While Harry watched television with absorbed attention, Wanda kept glancing at him, her brow slightly furrowed. Her gaze returned, again and again, to the lightning-shaped scar adorning the boy's forehead.
It wasn't just curiosity… it was unease.
As a former wielder of the Darkhold, Wanda had a deep—and dangerous—knowledge of chaos magic and the dark arts. Though she no longer used those abilities, her magical sensitivity remained as sharp as ever. And what she sensed emanating from Harry's forehead… wasn't something she could ignore.
There, hidden beneath the skin, stirred a dark, foul, poisonous energy.
"Harry, is it okay if I touch your scar?" she asked softly, as if not wanting to disturb the peace of the moment.
Harry blinked, slowly returning to the real world, and turned his head to look at her. He nodded calmly, as if it didn't matter much, before returning his attention to the screen.
He seemed fascinated by the cartoons. Wanda noticed his dazed, almost childlike expression, and realized it might be the first time he was able to watch them freely. After all, at the Dursleys' house, they barely let him out of the cupboard—let alone watch television. She remembered him telling her how he used to spy through the cracks of the door while his cousin ate in front of the screen.
Wanda smiled tenderly, though with a trace of sadness, and gently reached out toward his forehead. As the tip of her fingers touched the scar, it glowed with a faint red shimmer.
Harry didn't even flinch.
A small, dark orb detached itself from his forehead, floating slowly until it hovered above Wanda's palm. She stared at it seriously, her eyes scanning it with arcane precision.
"A fragment of a soul… one one-hundred-and-twenty-eighth of it," she whispered, her voice laced with restrained fury. "What kind of monster does something like this?"
Her fingers slowly closed, and with a soft, muted burst, the orb was reduced to nothing.
Without wasting time, she performed a full scan of the boy's body. She detected slight malnutrition, old belt marks that were already healing, and small bite scars on his ankles.
Nothing that couldn't be healed. But the mere fact they existed made her stomach turn.
For a moment, she thought maybe she'd been too kind to Vernon. Maybe he deserved more than just a temporary punishment… A good curse to seal all his orifices for a week seemed like a fine start.
Next week would bring something worse.
Vernon Dursley would soon wish he were dead.
"Harry, what dog gave you these marks?" she asked in a neutral tone, pointing to his ankles.
Harry looked down, as if just now noticing the scars, and answered casually:
"Aunt Marge's dogs, Uncle Vernon's sister. She breeds them."
Wanda tensed. He said it like it was the most normal thing in the world. Of course, to him, it probably was.
"I see… Do you know where she lives?"
The question came with a smile—but her eyes didn't smile at all.
"Mmm… I don't really remember," Harry answered, a little unsure.
"That's okay. I'll find her. You keep watching TV, I'm going out to get dinner," Wanda said as she stood up.
But at that moment, Harry stopped watching the screen and sat up quickly on the couch.
"Y-you're leaving?" he asked, trying to hide the fear in his voice.
He tried, yes… but Wanda noticed. She felt it in his energy, in his expression, in his eyes.
She paused, looked at him, and with a warm smile, changed her plan.
"Then… how about we order room service instead? That way I don't have to leave," she said, gently caressing his head.
"Okay," Harry replied, giving a genuine smile.
"Here, order whatever you want. I'll just go to the bathroom for a moment," she added, dialing the room service.
"Alright!" Harry exclaimed excitedly, and began listing dishes as if he were reciting a spell.
Meanwhile, Wanda entered the bathroom. She took longer than expected. When she came out, she noticed a small bloodstain on the sleeve of her clothes. Without a care, she changed into something more comfortable.
"Wanda, you took a while. The food's here," Harry said from the table, where everything was already served. He waited patiently, though his eyes shone with excitement.
Wanda wasn't worried anything might happen while she was gone. The room was protected with unbreakable magical wards.
"Let's see what you ordered," she said, approaching the table.
There were plates everywhere. Harry had clearly gotten carried away, but she didn't stop him. In fact, she encouraged him to eat as much as he wanted. She only made sure he ate some vegetables, too. And to her surprise, Harry didn't complain. He was so happy, so amazed by the flavors, that even the vegetables tasted delicious to him.
Seeing his face lit up with joy brought a warm smile to Wanda's own.
As they ate, her thoughts drifted back to what Dumbledore had said: the wizarding world. Not a region, not a community. A world. That meant there had to be many more hidden wizards. Perhaps an entire society.
That night, she encouraged Harry to go to bed early. The next day, they would begin an adventure.
When they woke up the next morning, they had breakfast together with the same warmth as always. Then they left the hotel, ready to begin.
"Today we're going on an adventure, Harry. We're going to find the wizarding world," Wanda said enthusiastically.
"The wizarding world!?" Harry repeated, his eyes shining like a kid who just got the best Christmas gift ever.
An adventure. A magical world. It was like a dream.
"Yes," Wanda answered with a confident smile.
Finding it would be easy. After all, she had found Kamar-Taj once without ever having stepped foot near it, just by following the magical traces left by Strange. This would be even easier.
So Wanda used her magic to locate a place where magical energy gathered. It wasn't hard to find.
She gently took Harry's hand, and they went out to hail a taxi.
Throughout the ride, Harry didn't take his eyes off the window. His eyes sparkled with quiet excitement, as if afraid that if he blinked, he might miss something wonderful. He couldn't wait to arrive.
When they got out of the taxi, they walked toward the place Wanda had sensed. Soon, they both stopped in front of a rundown, frankly awful-looking pub.
"Is this it?" Harry asked, his enthusiasm noticeably dropping as he took in the building's appearance.
Wanda frowned slightly as she read the sign: "The Leaky Cauldron."
Then she looked around. She noticed that ordinary people didn't seem to see the pub… or rather, they seemed to actively avoid it.
"It seems like it. Let's check it out. And just in case… don't let go of my hand," she said, glancing at the boy with a slight smile.
Harry nodded immediately and squeezed her hand tightly.
As they opened the door and stepped inside, every gaze in the shop turned toward them.
For a moment, all eyes were about to focus on the stunning red-haired woman accompanying the boy, but they quickly returned to Harry's face as they caught sight of the scar on his forehead.
That inquisitive, invasive look aimed at him deeply irritated Wanda. Before anyone could utter a single word, she activated a mind control enchantment. In an instant, everyone went back to their business, as if their presence was completely unimportant.
Without wasting time, Wanda walked hand in hand with Harry toward the area where she felt a greater concentration of magic. Their steps led them to a brick wall.
They both stopped in front of it. Wanda stepped closer, observing it carefully, trying to understand how it worked.
"Are we lost?" asked Harry, slightly confused.
Wanda looked at him and gently shook her head.
"No. We just need to go through this wall."
She extended her hand and placed it on the bricks. A burst of red magic erupted from her fingers, and the wall opened with a not-so-subtle explosion.
Definitely, a very "Wanda" way of entering.
Harry's eyes widened in amazement at what lay beyond.
A completely new world stretched out before them.
Diagon Alley was filled with strange shops, wizards dressed in extravagant clothes, children running between stalls, spells floating through the air, and shiny coins changing hands.
It was a world of magic. A real one.
Harry couldn't contain his excitement. He wanted to see everything.
Wanda followed him with a calm smile, letting him lead the way as they explored every corner. They visited shops, marveled at enchanted objects, magical creatures, floating books… until they arrived at a small plaza where a kind of play was being performed.
It was about the Boy Who Lived.
Harry sat on a bench, fascinated.
Meanwhile, Wanda realized she needed to get some money. She didn't want to disturb the local economy—though honestly, she wouldn't have cared much—but her superhero side still clung to certain principles.
Seeing Harry so entertained, she cast a protective enchantment over him. One that was powerful, silent, and lethal. No one would notice, but if anyone dared to harm him, the result would be… catastrophic.
And so it was.
A man, who seemed to have been following Wanda for some time, approached as soon as she walked away. He reached a hand toward the boy, but before he could touch him, he was violently thrown backward. His body was torn apart, set ablaze, and reduced to ashes—all in the blink of an eye.
No one seemed to notice what had happened.
When the play ended, Wanda returned just in time, carrying a bag that jingled with coins and wearing a satisfied smile.
"Did you like the play, Harry?" she asked.
"Yes!" he replied enthusiastically.
"Then let's go get some ice cream… and maybe some books with similar stories."
"Yes!"
It was, without a doubt, the happiest day of Harry's life.
They saw magical animals, tried strange candies, Wanda bought him wizarding clothes, and they learned that wizards called non-magical humans "muggles"—though they knew surprisingly little about them.
They both laughed when they saw a wizard dressed like a clown, trying to "blend in" to visit the muggle world.
Wanda also bought several books—both on magic and storybooks for Harry.
When the day came to an end, they returned to the hotel with arms full of bags, kindly assisted by a magical creature that worked at one of the shops.
As Harry joyfully unwrapped some toys—which had somehow arrived at their room before they did—Wanda watched him.
"Did you have fun, Harry?" she asked softly.
"Yes," he said, smiling as he played.
"That's good," said Wanda, her gaze softening as she saw the happiness on his face.
Because today, Harry had a truly magical day.
.......
Meanwhile, in a secluded corner of Diagon Alley, there was Knockturn Alley. Light barely filtered through the old, blackened walls, and the air itself felt heavy, as if the place breathed decay. Several figures in dark robes—Aurors—observed the scene with a mix of disgust, horror, and resignation.
The ground was stained red. Dry, fresh, and clotted blood covered every corner. Mutilated limbs were scattered among the damp stones: arms, legs, unrecognizable chunks of flesh. The scene looked like something out of a nightmare.
In front of them, perfectly aligned like a grotesque gallery, lay the decapitated heads of several wizards. Each one bore a look of eternal horror, and on their foreheads were engraved—in blood—their crimes: trafficking of forbidden curses, murder, torture of muggles, and more. It was a clear, brutal message.
"Well, sir… honestly… I don't even know what to say. There's nothing left to say," murmured one of the Aurors, swallowing hard as he tried to maintain his composure.
His superior looked at him with his single natural eye, while the magical one spun endlessly, scanning the scene.
"It's fine. Don't look too hard," said old Alastor Moody with a frown. "They probably messed with the wrong wizard… and paid the price."
His voice was harsh, sharp, devoid of empathy.
"Keep watch for now. If something similar happens again, we'll investigate further. But to be honest… as long as the dead are scum, I won't lose sleep over it."
Without another word, he turned and walked away with firm steps, leaving behind the stench of death.
"Yes, sir…" the Auror replied in a muted voice, before raising his wand and beginning to clean up the place.
What none of them knew… was that this hadn't been the only massacre.
In another part of the world, far from Knockturn Alley, in an ordinary muggle house, something similar had occurred. Silence covered everything, except for the occasional growl of wild-looking dogs, calmly devouring human remains. The walls were stained dark, and the air was thick with the smell of iron.
But when the local police arrived days later, alerted by neighbors, they found nothing.
The blood was gone. The body too.
Only the dogs remained… licking their chops. And strange, almost demonic markings on the walls and ceiling.