Bernadette picked up the wolfberry tea and drank.
Honestly, it wasn't particularly pleasant. But if the man said it was good for the body, she supposed she could manage.
She had a vague memory of her father, when she was very small, asking people to search for a particular kind of small red fruit — something he'd wanted for tea. He'd eventually befriended an apothecary, and the matter had dropped.
After three days in this body, her observations were interesting. It was weaker than she was used to, yes — but not as prone to exhaustion and low energy as the man's recording had suggested. Even the dark circles had faded somewhat.
Her working theory: the issue with the "ancient magic" acted on the soul, not the body. The physical weakness was a downstream symptom. When a powerful soul — her own — took the controls, the physical symptoms simply didn't manifest.
If that was right, it also suggested a solution: strengthening the soul would resolve the problem. She'd mention it to him in the message.
Beyond language study, she'd spent most of her time on the other question: this world's supernatural ability. Magic.
She'd tried to follow along with the demonstrations on tape and produce even the most basic Levitation Charm. Nothing. Her guess was the wand — the man hadn't left her the one he'd used in the video.
She set aside magic for the time being and tried something more familiar: running the body's mana into her hands and feet, or into whatever she could use as a weapon, reinforcing it directly. A blunter approach than actual spellcasting, and considerably less efficient, but it gave her at least some combat capability.
Gurgle.
Intensive study consumed a surprising amount of energy.
She pulled open the refrigerator, and her expression tightened.
She'd prepared seven days of food from different regions, all varied, specifically so he wouldn't get bored eating the same thing. Considerate.
What she found was: roast chicken. Roast pork. More roast chicken.
She sighed, took out a container of roast pork, and put it in the microwave. She supposed she knew why — the things she'd taken during the first swap, mostly from cooked meat counters. He'd assumed it was what she liked.
She'd grabbed those because they were convenient.
If Vincent Moriarty had known that, he'd probably have felt deeply aggrieved — those were genuinely considered good food in England.
She was still waiting for the microwave when a commotion started outside.
"Go on then, Harry, prove it! Prove a motorbike can fly!"
Bernadette looked out the window.
On the street, a very large boy was shoving a slight, bespectacled child toward a motorbike, with several other boys looking on. The large one was eating something, mouth full as he spoke.
"Come on!"
The small one — Harry — looked at the ground. "I... I said it was just a dream."
The large boy put on a mocking imitation. "Ohh, just a dream. Then why'd you go and say it at school? Now everyone thinks the Dursleys have some sort of freak living with them."
He grabbed Harry's collar with a doughy fist. "You made people laugh at me. You know that? If that bike doesn't fly right now, I'll make you fly."
He hauled Harry half off the ground. "Three seconds. Bike doesn't go up, you do. One — two—"
"No — please—"
Three never came.
Before Dudley could say it, someone had stepped in and caught Harry, setting him on his feet.
"Th-thank you." Harry steadied his cracked glasses and looked up at the young man who'd appeared. "Thank you so much."
Bernadette gave a small nod, then walked toward Dudley.
Dudley wasn't remotely scared. The man looked hollow-eyed and half-dead on his feet. He raised a fist. "Back off, mate. I'm trained."
The next second, a fist with just a thread of mana behind it connected with the top of his head. He sat down very hard. Stared at nothing for a few seconds. Then began to wail.
The other boys scattered. Bernadette moved after them, methodical — one hit each — and left them all howling on the pavement.
Harry stood with his mouth open. He had never, in his life, seen Dudley cry. It was better than any expired ice cream Dudley had ever decided he didn't want.
Bernadette walked back, expressionless, reached over, and plucked the chocolate bar from Dudley's hand. She broke off the bitten end and dropped it, then ate the rest in one go.
For just a moment, her face softened into something that looked like happiness.
"Wahhh!"
Dudley cried harder.
It wasn't enough. Bernadette was still hungry. She looked at Harry, pointed to the discarded snacks on the ground, then to the other boys, then to herself.
Harry: ???
He'd understood perfectly. That was precisely the problem. He'd thought the man stepped in because he couldn't stand watching someone get bullied.
That apparently wasn't the whole picture.
He went around collecting — a packet of biscuits from one boy, crisps from another, a chocolate bar, a cola, a few sweets. Dudley he gave a wide berth. There would be consequences enough later without adding fuel.
He brought it all back, cupped in both hands, and held it out.
Bernadette looked over the haul with quiet approval. She pulled out a sweet and flicked it to Harry as a reward, then walked over to Dudley and looked down at him.
"Stop crying."
Dudley's sob caught in his throat. He clamped both hands over his mouth and stared up at her in terror.
She looked at Harry. Then at Dudley. She tapped the top of Dudley's head, once, light enough but pointed.
The message was obvious: That boy is under my protection. Touch him again and we do this again.
To make the threat concrete, she channelled mana into the soles of her feet and stamped.
Crack. A small indentation appeared in the pavement, several centimetres deep.
Dudley's eyes went very wide. He nodded, shaking.
Bernadette glanced at Harry — a brief, acknowledging nod — turned, and walked back inside.
"He's incredible."
Harry watched the door close with open admiration. He'd never once seen Dudley cry, not from something someone else had done to him. At school, even teachers didn't cross him. At home, his parents would sooner die than let him feel a moment's discomfort.
Maybe once I'm at Hogwarts — the school Mum and Dad went to — things will be different.
He was still standing there, daydreaming, when Dudley suddenly let out a scream.
"That man — he — he disappeared!"
To be continued…