Flickering Within

The days following Harry's strange dream passed much the same as they always had. The Dursleys remained blissfully unaware that something had shifted within him, but Harry could feel it.

There was something different, something lingering beneath his skin as if an invisible thread had been pulled loose.

The dream of the alleyway had not faded like others before it. It remained as clear as the moment he had seen it, playing over and over in his mind.

As much as he tried to push it aside, a new thought had taken root. If the dream had been real if the world beyond that shifting wall truly existed, then what did that mean for him?

It was a question he had no answers to, but the feeling it left behind would not let him rest.

One evening, after a long day of chores, Harry sat in his cupboard, his arms sore from scrubbing the floors on his hands and knees. He stared at the small crack of light beneath the door, listening to the faint hum of the television in the sitting room.

Vernon was laughing, deep and bellowing, and Dudley was stomping around, no doubt throwing a tantrum over something trivial.

A low sigh escaped Harry's lips as he curled into himself, his stomach empty and aching. He had learned long ago that hunger was easier to ignore when he thought of something else.

His mind drifted back to his dream, to the feeling of the shifting bricks and the warmth of the unknown place beyond them. He could almost smell the fresh bread from the market stalls, almost hear the murmur of voices that had spoken words foreign to him.

A sharp crash from the kitchen broke his thoughts.

"Boy!" Vernon's voice roared through the house.

Harry flinched but quickly scrambled out of his cupboard. By the time he entered the kitchen, Vernon's face was already turning an alarming shade of purple. A broken plate lay in pieces on the floor, and Aunt Petunia was standing stiffly by the sink, her lips pressed into a thin line. Dudley, of course, was nowhere to be seen, likely having fled the moment his father's anger flared.

"What is this?" Vernon growled, his thick fingers clenching into fists.

Harry opened his mouth, but no words came out. It did not matter that he had not broken the plate. If something went wrong in the house, the blame always fell on him.

"Clean it up," Vernon snapped. "And if I see a single shard left behind, you will regret it."

Harry swallowed his protest and bent down to gather the broken pieces. His fingers worked quickly, carefully. The last thing he needed was to cut himself and give Vernon another excuse to be angry.

The moment the mess was cleaned, he was shoved back into his cupboard without so much as a glance. The door locked shut, leaving him in suffocating darkness once more.

Lying there, his head resting against the too-thin pillow, Harry squeezed his eyes shut. His hands curled into the blanket, frustration burning beneath his skin.

He hated this. He hated feeling powerless.

A sudden spark ran through him, like a thread tugging from within, a light being switched on.

Then, without warning, a sharp pop echoed through the house, followed by a series of crackles. A moment later, a loud shout rang out from the sitting room.

"What the bloody hell?" Vernon bellowed.

Harry's eyes flew open. In the darkness of the cupboard, he could see faint glimmers of light flickering from the cracks in the doorframe. A second later, a loud shatter filled the air.

Then another.

And another.

Lightbulbs...

The realization struck him like a jolt of electricity. Every single lightbulb in the house was exploding. The sharp, panicked voices of his relatives confirmed it.

Harry's heart pounded in his chest. He had done that. He was certain of it.

Just like in his dream, just like the strange shift he had felt when watching the bricks move, this was real.

The cupboard door wrenched open, and Vernon loomed over him, his face livid.

"What did you do, boy?" he demanded, his mustache quivering with rage.

Harry's mouth went dry. He did not know what to say.

Vernon did not wait for an answer. He grabbed Harry by the arm and yanked him out of the cupboard. Harry barely had time to brace himself before he was shoved against the wall, his uncle's large hand clamping around his shoulder.

"You freak," Vernon hissed, his breath hot and foul. "Just like your parents. We should have—" He cut himself off, his grip tightening before finally shoving Harry back toward the cupboard. "Get in there and stay there."

The door slammed shut once more.

Harry sat in the darkness, his breath uneven. His arm throbbed where Vernon had grabbed him, but the pain was nothing compared to the pounding in his chest.

It was real.

Magic.

His mind whirled, the pieces finally slotting into place. The dream, the alleyway, the shifting bricks, the bank with impossible pillars, it all made sense now. The world he had glimpsed was real because he was part of it.

Outside, he could hear Petunia's hurried whispers to Vernon.

"A freak, Vernon, just like Lily. It was only a matter of time."

Her voice was sharp, but beneath it, there was something else.

Fear.

Harry pressed his back against the wall of the cupboard, letting their words wash over him. It did not matter what they thought. He had spent his whole life believing he was nothing, but now, he knew the truth.

A small sapling of pride sprouted within him.

He was something more.

And no matter what the Dursleys did, they could not take that away from him.

Over the next few days, he began to test it.

It started small. A button from Dudley's old school uniform, rolling it between his fingers, trying to make it move on its own.

At first, nothing happened. Then, one night, it twitched. Just a fraction, barely noticeable, but enough to make his breath hitch.

He kept practicing. Whenever the Dursleys were out of sight, he would reach out with that strange feeling inside him, trying to grasp it, trying to understand it.

Sometimes, objects would jerk in any direction. Sometimes, nothing happened at all. But he kept going, fueled by the knowledge that he was not helpless.

That he was more.

Even if he had to keep it a secret, even if he had to wait for the right time, he would be ready.

For the first time in his life, Harry Potter had a power all his own.

He intended to learn everything he could about it.