The first thing Alister felt upon waking was the profound, humming energy within him. It was a silent, pulsing reservoir of power, a feeling so immense it was almost overwhelming. He lay still, eyes closed, and focused on the sensation.
It was real.
The dream, the voice, the strange glowing screen—none of it was a fever-induced hallucination. The connection to the World's Core was a tangible thread, a perfect, unbroken link that ran from the very essence of the planet to the center of his being.
He knew, with cold certainty, that the power coursing through him was terrifying. It was raw, primal force—the kind that could level mountains and boil oceans. Tier 3 magic, world-altering power contained within the fragile body of a ten-year-old boy. A single uncontrolled outburst of this energy would reduce the entire city to rubble. He could feel its potential, its wild, untamed nature.
But he also felt the System's presence—an extension of his own will, a perfect governor. His mind could sense the flawless control it provided. The System was a dam holding back a flood of power that would otherwise consume him. It was both shield and cage.
A soft groan broke through his thoughts. Astra, curled against his side, stirred and slowly opened her eyes. The fear he'd seen yesterday was gone, replaced by a quiet, trusting gaze.
Alister's arm, which had been resting under her head, gently pulled her into a morning hug. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the faint scent of childhood and dust.
"Morning," he whispered, his voice still rough from sleep.
Astra hummed in response, burying her face deeper into his shirt.
He pulled back, holding her at arm's length so he could look into her eyes. The words he was about to say were not a suggestion—they were a command, a promise he intended to keep with every fiber of his being.
"Astra," he said, his voice low and serious. "You are not to do any housework from now on. Don't touch a single plate, don't sweep the floor, don't do anything."
Her eyes widened in confusion, and a hint of familiar fear returned. "But... Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia..."
"They won't be a problem," Alister interrupted, his gaze unyielding. "And if anyone—anyone—raises their voice to you or tries to bully you, you just have to do one thing. Call my name. Just say 'Alister.' Do you understand?"
Astra blinked, her small mind struggling to process the monumental shift. Slowly, she nodded, a small, fragile smile touching her lips. The fear vanished, replaced by profound, utter faith.
The morning started like any other, with Vernon's thunderous footsteps shaking the stairs. "Boy! Girl! Get out here! Breakfast isn't going to make itself, you freaks!"
Alister pulled Astra close for a moment, then released her. "Remember what I said," he whispered, his eyes meeting hers. He crawled out of the cupboard, his movements deliberate, his posture straighter than usual. Astra followed like a small, determined shadow.
In the kitchen, Petunia already hovered over the stove, her face pinched. Dudley was glued to the television, occasionally grunting for more bacon.
"Well? Don't just stand there! Alister, finish those dishes! Astra, set the table!" Petunia snapped, pointing a bony finger at the sink.
Alister moved, but not toward the sink. He walked to Astra and gently nudged her toward the living room. "Go sit with Dudley, Astra. Watch the television."
Petunia's mouth fell open, her face contorting in disbelief. "What did you just say, boy?"
Alister turned to face her, his emerald eyes—usually hidden behind dusty spectacles—now sharp and unwavering. The faint, subtle hum of Tier 3 magic within him, though perfectly controlled, unconsciously radiated a quiet, dangerous presence. Petunia, though she couldn't understand it, felt a chill creep up her spine, a primal warning that made the hairs on her arms stand on end.
"I said, Astra won't be doing any chores," Alister stated, his voice calm and even, yet carrying unshakeable finality. "Neither will I. From now on, you and Uncle Vernon will manage the housework. And if either of you dares to raise your voice to Astra, or so much as touch her in anger..." He let the threat hang in the air, unsaid but deeply felt.
The raw, predatory gaze he'd wielded yesterday returned, focused entirely on Petunia. She took an involuntary step back, her complexion draining.
Vernon, attracted by the sudden silence, lumbered into the kitchen. "What in blazes is going on here?" he boomed, but his voice faltered as his gaze fell upon Alister. He saw the same cold, unyielding stare that had unnerved him before, amplified by a quiet confidence that was entirely new.
"Uncle Vernon," Alister said, turning his piercing gaze on the fat man. "Astra and I will no longer be performing any chores. Furthermore, we will not tolerate any bullying or shouting, especially toward Astra. Is that clear?"
Vernon sputtered, his face purpling, but no words came. The sheer, impossible audacity of the boy, combined with that chilling, unreadable stare, left him utterly flustered. He felt like he was facing down a rabid dog—except this dog was his skinny, ten-year-old nephew.
Seeing their stunned, terrified silence, Alister took Astra's hand and led her back to the cupboard. He ignored Dudley's confused grunts and the Dursleys' bewildered, fearful stares.
Weeks Later
The small cupboard under the stairs had transformed. It was still cramped and dusty, but it had become Alister's sanctuary, his library. The Dursleys, surprisingly, had capitulated.
Their fear, unreasoning as it was, held firm. Chores were no longer demanded, and their bullying—particularly toward Astra—ceased entirely. They avoided Alister's gaze, flinching whenever he spoke, and even began leaving plates of food outside the cupboard door.
Astra, sensing the shift, blossomed. She spent most of her time nestled beside Alister, drawing with crayons on scraps of paper or quietly playing with a battered toy soldier he'd found.
Alister, meanwhile, devoured every scrap of information he could get his hands on. He couldn't simply ask the System for a list of magical history—he had to provide the raw data himself.
He started with the Dursleys' own possessions. While they were gone, he would pore over old newspapers and a worn set of encyclopedias Dudley never used.
He read about strange phenomena, unexplainable events, and historical figures whose accomplishments bordered on the impossible. The System, in turn, would process this data, cross-referencing dates, names, and events with speed beyond human comprehension.
[Processing historical records of the 'Great Fire of London'... computing magical anomalies... cross-referencing with folklore of 'Phoenix'...]
The System's voice was a constant, tireless hum in his mind.
He pieced together a fragmented picture of a hidden world—a magical society existing alongside the mundane one the Dursleys knew.
The weeks of quiet study had transformed Alister's understanding of the world. He now knew that magic was a tangible, if fading, force. He'd processed enough fragments to learn about wands, spells, and potions, but the names of magical institutions remained a complete mystery. His knowledge was just a collection of facts.
July 31st
One sunlit morning, the sharp rap of a heavy fist against the front door shattered the quiet of Privet Drive. Alister, from his position in the cupboard, knew the Dursleys were all out. Cautiously, he led Astra out and peered through the living room window.
He saw a giant of a man, his face almost entirely hidden by a wild mess of hair and a long, tangled beard. The man's sheer size was shocking—his natural posture was one of immense, raw power.
Alister moved to open the door, but just before unlatching it, he sprang back, his small body tensing into a combat stance.
The giant, however, seemed to take no notice of the boy's sudden move. He simply smiled—a warm and disarming expression that did little to soothe Alister's battle-ready stance.
"Ah, there you are, Alister," the man rumbled, his voice a deep, comforting sound that seemed to carry the very essence of the forest. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."
Alister's mind immediately began working on the new information: Hogwarts. The name meant nothing to him, but the man's easy mention of it and his direct address sent a jolt of recognition through his core.
Hagrid's face took on a look of genuine concern. "Did you never get your letter? We sent dozens, you know. I've been tryin' to get a hold of you for ages."
Alister's eyes narrowed. Letter? A chilling possibility formed in his mind. The Dursleys had hidden something from him. They must have known.
"The Dursleys never gave it to me," Alister said, his voice a low, cold statement of fact.
Hagrid's face hardened, his bushy eyebrows knitting together in a scowl. "Never gave it to you? I should've known. Blasted Muggles." He stepped into the hallway, his massive frame seeming to fill the entire space. He rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a crumpled letter from his jacket.
"Here," Hagrid said, his large hand gently pressing the heavy, yellowish envelope into Alister's. The paper felt thick and old, the seal warm to the touch. He turned it over, his gaze fixed on the name written in elegant script: Mr. A. Potter, The Cupboard Under the Stairs, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.
Hagrid's eyes softened as he looked from the letter to Alister. "It's all real, Alister. All of it. The magic, the school... all of it. Your mum and dad were some of the best wizards I ever knew."
Hagrid looked at Astra, who was still clutching Alister's leg, and his expression turned gentle. "And don't you worry about this little one. She'll get her own letter next year, a proper one. You two stick together, you hear?"
With a final, reassuring nod, Hagrid reached into the depths of his long coat. He pulled out a slightly squashed box and offered it to Alister. "Oh, by the way... I might've sat on it, but I figured you'd like it anyway." He opened the lid to reveal a magnificent, if slightly misshapen, chocolate cake with green frosting. "Happy birthday, Alister."
Alister's breath hitched. He stared at the cake, the two words on it a profound and alien concept. A birthday. He had never known his birth date. Astra, clinging to him, looked up at the cake, her eyes wide with wonder and confusion. The very idea of a birthday was foreign to them both.
"My... my birthday?" Alister whispered, the words feeling strange on his tongue.
Hagrid's smile was warm and comforting. "Course it is. Today's the thirty-first of July. Your mum and dad would've been so proud."
Alister looked down at Astra, who was now gazing at the cake with an unreadable expression. They were orphans who didn't even know when or where they were born.
He finally looked at Hagrid, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you," he said, the words feeling small and inadequate.
Hagrid simply nodded, his smile as warm as a hearth fire. "We've got to get a move on. We're going to Diagon Alley to get your school supplies. You'll need a wand, a cauldron, books... everything. Come on, you two."
"What about my sister?" Alister asked.
Hagrid's expression softened. "Don't you worry about that, Alister. Hogwarts only takes students in the year they turn eleven. Astra will have to wait for her turn."
A flicker of relief passed over Alister's face.
"Right then," Hagrid said, his voice a low rumble. "Time to go."
He led them out of the house. Alister held Astra's hand tightly as they walked to the end of the street. There, leaning against a lamppost, was a sight that made Alister's mind freeze.
It looked like a motorcycle with a sidecar, except that it hovered a foot off the ground, supported by magical energy rather than wheels. The engine hummed with a low, magical thrum, and thick rope was tied around the sidecar for a passenger to hold onto.
"It's a bit of a custom job," Hagrid said, a hint of pride in his voice. "Couldn't fit on a regular broom, could I? Now, Alister, you'll sit behind me, and little Astra, you hop in the sidecar."
Alister helped Astra into the sidecar, making sure she was secure, before climbing onto the seat behind Hagrid. The sheer size of the man in front of him made him feel tiny.
"Hold on tight!" Hagrid bellowed over the roar of the engine.
With a sputter and a lurch, the motorcycle took to the sky. The familiar suburban landscape of Privet Drive shrank below them, the mundane world they had known for so long becoming nothing more than a patchwork of green lawns and identical roofs. The wind whipped at Alister's face, the sensation of flight a powerful, exhilarating rush.
It was freedom. It was a new perspective.
As they soared through the clouds, Alister glanced at Astra in the sidecar. Her face, which had so often been filled with fear, was now alight with pure, unbridled joy. The terror was gone, replaced by a sense of wonder he hadn't seen in her before.
As they flew higher, the sky turned from hazy blue to an endless canvas of stars, and the world below became a distant memory.
(END OF CHAPTER)
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