1

Number 4, Privet Drive, England, 1986.

Harry Potter suddenly awoke, bolting upright in bed.

Thud!

He flinched back, tears welling up as his head hit the low ceiling of his cupboard. Rubbing the sore spot, he felt a small bump starting to form, but the pain was the least of his concerns at that moment.

Just moments before, he'd been dreaming—no, it was more than a dream; it was as if he had lived for over twenty years in another life. In that life, he had gone to America and spent more than two decades there—an impossible experience for a six-year-old.

The dream had been so vivid, so real, that Harry was left confused. How could someone dream of such a long period? And how could he know so much about a place he'd never visited? His only exposure to America had been through the pages of magazines. Yet, in the dream, his understanding of the country was as if he had been born and raised there.

But it was just a dream—a strangely real dream that was already fading from his memory, as all dreams do. Only a few fragments lingered in his mind, stubbornly refusing to disappear.

His thoughts were interrupted by a harsh knock on the cupboard door.

"Get up! Get up, now!" barked a shrill, female voice.

That voice—it was his Aunt Petunia's. The familiarity of it pulled Harry from his thoughts about the dream. Shaking his head, he let go of the dream entirely, pushing it to the back of his mind.

He got up, opened the cupboard door, and saw no one waiting for him. Aunt Petunia had already moved on, her voice now echoing from the kitchen. Harry quickly washed and dressed before starting his daily chores. Even at six, he was responsible for sweeping the floors and dusting the furniture.

By the time he finished, breathing heavily from the effort, the dining table was set for breakfast. Uncle Vernon was hidden behind his morning newspaper, while his cousin Dudley played with his favorite toys, both of them paying Harry no mind.

Harry sat down at the table, his presence entirely ignored. Aunt Petunia emerged from the kitchen, taking her seat and signaling that breakfast could begin.

Harry served himself two pieces of bread, a fried egg, and a slice of ham—enough to quiet the hunger in his small, thin frame. His cousin Dudley, on the other hand, had already loaded his plate with two steaks, despite still having his mouth full from his last bite.

"Eat slowly, dear," Aunt Petunia cooed at Dudley, but her son didn't seem to hear her, focused solely on his meal.

The table was silent, except for the clatter of Dudley's cutlery and Uncle Vernon occasionally rustling his newspaper. No one spoke to Harry. After finishing his meager portion, Harry quietly cleared the table and brought the dishes to the kitchen. He didn't have to wash them yet; he had to get to school on time, and dishwashing would have made him late.

Dudley, full and satisfied, got into Uncle Vernon's car. Vernon would drive his son to Smeltings, the private school he attended. Harry, however, was left to walk to Stonewall School, the public school he was enrolled in. Even if they had attended the same school, Uncle Vernon wouldn't have bothered to drive Harry. He treated Harry like a burden, someone to be avoided at all costs.

As Harry walked to school, his thoughts returned to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Why did they treat him like this? Why such disdain? He felt a deep resentment toward them both. But after that vivid dream, he started to understand a little. Even good relatives might feel burdened if an extra mouth needed feeding indefinitely, and he had been living with them since he was a baby. He could only assume that financial strain caused their displeasure, a thought that occupied his mind all the way to school.

At Stonewall School, Harry sat through lessons that felt painfully boring. After all, in his dream, he had completed over a decade of schooling in America. The material they were covering here was far too basic, and it was frustrating to endure it all over again.

When the final bell rang, Harry packed his things and headed for the door. But a voice stopped him.

"Hey, Harry!"

He turned to see a group of boys approaching, and his heart sank. It was the gang that frequently bullied him, led by a boy he knew all too well. Being small and thin, Harry had always been an easy target. Even his cousin Dudley enjoyed bullying him, taking full advantage of his larger size.

Harry thought about running, but he knew he couldn't escape them. They were faster, stronger. But instead of panicking, Harry's thoughts returned to the dream. He had faced bullies there too, and he remembered how he had dealt with them: by fighting back, even if it meant getting hurt.

The first boy took a swing at him, but Harry noticed something strange—the punch seemed to move in slow motion. Without thinking, Harry dodged the punch and kicked the boy hard in the stomach. The boy doubled over, crying out in pain.

Harry didn't stop. He continued to hit the boy, even as the other bullies closed in. They tried to pull him off, but Harry kept fighting, ignoring the punches and kicks raining down on him. All he could focus on was making sure the boy who had attacked him first felt as much pain as he did.

"Stop! Stop hitting me!" the boy beneath him finally cried out, his voice breaking with sobs.

The other boys hesitated, unsure whether to continue. Harry took advantage of their pause, landing one last kick before standing up. He glared at them, his green eyes cold and unyielding.

He picked up his schoolbag, dusted off his clothes, and walked away without looking back. The other boys didn't dare stop him. All that remained was the sound of the boy still crying on the ground.

"What happened just now?" Harry recalled the boy who had struck him earlier, and suddenly, his movements began to slow down.

He had managed to dodge the punch calmly and then took the initiative to retaliate.

If his movements hadn't slowed, he might not have been able to pin the boy down and beat him as easily as he had.

This deceleration felt like magic.

Harry frowned, searching his memory.

A vivid image from a game he'd once dreamed about came to mind: Heroes of Might and Magic 3: Shadow of Death.

Yes, that old game was something he'd often played in his dreams. It left such a deep impression on him that he could still clearly remember the magic and monsters in it.

The boy's earlier behavior seemed as though he'd been affected by a slowing spell.

"Deceleration," Harry muttered, feeling a faint warmth between his eyebrows. Could it be magic?

He looked down at his hands. Was it possible that what had happened in the dream wasn't just a figment of his imagination?

But in the dream, it was just a game.

How had he learned the magic from the game?

At that moment, a sharp pain shot through his body.

Harry's expression didn't change. He was accustomed to this kind of pain; it didn't even cause him to flinch.

Though those boys were stronger than him, they were still children. Their strength was limited—they wouldn't break bones, only inflict minor wounds.

He would just need to apply some medicine and rest for a few days.

The key question now was whether he could really perform magic.

If he truly had learned the magic from the game, he wouldn't have to worry about being bullied again.

Although he had scared them off this time, his body was still too frail. If they got the chance to attack him again,

he wouldn't be able to withstand it.

Harry didn't go home immediately but instead went to a small park. He wanted to test his newfound abilities.

The sun had set by the time Harry returned to his aunt's house.

"Damn it, you little brat, why are you back so late?" His aunt's sharp voice echoed through the house.

"I was delayed by something at school," Harry replied calmly.

Aunt Petunia eyed the dust and footprints on his clothes but didn't say anything more.

"Hurry up and wash up, then get ready for dinner." Noticing her gaze on his clothes, Harry nodded.

He went back to his closet bedroom and changed into clean clothes.

Though there weren't many visible injuries on his body,

Harry didn't even need to apply any medicine.

He set aside the clothes covered in footprints.

Sitting on the bed, Harry looked at his hands.

His eyes, once calm, were now filled with excitement.

"It's real. It's really real."

He had actually learned magic.

And it was the magic from the game.

In the park, Harry had tested it.

The faint warmth between his eyebrows, which he temporarily identified as magical power, appeared whenever he cast a spell.

The magic he could now perform included slowing down, healing, and accelerating attacks.

One slowed down his opponents, one sped him up, and one healed him.

They were all first-level spells from the magic tower in the game, though these were only a few.

Spells like Magic Sword, Shield, and Stoneskin were still beyond his reach, but that didn't matter.

With more practice and study, he was confident he would master them eventually.

He immediately cast a healing spell on himself.

In the game, healing magic eliminated the effects of negative spells and restored a small amount of health.

After casting the spell on himself, Harry not only felt refreshed, but the pain in his body also quickly subsided.

After casting it twice in a row, he felt fully recovered, better than ever before.

"Perfect," he thought.

During dinner, Harry noticed that his appetite was much greater than usual, and he ate more.

Though it was the same amount of food, where he once could eat a lot, he now felt only 70% full.

No one paid attention to Harry's appetite, nor did they notice that he ate more than usual.

Aunt Petunia always cooked excessively to accommodate Dudley and Uncle Vernon's hearty appetites.

No one would notice if Harry ate a little extra.

After dinner, and after helping Aunt Petunia clean up the dishes, Harry returned to his cupboard bedroom.

Uncle Vernon didn't bother with him, so Harry kept out of his way. Cousin Dudley liked to bully him, so he avoided him as well.

"Boom boom boom."

Dust fell from the cupboard ceiling.

Harry walked to the door and sat down.

Cousin Dudley was stomping on the stairs above, claiming it helped him digest his food.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon supported his behavior.

Harry sat on the floor, lost in thought.

With the experiences from his dream, he had let go of his hatred for Uncle Vernon's family. In the dream, he had seen that even relatives who had been close were often unwilling to adopt children who had lost their parents.

These children had to live in orphanages instead.

Compared to that,

Uncle Vernon's family had adopted him, provided him with shelter, and ensured he was fed all these years. They had done their best.

Harry also realized that expecting to be treated like Dudley was unrealistic. The experiences in his dream had shown him that.

But after what he had been through, Harry was determined not to live as he had before.

To change his situation, the first thing he needed to address was his financial independence.

Where could he make money?

As he pondered this question, Harry took a shower and washed his dusty clothes.

When he returned to his bedroom, Dudley had already gone. He was probably tired from digesting his food and had gone for a snack.

After shaking the dust from his bed and chasing away a spider, Harry lay down.

Then he began casting the slowing spell and accelerating attack on himself.

In the game, there were several ways to increase magical power. One was to level up, which would randomly add attributes. If wisdom increased, it added 10 points of magic power.

If strength increased, it enhanced the potency of magic.

If defense and attack increased, they boosted the defense and attack of the soldiers under your command.

The second way was through buildings in the game that trained these attributes. You could either learn for free or spend money to boost your attributes.

The third way was through treasures. Different treasures increased different attributes.

At the moment, Harry wasn't sure how to increase his attributes. Based on a novel he vaguely remembered from the dream, if you exhausted your body's energy and then recovered, it would increase your upper limits. Harry wasn't sure if this would work, but he decided to give it a try.

After all, there was nothing to lose.

-------

The next morning, Harry woke up before his aunt knocked on the door. He had practiced some magic the night before, which made him sleepy, and he had drifted off soon after.

Despite using magic multiple times, Harry felt that his magic power hadn't diminished at all, nor had it noticeably increased.

It seemed that the way magic worked in real life was different from how it was portrayed in books.

Just as he was lost in thought, he heard the familiar sound of slippers shuffling down the hallway.

"Get up—" Aunt Petunia's shrill voice was about to wake Harry up, but she paused in surprise when she saw him already standing by the cupboard door.

This lazy boy was up without being called? How unexpected.

Petunia pursed her lips and coughed lightly. "You're up already? Very well. Finally learned something useful. Now, go wash up, clean the house, and fetch the mail. I'll start breakfast."

Harry nodded and headed to the bathroom.

As Petunia watched him walk away, she frowned slightly, sensing that something was off about Harry today.

But she quickly dismissed the thought. She had more important things to focus on, like preparing a hearty breakfast for her precious Dudley and Vernon.

After breakfast, as usual, Harry walked to school alone.

The school day passed in a blur, and for once, no bullies appeared.

Perhaps Harry's defiance the previous day had made them wary.

After school, Harry didn't head straight home. Instead, he wandered the streets, trying to find a way to earn some money.

But he failed. By 1986, child protection laws in the UK had become stricter, particularly regarding child labor.

As a result, Harry couldn't find a job anywhere.

Even in shops that might have ignored these laws, his frail appearance made them turn him away.

They needed workers, not someone who might end up in the hospital after a day's work.

For several days in a row, Harry wandered the streets after school, desperately searching for a job, but he found nothing.

Disappointment weighed heavily on him.

One day after school, the bullies who had stayed away for a while finally surrounded him again.

Though Harry's outburst had kept them cautious for days, their resentment had only grown.

The shame of being outsmarted by a scrawny boy like Harry had festered, and they were eager to restore their bruised egos.

Two of them grabbed Harry tightly, holding him still as the others moved in to beat him.

But Harry's green eyes flashed with determination. He silently cast a slowing charm on the bullies and then a speed-boosting charm on himself.

These spells were simple, but effective.

The slowing charm reduced their speed by 50%, while his own speed was increased by the same amount.

Harry might not have been as strong as them, but now he was much faster.

He didn't wait for them to finish surrounding him. He struck first, knowing that his speed advantage would be wasted if they cornered him.

Harry targeted sensitive areas—the bridge of the nose, toes, anywhere that would cause the most pain.

Though they managed to hit him a few times, he didn't care. His healing charm would take care of that.

The bullies, on the other hand, would need weeks to recover.

To the astonishment of the students watching from a distance, the bullies fell one by one, screaming in pain.

Harry quietly healed himself, feeling a cool sensation as the pain faded away. He was in better shape than ever.

Now fully restored, he glanced at the bullies on the ground before walking away.

They had never been a real threat to him.

His real concern was finding a job to support himself.

On a quieter street, Harry spotted an Italian restaurant with a sign in the window: "Apprentices Wanted."

The restaurant was small, with just one waitress at the front desk.

That would be enough.

Harry hesitated, then walked in.

The waitress looked up, expecting a customer.

"Are you alone, young man?" she asked in English.

"I'm not here to eat," Harry replied. "I'm here about the apprenticeship."

The waitress was surprised to hear such fluent Italian from a little British boy.

"You want to be an apprentice?" she asked, switching to Italian.

"Yes," Harry nodded.

"But you're not even five years old," the waitress protested.

"I'm six," Harry corrected her.

"That's still too young. We usually only take apprentices who are at least thirteen," she explained.

"Please, I really need the money," Harry said, his green eyes pleading.

The waitress hesitated. Could this boy be in some sort of trouble?

"Wait here," she finally said. "I'll go ask my father if he'll take you in."

A few minutes later, she returned with a middle-aged man who looked strong and experienced. Harry guessed that this man could probably punch someone across the room.

"You want to be an apprentice?" the man asked, looking down at Harry.

"Yes," Harry repeated.

"Do you even know what that means?" the man asked.

"I want to learn your craft," Harry said confidently.

"Normally, yes. But we only take apprentices who are at least thirteen," the man said.

"Please, give me a chance," Harry pleaded, dropping to his knees.

"Hey, kid, don't beg," the man said, pulling Harry to his feet. "Alright, I'll give you a chance. But if you don't pick up the skills quickly or if you hurt yourself by cutting or burning yourself, you'll have to leave."

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed eagerly.

---------

"You are too thin and weak to even lift a pot. Start by practicing with kneading dough." After leading Harry into the kitchen, Alvize Masterson looked at Harry's frail body, shook his head, and said,

"Yes, Master," Harry nodded obediently. He practiced whatever Alvize asked him to.

Alvize was very satisfied with Harry's attitude. He taught him the proper technique of dough kneading.

"Tomorrow, you will start practicing the basic skills. Today, you'll be in the kitchen, observing me prepare dishes," Alvize said.

"Okay, Master," Harry nodded.

Harry thought that this street was less crowded, and the restaurant's business might not be very good. But he was wrong.

The street was indeed less crowded, but when dinner time arrived, the Ciao Chophouse was full. There were even people queuing at the door, eagerly eyeing any table that seemed close to finishing their meal, ready to pounce on the first available seat. Harry had seen restaurants before, but this kind of eager crowd was new to him.

In other restaurants, if it was full, people would just go somewhere else to eat. There was no need to queue outside.

Amanda Masterson was too busy managing the front, so Harry hurried over to help clean up tables and serve dishes.

By 2 pm, Amanda wiped the sweat from her forehead and hung a sign at the door, temporarily closing the restaurant.

"Come and have dinner," Alvize walked out with two plates and called out to Amanda and Harry.

Harry felt his stomach growling. He ate much more now than before, having worked non-stop through the noon rush. The energy he expended here was far greater than at school, and he was even hungrier.

"Harry is tired too; come and eat quickly," Amanda smiled at Harry and handed him a big slice of pizza.

"Thank you, Sister Amanda," Harry thanked her politely and took the slice.

Harry took a bite of the pizza.

He was immediately astonished.

What was he eating?

Was this pizza?

No, how could meat taste like this? He had eaten pizza before, but never anything like this.

How could pizza be so delicious?

How could there be such an extraordinary pizza in the world?

Even in his dreams, he had never tasted anything like this.

Maybe it was because he was too hungry, or perhaps Alvize was an amazing chef.

Aunt Petunia's cooking skills were decent, otherwise, Dudley and Uncle Vernon wouldn't have their round shapes.

But Aunt Petunia's skills paled in comparison to Alvize's.

Aunt Petunia was like scrap metal, while Alvize was gold.

Damn, after just one bite of this meat, I feel even hungrier. What should I do?

Then eat a few more bites.

Meat wasn't enough, so Harry quickly shoveled in a few mouthfuls of rice.

He wanted to ask Alvize what kind of meat this was.

Why was it so delicious?

But his mouth had other priorities.

Amanda wasn't surprised at how fast Harry was eating.

Everyone who came to eat here for the first time reacted the same way.

But she poured Harry a glass of water to prevent him from choking.

"Dad, make more next time, otherwise there won't be enough to eat," Amanda said to Alvize.

"Yeah, I should. After all, kids are still growing," Alvize glanced at Harry, who was devouring his food, and nodded.

"Here, have another slice," Alvize offered Harry.

"Uh-huh," Harry mumbled, his mouth too full to speak, so he just responded with a nod.

At that moment, Harry had only one thought in his mind.

Even if he didn't get paid, he had to keep working here, as long as he got to eat this food.

The next day.

Harry arrived at the restaurant early as usual.

When Alvize and Amanda arrived, Alvize was holding two sacks of flour.

Harry ran over and took them.

"Knead the dough for 10 big tins. When you come here in the morning, knead dough for an hour; your strength is too weak," Alvize instructed.

"Yes, Master!" Harry nodded.

Harry put on an apron and started practicing.

From today on, he officially began his basic training.

Alvize glanced at him but said nothing. He and Amanda went into the restaurant to start preparations.

Ten big tins of dough. Harry thought it would be simple. After 15 minutes, he realized he was wrong. His arms began to shake, and he could hardly keep going.

Alvize was right, his strength was still too weak. Due to long-term malnutrition, he was much thinner than other children his age. He was at his limit!

"Healing!"

Harry cast a healing spell on himself, allowing his body to return to its best condition.

He continued to knead the dough.

This time, he lasted 2 minutes longer than before.

"Healing!"

Come on, Harry encouraged himself.

Unbeknownst to him, Alvize was watching.

His brows furrowed slightly.

"What's wrong, Dad?" Amanda asked curiously.

"This is strange. Based on Harry's physique, I estimated that he would be exhausted in 15 minutes at most. How could he last so long?" Alvize was puzzled. Cooking also requires good eyesight, and he thought his was pretty sharp. But no matter how keen he was, he couldn't imagine that Harry was using magic.

Normal people wouldn't think of that.

"Maybe he's just talented," Amanda said indifferently. It was a reasonable explanation.

She wasn't particularly interested in cooking anyway.

"Maybe," Alvize nodded, giving Harry a long look before heading into the kitchen to prepare the dishes.

Harry cast healing spells four times and completed an hour of dough kneading.

It was amazing to have magic, and this was the first time Harry truly appreciated it. Although healing was a basic spell, it was incredibly useful. Harry could feel that it wasn't just about healing injuries; it was about restoring vitality.

After finishing the dough kneading and casting healing, there were no side effects at all. Instead, he was full of energy, his whole body returning to peak condition.