"When you hit, hit with your whole body. When you fight, fight with your whole heart." — Gon Freecss, Hunter x Hunter
Harriet had spent an entire month at the Potter manor, training, studying, and resting in ways she had never allowed herself before. The pace was steady but disciplined—structured enough to make her feel alive, yet forgiving enough that she could enjoy her mornings and evenings without stress. If someone had seen her a year ago, slouched in front of a screen with a butterbeer in hand, barely moving except to scroll or grab snacks, they would hardly have recognized the woman now. Her body had become strong and sculpted, conditioned through repeated martial exercises and endless magical drills.
Combat training had been particularly transformative. Her Bajiquan practice had evolved from clumsy and stiff to fluid, precise, and devastatingly effective. Movements that once left her muscles trembling now flowed as natural extensions of her will. Every strike, block, and turn came with effortless force. If she kept pushing herself, she realized, she could master her body entirely within a few years—a thought both exhilarating and terrifying. Raw, restrained power simmered beneath her skin, and she reveled quietly in the control.
Magic had become another layer of her evolution. With each practice, she grew more efficient—not only in execution, but in strategy and thought. The synergy between her body and spells was astonishing: explosive physical force combined with flexible, precise magic allowed her to inflict tremendous damage while sustaining herself far longer than she could have imagined. In her mind, she ran simulations of duels against increasingly powerful adversaries. Even Voldemort—once a figure of terror—now seemed like a challenge she could handle. Her mana reserves lasted longer with each spell, and the subtle feedback between mind, body, and magic accelerated her progress almost imperceptibly.
Her body and magic had begun to fuse in ways she hadn't anticipated. Every movement in combat—every twist, punch, or dodge—was now informed by a subtle awareness of mana, the flow of energy in and around her. She could feel how a step or a turn could amplify a spell, or how a precise motion could conserve power while increasing force. It was as if her muscles had learned a language of magic, translating intention into motion, and motion back into magical output.
Training with her body strengthened her spells, and training her spells refined her body. The synergy was intoxicating: a punch could carry the weight of a kinetic spell, a jump could channel energy through the soles of her feet, and her breathing could modulate the intensity of her internal mana. She realized that to truly master herself, she needed to view magic and movement not as separate disciplines, but as a single, interconnected system. Each day brought new insights, a step closer to becoming a living conduit of both physical and arcane power.
She also devoted time to understanding her magical energy, experimenting with how to manage and extend it. Every day, she tested, observed, and refined, discovering new ways to combine spells efficiently. Each lesson built on the previous one, producing a sense of exponential growth. Potential became intoxicating.
Yet Harriet knew limits remained. Mastery over her reserves, the interplay between different schools of magic, and how to push beyond natural constraints were questions she had yet to answer. Hogwarts, she reasoned, might hold more secrets—an institution designed for learning, filled with hidden resources. She decided to spend another year there, honing skills and gathering knowledge before venturing further into the magical world, ensuring she left prepared and confident.
In quieter moments, she reflected on her journey. The month had been grueling, but liberating. She had shed lethargy, doubt, and helplessness, transforming the limitations she once accepted into raw potential. Every day, her body, mind, and magic aligned more closely with her vision: a self-sufficient, unstoppable force, capable of navigating and reshaping the world around her.
By the end of the month, Harriet sat in the sunlit library, stretching her limbs, feeling the weight of both discipline and freedom. She smiled faintly, a rare, unburdened expression. The coming year would be one of exploration, experimentation, and further honing of her skills. Tomorrow would bring new tests, opportunities, and perhaps dangers—but for now, she allowed herself satisfaction. She had taken control at last; every aspect of her life felt a step closer to the freedom she craved.
Over the month, Dorea occasionally checked in, her portrait gliding quietly along the frame, observing Harriet with mild, genuine curiosity. The older Potter seemed pleased by her progress. When Harriet asked questions—about minor alchemical principles or the layering of enchantments in the manor—the portrait responded patiently, offering guidance. These brief exchanges brought Harriet a rare, warming sense of connection, a subtle balm against the solitude of her self-imposed exile.
Despite the discipline, Harriet indulged in pleasures. Her birthday passed quietly, free from Hogwarts chaos and Dumbledore's vigilant eyes. She wandered the Muggle world freely, savoring simple joys: a visit to a cinema, summer fair streets, meals without restriction, even a frothy beer in a pub. Naturally, she shopped—clothes from both mundane and magical worlds, and above all, books: novels and academic texts, particularly in biology. Freedom and anonymity were intoxicating. For the first time in years, she acted entirely according to her desires.
She also received gifts from Hermione—a copy of Meditations by Marcus Aurelius, meant to help her navigate and overcome her depression. Luna had sent her a pair of quirky, round glasses, the same style she wore in the films: delicate silver frames, slightly oversized, lending a whimsical, otherworldly air to her gaze. And Ginny had made her a cake, likely baked by her mother, simple but satisfying.
Until then, it had been mostly radio silence. The only exceptions were a few letters from Luna, exchanged quietly, full of her usual odd but thoughtful observations. Nothing had come from Sirius, who was likely confined to the house, unable—or unwilling—to even think of sending anything outside. A true dog growling in its own kennel.
Yet the world remained far from static. The Order of the Phoenix noticed the absence of Harriet from Privet Drive. Dumbledore had been informed but interpreted events through his own lens: "She has endured a great ordeal. Her nerves are frayed. She requires space, not constant observation." He failed to grasp her independence and foresight. Meanwhile, the Dursleys remained oblivious. Their home, left largely unprotected, faltered without Harriet's direct presence. A lone Dementor drifting past would have thrown them into panic. But Harriet had prepared: she adjusted the protection so that all its energy focused on defending against—and striking—any magical threat nearby (the revenge against the Dudleys hers alone) using all its energy before dissipating. Despite this, it still bore her magical signature compared to the spells cast with her wand, whose trace she had easily erased.
It was exactly the scenario Pink Toad had anticipated—or what her predictive logic had deduced. Either she would have been in mortal danger at home, or she would manipulate events herself. The outcome favored her. Though she had not intervened directly, her spells had prepared the ground: protections would fail, the Dursleys panic, and she would be drawn back into Hogwarts, the Ministry, and the intricate politics of the magical world.
Back at the manor, Harriet felt a thrill contemplating the next stage of her journey. Physical and magical discipline had sharpened her senses, honed her body, and expanded control over spellwork and mana.
As for the DXD-inspired magic she had begun exploring, she noticed a limitation: her internal mana reserves were insufficient. Most witches in her world drew primarily from external mana, with only a small reserve inside their bodies, which was enough for them. This deficiency made her keenly aware of the need to understand her own physiology, and it was part of the reason she had stocked up on biology books—preparing for future research to better harness and expand her inner magical potential.
She flexed her fingers experimentally, letting the residual energy resonate with the manor's wards. The subtle hum beneath her skin reminded her of the enchantments' feedback. Dorea's portrait lingered nearby. "You are making excellent use of your time, my child," the older witch observed. "Remember, the world outside may be turbulent, but preparation is your greatest weapon."
Harriet gave a lazy, half-smirked nod. "I'm not planning on being anyone's weapon. Just… having a good time while I can." Mischief laced her words. Dorea only smiled, a reflection of younger pride. "As long as you learn, even a little chaos is never wasted."
Rising, Harriet stretched with the precision born of a month's conditioning. Her mind raced through magical strategies, cheat-book enhancements, and perfected physical techniques. When the summoning came, she would not be unprepared.
Her thoughts briefly returned to the outside world. Soon, she would face Hogwarts, Dumbledore, perhaps members of the Order—all assuming she was fragile or exhausted. None would guess her true control.
Pausing at the threshold, she glanced back at Dorea's portrait. "Don't worry, I'll make sure nothing goes… wrong."
Dorea's eyes twinkled. "I have no doubt. Just remember to take care of yourself, my child."
Stepping into the brisk evening air, the weight of powers, plans, and independence settled comfortably on her shoulders.
…
Everything went according to plan. On an early August afternoon, shortly after her birthday on the 31st of July, a Dementor went straight to the Dursleys' house and was repelled by the protections. Being inside the magical barrier, the Dursleys finally got a real look at what it truly looked like, a firsthand glimpse of the terrifying creatures that roam the magical world. Dudley Dursley, unable to control himself, wet his trousers in sheer panic. Petunia fainted instantly, collapsing onto the floor, while Vernon turned blue with fear, frozen in disbelief. The scene was chaotic, a perfect demonstration of just how little the Dursleys understood the dangers lurking beyond their mundane lives.
The magical protection did its job and repelled the Dementor, but once the threat was gone, the spell itself ceased to exist — there would be no further miracles.
Minutes later, a small owl arrived with a crimson envelope embossed with the Ministry seal. Harriet caught it deftly.
"Miss Harriet Nicole Potter, you are hereby summoned to the Ministry of Magic to respond to a breach of magical security. Your presence is required forthwith."
She smirked. The Ministry, ever anxious to assert authority, assumed the Dursleys—or her—were at fault. Just as she had anticipated.
Sitting at the dining table, she unrolled the parchment casually. The summon was formal, stern, and perfunctory, yet Harriet felt no fear. The Dursleys' negligence triggered it all; the Ministry would send emissaries to investigate a house she hadn't entered in days.
Dorea's portrait observed quietly. "A summons is not inherently dangerous," she said. "But it is a test of how you will respond."
Harriet ran a hand through her hair. "A test, huh? Seems like everyone's always testing me. Ministry included. Guess I'll have to entertain them… eventually." Her voice was lazy, yet her mind calculated multiple contingencies.
"Yes," she murmured, almost to herself, "let them come. They'll get their answer."
She envisioned a calm approach to the Ministry, authority and detachment, precise, controlled answers about the Dementor and daylight magic. The summons would not intimidate her—it would showcase her competence, awareness, and independence.
For a moment, a small, self-satisfied smile played across her face. A month of preparation had transformed her from underestimated girl to someone commanding attention—and caution—even among the most bureaucratic wizards.
Dorea's portrait seemed to nod faintly. "The world does not test you because it fears you. It tests you because it underestimates your capabilities. Show them the difference."
Harriet folded the parchment, tucking it into her pocket with fluid motion. She stood, brushing off anticipation. "Ministry, Dursleys, whatever," she murmured. "I'm ready. Let's see how this goes."
Outside, the sun dipped toward the horizon, casting long shadows over the gardens. The world beyond the estate waited. The summons had arrived—and she, prepared and poised, would step forward on her terms.