grim stare.

Lara sighed.  She knew that this was all about her uncle's dispproval of her mother marrying her father, as well as hedging against the possibility of Lara inheriting her father's zeal.

"I am seeing," Atlas replied to Laura Langley's demand.  "At least the Proof of Death for my sister has been found.  It only took most of fifteen years, but it's here.  And since your psychiatrist, Miss McKenzie has given Lara a relatively clean bill of mental health, I really have little choice in the matter, do I?" he asked, resignation filling his voice.

"You do not," Laura answered, leaning back in her chair.

"It's disgraceful," Atlas continued, even as he began signing the release forms, "that Langley's personal attack dog is involved in this.  Clearly, his common origins are telling, especially at this point in his dotage."

"Emil may be seventy years old," Laura admitted with a smirk, "but nothing is slowing him down.  And don't worry, Viscount DeMornay, the Croft Estate is in the very best of hands.  Miss Croft has assured me that she'll be retaining my own office going forward."

"Hrmf.  Lara, my neice, you need to be careful.  Langley is no fool, and anyone can see the strings looping about your wrists in this."

"Oh, I can see them, uncle," Lara admitted.  "But I have taken precautions against it becoming too awful.  Between the Royal Society, my new bank, and my new associations, there is little that can't be undone."

"Associations?" Atlas asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Harry Potter," she replied.  "The grandson of Richard Evans.  I have heard that he'll be taking up the family title soon, and his own resources are quite formidable.  In addition, the new head of the Longbottom family has been in touch, and we plan to sit down and discuss old family matters this Christmas."

"Impressive," Atlas murmured, finally signing the last of the release forms.  "Still, here it all is.  Miss Langley will clearly assist you in dealing with the paperwork for your assets, and I recommend you cooperate with the Royal Society for your due title."

Two hours later, Lara was seated in the apartment she shared with Sam, relaxing after dealing with paperwork, her uncle, and Laura's outright legal threats upon the man.

"How'd it go?" Sam asked, markedly subdued in her tone from before the expedition.

"It went," Lara admitted, running her fingers through her ponytail.  "I got it all, at least.  How are you holding up?"

"Better, now that I got letters and pictures from Harry," she admitted, holding up a pile of photos.  "Do you really think that your boyfriend is right?  Some sort of soul-debt?"

"It's very possible," Lara admitted.  "Bill seems to think it has bearing, and Langley says that she agrees with him.  She also said that she'll be talking with Harry about it."

Sam sighed, slumping down onto the floor.  "I just... I can't get him out of my head!  I remember him at the beginning of the trip, all scrawny and shy and adorable.  I remember him when he was built like a wrestler.  And now he's sending me pictures of himself with people in Thailand.  There's a lot of women in these pictures, Lara," she groaned out, sliding the stack over.

Lara took the stack, flipping through it.  Featured prominently was the gunwoman from the Lagoon Company, and Harry was not uncomfortable in the least around her.  In other photos were three girls, looking to be about Harry's age; all three were startlingly beautiful.  More photos of Harry in various places, and on the back of each photo was a brief description of what was going on, as well as who was in the shot.

"So, are you jealous?" Lara asked in a teasing tone.

Sam shook her head, a flush on her cheeks.  "The opposite.  I wonder about being the filling in the sandwich," she admitted, one hand rubbing at her thigh.

"That could be interesting," Lara replied, "but worrying, since we both know that you're straight."

"I know!" Sam groaned out, dramatically throwing her head back.  "I mean, I've experimented, you know?  I like dick.  But now I want Harry's dick, and now I'm willing to munch rug to get it?  It fucking sucks!"

"Don't worry, Sam," Lara replied, pulling Sam into a sitting side hug.  "Harry won't take advantage of you like that.  I'm sure that the first thing that he'll make sure of is that you'll be capable of telling him No."

"But I don't want to," Sam mumbled.  "What am I going to do?"

"I don't know, Sam," Lara answered with a sigh.  "But I'm here for you no matter what."

"At least this'll keep me from flirting with your boyfriend," Sam noted, a trace is mirth in her voice.  "Seriously, a cute redhead who's also a history guy?  You got lucky, girl!"

"Too right," Lara said with a wide smile.  "Smart, funny, good looking...  We have a lot in common without anything getting boring.  And we're both used to being away for months at a time, so that definitely works in our favor."

"Ugh, you have a love life, and I'm pining after someone ten years younger than me," Sam moaned out.  "This debt thing is really messing with my head.  At least his letters help a little.  And the pictures; have you seen these swimming trunks shots?  My god, he got hot.  But they keep me focused on Harry being, well, Harry, rather than the sex god my hormones make him out to be."

"Who knows?" Lara asked with a smirk.  "Maybe his time in the City of Sin will train him up for you.  Get him a little experience in pleasing a woman?"

"Sure, sure," Sam laughed out.  "He'll get back, take me to bed, and make me scream the Seven Holy Names of God for longer than my vibrator has?  Right, sure.  Say, what are you going to do about Bill's sister?"

Lara gave a half shrug, saying, "I gave her some of my old 101 books on History and Archaeology.  She is still in school, so she has a lot of class work already going on.  It's up to her if she follows through.  I could do without her mother glaring at me, though."

A few days later, Lara was back at Croft Manor, looking over the blueprints of the massive, ancient building.  Holes had been opened in various walls by her and Bill, and every conceivable secret had been ferreted out of the mouldering estate.

"Missy Croft," came the voice to her left.  "Harry Potter sir has offered that you be allowed to bond with one of the willing Potter elves from Italy."

"That's very kind of him, Dobby," she replied, eyes flicking over to the now familiar house elf.  "I still don't know how I'm going to get all of this fixed up."

"Please allow Dobby to handle matters," Dobby insisted with a bow.  "Dobby now has muggle contractors for historical reconstruction available, and between Dobby and your new elf, we can adjust things so that magicky secrets stay secret."

"That would be amazing.  Thank you, Dobby," Lara admitted with a smile.

Emil Langley
30 September, 1994
"And you're certain that this is the best course of action?"

Emil rolled his eyes at the question.  "When have I ever let you down, hm?  Mr. Potter has provided evidence that Voldemort isn't properly dead, and we both know that Death Eaters paid their way free.  All I'm asking is that the Squib Squad be brought up to speed, and that Harry get what he deserves for his and his family's actions.  Magical Law Enforcement is working on their end, and we both know that Bones is above reproach.  All that's left is our end."

"Very well.  It shall be made to happen.  Mid-December is best for that manner of thing, and you'll be recalled from retirement to work with the regiment.  Don't screw this up, Langley."

Emil smiled wickedly, bowing low.  "I wouldn't dare dream of it, Your Majesty."

Albus Dumbledore
29 August 1994

"Last but not least," Albus stated at the first staff meeting before the new school term, "is that Harry Potter is going to be a bit late in getting to school.  It seems that he ran into a spot of trouble with a family friend, and his new legal guardian perished in a shipwreck."  Gasps ringed the table, except for Snape's whose eyes simply narrowed.  "Mister Potter is currently stuck in Thailand, and has wisely elected to return using muggle means."

"Surely he can get a portkey from the embassy there," Minerva objected.

"He cannot," Severus smoothly slid in.  "Roland Timbul insulted the Thai king, and now all incorporated magical travel is prohibited for British magicals.  Timbul himself is now in Britain to keep from being arrested and serving three years in a Thai prison."

"Severus is correct," Albus commented.  "Plus, Harry entered Thailand as a shipwreck survivor.  I have no doubt that the fact is known to every muggle database that deals with international travel.  Sadly, thanks to international flesh trafficking, Harry can't board normal commercial international transit without a legal guardian.  He has retained the services of a, independent courier service in that regard.  Sadly, the explosion in Hong Kong has restricted matters even further, so he is simply biding his time until the matter clears up.

"To that end," Albus continued, producing several sheafs of parchment and one muggle notepad, "Harry has forwarded me his assigned homework, and has assured me that he is continuing his education.  He in fact asked for the book list for this year, and I sent him an international owl order form.  Alas, I must say that he has decided to drop Divination, Sybil," he continued with a sigh.  "He intends to test for Runes on his return, and study Divination on his own using practices not taught in your course."

"Mister Potter has very little of The Sight," Sybil replied airily, "but he was always an interesting student.  His aura alone speaks of momentous things.  Still, not every method is good for every magical, and I am pleased to hear that he's finding his own path in the grandest of magical disciplines."

"I do believe that that's all.  Term begins on Tuesday, so we all need to be properly prepared."

4 October 1994

Albus sat heavily in his chair, pondering the situation.  Harry had been quite definitive in his lone demand of him, and the demand itself was not without merit.  In fact, several parents over the last half century had been snarling for that very thing, but none had the authority to demand the alteration.

Severus Snape swooped into his office, taking his regular seat.  "What am I needed for now?" he asked, frowning slightly.

"I had a most peculiar conversation a few days ago, Severus," Albus admitted.  "Do you remember the slavery task that the ICW outsourced?"  Severus nodded, as it had been information gotten from Lucius Malfoy (who disliked the competition) that had provided the schedule.  "Harry Potter was there, on the strike team.  By the time the Beings Rights Division had arrived, his team had taken care of everything, and was seeing to the needs of the refugees."

"I would expect little else of Potter," Severus drawled.  "He's always been a soft touch for the disadvantaged.  What of it?"

Albus sighed, saying, "He made a demand of me.  As it so happens, he is now the head of the Slytherin bloodline, and has certain rights and responsibilities according to the Hogwarts Charter.  His demand was that we bring Hogwarts back to a positive, professional academic environment.  No favoritism, no House rivalry among the staff outside of quidditch."

"An unusual demand," Severus admitted, pouring himself a tumbler of scotch, "but the staff has been dealing with that since well before I attended school.  What makes this different?"

"Harry now has the right to make changes in the school," Albus admitted.  "As the head of a Founder Line, his word is very nearly law here.  And thankfully, his demand is easily acceded to."

"I'll admit it to be a relief from my usual performance," Severus admitted in return.  "Since part of our agreed upon terms were to act as if I favored the spawn of Death Eaters, this will be an interesting change, especially since it seems that I have little choice in the matter.  How do you plan to reign in Filius, Argus, and Minerva?"

"Tomorrow there will be an emergency staff meeting.  I will simply inform everyone of the new change, and that if the alteration isn't adhered to, staffing will be altered, as ordered by a rediscovered, verified Founder Line Head."

"Interesting," Severus mused out.  "Anything else?"

"I was hoping that you could help me go over the memory of the event," Albus said, already pulling the memory strand out of his temple.  "I have undoubtedly missed some things during the event."

Twenty minutes later, the two were back in their chairs going over what Albus had seen.

"No scars," Severus mumbled.  "Potter has no scars.  Not on his head, not on his forearm.  How did he rid himself of the Dark Lord's curse scar, much less the basilisk bite?"

"I don't know," Albus replied, shaking his head.  "But I plan to ask Harry when he returns."