Located about fifty kilometers southwest of London, Number Four, Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey—Petunia's home—stood eerily empty.
After three straight days of relentless bombardment from Hogwarts letters, Uncle Vernon had finally reached his breaking point. The night before, he had hastily moved the entire family to a remote house on a small island.
"Let's see those blasted owls find us now," Vernon muttered, his bulky body slumped exhaustedly on the sofa in the seaside shack.
Nearby, Harry quietly cleaned and unpacked their belongings, wiping away dust that had accumulated in the abandoned house. He made sure to clear a small patch of floor beside the sofa—that was where he would be sleeping.
Sean and Hagrid arrived at Number Four via Muggle bus. Sean already knew the Dursleys had fled, but he said nothing.
"These Muggles… always doing foolish things," Hagrid grumbled outside the house.
Just then, an elderly, slightly hunched woman stepped out from across the street.
Mrs. Figg.
Sean had seen her once before—same hairnet, same slippers, unchanged as ever.
"Hagrid, you're finally here," she said. "The Dursleys took Harry and left yesterday."
"Do you know where?" Hagrid asked.
Mrs. Figg gave him the address. It was far—bus, then train, then a boat to the island. Hagrid had flown there last time, but things were different now.
"Hagrid, you're taking Sean with you?" she asked.
"We passed by the Leaky Cauldron, so I brought him along," Hagrid replied. "Harry'll likely stay there for a while. Might as well let them meet."
"I'm curious too," Sean said. "What the Boy Who Lived is really like."
Although A History of Modern Magic listed both Sean and Harry as survivors of the Killing Curse, public opinion was clear. Scholars insisted the curse could not be blocked. Some even believed Bellatrix had simply missed Sean entirely.
To the world, there was only one true savior—
Harry Potter.
Sean didn't care about fame. What interested him was something else entirely.
A fragment of Voldemort's soul lived inside Harry.
He wondered…
Would his Magic vision see it?
They took another bus, then the underground, transferring multiple times before finally reaching the docks. Hagrid's massive size made public transport a nightmare.
He had suggested the Knight Bus, but it only ran after eight in the evening. They couldn't wait.
The sky darkened. Clouds pressed low over the sea—rain was coming.
"Boat?" Sean asked.
Hagrid hesitated. He did have a broom in his bag—but with his size, there was no way Sean could ride with him. And using magic here was risky.
"Boat it is."
They rented a small one. Halfway across, rain began pouring down.
Fortunately, Hagrid carried his umbrella—his disguised wand.
The umbrella only covered one person.
Naturally, he handed it to Sean and stood in the rain himself.
Sean sighed. "Being a wizard and still getting soaked… that's just depressing."
Underage wizards were bound by the Trace. Any magic within ten meters would alert the Ministry. Sean could conjure a large umbrella—but with only Hagrid nearby, and Hagrid forbidden from using magic, it wasn't worth the risk.
The boat rocked violently in the storm.
Sean grew dizzy.
"I should've just stayed at the bar serving drinks…"
After more than forty minutes, they finally spotted the island.
A dim light glowed from the small house.
Inside, Harry was laying out a worn blanket beside the sofa, preparing for another night on the floor.
Then—
A knock.
Loud.
Unnatural.
On a storm-lashed island like this?
Harry froze.
Dudley jumped up in panic, shouting for his parents upstairs.
Vernon and Petunia came down, trembling. Vernon clutched a double-barreled shotgun.
"Who's there?!" he shouted.
"Hello," Sean called from outside. "Delivery service."
Inside, they hesitated.
A boy's voice?
That made it… slightly less terrifying.
"What delivery? How did you even get here?" Vernon demanded.
"Sir, is there a Harry Potter here? I have a letter for him," Sean said calmly, playing along.
"Bloody hell—get lost!" Vernon roared.
He knew exactly what this was—another Hogwarts trick.
Furious, he yanked open the door, ready to attack—
Then paused.
It really was just a boy.
"Listen here," Vernon growled. "There's no Harry Potter here. Leave. Now."
"Sir," Sean said, pointing inside, "isn't that him?"
Vernon turned, glaring at Harry. His life had been chaos ever since the letters began. He hated magic. Hated everything about it.
"Yes, that's him," Vernon snapped. "And he's not going anywhere."
SLAM.
The door shut.
He turned back smugly.
"You're staying right here, freak."
Then—
The door disappeared.
Completely.
Hagrid stepped through the frame, holding the broken door in one hand.
"Sean, I told you—no need to waste words on these people," Hagrid said. "Professor McGonagall warned us about them."
Sean shrugged. "Just trying to be polite first."
"Polite first?"
"Old saying."
Vernon, shaking with fear and rage, raised his gun again.
"Who are you?! This is trespassing!"
"Put that thing down," Hagrid snapped, snatching the shotgun and tossing it out into the sea.
Harry stood frozen.
Sean walked over and pulled a letter from his pocket.
"Don't worry," he said gently. "We're from Hogwarts."
He handed it to Harry.
"Your acceptance letter."
At the same time, his Magic vision activated.
He studied Harry closely.
There it was—
Bright, pure magic.
And within it—
A faint trace of darkness.
A sliver of something wrong.
That…
had to be Voldemort's soul fragment.
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