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Three twelve-year-olds are gathered in a bathroom, copying a diagram from a book onto the floor in chalk.
"Do you know what all this writing means?" asks the green-eyed boy.
"No," says the bushy-haired girl, "and that worries me too, but we need to find out who the Heir of Slytherin is and this ritual is the best we've got."
Eventually, one or another of them draws the last bit of the outer circle.
There's a symposium in Vancouver in three weeks mainly focused on the US and Canada, and one in Southeast Asia a month after that. There's also the ICW Annual Meeting this summer, at which various people make speeches for or against a wide range of potential policies on this and other issues.
Yup! He can't get a presentation slot at either symposium without a sponsor (and the Vancouver one has finalized its schedule already), but all three events allow members of the magical public and have plenty of time for mingling.
Marvelous. He will plan to turn up in Vancouver and at the Asian one (where in Asia, does he need to supplement his mediocre Thai?) and inquire after a slot at the annual meeting.
This year it's in Hanoi, specifically the Ever-Shifting Tower in the Hanoi equivalent of Diagon Alley.
To speak on the main floor of the ICW you need to represent a political party, a reigning monarch, or a nonprofit organization with an annual budget of at least 20,000 guilders, which on further research proves to be about 10,000 galleons or $100,000.
With parchmentwork! Madam Pince, the librarian, can tell him what forms he'd need; enterprising seventh years occasionally do it.
Cool. He is going to form the Revelation Institute. Mission statement: end material scarcity in all available universes.
The school owl that takes his forms off to the Ministry of Magic has no comment on this mission. Perhaps more surprisingly, the Ministry doesn't either. He is now the founder, director, and sole employee of the Revelation Institute, though he'll still need proof of income to turn that into an ICW speaking slot.
Now that he's been there and knows how to navigate it and avoid drawing attention, he can take the Floo to the Leaky Cauldron, though without a wand he'll need to tailgate into the alley proper.
(Floo is undignified but he picks himself up at the other end none the worse for wear, since he's indestructible.) He assumes he can't just make a wand but why not try it, anyway.
He can make a stick of whatever appearance he likes, but tapping the brick that's supposed to open Diagon Alley with it does nothing.
Through he slips, and he's off to Gringott's, where he will wait patiently in line to talk to a goblin.
"Hi, I need to demonstrate to some people that I have a source of income and don't know if living off the proceeds of a single basilisk-slaying will count. May I inquire how Gringott's feels about purchasing assorted gem-quality rocks, precious metals, other exotic materials, etcetera, which are magically produced but definitively mundane ever after?"
The goblin pinches the bridge of his very long nose. "We get half a dozen claims a year that someone has cracked permanent transfiguration and wants to sell us infinite gold."
"That's why I'm not assuming you'd want to buy! Though out of curiosity how do you handle people laundering money through Muggles who can be conned or enchanted into accepting the gold?"
"We wouldn't deal with a country where that was legal. And they all ban it for the secrecy risk anyway; you don't want a muggle making a fuss because his gold turned back into mud."
"My gold won't turn into mud. You can test it however you like. But I don't want the commodities market to crash so I was hoping to deal more in gemstones, maybe ruin the DeBeers cartel's day."
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