The next morning, before the gentle sunlight had fully scattered the thin mist, Aunt Petunia tiptoed to Harry's bedroom door. Even when she lifted her hand, she moved with unusual care, as if afraid of disturbing something.
She cleared her throat. When she spoke, her voice carried a softness it had never had before. "Harry, time to get up. I've just made breakfast—if you don't come down soon, it'll get cold."
"I know, Aunt. I'm getting up." Harry's lazy reply came from inside the room, thick with sleepiness and an unguarded, casual warmth.
Petunia paused outside the door. Hearing that, a strange feeling surged up in her chest, and her expression turned complicated in an instant.
Ever since Harry came back from Hogwarts, she'd noticed something was different—his attitude toward her had become much better.
When he'd left before, the way he looked at her had been the way someone looked at an annoying relative.
But now… it felt like he truly treated her as family.
Thinking back to everything she'd done wrong by him, Petunia's heart tightened with a sour, aching regret.
She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. Eyes closed, she stood there for a long moment before opening them again, letting the air out slowly, and walking downstairs with heavy steps.
When Harry finally came down the stairs and stepped into the dining room, the Dursleys were already seated neatly at the table.
Several carefully prepared dishes were laid out in perfect order, steam curling upward in thin wisps, the scent of food filling the air.
Yet the Dursleys sat still in their seats, knives and forks placed neatly and untouched, clearly waiting for Harry to arrive.
After all, in their eyes, Harry was now the creditor who held their lifeline.
Ever since they'd gotten a taste of magic, their craving for it had grown wild, like weeds taking over a garden.
They understood perfectly: if they still wanted to use magic, they had to treat Harry well.
The moment Uncle Vernon saw Harry strolling down, his stiff, hard face instantly piled up into a fawning smile.
He popped up from his chair, rubbing his hands awkwardly in front of his chest, and asked with eager politeness, "Harry—how's it been, coming back from Hogwarts? Are you used to staying here? If anything feels off, just tell your uncle!"
Harry smiled mildly, speaking at an easy pace, sounding genuinely comfortable. "Of course. It's great here. Hogwarts beds aren't nearly this soft. Home is much more comfortable."
"Good, good—good, good!" Vernon's grin turned even more ingratiating.
Maybe because Harry had returned from Hogwarts, the Dursleys' table was especially lavish today. The simple, plain meals they usually ate were nowhere to be seen—replaced by dish after dish of tempting food.
Roast beef, creamy chicken fit for a banquet, oxtail soup, Welsh stew, apple pudding… everything looked delicious enough to make Dudley swallow hard.
While they ate, Petunia's eyes crinkled into crescent moons. Every so often she picked up her fork and enthusiastically put more food on Harry's plate, fussing as she spoke:
"Eat more, eat more. You're at the age where you're growing—you can't go hungry. These are all things you like, so don't be shy."
Harry accepted it with a small nod, a polite smile on his lips. "Thank you, Aunt."
Beside them, Dudley watched Harry receive the treatment that used to be his. He felt a flicker of jealousy—but since those two months in the summer, he'd gradually understood that this house wasn't the same as it used to be.
Now the one in charge here was Harry Potter.
Besides, Dudley liked magic too. If it meant he could use magic, then suffering a little while Harry was home was nothing.
Dudley also put on a flattering smile and asked, "Cousin… when can you take us to the wizarding world to have a look?"
He'd wanted to see it for ages—to see a completely different kind of scenery. But last time, before Harry left, he'd warned them not to use magic recklessly outside, or else if the Ministry found out, they might be thrown into Azkaban.
So even after months had passed, they still hadn't had any real contact with the wizarding world.
Harry thought for a moment and didn't refuse. "In a couple of days, I'll take you. I've got something to deal with first."
After a brief pause, he continued, "I've mastered some new magic recently. You can consider exchanging for it."
As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry lifted his hand and gave a light flick.
A teacup on the table began to twist and warp. The wooden texture faded away, replaced by soft parchment.
A moment later, Harry reached out and caught the parchment as it drifted down. It was packed with dense writing—detailed descriptions of the new spells and techniques he'd recently learned.
He handed it to the Dursleys.
The three of them huddled together at the table, heads pressed close, reading the parchment with hungry curiosity.
Then Harry coughed lightly and went on, "I was thinking—I can help you test your magical aptitude. We might find something unexpected."
Petunia looked confused. "Don't we… not have magical talent?"
Harry shook his head and explained patiently. "That only means you don't have your own magic. But the situation is different now. You've borrowed my magic—so you might have other kinds of potential hiding underneath."
As he spoke, Harry reached out and gently clasped Vernon's hand, then Petunia's, then Dudley's, one by one.
He closed his eyes slightly, brow tightening as he focused. His magic moved like delicate, living threads, sliding from his palm and carefully probing into their bodies.
A moment later, Harry opened his eyes, a thoughtful look flashing through them.
He found that Petunia adapted best to wizarding magic.
Even so, compared to an ordinary witch, her talent was far weaker—she didn't even measure up to Hogwarts's clumsy caretaker, Filch—but it was still a pleasantly surprising discovery.
Harry suspected it had something to do with Petunia being his mother's sister.
So with his magic supporting her, Petunia could handle many basic wizarding spells—things like Scourgify and the like—but anything more difficult was out of the question.
Dudley and Vernon were far worse than Petunia in their compatibility with wizarding magic.
However, to Harry's surprise, Vernon possessed a moderate level of telekinetic potential, while Dudley showed a strong aptitude for electricity enhancement magic—also around a moderate level.
Harry explained these results to them one by one. Hearing that they could exchange for matching spells, the family looked both tempted and pained, faces full of reluctant heartache.
After they struggled through their bargaining and hesitation, Harry helped them complete the exchange for the permanent use rights of three beginner spells. Then he smiled, left the house, and headed for Diagon Alley.
As one of the most important locations in Britain's wizarding world, places like Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, and the Ministry of Magic had powerful protective enchantments and restrictions.
Those protections limited Apparition, preventing unauthorized people from suddenly intruding and helping preserve the wizarding world's order and secrecy—so most witches and wizards entered Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron.
In the blink of an eye, distorted light rippled.
Harry appeared out of thin air in a deep, shadowy alley not far from the Leaky Cauldron.
The dizziness from Apparition hadn't fully faded when he sharply sensed two fearful gazes locking onto him from deeper in the alley.
He focused his eyes.
A man was pinning a woman hard against a mottled wall. The woman's face was pale with terror, her eyes filled with helpless despair.
Her clothes were in disarray, collar yanked open, and the pale skin exposed at her chest looked harshly bright in the dim, oppressive alley—almost blinding.
If an ordinary person saw the scene at a glance, they'd probably assume it was an assault.
But after a closer look, Harry could tell from the woman's thick foundation, her jaded, world-worn face, the suggestive hints at her chest, and the man's clothing—which didn't resemble a robber's at all—that this was an illegal transaction.
Harry rubbed his forehead. He really was unlucky. Normally nobody ever came to this alley—yet today he happened to run into two people chasing thrills in the wrong way.
After a brief daze, the bald man seemed to realize what had just happened. Then, seeing Harry's wizarding robes, he asked uncertainly, "Y-you… you're a wizard? Wizards really exist?"
Harry had no interest in answering.
He raised his wand, pointed it at the man, and said calmly, "Obliviate."
The two people pressed together froze for a moment—then plunged right back into their risky, heated "competition" as if nothing had happened.
Harry left the alley behind, and all he could hear was a series of pained cries:
"Oh, no! Don't—don't!"
Tsk, tsk. Don't be fooled by that bald man's kidney-deficient look—like he was weak and pathetic. Somehow it seemed the battle-hardened combat nun was the one losing ground in that "gunfight."
Looks really could be deceiving.
Since he was about to do something a bit shady—something not fit to be seen—and something that required at least two people, Harry didn't use his real appearance. He switched faces.
His illusion magic wasn't on Loki's level, but he was still proficient. As long as he didn't get dragged into a fierce fight, nobody would be able to see through it.
In the next moment, he transformed into an ordinary, forgettable young wizard.
Without his usual dazzling aura, he naturally didn't attract the same attention as the last time he'd stepped into the Leaky Cauldron—no heads turning, no stunned silence, no uproar.
He slipped through the pub quietly, moving as lightly as a cat, and reached the back. He tapped a brick, and the passage opened, letting him step into Diagon Alley.
Diagon Alley hadn't changed—still exactly as he remembered, bustling and lively, yet carrying an old, timeworn charm.
After a bit of searching, Harry quickly found the narrow passageway that led to the neighboring Knockturn Alley.
A sharp, foul odor hung in the air. Dirty water ran along the ground, rubbish tossed into corners, walls stained with blotches and smeared with strange graffiti—everything whispering of filth and disorder.
Harry frowned, raised a hand to cover his nose and mouth, and quickened his pace. Once he passed through the grimy passage, the scene changed abruptly.
He'd arrived in an even more broken, sinister alley.
Unlike bright Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley's street was narrow and twisting. Tall, decaying buildings pressed in from both sides, nearly blotting out the sky and casting the whole place in darkness.
Even in daytime, it carried a twilight gloom—oppressive and stifling.
People came and went in a chaotic mix. All kinds of strange, frightening figures moved through the street.
There were hooded people hiding their faces, ragged witches and wizards with vicious eyes, and even grotesque creatures and drifting ghosts.
In a place as saturated with danger and evil as Knockturn Alley, the appearance of a young, cute little wizard was like a boulder dropped into a still lake—instantly shattering the atmosphere and drawing every passerby's gaze.
Before long, the air itself seemed to fill with greed and ill intent. A group of male and female dark wizards, like sharks smelling blood, began closing in on Harry step by step.
Some witches and wizards who still had a shred of conscience couldn't bear to watch.
There was no doubt in their minds: that adorable little wizard's future would be miserable.
Either he'd be dragged into some damp, shadowy basement by an evil witch, forced to scream and writhe every day under lashes and scorching candle-fire—
Or he'd fall into a dark wizard's hands and become a tragic human experiment, forced to spend his days and nights surrounded by writhing, sticky, revolting tentacles.
Yet even with sympathy in their hearts, those people simply turned away in silence.
In Knockturn Alley's brutal, ruthless world—where the strong prey on the weak—tragedies like this played out every day.
They understood: being too kind, meddling too easily in someone else's business, might make you the next victim. Here, if you wanted to live, you had to learn to protect yourself.
But what they didn't know was that Harry was deliberately maintaining this childlike appearance—because this was a carefully arranged fishing operation.
The roles of hunter and prey could flip in a single instant.
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