Chapter 1 — The Future?
Frieren's fingertips gently brushed against the wall of the house beside her. The surface felt cold and hard—neither stone, wood, nor clay. This unfamiliar material made her frown deepen.
"Did the return magic malfunction?"
"The Goddess's magic within the monument should have rewound me to the last point I touched."
She lifted her gaze toward the sky. The shapes of the clouds matched her memory perfectly, yet the wide, level roads beneath her feet and the strange metallic signs hanging outside the houses all pointed to an unfamiliar future.
Looking at the roads and buildings—clearly the result of long human development—Frieren formed a quiet conclusion in her mind.
No… where is the Goddess's monument?
She scanned her surroundings again, but there was no trace of it. A bad premonition crept into her thoughts.
"Looks like I need to hurry… or Fern will get angry again."
The street was silent, devoid of any pedestrians.
Frieren walked slowly along the roadside, her attention drawn to a "carriage" parked in front of a house. Its body was silver-white, its lines smooth and seamless—yet there were no reins, no horses.
She cautiously reached out. The moment her fingertip touched the cold metallic surface, a soft thud echoed.
"Human progress is truly remarkable…" she murmured, her gaze shifting to the house's number plate beside it.
"Number 5, Privet Drive."
"Privet Drive…" Frieren pressed a finger to her chin. With an elf's memory, she could clearly trace back centuries of travel, yet she found no place that matched this name.
Just as she lowered her head to sort through her thoughts, the faint creak of a wooden door came from behind her.
She turned immediately.
A young boy stood there, wearing worn-out pajamas. A lightning-shaped scar on his forehead stood out strikingly. In his hand, he carried a bag of trash.
Frieren quickly jogged up to him, a trace of urgency in her voice:
"Hello, may I ask—what year is it since the Hero passed away?"
Harry was startled by the sudden voice. When he looked up, his eyes widened instantly.
The girl before him had pointed ears, and her silver hair shimmered like threads woven from sunlight. She was so beautiful she hardly seemed real.
"The Hero?" he repeated, puzzled, nearly dropping the trash bag.
"Yes—the Hero who defeated the Demon King. Himmel."
Frieren's eyes lit up slightly as she looked at him with faint expectation.
Harry scratched his head, a bit embarrassed, and shook it.
"Sorry, I've never heard that name. If you're asking about the year… it's July 1st, 1991."
"1991…"
Frieren repeated softly, her fingers unconsciously tightening around the fabric of her pocket.
Had it been nearly two thousand years since Himmel passed away?
Fern, Heiter, Eisen… familiar smiling faces flashed through her mind. They had long since turned to dust in the flow of time, their names forgotten by humanity.
A strange emotion welled up in her chest.
It felt… painful.
Harry mistook her reaction as being lost.
"Are you okay?" he asked gently, setting down the trash bag. "I… I can ask Aunt Petunia if she has a map, or if she knows where to buy one."
Frieren shook her head. Her voice was light, almost like a sigh.
"It's nothing. I was just thinking about things that haven't happened yet. If it's not too much trouble, could I borrow a map?"
Harry looked at her—this strange girl who had already regained her composure. Her ears really did resemble those of an elf.
Wait… why do her ears look like an elf's?
Before he could voice the question, an irritated voice rang out from behind him.
"Harry! How long does it take to throw out the trash? Are you asking to be scolded?"
Aunt Petunia pushed the door open. The moment her eyes landed on Frieren, she froze, her face turning deathly pale.
Those pointed ears—just like those magical creatures!
Her grip tightened on her apron, nails digging into the fabric, her voice trembling uncontrollably:
"Harry! Get back inside—right now!"
"But Aunt Petunia, she just wants a map—"
"I said inside!"
Her voice rose sharply, fear stripping away her patience.
Seeing her tense expression, Harry reluctantly walked back toward the house, glancing over his shoulder every few steps. His eyes were filled with curiosity and concern.
Inside, Uncle Vernon heard the unusual panic in his wife's voice. He sprang up from the sofa, rushed upstairs, grabbed the shotgun from atop the wardrobe, and charged out—nearly colliding with Harry at the door.
"You useless boy!" he snarled, glaring at Harry, spittle flying onto his face. "I'll deal with you after I handle whatever's outside!"
Vernon stormed to the doorway—and saw Frieren standing by the roadside.
The moment her pointed ears and strange attire registered, he understood his wife's fear.
Just like those wizards who had come before—nothing but trouble!
He immediately raised the shotgun, aiming it at Frieren. His hands trembled uncontrollably.
"I don't know what kind of damned magical creature you are! And I don't care what you want with Harry Potter! You're not welcome here—get out!"
Frieren looked at the terrified family before her, unable to understand what was happening.
She blinked, glancing at the oddly shaped "crossbow" in his hands, then at Vernon's pale face and Petunia clutching the doorframe.
Confusion filled her… along with a faint sadness.
She only wanted to borrow a map.
Why were they so afraid?
"I mean no harm," she said, doing her best to keep her voice gentle. "I just want to borrow a map and find my way back."
"No map! Nothing at all!" Vernon roared, taking a deep breath and forcing himself a step forward, trying to intimidate her. "Goblin! Leave now—or I'll shoot!"
"Goblin?"
Frieren froze for a moment, her pale green eyes filled with confusion.
Goblins were those small creatures that hid in caves and stole shiny things.
She was clearly an elf.
But looking at Vernon's growing panic—and Petunia on the verge of tears—she knew explanations were useless.
So she slowly stepped back and left.
Only when Frieren's figure disappeared around the corner did Vernon finally lower the gun, as if all strength had left his body. His back was soaked with cold sweat, the shotgun trembling slightly in his hands.
Petunia rushed forward and grabbed his arm, her voice shaking:
"We have to move—immediately! Dumbledore can't protect anyone!"
"What if that thing just now was one of the Dark Lord's followers? What if they're still looking for Harry—this is too dangerous!"
Vernon shuddered at the memory of those black-robed figures knocking on their door years ago. He nodded vigorously.
"Yes! We leave Privet Drive tonight!"
He slung the gun over his shoulder, grabbed Petunia, and hurried inside—completely missing Harry standing at the doorway, his face full of confusion.