Discimer: I don't own Harry Potter

  The rain had finally slowed to a cold drizzle when the small figure staggered into the heart of the forest, the heavy thicket of autumn leaves muffling every footstep. It was te in the afternoon of October 30th, 1988, and the dying light of day spilled through the canopy in fractured beams. This boy, Harry Potter, was barely eight years old, yet his appearance suggested a fragile four-year-old. He wore tattered rags that barely covered his pallid skin. Every rib seemed etched clearly under the surface, every limb more twig than flesh. There was a subtle trembling in his body, as if he knew he did not belong here, and that something terribly wrong had taken pce. He could still sense the sharp, self-satisfied cruelty lingering in the minds of those who had dropped him off—his so-called family, the Dursleys. There was no love, no regret from them, only that muted sense of relief that he was gone, abandoned. As he stumbled through the damp undergrowth, ignoring the brambles scraping his ankles, Harry's mind was too numb for tears.

  In truth, Harry's entire existence had been pain and neglect for as long as he could recall. The Dursleys never gave him reason to expect compassion. He was nothing but a tool, a sve in their household, a creature to be ordered about, starved into compliance, and beaten into silence. Day after day he had worked, scrubbing floors, cooking meals, trimming hedges, all with a tiny body that should have been nurtured instead of exploited. His spirit, though remarkably still intact, had been muted beneath yers of fear. But out here, amidst the trunks of ancient oaks and the decaying scent of fungal earth, Harry's senses widened in strange ways. For the first time, the forest allowed him to listen not just with his ears, but with something deeper. He had always been able to sense emotions and intentions, like a hidden talent he could never name. Here, though, it felt stronger. He could feel the forest breathe, taste the caution and curiosity of small creatures hiding in the brush, and sense something watchful in the shadows. It both comforted and unnerved him.

  The daylight would soon fail, and the forest was no pce for a malnourished child to wander after dark. Harry's limbs grew heavy with exhaustion. It had been hours since the Dursleys shoved him out of the car and left. He did not understand why they had chosen now, why this pce, why on this particur day. It was nearly Halloween, the air held a subtle tang of magic he did not consciously recognize, and the silence in these depths was oddly profound. Somewhere nearby, he sensed an intense presence. Not cruel, not gentle, simply watchful. It felt far more intelligent than any random beast. He stumbled again, foot catching on a tangled root. As he hit the leaf-littered ground, a faint whimper escaped his lips. He knew he had to get up again, to try and find shelter or at least a safe pce to sleep. Yet something primal within him recognized that he was too weak to survive much longer on his own.

  That was when he heard the softest of movements behind him. It was not a rustle, more like a whisper of something rge and graceful gliding between trees. Harry's heart quickened, a trembling anticipation settling in his chest. He wanted to run, but he knew he stood no chance. He could feel the creature's presence more strongly now—this was no timid woodnd animal. It was powerful, elegant, and carried the scent of moonlight and distant stars. He turned his head slowly, afraid he would see a monster. Instead, what he saw transfixed him: a wolf, unlike any he had ever imagined. Her coat shimmered silver in the twilight, her eyes like molten gold, and she towered above him, easily the size of a small horse. She was magnificent and terrifying, a beast out of legend. Harry's breath caught in his throat.

  The giant wolf lowered her head, nostrils fring as she sniffed at him. He sensed no immediate malice, though something in her stance warned that she could snap his spine in a heartbeat if she chose. Harry made no move, his heart pounding in his ears. He could feel her curiosity, a cautious maternal instinct unfurling in the evening gloom. Despite her fearful size, she moved with the serenity of a moonbeam. She leaned forward, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut, expecting pain. Instead, he felt warmth. Her breath was hot and damp on his cheek. His empathic sense told him she was puzzled and concerned—an odd tangle of emotions that reminded him faintly of how a mother might worry for a lost child.

  He dared to open his eyes and look again. The wolf bent down, taking a gentle hold of the scruff of his ragged shirt between her powerful jaws. Harry whimpered softly, but did not resist. He could not imagine fleeing from her. Her teeth never broke his skin, not even a scratch. Instead, she lifted him with a fluid grace, as though he weighed nothing at all. He hung in midair, his skinny limbs dangling, helpless and yet not in pain. The wolf pivoted and began padding silently through the forest. Harry felt the forest floor pass beneath him in a blur of greens and browns. He sensed hidden creatures darting aside, startled by the wolf's purposeful stride. He was so tired that he merely let it happen, as if surrendering to an inevitable fate.

  After some time, Harry lost all sense of direction. The forest deepened until no human trails remained, and the scent of damp moss and distant water grew stronger. It was now well into the night. The moon, round and pale, had risen above, casting silver beams that caught in the wolf's fur, making her seem like a spirit woven from starlight. Eventually, she carried him into a small clearing. At the far end, half-hidden by dense thickets of bramble and fern, was the entrance to a den—a yawning hole that sloped gently into darkness, lined with dry leaves and animal fur. The wolf paused at the entrance, ears pricked, and Harry felt a ripple of emotion from within the shadows. He sensed multiple presences, small and bright, like sparks of life. Then, as the wolf carefully ducked and entered the den, Harry glimpsed movement: nine small forms huddled together, squirming with excitement and curiosity.

  The pups were about the size of Labrador dogs, rger than he expected but still tiny compared to their mother. Their eyes glowed like chips of precious stone in the gloom. They crowded forward, making small whimpering sounds, and Harry felt the surge of familial warmth, love, and trust flowing out of them. All of the pups were female, though Harry could not know that just yet. He just felt the subtle feminine energy in the den, a nurturing presence that calmed something in his battered soul. He had never known a kind mother's touch, never felt the comfort of siblings. Yet here he was, pced gently among these warm, furry bodies, all of them pressing close, sniffing and licking.

  The mother wolf released Harry and settled onto her haunches near him. Her golden eyes watched every move, the tense curl of her body prepared to intervene if any pup became too rough. But there was no hostility. The pups greeted Harry as if he were some strange, hairless littermate. It was so bizarre that he almost ughed, but he was too exhausted. He sensed their delight in discovery, their carefree acceptance of this odd newcomer. No judgement, no cruelty, just curiosity and warmth. This simple kindness was utterly foreign to Harry.

  Gently, the mother wolf began cleaning her pups, running her broad tongue over their fur, smoothing it down and grooming out bits of debris. Harry watched in awe. She then did the same to him, carefully rasping her tongue against his filthy clothes and trying to clean him as if he were one of her own. He would have squirmed, but he knew better than to resist something that felt so soothing. For the first time in memory, someone was caring for him without anger or expectation. He nearly wept, but the tears wouldn't come. Instead, his heart contracted with a strange ache, like a void he had never realized could be filled.

  He curled up against the warm fnk of a pup. The den smelled earthy and safe. The faint glow of moonlight trickled in through the entrance, illuminating the silhouettes of mother and children. Harry's senses drifted, lulled by their steady breathing and gentle whines. Sleep beckoned like a soft lulby. Just before he let go of consciousness, he sensed another yer of reality settle over him, like a gossamer veil. Something within him—like a system, a hidden interface—stirred. It was as if a status screen hovered just out of sight, waiting for his recognition. But Harry was too tired, too overwhelmed. He surrendered to rest, lulled by the rhythmic sound of the wolves breathing and the soft cradle of their warmth.

  Morning found Harry drowsy and still lying amidst the wolf family. It was October 31st now—Halloween day. The forest outside whispered with a rising wind that carried the scent of damp leaves and distant woodsmoke. The pups stirred one by one, nudging and pyfully nipping at each other. Harry rubbed his eyes, feeling the grit of dried tears and dirt. He had expected to wake in the cupboard under the stairs, expected the banging on the door and Uncle Vernon's gruff voice ordering him to start chores. Instead, he felt fur and heard whimpering howls. Confusion rose within him. Was this real?

  He tried to sit up. He was horribly hungry, his stomach twisting painfully. He wondered if the wolves would provide him with food or if he was expected to fend for himself. He doubted he could survive on leaves and berries. But before panic took hold, the mother wolf rose and exited the den, leaving the pups behind. Harry waited nervously. He could sense the pups' emotions: mild hunger, anticipation, and absolute trust that their mother would return. He wondered if he could muster that kind of faith.

  Hours passed slowly. Harry huddled near the back of the den, shivering slightly from the morning chill. The pups occasionally came over to lick his face or sniff at his strange hair. He had not decided what to do. He felt powerless. But now, something was different. That strange presence inside him—like a game system—began to manifest more concretely. He had no words for it, but he perceived faint flickers of greenish text whenever he focused inward. If he tried to concentrate, he felt as though there was a panel beled "Observe" hovering in his mind. He did not know how to use it yet, nor did he fully understand what it meant. But the notion that he possessed some inner tool, some advantage, was comforting.

  The mother wolf returned before noon, carrying something in her jaws—a half-eaten hare. Harry's stomach lurched at the sight, torn between revulsion and hunger. The pups rushed forward, yipping excitedly. The mother tore off small pieces of raw meat and nudged them toward her offspring. Harry watched, horrified and yet entranced. He had never eaten raw meat, never considered it. But as the pups devoured their meal, he felt the mother's gaze rest on him. She regarded him curiously, almost beckoning him to partake. He shook his head slightly, terrified of offending her but unable to bring himself to eat this way. She did not force him. Instead, she nudged a portion of the hare to one side, leaving him the option. Harry hesitated, hunger gnawing at his belly. He reasoned that he might starve otherwise. With trembling hands, he took a small shred of meat and forced it down. It was repulsive at first, but then a primal part of him took over, telling him he needed nourishment. He fought the urge to gag. Once it was swallowed, he felt a slight surge of strength. The mother wolf watched, pleased he had eaten.

  As the day wore on, Harry tried to make sense of his new life. He had no idea what had become of the Dursleys. He did not truly care. He was free from them, even if he was now trapped by survival's demands. He tried to calm himself by picking at the dry leaves, clearing a small space in the den as if tidying up. His years of forced chores now found a new purpose in making this space a little more comfortable. The pups watched him curiously, their heads tilted, ears flicking at every movement. It was a strange companionship. Harry could sense no malice, only acceptance. How odd that these wolves showed him more kindness in one night than humans had in years.

  By dusk, Harry grew braver and crept outside the den with the pups. The mother wolf allowed it, standing guard as they romped around. Harry couldn't keep up with their vigorous py, but he enjoyed watching them tumble over each other, biting ears and tails in mock battles. The forest around them seemed peaceful. He tried to reach out with that empathic sense again, feeling the moods of birds, the tension of a fox slinking in the underbrush, the calm, watchful patience of the mother wolf. The wind rustled through the treetops, and Harry wondered if he would ever return to the human world. The idea made him anxious. Humans had been nothing but cruel. Could wolves be his family now?

  The night of October 31st slipped seamlessly into the early hours of November 1st. Under the full moon, the mother wolf led her pups and Harry deeper into the forest, guiding them along faint animal trails. Harry found himself surprisingly light on his feet, careful to avoid snapping twigs that might announce their presence. He did not know why he was being led here, but the mother wolf seemed to have a purpose. Beneath that pale lunar disc, Harry had the strangest sensation of magic stirring in the night air. It was an anniversary of sorts—he could not recall what, but something about Halloween night thrummed with quiet power.

  At the edge of a small stream, the mother wolf stopped. The pups and Harry gathered around. She bent down, pping at the fresh water. Harry followed suit, cupping his hands to drink. It was the best water he'd ever tasted, crisp and pure. The pups spshed about, delighting in the py. Overhead, an owl hooted. Harry caught the edges of its thoughts—mild curiosity and a faint disapproval at these rowdy intruders. He shivered, realizing again that his empathic abilities were heightening. The forest was alive with intention and feeling, and it seemed he could parse it better now than ever before.

  Slowly, Harry's body adjusted to this new way of life. The hunger still burned, and the raw meat unsettled him, but he was no longer faint with starvation. The wolves provided warmth and companionship. His scars, bruises, and cuts might not heal overnight, but a quiet resilience was waking within him. He had no words for it, but as the hours passed into the second night, the system inside him stirred more boldly. He glimpsed menus in his mind, faint and flickering: attributes like Strength, Perception, Endurance, Charisma, Intelligence, Agility, and Luck—S.P.E.C.I.A.L. stats from some unknown pce. He did not know what they meant, but they reassured him that something inside him was quantifying his reality. He felt comforted by the idea that all his suffering might be measured, improved, or surpassed. It hinted that he might grow stronger.

  He tried focusing inward, and for a moment, he could almost see a panel beled "Skills." His forced servitude at the Dursleys had granted him masterful levels of mundane tasks—cooking, cleaning, gardening—things that he never would have chosen, but now they were skills he had seemingly maxed out. He blinked in astonishment when he saw their names flicker across his mind: Cooking [MAX, Cleaning [MAX, Gardening [MAX, and more. But this was all so surreal. He dared not let himself believe he was going mad. Something in the world was guiding him, offering a strange new path. He would walk it quietly, carefully, and see where it led.

  As the dawn of November 1st approached, Harry grew more confident that he could survive here. The mother wolf tended to him with gentle nudges, her great muzzle guiding him this way and that, ensuring he remained safe. The pups had accepted him into their strange little pack without any conditions. If he ventured too close to the den's entrance without her, the mother wolf would chuff softly, calling him back like a stray pup. If he was too clumsy, a patient lick or a gentle bump would set him right. The forest was still dangerous, but with her protection, Harry might have a chance.

  He spent that day quietly, learning the den's surroundings. When the mother wolf left to hunt, the pups dozed, and Harry explored the immediate area, carefully testing branches and stones for stability, imagining how he could make a sleeping corner more comfortable. He found that by focusing on certain objects and trying to sense them, he could trigger a faint greenish text in his mind, as if the "Observe" skill were trying to activate. On a smooth pebble near the stream, he concentrated until a message flickered: [Observe Lv.1: A smooth river pebble. No special properties.] It was rudimentary, but it thrilled him. He did not know where this power came from, but it made him feel less powerless.

  That afternoon, he ventured a bit farther when the mother wolf returned. She seemed to trust him more now, though he stayed within earshot of the den. He tried to sense her intentions as he lingered near a hollow log. She was calm and open. He picked up impressions from her—something like pride, acceptance, and the firm idea that he was part of her brood now. Harry's heart twisted at that. No human had ever truly cimed him as family. And here was a wolf, a creature feared and vilified by his kind, giving him a pce in her pack. He carefully reached out, patting her side. She tolerated it, even leaned into his hand slightly, her tail giving a subtle wag.

  The evening of November 1st drew in slowly, clouds drifting across the sky and revealing slivers of a waning moon. Harry settled in the den with the pups once more, the mother wolf standing guard at the entrance. He was still terribly weak, and the dryness in his throat and the lingering emptiness in his stomach reminded him that he was far from healthy. He had a debuff, if he dared to call it that, deep malnourishment that weighed down his body. He wondered if this system—whatever it was—could help him overcome it. As the light faded, he closed his eyes and focused within once again, searching for any sign of a menu or a status screen.

  This time he saw more details, though faint and incomplete:

  [Name: Harry James Potter (The Abandoned Pup)]

  [Title: None]

  [Race: Human (?)]

  [Age: 8 (Physically appears ~4)]

  [HP: Very Low]

  [MP: ? (Severely restricted)]

  [Condition:

  Malnourished (Debuff),Magical Bindings x10 (Curse/Debuff),Horcrux (Perk/Debuff/Curse)]

  [Skills:

  Cooking (MAX),Cleaning (MAX),Gardening (MAX),Stealth (Novice),Empathy (?),Observe (Lv.1),Gamer's Body (Passive),Gamer's Mind (Passive)]

  [Attributes (S.P.E.C.I.A.L):

  Strength: 1Perception: 4Endurance: 1Charisma: 2Intelligence: 4Agility: 3Luck: ?]

  [Shop: Locked]

  [Quests: None]

  [Inventory: Empty]

  Harry's heart fluttered. He didn't understand half of what he was seeing. What was a Horcrux? Why were his magical bindings so numerous and who had pced them on him? Why was he restricted to one-tenth of his magic, if he even knew what magic really was? Everything was so confusing. But if this was truly a system like in some sort of game, perhaps he could improve. He had no idea how to unlock the shop or access these powers it hinted at, but just knowing they existed gave him hope.

  He looked at his frail arms, then at the pups curled around him. If he could become stronger, he might protect them one day as they were protecting him now. If he could learn how to survive, he might find real freedom. He imagined traveling through other worlds, gaining powers from strange pces he had never heard of, if the system's cryptic hints were to be believed. It felt like a dream, but he refused to give up. Whatever happened, he would not waste this second chance.

  Night deepened outside, and the mother wolf returned, nudging Harry closer to her side. He allowed himself to rest, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. The pups snuggled around him, forming a living bnket of warmth and security. A soft rain began to fall again, pattering against leaves and trickling down branches in tiny streams. Inside the den, it was dry and safe. Harry inhaled the scent of wet earth and wolf fur, letting it fill his lungs.

  He focused on the odd talents the Dursleys had accidentally cultivated in him. He had maximum skill in cooking, cleaning, gardening—useless to the Dursleys now, since they had thrown him away. But he could use these skills for himself, to find edible pnts, to make his living space more hospitable, to cook food once he had the means. Maybe one day he could roast meat over a fire rather than eating it raw. Perhaps he could create a small haven here in the woods, a pce of comfort and strength. He would survive, improve, and learn.

  The mother wolf began grooming him again, and Harry rexed into the sensation. The forest hummed outside, full of secret sounds. He felt the subtle rhythms of life and death around him. The wolves had accepted him, and that gave him the courage to accept himself. He felt tears welling up this time, silently rolling down his cheeks. They were tears of relief, of gratitude. Perhaps he did not understand animal nguage yet, not fully, but he could feel their intentions. In time, he might learn their tongue, communicate with them, and truly join their pack. For now, this silent bond was enough.

  As midnight approached on November 1st, Harry's eyes grew heavy. He had survived more than a day and a half in the forest, nurtured by a giant wolf who treated him like her own. He had discovered something incredible within himself—a system, a way to understand and improve. And though he had no idea of what the future held, he felt safer tonight than he ever had at Privet Drive. He breathed deeply, savoring the moment.

  He would learn. He would grow. He would break free of the curses that bound his magic, unlock the secrets of his strange birthright, and perhaps become something greater than he had ever imagined. But for now, he was just a tired, hungry, and very small boy curled up in a wolf's den, protected from the darkness outside. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but he would face them with newfound resilience.

  Outside, the silver moon drifted behind clouds, painting the clearing in soft, shifting shades of gray. The mother wolf's ears flicked, alert to distant sounds Harry could not fully comprehend. The pups snuggled closer, warm little bodies pressed against Harry's legs and arms. He let himself drift, lulled by their heartbeats and the quiet rhythms of the forest.

  Just before sleep cimed him, Harry focused inward one st time, summoning that status screen with a wistful thought. He looked at it, memorizing every detail. He might not understand the implications yet, but knowledge was power. It was a promise that no matter how weak he felt now, he could grow stronger. He could shape his destiny.

  Safe in the den, with November 1st's dark hours slipping by, Harry finally let himself rest. He would rise again when dawn came, ready to take whatever steps were necessary to survive and thrive. For now, he dreamed of moonlight and wolf song, of strange powers and distant worlds, and of the gentle, patient love he had found in the forest's heart. He dreamed of freedom.

  [End of Chapter 1: Night of 1st November 1988]

  [Harry's Status]

  Name: Harry James Potter (The Abandoned Pup)Title: NoneRace: Human (? - Suppressed Magical Core)Age: 8 (Physically appears ~4)HP: Critically LowMP: Locked (Access restricted to 1/10th potential)Condition:

  Severely Malnourished (Debuff),Exhausted,Cold

  Curses:

  10x Magical Bindings (Applied by Albus Dumbledore),Horcrux (Perk/Debuff/Curse – Potential access to Tom Riddle's knowledge)

  Perks:

  Gamer's Mind (Passive),Gamer's Body (Passive),Empathy (Innate),Observe (Lv.1)

  Skills (Select):

  Cooking (MAX),Cleaning (MAX),Gardening (MAX),Stealth (Novice),Survival (Beginner)

  Attributes (S.P.E.C.I.A.L.):

  Strength: 1Perception: 4Endurance: 1Charisma: 2Intelligence: 4Agility: 3Luck: ?

  Shop: Locked

  Quests: None

  Inventory: Empty

  Debuffs:

  Malnourishment: Severely reduces Strength and Endurance, slows healing, impairs growth.Magical Bindings x10: Greatly restricts magical access and potential.Horcrux Influence: Unknown effects, potential corruption or knowledge gain.

  Blessings: None currently.Curses:

  Horcrux (Dark Artifact within soul), Magical Bindings.

  At this moment, Harry is unaware of how to utilize the system's full capabilities. He simply has awakened to its presence and begun to sense its potential.

  End Chapter 1

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