Chapter 1 — The Boy on the Doorstep
He heard a scream — a loud scream that tore through the night, distance, time, and even worlds.
Somewhere far beyond the quiet suburb of Little Whinging, a mother's desperate cry shattered the night.
"No, not Harry!"
Lily Potter.
A flash of green light — and then, silence.
And at that very instant, Arthur woke up.
He sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for breath as if he'd surfaced from the depths of a dream too real to be imagined. His heart hammered wildly in his small chest. For a moment, he just stared at his trembling hands — soft, small like a child, and completely alien. Then memory came back like a floodgate bursting.
It was a rainy day. He remembered the screech of tires. A child frozen on the road. He ran forward, shouting, "Move!" The impact felt like the end of everything.
But he also remembered hearing the scream of the child's mother before dying.
And now he was breathing again? Awake?
He looked around — the cartoon wallpaper, the nightlight shaped like a bear, the smell of lavender cleaning spray. His new brain might've been small, but his adult consciousness had no trouble identifying the environment.
"...This is a kid's room," he muttered under his breath. "A very neat kid's room." He paused for a moment. "My room."
He recalled his present situation. Arthur Dursley, firstborn son of Vernon and Petunia Dursley. Elder brother to Dudley Dursley. The residence was Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.
Then realization struck.
He froze. Then whispered again, "Oh, hell."
He blinked once, frowned, and corrected himself.
"Nah. It should be — oh, bloody hell."
He fell back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling, thinking, Of all the places to be reborn — or maybe respawn — it had to be here. At least I'm still called Arthur in this world, too.
He didn't remember praying for reincarnation. Yet here he was, reborn as Arthur Dursley, son of Vernon and Petunia Dursley — the proud, the petty, the painfully normal.
Arthur glanced at the clock on his bedside table.
11:58 PM. It was Halloween night.
And if his memory was right, this was that night — the night Lily and James Potter, his uncle and aunt in this life, died. The night that started everything.
"Right about now," he murmured, "the Dark Lord's trying to kill a baby with a forehead target. God, this timeline's insane."
He laughed softly — not because it was funny, but because the alternative was panic.
Sleep was no longer an option. His small heart was racing too fast, his mind too awake. His thoughts were a mess of awe and dread.
He climbed out of bed, padded to the window, and pulled the curtains aside. The street below glowed faintly under the lamps — neat houses, trimmed hedges, mailboxes all in a row. Perfectly ordinary. Painfully ordinary.
And yet, Arthur knew that soon, something extraordinary would happen right here.
He didn't dare go outside, though — not with Dumbledore coming. He knew that much from the movies. Those sharp blue eyes could probably read souls like open books. If the old man looked at him for even a second, he might see everything.
Nope, he thought. He will not entertain them and let the fourth wall be broken and then be dissected. But do wizards dissect like scientists? Who knows what they might do?
He was going to stay right here behind the curtains and pretend to be an innocent five-year-old, thank you very much.
As the clock ticked past midnight and he waited in silence for the destined moment, he felt something — a strange inner hum. His awareness deepened, sharpened. He could sense three things clearly now, like threads of light winding through his being.
His Soul — bright and whole, untouched by death.
His Body — young, growing, adaptable.
His Mind — his anchor, sharp and unyielding.
They weren't magic. Not exactly. But they were foundations — perfect, balanced, and somehow evolvable.
A trinity of existence, just as he had once theorized.
He recalled that in his previous life, while reading and watching different stories about power systems, he had a theory: all powers were broadly based on one of three things — Soul, Body, or Mind.
He frowned thoughtfully. "So, reincarnated and upgraded. Nice."
Still, he couldn't shake the mystery. Why here? Why this world? Why a Dursley of all people?
Then a thought came from the depths of his being — maybe this wasn't the endgame. Maybe he'd been tossed into a multiverse of stories, one chapter at a time.
World-hopping.
Great. He'd always wanted to be an overpowered character.
Time passed as he reviewed his thoughts and came to accept the situation.
At last, a faint light shimmered at the corner of the street. Arthur's breath caught. The street was now dark — except in front of his house.
There they were — two silhouettes appearing out of thin air. One tall and robed, the other rigid and watchful. Dumbledore and McGonagall. Dumbledore had used that magical artifact which sucked up lights.
Arthur ducked behind the curtain, peeking just enough to see. His small fingers clenched the fabric tight.
He watched as a small rumble sounded. A motorcycle descended from the sky, with a giant of a man sitting on it.
Hagrid, Arthur thought. The gentle giant.
Hagrid handed a small bundle to the professors as they chatted. Then Dumbledore walked forward and gently placed the bundle on the doorstep.
The baby inside slept in silence, revealing a soft face and a scar that was still pink and new.
"Harry Potter…" Arthur whispered. "Welcome to your future home, kiddo."
The trio of magical people left silently. For a long moment, he simply watched.
Absent-mindedly, he compared the circumstances of his past death and present life. It was a similar situation — a mother's desperate scream, a plea to save her child.
He had saved that child on the road, and a similar mother's scream had woken him here. The air felt sacred, heavy with meaning. He thought that this was the answer to his previous questions — the mystery of the three Whys.
He should've been afraid — he was, a little — but more than that, he felt resolve.
If it was a mother's concern that brought him here, and the world was giving him another chance, handing him foresight and power, then he'd use it. He'd protect the innocent, the helpless, the ones who never got second chances.
That's what got him killed the first time. And he didn't regret it. Because if the situation demanded it, he'd do the same again.
Arthur stayed by the window until dawn began to touch the rooftops. His eyes were locked on his cousin lying in the bundle. He did not go down to the door to bring him in — what five-year-old would wake up and open doors at midnight for apparently no reason? He did not want to alert anyone — be it his family or the others keeping an eye on the house. He would take it slowly and steadily guide his family.
His mind churned with thoughts when one small scream broke him from his reverie. His parents were awake and had received the parcel.
His watch had ended. He crawled back into bed eventually, eyes half-open, whispering softly to himself:
"You won't be alone this time, Harry. I promise."
Then, after a pause, he sighed.
"Although, honestly, being your cousin sounds exhausting."
-End of Chapter 1-