The Boy Who Never Was - A Harry Potter Fanfic

There comes a time in every young entrepreneur's life when you need to step back, take stock of your empire, and, most importantly… restock your snack reserves.

Christmas had been wonderful—hot cocoa with peppermint, borderline criminal levels of sugar, and my very own foster family—but I was running low on supplies. And a businessman without inventory? Just a bloke with a dream.

No, I needed to get back into the game.

Which was why I found myself seated across from the Grangers at breakfast, buttering my toast like I was preparing for a boardroom meeting.

"Diagon Alley," I said, as if I were announcing a royal decree. "And Tesco."

Dan lowered his newspaper, peering over the top like a sitcom dad. "Tesco?"

Emma paused with her teacup halfway to her lips. "Diagon Alley?"

Hermione, sitting beside me, had that look. You know the one. The 'What's he plotting now?' look.

"Yes," I continued, quite pleased with myself. "I need to restock some things. Potion ingredients, snacks, maybe a few office supplies. Plus, I need to visit Gringotts to exchange some galleons into pounds."

Dan raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Galleons into pounds? You've got galleons just lying around?"

Hermione perked up, practically glowing with the opportunity to expose my entrepreneurial sins.

"Oh, you don't understand, Dad. Sky is practically Hogwarts' unofficial CEO," she began.

"Oh, no," I muttered, already dreading it.

But there was no stopping her. Hermione launched into a passionate TED Talk on my snack business, enchanted bags, and—her personal favorite—the study guides. Her eyes lit up with enthusiasm as she detailed my snack procurement methods, explaining how I had cornered the market on chocolate frogs and licorice wands, ensuring a steady supply to Gryffindor house. She even described the underground snack catalog I'd developed, which apparently had grown so popular that students were placing pre-orders weeks in advance. I blinked in shock—I hadn't even known about the pre-orders.

Emma leaned forward, intrigued. "Pre-orders? Like a snack subscription service?"

Hermione nodded eagerly. "Exactly! And the enchanted bags—oh, Mum, you should see them! They expand inside, and they're featherlight. Sky convinced Professor Flitwick to help him charm them, and now everyone wants one. There was a waitlist before Christmas!"

Dan whistled. "A waitlist. For bags. At a school."

Hermione grinned. "They're limited edition. With house logos. The Slytherins pay triple because they like exclusivity. Sky's practically running a luxury brand."

I choked on my toast. "Triple? Since when?"

Hermione waved a hand. "Oh, for weeks now. You haven't noticed? I thought you raised the price on purpose. They think it's a status symbol."

Emma looked mildly horrified. "You've created designer school bags?"

I shrugged helplessly. "I... guess I did?"

Hermione pressed on, delighted. "And the study guides! Mum, Dad, he made custom study packets for every subject, tailored to each professor's quirks. McGonagall actually recommended them to students. Flitwick called them 'revolutionary.' Even Snape stopped deducting points when he saw one in class."

Dan burst out laughing. "You got a teacher endorsement? From the scary potions guy?"

I raised a hand, still trying to process all this. "Wait. When did Snape endorse anything?"

Hermione looked sheepish. "Oh, that was... last month. He called the potions guide 'passably competent.' That's basically high praise from him."

I stared at her in awe. How did she know all this before I did?

Emma shook her head, equal parts impressed and concerned. "Sky, you've built a full-scale business empire in a magical school. Are you sure you're eleven?"

Dan leaned forward, clearly entertained. Emma had that "concerned but intrigued" look that mothers perfected. I leaned back confidently in my seat, smirking as if I were presenting quarterly profits to investors.

"So… you've created an underground economy at a school for children," Emma summarized.

I raised my butter knife like a gavel. "A very above-ground, headmaster-approved economy."

Dan smirked. "And you're making a profit?"

I shrugged. "Small fortune."

Hermione, not one to undersell me, snorted. "Small? Sky practically owns Hogwarts. He sells everything short of life insurance."

"I'm working on that," I mumbled.

Emma sighed. "And… the teachers know about this?"

I leaned back. "They love it. McGonagall and Flitwick endorsed the study guides."

Dan tapped his chin. "But what's stopping someone from… selling your business dealings out to competitors?"

I grinned. "Magically binding oaths."

Emma nearly dropped her teacup. "Excuse me? A magically binding oath? What does that entail exactly? What are the repercussions if someone breaks it?" Her tone shifted from shock to concern, her motherly instincts clearly kicking in.

Hermione froze. "Wait… I never swore an oath!"

I turned to her with my most disarming smile. "Because I trust you more than anyone else."

Hermione's cheeks flushed instantly. Emma noticed. Dan noticed. Everyone noticed. Hermione tried to bury her face in her teacup, but the damage was done.

Emma coughed lightly. "And these oaths… they're safe?"

"Completely," I assured her. "No harm, just a bit of magical compulsion. Plus, the perks are so good that no one wants to break them. Happy employees are silent employees."

Dan leaned back in his chair, clearly impressed but trying not to show it. "You've… unionized Hogwarts."

I grinned. "Technically, I've monopolized it."

Hermione muttered under her breath, "Kleptomaniac Without Borders."

I shot her a look. She knew. Only she knew. Everyone else thought I was just a charming young businessman.

Emma put her face in her hands. "This is what we've adopted into our family."

Dan chuckled. "Better than a delinquent… I think?"

I raised my butter knife like a toast. "To enterprise."

Emma sighed. "Just… don't get expelled."

"I promise," I said, then quickly added, "Probably."

After breakfast, we flooed to The Leaky Cauldron. Tom gave me a knowing nod as we entered. He knew me well enough by now—the young entrepreneur always up to something.

The entrance to Diagon Alley, however, was in chaos. A small crowd had gathered around the brick wall leading to the alley, muttering in frustration. I immediately noticed the absence of the trash bin that had always served as an unassuming guide marker—my very first acquisition in the magical world. People were tapping bricks aimlessly, some cursing under their breath.

"What's going on?" Dan asked, raising an eyebrow at the commotion.

Tracy Davis, my Slytherin contact, appeared beside us, exasperated. "Sky! You're finally back. They can't get in! Ever since someone nicked the bin, everyone's been struggling to find the right brick! It's even worse than that time the Weasley twins moved it slightly to the side as a prank—at least then people eventually figured it out. Now, it's complete chaos!"

Emma shot me a suspicious glance. Hermione gave me the 'I know exactly who did it' look.

"Allegedly," I said quickly, raising my hands innocently.

Clapping my hands loudly, I grabbed the crowd's attention, their frustrated mutterings dying down as all eyes turned to me. Sensing my moment, I stepped forward like a seasoned showman taking the stage.

"Listen up, everyone. This isn't as complicated as you all seem to think. The trick is to find the rust mark where the old trash bin used to sit—it was about waist height, for reference. That rust mark is your anchor. The brick you need to tap is three bricks up from that mark and two bricks to the right. Honestly, it's the most worn brick on the wall; it practically glows from how much it's been tapped over the years. It's easy once you know what you're looking for. I'm honestly surprised none of you noticed that before now."

The crowd collectively face-palmed, hands smacking foreheads in unison as the sheer absurdity of their own oversight dawned on them. Simple common sense had eluded them, and the realization stung. For a brief moment, I basked in the glory like a conquering hero. I turned with a smug grin.

"You'd think none of you knew how to use Floo Powder, Apparate, or, I don't know, ask Tom, who probably knows where the starting brick is by heart even without that stupid trash bin," I said with mock exasperation, arms spread wide like a benevolent savior.

The crowd collectively threw their hands up in disbelief, exclaiming in frustration at how absurdly simple the solution had been all along. Mutterings of 'Are you kidding me?' and 'It was that easy?' rippled through the group. They groaned in embarrassment before looking towards Tom. He chuckled from the doorway.

"That's true, actually. Could've asked me anytime," he said with a grin, his laughter blending with the crowd's growing amusement.