Harry’s days at the Dursleys had never been better since their talk smoothed things over.

Aunt Petunia had hired a daily helper to manage the chores that had once been Harry’s responsibility. Dudley, though occasionally slipping back into his old habits – whether by trying to squash Harry with his oversized bulk or calling him names like “weirdo who’ll never get a job or a wife” - was somewhat tolerable now. For the first time, Harry felt the fainted trace of what living with a family might be like.

With little else to occupy his time, Harry finished his homework early and began frequenting the local bookstore, searching for something new to read. He found himself inspired by Neville’s transformation under Scarlet’s mentorship. Neville, once a timid boy prone to tears, could now confidently compile complex documents and distil them into concise summaries without omitting any crucial details. Scarlet had praised him for it – a high compliment, considering her high standards as a businesswoman who worked with real professional in her office.

As Harry considered taking up a hobby, perhaps swimming or football to build his stamina since Quidditch wasn’t an option near Muggles, that eerie sensation returned – a feeling of being watched.

He spun around, scanning the area for the source, but found nothing. Again.

Maybe I should call Scarlet again...he thought, unsettled.

Before he could pick up the phone, the doorbell rang. To his delight, Scarlet and William stood on the front step.

Aunt Petunia didn’t look pleased. Her arms crossed, she directed her question at William. “Why are you here? I thought everything was settled with the contract.”

“I’m here accompanying Ms. Hong.” William handed her a business card, the name “Scarlet Smith Hong” printed boldly at the top, “Previously, I acted on Ms. Hong’s behalf to help facilitate a fair agreement for all parties involved. While Mr. Black is indeed my friend, my role was entirely at Milady’s request.”

“Ms. Hong?” Uncle Vernon took the card, his eyes narrowing as he glanced from the elegant name to the young girl standing confidently in his doorway. “You run a business?”

“Yes.” Scarlet nodded politely, her smile courteous but warm. “Good day, Mr. Dursley. I’m Scarlet Hong - Scarlet will do. I’m a friend of Harry’s from school. I apologise for dropping by unannounced. I hope it’s not an inconvenience.”

Uncle Vernon’s demeanour softened slightly, though his scepticism lingered. “Well, if all his friends spoke like you, I wouldn’t mind as much.”

He muttered something under his breath, likely comparing her to the wizards who’d visited before with their dramatic entrances and eccentricities.

Scarlet paid no attention to Dursleys’ thinly veiled rudeness and continued, “I’ve come because Harry’s been having trouble with his homework and couldn’t figure out the answers. You may have overheard him making calls – that was to me, actually.”

“Reasonable,” Uncle Vernon grunted, his mood improving with Scarlet’s composed manner.

“I won’t stay long since I need to head back to Japan soon and start packing,” Scarlet said with a wink at Harry. “If you don’t mind, I’ll spend some time in Harry’s room. William will wait in the living room.”

“Well, as long as nothing unwanted happens,” Uncle Vernon grumbled, settling into his armchair. His eyes remained fixed on Scarlet with suspicion, the scepticism etched deep from years of peculiar encounters with the wizarding worlds. This was the first visitor from that side who seemed remotely reasonable, but his instincts told him to remain on guard.

Scarlet gave him a polite nod before following Harry upstairs, leaving William to manage the Dursleys. She trusted him to handle them with his usual finesse.

“Scarlet! Thanks for coming,” Harry greeted her as she entered his room. “I’m sorry for bothering you – you must be busy - but I can’t shake this feeling that something’s watching me...”

“Don’t apologise, Harry. You did the right thing by telling someone about it,” Scarlet said, giving his shoulder a reassuring pat. “But before I address that feeling, there’s something important I need to tell you.”

Harry blinked at her serious tone and sat down. “What is it?”

“Remember I mentioned the ritual your mum performed to protect you?”

“Yes,” he replied, leaning forward attentively.

“That ritual shielded you from the Killing Curse. It rebounded, harming the dark wizard who cast it,” Scalet began, her gaze shifting briefly to the lightning-shaped scar on Harry’s forehead. “But he did something even more sinister – something no ordinary person would ever consider. He torn his soul apart and hid the pieces in various objects, binding his life to them. His soul was too weak to withstand a sudden shock, and one of those fragments...it latched onto you.”

“What?” Harry’s hand shot to his scar, his face a mix of shock and disbelief. “How...how do you know this?”

Scarlet met his gaze calmly. “Through the ancient magic I inherited. It tied to death and souls. That’s how I could sense the fragment in you. It’s also why I’ve been searching for a way to safely remove it.”

Harry sat in stunned silence for a moment, trying to process the revelation. “So, all this time, I’ve had...a piece of him inside me?”

Scarlet nodded. “Yes. But you’ve been safe because of your mother’s magic. Her love created a protective barrier that has kept the fragment dormant. The dark wizard is incredibly powerful – so much so that his influence could even affect Quirrell, a professor in Hogwarts. Without your mother’s protection, he might have been able to take over your body, just as how he manipulated Quirrell.”

Harry’s expression darkened as he absorbed her words. After a pause, he asked, “You wouldn’t be telling me this unless you knew how to get rid of it...right?”

Scarlet pulled a small, simple pocket knife from her bag. Though unassuming in appearance, it radiated a strange, almost otherworldly energy that made Harry instinctively straighten.

“I’ll need to prick your scar,” Scarlet explained carefully, sensing his unease. “Just a tiny cut, like removing a thorn from under your skin.”

Harry stared at the knife in her hand, his heart pounding.

“Will your trust me to do this?” Scarlet asked gently, her voice tinged with both urgency and reassurance.

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Harry met her eyes, his fear melting into determination. “Do it, Scarlet. I trust you. Get rid of it.”

Scarlet smiled, touched by his unwavering faith. “Very well. Just sit back and relax. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Harry nervously gripped the bedsheet beside him, his knuckles white as Scarlet stood in front him. She held the pocket knife with a steady hand, carefully positioning it like she had described – ready to pluck out the thorn. She leaned closer, placing both hands gently on his scar.

Unable to watch, Harry closed his eyes. Without sight, his other senses sharpened. He felt the faint pressure of something sharp pressing against his scar, followed by a brief, stinging sensation as though a single strand of hair had been pulled free.

And then, all at once, a peculiar lightness washed over him. It was as if an unseen weight – something he hadn’t even realised was there – had been lifted off his shoulders.

His eyes flew open just in time to hear a sharp thud on the desk. He turned and saw the pocket knife pinned into the wooden surface, holding in place a misty, writhing blob of dark energy. The sight made his stomach churn; the thing looked grotesque and unnatural.

Scarlet raised a hand to signal him to stay silent. He nodded and instinctively shuffled further back on the bed, his heart pounding. From thin air, Scarlet produced a crimson spear, its appearance so sudden and commanding that Harry could feel an inexplicable force pressing lightly against him, as though something immense and otherworldly had turned its attention to the room...just as it had during the ritual Scarlet had organised for Lupin.

Scarlet muttered a soft chant under her breath. Harry strained to catch the words, but they were too faint, slipping past his understanding.

Before he could make sense of the moment, Scarlet plunged the spear into the misty blob. A sickly, dark-red liquid oozed from the thing, and a thin wisp of dark smoke emerged, forming the faint outline of eyes filled with malice. A faint, high-pitched scream pierced the air, making Harry flinch. But just as quickly it had come, the dark figure dissolved into nothingness. The oppressive weight in the room lifted. Leaving only an eerie stillness behind.

Scarlet let out a sigh, retracting her spear and pocket knife. She turned to Harry, smiling with relief.

“Now, everything is clean!” she said cheerfully. “Oh, except for your desk...Sorry about the splotch on the surface.”

Harry glanced at the dark stain left behind. “Will it hurt me?”

“No, it’s harmless,” Scarlet assured him. “Just a little...unsightly.”

Harry shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. “Then I’ll just stack some books over it - out of sight, out of mind!”

Scarlet chuckled, the tension milting away. “If that’s fine with you, then it’s settled.”

Harry could see the relief in her expression. She had been carrying the burden of removing that soul fragment for a long time, and now, she looked freer, lighter. Gratitude swelled in his chest. He would never forget what she had done for him.

“Now,” Scarlet began with a sigh, “about that feeling you’ve been having – the sense of being watched...”

Harry quickly waved his hand dismissively. “If it’s troubling you, just forget it! I’m totally fine now.”

Scarlet shook her head. “No, it’s not that. It’s just...I’m not entirely sure how to deal with it because this kind of situation is new to me.” She paused, carefully choosing her words. “You know you’re famous, right? As in, really, really famous?”

Harry blinked, confused. “Um...yes?”

“Well, your fame isn’t limited to just witches and wizards. It seems you’ve got fans among the house-elves as well.”

“...House-elves?” Harry repeated, incredulous.

“Yup,” Scarlet nodded. “And apparently, one of them admires you so much that he’s convinced you’ll be in danger if you return to Hogwarts...He’s been trying to stop you from going back - starting with intercepting all the letters your friends sent you.”

“What?” Harry exclaimed, his voice raising in disbelief. “Wait, I don’t get it...How does staying away from Hogwarts ensure my safety? I could get hit by a car just walking down the street – death’s everywhere! And taking my letters doesn’t exactly stop me from going back to Hogwarts. I’d walk there if I had to!”

Scarlet regarded him calmly, nothing the determination blazing in his green eyes. She shrugged lightly. “I can’t say fully understand the logic behind it either, and house-elf magic isn’t something I can handle at the moment. But I do know who’s behind it. His name’s Dobby - Malfoy’s house-elf.”

“Malfoy?” Harry’s confusion deepened. “What’s any Malfoy got to do with me?”

“Not Draco - his father,” Scarlet clarified. She went on, her voice measured as she explained. “The Malfoys had a bit of a reputation. This family’s collection of dark artefacts isn’t too different from the sort you’d find in the Black family home. Anyway, Mr. Malfoy had a falling-out with Professor Dumbledore and, from what I gather, plotted to smuggle a certain artefact into Hogwarts. The idea was to damage Professor Dumbledore’s reputation, you know, the political stuff. That’s why Dobby’s convinced Hogwarts is too dangerous for you this year.”

Harry frowned, mulling over her words. “This all sounds loke something out of one of those TV dramas I’ve been watching lately. I never thought it’d actually happen in the real life.”

Scarlet gave him a faint smile but didn’t comment on his comparison. “Well, the good news is you’ve got less to worry about. I met Mr. Malfoy a few days ago. We had a...chat, and I’m confident he’s had a change of heart about his little scheme. Problem is, I don’t think Dobby got the memo.”

Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe I should ask Sirius or Kreacher about it? They’d know more about this sort of thing, I think.”

Scarlet nodded. “That’s not a bad idea. But just a word of advice – be nice to Kreacher, all right? Ignored his rudeness. Treat him like a grumpy old man who’s set in his ways.”

“If you say so,” Harry replied with a shrug, though his expression suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced.

Scarlet departed shortly after their conversation. Much to her surprise, William had made remarkable progress in the living room – he'd found a potential new supplier for her.

As she approached the middle-age man, she could sense his wariness. Scarlet adjusted her tone speaking with a mix of professionalism and candour.

“Mr. Dursley,” she began, her gaze sharp yet friendly, “I must be upfront - my project won’t bring you substantial profit. It’s more about reputation. My work focuses on helping local communities, more of a charitable initiative. Most of the time, it’s just enough to break even.”

Uncle Vernon puffed up slightly, looking sceptical, but Scarlet continued.

“That said, I do have a network. If you can provide the right machines for the locals, I’d be more than happy to pass along a good word. It could lead to some new clients for you – clients who value suppliers with a track record of supporting their communities.”

The middle-age man’s eyes narrowed, his mind visibly calculating. Scarlet couldn’t help but marvel at the contrast: in Harry’s stories, his uncle was painted as the epitome of a petty, self-serving adult. But here he was, considering her projects with surprising seriousness.

Uncle Verson looked slightly uneasy, clearly out of his depth discussing business with someone the same age as his nephew. He attempted to adjust his tome to something he thought appropriate, though it came across somewhat stilted. “Grunnings has always been committed to support the community, and I believe the project your studio is currently working on would do much to enhance our company’s reputation. That’s the main reason for this collaboration.”

Scarlet raised an eyebrow, her expression both polite and probing. “Are you certain? Because this isn’t just any community – it's an African one. You’ll need to send someone there to understand the culture and come up with a plan tailored to the locals’ needs. It’s not the same as working here in Britain.”

Uncle Vernon forced a tight-lipped smile, clearly struggling to reconcile Scarlet’s youthful appearance with her authority. “Of course,” he said, with a faint air of defensiveness. “Grunnings wouldn’t take on a project that offers no return.”

“Wonderful,” Scarlet replied, her smile brightening. “I’m looking forward for your proposal. William will send you the information you need to design the machines and the system, and he will handle communications with you directly if I’m unavailable. Should you need to reach me personally but can’t, simply ask Harry to send me an owl, and I’ll respond as quickly as possible. That said, for the next few weeks, I’ll be in Japan. You can reach me using the numbers on my card.”

Uncle Vernon nodded briskly, clearly relieved to deal with William instead. “No worries, I’ll liaise with Mr. Graywood. That would be best.”

Harry, meanwhile, watched the exchange in stunned silence. He was utterly gobsmacked by how effortlessly Scarlet had secured another business deal within mere minutes. Even as she bid them farewell and departed, Harry remained rooted in place, his thoughts a jumble of awe and bewilderment.