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Is a "Month of Superanalysis" a lot or a little? This question would be difficult to answer for anyone who hasn't experienced such a process.

 

Superanalysis is a function of my Archive magic that allows me to conduct a secondary analysis of books I've already reviewed. I can only say one thing after using it... I should have used this function much earlier. Many questions and thoughts about magic wouldn't have even arisen because I would have already had the answers and the necessary knowledge.

 

This function reveals connections between various things, analyzes them, and produces theories as well as numerous improvements to those theories. Some of the answers I obtained through Superanalysis could be described as moments of enlightenment. These insights propelled my skills and understanding of magic to new heights. It felt as though I had mastered Charms and Transfiguration not for a few months, but for at least a hundred years. Ideas for new spells, theories, and solutions to various problems flooded my mind, instantly committing themselves to memory for further study.

 

I can say that Superanalysis is a trick of both reality and time. Even now, I know how to make Apparition more comfortable and faster. I even know how to transport a dozen people without any discomfort and without touching them. And there were many other such revelations.

 

Upon returning home, I immediately sent letters to all my acquaintances, letting them know I was back and ready to resume meetings and other important matters. I clearly understand that such meetings must and will take place.

 

Naturally, Malfoy was the first to respond, inviting me over to discuss a few matters. It almost seemed like he had been waiting for an opportunity to meet with me and talk about important issues. I have a pretty good idea of the topics he wants to discuss.

 

“How's the studying going?” I asked Hermione when I finally managed to take her out for a walk.

 

“Quite well,” she replied with a satisfied smile.

 

“I see your parents took you on vacation,” I noted, noticing her pleasant tan.

 

“Yes,” Hermione said happily. “We went to Portugal. I really loved it there.”

 

“It’s great that you managed to relax,” I nodded. “So, are you ready to resume your studies?”

 

“Of course,” she said confidently.

 

I spent half an hour giving her a quick quiz to see how well she had absorbed the material and if she had any misunderstandings. She didn’t have any real problems. The same applied to practical spells, as she continued practicing magic without actually casting it. By transfiguring a full copy of a magic wand for herself, she could keep training her wrist and fingers without worrying about being caught or held accountable. Without my supervision, she isn’t allowed to perform magic outside of school until she reaches magical adulthood.

 

“In general,” I told her after another training session as we sat at Fortescue's café—where I had developed a fondness for the ice cream, which truly was delicious—“you’re making excellent progress. You’re definitely not falling behind in most subjects. In some, you’re even ahead of your peers.”

 

“Thank you, teacher,” she said, her face full of satisfaction, and then blushed slightly. Sensing her thoughts, I realized she had fallen in love with me. It’s strange to recognize that a young girl is infatuated with you, while you don’t feel the same. Although… I haven’t exactly been searching for ‘the one.’ My heart is more like a boarding house—there’s room for everyone.

 

I arrived at the meeting with Malfoy ready to refuse or negotiate. If it came to that, there would be no deal, as I planned to hold firm to my terms. Besides, I was now even more confident in my skills and abilities, so I felt no fear, not in the slightest.

 

Narcissa greeted me, dressed in a tasteful knee-length dress, paired perfectly with shoes that completed the look. I’m not sure why she dressed like that… Maybe they’re trying to lower the price by seducing me? But... I’m not easily swayed by simple sexual attraction. Even if she had stripped and offered herself to me, I would have simply considered it. Well... I do enjoy such ‘active’ relaxation. Some people enjoy fine dining; others, like me, appreciate quality sex.

 

“Mister Jody,” Narcissa nodded. “It’s good to see you.”

 

“Lady Malfoy,” I replied with a smile, offering a subtle compliment, “if you weren’t married, I’d ask you out on a date.”

 

She smiled, clearly pleased, and pretended as though nothing had happened. I, too, acted as if I hadn’t said anything.

 

“Follow me,” she said. “Lucius is already waiting for you in his study.”

 

“I see Draco has already returned from school,” I nodded toward the yard visible through the window, where young Malfoy was flying on a broomstick, performing various stunts. “How was his year?”

 

“Thank you for asking,” Narcissa replied with a nod. “He did very well. Overall, I’d say his school year was great. Although... he is a boy, so I’m sure he hasn’t told us everything.”

 

She said the last part with a strange hint of sadism. It seemed that if necessary, Narcissa would extract every bit of information from him, peeling back his layers to get what she wanted.

 

Lucius’s study was on the second floor of the house. The door was open, so I walked in and boldly settled into a comfortable armchair. I’m sure Lucius doesn’t tolerate such behavior well, but he’d have to make an exception for me. Surprisingly, he didn’t even blink, nor did he allow any negative emotion to show on his face. It seemed he was already experienced in dealing with guests who didn’t stand on ceremony.

 

We chatted briefly about the weather and recent news. I wasn’t particularly interested, as I hadn’t had the time to follow current events, but it was amusing to learn that the lottery had ended and the Weasleys had won first place. According to Lucius, Weasley had been the main force behind promoting the lottery, and now he’d be enjoying his victory on the shores of Egypt.

 

“So, shall we get to our business?” I asked Malfoy.

 

“Yes,” he nodded. “I’ve spoken with my associates and managed to convince them that the venture is worth it. They’re ready to sign a contract to provide twenty million Galleons in exchange for the opportunity to study wandless magic. They agree to all the terms you set.”

 

“Excellent,” I nodded with satisfaction. “When are we signing the contract?”

 

“I already have it prepared and signed by the participants,” Lucius said.

 

He handed me a long scroll with twelve signatures. I saw the signatures of Malfoy, Greengrass, and several other aristocrats of magical Britain. The contract clauses were exactly as I had outlined. The only addition was that the contract had to be fulfilled by next summer, as they needed time to gather the required funds.

 

“May I ask how you plan to raise the funds?” I inquired.

 

“No,” he replied. “That could jeopardize the execution of the contract on our side.”

 

“Alright.”

 

After checking the contract for any hidden clauses or missing sections, I decided to sign it. With a bold signature, I handed the scroll back to Lucius. He tore it into two copies, giving me one and keeping the other. I’m sure these copies will soon be in the hands of every signatory.

 

To brighten Lucius’s day, I decided to give him a gift—a book containing interesting and rare spells. There were about fifteen spells in it, which made him happy. The book’s price on the black market would be around five hundred Galleons, as the spells it contained weren’t exactly wholesome.

 

Back at home, I began considering the fact that it was time to take a closer look at the properties I had acquired. Everything was still under temporary preservation, as I hadn’t had much time to deal with it.

 

The first property I chose was the Yaxley main estate, located outside London near a town called Luton. It was a fairly large house with an attractive yard. Beyond the estate was a small, well-maintained forest with minor magical manifestations. The house itself was hidden from Muggles by standard concealment charms.

 

With a wave of my wand, I lifted the house’s preservation spell and approached the large, black front door. In its center was an eye with a blue pupil, designed to scrutinize each guest and determine if they posed any danger. As the owner of the house and land, I now had control over all the protective spells.

 

The door opened almost instantly as I approached. I was greeted by a long corridor, not much different in design from the corridors of Malfoy Manor. The only difference was the portraits of the Yaxley family, who immediately began yelling at me. They knew the state in which their heir had returned and what had happened to his wife.

 

But I wasn’t interested in those portraits. With a wave of my hand, all the portraits that dared to speak were covered in black veils. The silence was pleasant. The portraits of the more intelligent Yaxley family members sat quietly and silently. The chances of me preserving them were slim, but even if they ended up in the basement, they would continue to exist. All the other portraits would be burned.

 

“Master Timothy,” two house-elves appeared before me, bowing deeply. Along with the house, I had inherited these elves as well. I hadn’t yet decided what to do with them, but I definitely wasn’t going to discard them. “You’ve finally arrived.”

 

“Tell me the state of the house,” I ordered the elves.

 

“Master, there’s a boggart in the master bedroom on the second floor,” began the older elf. “He’s been scaring us constantly. In the first large storeroom, acromantulas have appeared and started building their nest with the help of pixies. And the ghost in the basement has also started making noise, as it hasn’t experienced any torment for a long time.”

 

“Hmm,” I nodded. Only a month had passed, and pests and all sorts of magical nuisances had already started infesting the house.

 

“And the screaming stairs have stopped singing in harmony,” the house-elf added. “They must be out of tune.”

 

“Alright, let’s deal with everything one step at a time.”

 

“Scree-scree-scree!” the stairs shrieked out of sync. And they really were singing off-key.

 

A Silencio spell, and they shut up. Silence returned. The boggart tried to scare me, but one spell and it disappeared. There are several ways to deal with these creatures. You can destroy them or simply weaken them by depriving them of their source of energy. They feed on people’s fear and can grow stronger, eventually transforming into something more dangerous and terrifying. At Hogwarts, they teach the second method because the first requires specific abilities, as well as knowing the spell.

 

Next, I dealt with the acromantulas and pixies, which can cause a lot of trouble if you let their nest grow. No one knows where these spiders originally came from, but it’s well-documented that the first sightings occurred a few decades ago. The Ministry failed to react in time, and these monsters proliferated. Now Aurors, hunters, and regular wizards have to kill them. Pixies, however, have always been around, and even second-year Hogwarts students know how to handle them.

 

It took me half an hour to clear the room of all the monsters and traces of their presence. It was a pleasant and easy task, as the results were immediately visible. The room was now mostly in order. The elves would need to conduct a complete inventory of everything in the room, as I could see sacks and crates.

 

The ghost haunting the basement turned out not to be a real ghost but a simple magical anomaly, which was easily dealt with. One spell and the anomaly vanished with a scream in an unknown language. Having taken care of that, I walked through all the rooms, looking for areas that needed immediate attention.

 

“I want everything scrubbed clean,” I ordered the elves. “Plates, silverware, floors, windows, everything.”

 

“Yes, Master,” one of the elves replied. “We will carry out this task. What should we do with the portraits?”

 

“Gather the ones covered with the black veil and burn them,” I said calmly. “Leave the others where they are, for now.”

 

“Yes, it will be done.”

 

After giving a few more orders, such as replacing all the bedding, I stepped outside. The courtyard was quiet. I transfigured a chair and sat down, trying to sort out my feelings about this house. So far, it didn’t feel like mine at all. The Yaxley estate felt stifling, small. The corridors, doors, rooms, chandeliers, and sculptures all annoyed me slightly… irritated me.

 

For now, I wasn’t going to do anything drastic with the building. I would study the magical techniques used to construct it so that, in the future, I could build something that I would enjoy—not something that would please some long-dead heir from ancient times.

 

The Carrow estate had similar problems: magical pests and anomalies that needed to be dealt with. They had only one house-elf, who wasn’t exactly thrilled with his new master. He didn’t actively oppose my orders, but there wasn’t an ounce of enthusiasm in him either. The portraits of the previous Carrow family members had to come down because none of them were smart enough to stay quiet—they just hurled insults.

 

I burned these portraits with great pleasure, savoring the screams of the painted dead. Their ashes were scattered into a small stream that flowed through the Carrow lands. Magical creatures lived in the stream, but they were harmless. I figured I could coexist with them, so I didn’t get rid of them for now.

 

Meanwhile, events in magical Britain continued to unfold. The Weasleys went on vacation to Egypt and made it to the second page of the Daily Prophet. There was a large picture of them, sure to catch anyone’s attention. I wouldn’t say I had much contact with them, as they lived in a completely different part of the magical world. Perhaps I would cross paths with one of the redheads in the future, but I didn’t know when that would happen.

 

Then came another major piece of news that shook the magical world of Britain. A prisoner had escaped from Azkaban, a prison long believed to be inescapable.

 

The prisoner’s name was Sirius Black, and he was considered one of those responsible for the deaths of Harry Potter’s parents. He was seen, along with his cousin Bellatrix, as a dangerous Death Eater who had blown up a group of Muggles. In the images that appeared the very next morning, he didn’t look well.

 

His expression was crazed, his cheeks sunken, his face and hands dirty, and he was wearing a prison uniform. Occasionally, he would grab the bars and try to escape, but to no avail. I wondered how he had managed to get out of the prison. Conversations around me suggested that he had used some kind of dark magic to trick the Dementors. Others speculated it was the work of allies of the Dark Lord, attempting to bring him back to life. Still others claimed it was simply a mistake. In any case, opinions were divided, but the consensus was that he needed to be caught and returned to prison.

 

Aurors became more aggressive in their actions, and Ministry personnel began joining them. No one wanted to be the one to let Sirius Black slip away. If that happened and word got out, it would mean being kicked out of service in disgrace. They were certainly crossing some lines with their checks. I would’ve been surprised if they weren’t.

 

“Name and surname,” a young, still-green Auror demanded of me. Squinting, I realized that authority had already gone to his head.

 

“Timothy Jody,” I replied calmly, showing him my master’s rings.

 

The senior officer in the group quickly appeared beside his junior colleague and hurriedly led him back to the team. The last thing they needed was a conflict with a master.

 

“Have you seen anything suspicious around here?” the senior wizard asked once he’d entrusted the junior member to the care of more experienced colleagues.

 

“No,” I shook my head. “I don’t really pay much attention to my surroundings. I have other matters to attend to.”

 

“I understand,” he nodded. “If you see anything suspicious, be sure to let us know. Have a good evening.”

 

“You too,” I nodded in return.

 

The Aurors moved on, with the senior officer lecturing the junior one for his inappropriate and provocative behavior. They all understood that he had behaved poorly. I couldn’t agree more.

 

Now, I’m sitting outside, waiting for Isolde, who has finally returned from her journey. She was very happy and eagerly agreed to go on a date with me. She said she wouldn’t bring Dorsani, though I wouldn’t have minded if she did. To me, Dorsani is just as much of a person as Isolde herself.

 

I spotted Isolde from afar, as she attracted attention with her light clothes and a sort of inner glow. Standing up, I made sure she noticed me, which instantly brought a reaction. A joyful smile appeared on her face, and she quickened her pace.

 

“Timothy!” she exclaimed as she reached me, throwing her arms around me. “I’m so happy to see you!”

 

“I’m happy to see you too, Isolde,” I replied, hugging her back. It was easy to feel the joy radiating from her. “You’ve grown so much since the last time we saw each other.”

 

“Indeed,” she chuckled, understanding where I was going with that.

 

She had truly become even more curvaceous than she was back at Hogwarts. She was no longer a little girl, but a beautiful young woman who had blossomed like a flower.

 

“Come on, let’s not make a scene here,” I teased her.

 

Offering her my arm, I waited for her to take it, then gently transported us to a lovely spot where the house-elves had already prepared everything for a romantic date. I had even arranged for perfect weather—no clouds, no sign of rain. After the Superanalysis, such spells had become easy for me.

 

“What a smooth Apparition,” she remarked, marveling at the sensation. “It’s amazing how much you’ve mastered it. I still remember your Spatial Magic lessons at Hogwarts, where you tried to squeeze every last drop out of me.”

 

“Well,” I shrugged, smiling at the memory, “back then, we weren’t as close.”

 

“And now we’re closer?” she asked slyly.

 

“That depends on you,” I replied, just as slyly, leaving it up to her to decide what we were to each other. Just school friends? Or perhaps something more?

 

“Oh, Mr. Jody,” she said, then leaned in and kissed me. “How’s that for an answer?”

 

“I like it,” I nodded with a grin. “But I’ll ask again... are you sure?”

 

“You men can be so stupid sometimes,” she said, rolling her eyes. “If you’re worried about Tonks, don’t be. We’ve already decided to share you.”

 

“Oh, really,” I chuckled. “That was quick.”

 

“In the magical world, you have to act fast in situations like this, or someone else might snatch you up,” she said. “Honestly, when you returned to England, I asked a few wizards to keep an eye on you... so I know about your little student. I remember that girl from her first year.”

 

“Tsk, well,” was all I could say. “And you don’t mind that I have such a cute student?”

 

“Do whatever you want with her,” Isolde waved dismissively. “But if we’re dating, it should benefit both of us.”

 

“You’re so materialistic,” I sighed. “I wouldn’t be able to handle an open relationship with my girlfriend.”

 

“You’re greedy, like any powerful wizard,” Isolde said calmly. “But you don’t need to worry. If we’re dating, I’ll definitely be loyal to you. I wouldn’t want to wake up cursed… or worse.”

 

I couldn’t even describe how strange she is... Of course, I don’t mind having relationships with multiple girls, as long as they’re mine alone. But on the other hand, it does feel a bit two-faced. Then again, the local culture isn’t much different from that of my home world. There, too, powerful wizards could have several lovers.

 

“It’s the burden of being a powerful wizard,” I said, hugging Isolde.

 

“You say that as if you’re unhappy about it,” she snorted, not resisting my rather suggestive touches.

 

Letting her go, I led her to the table, where the house-elves had outdone themselves and prepared everything for a beautiful dinner. Pouring wine into our glasses, we began our meal. The conversation flowed slowly and calmly as Isolde shared stories about her accomplishments and travels. She also mentioned some problems I could solve if I wished.

 

“You know, when I heard from my father that you had become a master of Charms, I was incredibly jealous,” she confessed. “How could you achieve the title so much earlier, in a discipline where I’m supposed to have talent? But then, I thought about it and realized you’re an anomaly. There’s no point in being jealous of an anomaly.”

 

“I’m glad you came to such a conclusion,” I nodded, summoning a bottle of wine to me without using a wand.

 

“There you go,” she said. “You’ve mastered wandless magic. Now I’ll never be able to get away from you…”

 

The look in her eyes was unsettling.

 

“I’ll come for you, even in the afterlife,” she said.

 

“Don’t scare me like that,” I allowed myself a smile. “I’ve never done anything wrong to you.”

 

“I’m not trying to scare you,” she said. “It’s just a simple statement of fact.”

 

She was dead serious about her words and thoughts. Yes, she had some mental protection, but it wasn’t very strong. That’s why I could sense her emotions. If I applied a little more pressure, I could enter her mind. But I wasn’t planning to do that. There was no point. Although, I should help her improve her mental defenses.

 

Afterward, Isolde began asking me about my journey. I told her a lot, though not everything. Some things need to be kept secret. For example, the time I wiped out an entire city with a single spell. That’s not something you casually share. I also finally gave her the gift I had been carrying with me all this time.

 

“Thank you so much,” Isolde nodded. “I really appreciate it.”

 

After our meal, we moved to a small, comfortable sofa with a perfect view of the ocean and the setting sun, which softly painted the sky in shades of red and orange. The night hadn’t yet fully claimed its place, but the first stars had already appeared.

 

Just holding Isolde was pleasant. She, too, was happy and ready to take things further if I wanted. But at that moment, I didn’t feel the desire to cross that line. I just wanted to sit and watch the sky. Letting her go, we kissed again, then parted ways to attend to our own matters, agreeing to meet again, this time with Nymphadora.

 

I agreed to that, leaving the two of them to plan the date themselves.

 

When an owl from the Ministry of Magic arrived, I was surprised. I didn’t have any particular dealings with the Ministry. I didn’t even show up there often, but… there it was—a letter. Inside, it was an invitation to a ball in honor of Lughnasadh. If I was invited to a party, why not go? I didn’t need to reply, but I did need to keep the invitation. I’d have to show it at the entrance to get past security.

 

Lughnasadh, if I’m not mistaken, is the festival marking the start of autumn, celebrated on August 1st. Muggles celebrate it too, but not as lavishly. People bake blueberry pies. In London, it’s not a particularly popular holiday, but in Ireland, it’s the opposite. The Ministry celebrates it because it’s connected to some ancient magical legends. I didn’t dig any deeper into it.

 

The next day, another owl arrived, carrying an invitation to a meeting of the Transfiguration Guild’s governing board. Dumbledore had been right when he said they would eventually summon me to this gathering. And he had also been right that the meeting would take place on August 5th, just a few days after the Ministry’s ball.

 

I decided to take a walk…

 

***

 

Harry Potter looked at Aunt Marge, feeling nothing but anger. Everything about her infuriated him—her huge figure, even bigger than his uncle’s, her barely visible mustache, and her almost non-existent neck. And her damn dogs, always making a mess of everything.

 

In her hand, Marge was holding a large black suitcase, unmarked, with two drooling bulldogs on leashes, slobbering all over the carpet. A quick glance at Aunt Petunia revealed that she was wincing at the sight.

 

He shuddered under Marge’s gaze and tried to calm himself. He’d have to live with her for an entire month. The hope that something would happen to make her leave was slim to none. Harry thought he’d rather spend the rest of the summer at Ron Weasley’s house than endure her presence.

 

“Where’s my little Dudleykins?” Marge squealed in her horrible voice. “Come to me, precious.”

 

Harry looked at his cousin and saw nothing precious about him—just a fat pig.

 

“Take my suitcase upstairs,” Marge ordered Harry before throwing her arms around Dudley.

 

Harry figured it was better to carry her suitcase than endure one of her hugs. Though, he wouldn’t have minded the money she gave Dudley. Twenty pounds was a lot for him. Dragging her suitcase upstairs, he tried to slip away, but that wasn’t easy. His deal with Uncle Vernon still held. So, after entering the kitchen, he waited for her to start tormenting him. Mentally, he prayed it would end quickly, so he could lock himself in his room.

 

“Ah!” Marge suddenly bellowed in his ear. “You’re still here!”

 

Harry instinctively wanted to pull out his wand but restrained himself. This wasn’t the time or place for magic. He just had to endure it. Yeah… just endure it.

 

“Yes,” Harry replied, holding back his anger.

 

“Yes?” she mimicked him in her shrill voice. “How dare you speak like that, you ungrateful boy? Vernon and Petunia have done so much for you! And you… If you had been left on my doorstep, I wouldn’t have coddled you! I would have sent you straight to the orphanage!”

 

Harry thought he would’ve been better off if they had sent him to an orphanage.

 

“And if you had kept acting like that, I would have drowned you with my own hands,” she added in her annoying voice.

 

Harry clenched his fists and his jaw so tightly that his lips turned white. He forced himself to stay calm and not react.

 

“What’s that school of his called again?” Marge asked Vernon.

 

“St. Brutus’s Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys,” Vernon replied.

 

“I’ve heard of it,” Marge said. “I’ll write to them and suggest they discipline him even more harshly.”

 

Life in the house had become unbearable for Harry. Only in comparison could he realize that life with his aunt and uncle had been paradise compared to life with Marge. With his uncle, he had learned to stay out of sight, and everyone was fine with that. But Marge wouldn’t allow it.

 

She enjoyed crushing Harry emotionally. But he never responded. He would have gladly sat through twenty back-to-back lessons with a foul-tempered Snape than endure this woman. Her dogs infuriated him even more, especially when they jumped on his bed and dirtied it with their droppings.

 

Each day, Harry felt himself getting closer and closer to boiling over. In recent days, Marge had tried to put him through some sort of boot camp training based on SAS drills, and no one had told her to stop. Dudley just laughed at him and suggested particularly unpleasant tortures and humiliations. Every “training session” ended with insults and accusations of ingratitude.

 

Harry’s temper was nearing its breaking point, but none of the Muggles noticed. If any of them had possessed even a bit of awareness, they would have noticed his slightly reddened eyes, his increasing longing for his wand, and the murderous intent mixed with a strange sadistic satisfaction.

 

The worst part was that he couldn’t receive letters from his friend Ron, because if he did, Marge would make his August a living hell.

 

“It’s not your fault Potter’s hopeless,” Marge said during dinner. “He was born bad.”

 

Harry already knew where this was heading. His hands trembled slightly, but he held himself back. Somehow, he was managing to stay in control—barely.

 

“He’s like a dog,” Marge continued. “A bad bitch has bad pups.”

 

Harry was on the verge of exploding with anger, but he managed, somehow, to hold back. He just stood up and walked out.

 

For the next few days, Harry tried to avoid Aunt Marge, but it wasn’t easy. When he saw Uncle Vernon bring out a bottle of alcohol, the young wizard realized things could turn very ugly. As if the constant mockery disguised as training wasn’t bad enough, his uncle’s glare reminded him of their deal, so he had no choice but to stay in the room.

 

The alcohol loosened Marge’s tongue, and she began to spew nonsense. He swallowed the insults directed at him, mentally retreating into thoughts of magical potions. He never thought that pondering potions could be so soothing. Then he moved on to Charms, mentally reciting the spell formulas they had learned over the past year.

 

“I’ve always said: bad blood is a hopeless case. Sooner or later, it will show itself! I’m not saying anything bad about your family, Petunia,” Marge slapped Petunia’s bony hand with her thick palm, the size of a shovel, “but admit it, your sister was a disgrace! She brought shame to the whole family! Ran off with some scoundrel, and look at what that produced!”

 

She gestured at Harry, who didn’t say a word. He could hear a ringing in his ears from the fury, but he still managed to hold himself together, silently reciting Charms. He noticed that Marge poured herself another full glass of alcohol, downed it in one gulp, and repeated the process.

 

“Oh, excellent brandy,” Marge said. “Vernon, I must say, you’ve always had great taste.”

 

Then she turned her gaze back to Harry.

 

“So, what did that Potter fellow do?” she asked. “You’ve never told me much about him.”

 

Uncle Vernon, who had also had a bit too much to drink, wasn’t being particularly careful with his words.

 

“Oh,” he waved his hand dismissively. “Unemployed drunk.”

 

“Not surprising,” Marge sneered. “And your sister, Petunia, was no better. Probably dabbled in drugs, worked the streets... Maybe it’s for the best that they died like rats...”

 

That was the last straw for Harry.

 

“Shut your mouth, you stupid bitch,” he snapped, pushing his plate aside. His furious gaze locked on Marge.

 

“Oh,” she responded, pretending not to understand. “Look at that...”

 

“Woof!” barked one of the dogs at Harry.

 

“O-o-o,” Harry growled, struggling to regain control over his emotions.

 

“Yes, they were drunks...”

 

And that was when Harry snapped. He slapped Marge across the face, hard. Then he grabbed one of her dogs by the leg. The dog tried to resist, but what could it do against an enraged teenage wizard? The animal had infuriated him so much that if flames could shoot from his ass, Harry would’ve flown out of the galaxy by now.

 

Before anyone could fully comprehend what was happening, Harry grabbed the carving knife that Vernon had meticulously sharpened for cleaving through bones. The cold steel glinted in the light as he drove it deep into the dog's hind leg, severing muscle, tendon, and bone with a sickening crunch. Blood erupted from the wound in a violent spray, splattering across the walls, the floor, and even the horrified faces of those nearby. The stench of iron filled the air.

 

The dog let out a harrowing scream, its body convulsing as it thrashed in agony, but Harry didn’t flinch. His mind had become a dark void, devoid of sound, devoid of feeling. He wrenched the severed leg from the dying creature, the jagged bone still dripping with glistening strings of flesh and sinew.

 

Without pause, Harry stormed toward Marge and jammed the gory limb into her mouth, the raw flesh pressing against her teeth.

 

"Eat it, you filthy bitch! Eat it!" he snarled, his voice dripping with venom as Marge gagged and tried to pull away, her eyes wide with terror.

 

"Potter!" Vernon finally snapped, his voice trembling as he struggled to process the nightmare unfolding before him.

 

Chaos engulfed the room. The dog’s agonized howls mixed with Marge’s muffled retches, and Vernon’s shouts reverberated off the walls. The dog collapsed onto the once pristine white-tiled floor, now stained with a river of blood that continued to gush from its torn flesh, pooling beneath its twitching body.

 

"You shut your filthy mouth too," Harry bellowed at his uncle, his voice dripping with raw fury. No longer tethered to reason, he whipped out his wand with a swift, violent motion. "I've had enough of you, you filthy swine!"

 

With a flick of his wrist, crackling sparks erupted from the wand, but that was just the beginning. A thunderous wave of magical force slammed into Vernon like a wrecking ball, flinging him across the room. His body crashed into the wall with a sickening thud, the impact shaking the very foundations of the house. The sound of cracking plaster filled the air as Vernon crumpled to the floor, groaning in pain.

 

Petunia, with an almost animalistic sense of survival, dove to the ground, yanking Dudley down with her just as the shockwave tore through the room, rattling dishes and knocking pictures off the walls.

 

But Harry’s focus was no longer on them. His wand was now trained on Marge, the corners of his mouth twisting into a snarl.

 

"Die, bitch, die," he hissed, his voice low and venomous. His eyes burned with an unholy red glow, the color of pure malice, striking paralyzing terror into the heart of the simple Muggle woman. He jabbed his wand again and again, reveling in the sight as Marge’s body began to swell grotesquely, her skin stretching tight over her inflating frame. She let out a strangled scream, her face turning a ghastly shade of purple, as her limbs ballooned into unnatural proportions.

 

"I hope you burst, you filthy swine!" Harry sneered, watching in twisted fascination as her body reached its breaking point.

 

And burst she did.

 

With a horrific wet explosion, Marge detonated like an overfilled water balloon, spraying the room with gore. Blood splattered in thick, crimson arcs across the walls, windows, and ceiling, painting the room in a macabre display. Chunks of flesh, fragmented bones, and shredded organs rained down on the dinner table, mixing with half-eaten food and shattered glass. A severed hand landed with a sickening squelch in front of Vernon, who was now drenched head to toe in a warm, sticky coat of blood and viscera.

 

Dudley, who had foolishly poked his head out at the wrong moment, stood frozen in wide-eyed horror, his mouth agape. An eyeball, torn from its socket, landed squarely on his tongue. He snapped his mouth shut instinctively—too late. A moment later, realization dawned on him, and his face turned a sickly shade of green. His stomach lurched, and he violently vomited all over the gore-slicked floor, his retching barely audible over the carnage.

 

"What’s going on here?" a voice rang out, cutting through the grotesque scene.

 

Harry, who had just finished wiping the blood from his smeared glasses, turned toward the source of the voice. A somewhat familiar face stood in the doorway, but in the haze of chaos, Harry couldn’t for the life of him remember who it was.

 

"Well, well," the man said, looking around in surprise. "Potter, did you do all this?"

 

"Erm..." Harry muttered, still calming down.

 

"Hmm."

 

The wizard who had arrived sent a silvery figure off somewhere, then began casting spells. A few moments later, there was a loud pop from outside the door, and in burst Albus Dumbledore.