Harry woke up as the alarm clock beeped on his bedside table. A familiar warmth surrounded him—soft sheets, a real mattress, and the faint smell of furniture polish from the secondhand wardrobe he'd placed near the bed.
He rubbed his eyes, staring at the glow of the candlelight that flickered gently against the walls of his private dimension. This was his true home now, even if no one else knew it.
[HP and MP fully restored – Slept in Comfortable Bed]
It was true. Every morning since his suspension, Harry had woken up more refreshed than ever.
Harry yawned, checked the time—6 AM—and smirked. He was sure Aunt Petunia was already up and banging on the cupboard door by now. But he had time.
Recently, Harry had gained more control over his dimensions.
[Instant Dungeon Creation – Level 3]
[Instant Dungeon Escape – Level 3]
That meant he now had three exit points to and from his personal space.
[Exit Point: Dursleys' Cupboard Under the Stairs]
[Exit Point: Alley near School]
[Exit Point: Unassigned]
Harry hadn't chosen the third one yet, but he planned to place it somewhere in London as soon as the opportunity came. He also knew that he could shift the locations if he ever needed to.
Sighing, Harry stood from the bed and changed out of his soft pajamas, reluctantly switching into Dudley's old clothes. He never wanted the Dursleys to suspect anything. A few moments later, with a quiet breath, he whispered:
[ID Escape]
And just like that, he was back in the cupboard under the stairs. The darkness closed around him again.
Just as he landed on the musty old mattress, the door rattled violently.
BANG BANG BANG
"Get up, boy! Breakfast doesn't make itself!" came Aunt Petunia's shrill voice.
"I'm awake!" Harry called out, voice rough from disuse.
Outside, her footsteps faded away.
Harry exhaled.
Back to pretending.
The cupboard under the stairs no longer felt like a prison.
Not to Harry.
Because now, he knew—[he could escape anytime he wanted]. And that made all the difference.
Each night, he would sleep in a real bed surrounded by comfort. And each morning, he'd return to this cramped box with its cobwebs and creaky floorboards just in time to maintain the illusion. But it wasn't a cage anymore. It was just… a space.
The kitchen was already quiet when Harry stepped in, wearing Dudley's old shirt and moving with the confidence of someone who knew what they were doing.
Recently, Aunt Petunia had stopped trying to control the kitchen. She only watched, hovering at the edge of the counter, arms crossed, pretending to supervise.
But the truth was obvious.
Harry could cook better than she could now.
[Cooking – Level 13]
[Petunia Dursley's Cooking – Level 10]
[Skill Superiority Achieved]
He didn't brag. He didn't need to. The food spoke for itself.
When he reached Level 10, Harry had absorbed her handwritten cookbook—the same one passed down from her mother. And that meant...
He knew every recipe Petunia ever learned.
He didn't feel bad. She wasn't using it to teach him. She never even said it belonged to his grandmother—Harry figured that part out himself.
[Cookbook Absorbed – Recipes Traditions Technique]
[Passive: Maternal Culinary Instinct (Locked)]
[Skill Bonus: 10% Efficiency with Traditional Recipes]
But Harry was smart. He didn't cook from that book. Petunia would notice. Instead, he bought his own books. Fourteen of them.
Second-hand. Stained and torn. But useful.
– [Basic Carpentry for Beginners]
– [Metalsmithing: A Practical Guide]
– [Cooking for Dummies Vol. 1 2]
– [Home Repairs Made Easy]
– [The Art of Knife Handling]
...and more.
[All Books Absorbed]
These weren't just cookbooks. They were manuals for independence. Survival. Skill.
Each one fed his Gamer System, which devoured the knowledge and offered it back in experience points and technique boosts.
Still, in the Dursley home, it was always Petunia who got the credit. She would serve the food, smile at Vernon, and nod proudly when Dudley stuffed his mouth.
Neither of them ever suspected Harry made the entire meal.
They were heavy sleepers, too heavy to hear the clatter of pots and pans in the early morning.
He stirred the eggs, folded the toast, poured the orange juice—and set the table without a word.
Aunt Petunia said nothing. But her eyes lingered a moment too long on the perfectly cut tomato wedges.
[Reputation: Petunia Dursley1]
Harry smirked to himself, just a little.
"Why didn't you light the fireplace?"
Aunt Petunia snapped, her voice sharp and angry as she stood by the doorway.
Harry was setting the table with the food he had just cooked—perfectly done eggs, toast, and neatly sliced tomatoes—when he froze.
Lighting the fireplace was supposed to be his first chore of the day. Uncle Vernon once wanted to install an electric heater, but Petunia had talked him out of it, just so she could keep assigning the chore to Harry.
Without thinking, Harry turned toward the hearth.
A flick of his fingers. A focused thought.
A small fireball hovered above his fingertips for a moment, then shot across the room and landed in the fireplace with a soft whoosh.
The flames crackled to life.
[Skill Used: Fireball]
[Mana -10]
Only then did Harry realize what he'd done. Not just what—who had seen it.
Petunia stood still as stone.
Her face drained of color, lips slightly parted. She tried to speak, but at first, no sound came. Then, in a raspy, broken whisper:
"What did you do?" she croaked.
"Who taught you that? Who did you meet?"
Harry's mind raced. He needed to lie, quickly, cleanly.
"Someone," he said, with perfect calm. "Who is like me, a Freak."
[Lying – Level Up! Level 6]
[Lie Success]
But Petunia was still pale, still trembling. Her hands wrung the ends of her apron as if twisting the truth out of the air.
She wanted to know more.
Harry narrowed his eyes. Something wasn't right. She knew something.
So he decided to test her.
"I met some Aurors at school," he said casually, like it didn't matter.
That hit like a thunderclap.
Petunia staggered backward a step. "What?" she hissed. "What do they want?"
Her reaction confirmed everything. She knew what Aurors were and he didn't.
"They just wanted to talk," Harry lied smoothly. "That's all."
[Lie Success]
"Did you tell them you're still sleeping in the cupboard?" she asked in a panic.
Harry shrugged. "Not yet," he said. "But they promised to visit sometime soon."
The silence that followed was sharp and loud.
Petunia's lips quivered. She looked like she might faint, but instead, she gripped the edge of the table and whispered,
"What do you want?"
"I want you to tell me everything you know," Harry said. "About the magic."
"I don't know much…" she murmured.
But she began to talk.
Her words came slowly at first, like pulling teeth. She admitted that her sister, Lily, was a witch. She said there was a school called Hogwarts. She had met some of Lily's friends once—"freaks, all of them." She mentioned strange things: brooms that fly, spells that fix broken glass, a world hidden from normal people.
She didn't know how it all worked. She hadn't wanted to know.
But Harry listened to every word like it was gold.
Because to him, it was.
[New Knowledge Acquired: Wizarding World Basics]
[Quest Unlocked: Learn More About Hogwarts]
Aunt Petunia didn't know how much she revealed. But Harry did.
And he would remember every detail.
When Harry returned home from school, something felt… off.
The house was quiet—not just the usual Dursley silence, but oddly expectant, like it was waiting for something to happen. As he walked toward the cupboard under the stairs, ready to do his usual routine of pretending, he noticed it was different.
The cupboard door was open.
Inside, all of Harry's belongings—his mattress, blanket, toothbrush, spare Dudley clothes, and even the tiny cracked alarm clock—were gone.
Instead, it was stuffed with broken toys, headless action figures, cracked video game cases, and plastic junk that could only belong to one person.
Dudley.
Harry's eyebrows rose as he turned to look up the stairs.
His new room was Dudley's second bedroom. The door was open. Harry walked in slowly, and found his things there—neatly stacked on the floor and the bed made up with fresh sheets.
No one said anything about it. But the signs were clear.
Petunia had moved him.
Dudley was raging, of course. He'd thrown a massive tantrum that evening—Harry could still see traces of it in the way the wardrobe was tilted and a few action figures were decapitated anew.
But he didn't demand the room back.
Not after what happened in the school, when Harry had single-handedly beaten Dudley and his gang.
Even Uncle Vernon tried to argue with Petunia, wanting to give Dudley his second room back. But for once, Petunia stood firm.
Harry could see it in her eyes: fear.
She was terrified. Not of him—but of the Aurors.
And more importantly, of Azkaban.
[New Passive Unlocked: Intimidation – Mild]
[Threat Level: Medium (Local Only)]
[New Knowledge Gained: Azkaban – Wizard Prison]
Harry was still confused, though. Why had the wizard police arrested Ms. Holloway?
Was it because she was a werewolf?
Had she hurt someone?
He didn't know. But he was starting to understand: people wore masks. His aunt and uncle were perfect examples. The ones who seemed good in public were often the cruelest in private.
Harry opened his system menu and made an adjustment.
[Skill Used: ID Create / Escape – Level 3]
[Exit Point Updated: Dudley's Second Bedroom]
[Cupboard Exit Removed]
[Active Exit Points: School Gate, Dudley's Second Room]
[Third Exit: Unassigned]
Having his own room meant a lot more space.
And Harry decided to make use of it.
With a flick of his fingers, he pulled out some of Dudley's old clothes from the trash pile and used his new tailoring skill to fix and reshape them. The fabric obeyed him more with each try, and the clothes were soon wearable—and better yet, they fit.
[Skill: Tailoring – Level Up! Level 3 Level 4]
[New Trait: Efficient Stitching – Increases speed and reduces material loss]
Harry smiled as he folded a neatly mended shirt and placed it into the small wardrobe.
Things were changing. Fast.
Harry had learned a lot over the past few days. Far more than any regular seven year old ever should.
He now knew the magical world was vast—hidden in plain sight among the normal people. They had their own government, schools, shops, police, and even their own prison. He had a name for everything now.
But one word kept bothering him. One mystery left unsolved.
Squib.
It sounded… dangerous.
He needed answers. So, after school, Harry walked toward a house to visit the odd old lady his Aunt Petunia always described as "slightly off."
Mrs. Arabella Figg.
Her house was exactly as he remembered it: the strong, musty smell of cats, mixed with tea leaves and mothballs.
"Harry, dear!" Arabella greeted him with surprising warmth, guiding him inside and shutting the door.
Harry stepped in cautiously. His [Observation] skill was very high now, and it activated the moment he saw her.
[Observation Skill – Level 7]
[Arabella Doreen Figg – Non-Combatant]
[Class: Squib – A non-magical person born to magical parents.]
[Disposition: Neutral Curious]
So that's what a Squib was.
Harry relaxed slightly, glad it wasn't some monstrous creature. He glanced at the nearest cat sitting on the windowsill. His skill triggered again.
[Kneazle – Magical Beast (Class 1)]
[Status: Tamed, Registered]
[Disposition: Protective]
[Special Trait: Can detect untrustworthy individuals]
He hadn't planned to ask directly, so he slipped the question in casually.
"Do you breed Kneazles for fun?" he asked, petting one behind the ears, "Or do you sell them in Diagon Alley?"
Arabella froze.
Her teacup rattled against the saucer as she placed it down slowly. Her eyes fixed on Harry, a bit too sharply.
"You know about Diagon Alley?" she asked.
Harry gave a sheepish shrug.
"Aunt Petunia told me a few things," he lied. "But not much."
[Lie Successful]
Arabella studied him for a moment longer, then nodded.
"Yes, I breed and register Kneazles. I don't usually go to Diagon Alley myself," she explained. "I use post owls to send them off and receive payment. Safer that way."
Harry leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly.
"Could you tell me how to get to Diagon Alley? I want to purchase a few things."
Arabella gave a small frown. "That's not easy. Wizards use different money—Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts."
Harry didn't respond. Instead, he reached into his pocket—well, made it look like his pocket—and discreetly pulled a handful of coins from his [Inventory]. He placed them onto the table: two Gold Galleons and four Silver Sickles.
Arabella's eyes widened.
"Where did you—?" she began, but stopped herself.
Harry shrugged again.
"My Aunt's cupboard had more secrets than I thought."
[Deception Success – High]
[Arabella Figg: Trust 10]
[Hidden Stat Update: Discretion Increased]
Arabella leaned back in her chair and exhaled slowly.
"You're full of surprises, Harry."
"I get that a lot."
She gave a dry chuckle. Then, reluctantly, she nodded.
"I'll tell you how to get to Diagon Alley. But you must be careful. You'll need to start at the Leaky Cauldron. It's a pub in Charing Cross Road, London. Muggles can't see it—only magical folk can. There's a brick wall behind it that leads to the Alley, but it opens only if you tap the right bricks with a wand."
Harry's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
He didn't have a wand.
Not that he needed one.
But now, at least, he had a lead.
[Quest Unlocked: "Finding the Leaky Cauldron"]
[Objective: Locate entrance to Diagon Alley]
[Optional: Acquire wand before entry]
[Reward: Access to Magical Marketplace]
He left Arabella's house a few minutes later with more questions, a growing skillset, and one clear goal:
He needed to find Diagon Alley—and get a wand of his own.
Harry sat on the old flowery couch in Mrs. Figg's living room, surrounded by sleepy Kneazles and the faint scent of cabbage and cat litter. She had just finished pouring two mugs of lukewarm tea when Harry finally decided to ask the question that had been bothering him for couple of days.
"As a witch… how could my mum died in a car crash?"
Arabella Figg paused, the mug halfway to her lips. Her eyes met Harry's, and her face softened with a mixture of guilt and sorrow.
"No, Harry. That was a lie."
Harry nodded slowly. He had suspected it. Aunt Petunia had refused to answer any more of his questions, brushing him off every time with venomous comments about "those freaks." But Mrs. Figg… she must have some answers.
He leaned forward, his voice quiet.
"Aunt Petunia said my parents were… drunk. That they died in a car crash. That they were worthless."
Mrs. Figg's eyes flashed with anger.
"She said what?"
She set her tea down with a clatter and reached for her walking stick with trembling hands—not from fear, but fury.
"That woman—! How dare she…? Your mother was the kindest, most brilliant witch I've ever met. And your father—James—yes, I heard he was a bit of a troublemaker in school, but he came from an old and noble wizarding family. He grew up. They both did. And when the time came… they fought."
Harry's breath caught in his throat.
"Fought?"
Mrs. Figg nodded.
"We were part of a secret resistance group called Order of the Phoenix… good people, brave ones. They fought against a Dark wizard—a terrible one. I won't say his name, not here. But everyone in our world knows who he was."
[Knowledge Gained: Secret Resistance – Order of the Phoenix]
[Keyword Unlocked: The Dark Wizard – ? (Redacted)]
[Hidden Stat: Heritage Pride 5]
[Trait Acquired: Legacy of Heroes – You carry the spirit of your parents. Your actions can inspire others.]
Harry looked down at his tea, his fingers tightening around the warm cup.
"All this time," he said softly, "I thought they were nobodies. But they… they died fighting for what's right?"
Mrs. Figg smiled faintly. "They chose what was right, Harry. Even when it was hard. Even when it meant their lives."
Something stirred inside him.
A purpose.
They weren't just faceless names. They weren't alcoholics. They were heroes. His parents.
And if they could fight against darkness, then maybe… so could he.
[Quest Update: "Legacy of the Potters" – Progress: 15%]
[New Goal Unlocked: Be a Hero, Not a Victim]
"Thank you," Harry whispered.
Mrs. Figg reached over and gently patted his hand.
"You're your mother's son, Harry. Don't ever forget that."
He wouldn't.
Not now, Not ever.