Harry stumbled along, his short legs unable to match Uncle Vernon's heavy, plodding steps. Aunt Petunia marched ahead, Dudley's hand locked in hers as he whined for ice cream. As usual, Harry was forgotten, a shadow trailing behind. Occasionally, Dudley would shove him or Aunt Petunia would snap at him for falling behind.

But today was different.

Out of nowhere, an old man materialized in their path. Harry blinked—he was certain the man hadn't been there a second ago. Tall and imposing, with deep wrinkles etched across his face, the stranger's piercing blue eyes seemed to shimmer, cutting through the mundane scene like a knife through fog. The stranger's gaze locked onto Harry, ignoring the Dursleys entirely.

"Ah, Harry Potter," he said with a slight accent, his voice low and resonant.

Harry felt momentarily disoriented, rarely hearing himself addressed properly. More often it was boy, or worse, freak. He wondered how the man knew his name but knew better than to speak up.

Before he could respond, Uncle Vernon lumbered forward, puffing out his chest. "Now listen here, we're not buying anything—"

The stranger didn't even glance at him. His sneer barely masked contempt. "I wasn't speaking to you, muggle," he spat, his cold, precise enunciation bolstering the harshness of the words.

Muggle? Harry almost giggled despite the tension in the air. That's a silly word.

Uncle Vernon's face drained of color, his bluster faltering. "What did you say to me?"

The old man's eyes flicked to Vernon, his tone now frigid. "Mind your tongue, if you want to keep it."

Vernon's mouth clamped shut, his hand jerking up to cover it. The angry puce drained from his face, leaving it pale and sallow. The man turned back to Harry, as though Vernon hadn't been worth the momentary distraction.

"I've been watching you, Harry. You're not like them." He waved a dismissive hand at the Dursleys, his tone dripping disdain.

Harry glanced at Vernon and concluded it was safe to speak now. "What do you mean? I'm just me."

Thin lips curled into a faint smile, something sharp glinting behind the stranger's eyes. "Oh, you're much more than that. You're special, Harry, like me. We possess something they'll never understand."

Harry stared, wide-eyed. "What do I have?"

"Magic."

The word hung in the air, foreign and strange. Magic? Harry's mind spun. He glanced at the Dursleys. Aunt Petunia looked like she might faint, while Uncle Vernon was frozen, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"Magic?" Harry repeated softly, incredulous.

The man crouched to Harry's level, his eyes intense, voice soft. "Yes, magic. You're a wizard, Harry. That's why you're different."

Harry's heart raced. "A wizard? But… I don't know any magic. I'm just Harry."

A hint of a smile, sharp as glass, fleeting. "That's because they've kept it from you. The muggles. They fear what they can never possess."

"Muggles?" he asked. That word again.

Bushy silvery eyebrows drew together like storm clouds. "Ordinary people, like your aunt and uncle. Those without magic."

Harry looked at Vernon, his face still pale. None of this made sense—magic? Wizards? He felt like he was trapped in a dream.

"They've treated you like this because they know," the stranger continued, his voice steady, pulling Harry's thoughts back. "They know you're special, and it terrifies them."

A flicker of something stirred in Harry—a connection to every time the Dursleys had treated him like an outsider. Was that why? Was it because… he had magic?

"But… what does that mean?" Harry's voice trembled. "I don't know anything about magic."

The piercing blue gaze softened, if only slightly. "That's why I'm here. To help you. Teach you. I can take you away from these muggles."

"Away from the Dursleys?" Harry resisted the urge to pinch himself, but he'd woken from this dream too many times.

The man nodded. "Yes. You belong in a world where people like us—wizards—can be who they truly are."

Harry looked down, uncertainty gnawing at him. It was all too sudden, too strange. But the thought of leaving the Dursleys behind, of escaping that cupboard, tugged at him.

"I… I don't even know who you are," he whispered.

The man—no, wizard—straightened, towering over Harry once more. "Ah yes, introductions. How rude of me." He extended his hand, lips thinning in a cold smile. "My name is Gellert. Gellert Grindelwald."

Harry stared at the offered hand. The name meant nothing to him, but a feeling of danger clung to the man. Yet, there was something powerful about him, something that made Harry's curiosity burn brighter than his fear.

Grindelwald's voice softened again, coaxing. "You don't have to be afraid. I'm here to help you. To show you what you can become."

The temptation was too much. Slowly, hesitantly, Harry reached out and took the man's hand.

Grindelwald's smile widened, a gleam of triumph flashing in his eyes. "Good. Now, hold on tight."

Before Harry could react, the world around him twisted, the familiar street vanishing as they were swept into a place far beyond anything Harry had ever known.

The air here was crisp, a sharp contrast to the sticky heat of the city. Harry clung to Grindelwald's hand, blinking as they stood on the edge of a cliff. The countryside stretched out endlessly before them, a canvas of green and gold bathed in the fading light of the setting sun. The wind whipped around them, and Harry shivered, more from the sheer strangeness than the cold.

Grindelwald let go of his hand, stepping forward, his cloak billowing like shadows in the breeze. He turned back to Harry, a faint smile curling his lips. "This is where it begins, Harry. Where you'll start to understand who you truly are."

Harry shuffled his feet, eyes wide as he took in the emptiness around them. "Where are we?"

"A place where you're free," Grindelwald replied, his voice quiet but firm. "Far from the muggles and their small, limited world."

"Muggles," Harry repeated, "like my aunt and uncle?"

Grindelwald's expression hardened. "Yes, and good riddance. It goes against the proper order of things for a wizard to be raised by muggles."

Harry looked down at his shoes, still struggling to process it all. Magic. Wizards. This man seemed so certain. Could it really be true? Could he really be different because of magic?

"Is that why they hate me?" he asked quietly.

Grindelwald's eyes gleamed. "Exactly. They despise you because they know, deep down, you're more than they could ever be. You have power, Harry. And that terrifies them."

"But… I don't feel powerful," Harry muttered. "I don't even know how to do magic."

Grindelwald's smile grew sharper. "You've done it without realizing. Those odd things that happen when you're upset or scared—that's your magic, Harry. It's inside you, waiting to be unlocked."

Harry recalled some of the strange events from his past. His hair growing back overnight, or Aunt Petunia's vase that he'd knocked down and broken suddenly back on the shelf, good as new. Could that have been… magic?

"But why me?" Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Grindelwald stepped closer, his eyes burning with intensity. "Because you survived something no other wizard could. That has marked you as one of great potential."

Harry's blood ran cold. "Survived? Marked? What do you mean?"

A shadow crossed Grindelwald's face. "The muggles lied to you. About your parents. About who you really are." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Your parents didn't die in a car crash. They were murdered. By a dark wizard named Voldemort. You survived, and your forehead bears the mark."

Harry's stomach twisted. "Murdered?" The word felt vile in his mouth.

Grindelwald's voice grew sharper. "Voldemort came for you as a baby. He killed your parents then tried to kill you, but somehow, you survived. That's why you're special, Harry. That's why your magic is strong."

The ground seemed to fall away beneath Harry's feet. His parents had been murdered? A wizard had tried to kill him? It was too much.

"Why would he try to kill me?" Harry asked, his voice trembling.

"Because even then, you were a threat to him," Grindelwald said softly. "He feared what you could become."

Harry stared at the man, his mind swirling. Could this really be true? Could he really have magic, power that someone feared? It seemed impossible. But the way Grindelwald spoke, with such authority… there was something in his words that rang true.

Grindelwald placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Come with me, Harry. Let me teach you. Together, we can make sure no one ever controls you again."

Harry swallowed hard, uncertainty gnawing at him. But the thought of being free, of never being powerless again, was too tempting. Slowly, he nodded.

"Okay... I want to learn."

Grindelwald's smile returned, triumphant. "Excellent. Do try to keep up," and spun on a heel, heading away from the cliff's edge toward the treeline of a forest a short distance ahead.

The wilderness around them was quiet, save for the distant sound of wind rustling through the trees. Harry followed Grindelwald, his small legs working to keep up with the older man's confident strides. They had been walking for some time, but Harry wasn't sure how long. His head was still spinning from everything Grindelwald had told him—about magic, about his parents, about Voldemort. It was too much for a six-year-old to take in all at once.

Grindelwald, however, seemed in no rush. He walked with a purpose, but not urgently. Every now and then, he would glance back at Harry, as if gauging the boy's reactions. After a long silence, he spoke again, his voice calm, almost instructive.

"You're beginning to understand now, aren't you, Harry? The world is not as simple as the muggles would have you believe."

Harry looked up at him, still uncertain. "I guess… but I don't really understand everything. You said wizards are better than muggles, but… why?"

Grindelwald nodded, as if pleased with the question. "It's not just about being 'better,' Harry. It's about power. And power is not something that everyone possesses equally. Think of it as a natural order. Just as animals are ruled by their instincts, muggles are ruled by their limitations. They rely on technology—machines, tools—to make up for what they lack. In that way, they are above animals. But they are still bound by the same basic needs. Food, shelter, money."

Harry furrowed his brow. "But… don't wizards need those things too? Like money?"

Grindelwald smiled, though there was a trace of pity in it. "Common wizards, yes. They still live in a way that binds them to the world of muggles. They have jobs, they earn wages, they concern themselves with things like gold and possessions. They don't realize that their magic gives them the power to be free of all that."

He stopped walking and turned to Harry, his gaze intense. "Take this meal, for example. A common wizard knows you can't conjure food, so he or she will go to a market to buy food, but a great wizard—one who truly understands the power of magic—knows that the world around him provides everything he needs. Nature itself bends to our will. We do not need gold or silver when we can shape the very land to serve us."

Harry listened, his eyes darting between Grindelwald and the meal. "So… great wizards don't need to work?"

Grindelwald chuckled softly. "Exactly. Why would we, when we have the power to make anything we want? We control our world, Harry. Not the other way around."

Harry looked down at his ragged clothes, the hand-me-downs that had once belonged to Dudley. They were too big for him, and the shoes pinched his feet and holes had worn through the bottoms. "I guess… that sounds nice," he said quietly.

Grindelwald's smile widened, and he raised his wand. "Let me show you, Harry. You've lived like a muggle for far too long."

With a flick of his wrist, Grindelwald muttered something under his breath, and suddenly, the air around Harry shimmered. The too-big clothes he had been wearing faded away, replaced by a perfectly tailored outfit—robes of deep green, soft to the touch, and shoes that fit him perfectly. Harry gasped, staring down at himself in awe.

"How did you…?" he began, but Grindelwald interrupted him.

"Magic, Harry," he said, his tone almost teasing. "This is what it means to be a wizard. To create. To transform. To have power over the world around you."

Harry ran his hands over the new fabric, marveling at how different it felt. He had never worn anything like it. It was warm, comfortable—nothing like the itchy, ill-fitting clothes he had grown used to.

Grindelwald continued walking, gesturing for Harry to follow. "And there's more, Harry. Far more than just clothes."

As the two of them stood in the clearing, Grindelwald raised his wand again, the air around them crackling with a subtle energy. Harry watched in awe as the trees and bushes nearby seemed to stir to life. Leaves rustled, and from the undergrowth, small treasures of the forest began to appear. Berries, dark and ripe, floated gently through the air, followed by clusters of nuts and fresh greens. In the distance, a gentle hum signaled the arrival of a glistening honeycomb, trailed by a few bees. Harry imagined they were probably pretty confused.

Harry's eyes widened as he watched the scene unfold. The wild bounty gathered in front of him, arranging itself neatly onto a table that suddenly appeared at just the right moment. The berries glistened as if freshly washed, the greens looked tender and crisp, and the descending honeycomb dripped golden sweetness onto a plate that popped into existence beneath it.

"This, Harry," Grindelwald said softly, "is what it means to be a great wizard. To command the world around you, to take what nature offers and use it to its fullest. Muggles, and even most wizards, work for these things, toil for them. But we? We can simply claim them."

Harry stared at the feast before him, his stomach growling. He couldn't help but reach for the berries, popping one into his mouth. The sweet, tart flavor burst on his tongue, and for a moment, he forgot his confusion, forgot his questions. All that mattered was the food in front of him, better than anything the Dursleys had ever given him.

Grindelwald watched him closely, his expression calm but thoughtful. "You see, Harry," he continued, "muggles… they rely on their machines, their technology, to survive. They've managed to climb above animals because they've created tools to compensate for their weakness. That is why they seem to control so much of the world. But even they are still bound by their limits."

He leaned closer to Harry, his voice lowering. "But great wizards—wizards like me, and like you, Harry—we see the truth. We do not need to live by those rules. Magic is not just a tool; it is power, and power is freedom. Freedom from the small lives that others would impose on us."

Harry felt a shiver run down his spine, though he wasn't sure why. He looked down at his new clothes, at the meal in front of him, and then back up at Grindelwald. "And… I could be like you?"

Grindelwald's smile widened, a gleam in his eye. "Yes, Harry. You have the potential to be far more than you're currently equipped to imagine. You've already survived something no other wizard ever has. That event has great significance; it makes you unique. Unprecedented. Magic itself recognizes such things. And with the right guidance, you could become one of the greatest wizards this world has ever seen."

Harry bit his lip, feeling a mix of fear and excitement bubbling inside him. The idea of power, of freedom, of never having to live under the Dursleys' thumb again—it was intoxicating. But there was also a part of him that felt… unsure. He didn't understand everything yet, but the way Grindelwald talked about power, about control, made him uneasy.

Still, the thought of being free, of being more than just "the boy in the cupboard," was too tempting to ignore.

Slowly, Harry nodded. "Teach me."

Grindelwald's expression softened, almost triumphant. "Good. You've taken your first step, Harry. Soon, you'll see the world for what it truly is."

The sun dipped lower in the sky as they sat in the wilderness, Harry taking another bite of the foraged meal. He felt lighter, like he could breathe more easily. The Dursleys had been a weight on him, and the feeling of it lifting was an immense relief.

He wondered if anyone would even notice he was gone.