Content Warning: Explicit child abuse

Early the next morning, two green eyes opened slowly in the darkness under the stairs. With a jolt, Harry sat up. Something was off. What is it? Why does something feel… different? Suddenly it hit him. The pain… it's gone! For almost as long as he could remember, Harry had rarely been entirely free from pain. He was often either recovering from a recent injury, or dealing with aches and pains from old ones. Right now, he felt none. Stretching, he explored his new mobility with growing confidence, as much as he could in the cramped quarters.

An hour or so later, the sounds of a pair of whales tumbling down the staircase startled him from his thoughts. With a bang, the cupboard door slammed open and Vernon Dursley peered in.

"Boy! Get to cooking. Me and Dudders have a big day ahead of us so we need a full breakfast. Petunia will give you your chores when you're finished."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon. I'll get right on it," replied Harry. Walking to the stove, he pulled out a dozen eggs and a pound of sausage, the standard breakfast for the two elephants seated at the kitchen table. He cracked the eggs into a pan and dumped the sausage into another, then flipped the burners on.

"Hey, freak, get me some chocolate milk while you're at it, too," Dudley shouted.

Harry rushed out a minute later with the milk and set it on the table. He walked back to the kitchen, but began to panic at the smell of smoke. The sausage! He ran to the stove and shoved the pan off the burner, but overextended in the process. Falling forward, he threw out his hand to the only available surface: the stovetop. Harry winced and slammed his eyes closed in anticipation.

Several seconds later, without the sensation of either falling to the floor or of burning flesh, Harry cautiously opened his eyes. To his shock, his hand was supporting him on the clearly red hot burner, but he felt nothing beyond an uncomfortable warmth. He took his hand off the burner and looked at his palm. It was a bit red, but the skin was undamaged. Even as he watched, he saw green sparks flutter over his palm and return it to its normal color.

"That better not be smoke I'm smelling…" Vernon said as he walked into the kitchen, only to see Harry standing near the stove staring at his hand. "You had one job to do this morning, boy, and you couldn't even get it right!" he yelled, stomping forward and grabbing the hand that Harry was inspecting. "I'll teach you to disrespect us!" He slammed the boys hand down onto the burning stove, and braced his ears for the inevitable screaming.

It never came. Vernon looked at the boy in front of him, who was simply looking at the stove in fascination. Horror filled Vernon as he realized what was happening before his own eyes. Magic! Vernon had never seen such an overt display before, only having seen the boy grow hair overnight or somehow heal debilitating injuries overnight. This… this is unnatural, he thought. This can't be allowed to remain in my house. I need to do something! The huge man shoved the child across the kitchen away from him. He stumbled and fell, and a dull thunk sounded as his head struck the faux granite countertop.

Vernon paused for a moment. While he may hate the boy, murder was something he wasn't comfortable with, mainly due to how difficult it was to hide from the authorities. However, before he could even begin to plan his next move, the boy stood up with no difficulty.

Harry was confused. First, his uncle had forced his hand on the burning stove, and he had felt almost nothing. Then his head had been smashed against a stone counter, and while he had felt a small amount of pain upon contact, there was no throbbing or lasting headache. Despite this, though, his uncle's actions could easily have killed him. He glared up at his uncle with hatred in his eyes. Vernon recoiled briefly, then gathered up his meager courage. Grabbing Harry's arm again, he dragged him towards his cupboard. "You'll be lucky if you get out of there in the next week!" Vernon locked the cupboard and turned back to the kitchen. "Let's go Dudley, looks like we'll be picking up breakfast on the way."

Two days later, Harry was still stuck in his cupboard, and had only two trips to the loo in that time. However, while these stints in his own personal prison used to be some of the worst experiences of his life, not to mention monotonous, he had something else to focus on this time.

He had seen the green sparks on his hand. In the past, he thought he had seen green lights out of the corners of his eyes, but chalked it up to his bad eyesight. This time, it was different. He had not been exhausted, concussed, or without his glasses. He could only make one guess as to what it was, even if the Dursleys had tried to disabuse him of any notion of it: magic. He didn't know how it was possible, but it was the only explanation. It also explained the fear he had observed in Vernon after he had been unharmed by the burning stove.

Come on, you've done it before, Harry urged himself. The last two days, Harry had been experimenting. At first, he would just lightly scratch himself with a fingernail, just enough to leave a mark but not to bleed. He was astonished to observed green light healing each mark almost as fast as they were made. Moving on, he tried lancing his finger with a safety pin, drawing the smallest amount of blood. Each time, a green pinprick of light would shine from the cut, and it would be gone almost immediately. Having established that he had some sort of unnatural power, he turned to trying to focus it intentionally. Now, Harry was attempting to levitate a clump of lint from one of his pockets. So far, he was having no success.

With frustration, he pointed at the lint once again, nearly shaking with the intensity of his concentration. Once again, there was no effect. In annoyance, he slammed his hand into the wall of his cupboard. At least, he tried to.

His hand went straight through the drywall, meeting almost no resistance. Harry stared in shock. The edges of the hole next to him were slightly charred, as if a red hot poker from a fireplace had pierced the wall instead of a hand. He slowly removed his hand from the hole and inspected it. There was a bit of dust covering it, but it was completely unharmed. Touching it with his other hand, he found it was slightly warm to the touch. He had done it! This had to be magic.

Knowing now that he could do this, Harry focused on his hand, imagining it sitting in a raging fire and absorbing the heat. To his shock and glee, he could see a light green glow emanating from his hand. Placing his palm lightly against the bottom of the staircase above him, he heard a light hissing. He removed his hand and saw a blackened palm print in the wood.

Harry grinned. He could use magic.