"Lumos."
"Squeak!"
"Hm. The effect is quite good."
In the days before school began, Harriet immersed herself in the simple joy of practicing magic.
It was during this period that she discovered many intriguing things—once magic power and spirituality were fused, any spell she cast carried a certain degree of lethality.
For example, a Lumos that could burn the soul.
The test subject was, naturally, a creature that was furry yet utterly devoid of cuteness—something Harriet loathed with a passion.
A rat.
The unfortunate rodent lay motionless on the table, breathless, before ultimately becoming Hedwig's after-dinner snack.
Meanwhile, the Demoness stared at her wand, lost in thought.
"This is somewhat inconvenient…"
Magic was not meant solely for combat. It was also a tool for making everyday life easier.
If every spell she cast from now on caused harm, that would be an unacceptable waste of such a peculiar and powerful ability.
Yet the fusion of spirituality and magic power seemed irreversible.
With that thought in mind, Harriet constructed a Wall of Spirituality once more, drawing her consciousness inward as she examined the two forces within her body.
They had already become one.
Guided by her will, Harriet deliberately called upon the purest form of magic power alone. She waved her wand and softly recited the Lumos Charm again.
Brilliant, pure white light flooded the room.
"I see."
Fusion did not mean the two forces had altered each other. Rather, if magic power and spirituality were compared to lakes, then what had occurred was simply the merging of two bodies of water into one.
Whether it was the extraordinary abilities from The World of Mysteries or the magic of this world, both now drew from the same energy source.
This realization reminded Harriet of a video game Dudley used to play.
Two mana bars combined into one.
All she needed to do was choose which characteristics to apply when drawing upon that power.
With her doubts resolved, Harriet dispelled the Wall of Spirituality. She then reached for a chocolate frog from the box beside her and popped it into her mouth. She had purchased an entire suitcase of them in Diagon Alley and often wondered which wizard had invented such a marvelous treat.
It was perfect as a reward.
Knock, knock, knock.
Three gentle knocks sounded on the door.
They were followed by Aunt Petunia's carefully polite voice:
"Dear Miss Potter, it's three minutes until etiquette class. Will you be coming downstairs to teach?"
Yes—etiquette class.
Not the threatening kind of "instruction" from before, but a genuine etiquette lesson.
Uncle Vernon had been invited to a dinner party at the home of a prominent figure in a week's time, allegedly related to company business. He was taking the matter very seriously and had found some sort of "etiquette guide" book from who-knew-where, proceeding to imitate it in a manner that resembled a curly-haired baboon attempting ballet.
Harriet happened to witness this performance while passing by.
By coincidence, British etiquette shared many similarities with that of the Kingdom of Loen. Harriet, unwilling to let the Dursley family further pollute her eyesight with their clumsy attempts, decided to teach them herself.
Naturally, there would be a fee.
She had forgotten to exchange wizarding currency for Muggle money at Gringotts, which had made decorating her room these past few days extremely inconvenient.
"Understood," Harriet replied calmly. "Prepare yourselves. I'll be down shortly."
She wiped the crumbs from the corner of her mouth, straightened her clothes, and opened the door precisely on time.
Harriet descended the stairs gracefully and found the three Dursleys standing nervously in the center of the living room, stiff and tense, like soldiers awaiting inspection.
Uncle Vernon wore his finest suit. Aunt Petunia was dressed in an excessively gaudy outfit. Dudley, meanwhile, was impatiently tugging at the bowtie constricting his neck.
"Good evening, Mr. Dursley, Madam, and Cousin Dudley."
Harriet inclined her head slightly, her voice gentle and composed.
"Let us begin. First, greetings and self-introductions upon entering the dinner party."
She demonstrated a standard, understated curtsy. Her posture and movements were so refined that all three of them were momentarily stunned into silence.
"Uncle Vernon, please remember that a handshake should be firm but not painful, lasting approximately three seconds. Aunt Petunia, your smile could be more natural—try imagining that you are admiring the other person, not calculating the price of their dress."
Uncle Vernon mimicked her instructions awkwardly, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. When he once again gripped an imaginary VIP's hand as though tightening a wrench, Harriet lightly tapped his wrist with her wand.
"Relax, Uncle. You appear hostile."
The Demoness's tone carried a faint hint of teasing.
"But you are improving. Honestly, if my father had been this humble back then, perhaps your relationship wouldn't have deteriorated so badly."
Uncle Vernon's face instantly turned the color of pig liver, his eyes bulging as though they might escape the sockets they had occupied for decades.
"Don't mention that arrogant fellow! He didn't even have a job back then! I wanted to introduce him to the company and was willing to sponsor their wedding, but how did he treat me—"
"Vernon!"
Petunia clutched her chest and cast a nervous glance toward Harriet.
The Demoness merely raised an eyebrow.
She had long since heard about those events from the Dursleys themselves. At best, one could say her father had indeed been somewhat… mischievous.
Still, a father was a father. Harriet had no intention of disparaging the hero she had never met. To her, the grievances of the previous generation were none of her concern.
"Controlling one's emotions is the most basic form of etiquette, Uncle."
The sudden drop in temperature caused the redness in Vernon's face to fade rapidly.
"Let us continue."
What followed was a patient lesson in posture, table manners, imaginary dining gestures, and conversational eye contact. Harriet's instructions were strict, yet she occasionally added a touch of humor, easing the atmosphere considerably.
As the lesson drew to a close, Harriet studied them thoughtfully.
"As for your attire and accessories that evening, I have a few suggestions."
The Dursleys' current outfits were an affront to her aesthetic sensibilities.
"Uncle Vernon, you represent your company's image. Stability is key. A dark gray or navy suit will appear more approachable than black. Choose a tie with a subtle pattern—fine checks are acceptable—and avoid anything overly bright."
She turned to Petunia, suppressing the urge to incinerate the floral monstrosity she was wearing.
"This color is far too loud. I suggest a high-quality charcoal gray or dark blue dress. A simple strand of small pearls will suffice. Excessive jewelry only looks tacky."
Finally, she looked at Dudley, whose mouth hung slightly open, his expression vacant.
"Well-fitted dark trousers and a decent shirt will be enough. Skip the bowtie—otherwise, he may strangle himself unconscious halfway through."
"Remember," Harriet concluded, "your goal is to display the Dursleys' respectability and reliability, not to compete in a beauty pageant."
Petunia subconsciously touched her bright dress and nodded earnestly. Uncle Vernon also looked at Harriet with a complicated expression.
"Very well. That concludes today's lesson."
Harriet clapped her hands lightly.
"Return to your rooms and practice individually. I expect that in a week's time, you will conduct yourselves with composure—rather than resembling three penguins who wandered into a banquet."
She paused, then pointed to herself.
"And one more thing."
"I expect to see the promised five hundred pounds by tomorrow."