Ian’s visit brought a strange, heavy atmosphere over the household.
In the living room, the five of them sat on the sofa in silence, each wearing a distinctly different expression.
There was little to be said for Mr.
Dursley and his son, while Harry clearly had questions he wanted to ask.
However, seeing his aunt’s pale, troubled face, he ultimately chose to remain silent.
Only Ian sat at ease on the sofa, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and idly stirring it with a spoon, as if completely oblivious to the awkward silence around him.
Truth be told, Ian didn’t particularly enjoy coffee.
In fact, he disliked any beverage that altered his mental state.
Even so, he had to admit that his eldest sister possessed a knack for brewing it; the taste was undeniably rich and authentic.
His name was Ian Evans—a surname that made his relationship to Petunia and Lily immediately clear.
He was their younger brother.
Their biological brother.
Eleven years ago—or perhaps thirty, depending on how one counted—Ian had transmigrated into this world.
It was the world of Harry Potter, a story he had only ever experienced through movie screens in his past life.
He wasn’t sure whether Petunia and Lily had a younger brother in the original canon—presumably not—yet here he was, inexplicably born into the family.
In his previous life, Ian had been an orphan.
Though he had carved out a successful career at a young age, an advanced liver cancer diagnosis had ruthlessly shattered his hopes of living a long life, leaving him to count down his final days in a hospital bed.
To be given a second chance at life was the greatest blessing he could have asked for.
Moreover, this world possessed a fascinating and dangerous thing called magic.
Naturally, Ian had integrated into his new life with relative ease.
Unfortunately, Ian hadn’t been blessed with any sort of cheat system or status panel upon transmigrating, which had left him disappointed for quite a while.
After all, who could turn down the joy of getting something for nothing?
Working himself to an early grave in his past life had killed him young—was he supposed to grind himself to dust all over again in this one?
Fortunately, he still retained the most fundamental perk of a transmigrator: exceptional magical talent.
When Ian turned eleven, he received his acceptance letter to Hogwarts, just as his sister Lily had before him.
Thus, Ian entered the world-famous school of witchcraft and wizardry, deliberately choosing the lowest-profile house: Hufflepuff.
It wasn’t that Ian was overly timid; he simply had no choice.
Back then, Voldemort had not yet fallen, and Hogwarts was subtly influenced by Death Eaters.
As a mere nobody with barely any power, what was he supposed to do?
Go head-to-head with Voldemort?
Sorry, but no.
Having been given a second lease on life, he cherished his survival far too much.
Under the weight of such dangerous times, even a transmigrator like Ian could do little more than focus on self-preservation.
For seven years, Ian did his utmost to remain a background character, ensuring he drew no unwanted attention.
He spent his days shuttling between the Hogwarts library and abandoned classrooms, either absorbing knowledge from ancient books or sharpening his practical combat skills.
Knowledge is power—that saying held true even in the magical world.
In fact, here it was far more literal.
Certain magical arts genuinely conferred immense, tangible power.
Had things continued smoothly along that trajectory, Ian might well have grown into a formidable wizard or a great scholar in time.
However, certain events were simply inevitable—especially when he had a Gryffindor sister named Lily Evans.
Compared to the “utterly ordinary” Ian, Lily was every bit a true Gryffindor.
She was a brilliant witch, particularly gifted in Potions.
Ian had lost count of how many times his Potions professor, Horace Slughorn, had publicly praised Lily—a favor that had indirectly benefited Ian on numerous occasions.
Upon graduation, Ian declined the invitation from his sister and brother-in-law, James, choosing instead to leave Britain and travel the world—until the day Harry was born.
He had tried to prevent that tragedy from unfolding, but a carefully orchestrated ambush shattered his plans, sending all his preparations up in smoke.
At the memory, a cold, sharp gleam flickered in Ian’s eyes.
Just you wait, you scum.
Wash your necks clean…
I’ll hunt every last one of you down.
Across the room, Petunia watched Ian with a deeply conflicted expression as he sank into thought.
Eleven years without seeing him, yet time seemed to have left no trace upon his face.
If not for the occasional flicker of weary wisdom in his eyes, Petunia might have believed he was still the same younger brother who had visited her a decade ago.
Perhaps the magical world has potions to preserve youth?
Doesn’t Lily spend her time brewing those bizarre concoctions?
Petunia found herself thinking.
Seeing Ian set down his coffee cup, Petunia opened her mouth to speak, but in her haze, she suddenly didn’t know what to say.
Have you been well all these years?
or Why didn’t you come looking for me for so long?
Was it because of Lily?
Eleven years felt like a vast chasm dividing them into two entirely different worlds—even though, back then, her affection for her little brother had been no less than her affection for Lily.
Feeling a pang of sorrow, Petunia quietly lowered her head.
“Sister,” Ian spoke.
The simple form of address nearly broke Petunia’s composure.
She snapped her head up, staring intently at Ian’s handsome face.
For a fleeting second, she felt as though he were still the little brother from all those years ago.
Petunia could no longer hold back her emotions; tears welled up uncontrollably in her eyes.
“Ian…!” she choked out, her voice trembling as she called his name.
Seeing this, Mr.
Dursley quickly leaned in, patting Petunia’s back to comfort her while slinging a sharp glare in Ian’s direction.
Ian felt a touch helpless.
If he were to claim that his bond with his two sisters had been extraordinarily close, he wouldn’t even believe it himself.
Yet, having been an orphan in his past life, he had genuinely experienced a warmth of kinship from them that he had never known before—a warmth he deeply cherished.
Petunia harbored an intense jealousy toward Lily’s magical talent, but her feelings toward Ian were different.
She had always wanted to maintain the image of a perfect older sister in his eyes.
Because of this, Ian viewed both Petunia and Lily with equal affection.
Otherwise, he wouldn’t have come looking for her the moment he returned.
Realizing Petunia needed a moment to gather herself, Ian shifted his attention to the other two people in the room: Dudley Dursley and Harry Potter, his two nephews.
When it came to handling kids, Ian had his ways.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a card, and handed it to Dudley—a special gift he had prepared.
Dudley took the card with a puzzled look.
But as soon as he realized it was an admission ticket to a recent professional boxing match, his face lit up with excitement.
His opinion of this suddenly appeared uncle shot up to an absolute high.
“Uncle!” Dudley blurted out.
Aside from being their only son, Dudley owed his parents’ unconditional doting to the fact that he knew how to play his cards right.
At the very least, his call of “Uncle” sounded entirely genuine right now.
“Mm,” Ian acknowledged with a brief nod before turning his focus to Harry.
Strictly speaking, Harry was his main reason for coming today.
Looking at the somewhat thin and reclusive boy before him, Ian couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow.
Who could have guessed that this very boy had defeated Voldemort ten years ago, saved the British wizarding world, and become the legendary “Boy Who Lived”?
Yet on that very same day, he had lost his mother and father forever.
Harry was also staring intently at Ian with wide eyes.
It was only now that he noticed a faint mark at the center of his uncle’s brow—a mark so pale it was almost invisible.
It was a hexagram symbol, shimmering with a faint, fleeting golden light.
If not for Harry’s sharp visual reflexes, he would have missed it entirely.
Harry’s mind suddenly flashed back to the past month, to the barrage of owls that had been delivering letters to him, and the contents written inside…
Realizing the connection, Harry gasped softly as it dawned on him that the contents of those letters might actually be real.
The subtle change in Harry’s breathing brought Ian out of his thoughts.
Noticing where the boy was looking, Ian reached up and lightly touched the center of his forehead.
He shook his head with a quiet chuckle.
As expected of a future star Seeker, that eyesight was truly enviable.
“You saw it?” Ian asked Harry softly.
Ian clearly saw Harry’s eyes light up the moment he heard the question.
The boy blurted out impatiently, “Un…
Uncle, is magic real?” “Is that magic school real, too?” The word magic caused an abrupt silence to fall over the room.
Even Petunia stopped her quiet sobbing.
Her eyes snapped wide, and her finger trembled violently as she pointed at Harry.
“You…
how dare you speak that word in this house!” “Just as I thought, you’re just like your filthy, wretched…” Under Ian’s calm, unreadable gaze, the final insult died in her throat.
Even so, the somewhat softened atmosphere instantly turned rigid and tense once more.
Sensing that something was wrong, Dudley tried to quietly shift his bulky body backward into the sofa, but his massive frame made subtle movement impossible.
Ian merely glanced at him before turning his gaze back to Petunia.
After a brief silence, he got straight to the point.
“Sister, I came here today to take Harry with me.” The moment those words were uttered, the expressions of everyone present shifted dramatically.
A visible wave of joy washed over Uncle Vernon’s fat face.
To him, having Harry move out was the absolute best outcome imaginable.
He had been reluctant to take the boy in from the very beginning; if not for Petunia, he would have thrown Harry out long ago.
Little Dudley looked torn.
Part of him wanted Harry gone from his house, yet another part felt an unexpected twinge of reluctance.
Petunia’s expression, however, was far more complex.
In truth, ever since Harry received that letter from Hogwarts, she had known this day would come eventually—just as it had for Lily, and just as it had for Ian.
Seeing history repeat itself before her eyes, the familiar green monster of jealousy reared its ugly head once more.
Why?
Why is it always like this?
It was Lily back then, it was Ian, and now it’s Harry!
Petunia couldn’t help but turn her gaze toward her own son, Dudley.
Why couldn’t my sweet Dudley have it, too?
Petunia remained silent, but inside, her heart felt as though it were being bitten by venomous snakes.
Seeing that Petunia remained quiet, Ian turned his gaze toward Harry instead.
The excitement on Harry’s face had completely faded, replaced by a strange, hollow sort of confusion.
It was a choice: stay in this house where he had lived for eleven years—a place that had brought him not a single shred of happiness—or leave with this uncle he had only just met to explore an unfamiliar, magical world?
For an eleven-year-old boy, the decision felt almost overwhelmingly vast.