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Harry Potter could only imagine how difficult it must be to work in a funeral home. Dealing with grieving families and the deceased on a daily basis must have taken its toll. He thought that the people working there must either be incredibly compassionate or have a peculiar fascination with death.
The person in charge of this particular funeral home was a polite but somewhat reserved individual. Harry tried to keep his interactions with him to a minimum when making necessary arrangements and booking their services. However, on the day of the funeral, Harry discovered that the man's demeanor was surprisingly comforting, causing him to reconsider his initial impression. The funeral director maintained a certain distance, minimizing his interactions with Harry and his stepmother, but everything went smoothly, for which Harry was immensely grateful.
Harry's father was an extraordinary figure deserving of all the best in life. Growing up in a rural area, he developed a deep love for all things fast, especially racing brooms and cars, and the culture surrounding them. After working as a runic engineer for one of the "Big Three" broomstick manufacturers, he ventured into his own business, specializing in producing high-end racing broom components. The quality and reliability of his products caught the attention of Mascar, and six months later, he secured a contract with a championship racing team.
Soon, his company not only manufactured and supplied parts but also provided testing services for racing teams. This unique opportunity led young Harry to find himself on a racing broom at the age of ten. It was an extraordinary childhood, and the best part was sharing those experiences with his father.
Throughout his father's life, various women came and went, but since Harry's mother's death, he hadn't settled down with anyone until he met Kate. The couple flew to Paris to watch races, and then they traveled to the Maldives for a month. When they returned, Kate had a ring on her finger, and Harry gained a new stepmother.
Kate never tried to assume the role of Harry's mother, but she made sure he lacked nothing. Previously a model, she spent most of her time at the club, having lunch or playing chess or cards with friends. Whenever Harry needed something for school or sports, she was there, often in the thick of things.
One might assume that with their sprawling estate, an abundance of toys, and easy access to money, Harry would grow up spoiled and irresponsible. However, his father made sure that didn't happen. From a young age, he had Harry work in his stores. When he wasn't tinkering with something, he was in his father's office, diligently doing homework or learning runic charts. This discipline served Harry well in school and kept him out of trouble. He graduated at the top of his class. Every penny he earned working for his father went towards his prized broom, the Silver Comet, which he meticulously fine-tuned with individual components.
Harry Potter had a few close friends who shared his passion for broomsticks and racing. However, it was only when Harry's father fell seriously ill four months before finishing school that he decided to take a break from his beloved brooms and devote as much time as possible to his father.
Smoking had finally caught up with his dad, and cancer was spreading faster than the doctors had hoped. Exhausting chemotherapy took its toll, but the following months, when his father was bedridden, were an even greater challenge. Throughout this time, Kate stood by him, defying the expectations of Harry's grandmother and his mother's old friends. They believed that the beautiful young wife would abandon ship as soon as her ticket to prosperity fell ill, but she showed unwavering dedication to the very end.
"They have a few questions about how we want to leave the casket," Kate said to Harry from behind her black veil. Her typically muffled voice now carried a touch of sensitivity that tugged at his heart. "Do you think you could handle it, Harry? I just can't right now."
"Leave it to me," Harry replied, heading to the back of the funeral home to discuss the matter with the director.
Mourners began to gather in the small chapel, and many of them stopped to shake hands and offer condolences to Harry's father's friends and colleagues. There was a striking array of beautiful older women, which was not surprising. However, what surprised Harry was that each of them seemed to express respect for his stepmother. He worried that Kate would have to contend with their jealousy, but he felt relieved to see that most of them rose above such petty emotions.
"Your father was an extraordinary man," commented a stunning redhead with the most generously endowed bust Harry had ever seen, and her curves were tightly embraced by a silky black dress. There was something strangely familiar about her, although he was certain he would remember such an unforgettable figure.
"I will miss him greatly," she continued, taking Harry's hand in hers. He was surprised by the warmth of her touch and how easily she drew him closer. "You look just like him... Has anyone ever told you that?"
"Yes, they have," Harry replied, trying to suppress the blush on his cheeks as her ample and soft bosom pressed against his arm. "I'm sorry, but who are you?"
"I'm Amelia Bones, I... worked with your father," she replied with a smile, refusing to release her grip. Her subtle perfume filled his senses. "If you or Kate ever need anything... absolutely anything... don't hesitate to ask."
"Of course," Harry said, trying not to stare at the curves of her waist that accentuated her generous assets or their sway as she walked away. He shook his head in amazement and turned to leave when another young beauty approached him, her face masked with sadness. "Harry, I'm so sorry for your loss."
"Thank you..."
"Fleur," she introduced herself. "My sister Gabrielle and I were your father's liaisons from London."
"Oh, you're sisters!"
Harry Potter's face lit up as he recognized the woman, and she turned to scan the crowd before pointing out her identical twin sister, who was engrossed in conversation with an elderly gentleman. The sister caught Harry's gaze and winked mischievously at him before returning to her discussion. Harry had to tear his gaze away from her enticing figure, only to find that the same body was pressed against his side.
Although Harry had heard his father mention the Veela sisters before, he had never met them in person. He was surprised by how young they looked. From his father's description, he had assumed they were from his father's generation, but now he realized they were closer to his age.
The sisters had generously endowed and firm breasts and didn't seem to mind showing a bit of skin, even at a funeral. Their dark gray and black outfits had short skirts that revealed their slender, tanned legs, and they wore gray blouses with daring necklines.
"I'm glad you've heard of us. Listen, I know this is not a good time, but Grass's Imports made an offer this morning, trying to undercut your father's contract," one of the sisters informed Harry.
"What did they do?" Harry asked, his mind racing to keep up with the recent events related to his father's business in the past few months. "When does our current agreement expire?"
Not for another six months, but there's a clause that says if "Harry Potter" is not in charge of the company, the contract becomes void. Hermione doesn't want to bother you with this, but I thought you should know," the sister explained.
"Thanks," Harry replied, scanning the crowd for his father's assistant, but he couldn't spot her distinctive blue-black hair anywhere.
"Are you planning to take over?" the sister asked, raising an eyebrow. "It's an exciting time in the market. Things are about to get very interesting."
"We'll see," Harry said, nodding solemnly. "Wisely, keep these decisions to yourself," she added, brushing her ample breasts against his arm as she turned away. "Let me give you this tidbit to remember my sister and me by when you start making moves... if you do," she winked, and her warm breath tickled Harry's cheek as she whispered, "A merger is on the horizon... a big one... and when it happens, all the old contracts will be torn up, and the 'players' will be looking for new opportunities. Do you understand?"
Harry nodded, his head spinning. Just ten minutes ago, he had been trying to anticipate the concerns of a funeral director entrepreneur. Now, he was knee-deep in intrigue, something his father and he had focused on for years. His father had always suspected that a merger would eventually happen. International competition in the manufacturing sector was fierce, but with consolidated engineering and the merging of best practices, it could once again become synonymous with world-class quality. At least that's what his father believed.
"Here's our business card," she smoothly slipped something into Harry Potter's pocket with a deft touch of a pickpocket before stepping back. "Give us a call."
The woman's sister was also present, quickly pulling her back into the crowd. There was something burning in the woman's green eyes that Harry couldn't quite locate. But before he could dwell on it, someone else approached him.
"I'm so sorry for your loss."
It only took a few repetitions for the condolences to become nothing more than background noise at the beginning of each forced conversation. Harry's family was small, and those attending the funeral seemed more interested in his father's wealth and who would inherit it than offering genuine condolences. It was his father's golf buddies and employees who offered the most sincere condolences, confirming that he had been good to those closest to him. It was yet another confirmation that his father was the man he had always known.
"If this isn't junior," a sultry voice murmured from behind Harry as he was about to enter the rear of the chapel. "You're taller than I thought, but the awkwardness remains."
Turning around, Harry noticed a striking young woman standing there. It was hard to tell if she was a decade older than him or just a few years, given her enigmatic demeanor. There was an undeniable air of arrogance about her, and she was adorned with more diamonds and gemstones than Harry had ever seen.
Instead of the usual black attire, she wore a cream-colored ball gown that trailed behind her with a small train, along with a girl dressed as a maid who held it above the ground. Large sunglasses covered her face, and she even wore a hat indoors. "Excuse me...?"
"Hmm... starting a conversation with weak apologies," she commented disapprovingly. "Bonnie, my compact."
The servant took a compact from the purse hanging on her shoulder and handed it awkwardly to the young woman. The servant offered Harry an apologetic smile when her mistress wasn't looking, then withdrew behind the woman. After blotting her cheeks, the young woman handed the compact back to her servant without looking at her and continued her conversation with Harry.
"Your father was too indebted and didn't have cash on hand to pay off outstanding invoices... If everyone is held accountable at once. I kept the bloodhounds at bay while he was ill, but on Monday morning, you'll receive a notice from Broker Capital demanding full payment, or...". The woman's eyes took on a cruel gleam, and her lips curled into a mocking grin. "The bank will liquidate everything... piece by piece."
"Who the hell are you?" Harry muttered, and the intensity in his voice drew the attention of onlookers who turned their eyes in their direction.
"Eleonora Zabini... I believe you've heard of me?" With dramatic flair, she removed her hat, allowing her thick, dark tresses to cascade freely. After taking off her sunglasses and hat, Harry recognized the woman from photos and articles in magazines.
"What are you doing in England?" Harry Potter asked, his shock suppressing his emotions. "I thought your family never left Italy except for racing."
In response, the woman's eyes widened with outrage, and a flash of anger crossed her face as she moved to slap him. Harry's reflexes, honed by his broomstick handle since he could reach it while sitting in the seat, allowed him to effortlessly catch her wrist inches from his cheek.
"You insult me!" Eleonora hissed, her lips dangerously close to Harry's as she tried to stand as tall as her heels allowed.
"I insult you?" Harry asked incredulously. "You come to my father's funeral and offer no condolences, but instead insult his memory to his face. And then when I don't bow down to you and scrape, you try to slap me?"
There was a challenge in her eyes, but Harry noticed the muscles around her mouth softened as his words hit home. As silence fell between them, Eleonora glanced around and realized they had become a spectacle, with several cell phones recording the scene. Instead of retreating, she stiffened her back and rose onto her toes.
"I won't be interrogated in this manner. Not by a man who has built nothing!" Her mockery faded, revealing a different emotion—pain, along with unwavering pride.
"My father is no longer alive."
"Eleonora!" Harry turned around and saw Hermione, the woman who had run the business during his father's illness. "We can discuss this at the office on Monday. Harry hasn't spoken to the lawyers yet or been informed about certain... promises."
"I'll be there bright and early. Sharp at eleven," Eleonora declared, donning her sunglasses and turning away.
Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5, are already available at Pat re on.
If you want to support me, read the next chapters of the story and more, I invite you to my
Patreo n .com(slash)BoobsHunter (Remove spaces)