It was the final day of St. Grogory's. Six years of boredom and exhausting attempts to act his age done (for now.) The years had not been completely useless, however—he was now a full three levels above where most of his age was, and he'd managed to successfully hide his… unique… circumstance from his teachers (that hadn't stopped them from labeling him gifted, however. Thankfully all that seemed to mean was that he was allowed to go to the library instead of staying in the class during the hour-long 'remedial' time the school built in every other day for children who were struggling.)

In terms of skills, Harry was on a roll. He'd (using books in the school library) learned a bit more of French and German (in order to prepare for the Triwizard Tournament), in addition to the smattering of Spanish the class had been taught that he hadn't paid attention to the first time around. The language research had also allowed him to better understand Latin—the dictionaries in particular being useful for this because of their sections on word origins—but there hadn't been any books on the language in particular.

He'd also done what he could to study finance. If he was to change the wizarding government then he really had to have a good understanding of money first, and he'd gone so far as to use some of his stolen cash to buy a book on the topic when his aunt's back was turned in order to be as prepared as possible. Law was another topic he focused on, to the point that in his skill bracket Law split to both Non-Magical and Magical British Law. While there wasn't much he could do about Magical Law, for Non-Magical Law he'd had to mainly rely on one secretly bought book and a fuck-ton of furtive internet searches (his relatives didn't allow him on Dudley's or Uncle Vernon's computer and he didn't want the school to look into what he was looking up.)

He had also gotten significantly better at acting throughout the years. While he'd never exactly been bad at it—pretending everything was alright when he'd first been raised in combination with dumping 20 points into acting on the first day of school had ensured that—his self-study of psychology and communication books helped make sure he could pretend to be who everyone expected him to be. (Not that that made it easier—Harry couldn't wait until he hit his teens and could act more like he actually felt. For now all he could do was pretend to be an unusually introverted and book-smart kid who had no real interest in friends. Jesus, he hoped he didn't end up in Ravenclaw—he remembered them as vicious from his first time through.)

Athletically he'd also improved. While he doubted this would help with his actual goals, considering how frequently he'd been in danger during his first life he figured the ability to dodge, at least, would be ridiculously helpful over the next few years.

What he was most proud of, though, was his magic. While he still couldn't improve on most skills (lacking both a wand and a means to study any of the other magical skills, like runes) he had been able to improve rather noticeably in Intent Magic (47 skill points! Ha!) compared to where he had started. The constant practice also helped him with his charms and transfiguration skills, as well as magic as a whole, which he'd already had a pretty high score in.

There were a smattering of other skills, such as music, that Harry had improved on thanks to paying more attention in school, but he (at the very least currently) couldn't see much use for them.

In addition, as a pat-on-the-back to himself several years prior for learning ten spells (the levitation, notice-me-not, light-creating, summoning, banishing, locking, unlocking, episky, finite, and repairing charms in particular) he'd allowed himself to use two of his bonus points to fix his eyesight. At the very least, he figured, this (in addition to the slightly shorter haircut he now favored) difference would help Snape realize that James wasn't Harry's first name.

Since then he'd also mastered the Gemino charm (which could create temporary copies of almost anything), the Homenum Revelio charm (or at least he thought he did—he had yet to try it with anyone else in the room), the disarming charm (again, probably—he hadn't tested it), the locomotor charm (a sort of summoning-banishing combination charm), muffliato, point me, the shrinking charm, scourgify, the silencing charm, and the stupefy charm (untested, of course.) He thought that the number was pretty great considering he didn't have any teachers or reference material to go off of this time around and he hadn't exactly been a stellar student the first time either.

Best of all, while all of his time spent practicing and studying had ended up giving him a reputation as a loner, unlike last time he never got a reputation as someone to be bullied—he got along with his classmates as a whole, and the few times that Dudley had tried to make a statement by pushing Harry around he was stopped by the teachers who, this time, were at least somewhat aware of Harry's… unpleasant… home life (which was not to say that life with his relative's was necessarily bad. In fact, compared to his first go-through it was downright heavenly, but he knew it still wasn't as good as most children his age, particularly in terms of being loved- something that his psychology textbooks emphasized the importance of.)

Regardless, it was the last day of school, and all of the little children (for despite them being noticeably older than they were when Harry first met them, they were still incredibly young in his now 27 year-old mind) were now being picked up by their various caretakers. The future was upon him.

He was already fairly sure how the rest of the summer would go—this summer's memories, at least, were still relatively fresh in his mind from the first time he'd experienced them. Aunt Petunia would pick them up and treat Dudley to ice cream and soda and whatever else he wanted. Unlike last time, though, this time Harry would likely be allowed along to the steakhouse they'd go to for dinner.

Then they would start the summer holiday. While the first time his day had been mostly spent doing chores or playing with the army men or pet spider (Atticus) in his closet, this time he'd already been given permission by his aunt (for the first time in either lifetime) to sign up for a recently opened Judo class at the local gym. This wasn't because she was being nice, of course, but rather that Dudley had taken an interest in boxing earlier than he had in Harry's last life (Dudley had been forced to exercise by his counselor due to his continued obesity and he'd found boxing to be the most palatable of the options.) Aunt Petunia didn't want to be eyed by her neighbors for only allowing one of the boys to take a class at the gym, so Judo it was. The other good news was that Piers had also signed up for the boxing class, and his mother would be taking him and Dudley back to the Polkiss house after practice, which meant that Aunt Petunia had agreed that Harry could go to the neighboring library to wait to be picked up (which would only happen when Dudley was ready to go home.)

After about two months of this the owl would come (July 24th, if Harry remembered correctly.) Then, depending on whether or not Uncle Vernon found the letter, they'd either have a repeat of last time's letter-bombing fiasco, or Harry would be able to covertly write back a reply with questions that he'd never managed to ask last time, and hopefully a plan to slip out without his relative's notice.

For now, though, he and the rest of the class said goodbye to Mr. O'Brian, their teacher for the year, and were packed up into their parent's (or guardian's) cars.

"I bet—" Dudley started as he buckled his seatbelt. "I bet I've gotten the best scores in the whole grade!" Harry sincerely doubted that. Dudley always had someone working with him during the remedial hour. "In fact, I bet they're gonna give me the highest score ever given!" Harry glanced out the window, saying goodbye to St. Grogory's for (hopefully) the last time.

"I have no doubt, Dudley-kins!" Aunt Petunia hummed, smiling into the rear-view mirror. Harry had no doubt about her conviction, either. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had always told Dudley he was doing remarkably better than he actually was, but to be fair they'd also shelled out a fair bit on tutors so Dudley's idealized image of himself wasn't too far from reality—far, yes, but not ridiculously so. (Harry had no doubt that the other reason that they gave Dudley tutors this time when they hadn't bothered last time was because they could get away with giving Dudley something they didn't have to give Harry—Harry, after all, was performing well enough on his own.)

"What'll you give me if I get good scores?" Dudley asked, leaning forward. He'd been asking this for weeks now, ever since they'd started studying for the sats, and the answer was always the same.

"Whatever you want, sweetie!" Aunt Petunia crooned happily. Dudley began to list things he was thinking about asking for. Harry had no doubt he'd get them all—most were probably already purchased.

Eventually they pulled into the driveway of Number 4 Privet Drive. Dudley had by that time run out of desired treasures (already having so many toys, gadgets, and thingamajigs that it astounded Harry that there was anything left in the market) and had moved on to what he'd like to eat. It had been decided, by the time they pulled onto the street, that they'd eat at the upper-class steakhouse that had a triple-chocolate fudge cake on its desert menu (Dudley loved it, and the Dursleys tended to eat there once a month in both lifetimes.)

As Aunt Petunia put the car in park she glanced at Harry for the first time in the entire trip. She'd been doing that more often over the past year, and Harry knew it was because she knew his letter was coming soon. While he hadn't ever shown any sign of magic (and what wonders that had done for their treatment of him!) he knew the letter that had been left with him clearly stated that he would go to Hogwarts, and Harry had overheard a non-trivial number of whispered arguments between Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon over what to do about the matter.

They had yet to do anything, but that looked like it was about to change.

"Harry…dear…would you… please… go inside and sit at the kitchen table? I have something to talk to you about."

"What about? Can I watch?" Dudley asked, suddenly interested. While the improvements over the other version of himself couldn't be overstated, he was still a snot of a boy and truly enjoyed seeing others get in trouble.

"No! No, Dudley-kins. It'll be… quite boring, I should think, and I don't want you to have to muddle through it. How about you go up to your room and play that new game that Daddy bought you yesterday? Mummy will be up in a bit to bring you some snacks to tide you over until dinner—I think today's a special enough day that we can ignore your diet."

"Okay!" Dudley agreed happily, shuffling out of the car and banging up the stairs. He was, after all, only a ten year old boy. It was rather easy to distract him.

Harry nodded at his aunt and picked up his and Dudley's backpacks, depositing them on the floor next to the coat rack just inside the door, before going and taking a seat at the kitchen table. He sat with his back to the door to the outside (locked), and facing the two entrances into the foyer and living room, his paranoia over escape routes and sneak-attacks alike having never gone away after his first life.

Aunt Petunia came in a few seconds later with the mail, which she sat on the counter before gathering Dudley's snacks. Harry said nothing.

Eventually Aunt Petunia came downstairs again and sat directly across from Harry, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Harry said nothing. After a few seconds of tense silence Aunt Petunia began.

"I'm sure you've… wondered… why we haven't signed you up for a secondary school yet," she began. Harry nodded. They had the last time, after all. He still remembered the smell of the dyed clothing. "Yes, well, that's because, well… you see, you're mother didn't die in a car crash." Harry looked appropriately stunned. Aunt Petunia wrung her hands. "You see, the… the thing is, is that there are… are people in this world," she forced the word 'people' out of her mouth her lip curling as she did so, before her expression became taut again. "and they… well, they're…" She stopped suddenly, and took a breath.

It finally occurred to the 27-turned-10 year old that his aunt was doing everything in her power to be polite about magic. Unlike the first time, where she and Uncle Vernon had tried the fear tactic to keep him from it, this time it seemed they had accepted it as inevitable (for all that that had not stopped them from muttering about freakish things throughout the last few years) and were instead trying to keep Harry from resenting them. How…odd. Harry really didn't know how to deal with this—he'd really been expecting to somehow have to hide his acceptance into Hogwarts from them, and he'd already been considering a dozen different (not particularly viable) ways to keep from returning to their house each summer. Oh, it looked like Aunt Petunia was ready to try again.

"I know… I know you've never done anything frea—anything odd in Vernon' and I's presence, but has anything ever happened to you that was, um, unnatural?" She asked.

For the first time in his life (either of them) Harry truly felt sorry for Aunt Petunia. She was obviously trying so hard right now, and even if it had taken the government getting involved for her to treat him properly in the first place, the lesson seemed to stick—she could have, after all, simply waited for the letter to come and then had nothing to do with him (his lack of animosity towards her so far likely insurance enough that he wouldn't turn his magic against her, or she and Uncle Vernon would still be trying to figure out how to keep him away from Hogwarts.) Instead she took the harder route, specifically telling Harry about magic before the letter to give him time to prepare.

"Um… yes, Aunt Petunia." Harry finally responded, racking his brain for an acceptable use of magic. "When… when I was sick with the flu last year I managed to drag my water glass close enough for me to reach without getting out of bed." He remembered doing something similar in his first life, too, and while he had in fact done that last year it hadn't been accidental this time around.

"Yes, that's… that's what I meant." Aunt Petunia sighed and rubbed her arms. "That's magic Harry."

"What?" Harry asked. He was genuinely surprised—given her level of discomfort he thought it would take longer for her to actually say the word.

"Magic… magic is real. It is—I mean—I really don't know much about it, except that my sister was magical, and so was her husband. I… I wasn't particularly close to her—your mother, I mean, so I don't have much more information than that, except… well, there's a school."

"A secondary school?" Harry asked. That was, after all, how the conversation had begun.

"Yes." Aunt Petunia replied shortly, before sighing again and elaborating. "It's… it's called Hogwarts, if I remember correctly. Both of your parents attended since they were eleven and, well, your Uncle and I are pretty sure you will too. An, um, a professor will come… at some point in the summer…" she elaborated. This surprised Harry, because he'd only gotten a letter, but it made sense that muggleborn students would be given a person to explain what magic was about. Harry nodded to show he was still listening, but kept the stunned expression on his face. It wasn't that hard. The fact that this conversation was happening at all was astounding, honestly.

"The professor," Aunt Petunia continued, "will, um, explain some more about… about everything. Um…" Aunt Petunia trailed of, clearly lost on how to continue.

"You said my parents didn't die in a car crash?" Harry prompted after a few seconds. Aunt Petunia flinched, then braced herself and continued.

"Yes, yes. She and her husband—your father… James, I believe, they, well." She stopped again. Harry squirmed and if his aunt were any younger he was sure she would too. Both were rather eager for the conversation to end, for all that it was necessary. "Magic is powerful, Harry." She finally said. "It… it can force people—completely normal people—to… do… things that they don't want to do." She looked distinctly uncomfortable and Harry suddenly wondered if his Aunt's behavior hadn't been fueled primarily by jealousy, as Dumbledore had surmised, but rather by fear and remembrance of past actions done to her. It wasn't a pleasant thought. "And witches and wizards…" she stopped herself again, and her eyebrows knitted together as she thought through what she was going to say. "Witches and wizards like to use magic to do these things—to use their power over others." Harry curled in on himself. Something about her wording rang too true for the young/old boy.

"Your parents… there was a war. I'm not, well, I'm not completely sure what it was about, honestly, but your parents picked a side and… and they got killed in it, by a wizard who was apparently quite dangerous. That's why you came to live with us, actually. Another wizard… Dumbledore, he's the headmaster of Hogwarts, he left you here because, apparently, magic can do something to keep you safe from that wizard and his followers if you live with a blood relative. That's, um, me."

When it became clear that she wasn't going to continue speaking Harry opened his mouth but before he could speak she cut him off. "I—that's enough for today, I think. The professor will come soon, and, um, you can ask your questions to them. I'm… I'm going to…" She stood up, abruptly and turned this way and that, trying to come up with a task that would allow her to flee the conversation, before she muttered something about groceries and left the house entirely.

Harry sat at the kitchen table, stunned.

Magic?! Goal completed. (Magic was explained to you for the first time.) 750 XP awarded.