Harry was bleeding and clutched his right hand tightly with his left hand.

He cursed quietly as he gasped and slammed his shoulder open the door to his bedroom.

At this time, there was the sound of breaking porcelain...... He kicked down a cup of herbal tea that had been placed in the bedroom door.

"It sucks!"

Harry looked around, and the platform outside No. 4 Privet Road was long deserted. This trap could be considered an unsuccessful prank by Dudley. Harry raised his bleeding hand, scraped the pieces of the teacup together, and threw them into the already filled trash can in the bedroom door.

Harry had four days left to use magic without restriction, which was frustrating and infuriating - but he had to admit that the wound on his finger was shaking him.

He didn't even know what to do with his wounds now, but now he had to think about it...... Especially for the plans he was about to implement......

It seemed to be a big hole in the magic he had learned, and Harry reminded himself to ask Verlin and Hermione what to do in the future.

He thought as he wiped the tea off the floor with a roll of tissues, then slammed the door behind him and returned to his bedroom.

It took Harry a whole morning to completely empty the boxes he used at school for the first time...... It's as laborious as he was filling it up six years ago. In previous semesters, he had only had to take out the most important parts of the box and sort them out or update them, leaving a few bits and pieces at the bottom of the box - old quills, air-dried beetle eyes, a single sock that was no longer worn.

A few minutes earlier, Harry had just reached into these things when he felt a tingling pain in the ring finger of his right hand, and when he took it out, he saw a large amount of blood coming out of his fingertips. He's doing it a little more carefully now. When Harry knelt beside the box again, groping for the bottom of the box, he found a glowing badge with "Cedric Gorey" and "Potter Stinking" on both sides, and a cracked speculum.

Eventually, he spotted the thing that had stabbed him, and he immediately recognized it as a fragment of a two-inch-long magic mirror......

It was given to him by his godfather Sirius, but it was bad, and now he was shattered.

Harry set it aside and carefully touched the rest of the chest, and there was nothing but powdery glass like glowing sand stuck to the bottom of the chest.

Harry sat up and examined the irregular shard of the mirror that had injured him, but saw only his own bright green eyes looking at him. He placed the fragment on his bed in the unreadable Daily Prophet.

It took Harry another hour to empty the boxes completely, discarding the useless items and sorting the remaining items into separate categories...... They may be needed at some point in the future.

Harry piled his school uniform and Quidditch uniform, crucible, parchment, quill, and most of his textbooks into a corner, not knowing what his uncle and aunt would do with them.

Maybe they were burned in the middle of the night as evidence of some terrible crime. His Muggle clothes, the Cloak of Invisibility, the Potion Chest, some necessary books, the photo album Hagrid had given him, and his wand had all been repacked into an old canvas bag. In one of the front pockets was the map of the living point and the defensive ring that Van Lynn had given him, which he now used.

There was still a sizable pile of newspapers on his desk, and next to it was his owl, Hedwig, the only creature who accompanied Harry every day on Privet Road for the summer.

Harry got up from the ground, stretched for a moment, and then made his way to his desk.

Hedwig didn't move, he began to scribble through the newspapers, and then tossed them into the trash one by one.

Hedwig slept soundly...... Or rather pretending to be asleep, she was still angry at Harry for limiting the amount of time she could fly out of the cage.

However, as Harry reached the bottom of the pile, his speed slowed down, and he began to look for the special issue he had sent when he had returned to Privet Road, which he remembered had a small front page about the Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts, Charreli Burbit.

Eventually, he found it. After opening the tenth edition, he sat down in his chair and read the article he had already read again. Remembering Albus Dumbledore!

I first saw Dumbledore when I was eleven years old, and that day we first came to Hogwarts. What we both have in common is that we both feel like outsiders.

I contracted dragon rash before I came to school, and although it won't be contagious anymore, the iconic pockmarks and green skin on my face make many people reluctant to approach me.

Albus, on the other hand, came to Hogwarts with a notorious reputation for being hated by everyone, and nearly a year earlier, his father, Percival, had been convicted of openly using violence against three young Muggles.

Albus never denied the crimes committed by his father (who had died in Azkaban), on the contrary, when I summoned up the courage to ask him, he flatly told me that he understood that his father was guilty.

Since then, Dumbledore has refused to talk about the sad incident, despite many attempts to force him to speak. There were even some who praised his father's actions and guessed that Albus was also a Muggle-hater, and they couldn't have been more wrong......

Anyone who knows Albus can attest to the fact that he has never shown any inclination against Muggles. In fact, his determination of Muggles led him to make many enemies for himself in later years.

This event, which lasted for several months, brought Albus's reputation to ruin by his father.

But by the end of his first year, he was no longer known as the son of a Muggle-hater, but as one of the brightest students the school had ever seen.

Those of us who were fortunate enough to be his friends also benefited a lot, not only from his help and encouragement, but also from his usual generosity and generosity. Later he admitted to me that at that time, he knew that his greatest ambition in life was teaching.

Not only did he win every award he received at the school, but he soon began correspondence with many of the most famous wizards of the time, including the famous alchemist Nicolamay, the famous historian Bathilda Basshat, and the magical theorist Adbay Wölfflin.

Traces of his later published works can be found in several of his letters, such as Metamorphosis Today, Interesting Challenges, and Practical Potions. Dumbledore's future seemed to be sealed at that point, but there had long been a question as to why he didn't become Minister for Magic.

Although there were rumors of this in the following years, he never had the ambition to work in the ministry. In our fourth year at Hogwarts, Albus's younger brother, Aberforth, also entered the school. None of the two men had anything in common, and Aberforth did not like to read at all, preferring to settle disputes through duels rather than through rational debate, as Albus did.

However, it is not as some might think, that the two brothers will turn against each other. These two completely different boys, but they get along quite well. To be fair, for Aberforth, living in the light of Albus is by no means a very comfortable experience. As Albus's friend, the constant flashes of brilliance in him were not very pleasant, and as his brother it was all the more unpleasant.

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