"Get up! Get up! Quickly!"
The urgent sound of knocking echoed as Harry Potter groggily opened his eyes.
He instinctively reached under his pillow for his wand but grasped at nothing.
His green eyes narrowed, and as he raised his arm, he noticed it had grown weak and frail.
His heart sank as he looked around and realized he was in a cramped and narrow space.
The cupboard under the stairs…
The Dursleys’ cupboard under the stairs. This was a long-forgotten memory.
Could it be? Have I returned to 1991?
A sharp voice shouted again, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. He recognized it as Aunt Petunia’s voice.
He hadn’t heard it in six years, almost forgetting the Dursleys altogether.
Sitting up, Harry surveyed the cramped space.
It’s much smaller than the dormitory at Hogwarts, he thought.
Ever since he had found that Hogwarts acceptance letter in this very cupboard, he had been whisked away to a school named Hogwarts, where he studied and lived for six years.
He even felt like he was starting to blend into that Victorian-era lifestyle. Yet, somehow, he was suddenly back in the Elizabethan era.
Harry grabbed his glasses from beside his pillow. Noticing the tape-wrapped frame, he curled a finger and lightly flicked it.
The tape snapped with a crackling sound, circled the glasses’ frame, and vanished as the frame restored itself.
Putting on his glasses and stepping out, Harry saw Aunt Petunia had already left. A pungent and indescribable smell wafted toward him. Following the odor to the kitchen, he found its source—an iron basin in the filthy sink.
The Dursleys were already seated at the dining table. Harry marveled at how they tolerated the smell—though, considering Dudley’s pig-like appetite and size, it would be strange if he wasn’t eating.
Seeing Harry enter, Uncle Vernon instinctively frowned.
Before he could speak, the mailbox clattered, and letters dropped onto the doormat by the door.
“What are you standing there for?” Uncle Vernon barked. Then, turning to Dudley, he said, “Use your Smeltings stick to make him fetch them.”
Seeing Dudley gleefully reaching for the stick, Harry cast him a long look and walked off.
Three letters lay scattered on the doormat. One was from Aunt Marge, another appeared to be a bill, and the last one was addressed in elegant green ink:
Surrey, Little Whinging, Privet Drive No. 4, The Cupboard Under the Stairs, Mr. Harry Potter.
The envelope was made of heavy parchment, sealed with wax bearing the Hogwarts crest.
Taking a deep breath, Harry turned the envelope over. As expected, it bore the Hogwarts seal.
Such letters… Yesterday—no, six years ago, to be precise—he had found one just in the cupboard. It was what led him to the Victorian era.
Holding the letter, Harry returned to the kitchen amid Vernon’s impatient shouting. He placed the other two letters on the table and carefully opened his own.
“Dad!” Dudley suddenly yelled. “Dad! Harry’s got something!”
Before the words settled, Harry felt someone lunge at him. Instinctively, he raised his hand, and Uncle Vernon was suddenly floating mid-air before crashing back down.
Non-verbal spellcasting, wandless magic.
This was Harry Potter, Hogwarts’ premier dueling champion.
“Wingardium Leviosa,” a standard levitation charm.
Paired with “Descendo” (soft landing), it was a spell combination taught to him by Sebastian Sallow from Slytherin House.
Considering his uncle’s troll-like bulk, Harry figured a hard fall might be fatal. So, he stopped the descent halfway, leaving Vernon dangling just inches above the ground.
Holding his letter, Harry fanned himself casually. When Vernon began spewing profanities, Harry snapped his fingers, magically sealing Vernon’s mouth like a zipped bag.
“Do you mind?” Harry asked with a polite smirk.
Aunt Petunia let out a sharp scream.
“You… You haven’t even gone to Hogwarts yet! How do you know magic?”
Harry’s sharp ears caught the detail in her words.
Lifting his head, his emerald eyes locked on hers. “That’s not important. What matters is how you know about Hogwarts and magic.”
He waved the letter lightly.
Petunia’s throat went dry.
“It seems you’ve been hiding quite a lot from me, Aunt,” Harry said with a chuckle. His tone was light but carried an edge as he glanced at Dudley, who was frozen, and Petunia, who looked terrified. “Care to tell me?”
“No, absolutely not!” Petunia shrieked hysterically.
Harry set the heavy parchment letter aside. Watching his aunt’s reaction and Vernon’s futile struggles in the air, memories of years of abuse surged back.
It wasn’t something six years at a magical school could erase. But while Harry bore no grudge against the Dursleys, Petunia’s attitude made him less inclined to be lenient.
“Aunt, surely you’ve heard of Legilimency—a spell that allows wizards to read minds?” Harry said with a polite, refined tone. “I’d hate for us to resort to that.”
Petunia looked at Harry as though he were a stranger. Overnight, he seemed to have transformed into someone disturbingly composed and dignified.
What she didn’t know was that, thanks to the eccentric Phineas Nigellus Black, Hogwarts students were required to learn “pureblood etiquette.”
Even a stone would absorb some flavor after six years, let alone Harry, a naturally clever wizard.
“Fine, fine,” Petunia finally relented. “Your parents were wizards. They were killed by a powerful dark wizard. That’s all I know! I don’t understand what they taught at that wretched school!”
“So, you’re not a witch?”
When Harry said this, Petunia’s face twisted in anger and shame.
“Thank you for the information, Aunt,” Harry said with a smile, releasing Vernon from the spell and leaving them behind as he returned to his cupboard.
Back inside, Harry opened the letter. At first glance, one detail struck him:
Frowning, Harry recalled Phineas Nigellus Black, the headmaster during his time at Hogwarts.
Could Phineas Nigellus Black be dead?
Harry’s previously sour mood brightened at the thought.
Merlin’s baggy pants…
This called for a celebration!