The Dursleys, of Number 4, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.
They seemed to have absolutely no connection to anything strange or mysterious. In fact, they couldn't stand such nonsense.
And yet, the irony was that the very house they lived in was the product of a magical miracle.
After being unceremoniously turned away by Vernon Dursley, I stood there for a moment, unable to hide my faint admiration as I gazed at his house.
"Well, I'll be. Isn't that the 'Love' protection spell? Why does this exist in the modern era?"
As I've mentioned several times, I am one of the only wizards with the talent to see the traces of ancient magic with my own eyes.
I can say with confidence that no living wizard is more well-versed in ancient magic than I.
So, what exactly is the difference between this 'ancient magic' and other forms of magic? Can we simply call all old, forgotten spells ancient magic?
The answer is yes, and no.
The major difference between ancient magic and other spells is that ancient magic deals with truly primal concepts.
For instance, one type of ancient magic I'm fond of using is 'lightning.' This lightning magic is the very embodiment of the awe and fear that humanity has held for the heavens since ancient times.
The lightning of the physical world is caused by the interaction of negative and positive charges generated by ionization in the sky.
I only attended Muggle school until the fourth grade, so I'm not entirely certain, but I'm probably right.
In other words, lightning is a simple flow of electrical charge. That's why modern Muggles, who understand this, were able to escape the threat of lightning by inventing the lightning rod.
But to the ancients, a lightning strike meant something entirely different.
It was a natural disaster that could not be understood, and that one should not dare to try and understand. It was a punishment that fell upon them one day from the high heavens.
People considered lightning to be the will of the heavens, and they either feared it or worshipped it.
This is why deities related to lightning hold such high authority in various mythologies.
Returning to the main point, the 'lightning' I use is no mere flow of electrical charge.
It is the physical manifestation of the awe and fear that humanity has held for the heavens since ancient times. Naturally, it cannot be defended against with something like a lightning rod.
Because this lightning is a punishment from the heavens, an outrage of nature itself.
As such, ancient magic deals with far more primal concepts than other spells. And naturally, its foundation is human emotion.
Because of this, a certain witch once tried to extract only human emotions to use as a source of power... but of course, that was not the right way to go about it.
I still shake my head when I think of all the trouble I went through because of that epic screw-up, but it's all fine now.
For the record, I deliciously ate the final product of that screw-up. Poor Morgana.
Anyway, because ancient magic uses primal emotions, it is immensely powerful and difficult to control.
And among those ancient magics, there is one with a particularly devastating activation requirement. That one is 'Love.'
Frankly, in the personal opinion of me, Aisen Knightly, an authority on ancient magic, I believe it is quite rude to simply call that magic 'Love.'
What a terrifying world it would be if every form of love in the world was like that.
A more accurate term would be a branch of love known as 'Agape,' which is closer to an unconditional, parental love.
And it's not just simple Agape. Only the emotion of Agape, maximized in the moment of sacrificing one's own life, can activate the magic of 'Love.'
In short, it's an exceptionally rare specimen, even among ancient magics.
And that boy, the one with the lightning-bolt scar on his head. That boy was the target of 'Love.'
As a wizard, I was naturally filled with a great spirit of inquiry and couldn't help but be intrigued by the boy.
So, how could I strike up a conversation with him? From the looks of it, the man named Vernon Dursley, who seems to be the head of the household, is a typical, narrow-minded Muggle.
For a moment, the very simple solution of the Imperius Curse popped into my head, but I shook it off.
"Nah, he's not a Dark Wizard or anything. Using the Imperius Curse would be a bit much, right?"
My smooth, round conscience aside, I also had a feeling that the 'Love' magic applied to the house wouldn't take kindly to the Imperius Curse.
It wasn't that I couldn't break through it, but I saw no reason to be so insistent on using the curse.
"Hmm, what to do. Deek, what's a good way to talk to that kid without the homeowner noticing?"
"If the homeowner is bothering you, why don't you do something to draw his attention and lure him out of the house?"
Deek replied, his large, innocent house-elf eyes blinking.
My fingers snapped at Deek's words.
"Ah, there was such a simple solution."
The 'Love' magic will surely understand a small fire in the front yard, right?
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Harry Potter was a rather peculiar boy. For one, the place where he lived was the cupboard under the stairs.
In the cupboard, which was just large enough for him to lie down, he was having another not-so-good day, just like any other.
Ding-dong!
The sudden ring of the doorbell made Harry call out to his Uncle Vernon.
"Uncle Vernon! Someone's at the door!"
There was no answer, so he called out several more times, and only then did Vernon emerge from the bedroom, dragging his heavy body.
"You little rat. One call would have been enough. Why must you call so many times and bother me?"
Vernon walked off, spouting his usual verbal abuse. At least he didn't punish him this time, so it was one of the better days.
Vernon flung open the door and flinched for a moment at the sight of the man standing there.
Through the gap, Harry saw the figure outside and let out a soft gasp.
A stylish suit, a handsome face, and mysterious blue-gray hair. And behind him, a magnificent car.
He was the kind of person that even the materialistic Vernon would surely admire.
And so, despite being in a bad mood from being woken up, Vernon responded with what was, by his standards, a polite attitude.
"Hmph, who is it?"
The rest of the conversation was hard to hear. At a glare from Vernon, Harry had scurried back into his cupboard.
That man from before had a somewhat mystical aura about him. As Harry thought about this person, so different from anyone he had ever encountered in his life, a thought occurred to him.
I wish something magical would happen to change my life.
But of course, such a wish was nothing more than a childish fantasy. Harry, who had been forced to grow up early, let out a sigh.
There was still a mountain of chores for him to do.
And to his surprise, Harry would get to experience his wish coming true just a few hours later.
Just in a slightly, well, a very different form than he had expected.
"Fire! Fire!"
"Oh, good heavens!"
At the sight of the front yard suddenly erupting in crimson flames, the Dursley family and Harry couldn't help but panic.
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After using a simple fire-starting spell to set the front yard ablaze and taking additional measures to ensure it wouldn't be easily extinguished, I waited patiently.
I've cast my line and am waiting for a bite. Isn't this what fishing is all about?
As expected, unable to ignore the bait (the fire), Vernon Dursley and his family gathered with great interest.
Naturally, if I waited, the boy would come out too, so I watched as they tried all sorts of things, like dousing the fire with water.
Hmm, let's see. One large one, another large one, and one of a moderately thin build.
I'm sure that black-haired boy wasn't that big. Why is he the only one not coming out?
Curious, I used a Disillusionment Charm and quietly slipped into the house.
Revelio.
I used a revealing spell to find where the people were, and... wait, why is there someone in there?
Feeling a presence from a place that seemed completely uninhabitable, I knocked on the door under the stairs.
Knock, knock.
"Is anyone in there?"
Creeak.
As if to prove my revealing spell hadn't been wrong, the door opened, and the boy with the lightning-bolt scar I'd seen earlier walked out.
Surprised to see me, the boy asked.
"The man from before?"
"Yes, that's me."
"How did you get in here?!"
"Wouldn't it be more fun to save that for later?"
But from the looks of it, what with the place he was living in and his scrawny appearance, he didn't seem to be in very good shape. What is this? Was it still the 19th century?
"Alright, but what's your name?"
"Um, my name is Harry Potter."
Huh? Harry Potter? I'm sure I've heard that name somewhere... Ah.
The Boy Who Lived.
Wasn't Harry Potter the name of the kid who supposedly survived the Killing Curse and killed Voldemort?
Of course, the name Harry and the surname Potter weren't that uncommon, but seeing the 'Love' protection spell swirling around this child, I was certain.
I see, so that's how he survived the Killing Curse. It was the power of 'Love.'
My thoughts suddenly turned to my junior.
According to his story, he was the one who found The Boy Who Lived.
A wizard of Albus's caliber, who had made such remarkable progress over ninety years, should have been able to recognize the traces of 'Love.'
And yet, even knowing that I research ancient magic, he didn't mention a single word of it to me?
It was undoubtedly part of one of his 'plans.' With so many factors aligning, this boy was probably a crucial part of that 'plan.'
Suddenly feeling quite resentful toward Albus, I asked Harry playfully.
"So, Harry. Would you like to see me show you something fun?"
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Meanwhile, in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts.
Even after Aisen Knightly's return, the wizarding world hadn't changed much.
This was because Aisen, fed up with the rules of the magical world, had gone off to tour the Muggle world.
Dumbledore, who was sitting in his usual chair in the Headmaster's office and leisurely modifying his grand plan using his 'Aisen Pass,' turned his head as the flames in the fireplace turned green and flared up.
The figure that took shape there was, unmistakably, Mrs. Figg.
"Dumbledore, there's trouble!"
"What is it, Mrs. Figg?"
"The house where Harry was...!"
At the mention of Harry Potter's name, Dumbledore's calm blue eyes began to tremble.
"Mrs. Figg, please calm down and tell me. What happened to Harry?"
"He, he was, a young man with blue-gray hair took Harry!"
Blue-gray hair, blue-gray hair.
The image of a grinning Senior Aisen Knightly suddenly flashed through his mind.
Dumbledore's mind went blank, and a throbbing pain shot through his head.
Dumbledore placed a hand on his head and cried out in anguish.
"By Merlin's shattered skull! Why, oh why, do you give me such trials?"
Dumbledore could not be happy.