"Uncle Vernon," Harry said to Vernon, who was watching TV, "I have an application form here that needs the guardian's approval signature..."
"Oh." Uncle Vernon took the form, barely glanced at it, and casually scrawled his name in large, flamboyant letters where the signature was needed.
Vernon Dursley.
"Take it back." Without looking, he handed the paper back to Harry.
Harry didn't expect it to be so easy; he thought he would have to chat with Uncle Vernon for a bit—at the very least, Uncle Vernon would ask about Hogwarts.
But what Harry didn't know was that ever since Uncle Vernon used the Euphoria Potion, successfully got a promotion and raise, and reached the peak of his life, he'd become less resistant to magic.
Magic?
No, it's not just some freakish trick; it's a wonderful tool that can make me money!
Standards are always flexible at such moments, because Uncle Vernon, having gained great benefits, now sees magic as pleasing to the eye, and Harry too... has transformed from 'freak kid' to 'my dear nephew.'
Their conflict with magic, frankly, stemmed from his initial showdown with James Potter, and his fear of magic originated from the Dark Wizards who killed his wife's sister and brother-in-law.
Now that magic has benefited him and let him boast, why reject it?
In many ways, Harry, despite having attended school a century ago, isn't all that different from an ordinary boy.
For example, he hates doing homework, even studying late at night with a desk lamp on, sitting at his desk to write his assignments.
It was nearly midnight, and he impatiently set aside the completed Magic Potion homework, opening another book with a leather cover—"History of Magic" by Bashida Bashat.
Harry knew Bashida Bashat; he had visited her some time ago with Vivi and Gellert.
The old lady was in high spirits, delighted to see Vivi, and even cooked a traditional UK meal for her long-lost great-niece.
As for Gellert...
The old lady clearly didn't like him, her words brimming with disdain.
Thinking of Gellert made Harry frown.
He didn't really like that foul-mouthed Sunflower Parrot, and if given the chance, he'd rather hit him with a Relaxing Bow Spell to make his facial muscles go limp.
Muttering to himself, Harry traced the tip of his feather pen over the page, searching for materials to help him write his essay, titled "The Practice of Burning Witches in the 14th Century Was Completely Meaningless—Discussion Draft."
The feather pen lingered at the start of a seemingly useful passage, and Harry pushed his round glasses up his nose, pulling the lamp closer to the book.
He read, "In medieval times, Non-Magic World people (more commonly known as 'Muggles') were particularly afraid of magic, but they weren't good at recognizing magic."
"They occasionally caught actual wizards or witches, but in such cases, burning had little effect. Wizards or witches would perform a basic spell to freeze flames, enjoying the mild itching sensation of fire while pretending to scream in pain."
"Diviner Wendelin enjoyed being burned, allowing herself to be caught in various disguises, amounting to forty-seven times."
Harry recalled Hermione's discussion about 'God,' and Ron's words on the matter.
It seemed Ron didn't study magical history well; otherwise, he wouldn't have said something like 'burning into a human fireball.'
Harry bit onto his pen with his teeth, opened an ink bottle cap casually, and dipped the pen into it.
He began writing on the parchment paper, crafting an essay on Magical History—although the subject was dull, it was also the easiest to bluff, as Professor Bin only counted who hadn't submitted essays instead of burying his face in them like Snape, eager to critique each student.
For two consecutive days, Harry rushed to finish all his homework, then packed his things, preparing to continue searching for Cassandra's whereabouts.
However, to his surprise, on the third morning, an unexpected guest arrived at his home.
The doorbell rang, and Aunt Penny went to answer it, discovering a beautiful young girl with long blonde hair standing at the entrance.
"Hello?" Aunt Penny hesitated, "This is the Dursley family's home."
"Hello, Mrs. Dursley." Vivi smiled politely, giving a lady's bow, "I am Vilatia Grindelwald; if I'm not mistaken, your previous name should have been Penny Evans?"
Evans?
A name from the past, one so distant that Penny had almost forgotten it.
"No one has called me that in a long time. Did we know each other?"
As Penny spoke, she realized the other was still standing outside, so she said, "Come in, Miss Grindelwald—your name doesn't sound like someone from the United Kingdom?"
"I'm Austrian." Vivi entered the Dursley family home, saying to Penny.
Penny led Vivi into the living room, sitting across from each other. She opened her mouth to ask, "Did we know each other before? Or... do your parents know me?"