"William Strongclaw, accept your fate!"
Damian Blackthorne unleashed his magic, and a Stormrider blade dropped from the sky, slicing into William Strongclaw's left arm.
"Second brother, look out!"
Harry Potter swung a broadsword, knocking William aside, but the falling blade still plunged into his chest.
"Third brother!"
Harry's eyes flew open to the sound of William's furious roar.
The place around him was cramped and dusty, lit by dim candlelight… Wait electric light?
"Get up! Get up! Quick!"
Bang, bang, bang!
"Stand up!"
A sharp female voice he hadn't heard in over a decade rang in his ears. Harry looked down at his small, young body and froze in shock.
Back at Privet Drive?
Once, in another life, he had fainted from hunger, and when he awoke, he'd been in Riversend County.
He had been a Seljuq Turk back then, barely past childhood. If not for being taken in as a sworn brother by Walter Strongclaw and trained in martial arts by his second brother, William Strongclaw, he would have died long ago.
He hated Simon Quinn and Paige Quinn the treacherous couple for murdering his eldest brother and driving him and William into banditry.
For a time, joining the outlaw band under John Rivers had brought him joy, but John insisted they submit to imperial service and march against Laurence Fangcroft. If he hadn't just sacrificed his life in that battle, William would have fallen to the dark magic of Damian Blackthorne.
Thinking of this, Harry let out a long sigh.
"Well then, big brother, I'll just return this life to you."
As the saying went:
The grace of raising a child is as deep as the sea, and life and death cannot sever it.
Stretching his thin limbs, Harry stepped out of the cupboard.
Suddenly, the rich scent of roast meat drifted to his nose, stirring Scarface's long-dormant hunger. He strode to the kitchen, heaped a large plate with barbecue, and sat to eat with relish.
Skin and bones now, he thought. Nothing like the imposing man I once was. I need proper nourishment.
"Dudley, you have to understand, not everyone is privileged enough to attend Smeltings School…"
This modern English had been around him since childhood, and Harry understood it perfectly.
Unfortunately, after living in the Song Dynasty for more than ten years, he had long forgotten how to speak modern English fluently and could now only understand it. Fortunately, his dealings with other travelers and traders had given him a good command of Old English.
The heavy, familiar voice came from farther in the house, and Vernon Dursley entered the dining room with Petunia and Dudley in tow.
When Vernon saw Harry eating with such relish, his face flushed as red as a boiled prawn.
Dudley, pig-faced and smirking, jabbed a stubby finger toward Harry. "Mum! Look! Harry's eating roast meat! It's our roast meat!"
Unfazed, Harry kept chewing. Petunia's lips trembled, her face turning an icy blue as she planted herself in the doorway and spat,
"You! Despicable! Shameless! Ungrateful "
"What's all the shouting about? You're making a scene over two ounces of your meat?"
Harry cut across her words and pulled a few crumpled notes from his pocket. They were the small stash he'd saved over the years from mowing Mrs. Figg's lawn.
"Will this buy you a meal?"
The Dursleys exchanged wary glances, unsettled by the odd mix of elegance and bluntness in his tone something straight out of a Shakespearean play, yet coarse all the same.
And that fierce, commanding air between his brows where was the timid boy they were used to?
But Dudley, too dim to notice the change, squinted his small eyes and barked, "Dad! He even stole our money!"
Harry slammed his fork against the table and sprang to his feet. "Stop spouting lies, you pig! When did I ever take your property?"
The words were crude, but in Old English Dudley wouldn't have understood a thing.
Still, the word pig seemed to lodge in Vernon's ear, and his fat face darkened to a deep purple.
Rubbing his hands together, Vernon advanced on him. "Don't take that tone with me, boy! Do you want another beating?"
Petunia's eyes bulged like a dead fish's, her head bobbing quickly. "That's right! Do you have any idea how much it's cost us to raise you?"
Harry thought grimly, With all my martial skill, I could earn a living anywhere why should I suffer this insult?
Out loud, he said, "Fine. Tell me your parents' names and where they're buried. Then we'll sign a proper agreement for me to repay every penny you've spent principal and interest."
At the mention of his parents, Vernon's raised fist stalled in the air. His purple face drained to blue.
He glanced at Petunia, but her lips stayed clamped shut.
As the tense silence stretched, there was a metallic click from the letterbox, followed by the soft thud of mail hitting the floor.
Vernon's chest deflated like a punctured bellows. He shot Harry a glare. "You get the letter!"
Harry shook his head inwardly.
His uncle might share the broad frame of Brother Oakshield, but his courage was not even a ten-thousandth of the man's.
As the saying went, Harry held his tongue and went to fetch the post.
There were three letters, and when he glanced at the names on them, Harry saw that one was addressed to him.
I have no friends on Privet Drive, and I'm alone at school, he thought. Could Dudley be trying to play some trick on me?
When he returned to the dining room, the Dursleys were already seated, silent and stiff, as if they were sharing a last meal.
Harry tossed their two letters onto the table and turned his attention to his own, breaking the seal that bore four beasts a lion, eagle, snake, and badger.
Vernon's eyes narrowed. He slammed a meaty hand onto the table. "Boy! What's that in your hand?!"
"A letter from the Sa family," Harry said evenly.
"…Heh…" Vernon's fat face quivered. "Who would write to you? Friends from your dreams?"
Harry ignored him and opened the envelope. One glance at the parchment made his brow crease.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? They want me to attend?
Magic? Could it be like Gareth Stormrider's sorcery, summoning wind and rain?
At the word Hogwarts, both Dursleys' faces tightened. Vernon shot up from his chair and lunged across the room.
"Give me that letter!"
Harry's body remembered the training. Years of muscle forged alongside William Strongclaw, and later under the tutelage of Edmund Oakshield, had honed him into a fighter of remarkable speed and precision.
He slid low beneath Vernon's grasp, darting through the man's legs, then pivoted and kicked hard at the back of his knee.
The bear-like man's legs buckled instantly, and he dropped to the floor.
It was true though Harry was young, the skills were etched into his very bones. Vernon's strength was all show; one well-placed kick from a boy half his size could still bring him down.
"Ahhh!"
Petunia screamed like a fishwife, and Dudley, cheeks stuffed with barbecue, froze mid-bite, forgetting to chew.
Harry, tired of the racket, crumpled the letter and tossed it at them. "Stop your shouting!"
Though the voice was that of a young boy, Petunia fell silent, fear curling tight in her chest.
Blasted mistake taking him in! she thought. Let those… witches and wizards deal with him themselves!
With the noise finally gone, Harry picked up a chair and walked over to Vernon.
"Uncle, have you heard of Hogwarts?"
"Tell me about it," Vernon muttered.