"-aak!"

"Damn you! I'll kill you! I'LL KILL YOU!"

Harry had woken up to Dudley choking him early in the morning, suffocating him in his sleep. He never expected this to happen. Harry had yet to process what was happening– he felt confused and scared. Dudley kept shouting threats and profanities at him, but it all flew off Harry's scattered head. Harry punched Dudley's distorted face by instinct. It was not enough to get Dudley off him, so Harry struck him with his knee and followed it with a kick.

thud-!

Once Dudley was off him, Harry gasped for air like a glutton and took a minute to recompose himself. He heard Dudley groan, so he went to take a look at the imposter. Dudley was splayed on the floor outside his cupboard, his head bleeding from injury. He must've hit his head on the doorframe when Harry kicked him out.

Harry heard some shouting and approaching footsteps from outside, he wasted no time and took his knife. He got out of the cupboard, knowing he'd be at a disadvantage if stuck in the cramped space. Dudley remained unconscious as he got out, but Harry remained vigilant when he passed by his body. Petunia showed up right after he got out of his cupboard, seemingly distressed.

"My Dudleykins! What happened to you?" Harry winced at Petunia's high shriek. She hurried to Dudley's side and cradled his fallen body. "You! You did this!" Her mosaic face was replaced by a face filled with rage and agony when she accused Harry. Harry unconsciously stepped back when he saw her face. Was he feeling guilty or scared? He did not know– perhaps both. He gulped back whatever he was feeling and prepared himself for an attack.

"Petunia! Dudley! What did that freak do?!" Vernon, just like Petunia, was enraged at the sight of Harry. "Oh, you've done it now, boy," Vernon said menacingly.

With nothing left to say, Vernon pounced at Harry like a wild beast about to catch its prey. Except Harry had already predicted Vernon's move and dodged it. Right after Harry sidestepped Vernon's attack, he did not hesitate to plunge the knife into the large man's back. Vernon's heavy body slammed into the front door and destroyed it with his weight. Harry heard someone approach from behind, so he quickly turned around and blocked Petunia's insanely long, pointed nails.

"Argh!" While Harry blocked one claw, Petunia scratched his stitched arm with her other claw. "Hah! Did you really think you could stop me, boy?" Petunia taunts.

Harry clicked his tongue and pushed her away– adrenaline numbing the pain in his arm. Petunia staggered a bit, but that was all Harry needed to gain momentum for a roundhouse kick. Just like yesterday, his magic enhanced his leg to make it feel as if it were metal. Petunia blocked the attack with both of her arms, but she was thrown off by the amount of strength the kick had. She flew to the other side of the living room and crashed onto the cabinets that contained porcelain decorations.

While taking care of Petunia, Harry did not notice Vernon charging at him from behind. "Take this, you little punk!" Harry swore that he heard some of his bones crack from the force, feeling like he had been hit by a bull. Harry grabbed the kitchen door frame to stop himself from flying off to the walls. He felt himself cough up blood from internal damage and wiped it off with the back of his hand. His knife was left forgotten on the floor, leaving him with only magic.

'It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. Fuck, I don't want to die.' Sweat trickled down Harry's forehead while he leaned on the doorway for support. He felt tears fall from his eyes and winced every time he gasped for air. Harry slowly looked at Vernon and found him wheezing– he looked as if he was about to keel down any moment now. He must've hit a vital point in the body for Vernon to end up in this state.

Neither of them wanted to give up, despite being in so much pain. Harry knew he had to do something and end things immediately, or else he might end up in a tough situation. There was a reason for his brutality the other day– he remembered how Mrs. Figg managed to heal her arm, which means that these imposters should be able to do the same thing.

Harry stopped his magic from healing his body and gathered it while he thought of a plan. 'If I use fire now, I'll end up getting roasted along with them.' Harry suddenly perked up at that thought. 'There is a spell! How could I have forgotten? ' Harry couldn't contain a grin and pointed his non-injured arm at Vernon.

Vernon, who was secretly healing his wound, suddenly felt chills run down his spine. He looked up at Harry and saw him grin. He looked manic and insane while he struggled to point his hand at Vernon.

"Diffindo," Harry made a slicing motion. Vernon suddenly found himself on the floor, not knowing what had happened. "How does it feel to not have a body, fake uncle?" Vernon's eyes turned wide as he slowly lost sense of everything. Harry heard the bell chime of death.

Harry smelled urine in the air and saw Dudley's pants turn wet. He scrunched his nose in disgust. 'So he was playing dead the whole time.' Harry limped his way to Dudley, who tried to attack Harry once he got close. Harry didn't bat an eye and dodged the attack– he did a swiping motion with his hand and beheaded Dudley beside his father. Another bell chimes.

Harry went inside the living room and saw Petunia shivering at the sight of the one-sided massacre. Both of her arms are bent at an awkward angle, and her face is covered in porcelain shards.

"You'll regret this," she said weakly. "Yeah, I most probably will once I get out," Harry replied.

"And yet you still want to kill me?"

Harry nodded. "I still need to live, after all. Besides, you guys aren't real, nor are you humans."

Harry knew she was biding her time, and he let her, knowing that she stood no chance against him. "You turned into a monster." That was the last thing she said before Harry beheaded her. Harry stared at her body while the words she said echoed in his head. "Funny, your son said the same thing." Despite his joking words, his voice was devoid of emotion. The third bell chimed. Harry suddenly dropped to his knees and groaned in pain. Adrenaline was leaving his body, making him feel the extent of his injuries.

"Merlin, this hurts."

Harry dragged his body to the couch and leaned on it, not having the strength to even sit on the couch properly. He grabbed one of the smaller pillows and bit on it to stop himself from grinding his teeth while magic healed his injuries. He was glad that he no longer needed to shout the spells for his magic to work, but it took a lot of concentration for him to heal. Sweat gathered on his temples while he focused on healing his bones and internal wounds.

He used magic to detect which bones were broken and which organs were punctured and injured. After checking on the damages, he slowly repaired the bones and rejoined the bone fragments—the bone fragments that had punctured his organs and muscles were the last to be rejoined since Harry had to heal the organs immediately the moment the fragments were removed. Just from doing that, Harry was completely exhausted. He doesn't know if he was following the right procedures, but beggars can't be choosers. He'll just have to get his body checked at the hospital. Harry released a sigh of relief when he found himself able to breathe properly.

While he has healed most of his injury, he is unable to heal everything. His arm was still in need of stitching, and his body is battered and bruised. 'I managed to stop the bleeding, but I don't think I can get up anytime soon.' Harry stared at his pitiful arm and mourned for it. 'Can't I just create a needle and thread from thin air or something? Transfiguring a needle and thread from here would be a bad idea since one, I need the needle sanitized, and two, this place is dirty.'

Harry used magic to disinfect and clean his arm while he contemplated what to do.

"Hmmmm…" Harry gathered his magic in his palm and imagined the pure magic turning into a needle and thread. At first, nothing had happened, which Harry expected anyway, but after a second, light emitted on his palm. Harry closed his eyes to avoid getting blinded, and when he opened his eyes, he found a glowing needle with thread floating on his palm. It was created by pure magic, as Harry noted when he was inspecting it. He called his magic back, and the thread and needle disappeared. He tried molding his magic, and it returned.

Harry's eyes sparkled like a kid who found a new toy to play with. After minutes of playing with it, he learned that he only needed to inject a bit of magic for it to appear and that he could control the needle to do anything he wanted with his mind, like telekinesis. Harry was having so much fun that he had forgotten about his injured arm–he only remembered it when he winced in pain.

"Whoops, enough fun, I guess." Harry doesn't know if he can stitch things with his new needle and seemingly infinite thread. "Well, even if it fails, at least I have something to play with."

Harry guided the needle to his scratches and started stitching. He anticipated the same itchy feeling he felt when he first stitched his cut, but it never came. He still felt the needle penetrating his skin, but the thread had some sort of healing and numbing properties, which made the whole process easier on Harry. Harry was quite happy with his work and mused that he wouldn't need to worry about disturbing Madam Pomfrey every time he was injured. He chuckled at that thought.

Once he knotted the thread, he imagined it getting severed from the needle, so it did. The needle dispersed after its use, but the thread remained. It wasn't bright like before, but it still had its glowing properties. Harry thought that they looked like pearls with how lustrous they looked, but they also reminded him of platinum and gold. Harry admired his work, unable to believe that he had created it. He carefully waved his newly stitched arm around and was glad that it was working fine, despite all the damage it had sustained lately. His rest was disturbed when his stomach gurgled from hunger.

"What time is it?" Harry checked the wall clock and found that it was only 11 a.m. "It's just 11? I thought it would be afternoon already. Everything felt so long. Well, I can use the time to rest." He slowly pushed himself up and headed to the bathroom for a bath. He took his time in the showers, knowing that he could have the rest of the day to himself. While cleaning himself up, he noticed that his arm didn't sting, which he found a plus. 'Merlin, magic is amazing.'

After changing into decent clothes, Harry went to the kitchen and whipped himself up a decent meal. The fridge had a lot of food, so Harry took advantage of it and made himself creamy mushroom soup and pasta. He hummed melodies and danced to a tune only he could hear, as if the corpses outside the kitchen didn't exist. Harry found it unnerving how much he changed inside the door–had it been him from the past, he would've vomited at the sight of corpses. He doesn't know if it's the perks of being a player or if he's just quick to adapt. He didn't let his mood plummet, so he decided to ignore everything and eat in peace.

After a while, Harry could smell the stench in the air. "I should really deal with this now–no more delaying," he said to no one in particular. Harry scrunched his nose in displeasure. He grabbed the three largest trash bags he could find in the house and a pair of rubber gloves–not that he'd be touching the corpses. One by one, he floated the corpses and placed them in separate bags. It was gruesome work, something Harry does not want to repeat ever again.

Harry floated the bags outside and ignited them after placing them on the concrete road. Harry stepped back to a safer distance and watched as the flames consumed everything, turning the bodies into ashes. Harry removed the gloves and covered his nose to tone down the scent of burning flesh. He frowned at the thought of getting used to this smell, 'I'll never get used to it.'

Harry went back inside the house once he was sure that there were no remains left. He was still full, so he didn't eat dinner that day—instead, he grabbed some jerky and biscuits and tucked them in his pockets. It was still too early to go to sleep, and normally Harry would stay up late or pass out from exhaustion. He doesn't plan on doing either of those—he just wants to get as much sleep as he can for whatever awaits him the next day.

"Tomorrow will be the last stage. It's finally coming to an end—soon I can go back to normal," Harry whispered to himself. He picked up the forgotten knife and placed it back on his shelf with his glasses. He took one last look at his stitched arm and laid down to sleep. "One last push, Harry, you've got this."

Harry felt his magic blanket him in his sleep. He smiled and drifted into a dreamless slumber.

[Congratulations! Prepare for the next memory, player.]