“You freak, what on earth were you doing in the bathroom…”
Dudley’s noisy voice rang out from the dining table, but the words cut off the moment he saw Harry’s face.
“What did you do to your hair? And where are your glasses?”
A look of total utter bewilderment washed over his fat face.
Mr. Dursley lowered his newspaper a few inches, peering over the top of his frames.
“Did you use my hair gel, boy?”
“My hair was getting too long. If I don’t comb it back, it blocks my vision,” Harry explained as he walked over to the stove.
Well, the great Captain Potter was actually making breakfast for this family of three.
If he wanted to, the simplest solution would be using a butter knife to silence Dursley within three seconds.
Even in his current frail body.
After all, Dursley wouldn’t be on guard against him; at ten years old, in their eyes, he was nothing more than a submissive little lamb.
But obviously, that was too simple.
It would bring the police.
This wasn’t two hundred years ago, nor was he out at sea.
In a society ruled by law, yes, dealing with problems required a bit more complexity.
Perhaps he needed to collect some hair from the Dursleys to attempt using witchcraft to curse and control them?
Hey, they were relatives after all—he wouldn’t take their lives.
But at the very least, he couldn’t let them keep treating him like a slave.
Or rather, the roles needed to be reversed.
“Yes, your hair is always a messy nightmare—it makes you look sloppy. Combing it back looks fine; you should have realized that long ago, Harry.” Dursley shifted his gaze back to his newspaper.
“Maybe you should hurry up with breakfast. I’m almost late—do you even keep track of time?”
“Harry!”
Aunt Petunia chimed in from the side, urging him on as well.
“Yes, yes, I know,” Harry replied offhandedly.
He expertly fried eggs, cooked bacon, and toasted bread to whip up breakfast.
The materials needed for a witchcraft ritual include…
What a hassle.
I wonder if the world I experienced in that dream is still this world.
Are there sea monsters here?
Well, even if there are, it would be hard for me to find them right now, let alone the other ingredients.
And without the Sword of Triton and the gem, I don’t know if I can even use witchcraft.
He let his mind wander as he prepared the meal.
Once he had laboriously finished making breakfast for the family of three—and himself, of course—and was about to enjoy it, they heard the letterbox click.
Some mail dropped onto the doormat by the front entrance.
“Get the mail, Dudley,” Mr. Dursley said from behind his paper.
“Make Harry get it.” Dudley’s fork had just stuffed a large piece of bacon into his mouth, his cheeks bulging like a hamster’s.
“Harry, go get it.” Petunia didn’t even raise her head.
Harry stood up submissively, having no intention of causing a scene.
Playing his role in this house, he left the kitchen and walked down the hallway to the front door to pick up the mail.
There were three items on the doormat: a postcard for Mr. Dursley, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and a final letter addressed to him.
The envelope was made of heavy parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink.
There was no stamp on it.
Frowning slightly, Harry turned the envelope over and saw a wax seal bearing a crest with a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter “H”.
Staying calm, he squatted by the door and opened the letter.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY…
Dear Mr. Potter, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…
Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment…
Term begins on 1 September.
We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress.
A letter from a magic school?
Harry’s breath hitched for a moment.
Did he believe it?
Without a doubt.
Having experienced that dream, how could he not believe in magic?
He even knew a bit of witchcraft curses himself.
After killing Blackbeard, he had learned the secrets of voodoo dolls and undead crewmen from his treasures.
Although Blackbeard had studied witchcraft for years, he had no inherent talent to perform it himself.
He was just an ordinary man.
His ability to cast witchcraft stemmed from a legendary artifact forged by Triton, Son of the Sea God—it was the Triton Gem on the sword that bestowed divine power.
Could it be that the gem in the dream bestowed some kind of trait upon me, so that I’m now judged to be a wizard and earned admission?
Harry speculated in his heart.
Still, he couldn’t fully trust it; it might just be a prank by Dudley’s gang of friends.
No, wait!
Those idiots didn’t have the brains for this.
Just like Dudley, aside from their physical size, their heads were filled with nothing but garbage!
Well, I can try writing a reply first.
Harry made his decision and hid the letter inside his sleeve.
“Boy! Bring it here!” Dursley yelled from the kitchen.
“What are you doing out there, checking the mail for a bomb?”
Harry didn’t answer.
He opened the front door and peered outside.
An owl was perched right on the front fence.
Perhaps he knew how to send a reply now.
“What are you doing, boy?” A voice came from behind him.
“I just wanted to see if the postman had left.”
After finishing breakfast, Harry quickly washed the dishes.
He returned to his room and carefully read through the letter again.
First-year students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will require: Three sets of plain work robes, one plain pointed hat for day wear, one pair of protective gloves…
All students should have a copy of each of the following: The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1), A History of Magic, Magical Theory, A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration…
Other Equipment: 1 wand, 1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2), 1 set glass or crystal phials…
The letter listed all the necessary supplies.
It sounds quite authentic.
Maybe it really isn’t a prank letter, and I was actually chosen by some magical academy.
That’s a lot of stuff, but where do I buy it?
You can’t get these at Waterstones.
If I take this list to ask a shop assistant, they’d definitely think I’m mad.
Logically speaking, there must be other kids like me who know nothing about the magical world.
The school will probably send someone over.
That works out perfectly—they can help me negotiate with the Dursleys.
Petunia certainly won’t let a fully grown servant go that easily!
Harry weighed his options in his mind.
Dear Mr. Dumbledore, I am confused about this acceptance letter to the magic school.
I do not know why I received it.
Is magic really real?
Strange things do happen around me often, but where am I supposed to buy these items?
I am an orphan, and my relatives, the Dursleys, might not be willing to pay for my schooling.
Could you help me figure out another way to enroll?
I can work at the school, doing some cleaning to pay for my…
Harry deliberated over his wording, trying his best to sound polite.
Only after he finished writing did he realize he didn’t even have money to send the letter.
Living like a servant in this household, how could he possibly have pocket money?
Hoping for the best, he slipped out the back door and circled around to the front yard fence.
The owl was still perched there, tilting its head to look at him with a low hoot.
“Are you from Hogwarts?” Harry held up the letter and asked in a low voice.
He didn’t think it was silly—Barbossa had a monkey on his ship that was equally smart and could understand human speech.
The owl ruffled its wings, fixed its round eyes on him, and nodded.
“…What a marvelous feeling.”
Harry couldn’t help a smile from creeping onto his face.
He handed over the letter.
“I don’t have money to post this right now, so if you could deliver it first, I…”
The owl let out an impatient hoot, darted its beak forward to grab the letter, spread its wings, and silently vanished into a distant dot.
It seemed no postage was required after all.