"Picked up another one?" Victor turned his head toward her. "Boy or girl? How did they end up here?"

Baba Yaga, curled up on her worn-out sofa, her usually grotesque face softened, replied slowly:

"It's a boy. Looks just like an ordinary boy, messy hair and all. But I heard he’s adopted. His aunt and uncle treated him poorly, bullied him, even beat him. That’s why he ran away."

"He almost got knocked over near the house, and I only noticed him when I heard him cry out. He’d been wandering the forest the whole night before that."

"He’s probably still asleep in the room upstairs."

Baba Yaga's house was a wooden hut perched on giant chicken legs, with a small platform on top used as a garden where Victor grew peculiar flowers.

Since Baba Yaga had a habit of taking in children, she always kept two empty rooms on the second floor just in case.

Victor glanced toward the dark staircase leading to the second floor.

Unlike the muddy chicken legs outside, the interior of the house was surprisingly clean and tidy. In the corners were two pots of deep-blue nightshade flowers Victor had planted as decoration.

However, the perpetual mist surrounding the house made the rooms dimly lit at all times.

"Alright. Let’s wait until he wakes up tomorrow morning, and I’ll ask him what happened," Victor said.

"But the British Ministry of Magic keeps a tight watch. Only magical children can find their way to our house, so chances are, they’ve been searching for him outside for quite some time. We’ll have to send him back as soon as possible."

Baba Yaga looked genuinely distressed, her concern etched deeply into her expression.

"Do we really have to send him back? Couldn’t we, like with Vasilisa, punish his guardians for their cruelty and keep him here?"

"No," Victor replied firmly. "The British Ministry has a comprehensive adoption system. We need to first figure out his situation and follow the proper procedures."

"Fine," Baba Yaga said, dejected.

For Harry Potter, today was an unimaginably bizarre day.

Yesterday morning, his Uncle Vernon had yelled at him, and then Dudley and his gang had chased him down. Harry fled Number 4, Privet Drive. While running, it had started raining. The streets blurred in front of him, and the next thing he knew, he found himself in a misty forest.

It made no sense. Harry had lived near Privet Drive for nearly ten years and had never heard of a forest nearby.

No matter which way he turned, he couldn’t find a way out.

Eventually, he stumbled across a house with chicken legs walking through the woods.

"…This must be a dream," Harry thought to himself when he regained consciousness.

But the rhythmic sound in his ears persisted:

Thump. Thump.

Thump. Thump.

Creak.

The sound of footsteps, wood creaking, and distant muffled voices seeped through the door.

Harry opened his eyes cautiously, his green eyes meeting the clean wooden ceiling above.

This wasn’t the cupboard under the stairs at the Dursleys’. The Dursleys’ house, with its decades of wear, definitely didn’t have such a spotless ceiling.

Harry sat up, feeling the soft, plush bed and blankets beneath him. He realized he was in an entirely different place.

The room was small but cozy, with thick carpets covering the floor, their woven patterns finely detailed. Though it was summer, the room was pleasantly cool.

It had only a bed by the window, a small side table with a vase holding delicate white flowers, and an old-fashioned lamp. The room was dim, and Harry couldn’t find any matches to light the lamp.

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Where was he?

The window outside revealed nothing but gray mist.

Memory slowly returned to him.

Yes, he had been taken in by an odd-looking old woman and brought to this chicken-legged house. She’d given him bread and milk before putting him to bed in this room.

Who was that old woman? Why did the house have chicken legs?

Harry didn’t know. To find answers, he would have to leave the room.

But he had a strange feeling—

This wasn’t like the stories where someone falls down a rabbit hole and stumbles into a magical world.

Harry sat for a while, taking in his surroundings, then stood and moved to the room’s single door. Carefully, he pushed it open a crack and peered out.

Outside was a clean but dim corridor, with warm light glowing faintly at the far end.

Voices were coming from there.

"…The headmaster’s name is Dumbledore, supposedly the most powerful wizard in Britain. I met him once, and he lives up to his reputation…"

The speaker had a low, distant voice.

"He’ll probably believe your story. After all, it was the witch who suggested this idea, and the position is rightfully yours…"

The coarse, raspy voice was familiar—it belonged to the old woman who had brought Harry in.

Though she looked frightening and appeared unexpectedly, Harry wasn’t afraid of her. She reminded him of Mrs. Figg, his kindly old neighbor.

Unlike Mrs. Figg’s cabbage-scented house, this house smelled clean and fresh.

Harry crept toward the source of the light.

As he reached a staircase with beautifully crafted wooden railings, he saw the other speaker—a man he hadn’t seen earlier.

The man’s deep, piercing eyes landed on Harry, who froze instinctively.

"…You’re awake," the man said, his voice flat.

"I’m Victor Vanderboom. I live here. Come have breakfast, kid. After you eat, I’ll take you home."

"Come here, child!" Baba Yaga called warmly. "I made fresh cookies with nightshade powder. You’ll love them! And for breakfast, we have pumpkin pancakes and oatmeal."

Harry’s stomach growled at the sight of the food on the table.

"Thank you," Harry said as he sat down, following Baba Yaga’s guidance to the seat nearest the fireplace.

The chair was high and ornately carved. Based on his experiences at the Dursleys’, Harry guessed this chair alone must cost a fortune.

This family seemed well-off—if only their house didn’t have legs.

They wanted to send him back?

So, he hadn’t fallen into a magical world? He was still in Britain?

"Mr. Vanderboom," Harry hesitated before pronouncing the name correctly.

"You said you’d send me back?"

"Where is this place? I live on Privet Drive. I don’t know how I ended up here. Maybe my memory’s fuzzy, but I recall running into a forest and seeing a house with chicken legs."

His words sounded absurd even to himself.

To his surprise, neither of them reacted oddly.

"You didn’t misremember," Victor said, slicing a piece of garlic bread. "The house does have chicken legs. That’s Baba Yaga’s magic."

"Once you’ve eaten, I’ll send you home. It might take a while, though—I’m still figuring out how to connect our fireplace to the Floo Network."

"By the way, which wizard settlement is Privet Drive part of?"

Wizard settlement? Magic? Floo Network?

Harry’s head spun with unfamiliar terms. One thing was clear—

He really had ended up in a magical house.