6 Master of Manipulation

The next morning, after a night of diligent, albeit exhausting, practice with his newfound wandless magic abilities, Harry was woken by Nigel. His body felt heavy, the result of the significant magical energy he had expended in his unsuccessful attempts at spellcasting. Despite his fatigue, the demands of the Dursley household were unrelenting, and Harry knew he had to prepare breakfast.

As he cautiously opened the door of his cupboard, trying not to make a sound, he was surprised to find his Aunt Petunia asleep on the couch. The sight was both shocking and revealing; it was a direct consequence of the slight manipulation he had successfully performed the night before.

Harry, feeling a twinge of guilt for his indirect role in the dispute, quickly reassured himself. "It was for self-protection," he whispered to himself, dispelling the guilt. The Dursleys had never shown him kindness, and his actions were merely a form of defense, a way to bring a semblance of balance to his life.

"How am I going to cook now? She may wake up," Harry muttered under his breath, glancing warily at his aunt. He tiptoed towards the kitchen, his steps as light as a feather, mindful of every creak in the floorboards.

Nigel, ever present in Harry's mind, chimed in with his usual dry humor. "A delicate situation indeed, Master Harry. Treading lightly is wise, but perhaps consider this an opportune moment to test your newfound skills. A little magical nudge might just keep your aunt in her slumber."

In the dim morning light filtering through the cracks of the cupboard under the stairs, Harry Potter, still grappling with the reality of his newfound magical abilities, contemplated Nigel's suggestion. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Nigel's response remained unsaid, leaving Harry to his own devices. Grinning, Harry focused his intent on casting the Muffliato spell. He envisioned Uncle Vernon's thunderous snoring being redirected towards Aunt Petunia.

As Harry concentrated, the magic of Muffliato, unlike what he had initially thought, had another layer of utility, a fact Nigel had deliberately withheld from his explanation. Wandless magic, as Harry was beginning to understand, was driven by intent rather than wand movements or incantations. His imagination, therefore, altered the spell, shaping it to fit his unique purpose.

This subtle manipulation was part of Nigel's broader plan. By allowing Harry to experiment and inadvertently modify the spell, Nigel aimed to demonstrate to Harry the potential to adapt and customize magical spells. This lesson was crucial, especially considering the rarity of the Muffliato spell and Harry's limited access to such advanced magic at this stage.

Nigel had used his limited authority within the Technology System to make the Muffliato spell available for Harry to purchase. It was a strategic move, designed to empower Harry and to encourage his exploration of the nuances of spellcasting, particularly the aspects influenced by his vivid imagination and innate magical talent.

As the snoring intensified in Aunt Petunia's ears, she abruptly rose from her slumber on the couch, her eyes ablaze with irritation. "This pig!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with exasperation. The words, while loud enough for Harry to overhear, would never have reached Uncle Vernon's ears if it weren't for the subtle twist of magic Harry had woven. It seemed as though her words were echoing directly in Vernon's mind, rousing him from sleep with the unflattering comparison to a "ravished boar."

The previous night's altercation, coupled with the insult of his wife's commentary that had awoken him at such an ungodly hour, was enough to push Vernon Dursley over the edge. His anger, already simmering from the previous evening's events, now boiled over.

Nigel's voice, ever-present in Harry's mind, broke the tension with its characteristic dry humor. "Well, Master Harry, it appears your foray into wandless magic has stirred the pot more than anticipated. A most... illuminating outcome, wouldn't you say?"

Harry, despite the gravity of the situation, couldn't help but crack a smile at Nigel's comment. He watched as Uncle Vernon, red-faced and fuming, stumbled out of the bedroom, his eyes locking onto Aunt Petunia with a mix of bewilderment and ire.

"This pig? Is that what you think of me, Petunia?" Vernon's voice boomed through the small house, his indignation palpable.

Aunt Petunia, taken aback by her husband's outburst, stammered for a response. "V-Vernon, I didn't—"

But Vernon was beyond listening. His anger, fueled by the misdirected echo of his wife's words, rendered him deaf to any explanation. The Dursleys, usually a united front in their disdain for Harry, were now embroiled in a heated argument, their attention momentarily diverted from their usual target.

Harry seized this opportunity, tiptoeing into the kitchen to begin his morning chores. As he went about his tasks, he reflected on the events that had just transpired. His use of magic, though subtle, had sparked a chain reaction, altering the dynamics of the household, if only for a moment.

In the small, cluttered kitchen of number four, Privet Drive, Harry Potter listened intently to the escalating argument between his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. The events of the previous day had added fuel to the fire, igniting a full-blown domestic dispute. Harry, hidden from view, could barely believe the words being hurled across the room.

Vernon, in a fit of rage, used the same words Petunia had unwittingly directed at him, mocking his "equipment." His tone was biting, his words laced with sarcasm and hurt pride.

Petunia, her face flushed with anger and humiliation, retaliated sharply. "Is it a lie, Vernon? You haven't touched me since Dudley was born!" Her voice, usually so controlled and cold, now cracked with emotion.

Vernon, red-faced and puffing, struggled to form a coherent rebuttal. His size and health, it seemed, were impediments he could not argue against.

"Why don't you find a better lover then?" Vernon spat out, his voice thick with contempt.

Petunia, her rage reaching a boiling point, shot back without hesitation. "Maybe I will!" Her words were like a slap across Vernon's face, leaving him simmering in rage and suspicion.

Nigel's voice, always a source of dry wit and perspective, resonated in Harry's mind. "Master Harry, it appears your foray into subtle spellwork has unearthed some rather... deep-seated marital issues. A regular Pandora's Box, this household."

Harry, despite the seriousness of the situation, couldn't help but smirk at Nigel's comment. He never expected his first attempt at wandless magic to unravel the Dursleys' carefully maintained façade of normalcy.

As Vernon stewed in his own concoction of rage and suspicion, his mind racing with thoughts of Petunia's fidelity, Harry continued to observe. The tension in the air was palpable, a stark contrast to the usual dull monotony of the Dursley household.

Nigel's tone shifted to one of caution. "While this is indeed a fascinating development, Master Harry, I would advise caution. The Dursleys are unpredictable, and their current state of discord could lead to unforeseen consequences."

Harry nodded, acknowledging Nigel's advice. He knew all too well the volatility of his uncle's temper. "I'll be careful, Nigel. I didn't mean for things to get this out of hand."

"Indeed, Master Harry. The power of magic, even in its subtlest form, can have profound effects on the world around us," Nigel replied, his voice a blend of wisdom and a hint of amusement. "It seems you've inadvertently provided a catalyst for change in the Dursley household. A change that may bring about new challenges and opportunities."

In the tension-filled living room, the argument between Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia escalated to new heights. Vernon's voice, thick with rage and suspicion, boomed across the room. "You think you're so high and mighty, Petunia? But you're just a harlot."

Harry, listening from his hidden vantage point, felt a chill run down his spine at the venom in his uncle's voice. He had never heard Vernon speak to Petunia with such hostility.

Aunt Petunia, her face a mask of shock and anger, retorted sharply. "How dare you, Vernon! After all I've put up with, you have the gall to accuse me?"

Vernon, his face red and contorted with fury, was beyond reason. "Accuse you? I'm stating facts! You're nothing but a—"

But Harry never heard the end of that sentence. Petunia, driven to the edge by her husband's accusations, struck Vernon across the face with an open hand. The sound of the slap echoed through the kitchen, momentarily silencing the chaos.

"How dare you?" Petunia's voice was icy, her words cutting through the air like a knife. "I have never betrayed my vows, despite the lack of love you've shown me. And yet, you have the audacity to call me names? Get out! Get out of my house!"

Vernon, stunned and holding his cheek, seemed momentarily lost for words. The silence was thick, broken only by Petunia's heavy breathing.

Vernon, his face still marked by the red imprint of Petunia's hand, snorted in defiance. "You can't kick me out. I am the man of this house!" His voice, though still laced with anger, carried an undertone of uncertainty.

Petunia, her eyes ablaze with a mix of fury and determination, stood her ground. "This house was a gift from my sister. It's mine, Vernon. Leave now, or I'll call the police."

Vernon, momentarily taken aback by Petunia's resolve, quickly regained his composure. Grumbling under his breath, he stormed upstairs, hastily throwing clothes and essentials into a suitcase. As he descended the stairs, his parting words were cold and bitter. "You'll regret this, Petunia."

To everyone's surprise, Dudley, who had been listening in from the top of the stairs, hurried down, a look of panic on his round face. "Dad, wait! Take me with you. I can't stay here with her," he blurted out, pointing accusingly at his mother.

Petunia's face crumpled in shock and hurt. "Dudley, my boy..." she began, her voice trembling.

Dudley, however, seemed resolute, though a flicker of apology crossed his features. "Sorry, Mom. Dad's the one with the job. I need... I need to eat properly."

With that, father and son left number four, Privet Drive, Vernon's final words hanging in the air like a dark cloud. "You'll both regret this," he spat out as he slammed the door behind him.

Left alone, Petunia collapsed to the floor, her sobs echoing through the now empty house. Harry, hidden in the shadows, watched the scene unfold with a mix of shock and bewilderment.

"Oops," he muttered, the word feeling inadequate in the face of the chaos he had unintentionally unleashed.

While Harry was feeling a pang of guilt over the unexpected turn of events, Nigel seemed to revel in the outcome, albeit in his usual dry, understated manner. "Master Harry, while I must admit the situation has escalated rather dramatically, I can't help but observe that you possess a remarkable talent for effecting change, even if inadvertently."

Harry looked around the empty, now silent house, the weight of what had just occurred sinking in. "I didn't mean for it to go this far, Nigel. I just wanted a bit of... I don't know, relief?"

Nigel's voice, tinged with a hint of amusement, responded, "Relief, indeed, Master Harry. You've not only relieved yourself of some of the Dursleys' tyranny but also managed to relieve them of each other's company. Quite efficient, I must say."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Harry couldn't help but crack a slight smile at Nigel's remark. It was hard to stay completely morose with Nigel's wry commentary in the background.

"Now, Master Harry," Nigel continued, "it would be prudent to offer some comfort to your Aunt Petunia. With the household dynamics significantly altered, this might be an opportune moment to foster a semblance of a bond. Remember, alliances, even unlikely ones, can be beneficial."

Harry hesitated, the idea of comforting his aunt after years of neglect and mistreatment feeling foreign and somewhat uncomfortable. "But Nigel, she's never been kind to me. Why should I help her now?"

"A fair point, Master Harry," Nigel conceded. "However, consider this: with Vernon and Dudley no longer in the picture, your aunt might be more amenable to a truce, especially given her current vulnerable state. A little kindness, even if strategically motivated, could go a long way."

Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped out from his hiding spot and approached his aunt, who was still sitting on the floor, her shoulders shaking with sobs. "Aunt Petunia?" he said tentatively, unsure of how she would react.

Petunia looked up, her eyes red and swollen from crying. She seemed startled to see Harry, as if she had forgotten his presence in the house. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

"I just wanted to say... I'm sorry," Harry said, feeling awkward but determined to follow Nigel's advice. "For everything that happened. I know things have been hard."

Petunia stared at him, a mix of surprise and suspicion in her eyes. "Sorry? You're sorry?" Her voice was a mixture of disbelief and bitterness.

Petunia, her voice laced with a mix of grief and accusation, turned her tear-streaked face towards Harry. "This is all your doing! It must be! You are cursed, and it caused me my husband and dear son." Harry, taken aback by the intensity of her words, flinched instinctively.

In that moment, as she observed Harry's small, vulnerable frame, a flicker of guilt passed over Petunia's face. She bit her lip, her eyes reflecting a turmoil of emotions. "Get out of my sight," she yelled, her voice quivering with a blend of anger and sorrow.

Harry, his heart heavy, turned to retreat to his cupboard, the only sanctuary he had ever known in this house. But before he could take a step, Petunia's voice halted him. "Go to Dudley's room. I need this floor to myself."

Harry stood frozen, disbelief etched on his face. He had never been allowed upstairs unless it was to clean. With hesitant steps, he made his way toward the stairs, half-expecting Petunia to call him back, to send him back to the cramped space under the stairs. But she didn't.

As Harry entered Dudley's room, a world so different from his own, he felt out of place. Surrounded by Dudley's numerous toys and gadgets, the luxury of the room was overwhelming. Unsure of where to sit, he chose the floor, his back against the bed.

Nigel's voice, a constant presence in his mind, carried a hint of dry amusement. "Well, Master Harry, it appears you've been upgraded from the cupboard to the suite. Quite the turn of events, albeit under less than ideal circumstances."

Harry, despite the situation, couldn't help but smile at Nigel's comment. "It's strange, Nigel. I never thought I'd be sitting here, in Dudley's room. It's... it's like being in a different world."

"Indeed, Master Harry," Nigel replied. "Remember, every cloud has a silver lining. This unexpected shift in your living arrangements could prove to be beneficial. A more comfortable environment might aid in your magical studies and practice."

Harry looked around the room, his eyes landing on Dudley's well-stocked bookshelf. Among the various titles, a few caught his attention – books on basic science, history, and even a dog-eared encyclopedia. "Nigel, do you think reading some of these could help me? With my Muggle Studies, perhaps?"

"An excellent idea, Master Harry," Nigel encouraged. "Knowledge is power, after all. And while our primary focus is on your magical education, a well-rounded understanding of the Muggle world can only be advantageous."

Harry pulled himself up and walked over to the bookshelf, selecting a few volumes that seemed interesting. As he flipped through the pages, he realized that despite the Dursleys' neglect, this moment, here in Dudley's room, offered a unique opportunity – a chance to learn and grow beyond the confines of his previous life.