Vernon Meets the Board

Vernon Dursley was wearing his most imposing navy blue suit, and his most powerful red power tie. He knew that "there is never a second chance to make a first impression," and it was important for him to establish and command respect from the very start. Today was the day the owners of Grunnings' holding company had decided to visit.

The secretary (a thin man named Hodgkins) came out, and told him, "They're just conferring, but it won't be long; please, have a seat." Vernon wasn't used to being kept waiting, especially within the premises of a business he had run for ten years. But he sat anyway, although his neck turned a light shade of purple.

After another five minutes, a young woman with brown hair came out and said, "Please, follow me." Vernon rose with a grunt, and trudged in, plastering his most imposing and imperial look onto his puss.

The board room was not as he remembered it. It seemed larger, somehow; its table more grand, the chandelier more massive and gleaming, the party of five at the far end seemed more remote. Vernon walked toward the small group with his best gait of authority, and smiled his most successful smile, until his eyes focused on them, and he turned beet red.

"You!!" he gasped. "What do you think you're playing at, Boy?"

Harry Potter rose quietly and smiled gently toward Vernon. "Good morning, Uncle Vernon. Do have a seat."

Vernon did not have a seat. "I demand to know why you are here!" he roared.

"I am the chief investor, and these are the Board, of MWPP Group Ltd., which my parents and their friends created, and left to me in trust. Grunnings is merely one of - " he turned, raising an eyebrow to the brown-haired woman, who held up a piece of paper "- 87 companies that the Group controls. Now that I have reached my majority, I have assumed control of the Group. My associates here have asked me to attend, though I usually leave all this up to them," he said with a wave of his hand.

"What kind of joke is this?" demanded Vernon.

"Oh, I assure you, Mr. Dursley, this is no joke," said Remus Lupin coolly. Harry is definitely the majority stockholder of the Group - about 90 per cent, isn't that right, Hermione?" The brown-haired woman nodded. "And while the Group controls 87 companies and numerous properties in both the muggle and magical worlds, that still only represents about 10 per cent of Harry's wealth. And after Harry's recent defeat of Voldemort and Malfoy, and the forfeiture of their fortunes, that is about to grow another 30 per cent. So it was felt that this was an ideal time to examine all the investments and holdings, and weed out the ones that weren't producing."

Vernon turned paler than Harry had ever seen him. He finally took the cue, and took a seat with an audible thud, blinking repeatedly. "What does this mean for Grunnings?" he said to Lupin, ignoring Harry.

"I think our chief of security ought to provide that data," Harry said, and raised his wand. A spark of white light flew out through the door. The door opened, and a scarred man with a peg-leg and bowler hat walked in.

"You!" Vernon said with alarm.

"Me," Mad-Eye Moody replied. Harry and Hermione grinned at each other; it reminded them of a very similar conversation from their fourth year at school.

"Thanks for coming, Mad-Eye," said Harry. "Would you mind telling Mr. Dursley what you've discovered?"

"Right," said Mad-Eye with relish. "We've learned that Dumbledore set you up in this business with the proviso that you care for Harry. We didn't know till he was in school that you worked him like a house-elf - that's a kind of magical slave, Dursley - and by then it was crucial that the magical protections on the house remain, so we had to put off this particular moment." Vernon's eyes were popping by now, and his brow was coated with sweat.

"We also learned that you had developed a rather - shall we say, expensive gambling habit?" Mad-Eye continued with a growl. "The profitability of this company has declined yearly, in inverse proportion to the frequency of your visits to your bookie, in Great Whinging."

Vernon now looked worried. "I can explain!" he wailed lamely.

Harry merely smiled, while Hermione, Remus and Percy took on a serious and angry look. Ron, though, looked disappointed. "You owe me two sickles, Ron!" Harry mused. Didn't I predict the exact words?"

"Yeh," said Ron, smiling as he put two silver sickles on the table, "but it's not really fair; you also passed your Divination OWL with an O!"

"Mr. Dursley," Percy piped up for the first time, "I serve as chief comptroller for the MWPP group. The evidence is overwhelming and incontrovertible. Magical eyes - much like your miniature cameras and bugs - have been observing and recording your habits for three years. You have embezzled over 600,000 Pounds. You have a choice. You may stay here, try to fight for your job, and be almost certainly sent to wizarding prison." Vernon gulped audibly. "Or - you may emigrate to New Zealand, with your wife and son, and run for us ..." Hermione pushed another piece of paper under his nose "... a flobberworm sanctuary and petting zoo on the South Island."

"There is a third option," Ron said, "You can spend a year as a test subject for the Twins' products."

Vernon was quickly recalling who the twins were, and he gulped audibly again. "Just where on the South Island is this -"

"Flobberworm Sanctuary and Petting Zoo," the six wizards all said together with a grin.

"About 50 miles south of Dunedin, on the southeast coast, near Kaitangata," said Ron with an especially evil grin.

"And ... how long do I have to pack?" Vernon whispered, defeated.

"No need; here," said Harry, reaching into his pocket. There was the entire house from #4 Privet Drive, super-miniaturized and only four inches high. A tiny Aunt Petunia and a slightly larger Dudley were looking out of the living room picture window, a terrified look in their eyes, waving their arms.

"But surely, our passports?" said Uncle Vernon, with a desperate look.

"We took the liberty," said Remus, handing him three passports and one airline ticket. "They'll have the run of the house, so you'll only need the one ticket. The flight leaves this afternoon; you will have employment, a stipend, and a safe place for your home. Well above the flobberworm swamps and lettuce gardens, I'm led to believe." Hermione nodded. "A wizard from the New Zealand ministry of magic will meet your flight in Dunedin, and arrange your ground transport south; there will be another wizard on-site to enlarge the house and free your family. Put the house in your pocket; there's a limo downstairs ready to take you to Heathrow."

"Any opportunities there for a little harmless - er - wagering?" Vernon half-grinned.

"There WAS a bookie in Dunedin," said Hermione, reading from yet another scrap of paper. "We've moved him to Wellington, and obliviated him. Repeatedly. This means he scarcely remembers how to play Old Maid."

Vernon paled again, nodding.

"Oh, and Vernon?" Lupin said, "your flight stops in Los Angeles and Wellington; then you change planes in Auckland before flying to Dunedin. Don't try to run off." A wolfish gleam appeared in his eye. "We'll know."

"We're everywhere," Ron added, trying not to appear too smug.

"Best not to miss your flight; Bye, Dudley!" Harry smiled, wiggling his fingers and leaning his chair back. Vernon nodded again, slipping the tiny house in his jacket pocket. Accompanied by Moody, he left the boardroom, and the building, without ever looking up; he got in the limousine and was whisked away.

Harry mused aloud, "I wish I could see their faces when they learn that their duties include harvesting the flobberworm mucus!"

- Fin -