He made sure to hit each of them with another Soul-Stealing Curse first.
“You freak!
You psycho!
What the hell did you do to us?” Dudley charged the second he was human again.
His parents barely managed to hold him back.
It wasn’t easy—the kid was like a wild boar and nearly dragged both of them to the floor.
“Calm down, darling,” Petunia and Vernon said, clutching their son while shooting wary looks at Harry.
Vernon got to his feet, trying to sound like the man of the house.
His voice shook.
“Listen here.
This is our house.
You don’t go causing trouble.
If you’re planning to start anything, then get out!” The threat had zero bite.
Nothing like the old days when Harry did anything “abnormal”—hair growing back overnight, Dudley’s old clothes shrinking to doll size, or getting chased onto the chimney—and Vernon would lock him in the cupboard under the stairs for at least a week.
Harry finally understood those incidents.
They were his own accidental magic outbursts, triggered whenever his emotions ran high.
Compared to the full rampage at Potter Manor, turning his own hair long or shrinking clothes was nothing.
If he ever lost control like that inside this house, the whole place would probably explode.
His thoughts drifted.
He blinked and focused on the family again.
“I’m hungry.
Go make me breakfast.” “Hungry?
You freak don’t get hungry?
Why don’t you go dig up cabbages in a field or something?” Dudley sneered.
Then he followed his parents into the kitchen anyway.
“Wait, darling—what are you doing?” “Making breakfast.
Didn’t you hear the freak?
He’s hungry.” “But you don’t know how to cook.” “I know, but I have to.” Harry called after them.
“Dudley, don’t mess it up.
You too, Uncle Vernon.” Only one and a half people in this house could actually cook—Petunia and the half that was Harry.
Vernon and Dudley were disasters in the kitchen.
Without the two disasters getting in the way, breakfast hit the table fast.
Harry sat down while Petunia dumped a plate of fried bacon and eggs in front of him.
“Can’t believe we’re actually feeding you this.” “Should stuff you till you burst.” “I wish I could kick you out the second you finish eating.” Harry picked up his knife and fork.
“Quiet.” The Dursleys looked furious, but every mouth snapped shut.
The Soul-Stealing Curse really did let them keep their personalities and habits while forcing them to obey.
Harry hadn’t fully understood it before.
Now it was obvious.
It could even make Dudley—who never did chores—walk into the kitchen and cook breakfast he didn’t know how to make.
Practice really was everything.
“No more orders for now,” Harry said around a mouthful of egg.
“Forget everything that just happened.
Go back to your normal routines.
Pretend I don’t exist unless there are outsiders around.” The moment the command lifted, the Dursleys slipped right back into their regular lives.
Dudley waddled upstairs to sleep until noon.
Petunia started making Vernon’s breakfast for work.
They acted like nothing had happened.
Just like Harry had ordered, they treated him like he wasn’t even there.
This should cut down on most of the bullshit, Harry thought.
He had the curse, but he didn’t want to push it too far.
The image of the old man he’d accidentally killed was still fresh.
He didn’t want any more bodies on his conscience.
This setup was good enough.
He didn’t have to worry about getting bullied anymore.
He could do whatever he wanted—watch whatever he wanted on TV, play with Dudley’s toys if he felt like it.
But he quickly realized he didn’t actually want to watch TV or play with toys.
His mind kept drifting back to Mom and Dad.
It had only been a few hours, but he already missed them like crazy.
He wondered if taking a nap would send him straight back to that world.
No summer homework.
No Petunia barking orders at him all day.
A thunderous pounding at the front door shattered his thoughts.
Someone was knocking?
More like trying to batter the door down with a siege ram.
Harry jumped off the couch, trying to picture which of the Dursleys’ relatives could make that much noise.
None of them.
Not even Aunt Marge throwing her whole body against the door would sound like that.
The knocking came again—louder.
The hinges groaned.
Petunia went to answer it.
That made sense.
Under Harry’s orders she treated him like he didn’t exist, so she wasn’t about to tell him to get the door.
Harry heard the door open, followed by a shrill scream.
That voice could shatter glass.
He leaned out of the living room just in time to see Petunia sprint past like the devil was after her.
He looked toward the front door and instantly understood why.
It looked like a brown bear was squeezing through the doorway.
The thing had to duck and turn sideways just to fit.
Once it straightened up, its head nearly brushed the ceiling.
Not a bear.
A person.
A giant—at least ten feet tall.
He wore a massive coat stitched from some kind of thick fur.
Wild hair and an even wilder beard hid most of his face, but the eyes that landed on Harry didn’t look mean at all.
“Hagrid!” the giant boomed with a grin.
“You must be Harry!
Name’s Rubeus Hagrid.