June 23rd 1991,
4 Privet Drive,
Little Whinging,
Surrey,
England.
In a cramped cupboard with darkness, a small boy slept fitfully, his face twisted into a deep frown. As if he was dreaming something bad. Without warning he jolted upright—crack!—his head slammed against the low ceiling of the cupboard, sending a sharp bolt of pain through his skull. The impact ripped open a flood of memories that weren't quite dreams yet didn't feel entirely like his own: a flash of blinding green light, cold and merciless; long, lonely days in his aunt's house; his cousin's fists and jeering laughter; his Uncle thunderous rage and his Aunt disdain for him.
The hunger gnawing at him when meals were withheld, the oversized cast-off clothes hanging from his thin frame. Each recollection crashed into the next, overwhelming him, burning behind his eyes until he squeezed them shut and forced himself to breathe. Slowly—achingly—he endured the pain, letting the torrent of images settle until they became something he could hold, something he could understand.
Blinking away the dull throb in his skull, he groped along the splintered wall until his fingers brushed a tiny plastic switch. With a soft click, the lone bulb flickered to life, yellow light spilling across the cramped cupboard. A small, cracked mirror was fixed to one side, and as he turned toward it, the sight staring back at him made his breath hitch. A thin boy—no more than ten or eleven—looked out with messy black hair, startling green eyes, and on his forehead, a lightning-shaped scar was present.
The moment he saw it, the truth slammed into him harder than the ceiling had and the memories had: He had been transmigrated into Harry Potter. Impossible. Absurd. And yet the face in the mirror didn't lie.
In his old life, he had been a successful man with a stable job, a steady income, and a future he had worked hard to build. But all of that had ended in a violent instant—the ground shaking, splitting open, the earth itself swallowing him in a sudden, merciless quake. He had died. He remembered dying. And somehow, instead of staying dead, he had woken up here—in a cupboard, in a child's body, in a world where magic was real and nightmares wore names like Voldemort.
He stared at the scar, a hollow laugh escaping him. Of all people to become, of all fates to inherit, why Harry Potter? He had read the books, watched the films—he knew exactly what awaited this boy. Fame, danger, prophecy… and a Dark Lord who would stop at nothing to kill him. He should have been gone, at peace, not thrust into a second life filled with even greater peril. For a moment he was simply speechless, caught between disbelief and a growing, icy dread.
He let out a slow breath. There was no undoing fate, no rewinding death, no waking up back in his old world. After a long moment of silent resistance, he simply… accepted it. Not gladly, not with excitement—just with the heavy calm of someone who knew there was no point fighting the inevitable.
His resignation was cut short by a shrill, piercing call.
"Up! Get up! NOW!"
The cupboard door rattled under the force of the voice, and he scrambled upright, pulling it open. Standing there with her arms crossed and a permanent scowl carved into her sharp features was Petunia Dursley—Harry Potter aunt but now his aunt too, whether he liked it or not.
"Well? Don't just stand there. Up, boy! The bacon's not going to cook itself."
He bit back the first reply that rose in his throat. Annoying Petunia on day one of accepting his transmigration into Harry Potter's life seemed… unwise. So he only murmured, "Yes, Aunt Petunia," and slipped past her.
The morning unfolded with the same dreary rhythm he remembered from the books: Dudley throwing a tantrum over the number of birthday presents, Vernon glaring because Harry dared to breathe in his direction, Petunia fussing over her precious son. But with his mind sharper—older—he couldn't help adding small, subtle remarks now and then.
When Dudley whined, "Thirty-six? But last year I had thirty-seven!"
Harry muttered, just loud enough to be heard, "Maybe the shop ran out of useless junk?"
Dudley spun around, face purple. "Wha' did you say?!"
Harry only smiled. "Happy birthday, Dudley."
Petunia hissed at him to behave, and Vernon's moustache trembled threateningly they both were surprised by the changes in Harry talking but Harry ignored it and had his breakfast.
The day moved on, leading them inevitably to the zoo. At the reptile house, Dudley pressed his sweaty face against the glass while Harry not wanting to follow the story, stood a step back, studying the massive boa constrictor. Like the original he was not going to take the place of Dudley and then get pushed back. Looking at the boa something instinctive tugged at him—an urge to talk with it and subconsciously he asked.
"Can you hear me?" Harry hissed in a snake like voice startling Dudley who was beside him.
As though the boa heard Harry's voice The snake lifted its head.
And then—"Yesss."
The response slithered out from the boa mouth and made Harry happy that he can control the way to talk using parseltongue and thought that this was only possible because he now have 3 souls in his body. His, Harry and Voldomort souls occupying the same vessel.
Sorry—didn't mean to bother you, Harry said, feeling awkward because he was hissing and talikg to the boa under eyes of Dudley.
"You're fine," the snake hissed, coils shifting lazily. "Better company than these loud two-legss…"
Harry noded agreeing with the boa as Dudley beside was stuttering "Ho–How c-can y-you… t-talk w-with th-the s-snake?" looking at Harry and the boa.
The snake's eyes gleamed with curiosity. "You… are different. Not like the others."
"Yea because i am special, do you wish to be free from this cage" Harry said.
"More than anything," the boa answered.
Hearing the snakes answer Harry eyes focused on the glass and he wished that the glass disappear then suddenly the glass vanished, melting into nothing, the magic answering him eagerly it was like using his own arms to remove the glass and it came natural to him. Seeing this the snake slid out with a grateful dip of its head.
"Thanksss, friend." Harry nodded. Good luck.
Dudley who was watching from sideline was scared shitless as he shriek and attracted other attention
The boa then slither and hissed as he passed by the people's which created chaos in the zoo.
Seeing this all Vernon and Petunia both quickly picked Dudley and galred at Harry to follow them towards the car so that they could get away from there.
Meanwhile the glass which had been vanished appeared as soon as Harry left.
The moment they crossed the threshold of the house, Dudley jabbed a pudgy finger toward Harry. "It—it was him! He made the snake get out! He talked to it! He was hissing to the snake I saw him! He's a freak!"
Petunia gasped, a hand flying to her chest. Vernon's face turned an alarming shade of purple. "You!" he barked, pointing at Harry. "Cupboard. Now."
Harry didn't argue. Didn't protest. Didn't even flinch. "Fine," he said simply.
That threw Vernon off more than any backtalk would have. The man blinked at him, taken aback, but quickly narrowed his eyes again. "Don't you 'fine' me, boy! Get in there!"
Harry slipped into the cupboard under the stairs with calm, measured steps. Truthfully, he didn't mind the isolation—it gave him time to think, to plan. Facing an angry Vernon Dursley was nothing compared to the destiny looming ahead of him. The lock clicked shut. Footsteps retreated. Muffled grumbling filled the hallway. Inside the darkness, Harry sat down against the wall, exhaling slowly.
Harry drew his knees up and let the stillness settle around him. Planning—real planning. He knew the story, yes, but knowledge alone wasn't enough. There were outcomes he wanted to prevent, opportunities he could exploit, dangers he refused to face unprepared. If he was going to survive Voldemort, Hogwarts politics, and the chaos of this magical world, he needed more than memories of the plot. He needed power.
Harry grimaced. The biggest disappointment of his transmigration was the lack of any "golden finger"—no system, no cheats, no convenient miracle boost. Just himself. Just a boy with knowledge of the future and a world that didn't care about convenience.
But then he remembered the reptile house. The effortless disappearance of the glass. The calm conversation with the snake. The magic hadn't felt wild or accidental—it had responded to him, naturally, instinctively, as though something fundamental inside him had shifted. Maybe transmigration didn't give him a cheat… but perhaps the fusion of souls had left him with better magical control than the average wizards.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, focusing inward. Slowly, slowly, he reached for that faint warmth he had felt earlier—like a soft current pulsing through his veins. When he feel it he tried to make it move like blood pulsing in the veins and then Harry opened his eyes and lifted a finger, aiming it like a wand toward a small block of wood on the floor. His voice was barely above a whisper.
"Wingardium Leviosa." A basic spell he remembered from the movies and then the block of wood shivered… wobbled… and began to float upward, trembling slightly in the air. Harry stared, breath caught in his throat, as the piece hovered obediently at his command wherever he moved his finger the block followed it then after some spins and curves he relates the magic and then the block fell down then though excited he still calm himself down and then drifted to sleep because sleep at his age is very important.
The days following the zoo incident were suffocating. The Dursleys—terrified, and dramatically overreacting, banned Harry from leaving the house at all. Vernon installed new locks, Petunia watched him like a hawk, and Dudley flinched every time Harry was near him.
They thought confinement would stop him. But still every night, after the house fell silent beneath layers of snores and muttered dreams, Harry slipped into the quiet space of his cupboard and practiced. No wand, no incantations—just focused and will power to make the objects around him move. At first, he could only make small objects twitch or vibrate. But gradually, through repetition, he made pencils float, screws dance, and bits of wood glide weightlessly through the air like lazy fireflies. Spell-less. Wandless. Silent. Efficient.
Magic responded to him, almost eagerly, as though it recognized the different soul now inhabiting Harry's young body.
By the time the summer holidays officially arrived, Harry was already capable of lifting objects the size of books with a flick of his fingers.
"No funny business," Vernon growled, jabbing a sausage-like finger at Harry's chest. "None of your freakish nonsense, or it's back to the cupboard for good." as the summer break started Harry got his freedom back as he was no longer being held in the house. Harry only nodded. "Of course, Uncle Vernon."
Then the day came, July 24, 1991
Harry woke early that morning, sitting up in his cupboard as the clock ticked loudly through the wooden walls. He had been expecting it if he rembered correctly today was the day when he will be receiving his Hogwarts Letter
And it did. The morning post arrived with Vernon's usual grunt: "Boy! Fetch the mail!"
Harry slipped out of the cupboard, heart pounding in a steady, excited beat. He opened the front door, collected the stack of envelopes—and there it was. With his name written on it saying:
Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp. Turning the envelope over, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.
The moment his fingers brushed it, a soft Ding sounded inside his mind—like the chime of a notification from a videogame—and for a split second, an unfamiliar interface flickered in the corner of his vision.
He froze. A system? Now of all the time he got the system when he got his Acceptance Letter. But he couldn't react. Not here. Not with the Dursleys only a room away, then he heard Vernon voice.
Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.
Keeping his expression perfectly blank Harry quietly slid the Hogwarts letter behind the waistband of his trousers. He shuffled the remaining envelopes, walked into the kitchen, and handed them over.
"All for you," he said calmly.
Vernon snatched the stack without suspicion. Petunia fussed over Dudley. And Harry sat through breakfast, chewing toast as though nothing extraordinary had happened—though his heartbeat thudded like drums beneath his ribs. Hogwarts letter and the activation of the system was to much of a shock for him but he was also excited.
He waited. Patiently. Quietly. Until the sun fell and the Dursleys retreated to bed. Harry then slipped back into his cupboard, closed the door behind him, and exhaled.
"System," he whispered. "Are you there?"
[Ding… Sign-In System is at your service, Host.]
A soft chime echoed inside his head, clear and mechanical but oddly warm. Harry exhaled in relief. A system. Finally. Thanks to his past life, he instantly recognized the style—daily sign-ins, rewards, progression. He had read enough fanfics and seen enough trope-heavy stories to understand what he might be dealing with.
"Alright," he murmured, leaning back. "System, explain your functions. Just to be sure."
[Ding… The System allows the Host to sign in daily, monthly, yearly, and at important locations across the world to receive rewards.]
"Great," Harry said, a tiny smile forming. "Do you have… you know, a newbie gift pack?" The answer came instantly.
[Ding… Newbie Gift Pack detected. Does the Host wish to open it?]
"Yes," Harry whispered without hesitation. "Open it."
A soft glow materialized in front of him, illuminating the cramped cupboard with shimmering light. Three objects slowly floated before him—a small greenish pill, a rolled scroll the length of his arm, and a flask filled with sparkling red blood liquid.
The System chimed again.
[Ding… Displaying reward information.]
{•Enhanced NZT-48 (Limitless Variant):
A pill granting hypermind, perfect recall, instant learning, instant analysis, omnilingualism, superhuman charisma, enhanced reflexes, superhuman instincts, multitasking ability, heightened senses, and overall hyper-competence—permanently. No side effects.
•Basic Chakra Techniques (Naruto):
Contains training for Chakra Molding, Chakra Flow, Tree-Climbing Exercise, Water-Walking Exercise, and Chakra Suppression.
•Elixir of Vitalis:
A restorative potion capable of healing malnutrition, old injuries, correcting bodily or spiritual deficiencies, and strengthening bones and muscles.}
Harry stared, stunned. "…This is insane," he whispered. "Absolutely insane."
Enhanced NZT-48 alone would make him smarter than anyone in the wizarding world. Chakra control, That was another power system from Naruto. And the Elixir… that could undo the damage of his body was just to amazing. He swallowed hard, excitement and disbelief mixing in his chest.
"System," he said slowly, voice trembling with something between awe and relief, "you might be the best thing that's ever happened to me."
[Ding… The System exists to assist the Host.]
Harry reached toward the three hovering items, each one glowing with potential.