Yes, Harry could now lend his magic to others through a contract. It wasn't a common spell or trick either. According to the Sorcerer Supreme, this ability, known as Magical Lending - was something unique to higher-dimensional entities.
Harry's body housed a rare type of magic: chaotic magic, vast and ever-expanding. The Sorcerer Supreme once remarked that Harry's reserves might surpass the magic contained in some entire pocket dimensions, and they were still growing at an exponential rate. If Harry ever gained full control over his power, he could obliterate planets as easily as flicking a wand. He could become the most formidable Sorcerer Supreme the multiverse had ever seen.
But chaos was, by nature, ungovernable.
In that world of ancient gods and magical dimensions, using more power than he could safely handle meant disaster. Once, when the Sorcerer Supreme took Harry to a hell-dimension for training, Harry fully unleashed his magic. The result? The dimension nearly cracked in half from the pressure.
Because of its volatility, Harry was barred from using many spells, including Magical Lending. After all, if a borrower received too much magic and couldn't handle the load, they'd explode like an overinflated balloon. Not exactly an ideal business model.
However, here in the "normal" world, things were different. Although his raw magical power was dampened, his control had vastly improved. That meant, with the proper safeguards - Magical Lending was finally on the table.
And who better to test this groundbreaking technique on than... Aunt Petunia?
It wasn't just a poetic sort of revenge—it was practical. Aunt Petunia had always longed for magic, hadn't she? Now she could get a taste. And Harry would get to charge her for it.
A wicked grin tugged at the corner of Harry's mouth.
"You need to remember one thing about the magical world," he said. "Everything follows the law of equivalent exchange. You borrow my magic, you pay a price. So, what'll it be? Do you want to become a sorcerer?"
The Dursleys stared at him, stunned. His face was still that of a scrawny, eleven-year-old boy, but the familiar meekness was gone. In its place was something deeper, darker, and oddly persuasive. They felt like they were standing before a demon in disguise, about to make a deal that would cost them more than they could understand.
Petunia gulped audibly and glanced nervously at Harry. "W-what kind of price are we talking about?"
Harry thought for a moment before replying. "Since you're family, I'll give you the discount package. Low-tier magic is ten pounds per cast. Mid-tier spells, a thousand. High-tier? Ten thousand."
He paused for dramatic effect.
"Or, you can pay a thousand times that and buy the permanent usage rights to a single spell. And, as a special clause, after each spell, you must shout: I am a fool! That's the magical cost."
Petunia and Vernon exchanged confused glances. "Wait… that's it?" Vernon asked. "No soul payments? No shortened lifespan or cursed bloodlines?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "What would I even do with your soul? I'm not a dark wizard. Your soul's worth maybe... what, a fiver on the market?"
He leaned back casually, adding, "Still, if you insist, I do accept souls as payment. My system is completely transparent. Honest rates, no hidden fees. For close family, I'll even let each of you trade your soul for one permanent high-tier spell."
Petunia gasped. "One permanent spell? But that's... a bargain!" Her mind was already racing. "If a single use is ten thousand pounds, then a permanent license must be worth over ten million! You're saying my soul is worth that much?"
Harry blinked at her, slightly speechless. "No, your soul's not worth ten million pounds. You're just getting a family discount. Don't get excited."
"Right, right," Petunia muttered, a little disappointed. "Well, I think we'll stick with cash, thank you."
Even in this modern age, British pounds still had real purchasing power. Trading their souls, while fascinating in theory, wasn't something they were quite ready to do. And so, the deal was struck. The Dursleys cleared out the guest room beside Dudley's and moved Harry in. He spent a few hours fine-tuning the magical loan array, then brought out the contracts.
It was short. Just one clause.
"All final interpretations of this agreement are at the discretion of Harry Potter."
Naturally, the Dursleys objected. Loudly. But after a quick flex of magical intimidation, they backed down and signed.
"You're not seriously going to spend your life as a Muggle, are you?" Harry had added, with a smirk. He'd picked up that word, Muggle - from Aunt Petunia herself. It dripped with contempt, and now that he knew it was commonly used by the magical elite, it made him uneasy.
The Sorcerer Supreme had never looked down on mortals. As his apprentice, Harry wouldn't either.
In the days that followed, the Dursleys paid a total of fifty thousand pounds for permanent access to five low-level spells. Petunia and Vernon each got one. Dudley, of course, received three. The favoritism was laughably obvious.
Harry did what he could to correct that. Every time he caught Dudley being insufferable, and that was often - he gave him a lesson. Sometimes magical. Sometimes physical. Petunia and Vernon could only watch in silence, clearly terrified of upsetting the new master of the house.
Yes, Harry had officially replaced Uncle Vernon as head of the Dursley family. The neighborhood noticed too. Kids at school, nosey neighbors, even the mailman. Everyone saw the shift. The Dursleys no longer shouted at Harry or treated him like a stain on the rug. Now, they acted like he was their boss.
And in a way, he was. They'd signed a soul-binding contract. He literally owned their magical futures.
Time passed quickly. With fifty grand in his pocket, Harry upgraded his wardrobe, tossed out every old belonging, and renovated his new room. He spent most of his time tweaking runes and experimenting with magical formulas. The chaotic magic, now under better control, helped him modify several spell arrays. His power grew steadily.
Just when Harry was beginning to think life here wasn't so bad, it arrived.
"Harry, Harry! You got a letter!" Dudley ran in, trying to be helpful for once, and handed over the envelope with something almost resembling respect.
During this time, Dudley had experienced enough magical education (and disciplinary action) to gain some self-awareness. Even if Harry kept bossing him around, Dudley had grown to admire his cousin. The magic alone made everything worth it. His telekinesis, though low-tier, could lift up to ten kilograms, and it made daily life much easier.
Harry took the envelope, glanced down, and read the familiar green ink:
Mr. H. Potter
The Smallest Bedroom,
4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.