"Wake up! Get up!"
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG…
The furious pounding on the cupboard door ripped through Harry's dreams like a hammer through glass. He jolted upright, heart hammering.
There was nothing gentle or polite about that wake-up call. If Dudley had been the one stuck in here, he would've screamed bloody murder and made Aunt Petunia cry about how her poor Diddykins was being emotionally scarred.
But Harry? He just sighed.
This was his life. No complaints allowed. He flicked on the bare bulb hanging above his tiny cot and pulled on his oversized shirt, one of Dudley's hand-me-downs, of course. His cracked glasses waited for him on the old cabinet shelf, one arm bent at a weird angle. He shoved them onto his nose out of habit.
BOOM BOOM BOOM…
Now came the sound of stomping, heavy, thundering footsteps bouncing up and down the staircase right above his cupboard, deliberately loud. The whole ceiling shuddered with the weight, and dust rained down like gray snow.
Some of it landed on his already-dusty blanket. Some of it landed in his hair.
"Wakey-wakey, cousin!" a bratty voice yelled. "We're going to the zoo!"
Dudley.
Of course.
Harry's lovely cousin Dudley Dursley loved exactly three things: food, television, and bullying Harry. The third one brought him the most joy. Harry had tried to fight back a few times, but Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon always took Dudley's side. And Dudley had the bulk of a baby rhinoceros, while Harry had the build of a half-starved scarecrow.
Still, sometimes... just sometimes... strange things happened. Once, when Harry desperately wished Dudley would trip, he did. Another time, Harry wished he could vanish and suddenly found himself on the school roof with no idea how he got there.
Coincidences? Maybe. But Harry was starting to suspect otherwise.
And honestly? Those weird little wins were some of his proudest moments.
He finished getting dressed and moved to open the cupboard door, fully expecting Dudley to slam it back in his face. That was the morning routine. A little shoving, a door to the face, maybe a threat or two.
But if Harry didn't come out, Dudley would just stand there banging until lunch. Then Aunt Petunia would yell, and guess who'd be blamed?
So Harry opened the door, bracing for impact--
And everything changed.
The air was cold. Too cold.
The corridor wasn't the bright, overly decorated hallway of Number 4, Privet Drive. It was dark. Outside, a single flickering streetlight lit a grimy, deserted street. Garbage bags lay torn open nearby, the stench of rot wafting through the air. The sky was black. Nighttime.
Wait. Nighttime?
Hadn't it been morning just seconds ago?
Harry blinked rapidly, heart hammering. What was this place? Where was the Dursleys' house? Had he sleepwalked? Was he dreaming?
He stepped cautiously out into the street, confused and uneasy. The people around him looked strange, shambling slowly, hunched, murmuring to themselves. They didn't look right. In fact, they didn't look... alive.
Nope. Definitely not Privet Drive.
And then he heard it.
Footsteps.
Behind him.
Harry turned the corner, and a towering man stepped into the dim light, cutting off the only source of illumination.
He was unshaven, greasy-haired, and stank like he hadn't met a bar of soap in a decade. Worse still, he had a gun. And he was pointing it straight at Harry.
"Well, well," the man sneered. "Look what wandered into my pocket. A lost little street rat."
He licked his lips. "You'll fetch me a few weeks of good fun. Easy money."
Harry froze.
Every inch of him screamed to run, but his legs refused to move. His arms were limp. He was paralyzed with fear. The man grabbed his collar roughly, just like Uncle Vernon always did when dragging him back to his cupboard, but this time, Harry knew the stakes were far worse.
Uncle Vernon never threatened to shoot him, after all.
So this was it? This was how things were going to change? Out of the frying pan, straight into the hands of a maniac with a pistol?
No.
Absolutely not.
Something burned in his chest, fury, defiance, something wild and hot. With a sudden burst of courage, Harry twisted and bit down hard on the man's hand.
"OW! You little rat!"
Harry bolted.
He ran faster than he ever had in his life. The man screamed and cursed behind him, but Harry didn't stop. His legs, thin and weak moments ago, now pumped like pistons. His breath came in gasps, but something inside him surged, pushing him forward with unnatural strength.
Was it adrenaline?
Magic?
He didn't care. He just kept running.
The lights ahead grew brighter. Buildings lined the streets now. He was reaching the edge of the empty part of town.
And then, just ahead, he saw them.
A man and a woman. Ordinary at first glance, but there was something different about them. The man had sharp features and kind eyes. The woman was beautiful and warm, her smile a beacon in the dark. They looked like real people.
Harry ran straight to them, grabbing the man's coat with trembling fingers.
"Please," he gasped. "Please help me!"
The couple blinked in surprise, clearly caught off guard.
Then they saw the man chasing him.
The mood changed instantly.
Harry's heart thudded as he realized the stranger was still approaching, gun in hand, fury on his face. He expected the couple to run or, worse, shove him aside.
Instead, the man stepped forward, placing himself between Harry and the attacker. The woman pulled Harry into her arms protectively.
"It's okay," she whispered, voice trembling. "We've got you. We'll stop him."
She sounded like she was trying to convince herself, too.
The man stood tall, voice calm but firm. "Sir, I don't know what's going on, but if our child upset you, I'm sorry. Please, let's just walk away."
"Walk away?" the thug snarled. "I've got a gun, genius. Move or die."
The woman squeezed Harry tighter.
This was new.
This was something Harry had never felt before. Not at the Dursleys', not ever.
Someone protecting him.
Someone choosing him.
Then came the sound.
Gunfire.
BANG BANG BANG BANG
Harry flinched. His face was warm. He reached up and felt something wet.
Blood.
Not his.
"No!" the woman screamed. "Ben!"
The man,the brave one who had shielded them - collapsed, blood pooling beneath him. The woman clutched his body, sobbing, as the attacker laughed, eyes glinting with cruel delight.
"I warned you," he hissed. "Now shut up. You're next."
He raised the gun toward her.
Something shattered inside Harry.
It wasn't just fear. It wasn't just grief.
It was something deeper.
A sharp crack echoed inside his mind, like glass breaking under pressure. The strange power he'd felt before erupted.
A thick, black mist burst from his body, swirling around him like living shadow. Lightning flickered within it, deep red and violent.
The man tried to run.
Too late.
The mist surged forward, ignoring the woman entirely, and wrapped itself around the attacker like a python. He screamed, limbs thrashing, but he couldn't move.
Harry stepped forward, eyes glowing, the mist crackling behind him.
"You hurt them," he said, voice low and trembling. "You don't get to do that."
The man rose into the air, suspended by the mist.
Harry's rage burned like a bonfire, but even through it, he stayed in control.
Barely.
He didn't want to stop the power.
Not this time.
He took one more step forward, clenched his fists, and growled:
"How dare you?!"