For the past three days, Harry had settled into a routine.
Each morning, he went to school from Privet Drive, returned by evening, and immediately traveled back to Regina's shack using Wraith Flight to distribute the Wolfsbane Potion and Strengthening Potion. He had become a familiar figure to the werewolves by now, a welcome sight they eagerly awaited. He didn't mind the back and forth — not because the Dursleys approved of him leaving, but because they preferred him gone. The fewer hours Harry spent in their home, the happier they seemed.
On the third evening, after handing out the last set of potions, Harry stood before the small crowd and spoke as someone being honest.
"I need to say something important,"
Harry said, loud enough for all of them to hear.
They quieted down quickly, their attention solely on him. Many of them still looked at him like he was some kind of miracle worker, a boy who brought the impossible — painless full moons — into their cursed lives.
"I can't keep giving you these potions for free,"
Harry said simply, his voice calm, but firm.
"I'm just a kid. I don't have magical parents, or a vault full of gold at Gringotts. I barely have time to sleep between school and brewing these."
There was a murmur in the crowd. Some looked guilty, others nodded in understanding.
"I'm not charging you money,"
he added quickly.
"But I do need you to gather the ingredients. Not aconite — and it must be harvested during the full moon. I already collected a good amount and I will collect it myself."
Harry looked around.
"You've had three full moons — painless, controlled, and without exhaustion. You all know how much that means. I'm asking you to help me keep it going. Bring what you can. I'll do the brewing."
There was silence for a moment, then someone in the back raised their hand.
"We understand, Harry,"
a middle-aged man said.
"You've done more for us than anyone ever did. We'll help. We'll gather ingredients, we'll find work, and we'll make sure no one has to go back to that kind of pain."
Others nodded, and soon there were murmurs of agreement all around. Many of them looked determined — not out of fear of losing the potion, but because they finally saw hope.
They had experienced three perfect full moons. That was more than enough to convince them: there was no going back.
Harry smiled. Tired, but content.
Harry began gathering potion ingredients for himself again, because almost all of what he had collected earlier was already used up — first in brewing the Wolfsbane Potion, and then in the Strengthening Potion for the werewolves. Now that the full moon had passed and everyone was recovering well, Harry turned his focus back to himself.
He needed to replenish his stock and also start brewing combat-oriented potions. If he was going to survive stronger dungeons, face unknown magical threats, or just be prepared in general, he needed potions that could heal wounds, enhance strength, or restore mana in the middle of battle.
Using the Map, Harry began traveling to various locations marked as high-magic-density areas — forests, caves, hill clearings, even deep swamps.
Most of these places were far from Muggle eyes and untouched by humans. The perfect place to find rare potion ingredients.
Harry used [Observe] on anything and everything. If it looked even remotely magical — a plant, a root, a glowing mushroom, even a type of moss — he would scan it. Some were useful, some were toxic, and some had unique niche uses. Regardless, he collected everything useful and stored it in his inventory.
During this time, Harry also grew closer to Sam Keller, Regina's friend.
Sam was older, rough around the edges, but smart and resourceful. He ran shady errands and black-market trades for werewolves and outcasts who couldn't enter Diagon Alley. But he wasn't evil — he was just surviving the only way he could.
Harry asked Sam for help selling some of the items he had collected from dungeons, since Harry himself wasn't old enough to legally set up shop or bargain in places like Knockturn Alley.
"You want me to sell what?"
Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.
"King Boar hide? You actually killed a King Boar?"
"Yeah," Harry replied casually.
"I also have tusks, some bone carvings, rat fangs, and a bunch of extra potion ingredients I don't need."
Sam laughed.
"You're either insane or going to be very rich."
Within a week, Sam came back with a heavy pouch of coins. He had sold everything:
King Boar's Hide, King Boar's Tusks, Bone Carving of a Knight, Rat Fangs, Extra potion ingredients Harry had more than enough.
"Here's your cut," Sam said, tossing the pouch to Harry.
"You just made 176 Galleons."
Harry smiled. That was a massive amount of money for someone his age. Enough to begin planning his future away from the Dursleys.
"You know," Sam added, "if you ever want to stay in the magical world full-time, no one's gonna stop you. No one's gonna ask you why. The Ministry barely notices half the people in Knockturn Alley."
Harry thought about that.
Maybe it was time he stopped being the unwanted child at Privet Drive… and started being his own person.
Harry had recently discovered a critical pattern — dungeons were always located in areas with high magical density. Even if a dungeon relocated, it didn't disappear randomly. It simply moved to another location saturated in ambient magic.
This revelation gave Harry a clear path forward.
If he could find every magic-dense area nearby, he could systematically hunt for dungeons.
And if he found dungeons, he could earn faster — more loot, more ingredients, more Galleons.
His goal was simple: earn enough money to buy a small place in Knockturn Alley. According to Sam, the apartments above some shops were cheap and unregulated, perfect for someone like Harry who didn't want Ministry attention.
However, Harry's Map had a limit — it only showed a ten-mile radius from wherever he stood.
So Harry came up with a new strategy:
Use the map in different locations across the region, mark magic-dense areas in each map zone, return later to fully explore those areas for dungeons, ingredients, or rare creatures.
He treated each expedition like a mission — travel, scan, observe, collect, and move on. His [Observe] skill became essential, allowing him to identify magical value in the most unassuming things.
Sometimes, Harry stumbled across rare magical plants. Other times, he'd find strange creatures he'd never seen in his life. One time, he even encountered an Elder Tree that had been struck by lightning.
When he used Observe on the charred wood, it gave a surprising result:
"Material suited for high-level wand crafting. Infused with elemental lightning and age-enhanced magical fibers."
Harry didn't know any wandmakers yet — but he stored the entire tree in his inventory. It could be valuable later.
Meanwhile, Sam was thriving. Inspired by Harry's endless stream of exotic goods, Sam gave up his shady Knockturn Alley side jobs and started something more permanent.
He opened a small storefront:
"Keller's Curios – Rare Ingredients, Exotic Beasts, Unusual Finds"
Most of the shop's inventory came directly from Harry.
"You keep bringing me stuff like this," Sam had grinned one day, holding a potion vial that shimmered with liquid starlight,
"and I won't just be rich — I'll be respected."
With Sam handling the selling and Harry focused on gathering, they had formed an unofficial partnership. And with every sale, Harry's Galleon collection grew heavier.
He was getting closer to his goal.
Harry was searching the edges of a new magic-dense area, hoping to find signs of a hidden dungeon—strange footprints, unnatural silence, or maybe the scent of dark magic. But what he got instead… was chaos from the sky.
Without warning, the air above him ripped with a shriek, and a mythical griffin descended like a lightning bolt. He barely had a moment to react—just enough for a small blinking notification:
[Mythical Creature Detected: Griffin – Level 28]
[Engaged in Combat]
Harry instinctively activated Wind Step, vanishing from the spot as a set of razor-sharp talons slammed into the earth, ripping deep gouges in the dirt.
The creature was circling now—massive wingspan, leonine body, eagle's head with piercing golden eyes, and eyes full of fury. It had seen Harry as prey. It wasn't going to stop until one of them was dead.
Harry equipped his Iron Armor and Mithril Sword from his inventory, skipping any flashy gestures. The armor shimmered into existence just as the griffin swooped again.
But the beast was too fast.
Its claws tore through his chestplate, cutting across his ribs, sending sparks and blood flying. Harry gritted his teeth, backflipped using Wind Step, and slammed down a Healing Potion.
He didn't stop there. He gulped down the Luck Potion, hoping the odds would finally tilt slightly in his favor.
Fireball!
Bone Spear!
Each spell struck—but they barely scratched the creature's HP bar. The griffin was highly resistant to magical attacks, and its feathers deflected energy like scales.
The only things keeping Harry alive were:
Wind Step to blink away mid-attack
Wraith Flight to hover out of reach
His reflexes and combat instincts
The battle dragged on. The griffin had stamina. And worse, it was learning. It feinted left, twisted mid-air, and came from above, nearly taking Harry's head.
But Harry had been waiting for one thing — a wing strike too close to the ground.
The moment came. The griffin dipped in low, wings brushing treetops. Harry surged forward, channelling every ounce of strength and speed.
SLASH!
The mithril blade cleaved through feathers, bone, and sinew — one wing fell limp.
The griffin crashed to the ground, screeching, flailing. It was clumsy on land, unused to earth-bound combat.
Harry didn't waste a moment.
Critical Hit!
Backstab Bonus Applied!
Griffin HP: 42% → 0%
With a swift dash and a final, brutal cut across the neck, Harry severed the griffin's head. Its body twitched, then stilled.
Silence fell.
Panting hard, Harry stumbled back, nearly slipping in the blood-soaked soil. He popped open another Healing Potion, then a Strengthening Potion, letting the warmth surge through his muscles.
You have slain a Mythical Creature: Griffin – Level 18
+1500 EXP
Rare Loot Available: Griffin Claw x8, Griffin Feather x24, Griffin Core, Mythic Beast Meat, Skysear Beak
Level Up! Level 11 → 12
Harry collapsed backward, exhausted but victorious, grinning faintly through bruises and blood.
"I was just looking for a dungeon," he muttered to himself. "Not a sky god with feathers."
[Status Window]
[Name: Harry James Potter]
[Level: 12]
[EXP: 0 / 1200]
[Class: Nicromancer]
[Title: The Dead Killer]
[HP: 450 / 450]
[MP: 780 / 780]
[Stamina: 280 / 280]
[Strength: 21]
[Dexterity: 22]
[Intelligence: 31]
[Wisdom: 25]
[Endurance: 25]
[Luck: 20]
[Charisma: 13]
[Currency: £: 410 / G: 812 / S: 8]
[Skill List]
[Shadow Veil] – Lv. 7
[Death Ward] – Lv. 5
[Soul Drain] – Lv. 3
[Bone Spear] – Lv. 5
[Wraith Flight] – Lv. 10
[Wind Step] – Lv. 9
[Poison Mist Attack] – Lv. 6
[Fireball] – Lv. 8
[Water Shield] – Lv. 6
[Observe] – Lv. 7
[ID Create] – Lv. 4
[ID Escape] – Lv. 4
[Stat Points to Distribute: 20]
Harry put all the loot from the griffin into his inventory—feathers, talons, heartstone, and the severed wing—and was just about to leave the area when a strange feeling washed over him. It was that familiar pull in his gut—the Gamer's instinct warning him.
Something was coming.
Harry turned sharply, clutching his mithril sword tightly in his right hand. His body was still sore from the fight with the griffin, but his reflexes were sharp as ever.
From the edge of the clearing, shadows began to emerge.
A group of goblins stepped into the clearing—at least a dozen of them, armed to the teeth. Each one carried a weapon: jagged swords, crude axes, iron spears. Their armor was mismatched, some wearing rusted chainmail while others wore only leather straps and belts. Their yellow eyes glowed faintly under the canopy, and the leader among them, taller and broader than the others, had twin curved blades strapped to his back and a scar running across his face.
One of the goblins near the back, a smaller one with a crooked staff, looked up and pointed at the sky.
"Where does it go?" he hissed to the one beside him. "The beast flew here!"
But their eyes quickly fell upon Harry, standing in the middle of the clearing, a shimmering mithril blade in his hand, bloodied from battle.
The goblin leader stepped forward with a wide grin, revealing yellowed, pointed teeth. His eyes scanned Harry from head to toe—his torn iron armor, the glowing mithril blade, the slight bruises across his arms, and the faint shimmer of healing magic still radiating off him.
"Well, well," the goblin said in a gravelly voice, circling slowly, "Where's the griffin, boy?"
Harry didn't reply. He stood still, silent, his eyes locked onto the leader. He didn't need to say anything. The blood splattered across his armor, the fading scorch marks on the ground, and the severed feather stuck to his boot said enough.
The goblin's grin faded slightly, but he pressed on.
"And that sword…" The leader pointed with a clawed finger. "Where did you get mithril, huh? You loot it from a king's tomb, or… maybe from that beast?"
Harry tilted his head slightly, still silent. He activated Observe.
[Observe]
[Goblin Warlord – Level 15]
[The leader of a raiding party. Experienced and aggressive. Searching for valuable monster loot. Has no honor, only cunning.]
His fingers tightened around the hilt of his blade.
The goblins weren't just passing through.
They came here for the griffin. And seeing Harry alive, victorious, and holding what they came to claim… there would be no talking.
Only blood.
The goblin leader saw it in Harry's eyes too—and his grin returned.
"Kill him," he said simply.
The goblins roared as they rushed forward.
Harry raised his sword.
Another fight had begun.