Harry Potter with Technology System

Ch341- Normal is Overrated

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The children froze mid-conversation. A collective gasp came from the younger ones—Astoria’s hand flew to her mouth, and Neville nearly dropped the glass of pumpkin juice he was holding. The adults, however, reacted differently.

Arthur looked just as alarmed, his head snapping toward the tent flap as though expecting an immediate threat. “The Dark Mark? At the World Cup? Merlin…”

They all started firing questions at Harry, their voices overlapping in shock and worry. The concern in the room was palpable, and even the normally composed adults looked rattled. Petunia who was the most shaken, clutching the edge of her seat with wide eyes after Hannah’s mother, Marianne, had quietly explained the meaning of the Dark Mark and who the Death Eaters were.

Petunia’s lips trembled as if she wanted to say something, but she seemed too stunned to find the words. Harry cut through the chaos with a raised hand. “Calm down, all of you. I didn’t confront anyone, and I wasn’t in any danger. I stayed hidden the entire time.”

The group hesitated, their worried expressions slowly easing as his words sank in. Blaise let out a sharp exhale, leaning back in his chair. “Good. Because if you decided to go charging in like some Gryffindor, I would have to reconsider my friendship with you.”

Fred grinned weakly, though his usual humor was subdued. “We would at least have to hex you for not inviting us along.”

Astoria, sitting cross-legged on the floor, visibly relaxed and gave Harry an exasperated look. “You’re reckless, you know that? You scared us half to death.”

Before anyone could press further, the tent flap opened, and Amelia Bones stepped inside, flanked by Alastor Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt. The room immediately quieted. Amelia’s sharp gaze swept over everyone inside, and when she saw them all safe, she let out a small sigh of relief. Her shoulders, previously stiff with tension, relaxed slightly as she moved further in, heading straight for Susan.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

“Thank Merlin,” Amelia said, placing a hand on Susan’s shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Susan nodded quickly. “I’m fine, Aunty.”

“Good,” Amelia replied before turning to the rest of the group. “The campsite’s secure. The Aurors have everything under control, but I need all of you to stay here for the time being. No wandering off. Is that clear?”

A chorus of nods followed as Amelia, Moody, and Kingsley left the tent. It didn’t take long for the campsite to be thoroughly searched, the Ministry’s Aurors efficient as they combed the area for any signs of lingering threats. Eventually, the all-clear was given, and the mood around the campsite began to relax as the danger dissipated.

Families started packing up to leave, though the festive energy from the Quidditch World Cup’s earlier excitement was all but gone. The lingering smell of smoke from extinguished fires hung in the air, but at least the loud cheers and music from the Irish fans were slowly returning as people tried to reclaim the night.

Harry quickly organized his group, gathering his friends and their families near his tent as they prepared to part ways. Harry moved to say goodbye to each of his friends. With promises to meet again before the new school year, Harry left with Petunia. 

Misty appeared silently before Harry and Petunia outside the tent. Disapparition was permitted when leaving the site, unlike Apparition, which had been strictly forbidden for the event. With thousands of witches and wizards packed into the grounds, Apparating into the chaos would’ve been a recipe for disaster. But leaving by Disapparition? That was manageable. Harry motioned for Petunia to step closer to Misty.  

“Hold tight,” she squeaked after holding their hands. With a sharp pop, the world around them twisted and compressed, the campsite vanishing in a blink.

They landed smoothly in the familiar garden of Number Four, Privet Drive. The neat flowerbeds and trimmed hedges glowed faintly under the soft light of the streetlamp. The peaceful quiet of the suburban neighborhood stood in stark contrast to the chaos they’d left behind. Misty released their hands, stepping back with her usual bow. “Misty be prepare tea,” she said, disappearing into the house before Harry could reply.

Petunia exhaled deeply, brushing imaginary dust from her blouse as she looked around. “Back to normal, then,” she muttered, her tone somewhere between relief and disbelief.

Harry stepped toward the door, chuckling, as he tried to ease the mood. "Normal is overrated, but we do need some rest."

Petunia joined him, her laugh light but genuine. "After tea, a nice bath, and a long night’s sleep. I can't say no to that."

The two entered the house, relieved to relax in their home. Misty had already placed a steaming pot of tea on the table, alongside two cups and a small plate of biscuits.

Petunia took a seat, pouring herself a cup. Two spoke of the event, the game, and everything in between. She was used to magical side she came to except due to her nephew, and appreciated his efforts to make her included. After finishing her tea, Petunia stood and stretched, her posture relaxing for the first time since they returned. "Alright, Harry. I’ll leave you to whatever schemes you’ve got planned for tonight. I’m heading up."

Harry’s lips twitched in amusement. "No schemes. Just sleep."

She raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "We’ll see." With that, she gave him a small smile and left the room.

Harry sat in the dark living room, the faint ticking of the clock the only sound accompanying him. Misty stood at the edge of the room, her large eyes gleaming in the dim light. “Misty be rest too, Master Potter,” she said softly.

Harry gave her a small smile. “Thank you, Misty. Have a nice rest.”

The house-elf beamed, her expression brighter than the moonlight streaming through the window, before vanishing with a faint pop.

Harry leaned back in the chair, letting his gaze wander to the ceiling. The events of the day circled in his mind—the Dark Mark, the raid, the Ministry’s response. All of it had gone precisely as he had anticipated. For once, he wasn’t fumbling in the dark, reacting to events beyond his control. This time, the strings were in his hands. He was no longer a piece on the chessboard but the one arranging the moves.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he muttered under his breath, “Oh, Voldy, I can’t wait to see your face at the end of the year.”

Harry was well aware of what was coming. The Triwizard Tournament was set to return, and Voldemort had already laid out his so-called “grand plan.” The resurrection scheme, the cup, the maze—all carefully designed to trap Harry. But Voldemort had underestimated just how much his own pieces could be turned against him. Voldemort thought himself untouchable, but Harry? Harry had a surprise in store for him instead.

Nigel's voice sliced through Harry's thoughts like a whisper turned sarcastic sigh. “You’re utterly prepared, it seems, Master Harry.”

Harry snorted, barely suppressing a grin. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Right, Harry, right,” Nigel replied, his tone dripping with exaggerated patience. “Old habits die hard, you know how it is. A bit like you.”

Harry shook his head, a short chuckle escaping him despite himself. It had been a year since Nigel had gone quiet, and even though Harry wouldn’t admit it outright, the sarcastic quips were strangely familiar. Still, that didn’t mean he was ready to forget—or forgive. “I’m not exactly rolling out the welcome mat here,” Harry muttered.

“Noted,” Nigel quipped dryly. “I’ll cancel the balloons and cake, then.”

Harry rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. He wouldn’t let Nigel get too comfortable. Trust wasn’t something he handed out freely anymore, not after learning about the Horcrux hidden inside him. Still, the banter was less grating than the silence had been.

“What’s the plan now, then?” Nigel continued, his tone breezy, as though discussing the weather. “Start designing matching uniforms for your new Death Eater-lite fan club? I would suggest emerald green—really brings out your eyes.”

Harry didn’t bite. Instead, he tapped the table with a knuckle, his gaze focused on the dim living room. “The plan is to sleep, Nigel. Some of us don’t exist on endless energy and bad jokes.”

“Touché,” Nigel said smoothly. “But just so we’re clear, I’m not going anywhere. You might want to add that to your list of late-night schemes. Adjust your expectations accordingly.”

“Funny, Nigel,” Harry said after a long silence, his tone sharper now. “Really hilarious. Maybe next time you can try comedy without ruining my life first.”

Nigel made a sound that might have passed for a scoff. “I would argue your life was ruined long before I showed up, but sure, let’s pin it on me. Convenient, that.”

Harry glanced out the window. “You want to talk about convenience? Let’s start with how you conveniently decided to pop back into my head after a year. Timing couldn’t be more suspicious, could it?”

“Suspicious?” Nigel echoed, the faux surprise in his tone as thick as treacle. “Me? Come now, Harry. If I wanted to be suspicious, I would have shown up before your little escapade with Bellatrix. What a show that was.”

Harry ignored him, standing up and heading for the staircase. Nigel might be back, but that didn’t mean Harry had to engage. Not fully. Not yet.

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