Harry Potter with Technology System

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Hello you all! I started to publish my first Original Novel, Gunslinger System in a World of Sword and Magic. It is about an assassin who dies on Earth and transmigrates into a magical world with Gunslinger System and awakens Gunslinger Class, unique to him. I would like to believe it is a fun read but I am biased, so please give it a chance and let me know. The novel is not vetted yet, so it doesn't appear on my profile but I will drop a link, please add it to your library to support me even if you don't read it. That would mean a lot! Thank you.(Can't put a link. Well, hopefully you can find with abbreviation; GSWSM. Type this to search box! Thanks!)

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Petunia looked away, a conflict of emotions playing across her face. "I know, Harry. But your world... it took my sister away. I couldn't bear the thought of losing you to it as well."

Harry's mind worked quickly, weaving a narrative that might bridge the emotional gap between them. "But that world isn't just about magic and wonders, Aunt Petunia. It's also about loss and loneliness. I lost my parents to that world. And in a way, I lost you and Uncle Vernon and Dudley too."

Petunia's gaze returned to Harry, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. Harry pressed on, his voice growing firmer. "I'm not just Lily's son or James' son. I'm your nephew too. And I've always wanted to be part of this family, in every way."

The room was silent for a moment, the weight of decades of unspoken truths hanging heavy in the air. Petunia's face remained stern, but her eyes betrayed a softening, a glimmer of empathy for the boy who had grown up under her roof.

Petunia finally spoke, her voice low and hesitant. "I... I didn't know you felt that way, Harry. I thought you hated us for... for how we treated you."

Harry shook his head. "I won't lie, Aunt Petunia. It's been hard, really hard. But hate? No. I've always just wanted to understand. To be understood."

Petunia sighed, a long, deep sigh that seemed to release years of pent-up emotions. "Harry, I... I don't know if I can ever understand your world. But maybe... maybe I can try to understand you."

It was a small concession, but Harry knew it was a significant one. He smiled, a genuine, warm smile. "That's all I ask, Aunt Petunia. That's all I've ever wanted."

Nigel's voice buzzed in Harry's ear, a hint of his usual dryness returning. "Well played, Master Harry. You've navigated the treacherous waters of familial politics with the skill of a seasoned diplomat."

Ignoring the chatty AI, Harry, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and strategies, turned back to Aunt Petunia. His finger subtly illuminated with the soft glow of a Lumos spell, a simple yet effective display of magic. Petunia's eyes widened in amazement, a mix of fear and fascination etched on her face. "How?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry shook his head, feigning confusion and innocence. "I don't know. It just... happened. Like I felt I could do it." His words were chosen carefully, designed to intrigue rather than alarm.

Petunia, her expression a complex mosaic of emotions, seemed to teeter on the edge of a revelation. "It's... it's like your mother," she murmured, a distant look in her eyes. Harry sensed an opening, a crack in the armor she had built over the years. Petunia, for the first time, appeared to be considering stepping into the world she had been denied access to as a child—a world that Harry, her nephew, was inadvertently offering her a key to.

However, the road ahead was fraught with challenges. Petunia was no naive child to be easily swayed by a simple display of magic. Her years of bitterness and her strong, rooted views on the magical world would not crumble overnight. Harry knew he had to tread carefully, weaving a narrative that appealed to her deepest emotions while strategically downplaying the elements that might reignite her fears and prejudices.

"Remember, Master Harry," Nigel's voice echoed in his mind, "subtlety is your ally. You're dealing with years of ingrained beliefs and hurt. It's like trying to brew a delicate potion under a cauldron that's been simmering with resentment for decades."

Harry nodded slightly, acknowledging Nigel's counsel. Turning his attention back to his aunt, he said softly, "I want to know more about this. About Mum, about the magic. But I need your help, Aunt Petunia."

Petunia hesitated, her gaze flitting between Harry and the faint light on his finger. She was clearly torn, the desire to understand warring with her long-held aversion. Finally, she sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of her internal struggle. "I don't know, Harry. It's... it's a sore subject. Your mother and I... we were different."

Harry shook his head, a gentle firmness in his voice, "You were not different, Aunty." It was the first time he had used such an affectionate term for her, and Petunia visibly flinched, caught off guard. "You were sisters. And magical blood, it runs in your veins too. Your blood runs in my veins. How can we be any different?"

Petunia's face was a mask of conflict, her eyes flickering with a tumult of emotions. She opened her mouth, then closed it, struggling with words that refused to come. Finally, she looked away, her voice barely audible. "It's not the same, Harry. Magic... it separated us."

Harry leaned forward, his voice earnest. "But it doesn't have to separate us, Aunty. We can learn from each other. Maybe there's more to magic than you think. Maybe there's more to me."

Petunia met his gaze, her expression softening slightly. "Harry, I don't... I don't understand all of this. It's been years of trying to forget, to put it all behind me."

Nigel's voice resonated in Harry's mind, a blend of encouragement and strategy. "Now, Master Harry, the iron is hot. Strike with precision. Show her the magic, but in a way that's familiar, comforting."

Harry nodded inwardly, taking Nigel's advice. He extended his hand, letting the Lumos glow brighten. "Look, Aunty. This isn't dark or scary. It's just light. Mum could do this too. Maybe... maybe you can as well."

Petunia's eyes widened at the glow, a hint of fear, and curiosity mingling in her expression. "I can't do that, Harry. I'm not like your mother. I'm not..."

Harry interrupted gently, "But you are like her in so many ways. You're her sister. And maybe, in some ways, you can be magical too. Not with spells or wands, but with understanding, with accepting me, with accepting part of her that's still alive in me."

Petunia looked at Harry, a complex mix of skepticism and longing in her eyes. "I don't know if I can, Harry. It's been so long, and so much has happened."

"Give it a chance, Aunt Petunia," Harry urged softly. "For me, for Mum, for yourself. Let's discover this together. It doesn't have to be a world apart. It can be a world shared."

Petunia hesitated, a silent war raging within her. Finally, she let out a deep, resigned sigh. "Alright, Harry. We can try. But I... I can't promise anything."

Harry nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "That's all I'm asking for. A chance to try."

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