Having traversed countless realms, can you possibly be as clever as me?

Harley opened her eyes

The familiar attic ceiling came into view. She propped herself up, feeling extremely heavy.

She opened her mouth, her expression strange and blank, then got out of bed, put on her shoes, and opened the attic door like a walking corpse.

A warm breeze blew into the attic, bringing with it the boisterous sounds of a family of three celebrating downstairs.

"Sweetie, don't just focus on eating cookies, look what I bought for you..."

"A new rugby ball? No way! I want the latest Nintendo console!"

Harley stood by the door for a long, long time, then, like a maggot that couldn't bear the light, she went back into the room and curled up, her small body wrapped up in a ball under the thin blanket. After a while, she trembled slightly.

Was it a dream? Harley didn't know, but she felt extremely lost and upset.

The dream was incredibly dangerous, but Harley wasn't opposed to it; in fact, she really wanted to experience it again.

To transcend the heavy and uninteresting gravity of the mundane world, to touch that brand new world, to experience that extraordinary and transcendent feeling.

But now, she opened her eyes and lay motionless in the dilapidated attic.

"I shouldn't be here..."

Harley, tears streaming down her face, murmured to herself.

I should be somewhere else.

Then, overcome with hunger and exhaustion, I fell into a deep sleep.

The day after waking up from her dream, going to school wasn't a good thing for Harley, because the school was holding its end-of-term dance the next day.

She attended Smetine School, a private school, but Harley got in solely because of her good grades and Dudley's connections. However, she didn't have a single friend at school.

Who would like a girl who dresses sloppily, always wears old clothes, and doesn't like to talk?

Moreover, she was a bookworm, and the aversion to bookworms seemed to be consistent in both the New World and the British Isles.

The prom required girls to wear a dress, which Harley obviously didn't. She was embarrassed and had to go to Aunt Peggy's, or simply not go to school—she sincerely hoped her aunt would choose the latter.

But no, Aunt Peggy searched through her closet for a very long time before finally finding a very old-fashioned floral dress.

"You should go out and socialize, Harley! Go make some friends, don't always read books alone like a weirdo!"

As Aunt Peggy said this, she forcefully shoved the dress into her hands, and looking at the dress that seemed to be from an old movie from the 1980s, Harley sighed inwardly.

"I don't want to go," Harley murmured to herself, but she couldn't bring herself to say it aloud.

Sometimes she really couldn't tell whether other people's malice or kindness hurt her more. At least for now, Harley would rather her aunt grumbled and said she didn't have any dresses for her to wear.

Harley stood in front of the gates of Smetine High School in her school uniform, feeling as if the clothes were a thin protective shell.

Her school uniform was secondhand; the cuffs were frayed and the hem was faded from washing, but at least—at least it was the same as everyone else's. A gray-blue plaid skirt, a white shirt, and a navy blue knitted vest. She wouldn't stand out too much in the morning crowd heading to school.

This reassured her a little.

The morning sun was shining brightly, a rare treat in England, but Harry still kept her head down and walked quickly toward the teaching building. She had long since learned not to look up, not to make eye contact, and not to give anyone a chance to notice her.

But as soon as she entered the lobby of the teaching building, she heard the laughter.

"—And then she just stood there, like an idiot, hahaha—"

It's Emily White's voice.

Harley paused, but didn't stop. She continued walking, trying to make herself invisible.

"Oh, look, she's here!" another girl's shrill voice rang out.

The laughter grew even louder.

Harry walked past them without glancing at them. Emily and her entourage were gathered around a pillar in the center of the hall. There were five or six of them, each wearing the latest sneakers, their hair neatly combed, and their backpacks adorned with various sparkly trinkets. They looked like a flock of vibrant butterflies, while Harry was like a dull gray moth in the corner.

“Hey Potter,” Emily’s voice came from behind, “Are you going to the ball tonight?”

“I bet she can’t make it,” Susan—Emily’s most loyal follower—said loudly. “She doesn’t have any dresses, does she? I remember she only has a few outfits all year round.”

“Maybe she could wear her school uniform,” another girl said, “and then tell everyone it’s retro style.”

Harley quickened her pace and turned into the hallway. The laughter was muffled by the walls, but it still stung like needles on her back.

The first class was math. Harley sat in the last row by the window, which was her only seat. She had no deskmate, and no one wanted to sit with her.

She tried to focus on the blackboard, but the whispers buzzed into her ears like flies.

"Have you heard about the ball tomorrow? Emily said she's going to wear the dress her mother brought back from Paris..."

"I bought a new pair, pink, to match my new shoes..."

Do you think that nerdy Potter will go?

"Don't be ridiculous, what would she wear? A burlap sack?"

Harry gripped the pen tightly, her knuckles turning white. She counted in her head, from one to one hundred, then from one hundred back to one. It was a skill she'd honed since childhood—a skill that allowed her to focus her attention on the words...

417

Move upwards, and let yourself become an empty shell.

When the bell rang, Harley dashed out of the classroom as if fleeing, intending to hide in the restroom. But as soon as she opened the shoe locker door—

With a "pop!", an Easter egg popped out of the shoe cabinet, showering her with colorful confetti and sequins. Written on the egg in bright fluorescent ink were the words: "For the Ball Queen!"

Another burst of laughter erupted around her. Harley looked down at the pieces of paper scattered on the ground; the colorful sequins sparkled beautifully in the sunlight, but she found them dazzling.

She crouched down and silently picked up the scattered pieces of paper and sequins, throwing them into the trash can. Someone walked past her and deliberately bumped into her, causing her to stumble and almost fall.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the girl said with a forced smile, then walked away with her companion.

Harley didn't look up; she simply brushed off the sequins stuck to the hem of her school uniform skirt and continued walking toward the restroom.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Harley took off her glasses and looked at the blurry face in the mirror. She didn't cry; she hadn't cried in a long time. She just looked at herself, at the thin, disheveled girl in the mirror wearing an old school uniform.

She remembered the dream she had the night before last—the one-eyed man riding an eight-legged horse, the monsters in black robes, and the golden card.

She recalled the unfamiliar courage that surged in her chest when she raised that silver-white banner.

"It was just a dream," she whispered to herself in the mirror.

She gave a wry smile and put her glasses back on. A dream is just a dream; once you wake up, you have to face reality.

On the road to godhood, you must kill, kill, kill! : 290. [Harry Potter] Witch Harry

Harley often comforted herself by saying that Smetine High School was actually quite good.

At least the bullying by those girl cliques was basically limited to mental and personal insults. Even the time they locked her in the bathroom wasn't direct violence. Although it led to a bad outcome, she got away with it.

At least compared to the bullying in those Yankee schools in the New World, everything here is much better, isn't it!

Of course, the reason they didn't do that was largely because Harley had retaliated twice, although she didn't directly retaliate against them, which made their bullying somewhat restrained.

In any case, Harley likes and is used to this optimistic attitude.

As long as you pretend to be optimistic enough, you can at least fool yourself into having more courage to live on.

As the last class of the afternoon ended, Harley was packing her bag, preparing to sneak away when there were fewer people around.

"Hi."

A voice sounded above her head. Harley looked up, her eyes, hidden behind her bangs, blinked slightly.

Standing in front of her was a boy, about her age, maybe a year older. He had dark brown hair, messy but handsome, and warm amber eyes that curved into crescent shapes when he smiled. He wore a neatly pressed school uniform shirt, his tie tied somewhat casually, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Harley knew him, and many people at school knew him.

Chris West, a ninth grader, is on the football team like Dudley, but not a flashy star player. He seems to be able to talk to anyone and always has that lazy smile on his face. His family seems to have a lot of kids; Harley sometimes sees him walking with a bunch of red-haired boys and girls, a noisy group.

He's the kind of person... the kind of person Harley would never try to talk to.

"Uh... hello?" Harley responded uncertainly, even looking around as if she wondered if he had the wrong person.

But there was no one else in the classroom except the two of them.

“You’re Harley, right? Harley Potter?” Chris sat down in the seat in front of her, turned to face her, and rested his elbows on her desk in a very natural manner.

"yes,

"Yes..." Harley's voice was so soft it was almost inaudible. She instinctively hugged her old backpack closer to her chest, covering the worn edges.

“I’ve been watching you for a long time,” Chris said, his amber eyes looking at her with a deep, serious expression, devoid of any teasing.

“You always keep to yourself, studying and eating alone. But last week, you got the best score in the class.”

Harley opened her mouth, but didn't know what to say.

Chris smiled, his eyes curving into beautiful crescents. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not here to provoke you, I just..."

He took a bottle of drink out of his pocket and handed it to her.

He paused, scratched his messy hair, and seemed a little embarrassed.

"I was thinking, if you don't have a dance partner yet...why don't you want to come along? Just...just go out and have some fun. It's okay if you don't dance, we can just grab something to eat and chat."

Harry opened her mouth, as if to say she wasn't going, really not going. But Chris had already shoved a drink and a bouquet of flowers into her hands; the bottle of the drink was still cool, it was lemon-flavored soda.

The flower was a rose. Not the velvety red rose sold in florists, but a small, pinkish-white rose picked from the garden, with a little dew still clinging to the edges of its petals.

"Have something to drink, don't be nervous," he said, looking at her with his amber eyes. "I know you might be shy, but really, come and have some fun. No need to dance, just chat."

“You don’t have to answer now,” Chris said hastily before she could reply, standing up and taking two steps back. “See you at the auditorium entrance tonight. If you come, I’ll wait for you. If you don’t… well, I’ll just go in by myself.”

He smiled again, waved, and ran away.

Harley sat there, holding the bottle of drink in her hand, watching Chris's departing figure, and then glanced at the flowers he had brought her.

She looked down at the flower; it was small and ordinary, but very fresh. The petals still had dirt on them—it really had just been picked from the garden.

No one has ever given her flowers, and it seems no one has ever offered her a drink.

"Scarhead, did Chris invite you just now?" An annoying voice rang out from the side. Harley looked up and saw Dudley standing there, raising an eyebrow and sneering.

"I advise you not to make a fool of yourself. That bastard already has a girlfriend. If you ask me, he's just playing you!"

“None of your business, you little darling,” Harley retorted.

Yes, she really shouldn't have gone to the ball today; she had already made up excuses not to go. Dudley's words were harsh, but she took them to heart, such as the advice not to have hope for things that weren't hers.

Chris must be a good person, but she still won't go to the ball.