I said once that I would shrink my T-shirts and sew them myself, so Aunt Petunia took out a thing she called a "sewing machine" and sewed my clothes with it to make them fit. Uncle Vernon let me help him. I enjoyed drilling holes when he tried out his tools, which he turns out to produce.

The sound of the drilling drill sounded like the chidori and rasen-shuriken techniques at the same time, and I was struck by nostalgia.

My cousin Dudley turned out to be a good tutor, and in at least six days I began to read quite well, not only in syllables, but also to write, even if not as fast as cursive in my native language.

The Dursleys tolerated me and were quite in control of themselves individually. But that's when they got together... It feels like something was wrong with this family. As soon as the four of us were in the same room, they were almost sick with irrational hatred for me. They said nasty things. They swore. They could have punished me for something. It was very strange. It's so strange that I suspected magic or some kind of interference, drugs or mentalism. However, my friend Ino told me something about her clan and some of their techniques. And Harry mentioned that there is something similar in the wizarding world.

Over the past week, through meditation, I have practically restored those three days from nineteen ninety-six and what Harry told that writer. The key points and your thoughts about them are for sure. It was difficult for Harry to look at his family from the outside, he hated them in return, but there was clearly something wrong. And my feeling of "wrong" screamed no worse than my uncle's drills.

Vernon-san left for work, and Dudley went out with his friends. I decided to talk to Aunt Petunia. Actually, I liked the woman. She may be insecure with her "cockroaches", but you won't find such people among Shinobi. Jiraiya taught me not only fuinjutsu and ninjutsu, but also the keys to human souls. Especially for women.

It turned out that my aunt should know that Harry, that is — I am a wizard. Since her sister is a sorceress.

If you compare it with my world, then there are also Shinobi aristocrats from Great clans, that is, wizarding aristocrats, such as Harry's father and his godfather Sirius, as far as I understand. There are hereditary Shinobi, that is, whose parents were part of the military caste, here they are simple, ordinary wizards. There were Shinobi, the children of townspeople or peasants, who had a sufficiently developed chakrosystem to enter the warrior class, but more often such a first generation could at best become genins. In the magical world, they are called "Muggleborns." Because non-wizards are called "Muggles." It seems that the synonym for "wizard" will also be "magician", probably about the same as "shinobi" and "ninja" — some kind of different interpretation*. ("Shinobi no Mono" is a spy, spy, infiltrator and assassin in medieval Japan. "shinobu" — to hide, to hide; to endure, to endure + ?? "mono" is a suffix of people and professions. When "shinobi-no-mono" is shortened to the first and last hieroglyphs [??] there is a reading of "ninja".)

There will be similar divisions in any world where people have something different from the majority.

My mother is from the Great Uzumaki Clan, and my father is rumored to be from the townspeople. However, no one dared to assert, since he was an orphan and was able to become Hokage, that is, the strongest and most respected warrior of our hidden village. I am a half-breed Uzumaki. Harry's situation is similar, only his father is an aristocratic magician, and his mother is a "Muggle-born".

When a Shinobi appears in a peasant family, it is like a Rikudo-sennin blessing for such a family. By sending their son or daughter to serve in a gakurezato or garrison, such a family will receive some privileges, tax exemption for a while and, most importantly, protection. Here, the family in which the magician appears does not seem to receive anything. Unless he finds out that magic exists. Here it is perceived as incredible miracles. But something tells me that there will be a lot of work and training behind such a "miracle." Harry seemed to have been studying for five years, but he couldn't even clean his clothes with his magic.

Harry said his aunt thought he and his parents were "crazy." I haven't had any such conversations yet. I know from Ino's stories that mental intervention works in a peculiar way, pulling out and reinforcing existing feelings. As if you were annoyed, then you can be "inflamed" to hatred, and if there were no bad feelings and emotions towards any person or phenomenon, then no matter how hard you try, you will not be able to cause negativity.

So calmness and cold calculation prevail. On the other hand, most of the feelings that Shinobi show are fake. If you get really angry in battle, it can cause you serious problems in the form of losing control of the situation, and this can be fatal. However, in my case, when I was small and could be intemperate, Kuby was happy to "connect" to me. "Fox Obsession" is intoxicating. But then the withdrawal is such that you would not wish the enemy. And after meeting the "Dark Naruto", I revised a lot in my life. In general, zen is our everything.

The psychotropic drugs that I used also have properties similar to mental effects. Maybe even stronger, but it's really easier to start with something that already exists. In order for a person to start trusting you completely, you need to win them over first. Sometimes I could do it without the stimulants. Jiraiya said that I have the charisma and talent to "talk people down" that I inherited from my father.

So, returning to Petunia-san, most likely, she was a little jealous of her sister, who found herself in a magical world of wonders and sweet gingerbread. But then... Then Harry's parents were killed, and he himself, a "half-blood aristocrat boy", was sent to a "peasant" family who, at best, had only heard of magic out of the corner of their ears. Despite the fact that Harry was adored by everyone in absentia and almost idolized as Rikudo-sennin.

I grew up in general dislike, to put it mildly. And they didn't want to teach me anything at the Academy. But I knew almost from the cradle that I was a Shinobi, I grew up in a village full of Shinobi, dreamed of becoming a Shinobi and did everything possible and impossible to develop my body and learn how to use the chakra. I spied on other people's workouts, repeated the exercises. If only I had a teacher sooner and he wasn't such a depressing bastard like Kakashi-sensei....

But anyway, by the age of twelve, I knew several techniques, knew how to fight, and developed a system of behavior in which I was less bullied by others. And Harry, at the age of eleven, was hit on his scarred forehead with a dust bag: "You, brother, are a wizard and all, get ready for school Hogv-somehow."

And the kid doesn't even know which side of the magic wand to hold. And behind all this is Director Higekane*, who has Sarutobi Hiruzen's benevolent smile on his face. ("Higekane" — loosely translated from Japanese, can be translated "beard with bells". Naruto couldn't remember long and complex "tooth-crushing" English surnames and came up with nicknames.) When Harry told his story, I was amazed at the connivance of their superiors. But it was worth "digging deeper", finding yourself in the shoes of an eight-year-old wizard who was abandoned in a Muggle family, as the story began to sparkle with new colors.

I carefully found out that the Dursleys don't give me any allowance or lifting fees, so it's not surprising that I'm wearing rags, which are pretty decent in principle, I had worse ones. My appetite is no less than Dudley's, or vice versa — I eat so much and am always hungry because of my chakra magic, and a simple kid like that also turns on Harry, that is, me, looking. Are parents going to give their own blood less than a starved-looking boy eats?

That's why "Dadlipusicek" is such a cheeky "pussy". Vernon always grumbles at dinner that I overeat them. Well, yes, my portion is like my uncle's, a healthy man, and after eating, I almost lick the pans — I'm hungry. Not to say that the "orphan" feeds on air, but it looks like it looks like it has only green eyes under glasses.

I feel sorry for myself, yeah. I can't look in the mirror without crying.

But then there's the big "but" again — Harry and I went to the bank, and he has his own account and stuff. This means that his family had money and there must be someone who is obliged to take care of such a "golden boy" — the hero of the magical world. Sasuke was left without parents and a clan at the age of eight, but he seemed to have some kind of guardian, the head of the clan's accounts, he gave money for maintenance and expenses. Sasuke was assigned to an apartment away from the Uchiha quarter, so as not to disturb his soul, and he ate...

Well, in general, it's weird too. The type of Hero they keep in a "black body" so that the magical world into which he gets after eleven years of shit seems like a fairy tale, where he is the main character who is obliged to kill the Universal Evil. Oh, shit! Bi-san and I weren't even allowed into the war that was started because of our possession. And here's a kid who's been fighting in earnest for a year with an adult, an experienced wizard who no one could take down. Uh-huh.

In general, it's time to find out the answers to some questions and assumptions, and I decided to start with Aunt Petunia, as the most accessible source of information for me at the moment.

Part 1. Chapter 3. These are the pies...

August 8, 1988

4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, England

"Aunt Petunia, can I help you?" I suggested cautiously. She laid out the groceries on the table, clearly considering what to cook. The crease on her forehead smoothed out.

"Yes, I want to make a kidney pie. Peel the potatoes and cut them into semicircles. I'll take care of the giblets for now."

We were silent for a while, doing our job. She took the kidneys out of the water, rinsed them, and began to cut them into pieces. Finally, I felt that Petunia-san had entered a state of some kind of peace that happens to women when they cook.

"Aunt," I broke the silence, "tell me, don't you notice something strange around?"

"What exactly do you find strange, Harry?" She looked up at me warily. Well, well, it seems that if there is any mental influence, it is associated with everything "strange", "magical".

"Our family is like a little enchanted," I tried to look naive. "The same Dudley is such a good boy, we study in his room, he taught me how to read well. And yesterday he said some nasty things to me after dinner. He almost cried about it today. He said he didn't know what had gotten into him."

Petunia pursed her lips, but she was clearly thinking about something.

"But don't worry, I'm not offended by Dudley, he didn't do it on purpose," I continued the careful processing. "I understand that our family is having a hard time. My uncle's business is not going well, and I still have to pay off my debts to the bank for the house, right?

"Yes, a loan," she blinked in surprise.

Unlike Harry, I know the value of money and how difficult it can be to live when you don't have enough money. Nothing comes from nowhere. Everything has to be bought, everything has to be paid for. My uncle, when I was helping him in the garage, happily babbled about his company, extortionate taxes, and house expenses. The cost of the car he drove to London, the price of petrol, school fees for Dudley and me. In general, we live, not particularly posh, but in a nice, quiet area. They spend an extra pound on their child, and Vernon dreams that "his son doesn't need anything and Dudley has what he didn't have." Vernon is older than Aunt Petunia and was born after some local war. He told me that he was starving, and "everything happened." He also comes from a family of ordinary workers and "made his own business".

Basically, the Dursleys are pretty understandable people. Decent enough not to kick an orphan into an orphanage, but trying to save a little money. On the other hand, we feed at the same table and eat the same food, except that Dudley sometimes gets too many sweets. But I can't say that he eats only cakes every day, as I remember from Harry's story. Rather, by contrast, they didn't require housework from their own child and gave them a little more freedom, this provokes childish resentment and it seems that the world is biased and unfair.

I'm well aware of how shitty life can be. Having had enough of loneliness and hatred, I even enjoy living in this family. I guess if I was loved by being licked from head to toe, like Dudley sometimes is, I'd be very uncomfortable. As it is, a slight level of hostility and alienation suits me perfectly. And it seems to me that this has changed over the past week. Maybe because I started offering help myself? Is there a lot of work in a house with three bedrooms, a guest room and a kitchen with a living room? And the local lawn is not very big, you need to make sure that no weeds appear, and Petunia takes care of the flower beds herself, except that I water them. And Vernon-san somehow became less drunk that I was just sitting in my pants for nothing.

"Oh, and I eat so much," I sighed. "But I would eat less, but I'm always hungry...."

My aunt chuckled.

"Yes... Lily was always hungry, too, and she was always nibbling...." She stopped, and I realized that this was Petunia talking about Harry's mother and her sister.

"It's probably something from the family," I continued carefully, as if treading on water for the first time, trying not to break the fragility of the moment. "You're also very thin and graceful. She's also very beautiful", Carefully pumping the color into my face, I asked: "Was your sister as beautiful as you, Aunt Petunia?"

She looked away, confused, and blinked rapidly.

"Your mother was very beautiful, Harry." Petunia-san sobbed. "But... I don't have any pictures of her left. When she... When was the last time Lily was at home... She took all her photos, all her things.... And I was very afraid. It was as if she was running from something or someone, or didn't want us to remember her. The last time I saw her was when I was three months pregnant," my aunt mused. She stopped by... After my father's funeral... Your and Dudley's grandfather... he didn't survive the death of your mother... grandmother. Yes, that was the last time I saw her. We had a fight with her because she didn't come to the funeral. I'm sorry, it's hard to remember...."

"Nothing, sorry to bring up the subject, Aunt Petunia", I nodded. "Losing loved ones is very hard. It's a pity that I didn't know my grandparents, I'm sure they were good people."