Although Harry thought he’d hidden his guilt pretty well, his mother spotted it the second they sat down for lunch.
“Harry, not hungry?” Mrs.
Potter asked, watching him poke at the fancy food on his plate.
He kept pushing bites around with his fork.
The meal looked amazing, but nothing tasted right.
“No,” he said automatically when she asked.
Mrs.
Potter set down her knife and fork.
“You can go,” she told the maids.
“Have the kitchen send an appetizer.” “Yes, ma’am.” The maids filed out, leaving just the two of them.
Mrs.
Potter wiped her hands and mouth, then came around behind his chair.
“Harry,” she said softly, leaning close to his ear.
“Still feeling bad inside?” Harry nodded.
“I think I killed that old man.” “It wasn’t you,” she said gently.
“It was an accident.
Killing a Muggle on purpose is illegal, but deaths from a magic rampage don’t count.
You didn’t mean for anyone to die.” “Will it happen again?
What if I lose control by accident one day?” “That’s exactly why you need to work harder.
Your rampage was way stronger than normal.
It means you have to understand and control your magic better than most wizards ever will.” She brushed his hair back, fingers pausing on the scar.
“Eat, sweetheart.
You need fuel to learn.
With your talent, you should have those ring spells down by dinner.
Hit that goal and tomorrow we’ll go shopping in the commercial district.
How does that sound?” Harry nodded, interest flickering at the mention of the wizard shopping area.
What kind of stuff would even be there?
The garden was still wrecked from his surge—flowers and leaves scattered everywhere, bushes torn up.
Without magic it would take hours to fix.
“Mom, don’t wizards have cleaning or fixing spells?” Harry asked as they left.
“Of course we do.
But there’s no hurry.
Unless you need it perfect right now, it’s better to let the Muggles handle it.
Can’t have them sitting around doing nothing on our coin.” The manor had plenty of practice spots.
Since the garden was a mess, Mrs.
Potter took him to Mr.
Potter’s usual training room.
Lyte popped in with another volunteer the second they arrived.
“Keep going,” Mrs.
Potter said.
“Now that you can feel and control your magic, using the ring should be simple.” She was right.
Once Harry learned to push magic into the right spots on the ring, the spells came easy.
He turned the volunteer into a rabbit with the Human Transfiguration spell, then switched him back with the counter.
Next came the Soul-Stealing Curse.
The man looked completely normal.
Harry figured he’d failed—especially since every Muggle in the manor already jumped to obey without magic.
Then Mrs.
Potter had him test it.
“Walk straight ahead and don’t stop until I say.” Lyte started interfering—tossing junk, then rocks, nails, finally a kitchen knife straight at the man’s face.
Harry screamed, “Dodge!” Only then did the man move.
The blade thudded into the floor right where his head had been.
He stood there shaking but perfectly still, waiting for Harry’s next order like nothing had happened.
The curse was scarier than Harry had imagined.
His mind jumped straight to the Dursleys.
“Mom, doesn’t this spell have a counter?” “It does, but soul-magic counters are complicated.
They can’t be put on a ring.
You’ll have to learn them the real way later.” She waved the man off.
Even without a direct command, the guy knew his place as a servant and left to collect his pay from Lyte.
“Spells are just complex ways magic expresses itself,” Mrs.
Potter explained.
“Words, gestures, even the ring—they’re only tools.
When you use the ring, really feel how the magic shifts inside it.
Don’t treat it like a simple trigger.” Harry stared at the ring for a long minute, like he could burn a hole through it.
Mrs.
Potter laughed.
“Staring won’t do it.
Takes practice.
But you’re wiped out.
That’s enough for today.
Let’s rest.” “Okay, Mom.” …
Mr.
Potter stayed buried in work and missed dinner.
After they ate, Mrs.
Potter gave Harry the full house tour.
By the end he was exhausted.
He curled up in her lap in front of the fireplace, where blue flames flickered and sent a cool breeze through the room.
She told him stories in a soft, steady voice.
Harry had never felt so safe.
He drifted off in her arms.
Listening to his even breathing, Mrs.
Potter smiled and carried him to bed.
“Madam, let me take him,” Petunia said quietly, stepping forward.
“No need.” Mrs.
Potter shook her head.
She started to change him into pajamas, but her hands passed straight through him—like he was made of smoke.
His clothes too.
Mrs.
Potter sucked in a sharp breath and forced her face calm.
It took her a long moment to steady her voice.
“Petunia, go take care of something else.” Petunia looked confused but didn’t argue.
She left fast.
“Lyte.” The house-elf appeared instantly.
“Find James.
Tell him it’s urgent.” Lyte glanced at Harry in her arms and nodded at once.
“Yes, Mistress.”