This time the sleep didn’t pull Harry back to the other world.
A soft knock woke him—nothing like the violent pounding Aunt Petunia used back at Privet Drive.
No shouting, no threats.
Just gentle tapping.
Harry stretched, sat up, and glanced around the cozy bedroom.
Definitely still in Potter Manor.
“Come in,” he called.
The door opened and a line of male servants filed inside.
“Good morning, young master.
We’re the staff the mistress assigned to you.
We’ll help you wash and dress.” The lead servant bowed.
“Uh… thanks,” Harry said, a little embarrassed by the attention.
“It’s our honor.” The man clapped once and the whole group surrounded him.
They helped him into fresh clothes, washed his face, and the lead servant—Sree—carefully combed his messy hair.
Harry’s hair had always been a nightmare.
Aunt Petunia had tried shaving it off more than once, but it always grew back overnight.
Now he understood.
Accidental magic.
He caught Sree’s reflection in the mirror and frowned.
“I remember you.
You took me to the dining room yesterday.” Sree looked thrilled.
“Yes, young master!
I’m your personal valet.
My name is Sree.
The mistress chose me personally.” “Personal valet sounds fancy.” Harry tilted his head.
“Why no female servants?
I thought rich families always had maids.” “That’s not allowed,” Sree said quickly.
“The mistress was very clear.
If you prefer, you can ask her—there are plenty of suitable maids in the manor.” “Uh… no thanks.” Harry felt his face heat up.
Whatever his mom had decided, he wasn’t about to argue.
Dressed in new clothes and wearing fresh glasses, Harry stepped into the hallway.
“Where are my parents?” “Master James is at the factory.
Mistress Lily went to the farm to check on the workers—she should be back before lunch.” Harry nodded.
Busy parents.
Made sense.
In the other world they would’ve been busy too, if they were still alive.
“Would you like breakfast, young master?
I can have the kitchen prepare anything.” “Just a sandwich.
Send it to the study.” Harry wanted to look at his new books.
The Standard Book of Spells could wait—it was thick as a brick.
He was more curious about Magic Analysis.
“Right away.
Any preferences?” “No, whatever’s easy.” Sree gave quick instructions to another servant and led Harry upstairs.
As they passed the railing, Harry glanced down and saw Aunt Petunia directing a small army of servants in the grand hall.
“What are they doing?” “Preparing for your birthday banquet, young master.
It’s only a week away.
Madam Evans is handling the layout.” Evans—Petunia’s maiden name.
Harry had heard the Dursleys mention it before.
A whole banquet for his eleventh birthday?
That seemed… excessive.
Would there be hundreds of people?
Mountains of presents?
What was he even supposed to do?
The thought made his stomach twist.
They reached the study.
Sree opened the heavy door and a wave of old paper and ink smell rolled out.
Harry’s nerves instantly calmed.
The room was enormous—bigger than the entrance hall downstairs.
Dozens of tall bookshelves lined the walls, every one packed with thick volumes.
This wasn’t a study.
It was a library.
Harry stepped inside, then turned.
“Sree?” “Yes, young master?” The valet stood politely outside the door.
“Why aren’t you coming in?” “We’re not permitted to enter the sacred study,” Sree explained.
Harry didn’t ask why.
This world had too many strange rules already.
“What about my breakfast?” “Master Lyte will bring it in.
He’s already prepared your books as well.” House-elves outranked human servants?
Interesting.
Harry walked back inside.
The door clicked shut behind him.
The quiet was perfect—just the faint scent of paper and ink.
A plate with a thick smoked-meat sandwich and a cup of warm milk tea sat on the desk by the window.
Lyte must have popped in and out without a sound.
Harry ate quickly, wiped his hands and face with the warm towel that appeared beside the plate, then opened the book he’d been waiting for.
Magic Analysis by Gellert Grindelwald.
The cover showed a stern half-portrait of the man himself.
Harry flipped to the first page.
“Magic is the key wizards use to deconstruct the world.” The whole book was theory—no spells at all.
It should have been dry as dust, but the words flowed straight into Harry’s head like they wanted to be read.
His green eyes shimmered with tiny flecks of blue light as he turned page after page, completely lost in the text.
He didn’t hear the door open.
Didn’t notice time passing.
A gentle hand touched his shoulder.
“Harry, it’s lunchtime.” Harry blinked hard and looked up at his mother.
The blue lights in his eyes faded as fast as they had appeared.