71-75

*Chapter 71: Ravenclaw’s Diadem*

Luke’s Defense Against the Dark Arts class was incredibly popular—who could resist a fun lesson that involved battling dark creatures?

It was so well-received that many older students came to audit the class, which earned Luke a long, deathly glare from Snape.

In the end, however, Snape grudgingly handed over the lower-year classes to Luke. After all, most of them didn’t conflict with his own schedule.

Snape retained the sixth- and seventh-year classes for himself, unwilling to part with the subject entirely, though this meant those students would continue to endure his grueling lectures.

The rest of the students celebrated this development enthusiastically. No one enjoyed Snape’s dreary, soul-crushing theoretical lessons.

Except, of course, for the sixth- and seventh-years, who still had to suffer under Snape’s instruction. In the Great Hall or their common rooms, they watched with envy and bitterness as their younger peers discussed the exciting new content from Professor Mountbatten’s lessons.

Yes, Luke was now officially a professor—an associate professor, to be precise. Dumbledore had personally granted him the title.

The reason? Professor Mountbatten had undeniably proven his capabilities.

Thanks to the support and behind-the-scenes maneuvering of Draco’s father, Lucius Malfoy, the Hogwarts Board of Governors approved the appointment with overwhelming consensus. No one questioned why a 12-year-old was being made a professor.

To the governors, there wasn’t much distinction between an associate professor and a full professor. Their focus was on their own interests.

For the first three years, the Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum was nearly identical across all classes. But starting in the fourth year, the coursework became more intensive to prepare students for their O.W.L.s.

Luke began considering whether he could consolidate the classes into a single session in the Great Hall, selecting a time that would work for all five years.

In truth, even the fifth-years weren’t particularly skilled in practical defense—aside from a few exceptional students.

After evaluating students across different years, Luke realized there were quite a few talented individuals. They simply lacked proper guidance to reach their full potential.

It was clear that what these students needed most was someone to lead them down the right path.

As for the fifth-years, their prowess was nothing to brag about. Without the D.A. training in the original timeline, they probably couldn’t hold their own against a goose, let alone a competent opponent.

Of course, this was an exaggeration, but it didn’t change the fact that they were woefully underprepared.

Students like Ginny, who mastered the Blasting Curse with such ease, were rare gems.

Dumbledore didn’t object to Luke’s plan, but finding a time slot suitable for all five years was a logistical nightmare. Schedules often overlapped, leaving little free time for everyone.

Weekends? Out of the question. Even though Luke was dedicated, he wasn’t willing to push his students—or himself—that far.

After all, there were limits to how much one could demand, even in the name of education.

Meanwhile, Luke had completed his personal mission and secured ownership of the Room of Requirement.

Now, he stood before a beautiful, ornate diadem, lost in thought.

*Ravenclaw’s Diadem (Corrupted)*

The Diadem of Insight  

(Female-Only)  

- +2 to all attributes

- +1 to all skills

- +30% faster casting speed

- Enhances mental agility

Luke pondered for a moment, muttered a brief incantation, and cast a Mass Dispel on the diadem.

A dark, dense smoke began to rise from the diadem, accompanied by faint, anguished wails. Slowly, the word “Corrupted” disappeared from its surface.

He knew that Voldemort’s Horcrux had been thoroughly purified.

“What are you doing?” Katherine asked, approaching him with curiosity.

“I’m giving you a gift.” Luke smiled, handing her the diadem.

“It’s beautiful…” Katherine gasped. Even a strong-willed woman like her couldn’t resist the allure of such a gorgeous ornament.

“Try it on,” Luke suggested.

Katherine admired the diadem for a moment before handing it back.

“What’s wrong? Don’t like it?” Luke asked, raising an eyebrow.

Katherine turned her head away, feigning indifference. “It’s impolite to give someone a gift and not help them put it on properly…”

Her meaning was clear: Put it on me yourself. It’s more ceremonial that way.  

Luke didn’t hesitate. Taking the diadem, he gently placed it on Katherine’s head. She knelt slightly to make it easier for him to reach.

After securing the diadem, Luke playfully lifted her delicate chin with his finger.

Katherine’s gaze softened.

There was no denying it—such a luxurious accessory looked stunning on her. Katherine’s already breathtaking beauty, combined with the elegance of the diadem, exuded an air of nobility and intellectual grace befitting Ravenclaw’s legacy.

“You look amazing,” Luke said, withdrawing his hand just before she could react. He couldn’t stop praising her.

“What did you say?” Katherine asked.

“Everything looks great. You look great, and the diadem looks great. But… you’re the most beautiful.”

Katherine’s cheeks flushed.

“Where did you find something so exquisite?” she asked, finally regaining her composure.

“Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure,” Luke recited, quoting the inscription on the diadem.

“Why are you quoting Ravenclaw’s motto—” Katherine began, then stopped abruptly. She examined the diadem closely, her hands trembling as she read the engraved words.

“This is… Ravenclaw’s Diadem?” she asked, stunned.

“Yes. It once belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw herself,” Luke replied with a smile. “But now, it belongs to Miss Katherine Worre.”

Katherine stared at the diadem, her heart brimming with joy. After a moment, she looked up, bit her lip, and embraced Luke tightly.

“I’m going to become public enemy number one for Ravenclaw, you know,” Katherine whispered into his ear, her warm breath sending a shiver down his spine.

Luke held her close, his heart racing. The warmth and softness of her embrace made it hard to concentrate.

But at his age, there wasn’t much else he could do.

“Both the wisdom it represents and this diadem are now your most precious treasures,” Luke murmured.

“No, my most precious treasure… I already have,” Katherine replied softly, tightening her embrace.

“Okay, okay…” Luke groaned, feeling overwhelmed by her affection. “I can’t breathe!”

“Oh…” Katherine loosened her grip, realizing she’d been squeezing too tightly.

Luke gasped for air, relieved to have escaped her near-stranglehold.

If the cold-hearted Veela or the blue-eyed devil couldn’t kill him, Katherine’s loving embrace might just succeed.

So… you’re admitting she’s your wife, aren’t you?

(End of Chapter)  

Chapter 72: Does This Thing Bite?

*After the Disaster, Luke Lay in His Dormitory, Dreaming All Night.*

The next morning, when he woke up, Luke discovered that he was suddenly... capable.

"Well, it's about time," he thought. "If this hadn't changed, I really would have needed to see a doctor."

The realization brought tears to his eyes.

Typically calm and composed, Luke did a backflip on his bed, which startled Draco half to death.

Following his usual "don’t ask unnecessary questions" principle, Draco wisely chose to remain silent and observe.

By the time Luke was having afternoon tea in the Great Hall, he was grinning ear to ear.

As he sipped his tea, Harry and Ron approached, both looking deeply worried.

“Luke, Luke!”

“What’s going on? You two look completely drained,” Luke asked, cheerfully picking up a scone.

“It’s Hermione… Hermione…” Harry stammered, struggling to explain. Ron, impatient with Harry’s hesitation, blurted out, “Hermione’s gone crazy!”

“What?” Luke dropped the scone he was holding onto the table.

The thought of Hermione losing her mind conjured up a bizarre image of her acting like a completely different person.

At that moment, no explanation except some kind of magical substance abuse seemed plausible.

“Come with us to see for yourself…”

---

*The Gryffindor Common Room.*

The usually lively atmosphere of the common room was eerily strange. Even in the middle of the afternoon, a chill ran down their spines.

The place seemed deserted.

Suddenly, an unsettling laughter echoed from one of the rooms.

The three of them froze.

Cautiously approaching the source of the sound, they found Hermione… lying on her bed, clutching Crookshanks tightly. She was laughing, kissing, and nuzzling the poor cat nonstop.

Crookshanks, clearly overwhelmed by this overwhelming display of affection, looked utterly resigned to its fate.

“Coochie coo! Oh, my little kitty, what can you do? Escape my grasp? You cannot, can you? Heeheehee! Hahaha!”

She continued showering the cat with grotesquely exaggerated affection.

"She really could play the role of a crazed monkey spirit," Luke thought.

“Poor little kitty! You were born to be devoured by Mommy! Resistance is futile, mwahaha!”

Crookshanks looked utterly defeated, as if he had accepted his destiny.

“Does she bite?” Luke hesitated, pointing at Hermione, before quickly adding, “I mean, not the cat…”

Well, to be fair, cornered beavers do bite.

Hearing the commotion, Hermione froze, then turned her head sharply to see them. As if struck by lightning, she tossed Crookshanks aside.

Crookshanks: So love does fade, huh?  

“Harry, Ron… Luke? What are you doing here?” Hermione asked, her face turning beet red as she wished the ground would swallow her whole.

“Well… I’ve always believed in freedom of behavior,” Luke said hesitantly. “But maybe… just maybe… you should consider seeing a psychologist?”

“Crookshanks must have eaten a whole sack of cat food just to deal with you…” Ron quipped, delivering a perfectly-timed jab.

Luke couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst out laughing in front of Hermione.

His laughter was contagious, and soon, all four of them, even Hermione, were laughing uncontrollably.

After they finally calmed down, Luke teasingly asked, “So, Hermione, how many kids do you eat per meal?”

“One,” Hermione said, pretending to act fierce, her buck teeth gleaming.

She joined in on the laughter, while Ron and Harry had already doubled over.

After a while, Hermione finally asked, “So, why did you all come here?”

“Ron was really worried about you, so he asked Luke to come along,” Harry explained.

Ron’s expression turned awkward, and he stammered, “W-Well, I thought about coming alone, but I was afraid you might bite…”

Classic Ron, ensuring his status as a single man by sheer talent.

Naturally, Ron ended up getting a good smack from Hermione, while Luke and Harry, sensing the danger, tactfully slipped away.

---

*The Weekend at Hogwarts.*

Weekends, especially near the end of the term, were always relaxing. Most students, except for studious ones like Hermione, didn’t bother to study.

Clearly, they weren’t under enough academic pressure.

Professor McGonagall, after seeing Luke’s immaculate handwriting on an exam paper, was amazed. Compared to the chicken-scratch handwriting of Harry and Ron, Luke’s neat and elegant script was a marvel.

The next day, McGonagall launched a school-wide handwriting improvement campaign. After consulting Luke, she even discovered the concept of handwriting practice books. To Luke’s embarrassment, McGonagall used his handwriting as the template for the practice books.

When he casually mentioned this to Ron, Luke unknowingly became the least popular person in Gryffindor.

Now, it wasn’t unusual to see students in the Great Hall hunched over, diligently copying from handwriting books, striving for perfection.

---

*In the Room of Requirement.*

After wrapping up their practice for the day, Luke and Katherine relaxed, knowing final exams were just around the corner.

“So, you’re the one behind Gryffindor’s handwriting craze?” Katherine asked with a knowing smirk.

The moonlight poured through the windows, highlighting her already porcelain-like skin.

“It’s not my fault,” Luke denied. “Honestly, I wasn’t the instigator. McGonagall just happened to notice my handwriting while grading, and…”

“And you played a small role, huh?” Katherine interjected, seeing right through him.

“Heh… you got me,” Luke admitted with a sheepish grin.

As he spoke, he caught a pleasant scent in the air. It smelled like blueberries—his favorite.

“You smell like blueberries,” Luke said, leaning in closer to Katherine.

“It’s my lip gloss. I picked a blueberry flavor today. Do you like it?”

“Oh, it’s nice…” Luke paused, then asked, “Does it taste the same as it smells?”

“Do you want to find out?”

“Can I?” Luke hesitated.

Katherine closed her eyes slightly, tilted her head up, and offered her soft, glistening lips.

Luke reached out, gently brushed his finger across her lips, and then tasted it.

It was, indeed, blueberry.

“It really is,” he said, smiling.

(End of Chapter)  

Chapter 73: End of the Semester

Catherine's cherry-colored lips felt soft, like jelly and pudding. Luke suddenly realized what he had just done.

What a missed opportunity!

He clearly misunderstood her intentions—Catherine had obviously meant that he could...

He glanced back at Catherine, only to find her already standing. She stomped on his foot angrily before storming off.

If Fred and George Weasley sold regret potions, Luke would have been willing to spend his entire fortune to buy one.

Unfortunately...

There was no such thing as a regret potion in this world.

After that incident, Catherine ignored him for several days.

To be fair, anyone would be upset.

A girl had already made her intentions clear, and yet he failed to catch on. It was almost as if he had done it on purpose.

Straight guys like Luke could be truly infuriating.

---

Final exams went smoothly. For someone like Luke, who was a natural academic, they were no challenge at all. Luckily, flying lessons didn't require an exam—otherwise, Luke would have definitely failed.

Defense Against the Dark Arts only had a written exam, with questions personally crafted by Professor Snape. He didn’t trust Luke and had dismissed his suggestion to include a practical test.

Luke decided that once he got home, he'd look through his mother’s belongings to see if she’d left anything that could be used to mess with Snape.

He needed to deliver a critical hit to Snape, just once.

As expected, Slytherin students dominated the top ten rankings across all grades—except for first and fifth years. Hermione Granger, the clever little "beaver," took second place in the first year, while Percy Weasley claimed first place in the fifth year.

It seemed Percy had turned his grief into motivation for his studies.

That earlier incident had another twist. Penelope Clearwater was hung upside down by Catherine’s spell for two hours and had to recover in Madam Pomfrey's care for two or three days.

Even so, Penelope vowed silently to herself that she would find a better opportunity—a moment when Catherine wasn’t around—to try again.

---

The Great Hall was packed with students from all grades, celebrating the upcoming holiday—or at least, that’s what the students thought.

The hall was decorated in Slytherin’s colors of green and silver, marking their seventh consecutive victory in the House Cup. A massive banner bearing the Slytherin serpent hung on the wall behind the head table.

Everyone was cheerfully chatting and sharing stories. Professor Sprout, seated at the head table, watched the joyful students and thought to herself that as long as the kids were happy, it didn’t matter if their grades were a little less impressive.

Soon, Professor Dumbledore entered from outside the Great Hall, and the lively chatter quieted as he took his place at the head table.

“Another year has passed!” Dumbledore said cheerfully. “Before you indulge in these delightful dishes, I must trouble you to listen to the ramblings of an old man. What a remarkable year this has been! Surely your little minds are now richer than before. And ahead of you lies a summer holiday to help digest all that you’ve learned, so you’ll have room for more knowledge next term.”

Over at the Gryffindor table, Ron whispered to Harry, “Learning? What a load of rubbish...”

He was promptly smacked by Hermione.

“Shut it, Ronald, and listen to the headmaster,” she scolded, her glare fierce as a lion’s.

Dumbledore continued, “Yes, indeed, a truly remarkable year. First, we must thank Professor Severus Snape for implementing new rules to ensure better focus on learning.”

A smattering of reluctant applause followed, as no one sincerely believed Snape had done a good job.

Snape, however, clapped enthusiastically for himself, his hands moving rapidly.

“Of course, we must also acknowledge the contributions of Mr. Luke Mountbatten,” Dumbledore said, calling Luke by name.

At this, the Slytherins erupted into applause, clapping so energetically that it seemed they feared appearing insincere.

If you’re being forced, just blink twice...

“Now, as I understand it, we must first proceed with the House Cup ceremony. The points stand as follows:

- Fourth place, Gryffindor, with 334 points.

- Third place, Hufflepuff, with 368 points.

- Second place, Ravenclaw, with 437 points.

- First place, Slytherin, with 689 points!”

As Dumbledore finished, the Slytherin table erupted in thunderous cheers, applause, table-banging, and foot-stomping.

Luke and Catherine, however, remained composed, quietly clapping amidst the commotion.

Dumbledore did award extra points to the Gryffindor trio, but it wasn’t enough to surpass Slytherin.

After all, a gap of over 300 points isn’t easily bridged.

In hindsight, Snape’s favoritism was quite blatant.

Not that Luke minded—it wasn’t like Snape’s bias against other houses affected him.

Does it really matter? Not at all.

“Additionally,” Dumbledore announced, “thanks to Mr. Mountbatten’s generous sponsorship, the top ten students in each year will now receive scholarships. First place will receive 50 Galleons, second place 40 Galleons, third place 30 Galleons, and fourth through tenth places 10 Galleons each.”

The Great Hall fell silent before erupting into excited cheers.

The Weasley brothers, in particular, were ecstatic. Fifty Galleons was a fortune to them—enough for Ginny to start school next year with brand-new supplies instead of hand-me-downs.

Even Ron was thrilled, already thinking about getting a new wand.

Professor Sprout, seated at the head table, was taken aback—she hadn’t expected Luke to pull this surprise.

Dumbledore continued, “Furthermore, the house with the highest average grades in each year will receive a research grant of 5,000 Galleons—also courtesy of Mr. Mountbatten. Let us all express our gratitude for his generosity.”

Cheers erupted again from all four tables. Generous benefactors like Luke were rare indeed.

Professor Sprout’s eyes glistened with emotion. As a Herbology professor, her work required significant funding. Unlike Snape, who could earn plenty from potion sales, cultivating magical plants was a long and resource-intensive process. Her greenhouses had been in dire need of repairs for ages.

Her perspective on her Hufflepuff students shifted.

Happy? How can they be happy if they don’t excel in their studies? she thought grimly.

---

The house-elves efficiently packed and organized the students’ belongings. Luke’s luggage was managed by Tom and Jerry, his trusted companions.

As the train prepared to depart, warning letters about the prohibition of underage magic during the holidays were handed out. Luke glanced at his, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it in the trash.

On Platform 9¾, Ron invited everyone to visit his family during the holiday, promising to write to each of them.

“Remember to write to me,” Catherine said, smoothing out the wrinkles on Luke’s collar.

“I will,” Luke replied, his tone resolute.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 74: Harry's Little Problem

"Luke, Luke—" A sweet and gentle voice called from outside the door. "Get up, or I'm coming in."

Luke blinked open his sleepy eyes and glanced toward the window. Morning light filtered through the curtains, casting patterns on the floor. Judging by the angle, it was around seven or eight in the morning. Grumbling something about it being too early, he turned over, ready to resume his dreamland chess match, but the sound of the door opening interrupted him.

A sudden chill swept over him as he realized his blanket was gone.

Turning around, he saw the culprit, standing leisurely and holding his blanket.

"Ah… Diana, my dear sister, please let me sleep a little longer. A growing child needs proper rest. Sleep deprivation could seriously hinder my development," Luke pleaded.

Unmoved, Diana set the blanket aside and pulled Luke out of bed, urging him softly, "Get up now. You're too young to start lazing around like Grandpa."

"What’s for breakfast?" Luke asked, clutching his pillow with a pouty, childlike charm.

"Sausages, toast, baked beans in tomato sauce, grilled tomatoes, and scrambled eggs," Diana replied as she quickly tidied up his bed, clearly intent on getting him moving.

"Sausages? Salami or bratwurst?" Luke pressed on hopefully.

"English sausages."

"Oh no..." A wave of nausea welled up as Luke buried his face in the pillow, groaning weakly. "I can’t… I can’t eat those overly fatty, emulsified mystery tubes..."

"Being picky is a bad habit, my dear," Diana replied with a hint of exasperation. She turned toward the hallway and called out, "Come in!"

At her words, a group of maids filed in, expertly whisking Luke off to wash up. Afterward, they assisted him in dressing, following their usual elaborate routine. By the end of it, Luke felt utterly drained.

Now seated at the dining table, Luke stared at the traditional English breakfast with an expression that clearly conveyed his struggle to summon any appetite.

The breakfast wasn’t inherently bad, but the sausages were the sticking point. Luke had once tried a bite of the most authentic Cumberland sausage, but even that couldn’t win him over.

British cuisine—those who know, know.

The fried and grilled items were manageable, but the Mountbatten family's strict no-waste tradition left Luke no choice. With grim determination, he steeled himself to finish the sausage.

"Why are my eyes always brimming with tears? Because of my profound love for emulsified mystery tubes," Luke lamented dramatically.

A maid, standing nearby, promptly cut the sausage into slices and set them before him. Closing his eyes, Luke stabbed a piece with his fork and popped it into his mouth.

It had a slightly peculiar smell.

At least it was clean and hygienic.

Years of conditioning had made Luke adept at embodying the manners of a noble. Even when forcing down food he disliked, he maintained an air of elegance and refinement. Combined with his strikingly handsome features, he presented a picture-perfect image of nobility.

"Flap, flap, flap..."

A faint noise drew his attention. Turning toward the sound, Luke saw an owl flapping its wings and bumping against the window.

The round-faced Scottish "fat chicken" didn’t look particularly intelligent.

"An owl? Oh... Susan, could you grab some food and feed that poor creature outside? It seems to have lost its way," Diana said, setting down her newspaper and gazing at the owl with a look of pity.

Luke, however, stopped Susan. "Wait, Susan. Don’t go just yet. Mr. Bill, could you kindly open the window? I have a feeling this little guy might be here for me."

Diana raised a delicate brow but didn’t object to her brother’s request.

Bill, the butler, acknowledged the order with a slight bow, stepped onto a stool, and opened the upper window.

The owl fluttered inside and landed on the table, dropping an envelope in front of Luke.

Rather than opening the letter immediately, Luke took his fork and pushed the cut sausage slices toward the owl. The bird hooted in gratitude before diving in to enjoy the unexpected feast.

How audacious.

Diana, setting her newspaper aside, walked over and gently stroked the owl’s feathers. Her gaze shifted to the letter on the table, and she remarked with interest, "It’s not afraid of people… Is it here to deliver a letter?"

Luke nodded and opened the envelope.

Inside, the letter read:

---

*Dear Luke,*

I’ve learned that Harry is having some trouble at his uncle’s house. As his good friend, I’m sure you won’t stand idly by. Please also convey my regards to old Luke.

Yours sincerely,

*Albus Dumbledore*

---

Luke set the letter down. Diana looked at him with concern. "Is something wrong, Luke?"

"It’s from my headmaster. Nothing major," Luke replied casually, handing the letter to Bill for safekeeping. "It says a classmate of mine is having a little trouble, and I need to help sort it out."

"But..." Luke hesitated. "He didn’t tell me where my classmate lives."

As if in response to his thoughts, another owl appeared outside the window.

Susan retrieved the new letter, offering the owl some beef jerky. The bird chirped happily before flying off.

---

*Dear Luke,*

Ah, I’m terribly sorry! I forgot to mention Harry’s address earlier. I hope you won’t hold an old man’s forgetfulness against him.

Surrey, Little Whinging, 4 Privet Drive.

Yours sincerely,

*Albus Dumbledore*

---

Luke sighed internally.

"Fine. I’ll need to head to Surrey shortly... Mr. Bill, please inform Mr. Askin to prepare the car," Luke instructed, handing over the letter.

"I’ll go with you, Luke," Diana said, a trace of worry clouding her brow. "It’s too dangerous for you to go alone."

"It’s okay, Dee," Luke reassured her with a smile. "My classmate’s family situation is complicated. His parents passed away when he was very young, and he now lives with his aunt and uncle... Oh, and they’re Muggles—non-magical people. They don’t treat him very well."

"Oh, the poor thing," Diana murmured, her heart softening immediately. "Then I must go with you. We’ll bring him back here if necessary. Such a poor child..."

She clasped her hands to her chest, her large eyes brimming with sympathy and sorrow.

"Alright, if you don’t mind the trouble," Luke relented with a shrug.

As for Harry’s uncle… Luke already had a plan for dealing with Vernon.

(End of Chapter)  

*Chapter 75: The Dursleys*

The Dursleys’ house was fairly large, befitting Vernon’s position as a company director. In this era, the British middle class, untouched by a certain iron lady’s economic policies, still had some money to spare.

The neighbors’ houses were quite similar to the Dursleys’, neatly lined up along one side of Privet Drive.

On the second-floor window of the Dursleys’ house, two heavy iron bars were installed. With just one glance, Luke could tell that Dobby had already caused trouble.

Perhaps the timeline was slightly off—today just so happened to be Harry’s birthday.

Since Diana had misplaced her right-hand glove somewhere, she decided to stay in the car to look for it and let Luke go ahead and knock on the door.

Luke politely knocked, and after a moment, the door opened. Standing in front of him was a large, burly man, so fat that he seemed to have no neck. His head was covered with thick dark hair, and his large, ruddy face was adorned with a bushy mustache that could rival a czar’s.

This must be Harry’s uncle, Vernon Dursley.

Mr. Dursley’s beady eyes darted around before he looked down to see Luke.

Could this be one of Dudley’s classmates? He looked a bit familiar… Mr. Dursley thought to himself. The boy standing before him, with his well-tailored attire and distinguished bearing, was clearly not from their social circle.

“Hello, is this the home of Vernon Dursley?” Luke asked politely, giving a slight bow. “I apologize for disturbing you at this hour.”

“Oh, oh, it’s no bother, no bother at all,” Mr. Dursley said, waving his chubby hand. The boy’s refined speech and graceful manners put him at ease.

“Are you here to see Dudley, young man?” he asked.

“Well, I must apologize. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Harry Potter’s classmate,” Luke began, but before he could finish, Mr. Dursley’s already red face turned a deep purple at the mention of Harry Potter.

He waved his thick arms wildly, clearly furious.

“Harry Potter’s classmate? So you’re one of those freaks, too, aren’t you? Performing your little circus tricks, I suppose?” Mr. Dursley snarled, his words dripping with venom. His beady eyes narrowed as his fury made him resemble a hippo bitten on the rear by a crocodile. “I won’t allow any freak to step foot in this house or communicate with that brat! Never!”

“Even if your lunatic headmaster comes here himself, I won’t let that little pest leave his room! Let alone you! You’ll never see him! Never!”

“Now, get out of here before I call the police!” With that, Mr. Dursley slammed the door shut with a loud bang.

Inside the house, Aunt Petunia asked, “What’s going on, Vernon? Who was that outside?”

“It’s one of that brat’s freak friends!” Mr. Dursley huffed, still fuming like an enraged bull.

“Dad, I told you keeping him here was a bad idea. Freaks are always drawn to each other,” Dudley added, fanning the flames.

“That little pest ruined my important deal! Mrs. Mason was humiliated—how could her husband possibly do business with me now? It’s all his fault! Damn him…” Mr. Dursley raged. “No matter what that little freak’s friend says, he won’t see that brat! Not on my watch!”

A knock sounded again.

“Ignore it!” Mr. Dursley waved dismissively and went back to eating the grapefruit Aunt Petunia had cut for him.

“I’ll go check,” Aunt Petunia said warily. She knew young wizards weren’t supposed to use magic outside school, but what if this one was desperate enough to break the rules?

She got up, walked to the door, and opened it.

Standing before her wasn’t the “little freak” her husband had mentioned, but a tall, elegant woman with a regal demeanor.

It took her only a moment to recognize the woman.

How could she not? She’d seen her countless times on TV.

“Your-Your-Your-Your Highness… What brings you here?” Aunt Petunia stammered, overwhelmed by the shock. Who would’ve thought such a high-profile figure would appear at their doorstep?

Even in modern Britain, a constitutional monarchy, this was a big deal. It was as if Michael Jackson or Messi had suddenly shown up at your house—what kind of reaction would you have?

And for the British, Diana’s status far surpassed those names.

“Hello, Mrs. Dursley,” Diana said, extending a hand. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Diana Spencer. I must apologize; my brother was impolite and upset your husband. I hope you can forgive him.”

Aunt Petunia was trembling with excitement. She hastily wiped her hands on her apron before taking Diana’s outstretched hand. “How could I possibly mind, Your Highness? It’s an honor to have you here.”

At that moment, Mr. Dursley came out of the kitchen, grumbling as he walked.

“Petunia! Petunia! What’s going on? Is that little freak pulling one of his stunts again? Damn it, that circus school of his should expel him!”

He stopped mid-rant when he looked up and saw his wife’s nervous expression—and then noticed Diana’s graceful face.

He froze, nearly choking on his breath.

“Your-Your-Your Highness…” If nothing else, the Dursleys were consistent. Even their stammering matched.

“This must be Mr. Dursley,” Diana said with her trademark gentle smile, though her tone carried a subtle edge. “I hope the ‘little freak’ you mentioned wasn’t referring to my dear brother.”

“N-No… You’ve misunderstood… It’s a misunderstanding…” Mr. Dursley wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. “Please, come in, come in. I was just talking about my wife’s useless nephew…”

At that moment, Luke appeared beside Mr. Dursley.

“You seemed quite agitated earlier, Mr. Dursley,” Luke said politely, giving a slight bow. “I hadn’t finished introducing myself—I’m Luke Mountbatten, Harry’s classmate.”

Mr. Dursley’s heart skipped a beat.

That name was legendary, from Ireland to Cathay. And the name’s owner had passed it down to his most cherished grandson.

It had to be him.

Mr. Dursley cursed his own loose tongue. If he could, he’d travel back in time and shoot himself to avoid this humiliation.

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