"Dudley, my darling, what's wrong?!" Petunia cried, rushing to his side.
Uncle Vernon shot to his feet, his nerves already frayed from the past few weeks.
At the same moment, Harry let out a sharp gasp, his face contorting in agony. A searing, white-hot pain erupted from his scar, a pain more intense than anything he had ever felt. It was a vicious, stabbing sensation that made his vision swim.
"Your scar…" Dudley breathed, his face a mask of confusion and shock. The instant his fingers had brushed against the lightning bolt, he had felt it—a chilling, malevolent aura that clung to the scar like a parasite.
"Boy, what did you do?" Vernon roared at Harry, his recent tolerance evaporating in a flash of protective anger.
"It's nothing, I'm fine," Dudley said quickly, his attention fixed on his cousin. "Harry, are you alright?"
"N-nothing," Harry stammered, his face pale and slick with a cold sweat. "It's just… my scar. It suddenly stings." He didn't understand what had just happened. His first instinct was to assume Dudley was playing a prank, but the genuine shock on his cousin's face told a different story.
"Mum, Dad," Dudley said, his voice serious, "do you really not know what's going on with Harry's scar?"
There was something profoundly wrong with it. This was no ordinary mark. That evil aura was too palpable, too distinct. It had to be connected to magic. And if it was, the story of his aunt and uncle's death was likely far more complicated than a simple explosion.
"How would we know?" Vernon snapped. "The boy just showed up on our doorstep. He was already like that."
"Perhaps… it's related to what happened at Lily's house," Petunia speculated hesitantly. "The explosion…"
"Is that so…" Dudley's gaze bore into Harry. He was certain now. An evil presence resided in that scar.
Recently, his growing familiarity with the neighborhood had, in a mystical sense, extended his "Jurisdiction." It was a faint echo of the power he once wielded. Even without having been promoted to Sequence 8 Magistrate, his past as a high-Sequence Beyonder allowed him to perceive things others could not. And what he had just touched was an undeniable evil.
"Has your scar ever hurt like that before?" Dudley asked after a moment.
"No," Harry shook his head. "This is the first time."
"If it happens again—if you feel it sting, or anything else—you have to tell me," Dudley instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"Uh… okay." Harry hesitated, then nodded.
Dudley said nothing more, but he filed the information away. He would have to find a way to investigate that malevolent energy and, if possible, resolve it.
The incident cast a strange pall over the rest of the day, a small but unsettling prelude to the end of July. After dinner, with the Hogwarts professor still a no-show, everyone gave up hope for the day, assuming they would arrive tomorrow.
Dudley retreated to his room early. Harry, however, couldn't sleep. Though his living conditions had vastly improved, he longed to leave this house behind. He yearned for the magical world, for the promise of a new life. It all hinged on tomorrow, the last day of July, his eleventh birthday.
"I hope this isn't a joke," he murmured to the darkness of his new room. "I hope this is the best birthday present ever." He sat by his bed, wide awake, quietly waiting for midnight.
In the room next door, Dudley was also awake, his mind replaying the moment he'd touched Harry's scar. That aura seemed different from the evil of the bizarre world, he mused. The magic of this world and the Beyonder powers of that one… they have their differences. He wondered how wizards here cast their spells. Did they really wave wands and chant incantations?
He opened his bedside drawer and took out the bronze book. Trunsoest's Brass Book.
His research had confirmed that while the artifact was in a low-activity state, it wasn't entirely inert. The book, having traveled with him from that other reality, seemed to share a mystical connection with him. To a limited extent, he could use it to influence his surroundings, even modifying minor rules in a specific area.
But using it would come at a price. He didn't know what that price would be, but the principle of equivalent exchange was universal. The greater the influence, the greater the cost. Worse, using it risked awakening the artifact, which could cause it to spontaneously impose its own chaotic rules on the world around him—a disaster he couldn't afford.
He closed Trunsoest's Brass Book, the weight of its power a palpable thing in the quiet room. A phrase from that other life echoed in his mind. 'Every gift of fate has its price secretly marked.'
He looked out the window at the moonlit street, a strange feeling of destiny washing over him.
Suddenly, a low rumble started, growing rapidly into a violent roar that shook the house to its foundations. Dudley shot to the window just in time to see a massive dark shadow blotting out the moonlight, hurtling toward their house at an impossible speed.
The shadow descended, crashing onto the front lawn with a deafening impact that sent soil and turf flying.
BOOM!
The shockwave sent a shudder through the entire house.
"WHAT IN BLAZES WAS THAT?!" Vernon's furious roar echoed from downstairs.
Dudley's eyes widened as he stared at the crater in the lawn. The huge dark shadow was slowly unfurling, rising to an impossible height. It wasn't a machine or a beast.
It was a person.
A giant.
***
(End of Chapter)
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