A Fine Day Began with Persuading Someone to Turn Over a New Leaf!

"Harry, go slap him twice!"

"Yes, Cousin!"

In the dead end of a narrow alley.

An eleven-year-old boy named Harry Potter, with messy black hair, a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, round glasses, and a healthy, well-proportioned build.

Pity and resolve flashed through his emerald-green eyes.

As he answered his cousin's command, he strode forward, grabbed the collar of the adult thief cowering against the wall and trembling on the ground with one hand, and swung the other hand left and right, delivering two crisp, forceful slaps to the man's face.

Then, amid the young thief's pathetic sobs, he silently retreated to his cousin's side.

Dudley Dursley, an eleven-year-old boy nearly five foot seven, exceptionally broad and powerful, with obvious muscles visible even through his clothes, stood quietly watching the scene. He wore a Smeltings School uniform, held a bag of stolen beef jerky in his left hand, and gripped a Smeltings cane in his right.

Only after seeing that the other man had completely lost the will to resist and had no intention of fighting back did he speak to his cousin, who was five weeks younger than him:

"Harry, your movements can be faster! Also, wipe that pity from your eyes. Pitying an enemy is cruelty toward yourself and your own people!

"This Mr. Thief here is a notorious criminal who has stolen from and robbed five residents in our Little Whinging. He even snatches beef jerky snacks from primary school students. He doesn't deserve your pity!"

Dudley's earnest words brought a hint of shame to Harry's face, but Harry could not help asking:

"B-but, Cousin, you've already punched him more than ten times and hit him with your cane over thirty times. And then I... Isn't that enough?"

"Mm, that's about enough!"

As Dudley spoke, he tossed the bag of beef jerky to Harry. Waving his cane, he approached the thief again, who was covered in bruises and had been injured to the very limit of what could still be called minor injuries.

Feeling that overwhelming pressure bearing down on him again, the thief was so frightened that even his sobbing stopped.

"I... I was wrong! I was wrong! You..."

"Get up!"

Dudley barked sharply, raising the cane in his right hand high overhead.

At the sight of this terrifying scene, the thief's weak legs were instantly cured by some invisible miracle doctor.

He sprang up from the ground, hissing through the pain radiating from every part of his body. He stood bent over before Dudley in utter fear, eyes lowered and meek, terrified that that enormous strength—which no ordinary child should possess—would once again descend upon him through that hard cane.

Dudley looked over the obedient defeated opponent before him with satisfaction and slowly lowered his cane.

Just as the thief secretly breathed a sigh of relief, Dudley struck with lightning speed. Within a few breaths, he had searched every visible and hidden pocket on the thief's body, confiscating more than a hundred pounds and over thirty pence.

His nimble, swift technique was even more thieflike than the thief's. Even the thief himself, who practically reeked of petty crime, could not help dropping his jaw.

He had thought he had run into a righteous little brat with formidable fighting skills. Now it seemed he had clearly encountered a senior colleague whose craft surpassed his several times over!

"Close that surprised mouth of yours!" Dudley sneered. "Since you didn't target poor people, I'll let you off this time! But if you come causing trouble on Dudley Gang turf again, the outcome won't be so pretty! Get lost!"

The thief came back to his senses, nodded and bowed as he admitted defeat and thanked him, then carefully circled around Dudley and Harry before staggering toward the alley exit.

"Stop!"

Dudley suddenly called out in an unquestionable tone.

The thief shuddered, stopped with an exceptionally ugly expression, and forced a smile as he turned back toward Dudley.

"Here's some advice. You're dim-witted, and your luck is terrible. Whenever you run, you head straight into dead ends. You're not suited for this line of work.

"You should make proper use of the money hidden in your shoes, take the honest path, and start a small business."

The thief's heart jolted. Looking down, he discovered that the edges of the last of his money were sticking out from his shoes. Cursing his bad luck inwardly, he quickly reached down and stuffed the notes back inside.

After doing all that, he could not help feeling a little despondent. Maybe that little brat of a senior was right. Perhaps he truly was not suited for this trade.

Turning over a new leaf as soon as possible was his true destination.

Having figured it out, the thief looked at Dudley and Harry again, wanting to say something, only to find that the two had already passed him and reached the mouth of the alley.

The words rose to his lips, then stuck in his throat.

Dudley did not want money that smelled funny.

Never mind money from shoes—even the paltry sum taken from the thief himself meant nothing to Dudley, a second-generation wealthy Muggle.

He had acted mainly to hone his skills, train his cousin, and win over the loyalty of his men.

As Dudley led Harry home, they passed an intersection where he handed the money taken from the thief to the third-ranking member of Dudley Gang and his number-one lackey, the scrawny Piers Polkiss, who was waiting by the roadside.

"Piers, arrange for the money to be returned to its owners. Let the gang brothers split whatever is left over!

"Same old rule: if the owners want to give a thank-you tip or gift, ask whether they have any strange items whose use or origin they can't identify. If they do, send them to me.

"If anyone accepts help from Dudley Gang without a shred of gratitude, write their name in the little notebook. I'll make them pay up later!"

Dudley gave his instructions clearly and methodically. Piers nodded slightly, committing every word to memory.

After Dudley finished and said nothing further, Piers cautiously asked, "That bag of beef jerky from our classmate...?"

"Buy a new bag and return it with the money! Harry and I are keeping this one. It tastes pretty good!"

As Dudley spoke, he took the beef jerky from Harry and began eating it with relish.

"Yes, Boss!" Piers answered with a nod, then turned and left to carry out Dudley's orders.

There were not many pedestrians on the roads during the early morning in Little Whinging, Surrey.

Making use of the summer holiday, Dudley had completed a highly worthwhile social exercise with his adorable cousin.

It put Dudley Dursley in an excellent mood.

But his cousin, Harry Potter, famous throughout the wizarding world, had some unusual worries in his heart.

"Cousin, will a wizard really come and take me to some place called Hogwarts to learn magic? Aunt Petunia said I should attend Stonewall High..."

On the way to Number Four, Privet Drive, Harry looked at Dudley's Smeltings School uniform. After hesitating for a moment, he finally asked the question.

He needed his godlike cousin—who seemed to know everything, could do anything, and always found a solution to every problem—to dispel the confusion in his heart.

Hearing this, Dudley did not slow his pace. As he walked, he answered in a firm tone:

"Harry, trust me. They'll come to notify you of your admission!"