Petunia's POV:
Petunia Dursley had always considered herself ordinary.
Ordinary looks, ordinary school life, an ordinary dream of marrying a proper man and raising a proper family in a proper home.
But her sister Lily… Lily had always been different.
Beautiful in a way Petunia never could be, adored by neighbors and teachers alike. And then came that letter. That damned letter with the strange crest and impossible words.
Witch. Hogwarts. Magic.
Lily had been chosen for something Petunia could never touch.
She remembered writing a desperate letter to the old man who signed Lily's acceptance. Take me instead. Please. I'll do better. I'll work harder than her. Don't leave me behind.
The reply never came.
From that day, jealousy became the quiet ache she carried. Lily went off to her magical castle, while Petunia stayed behind, marrying Vernon—solid, reliable, comfortably dull Vernon—and shutting magic out of her life for good. Or so she told herself.
But the night the boy arrived, bundled on her doorstep under the stars, Petunia felt the ache stir again.
Lily was gone. Dead. And the last piece of her world was now staring back at Petunia in the form of a sleeping child with dark hair and a lightning-shaped scar.
She remembered the letter that came with him—words written in that same familiar, infuriatingly polite tone.
Explaining how her sister had died. Explaining why the child had to stay here, with her. Explaining nothing about how she was supposed to raise him.
Petunia clenched the blanket tighter around the boy. Vernon muttered something about freakishness, about dumping him at an orphanage. But Petunia didn't move.
She couldn't.
Because for all her bitterness, for all her anger… she saw Lily's face in his.
And that hurt more than she'd ever admit.
Petunia carried the boy inside, her hands stiff but careful. Vernon grumbled the whole way, but she barely heard him.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the child's scar, glowing faintly in the porch light.
Lily… why did you leave me this?
Every time Harry breathed, every twitch of his tiny hands, it was like watching Lily's ghost sleeping in her arms.
It stung, sharp and deep. A reminder of everything she had lost, and everything she had never been allowed to touch.
The bitterness whispered to her: He's just like her. Another freak. Another reminder that you'll never be enough.
But something softer whispered back: He's only a child. He's her child.
Petunia pressed her lips thin, burying the softness under layers of steel.
She told Vernon she'd keep him, but "on our terms." Harry would be clothed, fed, kept alive—but never spoiled, never praised, never allowed to grow proud of what he was.
Because if she let herself be kind… if she let herself love him… she feared she'd break all over again.
So Petunia made her choice. The boy would live in their house, but never truly belong.
A safe prison, built from jealousy and grief.
As she laid him in the spare cot Dudley had long since outgrown, she turned away quickly, not letting herself linger.
Behind her, the baby stirred, making a soft, almost questioning noise.
For just a second, Petunia's hand twitched, wanting to reach back. To soothe him. To tell him he wasn't alone.
But she didn't. She couldn't.
Instead, she whispered to herself:
"This is my house. My family. And I will not let magic ruin it again."
And with that, Petunia Dursley closed the door, sealing both Harry's childhood… and her own heart.
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Harry's POV:
The sound of dishes clattering in the kitchen yanked me out of sleep.
I blinked against the dim light sneaking through the cupboard door cracks, my mind still replaying last night's zoom call in the void.
Rob's words that's a little cliché isn't it? The Horcrux burning away no getting demon slayed. The surge of magic still humming in my veins.
I stretched my small, frail limbs and exhaled slowly. Time to start making this body mine. Let the grind prevail.
Through the wood I heard Petunia's clipped voice, Vernon's low grumble. The familiar rhythm of their morning routine, already carrying the weight of disdain meant for "the boy."
It was only a matter of time before the cupboard door was yanked open and I was barked at.
But this time… I wasn't just going to take it.
I closed my eyes and reached inward, finding that reservoir of power again.
It came easier now—thicker, sharper, responsive to my will. I didn't need incantations. I just needed focus.
Legilimency. The word formed in my mind like a blade. I pictured threads of my pain, my hunger, my loneliness, woven into a memory spear. And I pushed.
The result wasn't perfect, it was clumsy, raw, but I felt the spell slip out, brushing against Petunia first.
A sharp gasp echoed faintly from the kitchen, as though a memory not her own had flashed in her head.
I pressed harder, adding a trickle of Confundus, subtle and wavering. Not enough to control. Just enough to blur edges, loosen resistance, make sympathy linger where none had existed before.
It stung, draining more magic than I expected, and I felt the grip slide after a few heartbeats. I clenched my jaw and reapplied, steady this time, anchoring the mix of pain and pity into both Petunia and Vernon.
When I opened my eyes again, my chest was tight, sweat dampening my brow. But deep inside, I felt the bond settle—thin, fragile, but real.
A new plan formed.
If I could keep dripping sympathy into their minds, weaving guilt with confusion, then maybe I could reshape them. Not into parents(a joke if you count, seeing dudley), they'd never be that, but into tools. Into shields.
Into something useful for the future I needed to survive.
From the kitchen, Vernon muttered something again. But this time his tone carried hesitation.
And Petunia… her silence lingered longer than before.
I smirked faintly in the dark.
"Good. It's working. I am HIM."
The toast was only the start. Dudley got his usual pig like filling, mountain of eggs and bacon, while I was left with scraps, a crust of bread, a strip of bacon fat no one wanted.
Still, compared to the hunger gnawing at me yesterday, it was fuel. Enough to keep moving.
The day passed the way it always did: chores.
I scrubbed dishes until my fingers wrinkled, weeded the garden under the burning sun, and dragged Vernon's heavy trash bins to the curb. My body was weak, the muscles thin and stringy, but I pushed harder with each task.
Every ache was a reminder, I had to get stronger. grind is ON.
By afternoon, when the Dursleys were distracted, I slipped out. The park wasn't far, and Dudley and his gang weren't around today. The swings creaked in the breeze, the slide gleamed faintly in the sun.
Perfect.
I found a quiet corner behind the jungle gym and began my routine: push-ups, sit-ups, squats only a little I am still a kid. My small arms trembled, my lungs burned, but I forced myself to keep count.
Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. that's the limit. Sweat stung my eyes, but I didn't stop.
When my body refused to go further, I switched to running laps around the empty field. Each step was agony, but also progress.
I can't rely only on magic, I'll build this body into something unbreakable.
Grind is eternal.
The sun dipped low, painting the sky in streaks of orange and purple. I wiped the sweat off my brow, chest heaving, and slipped back toward Number Four before the Dursleys noticed I was gone.
A little confundus and they ignored.
Dinner was no different—leftovers scraped from Dudley's plate. Cold potatoes, a half-eaten sausage. I ate in silence, eyes lowered, and Vernon didn't complain.
Petunia's glance lingered for a second, but she said nothing.
When the dishes were done and the house quiet, I crawled back into my cupboard. My body ached, every muscle screaming, but my mind buzzed with energy.
I closed my eyes, reaching for that dense, flowing magic inside me. It thrummed stronger than yesterday, like a muscle flexing after being freed of chains.
I practiced small pulses, light in my palm, a flicker of intent at my fingertips, until exhaustion pulled me under-wait.
I need food to sustain my hard work, I am still hungry. I closed my eyes and stretched my hand to the door, it clicked.
I stretched my hand out and focused on the fridge, door opened and two slices of bread and an apple and half cup of milk come floating towards me.
I devoured the food quickly and put the cup in the sink. My stomach not straining anymore.
And as I drifted to sleep, I whispered to myself:
"Step by step. Spell by spell. They won't see me coming. Grind is eternal."
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*Next Morning*
The cupboard door creaked open earlier than usual. I blinked against the sudden light and saw Petunia's thin silhouette framed in the hall.
Normally, her voice would be sharp, almost venomous: Up. Breakfast. Now.
But today… she hesitated.
Her eyes lingered on me longer than they should have, lips parting as if to say something more. For the briefest moment, her gaze flicked to the scar on my forehead, then to my thin arms clutching the blanket. Her jaw tightened.
"Get dressed," she said finally, but the edge was dulled.
I climbed out, noting every twitch in her face, every shift in her voice. The spell had worked. Not completely but enough to make her falter.
Enough to plant the seed. My See-*cough*.
In the kitchen, Vernon sat grumbling over his morning paper. Usually, he barely acknowledged my existence beyond a snarl. But when I shuffled in, barefoot and small, his eyes flicked up.
And something flickered there. Not kindness, not warmth—but unease. Like a man remembering a dream he couldn't shake.
He grunted. "Sit. Don't dawdle."
Petunia set a piece of toast on the table. Not for Dudley, not for Vernon—for me.
Thin, dry, but food all the same.
I almost laughed, but held it back. Instead, I muttered a small "Thank you" and tore into it, letting the silence stretch. Every bite tasted like victory.
Petunia busied herself at the counter, but her hands trembled faintly. Vernon cleared his throat more than once, glaring at the paper like it had personally offended him.
Neither of them said anything more.
But they didn't need to.
Their hesitation was proof enough.
I chewed, calm on the outside, burning with victory inside. This is only the beginning of the story of my life. Sympathy will hold them. Confusion will keep them pliant.
And when I'm strong enough… they'll be more than tormentors. They'll be assets.
The sun broke through the kitchen window, washing the table in pale gold. For the first time since waking in this cursed-yet-promising life, I didn't feel powerless.
I felt in control.
'All Hail The Grind'
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*Author Note*
Well that wrap up Harry's starting now he is gonna go guns blazing on the grind and a little plotting here and there
if you have any suggestions make sure to comment them.I'll appreciate constructive critisism.
also there is gonna be goal from now on :-
for every 150 power stone one bonus chapter.
for every 5 comments one bonus chapter.
for every 50 thousand veiws one bonus chapter.
See ya!!
-Nine11P2