My parents sat across from me, the flickering firelight playing shadows across their faces, but there was no warmth in their eyes now. Only memory. Pain. And something deeper—a tension like a held breath. They had told me Voldemort's name already, but I could tell they had been holding back more than I realized. My question had pierced a wall I hadn't seen.
The Potters. Harry.
I didn't want to miss a word of what came next. My mother, Samira, was the first to speak. Her voice was softer than usual, laced with something fragile beneath her usual calm strength."I was friends with Lily Potter," she said.
I blinked.
"You knew her?" I asked, leaning forward. Samira smiled, small and sad. "Yes. Even though we were in different Houses. She was a Gryffindor. I was…" Her voice paused, just a second too long. "Slytherin."
I blinked again, harder this time. "You were in Slytherin?"
It wasn't judgment. Just surprise. My mother—gentle, wise, serene Samira—had never struck me as someone who fit the stereotypical picture of a cunning, cold Slytherin. Maybe that's a good thing like Slughorn and other Slytherin's, she's probably ambitious and driven without be a monster.
She chuckled quietly. "You're not the first to be surprised. But remember this, Callum—Slytherin doesn't mean evil. It means ambition. Resourcefulness. Willpower. And yes, cunning. But none of those are wicked on their own."
I nodded slowly. "You and Lily… were close?"
She folded her hands in her lap. Her amber eyes reflected the firelight like polished gems.
"She was like a sister to me. Fierce, brilliant, stubborn in all the best ways. We met in a shared tutoring group in fifth year. She hated that I was Slytherin. I hated that she was always right. So we became friends. A sad smile tugged at her lips. "We promised each other that if anything happened—anything—we would protect each other's children. That our children would never be alone."
I swallowed. My heart beat faster. "So… are you… Harry's godmother?" Her expression softened with pride and sorrow in equal measure. "Yes."
I sat back, stunned. "And… was Lily—"
"Yes," she answered before I could finish. "She was yours. If I had died first, Lily and James would have taken you in without hesitation." A lump formed in my throat. My voice came out quieter than I intended. "But I'll never meet her."
"No," Samira said gently. "I'm sorry. She died protecting Harry. Just as I would for you."
I stared at the hearth, watching the orange flames curl upward like fingers toward the chimney. My chest felt tight. Not from sadness for myself—but for Harry. For the boy who was supposed to be living in warmth and love, like I was. The boy who had lost everything while I had been given everything.
And then came the stories.
They told me about the war. About the Death Eaters. About the blood spilled in alleys, in safehouses, in hidden corners of magical Britain where most children's stories never reached. My father spoke with low, heavy tones—like recounting a battlefield.
He told me about the Purebloods and their obsession with legacy. With bloodlines. With the illusion of superiority. How many of them treated Half-bloods like pests and Muggleborns like mud under their boots.
My father's hands curled into fists.
"It's not so different from what I grew up with," he said. "In America, I saw racism—real, deep, hateful racism. But here in the magical world?" He shook his head. "Here, they just change the target. They act like blood status is all that matters. Pureblood. Half-blood. Muggleborn."
He scoffed bitterly.
"Magic or no magic overtook the issue of skin color… but barely. Some of the old families—especially in Europe and America they still cling to the idea that being white and pureblooded makes them better. The racism's just buried deeper, hidden behind fancy traditions and family crests."
Samira reached over and placed her hand over his. His jaw relaxed slightly.
"Your mother and I," he said after a pause, "we decided we wouldn't raise you in ignorance. You'll grow up knowing what's out there. The beauty of magic, yes—but also the ugly truth behind the curtains."
I nodded. Slowly. "I want to know."
They both smiled. Not proud smiles. But resolved ones.
Then Samira leaned in. Her eyes—the same amber eyes I'd inherited—flashed in the firelight. For the first time, I saw the full power of the woman she used to be. The Slytherin. The sister-in-arms of Lily Potter.
"If we can," she said in a voice like iron wrapped in silk, "we'll bring Harry home before you attend school. One way or another. Even if we have to go to that house and take him ourselves." The flames reflected off her eyes, casting gold into the quiet promise between her words.
I stared at her, stunned. They weren't just talking about doing something.
They meant it.
They had let the truth slip, piece by piece, and I'd caught every fragment—but this? This wasn't just legacy. It wasn't even about keeping a promise anymore. It was justice. And I understood, in that moment, that my parents weren't just kind or wise or progressive.
They were dangerous. They were exactly the kind of people this world needed.
And I was their son.
The fire had settled low by the time the weight of everything they told me began to truly sink in. My mind swam with stories of Lily, Voldemort, bloodlines, magic, and oaths made in candlelit corridors decades ago.
But even in the swirl of memories and legacy, I still sat there—a five-year-old with far too much fire behind his eyes.
My mother's amber gaze flicked toward the clock above the mantle, then back to me with a soft expression. "That's enough for tonight, my little flame."
I started to protest, but my father raised a brow.
"You've taken in more in one night than most adult wizards grasp in a decade," he said, standing and stretching. "Besides, you'll need rest. Because starting tomorrow, you begin your training."
That word hit me like thunder.
"Wait," I blinked, sitting upright. "Like, actual… magic training?"
Samira smiled. "Yes. You're old enough now. It's time you learned to control ambient magic—wandless techniques. Simple things at first. Levitation. Flame conjuration. Maybe light-shaping if you do well."
I nearly jumped out of my seat. "You mean like… like this—" I flicked my hand like I'd seen sorcerers do in movies. Nothing happened.
My father chuckled. "Not like that. Not yet. But give it time."
I turned toward him, a thought striking me. "But what about the Statute of Secrecy? Won't the Ministry know I'm casting magic without a wand?"
His grin widened, and he looked every bit the clever, rebellious wizard I imagined he'd been in school.
"Son," he said, "this house is layered with seven types of protective wards, three of them our own design. Add in the ancestral runes carved into the foundation? We could host a firestorm duel in here and not a single Ministry sensor would flicker. They haven't been able to track magic on this property since 1742. This is my family ancestral home well one of them."
I stared at him, eyes wide.
"So… we're basically invisible?"
"Exactly," he winked. "This is a safe haven for learning. For testing. For pushing boundaries."
My mind was already racing with ideas. The possibilities weren't just exciting—they were limitless. I could finally start living this life with intention, with growth, with magic that wasn't passive. I could start preparing for the world beyond these walls.
But just as the smile stretched across my face, my mother—sharp as ever—cut through my euphoria with a raised finger. "And I'll be adjusting your non-magical studies, starting tomorrow."
I blinked. "You are?"
She nodded with the kind of composure only a master strategist could wield. "Yes. Enough arithmetic drills. You'll begin foundational Hogwarts subjects: Astronomy, Herbology theory, Magical Creatures 101, and Wizarding Ethics. Some Potions prep too—using real ingredients. And more importantly…"
She leaned in.
"You'll start learning how to break the rules intelligently." My smile faltered. She raised an elegant brow. "That's what Hogwarts doesn't teach. When to break the rules. And how to avoid being caught." I sat back, heart racing. "Okay. That's… a lot." "You'll thank me when you're older," she said smugly. And then—just like that—everything around me stopped. Not the room. Not the fire. But something within me. It was like a switch flipped.
My vision dimmed just slightly, and a strange pressure pulsed softly behind my eyes—like a breath being held for centuries suddenly released.
And then I saw it.
Not in front of me. But inside. Behind my eyelids. Inside my own mind's eye.
A screen.
Simple. Sleek. Clean lines of gold and silver danced over darkened parchment, and at the top, glowing text began to scroll:
> Initializing Soulbound Support System...
...
Link Established.
Awaiting Directive. Please assign assistant designation.
My heart skipped a beat. It's here. I took a breath and thought clearly: "AIA. Artificial Interface Assistant."
The screen flickered—paused for a moment.
Then the text changed.
> Processing name... AIA registered.
...Seriously? Get better at naming.
The robotic tone in my mind shifted—just slightly—into something smoother. Feminine. Familiar. I froze.
The voice now had inflection. Subtle wit. A tone I hadn't heard in a long time. My brain stumbled, then connected the dots. It sounded—just barely—like my ex from my past life.
I blinked hard, a bit thrown. Did the goddess do this? Was this some kind of cosmic joke?
Still… I couldn't help but grin. Welcome, Callum Dawn. Your system is now active. Would you like to view available objectives? I nodded—mentally. Two quests appeared.
The first:
> [QUEST: Change Harry Potter's Life]
Type: Unknown
Objective: Influence the life of Harry James Potter for the better.
Time Limit: None
Reward: Unknown
I stared.
The weight of that hit me in the chest. I hadn't done anything yet, but the world had already recognized the path before me. Then came the second:
> [QUEST: Be Prepared]
Type: Timed
Objective: Master all lessons and materials provided by Samira Dawn within five years.
Sub-objective: Reach Intermediate Wandless Magic Proficiency by age 10.
Time Limit: 5 Years
Reward:
– Potion of Magical Amplification (x1)
– Potion of Hidden Potential Unsealing (x1)
I swallowed hard. Potions that could amplify and unlock my magical gifts? This wasn't some RPG stat boost. This was interesting I wondered what it would do to me. For a moment, I just sat there in awe. Not fear. Not hesitation. Just curiosity and a deep, burning need to get started. To become something worthy of the chance I'd been given.
My gaze returned to my parents. They were still tucking away books, muttering softly to each other. I smiled. They had no idea what just happened. And for now… that was how it needed to stay. I closed the interface with a thought.
The screen dissolved into my mind like mist on morning glass. That night, they tucked me into bed—both of them. My father kissed my forehead. My mother stroked my curls. Her warmth soaked into my scalp like sunlight.
I closed my eyes, my heart still racing. Tomorrow I would start real training. Tomorrow I would learn fire, air, earth, light. I would grow. I would push. And when the time came… I would change everything.
Especially for Harry.