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It was still several hours before midnight. After having dinner and taking a short stroll, the two brothers set up a grill on the small balcony on the second floor of their home—not because they were hungry, but simply because they were craving something tasty. No, scratch that—it was because they had school the next day, and it would be a shame to waste the venison their grandfather had gifted them. Ignoring such a kind gesture would be a real pity, wouldn't it?
The entire deer leg had been chopped into small pieces, marinated in sauce, and skewered onto half-meter-long iron rods. The charcoal fire was blazing hot, and the dripping fat sizzled as it hit the coals, sending waves of delicious aroma wafting through the night air. The scent was so strong it could be smelled from halfway down the street. Harry, ever sharp-eared, even caught the sound of someone quietly muttering curses carried by the breeze—likely a neighbor tormented by hunger, lured by the smell, yet unable to get a taste, and now grumbling in frustration.
With a snap of his fingers, Harry activated a soundproofing spell around them. His body had recovered quite a bit, and although dueling someone with ebony and ivory wands in a passionate exchange of spells would still be a bit of a stretch, he could at least manage some simple magic now. And as for the rule forbidding underage wizards from using magic outside of school?
A law from over a hundred years ago? As if that relic could still control a wizard born in the new era. With powerful connections backing him, Harry lived by one principle—do as he pleased. The Ministry of Magic could mind its own business. If push came to shove, he could always move abroad. If they dared try to throw him into Azkaban, he'd just kill a Dementor or two and rebel against the damn Ministry. It wasn't that Harry needed to follow their rules; it was that Fudge didn't dare provoke him.
The famous quote "Magic is Might" was engraved right in the Ministry's grand golden hall. In the wizarding world, the strongest fists made the rules—and their farts counted as truth.
—At least, that's how things worked in England's magical society, where laws hadn't progressed past the medieval era.
Harry had previously received a politely worded "warning letter" from the Office for the Prohibition of Improper Use of Magic, but now? No one even bothered anymore. For a measly few dozen Galleons a month, who in their right mind would bust their back for the Ministry?
As he turned the skewers over the fire and took a swig of Dragonblood Whiskey straight from the bottle, Harry looked over at Dudley and asked the question that had been nagging at him. He was genuinely curious—how had his dopey cousin managed to guess something was up, especially about aliens? Harry hadn't breathed a word of it at home, and yet Dudley had guessed so accurately that Harry couldn't help but be intrigued.
"How'd you figure it out, Dudley?"
"Could it be... that love, aside from making people blind, also made your brain start working?"
"Nope, it's because I have the instincts of a wild beast," Dudley replied smugly, lifting his chin with pride. He wasn't about to describe himself as a genius—that was a bit much, even for his thick skin—but he did have some self-awareness. "You left way too many clues, Harry. My sharp instincts told me that something big must've happened. That's the only reason you've been poisoning me non-stop during this break."
Seeing that the first round of skewers was done, Dudley didn't hesitate to grab one and stuff it into his mouth. Washing it down with a bottle of ice-cold soda from the fridge, he let out a belch of contentment, feeling about 80% full—but he could still eat 80% more.
"Yesterday at the gym…" Dudley mumbled through a mouthful of food, "Those roid-heads nearly pissed themselves when they saw me squat 280 kilos. But I know I could still add more. It was only yesterday that I realized—I'm not like normal people anymore, Harry."
With his face glistening with oil, Dudley grabbed a napkin and wiped his mouth. "But even though I'm already pretty awesome, you still think I'm not 'safe' enough, right?"
"I can feel it! It's like you're worried I can't protect myself—or Mom and Dad. So, you want me to get even stronger, right?"
"But—"
Dudley paused, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. At first, it had just been a gut feeling that something was off. But now, with some reflection, things became clearer. He might be a bit dense, but he wasn't stupid.
"But, Harry, you're way stronger than me. If we're talking about protecting Mom and Dad, you're obviously the better choice. So... maybe you're planning to do something else? Something that might mean you won't have the time or energy... right?"
Dudley hesitated as he chose his words carefully. Harry seemed to be preparing to hand over the responsibility of "protecting the family" to him. Dudley didn't mind that—in fact, he was kind of happy about it. But with that happiness came a twinge of concern. Not for himself, but for Harry—what would he be facing?
In Dudley's eyes, Harry might be his younger cousin, but he had way more responsibility than Dudley ever did. Back in school, they'd both run into their fair share of troublemakers. At that hot-blooded age, plenty of kids thought they could step on others to climb higher. Even though the two of them never picked fights, their reputations made them the unofficial kings of their area. That kind of name attracted challengers.
Sure, Dudley could beat up any idiot who dared step up, thanks to his size. But without Harry's help, he wouldn't have had it so easy. Teachers still saw him as a good-natured kid with a big frame but no bad intentions. His grades were average, but his athletic achievements stood out—and that earned him bonus points with the staff.
"Looks like my dumbass cousin hasn't just been bulking up these past couple years," Harry chuckled after listening, raising his whiskey bottle to clink it against Dudley's soda. With a satisfied pat on Dudley's shoulder, he grinned. "You've actually grown a brain, Dudley. Seeing this... I'm honestly about to cry."
"Get lost, you bastard!"
Annoyed, Dudley slapped Harry's hand away. If he weren't sure he'd lose the fight, he'd have thrown down right then and there for a full-blown brawl.
"But seriously..." Harry's smile faded. After downing the rest of his whiskey in one long gulp, he nodded. "I did get some early intel from the magical world."
"There are aliens, and not just one group—there are two. One of them, we've been fighting for ages, a no-holds-barred, fight-to-the-death kind of war. Over a thousand years ago, we managed to beat them into the ground, but now there's a high chance they're about to stir up trouble again. The other group, we've had no contact with—almost no one in the magical world even knows about them. But what we do know is this: they have magic too, and theirs is more... 'advanced.'"
"You mean they're stronger than us?"
Dudley didn't know much about the magical world's complexities, but hearing that the second group was more advanced gave him a sinking feeling.
Falling behind means getting beaten—maybe that didn't apply everywhere, but the logic was easy enough to grasp.
"Whether they're stronger or not is up for debate, but they've done things we can't," Harry replied, tearing into a skewer of sizzling meat, carefully choosing his words. "Their world has both magic and technology. Unlike us, they haven't separated the two into different domains—they've merged them. That kind of fusion is incredibly powerful, and it's something we absolutely must get our hands on."
"Do you know why we can't colonize other planets?" Harry suddenly changed the topic, catching Dudley off guard.
Dudley frowned, confused. "Maybe... not enough technology?"
"It's energy. We don't have enough energy density."
"Sure, a ten-cubic-meter high-density energy crystal can power a plane with 200–300 passengers to fly halfway across the globe—but that only works on Earth. Once you're in space, without easy resupply, endurance becomes a major issue. Forget interstellar travel—even moving around within the solar system is a massive problem."
"But if you add magic into the mix..." Harry narrowed his eyes. "A top-tier magic gemstone the size of a fist could keep an alchemical energy-conversion array running for at least three months. If that converted magical energy could be used by normal devices, it could power that same plane non-stop for over half a year. Magic has a higher energy density than anything else. Even though converting it causes massive waste with current methods, it's still absurdly powerful. Not to mention—there are even cheaper sources of magical energy."
"Like wizards being used as fuel."
"They're the cheapest, most renewable, and cleanest energy source in the world."
"But magic and technology don't mix—or at least, they don't in our world. Magical artifacts and magic itself interfere with delicate technology in serious ways."
"And now, we've discovered a world where magic and technology are fully integrated."
Harry's eyes gleamed with a cold, almost predatory excitement. "Even if they don't come looking for us, we'll be going after them."
"War is inevitable, Dudley. Peace won't last much longer."
"Even if the main force behind that war is us—the spellcasters—there's no escaping the fact that the world of ordinary people will also be affected. Especially once we finally confront them and plunder the resources and knowledge we need from their world... everything will change."
"All of us."
Harry placed a hand on Dudley's shoulder. "If the time comes when I have to shoulder a responsibility that only I can carry, I want you to look after the family, brother."
"Become stronger. Strong enough to protect our home with your arms when I'm not there with you."
The heavy weight on Dudley's shoulder made him nod seriously, forcefully. Although he hadn't fully processed the shocking things Harry had said—things that shook his worldview—he did remember one thing: when Harry wasn't at home, it would be his responsibility to protect the family.
The maturity of a boy sometimes comes in one night. The brothers' conversation wasn't long, but it was enough for a child to take the first step toward maturity.
The next day...
"Kill me now! So much!"
Looking at the bottles of magical potion Harry had placed on the table—almost enough to crush it—Dudley let out a hysterical wail. During the holidays, Harry brewed a fresh batch every day. Dudley had finished his own portion, of course, but the rest was bottled and sealed for him to drink later, saving him enough for the rest of the year until Christmas.
"One bottle a day, about 1500 milliliters per bottle. Just grit your teeth and drink it," Harry said, patting Dudley's shoulder casually. "If you've ever tasted the potions my godfather brews, you'd know mine taste so much better. Compared to his, this stuff is like nectar."
"My potion might make your tongue numb, lower your appetite, maybe even make you gag for a few minutes, but his? Drink too much, and you could actually die from it."
It was war-grade potion-making, after all—everything was for the effect. Practicality came first. No matter how bad it tasted, if it saved your life, that was better than having none at all.
However, even Harry thought Snape had gone too far, prioritizing effectiveness over everything else. When you're holding a life-saving potion in your hands, you might even hesitate—would you rather die right away or endure something worse than death and live?
"Alright, alright…"
Dudley, remembering last night's conversation, gritted his teeth and reluctantly nodded. After all, growth came at a price.
"Well, I'm off. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, you don't have to see me off. Durmstrang has transport service, look, the car's here."
At the end of the street, a sleek black Maybach Pullman, bearing the Durmstrang double-headed eagle crest, slowly approached. The driver, dressed in a black uniform with crimson accents and a matching emblem on his chest, was wearing white gloves. He wasn't a wizard, though; a subtle magical ripple indicated that he was a "Muggle"—someone unable to use magic. His faint magical aura was so minimal that it didn't interfere with technology.
As a liaison between the magical world and the non-magical one, being a "Muggle" was actually the perfect role for him. Thanks to Grindelwald's influence, many marginalized individuals from the magical world had found respectable jobs, no longer wandering aimlessly between two worlds. As a leader, Grindelwald had certainly proven himself "great."
At least in terms of maximizing available resources, he did an excellent job.
The well-trained driver was also an excellent butler. After confirming Harry's identity, he respectfully escorted him to the car. Once Harry was inside, the driver returned to his seat, started the engine smoothly, and at that moment, Harry truly realized the power and resources behind one of Europe's most famous magical schools—Durmstrang.
Hogwarts?
Ha~
What a joke.
It seemed Harry was somewhat favored by Grindelwald. After being picked up, he didn't have to share a ride with any other students. However, when boarding Durmstrang's private jet, he did see several other students also traveling from London. There were eager first-year students and some older ones who had already been attending. Unfortunately, the curtain was closed, so Harry could only hear them but not see them.
First-class passengers were definitely treated differently.
At precisely 11:00 a.m., the Boeing 777 took off on time, speeding toward Durmstrang, nestled deep in the mountains. A newly built airport was located just 20 kilometers from the school. As they left the luxurious private airport, the distinct scent of magic slowly began to fill the air.
There, in the distance, was a refurbished magical warship, silently docked by the highland lakeside near the airport.
(End of Chapter)