Silence descended upon the living room once more.
Harry bit his lip tightly, his eyes glued to the carpet as though searching for an answer hidden in the fibers.
Ian waited in quiet composure, making no move to rush him.
“Harry,” Ian said, his voice smooth and clear, breaking the stagnant air.
“Magic is very real.
It’s as real as the power your mother once possessed, and as real as the power I hold right now.” With a subtle flick of his wrist, a thin wooden wand slipped seamlessly from Ian’s sleeve into his hand.
He gave a casual tap to the teacup resting on the coffee table.
Under the influence of an unseen force, the cup distorted instantly.
In the blink of an eye, a miraculous transformation took place.
A delightfully plump, adorable badger replaced the cup, its fur subtly carrying the faint pattern of the porcelain’s original design.
The little creature stood up on its hind legs, its tiny eyes darting around the room with cautious curiosity.
Before it could react any further, Ian tapped his wand once more; the badger melted away, and the teacup restored itself to its original shape.
Harry snapped his head up, his emerald-green eyes shining with disbelief and intense longing.
Dudley jumped in fright, though his terror quickly morphed into wide-eyed wonder and envy.
To a child, magic was an irresistible marvel.
“So my mum, my dad, and you…
you’re all…” Harry began again.
“—Wizards,” Ian finished for him, nodding gently.
“Your parents, James and Lily, were exceptional magical talents.
And you, Harry, have inherited that very same gift.” Beside him, Aunt Petunia’s shoulders trembled faintly, but she kept her head lowered, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.
Uncle Vernon couldn’t help interjecting, his booming voice carrying a mix of overwhelming relief and a poorly concealed trace of contempt: “So when are you taking him off our hands?
The sooner, the better, I say—for the sake of his…
er, ‘education’!” Ian ignored Vernon completely.
His eyes remained fixed on Harry, specifically on the area of the boy’s forehead hidden beneath his messy bangs.
“Before anything else, Harry, I need you to make a choice.” “A choice?” Harry repeated, bewildered.
“Yes, a choice.” Ian leaned forward slightly, his gaze carrying a mixture of quiet scrutiny and anticipation.
“Tomorrow, or perhaps the day after—who can say for sure?” Ian shrugged casually.
“Hogwarts sends staff to conduct home visits for certain muggle-raised young witches and wizards.
A professor will be coming here to explain things to your family.” “Muggle?” Harry frowned instinctively at the unfamiliar word.
“Muggle,” Ian echoed, a subtle expression—half-ironic, half-amused—crossing his features.
“It’s the term wizards use for non-magical people.
And because of your rather unique status, Harry, that professor might do something…
unexpected.” As he spoke, Ian glanced out of the corner of his eye at Dudley, who was secretly trying to pry open the gift box on the table.
If Ian remembered correctly, Hagrid was going to sprout a pig’s tail on the little glutton.
Performing human transfiguration—a highly complex and restricted branch of magic—without batting an eye on a non-magical child, only to face zero consequences afterward…
It was clear that even the wizarding world ran on influence and connections.
Dudley, still struggling to open the box, suddenly felt a strange chill run down his spine.
He hurriedly patted his backside.
Finding nothing amiss, he reached for the box once more, drawn by the delicious aroma of cake wafting through the wrapping.
Ian found the sight inwardly amusing, though his expression remained perfectly composed.
He turned back to Harry.
“So, you have two choices.
Option one: you leave with me right now.
I have a house in Godric’s Hollow—a wizarding settlement where your parents’ old home still stands.” Harry’s eyes lit up instantly at those words.
He had never heard anything detailed about his parents, nor had he ever seen a single photograph of them.
All he had ever been told was Aunt Petunia’s story about them dying in a car crash.
Noticing the shift in Harry’s demeanor, Ian felt a wave of quiet reassurance.
He paused briefly before continuing, “Option two: you stay here, wait for the Hogwarts professor to arrive, and let them take you to Diagon Alley to buy your school supplies.
I assume you’ve read your acceptance letter; the supply list is quite extensive.” Education was an expensive affair, whether in the muggle world or the magical one.
Harry nodded rapidly.
He had already been worrying about how he was supposed to pay for all those magical items.
He certainly didn’t expect his uncle to foot the bill.
By all accounts, leaving with his newly discovered uncle seemed like the obvious, logical choice.
And yet…
Harry couldn’t help casting a hesitant glance toward Aunt Petunia.
Even though his aunt’s family had never treated him well, she was still the authority figure he relied on.
This “uncle,” on the other hand, was someone he had never even heard mentioned, let alone met, in all his eleven years.
Can I really trust him?
Harry wondered, utterly torn.
Petunia felt Harry’s gaze on her.
She had been listening quietly to every word, and she easily read the doubt in his eyes.
It caught her off guard.
She hadn’t expected this nephew—whom she had always looked down upon—to instinctively turn to her for guidance.
A sudden pang of guilt pierced her heart.
She raised her head, her eyes locking onto Ian’s.
In front of a bewildered Harry, she demanded tightly, “Ian, tell me—why now?” “You had the chance to adopt Harry right from the beginning!” “What are you really after?” Petunia scrutinized her younger brother, her voice dripping with sharp suspicion.
Her sudden outburst caught everyone off guard, leaving even Ian momentarily silent.
If anyone in this house was consistently cruel to Harry, it was Petunia.
Had she not led the charge, Vernon and Dudley’s dislike of the boy would have at least been tempered by a desire to keep the peace with her.
For Petunia to step up and challenge Ian on his behalf left Harry staring at her in sheer shock.
It was as if he were seeing his aunt clearly for the very first time.
Yet, her point cut deep.
If Ian had truly cared, why hadn’t he taken Harry in ten years ago instead of showing up out of the blue today?
As that thought took root, the suspicion in Harry’s green eyes deepened when he looked back at Ian.
Ian didn’t reply immediately.
He lowered his eyes, his fingers tapping a rhythmic, thoughtful pattern against his knee, as if carefully weighing his words—or hesitating to speak them.
The living room fell dead silent, save for the faint rustle of Dudley fumbling with the box and the distant hum of traffic outside.
When Ian finally spoke, his voice was noticeably lower, carrying a heavy, somber weight.
“You’re right, Petunia.
I had the chance.
Legally and by blood, I had just as much right to be Harry’s guardian as you did.” “But I couldn’t.
Do you have any idea…
up until a few days ago, I was trapped in an unknown place, unable to even find my way back?” “The wizarding world is far more dangerous than you can fathom.
It isn’t just dark wizards—sometimes, a seemingly insignificant creature or curse can take your life in an instant.” Ian turned his gaze sharply onto Harry, his eyes piercing.
“Do you truly believe your parents’ deaths were an accident?” “No.
It was a war—a war that raged for over a decade and consumed the entire wizarding world.” “They dragged themselves right into the thick of it.
I tried to reason with them, to convince them to step back, but they were stubbornly persistent.
We had a bitter fallout over what I thought were their ‘absurd’ ideals.” “In the end, I chose to walk away.
I left Britain.
I left Europe.” “I suppose in Lily’s eyes, I was nothing more than a coward running away.” A complex expression crossed Ian’s face—a mix of deep sorrow and self-mockery that Harry couldn’t quite decipher.
But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, so fleeting that Harry wondered if he had imagined it altogether.
Regaining his composure, Ian continued, “Later, Lily wrote to tell me she was pregnant, and that she wanted me there to witness your birth.
She said that in the magical world, we were the only family each other had left.” “So, a month before you were born, I came back.” “Except an unexpected ambush threw everything off course.
I missed your birth, and I missed seeing you grow up…
right up until today.” Ian’s story concluded, leaving the room heavy with the weight of his dangerous, turbulent past.
Everyone was stunned into silence—everyone except Harry.
Harry whipped his head around to stare at the silent Petunia, a flare of intense hurt and resentment flashing in his emerald eyes.
“Ha…
You told me!
You told me they died in a car crash!” He felt like a complete fool.
For eleven long years, he had lived under a fabricated lie—a lie crafted by the very person closest to him by blood—only to learn the tragic truth today.
It felt as though the roof above his head had caved in.
Harry stared fixedly at Petunia, tears welling uncontrollably in his eyes.
Perhaps it was Ian’s sudden arrival, or perhaps it was the dam breaking after a decade of suppressed resentment.
The sight of Harry’s tearful, accusing glare snapped something inside Petunia.
She surged to her feet, pointing a trembling, furious finger at the boy, her voice rising to a shrill, frantic screech: “Yes!
I lied to you!
I lied to you for ten whole years—and what of it?!” “Were you expecting me to tell a toddler that his mother was murdered by a dark terrorist?!” “Was I supposed to tell you that your mother was a lunatic who spent every single day locked in her room, fiddling with foul-smelling potions and bizarre tricks?!” “Or perhaps you wanted me to admit that I was jealous of her?!
Jealous that she got to go off to Hogwarts while I was left behind?!” “I wrote a letter!
I wrote to that old madman Dumbledore, begging him to take me!” Petunia had completely broken down.
The sheer weight of Harry’s hatred had ripped open her deepest, most painful scars, exposing them to the light.
She raved hysterically, unleashing every emotion she had kept buried for over a decade: her deep-seated jealousy of Lily, her resentment toward Dumbledore for rejecting her, her hatred for James—that “nasty boy” who had stolen her sister away—and the raw, unhealed grief of receiving the news of Lily’s death.
The sheer ferocity of her breakdown stunned everyone in the room.
The resentment in Harry’s eyes slowly dissolved into sheer bewilderment.
He stared at his aunt in stunned silence, barely recognizing the woman standing before him.
Vernon and Dudley were equally terrified by Petunia’s explosive breakdown.
They rushed forward to support her, trying frantically to soothe her while throwing furious, protective glares at Harry and Ian.
To them, Ian was just as much to blame for this chaotic mess.
Ian, however, remained completely unphased.
He rose smoothly from the sofa, pulling his wand into his grip.
Under the terrified gazes of Vernon and Dudley, he leveled the slender piece of wood directly at Petunia.
“Stupefy!” Ian’s low, steady voice echoed through the living room.
A beam of soft white light burst from the tip of his wand, striking Petunia cleanly in the chest before any of them could react.
Thud.
Petunia instantly went limp, collapsing silently into Vernon’s arms.
“What did you do to her, you bastard?!” Vernon roared in a panicked rage, his furious voice shaking the entire house a second later.