Harry Potter was seven years old, and he lived in a cupboard under the stairs.
Sometimes, when he woke up in the darkness, Harry told himself that it was not the worst place in the world. Thinking that way made it easier to breathe and even easier to get up every morning. The cupboard was small and cramped, and it smelled of dust, old shoes, and wood that had not seen sunlight in years, but it was quiet, and quiet was something Harry valued more than comfort.
Harry lived with his aunt Petunia, his uncle Vernon, and his cousin Dudley, who was the same age as him but somehow felt much older in every way that mattered. The Dursleys loved normal things, believed in normal rules, and cared deeply about normal appearances, and Harry was none of those things.
Uncle Vernon was loud, large, and quick to anger, especially when anything strange happened near him. Aunt Petunia was sharp and distant, and she had perfected the skill of pretending Harry did not exist unless she needed a chore done. Dudley was spoiled, proud of it, and frighteningly creative when it came to making Harry's life miserable.
To Dudley, Harry was not a cousin.
He was a freak.
School was supposed to be better than home, but for Harry, it was mostly the same, just louder and with more people watching.
Harry liked lessons because they made sense, and he liked books because they stayed still and never changed their minds. Numbers behaved properly, and words did what they were told. Break times, however, were dangerous, and corridors were worse. Dudley and his friends made sure Harry never forgot his place, pushing him, tripping him, and laughing loudly whenever he fell.
"Freak," Dudley liked to say, as if it were Harry's real name.
Harry never fought back. He had learned early that being quiet usually hurt less.
That day, however, Dudley seemed especially cheerful.
"Harry hunting today," Dudley announced during the walk home, his wide grin making Harry's stomach sink.
They chased him through the streets like it was a game, shouting and laughing, while Harry ran as fast as his thin legs could carry him. His breath burned in his chest, coming out in sharp, painful gasps as fear wrapped itself tightly around his heart. He turned corners too quickly, slipped once, and nearly fell, his vision blurring with panic.
"Please," Harry whispered as he ran, his voice shaking. "Someone help me… I just want to hide."
The world twisted.
There was a loud crack, sharp and sudden, like glass breaking.
And then Harry was no longer running.
He was standing on the roof of his school, with no idea how he had gotten there.
The wind was strong up there, tugging at his clothes, and the ground below looked frighteningly far away. For a long moment, Harry did not move at all, afraid that even the smallest step would send him falling.
People shouted below.
Someone screamed.
Sirens wailed.
Fire engines arrived, bright red and loud, and firefighters gathered underneath, looking up at the small boy on the roof with concern instead of anger.
"Hey there, kid," one of them called gently through a megaphone. "Don't move. We're going to get you down safely."
Harry looked at them, his heart pounding hard in his chest, but something warm spread through him, something he rarely felt.
They had come to help him.
They were not shouting.
They were not laughing.
"Are you… heroes?" Harry asked softly, his voice nearly lost to the wind.
The firefighter smiled up at him. "Yeah," he said. "You could say that."
Harry smiled back.
The rescue was successful.
It was also reported.
And that was the real problem.
Vernon Dursley lowered his phone slowly, his face growing redder with every second as the school principal's words replayed in his head. His nephew, appearing on a school roof with no explanation. Firefighters. Police. Questions.
"Freakishness," Vernon snarled. "I knew it."
When Harry was dragged home later that night, Vernon did not shout at first, which somehow made it worse.
"You showed them," Vernon said quietly, his voice shaking with rage. "You showed the world your freakishness."
Harry tried to explain that he did not know how it happened, that he had been scared, that he never meant to do anything strange, but Vernon was not listening.
The beating was fast and furious, driven by fear and hatred, and when it was over, Vernon threw Harry into the cupboard under the stairs and slammed the door shut.
"No more freakishness," Vernon growled. "Ever."
Harry lay curled on the cold floor, his body aching, his breathing shallow and uneven, blood and tears mixing as they ran down his face.
"I'm sorry," he sobbed weakly. "Please… help… Mama… I want the pain to go away."
The darkness closed in.
His heart stopped.
Harry stood somewhere warm and quiet, surrounded by soft light that felt like safety itself.
A woman with red hair and kind green eyes knelt in front of him, smiling gently.
"Hello, Harry, my brave boy," she said.
Harry knew her instantly.
"Mum?" he whispered.
"Mum!" he cried again, certainty filling his chest as she pulled him into a hug.
Harry had never been held like that before. He sobbed into her shoulder, pouring out all his pain, his fear, and his loneliness without needing words.
Lily Potter rested a hand over his heart. "I know, my brave baby," she said softly. "I've been watching you. Everything will be alright now. You are stronger than you know, and you are not alone."
Harry looked up at her with trembling hope. "Am I going to be okay?"
"Yes," she said without hesitation. "But you need to be brave. I wish I could stay, but you must wake up now. When you do, call for Toby loudly."
"Who's Toby?" Harry asked.
"He's a house-elf," Lily said with a gentle smile. "Never mind that. He's a hero, Harry. That's all you need to know. Remember—call Toby, and do not give up."
"Call Toby. Do not give up," Harry repeated.
The light faded.
What Lily did not know was that Harry was not only hurt in body, but also under attack in soul, as a dark parasitic presence tried to devour something precious inside him.
Elsewhere, a mistake in the R.O.B department had already set a solution in motion.
Harry gasped as his heart began to beat again.
Inside his soul space, he saw it clearly now—a dark, evil mass pressing against a white light shaped like a human.
The white light was losing.
Harry clenched his fists.
"Don't give up," he whispered, repeating his mother's words to the fading figure.
Because that had to be the hero she promised.