The wind howled over Privet Drive, rattling windows and tugging insistently at the neatly trimmed hedges lining the street. Most of the houses stood stoic in the face of the late autumn weather, their curtains drawn tight and their occupants blissfully unaware of the storm brewing—not in the sky, but in a cupboard under the stairs of Number Four.

Eleven-year-old Harry Potter sat cross-legged on the thin, threadbare mattress of his tiny cupboard, idly spinning a broken plastic soldier between his fingers. The soldier's head had long since snapped off, but Harry found the motion soothing, like a meditation that drowned out the grumblings of his empty stomach. Overhead, the muffled voices of Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley rose and fell in a debate about dinner. Pizza, Dudley demanded. Roast beef, Vernon countered. Harry had stopped caring what they ate when it became clear he'd be lucky to get a crust of bread.

It wasn't the hunger gnawing at him today, though. It was the feeling.

It started yesterday. A thrumming in his chest, faint at first, like the purring of a distant engine. Today, it had grown into a pulsing warmth that surged whenever he was angry, or scared, or even just… restless. Which, in this house, he often was.

"Boy!" Uncle Vernon's bark cut through Harry's thoughts like a whip.

Harry scrambled to his feet, bumping his head against the low ceiling. "Coming!" he called, shoving the soldier into his oversized jeans pocket.

He pushed open the cupboard door, squinting as the brighter light of the hallway assaulted his eyes. Uncle Vernon stood there, his meaty hands planted on his hips, his walrus mustache twitching in irritation.

"You've been in there all day! Get outside and do something useful before you stink up the house."

Harry bit back the sarcastic comment on the tip of his tongue. "Yes, Uncle Vernon," he said instead, slipping past the enormous man.

As soon as he stepped into the chilly afternoon air, he let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. The cold bit at his skin, but he didn't care. Out here, under the grey sky, he felt… freer.

Harry wandered to the garden at the back of the house, where Aunt Petunia's prized roses stood in unnervingly perfect rows. He kicked a pebble across the yard and watched it bounce against the fence.

The strange thrumming feeling surged again, stronger now, and Harry froze. His chest tightened, and for a brief moment, it felt as though something inside him wanted to burst free.

"What is wrong with me?" he muttered, clutching at his shirt.

A low growl answered him. Not from his stomach, but from the air. Harry turned sharply, his emerald eyes scanning the yard. Nothing moved. The wind had gone still. Even the distant hum of cars on Privet Drive seemed to have disappeared.

Then he heard it again.

A growl, deeper this time, coming from above.

Harry tilted his head back—and froze.

A massive black dog stood on the fence, its eyes gleaming like polished onyx. It stared down at him, unblinking, its fur bristling in the wind that Harry couldn't feel.

"Er… good dog?" Harry tried, backing up a step.

The dog leapt.

Harry's world slowed.

The pulsing warmth in his chest exploded, roaring through his veins like liquid fire. Time seemed to crawl as the dog hurtled towards him, its jaws wide and its claws outstretched. Harry didn't think—he reacted.

With a shout, he thrust out his hand, and a shockwave rippled from his palm. The air cracked like thunder as the dog was sent flying backward, slamming into the fence with a yelp.

Harry stared at his hand, chest heaving. His palm tingled, as though it had been pricked by a thousand tiny needles.

"What…" he whispered. "What was that?"

The dog scrambled to its feet, shaking itself off. It glared at Harry for a moment, then turned and bolted, vanishing into the shadows of the alley beyond the garden.

Harry's knees buckled, and he sat heavily on the grass, the warmth in his chest now a gentle hum. His mind raced.

Was this magic? He'd done strange things before—made glass disappear, turned his teacher's wig blue—but this was… different. Bigger.

And somehow, he knew this was just the beginning.