Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter I wouldn't be writing fanfiction.

Harry Potter knew he wasn't normal. Although his aunt and uncle and cousin constantly called him a freak, he never had a reason to believe them. However, he somehow knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he was not normal or ordinary at all, though he had no proof of his abnormality or extraordinariness. He had been pushing away the lingering thoughts of wonder and magic for years.

But still, they remained, and one night, sitting in the cupboard under the stairs that he called his bedroom, he found out that they were actually very true.

"Wow," he gasped, his eyes as wide as saucers and his entire posture screaming disbelief. But there it was, right in his hand. A glowing ball of golden magic.

How was this possible? Was he magical? Did he have magic powers? Harry's thoughts swirled around chaotically in his head, but he was unable to make heads or tails of them. He was so completely dumbfounded by the sight before him that his mind completely shut down for a moment and all he could do was stare blankly.

It was a dream, Harry surmised, suddenly realizing what it must have been. It was impossible for it to be anything else. And with that thought in mind, he went back to sleep. The magic ball disappeared.

When Harry woke up again, he remembered his dream, and being a normal (or possibly not) nine-year-old boy, he automatically had to check to see if it was true or not. He willed the ball to appear, and suddenly, it was in his hand again.

He looked at it for a second and then flopped back on his little cot, staring at the little glowing sphere.

"Hello, magic ball. Can you think for yourself?" asked Harry. He felt like he honestly would not have been surprised if the ball had turned into a cupcake and exploded.

However, the ball did not do anything of the sort, which Harry was grateful for, as he was not in the mood to clean up a bunch of cupcake guts or deal with another fully sapient identity other than himself. He sighed in relief.

Alright, that was good, he supposed. So he had the magical power to make a ball of light appear in his hand. What else could he do? Could he fly? Shoot lasers from his eyes? Turn into a dragon? Teleport?

He was startled from his musings by the shrill voice of his Aunt Petunia, reminding him that yes, he still had school that day, and yes, he did need to make breakfast for the Dursleys. Almost relieved by the one thing that seemed to be constant in his life, Harry quietly dressed in one of his cousin Dudley's smaller hand-me-downs and opened his cupboard door so he could head to the kitchen.

"Comb your hair!" His Uncle Vernon barked to him by way of a morning greeting as he read the newspaper. Harry did not feel like combing his hair.

Suddenly overcome by an urge to prove himself, Harry spoke up, "I'd really rather not, Uncle Vernon. After all, my hair is very difficult to comb."

And then he summoned his magic and shot a golden beam of light directly into Uncle Vernon's eyes. Mr Dursley roared in pain and stood up, his fists swinging. Harry suddenly paled and teleported to a place called anywhere but there.

Then, right there in the middle of London, he turned into a black dragon with bright green eyes and flew away.

Later on, after terrorizing several villages for his own amusement, he was shot to death by attack helicopters.

And that, Albus Dumbledore sighed, was what tended to happen when small children with really good control over their magic had a Gryffindorish urge to prove themselves to the world, and think ridiculously random things.

Oh, well. At least it was easy to Obliviate the Muggles.

Thank you for reading my painful attempt at a crack fic. I hope it was at least somewhat enjoyable.