Noctis perched on the highest branch of the old oak opposite Number 4, Privet Drive, its dark silhouette perfectly hidden by the dense foliage.
Its sharp gaze swept over the street and nearby houses, searching for any sign of the disheveled, emaciated fugitive.
For several days now, all it had seen was a scrawny, black-haired boy darting about like a grey mouse, doing endless chores and enduring constant scoldings.
It was exceedingly dull.
The human cub's occasional flashes of defiance did briefly spark its interest, but that was all.
Just like now.
Inside Number 4, Privet Drive, in Little Whinging, Surrey, a nauseating "family gathering" had reached its peak.
The bloated Aunt Marge, like a mobile mound of flesh, occupied the most comfortable armchair.
In front of her, bottles of alcohol stacked up as Vernon dutifully poured, the heavy scent of brandy seemingly strong enough to seep through the glass.
Two thick fingers clutched a wine glass as her loud, vicious voice sprayed spittle into the air.
"…So, Potter, it's no surprise you turned out like this!"
She turned toward Vernon, putting on a show of consolation. "Vernon, don't blame yourself too much. When something's rotten to the core, not even the gods can fix it!"
She paused, took a deep swig, then fixed her gaze on Harry, who sat huddled in the corner, trying to make himself as small as possible—her eyes appraising him as though he were some rare specimen in a zoo.
Harry forced himself to stare at the food on his plate, but his hands trembled uncontrollably, heat flaring across his cheeks.
The black hair falling over his forehead hid his eyes—and with them, the surging fury and bone-deep hatred burning inside.
He had imagined it countless times: drawing his wand and making this vicious woman taste a spell, or turning her obnoxious bulldog as fat as she was… but he couldn't.
He was still underage and forbidden from using magic outside school. If he did, he wouldn't just be expelled from Hogwarts—he might even end up in Azkaban.
After forcing himself to breathe and regain control, Harry finally suppressed the rage boiling in his chest.
Aunt Marge reached for her brandy.
"This is the hard truth of heredity!" she declaimed, spittle flying. "You can tell by dogs! If the bitch is lowborn trash, then the pups she breeds certainly won't be worth anything—"
At that very moment—Bang!
The glass in Aunt Marge's hand exploded without warning. Shards flew in every direction.
She froze, eyes wide, blinking in disbelief as cold liquor mixed with splinters of glass ran down her flushed, bloated cheeks.
"Marge!" Aunt Petunia screamed. "Oh my goodness! Are you all right?"
"I—I'm fine!" Aunt Marge stammered, wiping her face clumsily with a napkin. "I must have gripped it too hard! It's happened before… honestly, Petunia, don't make such a fuss. I've got strong hands…"
However, Petunia and Vernon's suspicious gazes swept back and forth over Harry. He immediately decided to skip dessert and escape from the table as fast as possible.
He rushed into the dim hallway, leaned against the cold wall, and gasped for breath. He hadn't lost control like that in a long time. It can't happen again, he thought irritably.
Just then, his eyes drifted toward the window without thinking—and he froze.
A raven, black as night, was quietly perched on the windowsill, its intelligent eyes fixed unblinkingly on him.
Harry went completely still. He recognized the bird.
"Mr. Noctis…?" he whispered in disbelief. "H-how are you here?"
The raven did not answer. It simply spread its wings with calm elegance and flew straight into the house through the open window.
Harry's heart shot straight into his throat. If the Dursleys noticed it, the fragile peace he'd endured for days would be completely destroyed. He hurried after it.
Fortunately, although Noctis landed boldly atop the high chandelier like a living shadow, everyone else in the room—absorbed in brandy and roast meat—seemed utterly oblivious to its presence.
Harry sat back down, his thoughts in chaos.
Why was it here? Was it because of the glass just now? Had someone noticed? Had it been sent to watch him?
The thought sent a chill down his spine.
For the remainder of the torturous dinner, whenever Aunt Marge's venomous remarks flowed freely, Harry gritted his teeth and forced himself to think about the consequences of using magic—about expulsion.
That reminder barely kept him outwardly calm, but it left his eyes unfocused and his expression vacant, as though his soul had slipped partway out of his body.
"Tsk, tsk, forgive me for speaking out of turn," Aunt Marge squinted at Harry, then turned to Dudley with a fawning smile. "A strong young man like Dudley is much more pleasing to the eye! Just look at his build—he'll be as burly as his father one day for sure! …Vernon, pour me another. This wine is really quite good!"
Her bloated head suddenly swung back toward Harry, her greasy gaze sliding over him like the tongue of a cold snake. Harry's heart clenched.
Here we go again.
"And look at you—" Aunt Marge shoved a large piece of roast meat into her mouth, then pointed her fork at Harry with open contempt. "Scrawny and pinched-looking, born with that miserable little face! Just like some dogs! Last year, I had Colonel Fubster drown one—thin as a rat, sickly and weak. Clearly bad breeding!"
Harry repeated desperately in his head, Hold it in. If I lose control, I'll be expelled from Hogwarts. I might even be sent to Azkaban.
But the fat woman kept ranting.
"I tell you, a bad seed is always a bad seed. Sooner or later, its true nature shows!"
She tossed the bare bones onto the floor, and the bulldog lunged forward at once, crunching them loudly.
Marge then patted Petunia's bony hand with her shovel-like palm in a show of "affection." "Petunia, I'm not talking about your family—but that sister of yours, tsk tsk, such a disgrace! And now the punishment is sitting right here in front of us!"
Harry stared fixedly at his plate, his ears ringing. Every one of Marge's words felt like a drill, relentlessly boring into his sanity.
He clenched his jaw, the taste of rust filling his mouth.
"And that James Potter," Aunt Marge gulped down a large mouthful of brandy, spilling it onto the tablecloth without noticing, her voice rising even higher. "I heard he didn't even have a proper job before?"
"That's right!" Vernon hastily chimed in, his eyes flicking nervously toward Harry. "No job at all!"
"I knew it!" Aunt Marge slapped her thigh triumphantly, took another big swig, and wiped her greasy mouth on her sleeve. "Useless! Liar! Lazybones! Good-for-nothing trash! A shiftless wastrel! He—"
"He's not!"
The words rang out like thunder.
The dining room fell instantly silent.
Harry snapped his head up, his whole body shaking with rage. He had never felt anger like this before—raw and overwhelming, like a volcano about to erupt.
"More wine, Marge!" Vernon shrieked, his face turning gray as he grabbed the bottle and poured the remaining brandy into her glass.
Then he rounded on Harry, eyes bloodshot. "You! Get back to your room. Now! Immediately—!"
"No, Vernon." Aunt Marge let out a loud burp and raised a fat hand to stop him. Her reddened eyes locked onto Harry like a venomous snake's stare. "Let him talk. Go on, boy. You're very proud of your dear parents, aren't you? Too bad they were smashed into mincemeat, hm? I bet they were both dead drunk—"
"They didn't die in a car crash!" Harry roared, leaping to his feet.
"They did die in a car crash, you lying little bastard!"
Aunt Marge shrieked, her chest heaving violently. "They croaked and dumped you, a useless burden, on these decent, hardworking relatives! If you ask me, if you'd been left on my doorstep, I'd have sent you straight to an orphanage, or drowned you in the toilet! Ungrateful little pup!"
"Is that so?" Harry's voice shook. "Then I would rather have grown up in an orphanage."
"Shut up!" Vernon glared at him with his small, furious eyes, lowering his voice into a thin, vicious threat. "Say one more word, boy, and I'll beat the guts out of you!"
Harry was seething, but the moment Vernon's words landed, something strange made him freeze.
He saw Noctis move on the chandelier.
The raven swooped down like silent black lightning, hovering precisely above Aunt Marge's newly refilled glass of brandy.
A thin, grayish-white dropping fell straight into the golden liquid, dissolving without a sound.
No one noticed.
Except Harry.
Seeing Harry suddenly fall silent, Aunt Marge wore a smug, triumphant sneer. She picked up the "enhanced" brandy without a second thought and took a large gulp.
Harry watched coldly, biting hard into the inside of his lip to keep a burst of laughter from escaping.
Aunt Marge smacked her lips, her brow knitting in confusion, as if she had just tasted something profoundly wrong.
She looked down at the glass in her hand, then glanced at the others, clearly puzzled by why the brandy tasted… wrong.
Then she opened her thick, scarlet-painted lips again, ready to speak—to hurl another insult or complain about the wine...
But when she tried to voice her next, even more vicious remark, only a few hoarse, broken gurgles came out.
The smug look on her face froze instantly, replaced by sheer, unimaginable terror.
She cleared her throat violently, batting at her neck, her face flushing a deep crimson. Yet no matter how hard she tried, nothing emerged but louder gurgling and desperate gasps.
—She couldn't speak.
Vernon's smile collapsed. "Marge? Marge! What's wrong with you? Are you choking?"
Petunia panicked. "Oh my! Marge! Quick, drink some wine, clear your throat!"
Even Dudley stopped chewing. For once, his gaze tore itself away from the television as he stared blankly at his aunt, who had suddenly become a silent mime, flailing wildly while only producing garbled noises.
Harry's eyes widened as his gaze slowly shifted from the desperately struggling Aunt Marge to the raven perched on the chandelier, calmly preening its glossy black feathers.
The raven was looking straight at him.
A cold, satisfied gleam flickered in its dark eyes.
The shock pounding in Harry's chest was instantly drowned beneath an overwhelming, indescribable surge of exhilaration.
He bit down hard, lowering his head to keep from laughing aloud, but his shoulders still shook uncontrollably.
To make this ignorant, vicious woman experience what it felt like to be unable to speak…
It was truly… wonderful.
________
o(*≧▽≦)ツ💫 Read up to 12+ chapters in advance on P@treon/DarkDevil1