Alister walked into the living room and dropped his heavy trunk right by the door with a careless thud. He didn't bother dragging it upstairs.
He walked straight to the pristine, floral-patterned sofa—the one his uncle usually sat on—and sank into it, stretching his long legs out. The cushions groaned slightly under his new, denser weight.
"Alister," Aunt Petunia's voice fluttered from the kitchen. She appeared a moment later, wiping her hands on an apron, a forced, tight smile plastered on her horse-like face. She was holding a tray.
"I... I made tea. Earl Grey. And some of those biscuits you like."
She set the tray down on the coffee table with trembling care. This wasn't the Petunia who screeched at them to clean the frying pans. This was a Petunia who knew exactly who held the purse strings.
Alister reached into his inner pocket and withdrew a thick, cream-colored envelope. He slid it across the table.
"For the next term," Alister said calmly, picking up a biscuit. "And a bonus for the dress. It suits her."
Petunia's eyes darted to the envelope. She snatched it up with practiced speed, weighing it in her hand. The thickness of the stack of Muggle banknotes made her smile widen, becoming almost genuine.
"Of course, Alister. We... we always want the best for Astra. She's been such a quiet girl. No trouble at all."
"Good," Alister took a sip of the tea. It was perfect. "Keep it that way, Aunt. I'd hate to have to renegotiate our terms."
Astra sat beside him, nibbling on a biscuit, swinging her legs which didn't quite reach the floor. She looked between her terrified aunt and her calm brother, her eyes shining with admiration.
_______________________________________________
The next two days were a blur of domestic peace that Privet Drive had never seen before. Vernon made himself scarce, terrified of Alister's presence, leaving the siblings alone.
Show me again!" she giggled, clapping her hands.
They were in the backyard. Alister was sitting on the grass, Astra cross-legged in front of him.
Alister smiled, his blue eyes softening. He held out his hand, palm up.
"Watch closely."
He exhaled gently. A stream of water from the garden hose nearby lifted into the air, twisting and turning. Under his manipulation, the liquid froze and reshaped itself.
In seconds, a small, crystal-clear water dragon, complete with tiny wings and a moving tail, was floating above his palm. It roared—a tiny splash sound—and flew around Astra's head, leaving a trail of mist that sparkled in the sun.
"It's beautiful," Astra whispered, reaching out to touch it. The dragon nuzzled her finger, cool and wet, before bursting into harmless droplets.
"That's control, Astra," Alister explained softly. "Magic isn't just waving a stick. It's about will. It's about telling the world what you want it to be."
He spent hours showing her small miracles. He made the flowers bloom instantly in her hand. He made her toy soldiers march in formation. He levitated her a few inches off the ground so she could feel what it was like to fly.
But beneath the fun, Alister was assessing her potential.
On the third evening, the mood shifted.
Alister led Astra to her room. He closed the door and sat her down on the bed. His expression was serious.
"Astra," he began, kneeling so he was eye-level with her. "Playing is fun. But I need to teach you something important. Something that will keep you safe even when I'm at school."
Astra straightened up, mimicking his seriousness. "Like a spell?"
"Better than a spell," Alister said. "It's a way to breathe."
He didn't know if she would get a Hogwarts letter next year, but he refused to let her be a Squib or a weakling.
"Close your eyes," Alister instructed gentle. "I want you to imagine a light in your stomach. A small, warm fire."
"Okay," Astra squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm imagining it."
Alister placed his hand on her back, right between her shoulder blades.
"System," he thought. "Regulate Output."
He pulsed a tiny, microscopic thread of his own mana—purified and neutral—into her body.
Astra gasped. "It's hot!"
"Don't fight it," Alister guided her voice steady. "Push that heat down to your legs. Then up to your arms. Then back to your stomach. Make a circle. Round and round."
he was using his magic to clear her blocked pathways.
For an hour, they sat there. Sweat beaded on Astra's forehead. Alister could feel the resistance in her body—her natural dormant magic—slowly flowing under the pressure of his Tier 3 mana.
Suddenly, he felt a click.
Astra's body shuddered. A faint, almost invisible ripple of air moved through the room.
"I feel it!" Astra opened her eyes, gasping. She looked at her hands. "I feel... buzzy. Like... like I had too much sugar."
Alister smiled, removing his hand. "That's your magic, Astra. It's waking up."
He had successfully implanted the seed of the Circulation Method. her body would now passively absorb and cycle ambient magic. Her body would be healthier, stronger, and faster.
"Every night before you sleep," Alister commanded softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You do that circle. Ten times. Promise me."
"I promise," Astra nodded solemnly. She grabbed his hand. "Will it make me strong like you?"
Alister squeezed her hand, careful with his strength.
"One day," he vowed. "Maybe even stronger."
The morning sun filtered through the blinds of Dursley's house, casting striped shadows across the hallway.
Alister stood by the door, his long black coat buttoned up to his chin to hide the robe he wore underneath. He adjusted his gloves—necessary to prevent him from accidentally leaving clues.
Astra stood in front of him, clutching the hem of her new blue dress. She looked small, but there was a new light in her eyes—the circulation method was doing wonders.
"Do you have to go?" she asked, though she didn't whine. She knew better.
Alister knelt down on one knee, bringing himself to her eye level.
"Just for a supply run, Astra," he lied smoothly.
She nodded vigorously.
"I'll be back tomorrow," Alister promised, tapping her nose gently. "Practice your breathing. Circle the fire. Don't let it go out."
"I won't," she vowed.
Alister stood up. He glanced at Veron, who was hovering by the kitchen door, looking desperately hopeful that he wouldn't come back at all.
"Expect me for dinner tomorrow night, uncle," Alister said coldly.
He turned, opened the door, and stepping out.
________________________________________________
An hour later, Alister was standing in front of the Leaky Cauldron.
To the Muggles rushing past, it was an invisible smudge of grime between a bookshop and a record store. To Alister, with his heightened senses, it smelled of stale beer, sherry, and magic.
He pushed the door open. The pub was dim and quiet. Tom the barman was wiping a glass with a rag that looked greyer than the London sky.
"Morning, Tom," Alister nodded as he passed while removing his long coat.
"Mr. Potter," Tom grunted, blinking at the size of the boy. "You've... filled out, haven't you? Growing like a weed."
"Something like that."
Alister didn't stop for a chat. He walked straight to the small, walled courtyard in the back. He drew his wand—a formality, really,—and tapped the specific brick.
Three up... two across.
The bricks shivered and twisted, rotating outward to form a wide archway.
The noise hit him instantly.
Diagon Alley.
Even during the Easter holidays, the street was alive. But it wasn't the frantic, joyful chaos of the start of term. It was a relaxed, bustling commerce. Witches in heavy wool cloaks haggled over dragon liver prices at the Apothecary; younger students pressed their noses against the glass of Quality Quidditch Supplies, staring at the Nimbus 2001 prototype.
Alister stepped through the archway, the cobbled street solid beneath his boots.
He ignored Gambol and Japes. He ignored Flourish and Blotts.
He walked past the gleaming white marble of Gringotts Bank.
He stopped at the entrance to a narrower, darker side street. The sign above it was crooked, reading Knockturn Alley.
The shadows down there were deeper. The shoppers were hooded. The air smelled of dark magic and rust.
Alister smirked, a hint of his Draconoid fangs showing.
"Finally," he whispered. "A place that sells things for monsters."
He pulled his collar up while putting a mask on his face and stepped into the darkness.
Alister walked past the shrunken heads and the cursed necklaces, his heavy boots echoing on the wooden floorboards of Borgin and Burkes.
The shop was dim, smelling of rot and old polish. Mr. Borgin was hunched over the counter, examining a silver hand with a monocle, muttering to himself about purity.
He didn't look up as the bell jingled. "We are closed for inventory. Come back in an hour unless you have something dark to sell."
Alister didn't leave. He walked straight to the counter.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a heavy velvet bag.
WHAM.
He slammed the bag onto the glass counter.
The glass cracked in a spiderweb pattern under the impact. The drawstring burst open, and a cascade of gold Galleons spilled out, rolling across the countertop and clattering onto the floor like golden rain.
Mr. Borgin jumped back, clutching his chest, his eyes bulging as they tracked the rolling gold.
"M-Merlin's beard!" Borgin stammered, his greed warring with his fear of the boy standing before him. "There must be... hundreds..."
"Five hundred," Alister corrected, his voice deep and bored. "Consider it a retainer."
He leaned forward, his blue eyes glowing faintly in the gloom. The Dragon aura leaked out just enough to make the air in the shop feel heavy and suffocating.
"I need you to use your... network," Alister commanded.
Borgin swallowed hard, his hands twitching toward the gold. "My network? For what? Artifacts? Poisons?"
"Media," Alister said.
He ticked them off on his gloved fingers.
"I want you to contact The Daily Prophet. The Evening Prophet. The Wizarding Wireless Network. Teen Witch Weekly. Transfiguration Today."
Alister stared Borgin down.
"I want every reporter, photographer, and gossip columnist with a quill to be at the back room of Hog's Head Inn in Hogsmeade tonight."
Borgin blinked, confused. "What do I tell them?"
Alister picked up a single Galleon from the pile and crushed it between his thumb and forefinger until it bent into a taco shape, then dropped it back onto the glass.
"Tell them... the future of magic is for sale."
Borgin looked at the bent coin, then at the mountain of gold, then at the terrifying boy. A oily smile spread across his face.
"I will send the owls immediately, Sir. They will be there."
(END OF CHAPTER)
"Can't wait to see what Alister does next?
You don't have to wait! I am currently 10 chapters ahead on Patreon.
special thanks to all my EPIC members and,
MYTH: Asaf Montgomery
MYTH: Dutchviking
MYTH: Robert Hernandez
MYTH: Kevin Boutte jr.
Link: patreon.com/xxSUPxx