Discimer: I Don't Own Harry Potter
Sunlight fell across the forest in overpping yers of gold, illuminating the vibrant greens and soft browns that had emerged in the wake of melting snow. It was early May, and though the chill of winter had not long retreated, spring had already settled itself firmly among the trees. The air hummed with renewed life—birdsong carried through the boughs, and the scent of damp earth promised growth. In many ways, the forest was an echo of Harry's own transformation: new beginnings, an ever-present hush of possibility, and a steadfast certainty that each day would bring more beauty than the st.
At the heart of this woodnd realm y the wolves' den—a pce that had once been a simple burrow in the earth but now resembled a snug house carved from nature. Thick wooden walls lined with hides, enchanted to give off gentle warmth, made every corner feel like a shelter from the outside world. Floors that Harry had painstakingly smoothed and yered with plush rugs created a nest-like interior that practically whispered comfort. Woven partitions separated small alcoves for each wolf, complete with bnkets and herbal cushions. It was a space brimming with both the practical artistry of Harry's crafting and the quiet acceptance of the pack, who called this snug haven their home.
Three days had passed since Harry broke his third magical binding, and he was still riding the warm wave of relief, confidence, and excitement that followed. He was more aware than ever of the subtle expansions in his mana pool. His spells felt crisper, his mind sharper, and the synergy with his motherly system interface more fluid. He had ended Chapter 8 with a sense of determined satisfaction, gazing out at a glorious sunset. Now, on May 3, 1989, dawn broke softly over the forest, and Harry awoke in a haze of gentle warmth. He was lost somewhere in a pile of contentedly snoozing wolf pups, an arrangement that had become so natural he no longer gave it a second thought.
Everything felt perfectly right. He blinked a few times to chase away sleep and then took in his situation with a soft smile. Myrren's head rested across his left leg, her fuzzy ears twitching whenever a dream flickered through her pup mind. Selune, sprawled in an ungraceful tangle, took up a good portion of Harry's torso. Meanwhile, Taris and Eriwen had sprawled out near his hips, pressing close for shared warmth. Their fur was softer, sleeker now that spring had arrived. Once or twice in the night, Taris had thumped Harry's ribs with her tail, but he was so used to the pups' affectionate invasions of personal space that it merely added to his sense of safety.
At the far edges of the den, still half-concealed by woven drapes that partitioned rger sleeping alcoves, Luna and Selyria y like silent sentinels. They had dozed off in the quiet hours, but even in sleep, a piece of their awareness stayed sharp and alert. Selyria had once been described by the system as around Level 15,000, and Luna, around 12,000. The pups—though they had soared from ~10,000 to about ~11,000—remained in that limbo between unstoppable strength and carefree adolescence. Harry found himself, at Level 70, in a position both humbling and comforting. Surrounded by beings so unimaginably strong, he never feared for his life or his future. He had guardians who could handle almost any threat. Yet they did so with such gentleness in his presence that he felt an unspoken, unwavering acceptance. He might be Omega in raw power, but he was cherished, needed, and safe.
He inhaled the familiar musk of fur and warm, sweet earth. Drawing the new air of spring was like tasting liquid sunshine—fresh, clean, brimming with life. Outside, the forest rustled softly, the wind stirring buds and leaves. It promised a world reborn from winter's hush. Harry closed his eyes again, savoring the closeness of the pups for a long moment, letting their breathing form a lulby that matched the forest's gentle pulse.
Eventually, a pyful voice teased him from within his mind:
"Good morning, my little cub! Did you enjoy your warm pile of love? Let's make today even cozier, shall we?"
Harry smirked. That was the motherly system, taking delight in every aspect of his day. Since it had gained sentience, it loved to greet him with sweet, teasing commentary. He answered in a near-whisper, not wishing to rouse the pups too early:
"Mmm, it was perfect. Thank you for the… wakeup call."
One of the pups—Eriwen—twitched an ear at the sound of his voice, but she settled once more, lured back to doze by the comfortable gloom. Harry gently lifted Myrren's head from his leg and eased himself free, mindful not to disturb them too much. He stood, arching his back, letting the tension in his muscles ease. Then, he quietly tiptoed across the den, weaving around small partitions, stepping on a plush rug that muffled all sound. The smell of morning air beckoned him outside.
In the earliest days of living in the den, he might have needed to push aside a ragged hide at the entrance, but now that area was expanded and reinforced. A simple wooden door, still half open, allowed the golden rays of dawn to filter in. It bore runic etchings that provided mild wards and temperature regution. Harry had carved them with the system's gentle guidance, yering magic upon craft. Even the threshold felt like an expression of love and safety.
Outside, the forest was awash in spring glory. Spshes of wildflowers dotted the forest floor—bright yellows and purples. The undergrowth, previously hidden by snow, now formed a lush carpet. The air buzzed with new insect life. Birds called from overhead, weaving an ethereal morning chorus. Each breath Harry drew felt like a small celebration of nature's resilience. He stepped into the clearing, letting the sun's warmth bathe his skin. Gone was any trace of winter's biting chill. The day already carried a gentle warmth, hinting that soon enough, summer would creep in.
He stood quietly, remembering how Chapter 8 had ended with him dreaming of further growth and forging deeper bonds. The system had teased him with talk of new illusions, advanced runecrafting, synergy in forging mythic items. Indeed, he had soared to Level 70, but as he learned more about the wolves' levels, he understood he had yet to scratch the surface of potential. He hardly minded. The journey was no longer a frantic scramble for survival, but a content, measured dance of learning and contributing.
Catching the faint hum of activity behind him, he sensed the pack beginning to stir. The pups, likely awakened by the absence of his warmth in their nest, let out soft whines. He wondered if he might fix something to snack on for them. Though wolves preferred fresh game, they rarely turned down small treats he prepared, especially if it had interesting seasonings. He was about to head back in when the system manifested a whimsical quest in bold letters across his thoughts:
"Create a decorative colr for each pup. Reward: 100 Coins, Bonus: Title 'Pack Stylist'."
A bark of ughter escaped him. Of course. The system was always weaving pyful tasks into his day, tasks that usually involved the pack. He rolled his eyes fondly at the quest, yet felt a tingle of excitement. He had done a variation on this theme before—colorful, runic colrs or harnesses that provided mild enchantments. Since the pups had grown so fast, it made sense to craft new ones fitted to their bigger frames. The system never ceased to amuse him with these comedic but endearing missions.
He ducked back inside, slipping past the timber threshold into the den's cozy gloom. Light from outside fell onto the pups, who were blinking themselves awake. Taris stretched, arching her back and yawning wide enough to show sharp teeth. Myrren batted at Corlys's tail. Harry greeted them all with gentle pats, and each nuzzle or tail wag in return made his heart swell. He thought about how their levels hovered around 11,000, their growth unstoppable. Yet here they were, rummaging against him for cuddles or pyful scritches.
Before diving into any quest, he paused to reflect on his progress. Observing the pups with advanced Observe was second nature at this point. The text shimmered across his vision. Indeed, Taris: Wolf Pup (~11,000). Myrren: Wolf Pup (~10,900). Eriwen, Selune, Corlys, Aylin, Vaerya, Nythra, Ilfa—each soared in that same realm of awe-inspiring power. Then he glimpsed Luna settling near the den's edge, blinking in the dawn, and recalled her approximate reading: ~12,000. Selyria, the alpha, likely soared around ~15,000. He was dwarfed, but the disparity never stung; it felt like an anchor of safety. He was their little brother, shielded by a fortress of unconditional might. That dynamic allowed him to be unafraid, to explore his creativity freely.
The system read his mood, delivering another comedic message in a sing-song tone:
"Let's start the day, dear. Maybe a game of tag with your pups after you finish those colrs?"
He ughed softly, ruffling Eriwen's ears. "Sure, why not?" The pup gave him a quizzical head tilt, but accepted the affectionate gesture.
That was the flow of life now—spontaneous tasks from the system, each encouraging him to strengthen the bond with his pack or push the boundaries of his crafting. He found genuine joy in these activities. They reaffirmed his pce as Omega caretaker, the one who ensured comfort, warmth, and creativity thrived in the den. Though smaller and weaker than any wolf, he was an integral part of the family.
He settled into his crafting nook, a portion of the den lined with a sturdy wooden worktable and countless small shelves brimming with materials. Jars of pigments, lumps of resin, bundles of cured leather, and containers of runic chalk were arranged in neat rows. Thanks to the system's expansions, his skill set in tailoring, leatherworking, and runic etching had soared to near mastery. Creating colrs for each pup was more a delight than a challenge.
Careful not to disturb the pups just yet, he selected a roll of leather from the top shelf. Using his advanced Foraging and Tanning knowledge, he had prepared this hide from a deer Selyria brought in weeks ago. He measured and cut strips, ensuring each colr would fit comfortably around a pup's neck without pinching. Next, he dyed them with spring flowers, achieving gentle bursts of color—vender, pale green, and a bright sky-blue reminiscent of the cleared winter skies. Then, to add a final flourish, he scratched runic patterns with a fine bone needle. The runes wouldn't provide heavy enchantments, but enough to lend subtle comfort or mild defense. Over the course of an hour, he completed the set for all nine pups. They dried quickly thanks to a mild warming infusion he had learned to cast.
The pups, sniffing around for him, soon discovered his workshop. Taris wandered in first, muzzle quivering at the smell of dyes. Myrren and Aylin followed, eyes bright with curiosity. Harry grinned, letting them see the new colrs. One by one, he fitted them around the pups' necks, adjusting the straps for a comfortable fit. The pups responded with wagging tails, snuffling his face, or bounding in small circles. They looked downright proud of their new accessories.
An internal chime signaled the quest's completion:
"Create a decorative colr for each pup. Reward: 100 Coins, Bonus: Title 'Pack Stylist' Granted."
He smirked, feeling that surge of gratification the system's comedic quests always brought."Pack Stylist,"indeed. He was racking up more whimsical titles than he could keep track of: Artisanal Hearth-Keeper, Mythic Artisan, Wolfish Groomer, and so on. Their benefits were minor, but they were tokens of a life well-lived in service to those he loved.
His next comedic quest for the day popped into view:
"Py tag with your pack for at least 15 minutes. Reward: 50 Coins, Bonus: Speed Skill 1."
He sighed, an affectionate grin on his face. Tag with a group of hyper-strong, ultra-fast wolf pups. Right. He was absolutely going to lose, but that never stopped him from pying. The pups, as if reading his mind, took off into the clearing, yipping in that pyful tone that beckoned him outside.
So he followed them, stepping into the bright May sunshine that filtered in snted rays across the clearing. The ground felt springy beneath his feet, newly freed from winter's chill. The pups wasted no time scattering in all directions, tails wagging high. They recognized this game from previous quests. Over the st few months, the system had assigned various "pytime" challenges, presumably to keep Harry active and forging deeper bonds. He certainly couldn't outrun them in terms of pure speed, but he'd learned to use illusions or cunning maneuvers.
He cpped his hands, calling out. "Alright, rascals, let's see if I can catch you!" On cue, the pups exploded into motion. He ughed, chasing after Taris, who easily leapt over a low bush. He tried an illusion of swirling lights near her fnk, hoping it might distract her enough for him to tag her tail. She did pause, batting at the shimmering illusions with curiosity. That gave him the opening to slip around the bush and lightly tap her side.
"Tag!" he called, triumphant. Taris let out a squeaky bark and bounded away, unoffended, tail wagging like a banner. Next, he attempted to approach Myrren, only to have her feint to the left, leaving him stumbling. The pups took advantage of his momentary lurch, swirling around him in loops. Their agility astounded him each time. He spent minutes weaving illusions of phantom shapes or rustling grass, hoping to slow them down. Meanwhile, the pups gamely teased him with quick dashes, letting him come close but not quite catch them, then bounding away. Their ughter—transted into wolfish whines and pyful growls—filled the clearing with a joyous atmosphere.
Unsurprisingly, he was out of breath in short order. The pups, hardly winded, circled him, tongues lolling. Luna and Selyria watched from the den's edge, both sporting that gentle amusement Harry had come to love. Eventually, the system gave a cheerful ring:
"Quest Complete: Py tag with your pack for at least 15 minutes. Reward: 50 Coins, Bonus: Speed Skill 1."
He flopped onto the ground, letting the pups swarm him, nuzzling at his hair, pawing at his cloak. "Alright, you win," he murmured, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. The warmth of their fur, the lively forest around them, and the golden sunlight formed a tapestry of contentment.
Moments ter, he spotted Selyria trotting over. She lowered her muzzle and gently nudged his shoulder. He read the gesture as affectionate concern, as if to say, Are you tired, pup? He responded with a fond scratch behind her ears, marveling anew at how a creature of such enormous power could treat him with such tenderness. She huffed lightly, then turned to shepherd the pups back toward the den, perhaps to let Harry have a moment to rest.
He y there for a few minutes longer, hearing the system's pyful voice in his mind: "You're getting faster, dear. Keep it up, and maybe you'll outrun them in a decade or two!" He snorted softly, amused. The system never missed a chance to poke fun, but it did so with real warmth in every sylble.
When he finally got up and returned to the den, he found the pups had begun milling around near his crafting area, sniffing at leftover scraps of leather or peering at jars of dye. He shooed them off carefully so they wouldn't knock anything over. Then, returning to his seat, he wondered what else the day might hold. The motherly system was rarely content to let him remain idle. Sure enough, it soon presented another comedic quest in his vision:
"Braid Selyria's tail without getting bitten. Reward: 200 Coins, Bonus: Wolfish Groomer Perk."
Harry stifled a giggle. He had braided pup tails before, especially to remove tangles. But Selyria's tail was a whole other matter—partially for the comedic prospect of such a regal alpha wolf letting him fuss with her fur, and partially because her size made the task more daunting. He recalled how rge she was—easily the size of a small horse, with silver fur that caught the light. She rarely allowed intrusive fussing. Even so, Harry suspected the system knew Selyria would indulge him, as she always had a soft corner for her Omega pup.
He approached her carefully, calling her name in a soft voice to catch her attention. She turned, ears pricked in mild curiosity. He gestured to the bone comb he carried, speaking out loud in a gentle tone. "Selyria, mind if I try something new? I'll be careful." Her golden gaze flicked between him and the comb, and for a moment, he wasn't entirely sure she'd comply. Then, with a low, rumbling sound, she settled onto her haunches, tail swishing behind her.
Harry knelt, heart thumping. He carefully took hold of the tip of her tail, brushing out the fur with slow, deliberate strokes. Selyria huffed, half-turning to watch him, but she didn't object. The pups, as though sensing a comedic performance, gathered around to witness the spectacle. Luna, standing off to the side, lowered her head in what Harry interpreted as a tolerant half-sigh, half-ugh.
Gently, he parted segments of Selyria's tail fur, weaving them into a loose braid, tucking in small scraps of dyed leather for decorative effect. To his relief, Selyria didn't pull away or give him a warning snap. She let him complete the process with regal patience. By the time he tied off the end of the braid, the system chimed:
"Quest Complete: Braid Selyria's tail without getting bitten. Reward: 200 Coins, Bonus: Wolfish Groomer Perk unlocked."
Exhaling, he gave Selyria's fnk a fond pat and stepped back to admire the result. She turned her head, giving her tail a cursory gnce, as if to confirm she was indeed sporting a new braided style. To his relief, she seemed more amused than annoyed—her eyes glowed with mild curiosity, and she flicked her tail as though testing the weight. The pups yipped excitedly, while Harry stifled a ugh, content that he had avoided any mishaps. The motherly system's comedic side kept him constantly on his toes.
He spent the rest of that day tidying up the den, preparing a small area for cooking, and tending to a few minor chores. The wolves had no interest in typical domestic tasks, yet they appreciated the results of Harry's efforts—a clean, cozy environment that supported their comfort. They might not say it in words, but their wagging tails, pyful nudges, and occasional licks told him all he needed to know. He was Omega, caretaker, and beloved little brother.
Over the next few days, as May deepened, a new series of tasks took shape in Harry's mind. He wanted to craft improved comforts for the den, not just for the sake of quest rewards but because he relished the idea of repaying the wolves' kindness. With the cold months gone, the den felt warmer, but a host of new possibilities opened. He envisioned better storage solutions for herbs and leftover meat, or cushions infused with calming aromatics so the pack could enjoy restful sleep. The motherly system, of course, was quick to encourage him.
On May 8, 1989, he woke brimming with creative energy. He decided to start with simple yet thoughtful additions: herbal cushions. His mind raced with ideas for mixing dried vender, chamomile, and even a few spring blossoms to produce a gentle, soothing scent. The pack might not fully grasp the concept of scented bedding, but he bet they would appreciate the restful sleep it offered. He rummaged in the den's storeroom, pulling out scraps of cloth he'd woven from spider silk and pnt fibers. He tested their texture, ensuring they'd be soft against fur. Then, after gathering an armful of aromatic pnts from outside, he returned to knead them into a light stuffing.
Working with deliberate care, he stitched the cushion covers using the sinew thread. The system chimed in with occasional comments: "That chamomile will do wonders for restful nights, dear. Don't forget to check your runic alignment if you add wards for pest repellence." Smiling, Harry carefully added tiny runes embroidered along the cushion seams, each designed to ward off fleas or other annoyances. By te morning, he had produced a half-dozen herbal cushions, each sized to accommodate a pup or even Luna. The room smelled faintly of fresh tea. Taris ambled by, sniffed one of the cushions, and promptly flopped onto it with a contented whine. A moment ter, Eriwen joined, nuzzling Harry's hand in grateful approval.
Next, he turned his attention to rger-scale enhancements. One idea was to enchant new storage chests with expansion runes, so they could hold more dried meat, herbs, or magical materials without taking extra space. He rummaged through the den for a suitable trunk. He found one with decent structural integrity, a piece he'd carved from oak during the winter. It was rge enough to store quite a bit, but the motherly system insisted there was room for improvement. So, he meticulously etched runes for spatial expansion along the inside corners, chanting a mild incantation that he'd gleaned from bridging Restoration and Alteration spells. The synergy required intense concentration, or the runes might short out. The trunk glowed faintly, then the magic stabilized. With a sense of triumph, Harry tested the trunk by pcing a surprisingly rge bundle of cloth inside. To his delight, the trunk swallowed it easily, leaving plenty of space.
He beled it an "Enchanted Storage Chest" in his own mental notes. The system gave a quiet note of approval, awarding a little burst of skill experience. He repeated the process for two smaller chests, one intended for raw ingredients, another specifically for potions and salves. By midday, the den boasted a neat row of new storage boxes, each thrumming with subtle energy. The wolves, half curious, half unimpressed, came around to sniff them. Harry patted their heads, expining to them softly, "These will keep our food fresh, you know. No more rush to hunt if we run low."
He paused. In truth, the wolves would always prefer fresh meat. Still, the system's comedic acceptance of these upgrades was reassurance enough. They might be more for Harry's peace of mind than anything else.
By te afternoon, he tackled an even more ambitious project: a runic doorway. Although the den had a wooden door, he wanted to carve new wards of warmth and protection into its frame. The motherly system appeared in his thoughts, offering gentle corrections when needed. "Try a swirl pattern there, dear. Perfect. Now anchor it with your Restoration aura." He followed the instructions, yering runic glyphs that would keep the interior temperature stable and deter smaller predators or pests. A faint glow ran along the grooves as he pressed magical energy into them. By the time he finished, the doorway looked like a piece of art—a subtle swirling of lines reminiscent of branches and vines.
When the improvements were done, the pack came to investigate. The pups circled around, pressing their noses to the runes. Luna wandered over to see how the door looked from the outside, then stepped inside, letting out a low, contented chuff. Harry sensed her approval. He gave a pleased grin, and the system teased:
"Careful, dear. You'll spoil them so thoroughly they'll never want to leave!"
He answered silently, "Let them be spoiled. They deserve it." Indeed, how could he ever repay the pack's gift of family, safety, and purpose, if not by weaving comfort and enchantment into every corner of their den?
Mid-May arrived with the forest in full bloom, green leaves shimmering in mild breezes. Nights turned balmy, the air tinged with the faint sweetness of blossoming flora. In quiet moments, Harry found himself reflecting on how deeply he'd come to depend on the wolves—emotionally, spiritually, and in matters of simple survival. Yes, he was leveling steadily, forging mythic items, earning coins in the system. He had even begun exploring more advanced illusions and synergy spells. But in a deeper sense, the pack was his anchor, the reason he could remain so open-hearted and creative.
On May 15, 1989, he found himself sitting at the entrance of the den at dusk, leaning against a smooth wooden post. The day's chores—crafting, small hunts, a few comedic system tasks—were over. The forest beyond glowed with the st flickers of sunset, painting the trees in rich oranges and reds. By his side, Luna settled, her posture regal and rexed. She exhaled in a slow breath, as though savoring the end of the day. Harry gazed at her sleek fur, the subtle ripple of muscle beneath, and felt a wave of gratitude. He was the smallest among them, but they had never treated him as disposable or lesser. He was vital to them in intangible ways. If the system was right, it was a two-way street. He brought them warmth, healing, creativity, and a loving devotion that matched their own.
He reached out a hand, brushing his fingers through the thick fur along her side. She let him, turning her head to study him with bright golden eyes. Perhaps she sensed his introspection, for she didn't stir or pull away. The system's gentle voice drifted in:
"Feeling reflective, dear? It's good to acknowledge how far you've come. But don't forget, strength is a two-way street. They lean on you too, even if it's in quieter ways."
Harry murmured, half to himself, half to Luna, "I know. They do rely on me for the little comforts I can provide. And I guess… that's enough. I want to keep giving them everything I can."
Luna tilted her head, as if hearing the softness in his voice, then nudged his arm. He offered a smile, burying his face briefly in her fur. The moment felt almost sacred, a shared understanding that neither needed words.
In the days that followed, Harry threw himself into advanced crafting and magic. With the third binding broken, his mana soared to 60,000 of a still-locked 2,500,000. He felt new surges of potential at every turn, pushing him to explore bigger, more complex enchantments. On May 20, 1989, he tackled a project specifically for Luna: a mythic-grade cloak. He called it the Lunar Aegis Cloak in his notes. He pnned to incorporate everything he'd learned about synergy—Restoration for healing, runes for physical defense, and the Frostheart Crystal that still gleamed in his inventory from the previous chapter.
The crafting process began with harvesting the best materials. He picked a strong, pliable hide and wove in new threads made from spider silk, dyed midnight blue to honor Luna's regal aura. For the inner lining, he integrated runic patterns shaped like crescent moons, each carefully traced with chalk before being sealed with mana. Then came the Frostheart Crystal, which he ground partially into dust, mixing it with resin to form a glowing ink. He used that ink to highlight key runes around the neckline, ensuring the cloak would resonate with lunar energy. The system hovered in the background, offering small bits of guidance:
"Remember, yering the runes is key. Think of them as a story—each rune leads to the next. Gently, dear, gently."
Harry's hands glowed with a faint Restoration aura as he stitched each piece together, forging a cohesive design that offered robust protection and subtle self-healing. When he finished, he whispered a short incantation gleaned from bridging Illusion and Restoration spells. The cloak shimmered, an interpy of midnight blue and faint silver motifs. He observed it in the system's interface:
Mythic Item: Lunar Aegis Cloak – Grants formidable resistance to physical attacks, mild healing over time, and stable temperature regution. Perfect for a guardian of the night.
He held the cloak in trembling hands, heart pounding. Each mythic creation left him breathless with wonder. The system decred his success with gentle appuse in his mind, awarding him a hefty sum of skill experience. He brought the cloak over to Luna, who eyed it with mild skepticism. Carefully, he draped it around her broad shoulders, adjusting straps so it wouldn't impede her movement. For a moment, she wriggled, testing the cloak's drape. Then, seeming to realize how unintrusive it was, she let out a soft huff of acceptance. Harry chuckled, pressing a hand to her fnk as if to say,"It's all yours."The motherly system beamed with pride, and the pups crowded around, sniffing the new item with interest.
She wore it for a short while, perhaps to humor him, then stepped outside to test her agility. From within, Harry peered across the clearing, seeing how the cloak fluttered around her powerful frame. She looked like a living legend, an alpha wolf robed in star-kissed midnight. Pride swelled in Harry's chest, accompanied by gratitude for the system's guidance. This was what he loved—crafting heartfelt gifts that blended magic, skill, and love.
In the quieter evenings, he continued forging small gestures that reaffirmed his pce in the pack. May 28 saw him cooking a hearty meal for himself, sprinkling fresh spring herbs into a stew, the aroma wafting through the den. Though the wolves stuck to raw meat, they wandered near him, curious about the scent. He let them sample small tidbits—like lightly grilled scraps—just to share the moment. The pups, especially Taris, licked their muzzles curiously, uncertain if they preferred the cooked taste. The system found it all delightfully comedic, awarding him trivial coin increments for "culinary exploration."
He also practiced advanced Healing on Eriwen when the pup scratched her paw while rummaging through brambles. Gently, Harry csped the paw, channeling Restoration. The wound mended quickly, and Eriwen gave him an adoring lick on the cheek. The motherly system congratuted him on skill synergy, awarding him the comedic "Healer Pup" perk.
That night, he fed the pack a portion of leftover scraps from Selyria's successful hunt—a deer that provided them with plenty of meat. As they dozed around the warm den, the system conjured a fresh quest:
"Sing a lulby to the pups tonight. Reward: 50 Coins, Bonus: Soothing Aura Perk (Minor)."
Harry blushed, reading it. He had done something simir months ago, humming tunes from a hazy memory of lulbies. But to sing was bolder. He wasn't sure he was any good. Still, for the wolves, perhaps it wouldn't matter. So he swallowed his nerves, clearing his throat, and quietly began a soft, lilting tune he half made up on the spot. The pups blinked in surprise, ears perked. One by one, they settled, drawn by the gentle flow of notes. Myrren circled behind him, pressing her chin to his shoulder. Even Luna turned an ear from her corner. By the time Harry finished, the pups were nestled closer, eyes drooping in drowsy contentment. He ended with a nervous ugh. The system gave a swirl of approval, awarding the promised coins and a new minor perk to calm nearby animals. But the real reward was the sight of his beloved pack sleeping so peacefully, lulled by the intangible power of his voice.
By the final days of May, any trace of winter's chill had vanished completely. The forest brimmed with color, the sunlight strong and consistent. Harry found it delightful to roam beyond the usual boundaries with the pups—particurly those who ventured out to track new prey or investigate hidden groves. This sense of exploration felt safe under their watchful eyes, as if the entire territory was open to him with no fear of lurking dangers.
June arrived, bringing an almost summery warmth. On June 1, 1989, Harry set out on a longer excursion with a few of the pups in tow. They ventured deeper into the forest, discovering clusters of new herbs that the system identified as valuable. One highlight was a bright yellow blossom the interface called Sunburst Blossom, rumored to boost fire-based spells. He carefully harvested it, stowing the petals in small wooden containers lined with mild runic wards to keep them fresh. He pictured using them to enhance the next round of Fireball potions or weaving them into a cloak that banced frost and fme synergy.
Their wanderings took them near a tranquil stream, its banks dotted with fresh greenery. The pups spshed around in the shallows, occasionally nipping at darting fish or chasing each other across slippery stones. Harry found himself watching them with a sense of gentle wonder. They were so strong, yet so pyful, a blend of unstoppable power and childlike innocence. He knelt by the water, washing a bit of dirt from his hands, then turned to see Myrren bounding over. She pressed her muzzle to his chest, eyes bright. He chuckled, returning her affectionate nudge.
In these moments, he felt a deep belonging. He was neither fully wolf nor outside observer—somewhere in between. The motherly system whispered that he had integrated into the pack better than any human might have guessed possible. He carried his role as Omega, caretaker, comforter, and budding mage. That was enough.
By June 3, 1989, an entire month had epsed since he set out on these new projects of comfort and forging deeper bonds. In that time, he soared from Level 70 to Level 75, rgely from consistent quest completions, advanced forging, and synergy achievements. It was a steady, rewarding climb. In the den that morning, he found himself once again tidying up, reorganizing the new storage chests, checking if the runic door wards needed recharging. The pack meandered around, with Selyria stepping out on a short patrol, Luna trailing behind. The pups zed or tussled near the newly crafted herbal cushions, each thoroughly accustomed to the den's expansions.
Harry paused in his tasks, leaning against the strong wooden frame of the door he had so carefully decorated. A sense of contentment filled him as he recalled the st month's worth of experiences. He had created decorative colrs, new furnishings, braided Selyria's tail, sung lulbies, and tested illusions in silly hunts with the pups. The comedic system tasks had guided him to further entwine his everyday life with the pack's happiness. More meaningful quests had him forging mythic gear and bridging advanced spells, building synergy between Restoration, Alteration, and illusions. The net result was a den that shone with safety and warmth, a pack that thrived in the radiant environment, and a sense of belonging so profound that he rarely missed the idea of a human world.
The motherly system's voice stirred him from his reverie:
"Another cloak, dear? At this rate, you'll have the pack looking like royalty!"
He ughed softly. "Hmm, maybe I should. They deserve regal attire. But first, let's see if I can refine a new staff or potion. Or maybe I'll just watch them py in the clearing."
A swirl of thoughtful pride filled him. He was still only partway through unraveling Dumbledore's bindings—seven remained. The system was content to let him progress at a pace that kept him safe. He would eventually attempt to break the next chain, but not just yet. He was in no hurry to provoke a dangerous backsh. At Level 75, with more expansions to come, he would wait until the moment felt right.
He closed his eyes, inhaling the fresh air wafting in from outside. The forest beckoned—bustling with wildlife, dense with new pnts. The pups yipped, running past the door to chase one another. He hopped aside so they could dash inside, their ughter filling the space. They wrestled in a tumble of fur, ignoring the sweet herbal scents that Harry's cushions gave off. He watched them, smiling, content to see them so free. Luna soon returned, peering in from the threshold, her muzzle parted in a half-grin at the pups' antics.
Harry stepped out behind her, letting the morning sun wash over him. The next steps in his journey remained uncertain—would he attempt more synergy spells, perhaps delve deeper into illusions that now included Invisibility and advanced fear maniputions? Or perhaps he'd craft a set of boots for Selyria, so she might walk silent and swift? The motherly system had so many comedic possibilities up its metaphorical sleeve. He found it impossible to guess what comedic quest it might generate next, whether it be painting runes on the pups' nails or teaching them new ways to py chase. He felt a surge of excitement at the unknown.
Standing at the edge of the clearing, he took in the vision of the pack spread out in an easy sprawl. Myrren and Selune teased each other near a sapling. Taris sniffed the ground, possibly tracking a hidden insect. Eriwen y in a sunny patch, dozing. Selyria had wandered to the far side of the clearing, gazing into the forest's deeper shadows. Luna lingered closer to Harry, occasionally casting him a sidelong, protective gnce. A few months ago, he'd been a starving boy, cast into the woods by people who should have cared for him. Now, he was a level 75 Omega Pup, forging mythic artifacts and weaving illusions in pyful hunts.
There was no better summary of his journey. He had grown so much, discovered a wellspring of magic, broken three bindings, and found the greatest treasure of all: a family that understood him without words. Each day carried him further from the lonely echoes of his past. He was not naive. He sensed, from the system's occasional hints, that grander challenges lurked in the wide world. One day, he might face them. For now, he thrived in the radiant present, embraced by wolves who saw him as kin.
As the morning stretched, he returned to the den's interior, collected a few scraps of runic parchment, and rummaged around for leftover materials. Perhaps he'd craft something new—maybe a Mythic item for the pups, each reflecting their distinct personalities. Or maybe he'd brew a fresh batch of potions enhanced by the Sunburst Blossom. The motherly system was there, always ready with a comedic quest or thoughtful suggestion, and he welcomed its presence like a dear friend.
He rummaged around an old trunk for seeds that might germinate in the new warmth of summer, hoping to cultivate a small garden near the den. Why not? He was certain the wolves wouldn't mind a plot of herbal growth, though he doubted they'd quite understand the concept. The system teased him gently about becoming a "Wolf Gardener," awarding him trivial daily tasks if he actually pnted seeds. He liked the idea of making the clearing even more lush.
The day slipped by in contented tasks—some comedic, some earnest. He found a rare moment at dusk to gnce at his status in the system's refined interface. The motherly system gave a short flourish:
"Ready for a progress check, dear?"
He nodded mentally. The data scrolled across his vision, warm and familiar:
[Name: Harry James Potter (The Abandoned Pup)[Race: Human (7/10 Magical Bindings Remaining)[Title(s): Omega Pup of the Wolves, Artisanal Hearth-Keeper, Burgeoning Archmage, Mythic Artisan, Pack Stylist[Level: 75[HP: 7,500[MP: 60,000/2,500,000[Condition:
Healthy,
Thriving,
Content
[Attributes (S.P.E.C.I.A.L.):Strength: 15Perception: 30Endurance: 20Charisma: 16Intelligence: 30Agility: 25Luck: 18[Skills and Bundles:
Expanded Survival and Crafting Bundles,
Advanced Magic Skills (Fireball, Invisibility, Stoneflesh, Greater Healing),
Mastered Runic Crafting,
Mythic-level Crafting Mastery
[System Coins: ~4,500[Inventory:
Rare herbs,
enchanted materials,
Mythic and Legendary items
He felt a surge of pride reading those lines. He remembered the timid child in rags who was once near Level 1, half-starved, uncertain if he would see another day. Now, he had 7,500 HP, 60,000 MP, a den brimming with warmth, and a pack that dwarfed him in raw power yet cherished him as an integral piece of their family tapestry. The motherly system gave an approving hum:
"You've done so well, dear. I can't wait to see what you'll accomplish next."
Smiling to himself, he rose from the cushion he'd been resting on and peeked outside. Night was creeping in, painting the clearing with the subtle glow of twilight. The pups were winding down, weaving in and out of the den, deciding whether to sprawl inside or stargaze outside. Selyria was finishing a small patrol, stepping in with an unhurried gait. Luna hovered near Harry, as she often did, offering him silent company.
He gazed at them all, a pang of affection so strong that tears almost sprang to his eyes. In that soft hush of evening, with the forest singing a lulby of crickets and swaying branches, he felt more certain than ever that he belonged. Yes, he was Omega—fragile by their standards, dependent on their might if danger loomed—but he was also the heart of their comfort, the spark of creativity that brightened every day. This synergy, this unspoken bond, was his foundation.
Tucking a bnket around Eriwen, who had begun dozing near a carved shelf, he thought of how tomorrow might bring another comedic quest or a push for new illusions. He might craft a set of runic charms to help ward away pests, or experiment with advanced transmutation to refine metals from ore. The motherly system would ensure each challenge felt pyful and achievable. The wolves, no doubt, would greet each new day with excitement, as if to remind him that life was not just about survival but about reveling in the joys of existence.
He found a pce near the center of the den, letting the pups gather around him for the night's rest. Luna settled to one side, Selyria to the other, forming a protective ring. The gentle scent of chamomile from the herbal cushions, the quiet panting of tired pups, and the lingering sense of a job well done lulled him toward sleep. As his eyelids grew heavy, he offered a silent thanks—to the forest that embraced him, to the system that guided him, and most of all, to the wolves whose affection transcended any difference between man and beast.
Here, in this snug home amid spring's bloom, Harry had found a life beyond his wildest dreams. Omega Pup, caretaker, craftsman, archmage in training—all these titles coalesced into the simple truth of who he was: a boy shaped by love, warmed by fur and magic, forging a future bright with promise. He felt no regrets. Only an eager curiosity for what the next sunrise would bring.
[End of Chapter 9: Harry's Stats]
[Name: Harry James Potter (The Abandoned Pup)[Race:Human (7/10 Magical Bindings Remaining)[Title(s):
Omega Pup of the Wolves,
Artisanal Hearth-Keeper,
Burgeoning Archmage,
Mythic Artisan,
Pack Stylist
[Level:75[HP:7,500[MP:60,000/2,500,000[Condition:Healthy, Thriving, Content[Attributes (S.P.E.C.I.A.L.):Strength:15Perception:30Endurance:20Charisma:16Intelligence:30Agility:25Luck:18
[Skills and Bundles:Expanded Survival and Crafting Bundles,
Advanced Magic Skills (Fireball, Invisibility, Stoneflesh, Greater Healing),
Mastered Runic Crafting,
Mythic-level Crafting Mastery
[System Coins:~4,500
[Inventory:Rare herbs, enchanted materials, Mythic and Legendary items]
AN:
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