Chapter 29: Andrew's Trouble

“Grace and speed of eating need not conflict.” Jessica sat opposite Roger, her knife and fork moving swiftly, slicing a roast into small pieces in the blink of an eye. The entire process was rapid yet elegant, leaving Roger utterly amazed.

“Mom… how did you…?” Roger was stunned, never expecting Jessica to have such a talent.

“When I was little, we spent holidays in France and I was never full after meals. Eventually, I had no choice but to learn this.”

“Oh, do we have relatives in France?”

“Sort of,” Jessica replied without elaborating, signaling Bubble to bring the side dishes and dessert.

After drinking a large bowl of onion soup, a wave of warmth spread through Roger’s body. Then he eagerly devoured the roast chicken and beef; their juiciness brought immediate relief to his weakened frame, making him feel strength slowly returning.

The dessert that arrived last was the perfect finishing touch. The sweet and tart flavor of the apple pie filled Roger with immense satisfaction and joy. When he took the last sip of the cream pudding, it felt as if all his energy had been fully restored.

“Burp…”

“Full now?” Jessica looked at the cleared table, hardly believing it. This was the portion for three adults, yet it had all gone into her son’s stomach?

“About eighty percent,” Roger replied, sipping apple juice as a cozy warmth blossomed in his stomach.

“I was worried about how you’d manage at Hogwarts!” Jessica said with concern. Missing classes because of oversleeping was one thing, but going hungry could seriously affect his growth.

“Wait… is the food at school not enough?”

“Usually not, but… son, do you think a normal young wizard could eat this much?” Jessica shook her head, then decided to share a secret she knew.

“Under the school dining hall is the house-elf kitchen, the entrance is opposite Hufflepuff. If you get hungry at night, you can go there to eat. I really hope you’ll be sorted into Hufflepuff, just like me.”

“But that depends on the Sorting Hat,” Jessica said, waiting for her son to ask about it, only to find that Roger had already gone out to play with Diana.

The following days gradually became more relaxed. Roger spent his waking hours previewing textbooks, then filled his ever-growing appetite with delicious food. Until August 27, when Andrew called from the financial district, asking for help.

“Mr. Roger, please come save me! Someone’s blocking me in…” Andrew lowered his voice on the phone, and heavy knocking could be heard on the other end.

“Tell me your location.”

“Saint Mary Axe Street, London Financial Center Building, 32-01D. Roger, hurry…”

Since the situation was urgent, there was no need to continue the call. Roger hung up and shouted, “Bubble, prepare the car.”

He could have asked Bubble to activate the Phantom Apparition to take him to the financial district, but that might alert the Ministry of Magic and potentially expose Thompson’s operation to steal Galleons. Roger preferred to handle this in a Muggle way.

“What’s going on?” Jessica asked, noticing the furrow in her son’s brow as she handed him a coat.

“Andrew’s being watched.”

“A wizard?”

“A Muggle… not sure what kind of Muggle exactly.”

“Take your wand.”

“Don’t worry, Mom.” Roger nodded and put on the suit tailored in Naples.

A Maybach 500 SEL waited at the door, equipped with a V8 engine, four-speed automatic transmission, and a zero-to-sixty time of 6.9 seconds.

“Take me to the financial building,” Roger instructed.

“Right away, young master. Please take your seat!” Bubble floated, using magic to control the steering wheel, brake, and accelerator.

“Start simulation.”

[1] You arrive at the financial building, but the Muggle who is after Andrew chases you out;

[2] You wave your wand and cast Obliviate on them;

[3] The Ministry of Magic detects a magical fluctuation, and senior Aurors arrive to take you back for questioning;

[4] Downing Street is very unhappy about wizard interference in the Muggle financial market, and the Ministry initiates an investigation;

...(Insufficient magic, simulation stopped)

“What?” Roger gasped, staring at the panel. There were still 3.3 magic points left, so why was it suddenly insufficient? He rubbed his temples, a bad feeling rising.

“The first two simulations used a total of 1 point. Suppose the fifth simulation needs 4 points… damn it!” Roger glared at the button. The simulation function consumed magic exponentially.

Just one more glance at the possibilities, and it could explode! Even with Medivh, it was impossible to explore infinite branches of fate.

Roger realized the cost of touching the threads of destiny was enormous; each step forward demanded an unpredictable price.

As he sighed, the car came to a steady stop in front of the financial building. The doorman, seeing the luxury Mercedes at the steps, quickly pushed open the glass doors. He noticed the little boy stepping out and was somewhat surprised.

Roger was only eleven, and in the Muggle world, he might not have even finished primary school. The doorman wanted to ask who his parents were, but seeing the confident calmness on the boy’s youthful face, the question died on his lips.

Roger was naturally aware of his age and turned to ask Bubble to fetch Thompson. If he was going to claim dividends, he couldn’t just sit idly.

“Take me to the 32nd floor.”

“Child, my job is right here,” the doorman said.

Roger patted his pocket, tempted to throw a wad of Elizabeths at him. But his pockets were empty—after all, who carries cash in a suit pocket?

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Roger said, shrugging off the doorman’s comment.

He stepped into the elevator, tiptoeing to reach the floor buttons. If there weren’t others inside, he might have been tempted to use his wand.

“Little one, how many floors are you going up to find your parents?” a woman wearing black stockings crouched down, smiling at adorable Roger.

“The 32nd floor, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, pressing the button for him, curious about which big shot his child might be.

“Ding…”

As the elevator doors opened, dozens of people crowded together on the opposite side. Several burly men slammed on the door, inadvertently revealing holstered guns at their waists.

“Andrew, open the door!”

“Not a chance! You damn bloodthirsty animals! My deals are legal! Damn Rothschilds and Morgans, a bunch of sore losers!” Andrew shouted from behind the door, his voice echoing down the corridor.

He paced nervously inside the office, while four hired bodyguards held the door firmly, preventing the intruders from breaking in.

“If it’s legal, why not talk it over?”

“Talk? Is that the attitude you want? HMRC, CIT, MI5, plus the NCA and Interpol—do you think I’m stupid?”

“You just want to arrest me and seize my money—no way!”

“Boss, why didn’t you mention Interpol?” one of the guards near the door suddenly asked. Playing in finance truly was a high-risk business.

“None of your concern. Hold the line.”

“But we’re running out of strength…” the bald guard wiped sweat from his brow, panting heavily.