chapter 5
The morning light filtered through the small, grimy window of Harry's cupboard as he lay half-awake, his mind buzzing with the same excitement and unease that had settled over him ever since he'd begun feeling the faint stirrings of his magic. The past few days had been a strange mix of quiet power and simmering tension, especially with Petunia. Their secret trysts had grown more reckless, more depraved, with Harry exerting his control over her in ways that left him exhilarated and craving more. But today, there was something new—a letter, thick and official-looking, that had found its way into the pile of morning mail.
Harry stepped into the kitchen, catching sight of Dudley greedily rifling through the letters. Vernon was at the table, grumbling over his breakfast, while Petunia moved about the kitchen, her eyes flicking to Harry with that familiar mix of longing and shame. Dudley's pudgy fingers finally settled on the thick envelope, his face twisting in confusion as he read the strange, emerald-green ink. "Hey, Dad!" he called out, holding the letter up. "This one's for Harry!"
Vernon's head snapped up, his beady eyes narrowing as he snatched the letter from Dudley's hands. He took one look at the address—"Mr. H. Potter, The Cupboard under the Stairs"—and his face turned a deep shade of purple. "What is this?" Vernon barked, tearing the envelope open, his eyes scanning the letter inside. As he read, his expression twisted from confusion to rage.
"Magic," Vernon muttered under his breath, glaring at Harry with a mix of anger and fear. "This is all about magic!" He crumpled the letter in his meaty fist, ripping it cleanly in half. "You'll have none of this freak nonsense in my house!" he roared, tossing the torn pieces into the trash.
Harry, keeping his face carefully neutral, feigned ignorance. "What's magic? I don't understand," he said, putting on his best innocent act. Vernon eyed him suspiciously, but Harry's calm demeanor threw him off, and he grumbled something unintelligible as he stormed out of the kitchen.
The days continued in a tense, surreal blur. Letters kept arriving, no matter what Vernon did to stop them. Each morning brought a new flood of envelopes—stuffed into the mailbox, shoved under the door, even fluttering down the chimney. Harry's act never wavered; he played the bewildered boy, pretending not to know what was happening, all while reveling in the chaos and the control he was beginning to feel over his magic and his twisted grip on Petunia.
In between Vernon's outbursts and Dudley's whining, Harry and Petunia continued their secret liaisons, hidden in the quiet corners of the house. Petunia had given in completely, a willing participant in whatever Harry demanded of her. He relished the power he held, using his magic to amplify her shame and desire, pushing her further into depravity. Each encounter was a mix of lust and humiliation, with Harry finding new ways to debase her, each tryst more reckless than the last.
But Vernon's patience was wearing thin. The final straw came when the house was flooded with letters—envelopes pouring in from every crack and crevice, filling the living room and kitchen with a sea of swirling paper. Vernon snapped, his face twisted in fury as he grabbed his family and ordered them into the car. They drove for hours, Vernon's knuckles white on the steering wheel, his anger simmering as he muttered threats and curses under his breath. Finally, they ended up at a desolate lighthouse, miles away from any town, the waves crashing violently against the rocks below.
The lighthouse was cold and damp, with a single, threadbare couch in the main room and a small, barely warm bedroom where Vernon, Dudley, and Petunia claimed the bed. Harry was left to sleep on the hard, uncomfortable couch outside, the chill seeping into his bones. He lay there, half-awake, his thoughts drifting between his growing magic and the twisted relationship with Petunia that was becoming more addictive with each passing day.
The lighthouse was cold and drafty, with the wind howling outside and the sound of waves crashing against the rocks echoing through the thin walls. Harry lay on the rough, threadbare couch in the small, dimly lit room, his thoughts racing as he stared up at the ceiling. Vernon, Dudley, and Petunia were huddled together in the slightly warmer bedroom, having claimed the only comfortable space for themselves, leaving Harry to shiver on the old couch with only a thin blanket for warmth.
But Harry didn't mind. He was lost in his own thoughts—about the magic that was starting to simmer within him, about the letter that Vernon had torn up, and, most tantalizingly, about Petunia. Every touch, every stolen moment between them had been pushing boundaries, her prim and proper exterior crumbling each time she let him in. He was getting under her skin, and Harry was beginning to enjoy the thrill of it all.
The door to the bedroom creaked open, and Petunia stepped out, wrapped in a flimsy blanket that did little to protect her from the chill. Her eyes darted nervously around, making sure Vernon and Dudley were still sound asleep before she padded over to the couch. Harry watched her approach, his heart quickening, knowing she wasn't just here to check on him. There was a familiar hunger in her eyes, a look he'd seen every time she'd given in to him, and tonight was no different.
Petunia hesitated for a moment, then sat down beside Harry, her body pressing against his for warmth. Harry's gaze swept over her, taking in the way her nightgown clung to her, the faint outline of her breasts, the soft curve of her waist. She shivered, more from anticipation than from the cold, and Harry wasted no time, his hand slipping under the thin fabric of her blanket, finding her thigh and squeezing gently.
"What are you doing out here?" Harry asked, his voice low and teasing as his hand traveled upward, exploring her body with deliberate slowness. Petunia bit her lip, her breath catching as his fingers brushed over her bare skin.
"It's… it's the letters," Petunia whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "They're about Hogwarts, the school where… where Lily went." Harry listened, but his focus was on her—on the way her body reacted to his touch, on the faint tremble in her voice as she tried to explain. His hand slid higher, slipping under her nightgown, exploring the smooth expanse of her stomach before cupping her breast. Petunia gasped, arching into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut.
Harry leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear. "Hogwarts?" he murmured, his fingers teasing her nipple through the thin fabric. "I don't know anything about that. All I know is… I've got magic, and I'm learning to use it." His hand moved with more confidence, squeezing and kneading, his touch rougher, more insistent. Petunia's breath hitched, her body instinctively leaning into him.
"It's dangerous," she breathed, her voice shaky. "It's where Lily learned all that… all that magic. And it got her killed." Petunia's words were bitter, but Harry could feel the undercurrent of fear and jealousy that ran beneath them. He wanted to push her further, to see just how far she would let him go.
Without warning, Harry shifted, his lips brushing down her neck, his mouth trailing soft, wet kisses along her skin. Petunia shivered, her hand clenching the blanket tighter around her as Harry's mouth moved lower. He pushed the fabric of her nightgown aside, exposing her armpit, and without hesitation, he buried his face against the warm, slightly damp skin.
Petunia gasped, her eyes snapping open as Harry's tongue flicked against her sensitive flesh, licking and exploring with a rough, eager touch. She squirmed, caught off guard by the sudden, intimate attention, but Harry held her firm, his mouth working against her armpit, tasting the salt of her skin. He licked and sucked, his tongue trailing over every inch, exploring the soft, hidden spot with an almost feral need.
"Harry… oh…" Petunia's voice was a broken whisper, her body tensing as Harry licked her, his mouth hot and relentless. She had never been touched like this, never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. Harry's hands roamed her body, gripping her thigh, squeezing her waist, his touch rough and possessive. He nipped at her, his teeth grazing her skin, drawing a soft, breathless whimper from her lips.
Petunia's hand found its way into Harry's hair, fingers tangling as she clung to him, her body quivering under his assault. She could feel the heat of his breath, the slick drag of his tongue, and it made her head spin. Harry's hand slipped back down, finding the hem of her nightgown and pushing it up, his fingers teasing the wet heat between her legs. Petunia's thighs parted instinctively, her breath hitching as Harry's touch became more insistent.
"Do you like that?" Harry growled against her skin, his voice muffled as he continued to explore her armpit with his mouth. Petunia nodded, her head falling back as she tried to stifle the moans that bubbled up in her throat. Harry's other hand cupped her breast, squeezing roughly as his mouth continued its assault, licking and sucking with an almost vicious intensity.
Petunia's breath came in short, sharp gasps, her hips rocking against Harry's hand as he worked her over. She was lost in the sensation, the heat, the desperate need to feel something—anything—that could drown out the confusion and shame that had been building inside her. Harry's touch was everywhere, rough and demanding, and Petunia could feel herself unraveling.
"I… I shouldn't…" Petunia gasped, but there was no conviction in her voice, only the breathless, helpless need that Harry was dragging out of her. She grabbed his wrist, trying to slow him, but Harry just grinned, pushing her back against the couch as he moved his hand faster, fingers slipping inside her with a wet, obscene noise that made her shudder.
"Don't pretend you don't want this," Harry taunted, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction as he watched Petunia writhe under him. "I know you've been craving it. You're desperate for it." He thrust his fingers deeper, twisting them inside her, and Petunia's breath hitched, her body arching off the couch.
She grabbed at him, her hands shaking as she tried to keep herself quiet, her face flushing with the mix of pleasure and shame that had become all too familiar. Harry's mouth moved back to her armpit, licking and tasting, and Petunia couldn't hold back any longer. She came suddenly, her body convulsing, her moans muffled against Harry's shoulder as she clung to him.
Petunia's breath was ragged, her body trembling as she rode out the waves of her climax, her fingers digging into Harry's shoulders. Harry pulled back slightly, his mouth still teasing her skin, and Petunia shivered, the heat of the moment lingering between them.
But before they could sink any deeper into their reckless embrace, a loud knock echoed through the lighthouse, the sudden noise shattering the stillness. Petunia jumped, scrambling to adjust her nightgown, her heart racing as she tried to compose herself. The door to the bedroom flew open, and Vernon stumbled out, his face contorted with fury and suspicion. He grabbed his shotgun, his eyes wild as he marched toward the door, Petunia quickly slipping into her role as if she had been startled awake.
"What the hell is going on?" Vernon snarled, glaring at Harry and Petunia, but his attention quickly shifted to the door as the knocking grew louder. He raised the shotgun, his hands trembling with a mix of anger and fear. Petunia backed away, her expression carefully composed, pretending as though she had come out only after hearing the noise.
The door burst open, revealing Hagrid's enormous silhouette framed by the stormy night. The half-giant ducked inside, his massive form taking up most of the space. Vernon fired a shot, but Hagrid barely flinched, swatting the gun aside as if it were a toy. He turned to Harry, his eyes softening as he took in the boy he had been sent to find.
"You're a wizard, Harry," Hagrid said, his voice booming in the cramped room. He handed Harry the letter, the official Hogwarts seal glinting in the dim light. Harry stared at the crumpled envelope in his hands, his mind racing with the reality of what he was—what he had always been meant to be.
And in that moment, Harry knew his life was about to change forever. The magic, the power, the dark allure of control—everything was coming together, and Harry couldn't wait to see just how far he could take it.