Harry Potter Squib Tales Chapter 100: Death and New Beginnings (Patreon)

Chapter 100: Death and New Beginnings

November vanished in a blur, leading to a dreary and wet December. That, too, passed by quickly, with most of it spent preparing for the holidays.

Harry had decided to stay behind at Hogwarts – apparently, Fleur had invited him to the Winter Ball as her dance partner because she didn’t trust anyone else. He had already proved himself resistant to her Allure, so Fleur deemed him a suitable partner who wouldn’t try anything.

I really wanted to know how Susan and the other girls who were chasing Harry’s affection had reacted to that, and would have to send a letter or two to find out. I made sure to send him a present, of course, as well as one to Fleur and Remus and a couple other people like the Weasleys.

On the business side of things, there were bonuses to pay to my employees, and sales to organize. I’d even managed to grab myself a short two-day break on Christmas Eve and Day to spend with Delilah, but aside from that, I’d been working non-stop.

But now it was December 30th, and I was getting ready for the New Year. There were a lot of plans for 1995. More employees had to be hired to staff everything, and Camelot Energy was set to officially open the doors to its first office in February, so that had to be squared away properly.

Yet for all the busywork (and thrice-accursed paperwork!) I managed to do everything we needed, so the next few days should be less hectic.

‘So far, no major upheavals, and the country seems nice and peaceful. Perhaps we can start next year with a bit of peace and quiet?’ I thought to myself as I scribbled my signature onto a couple of documents.

A moment later, my phone rang, filling me with a sense of dread. I’d just had to tempt Fate, hadn’t I?

“Hello?” I asked warily as I answered it.

“Mr. Rose?” an unfamiliar voice inquired on the other end.

“Yes?” I asked. “May I ask who this is?”

“This is Simon Hargrave, Sir Jonah Briar’s attorney. I regret to inform you that he has passed away in the early hours of the morning.”

“Oh,” I muttered, eyes wide.

“Indeed. As executor of his estate, I request you attend the reading of the will that will occur on Monday, January 2nd. Will this be possible?”

“Ah, yes, I can make it then. Please send me the address and other relevant information,” I requested.

“I shall send a fax,” the attorney replied.

“Thank you. Um, have a nice day?”

“Of course, Mr. Rose.” With that, he hung up, leaving me to lean back in my chair, still shellshocked.

“Wow,” I exclaimed under my breath.

Sir Briar was dead? He’d seemed a little under the weather during the Christmas party, but healthy enough. But he was old. Eighty and a veteran of a brutal war that hadn’t done his body any favors. So perhaps it was just his time to go.

‘Though this old man’s death had gone and thrown a spanner in my works,’ I thought with a groan of annoyance.

I’d been counting on Sir Briar sticking around for at least another decade or so, or at least for him to slowly transfer power to me over the course of years, not all at once!

I didn’t need to attend the reading of the will to know I was his designated heir and inheritor of pretty much everything he’d owned and controlled, but I’d hoped to have some time to actually get a grasp on it all, not have it dumped into my lap like a plate of messy spaghetti!

‘It honestly would not surprise me to find out that Sir Briar kicked the bucket out of spite just to ruin my schedules,’ I grumbled to myself before picking up the phone again.

I had some calls to make, and a lot more work to sort out. My New Year plans were ruined.

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“Thank you all for coming here.”

Nobody said a word. There wasn’t any point. We weren’t friends, and we were here for business. No pleasantries were needed, or wanted.

I sat in a seat at the long wooden table set up in the office of the Hargrave and Saxon law firm. At the head of the table was the man who’d contacted me earlier, Simon Hargrave.

He was in his seventies and was a well-respected attorney-at-law in London’s biggest and most important law firm. Powerful people used their services, and I never expected to be sitting in one of their offices.

I wasn’t alone, of course. Four other men all sat in their own seats, spines straight, all of them were nearly thrice my age. The youngest was fifty-one, and the oldest was eighty-six. Doing my best to observe the rest of the people here without making it seem like I was doing so, I went through what I knew of them.

The youngest – relatively speaking – was none other than Hugo Farton, Sir Briar’s personal assistant and aid. A man who was also a Squib. This was the infamous arsehole who’d hired all those criminals and used them to go after me. On Sir Briar’s orders, yes, but he had too much dirt and criminal connections to be trusted even after the man’s death.

‘He’d going to have to be taken care of,’ I thought to myself. I did not trust the bloody bastard. And I had a feeling I couldn’t control him like Sir Briar had been able to.

After Hugo was Winston Forescythe, a man in his sixties who did business things on behalf of Sir Briar. Mainly, running Gladstone Financial when Sir Briar was unable to. He was a good manager, and kept people in line, but wasn’t well liked because he was something of a… well, to put it bluntly, he often abused his position to sexually harass women. He was also going to have to go.

Then was the other man in his sixties, Jarvis Sidrowe. He was in charge of several different projects for Sir Briar, being something of a manager not unlike Winston, but more for making sure the different companies and organizations underneath the Gladstone Financial banner were doing what they should. To call him Sir Briar’s inquisitor would not be wrong. Jarvis was not a terrible person like Hugo or Winston, but all he cared about was profits and ensuring things ran smoothly.

‘He can stay. I’ll need his expertise in keeping Gladstone’s various branches and sub-groups in line.’

Last but not least was Gideon Ravenholt, the oldest man in the room at eighty-six and the vice-president (or whatever his title was) of Gladstone Financial. He’d run the place hand-in-hand with Sir Briar, and knew plenty of dirty secrets about everyone. Gideon also hated Sir Briar. Pretty much everyone did, honestly, but the fact that he’d continued to keep his job despite the antagonism spoke to how much Sir Briar had needed him.

‘Or maybe Sir Briar thought it was hilarious to have Gideon work for him,’ I thought. ‘Doesn’t matter. Like Jarvis, he’ll be kept around for now, but as soon as I no longer need him, he has to be removed.’

Simon Hargrave began to speak, and I turned my attention back to him. “Sir Jonah Briar had several requests and bequeathments to go over, so allow me to go over them now…”

I almost tuned him out. The man’s voice was droning and monotonous, but I needed to know what was happening. Had my plan to have my name inserted into his will worked?

So far, most of what the attorney was saying was general stuff. Confirmations that the people here would keep their jobs, as well as information on the plans for the funeral. Speaking of which…

“The funeral will be held at 2 p.m. on Saturday the 7th of this month, in the Highgate Cemetery. Your attendance is… expected.”

I nodded, as did a couple of the others. I wouldn’t put it past the old bastard to include a secret clause in his will to deny us our due if we didn’t turn up.

“Next up, the distribution of Sir Jonah Briar’s properties, holdings, and worldly possessions,” Mr. Hargrave drawled, and I perked up. So did the others.

“‘To Edward Rose, I, Sir Jonah Briar, in sound mind and of sound health, do name him my sole heir to my position, responsibilities, and shares of Gladstone Financial, as well as all shares of Avalon Industries and associated sub-organizations, conditional upon graduation of Oxford University with full honors…”

At that, I blinked, and fought hard to suppress a grin. Yes! I’d done it! Gladstone Financial was mine! All of the wealth and resources I could ever need!

I now had all of the shares of my own company back, too, which was excellent. No longer did I have to worry about any other member of Gladstone Financial from using them against me!

Sure, I’d have to graduate from Oxford before I could actually get my hands on any of it, but that was no issue. I could accelerate my plans and be holding a diploma come summer.

There was more, of course. The other four men in the room were rewarded were certain things. Hugo Farton, for instance, got ahold of a bunch of trinkets which I strongly suspected to be magical in origin, and one of the man’s properties. A house in the countryside that I believed to have once belonged to a magical family. Likely Sir Briar’s in-laws.

The others also received their due, but it was clear all of them were now eyeing me like I was a threat. I was, after all, now in control of all of Sir Briar’s businesses and associated assets. I was also now the boss of three of them, and equal partners with the fourth, something none of them were fond of this if their scowls were any clue.

Eventually, it all came to an end. With the Reading of the Will over, we departed the attorney’s office. We each had our own jobs to do before the 7th, and to get ready for the event in question.

‘I’ll have to make sure I’m wearing plenty of magical defenses on my person, just in case,’ I thought to myself. ‘And to step up security. I do not trust any of the other people to not try to bump me off before the day in question.’

Assassinations would have to wait and be future-me’s problems!

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The funeral yesterday had been a quiet and somber affair. A bunch of men and women standing around in black suits while snow fell onto our heads and watching as a cantankerous old bastard was buried wasn’t my idea of fun, but I’d had to be there.

Sir Briar’s old associates and business partners showed up, as well as members of the royal family. Everyone there wished me words of support or sympathy. Only a scant few actually meant any of it. The rest were hoping to cozy up to me.

‘Already, the sharks and vultures circle,’ I thought with a grimace.

This was another reason I had wanted to wait a while before obtaining all of Sir Briar’s empire. Given a few more years, and I’d have been able to cut out the people who weren’t loyal to me and replace them with my own followers. I would have had the time to build up networks, create allies, and ensure nobody would oppose it when I took over.

Now, though? I had dozens, if not hundreds, of people who were eyeing my position and believing me to be a mere child they could bully or use as a puppet. I was neither weak nor a puppet, and I certainly wasn’t going to be a pushover.

‘I’m going to have to purge at least three-fourths of the higher ups in Gladstone Financial and the other corporations now under my purview by the end of the year,’ I mused to myself as I entered my London office with a faint sigh.

And not just for being loyal to Sir Briar, either! Plenty of them were no doubt taking bribes, skimming off the top, or generally being useless wastes of space and money. They had to be removed to eliminate bloated, useless and nepotistic positions, and ensure nobody was messing around with the products, workers, or finances.

As I grumbled to myself about how much of a drag 1995 was going to be for me, a call came in through the phone on my desk, and I grabbed it, answering with a curt, “Yes, Mrs. Calloburgh?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Rose, but you have a Sir Winsbrook who wishes to meet with you,” my loyal secretary informed me, not put off at all by my curt tone.

“Did he make an appointment?” I asked, trying to keep my annoyance out of my voice. It wasn’t fair to her, after all.

“No, Mr. Rose, but he claims to be from the Board of Trade. His credentials all check out.”

“Uh-huh…” I drawled, suspicious. From Mrs. Calloburgh’s tone, she also was skeptical of the man’s claims as well.

After all, the Board of Trade had been more or less defunct since 1973, since its duties for monitoring and advising international trade were essentially the purview of the European Economic Community, and later, the European Union. It would only be after Brexit that the Board of Trade would be revitalized.

Simply put, it simply did not exist as a government agency. That his credentials all came back without being flagged meant that this was not actually a man from the BoT, but rather, some other government office using them as a cover.

“Very well, send him up,” I told her.

“Ah, actually, Mr. Rose, Sir Winsbrook wishes to meet with you somewhere else,” Mrs. Calloburgh said. “He’s currently in the meeting room on floor 7.”

Unseen to my secretary, I raised an eyebrow as I heard that. I was confused, intrigued, and now absolutely certain he was somebody who worked for somebody very different from who he claimed to work for.

‘He must want to meet me in a room that he thinks might not be bugged. Jokes on him, though, I have recording equipment in every meeting room in case I need to go over the minutes from some previous meeting.’

I pondered if I should let him stew or not, but decided not to wait after a bit of thought. Powerplays like that were childish and something Sir Briar would have done. I was not him, and I never wanted to be.

So, I headed down to the 7th floor and the meeting room, where this mystery man was waiting for me. First things I did before entering was check the wards.

Little did anyone know, but I’d set up wards around the entire office building, and I could observe their status through the glasses I wore.

I didn’t really need them. They were partly a stylistic choice, but also a way to let me layer one-way enchantments on the lenses, letting me ‘see’ magic and wards and other little things. It was like having a video game HUD that I could call upon whenever I wanted in order to check on the conditions of my magical protections and properties, though it only worked inside of a place I had previously warded.

Sirius and Remus were working on a version of the glasses that could also call up a mini-map of sorts connected to a master copy that possessed similar enchantments to the Marauder’s Map.

Magical investments and inventions aside, I could tell that the man who was waiting for me had a couple pieces of enchanted gear on him. Just three, and one gave off the tell-tale aura of a Portkey. Very interesting.

“Hello and good afternoon,” I said as I walked into the meeting room, taking my seat at the head of the table.

“Good day, Mr. Rose,” he greeted, but stayed standing.

“Now, Mr. Winsbrook, I have to ask: who are you really?” I inquired, folding my hands in front of me. “Because we both know you are not from the Board of Trade.”

“Very astute. My name is Sir Peter Winsbrook, of Her Majesty’s MI7,” the suited agent said, giving me a knowing look.

“I see… MI5 for the regular spy craft and intelligence agency stuff. MI6 for the high-level deniability sort of deeds. And MI7… they must be in charge of watching over the UK’s magical side,” I guessed aloud.

“Quick to catch on, aren’t you,” Sir Peter said with a grin that was not at all friendly.

“Let me guess: James Bond was real, or at least the sort of things MI6 gets up are, but you made it into movies as a way to keep the illusion intact,” I guessed.

“Quite right,” Sir Peter nodded. “Nobody would ever imagine that MI6 is real, not when Hollywood has done such a fine job of dressing it up as fiction.”

“Makes sense,” I muttered. “So, Sir Winsbrook… why are you here?”

“I’m here to talk to you about your recent conduct regarding the Statute of Secrecy. Namely, how you seem content to violate it.”

“I’ve been too blatant, then?” I asked, though I couldn’t help but silently wonder which breach he was talking about.

“You think you’re the first person to try and apply magic to a mundane business?” he asked with a scoff. “Please. It’s been going on for centuries. Not even the Statute could keep it from happening. But most folks are smart enough to try and keep it on the downlow, you know?”

“Why didn’t you show up when I began selling my ‘home remedies?’” I countered. “Why did it take you this long to approach me?”

“To be honest, Mr. Rose, MI7 is not very big,” Sir Peter admitted. “There’s less than fifty of us and we’re supposed to oversee all of the breaches in the veil as well as making sure the Ministry of Magic doesn’t overstep its bounds. Simply put, your little potion business was simply too small for us to notice. At first. And by the time we realized that Sir Briar had gotten his hooks into, we realized it was too late to do anything other than watch and wait for you to make a mistake.”

“A small office explains why you failed to contain Voldemort in the 70s,” I said, and he grimaced.

“My predecessor was an idiot,” Sir Peters replied. “He didn’t take it seriously until it was too late.”

“I take it he’s retired, then?” I asked.

“Yes,” the agent said bluntly.

“Should I be honored or worried that the apparent head of a secret government organization has come to meet me in person?” I wondered. “Also, I take it ‘Sir Peter’ isn’t your real name?”

“What do you think?” he asked, flashing me a sharp grin.

“I think you’re here because I, a Squib, am now in control of Gladstone Financial,” I replied. “Along with everything else Sir Briar left me in his will.”

“Hmm. Yes. Quite,” Sir Peter drawled, clearly suspicious of the circumstances surrounding my acquisitions.

“I plan to toe the line when it comes to the Statute of Secrecy,” I replied. “But I won’t stop incorporating it into my businesses. Magic can do a lot for the UK, if used properly.”

“Yes, your ‘recycling plants’ have already proved to be massively successful, and could reduce the waste produced by our country by a significant amount if allowed to spread,” Sir Peters hummed. Though from his tone, it was clear that he wasn’t entirely sold on the idea.

“Mr. Winsbrook, we’re entering an age that is more prosperous than any other time in human history,” I told him. “We are also rapidly approaching the point where the Statute simply cannot keep hiding everything thanks to the advances in technology. Not if the mages continue to act the way they always have.”

“MI7 is well aware of that potential issue,” he replied, eyes turning hard as he stared at me.

“Perhaps, but are you aware of the internet?”

“Certainly. Being able to store hundreds of files on a computer is better than keeping dozens of file cabinets around. A useful tool, though not exactly all that impressive,” Sir Winsbrooks shrugged.

From the fact that his tone was dismissive of it told me he had no idea of the potential the internet held, so I had to explain it like he was a child… or maybe a crotchety old man.

“In ten years, the technology available with be ten times better than it is now. At least,” I told him. “And the internet will grow, allowing people all over the world to share information. It already does! What do you think will happen when people take pictures of mages doing magical things? Most are too stupid – or arrogant – to try blending in with the mundane world’s fashion.”

I slapped the table. “I’ll tell you what happens! The pictures will end up on the internet for anyone to see! There is no way the Obliviators will be able to erase the memories of everyone who sees them because the magic folk will have no idea who will have seen them! Sure, there will be people who dismiss it as lies or conspiracies! But there will be those who are curious, and investigate, and piece things together. It is inevitable.”

At this, Sir Peter grimaced. Yet he still wasn’t worried. He didn’t quite understand the dangers. Underestimated them. Not me, though. My old world had proved that anything could be discovered.

“Do magical wards turn aside LIDAR?” I asked Sir Peter, switching to a different tactic. “Can the Wizarding World still pretend to not be there when our sensors pick up hidden structures or reveal that certain cities are actually much bigger than they first appear, or have secret spots nestled between them?”

Now he was concerned, as the look on his face told me that no, he had not thought about this.

“Magic cannot hide for much longer,” I told the government spook. “I suggest you impress this fact upon your colleagues and Her Majesty. At best, we have half a century. At worst, less than a decade. I’m making plans to ensure that when the beans are spilt, we don’t destroy each other, and that both sides can work together.”

“You think you can change the fate of the world all on your own?” Sir Peter asked incredulously.

“Absolutely,” I replied. “And if I don’t try… well, then we’re all boned.”

He snorted at that. But, tellingly, he didn’t deny it, so he was hopefully taking it a bit more seriously.

“Wonderful, so glad we had this little chat,” Sir Peter said, a hint of dry sarcasm bleeding into his words. “The Prime Minister and Her Majesty will be pleased to hear about it as well.”

He stood up from his seat and flashed me a knowing smirk.

“Oh, and if you do manage to get anywhere with your ‘covert’ magi-tech research? MI7 would be very interested in it,” Sir Peters informed me. He then pulled out a gold pocket watch and uttered, “I weep, for it seems we are out of time.”

That turned out to be a passphrase, as he abruptly vanished from my office with the dull crack of displaced air common to Portkeys and Apparition.

I blinked, taken aback. ‘How did he do that?!’ I wondered incredulously! The wards protecting my building include anti-Apparition and Portkey measures so people couldn’t enter via magic without my permission!

I sat there at the table, racking my brain for an answer. The only one I could come up with was an obscure passage from the Laws Immutable.

With a snap of my fingers I summoned the massive tome to my side and opened it, flipping through the pages until I found what I was looking for.

“Ah-hah… there’s a loophole!” I muttered as I discovered the secret to Sir Peter’s Portkey.

Many wards worked off of permissions and ownership. Simply put, if you owned a building and the land upon it, the wards would be far stronger. But! The King – or in this case, Queen – of England and the Commonwealth was, technically, the ruler and thus owner of all land in the British Isles.

‘That means there are ways for ‘legitimate’ agents and officials of the crown to bypass any wards that exist on British soil,’ I realized.

And that was a problem. Sure, I didn’t think the government would go so far as to assassinate me, but I couldn’t rule that out someday, and honestly, you can never trust any governmental body. They were only out for their own benefits, and maintaining the status quo.

My very actions would upset that desire for stability, and so, I’d need a way to set up wards that could get around these ‘royal’ Portkeys, or to at least warn me if they were being used to enter or exit my properties.

‘And maybe I need to start making plans to move my business headquarters fully overseas,’ I thought.

I didn’t doubt that the MaCUSA had their own form of magical loopholes and bypasses, but they wouldn’t be nearly as potent as the ones here in England and the rest of Europe simply due to the lack of infrastructure build up.

Here, the magicals had had millennia to build wards and refine and tweak them. There were layers upon layers of magical defenses, not unlike the way London’s streets were built upon the bones of Roman ones.

This was not the case in the United States, and while their wards would still likely be strong, as only the best would have been used, it’d only be a few layers deep, so to speak. And, I was counting on the notable ‘Anti-Authoritarian’ mindset of Americans to work in my favor, as plenty of magical migrants had come to the New World to get away from the oppressive regimes elsewhere in the Old World. They would most likely make it so such backdoors would be few and far between.

I nodded slowly to myself. Yes, this was what I needed to do. I was already putting a lot of investment into the U.S. and had bigger plans for it. And that meant a pair of offices. One in New Orleans to be closer to the Greengrasses, and one in New York City, so I could put my thumb on the pulse of global finances.

‘Plus, everyone knows America is where the money is,’ I thought with a faint chuckle to myself. ‘Now, who do I know with access to talented wardmasters who can work on such short notice?’

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Author's Note: Happy New Year, everyone! We're starting off the year with Chapter 100! Hard to believe I've written so much. I hope you all continue to enjoy reading!