The days following his encounter with the snake felt heavier than usual. The air in the house seemed thicker, charged with something Harry couldn't explain. It wasn't just the tension between him and the Dursleys—though that, too, had reached a breaking point. It was something deeper, a shift inside him that he couldn't quite grasp.
Harry had spent hours in the garden after the snake had gone, his mind swirling with questions. What had it meant by "what lies beneath"? What power was it talking about? And why, for the first time in his life, did he feel like the walls of his world were closing in on him?
That night, as he lay on the floor of the cupboard, the darkness felt more oppressive than ever. The usual sounds of the house—the creaking of the floorboards, the hum of the refrigerator—were muffled, as though the house was holding its breath. He hadn't told anyone about the snake, not even the Dark Guild, which was strange. It wasn't like he feared them—he had learned how to navigate their silent, shadowed world over the years. But this felt different, like something primal stirring in his blood, something he wasn't ready to acknowledge yet.
Sleep didn't come easy, as it never did in the cupboard. The nightmares returned—vivid, raw images of a dark forest, of strange faces, of shadows that whispered his name. But now, the shadows had more substance. He could feel them, thick and suffocating, curling around him like a noose. When he woke, his chest would be tight, his breath short, as if he had run a great distance, though he'd never left the cupboard.
It was after one particularly unsettling dream that he heard it again—the soft hiss of the snake's voice. Not in his mind, like before, but outside the cupboard door, faint and almost inaudible.
"You will never be alone," it whispered, its voice like velvet over the sharp edge of his fear. "You carry what cannot be uncarried. It will find you, boy. There is no escaping it now."
Harry sat up with a start, his heart pounding in his ears. The cupboard door creaked, but nothing else moved. He strained his ears, listening for any sign of the snake, but all he could hear was the silence of the house.
He had never felt more alone in his life.
The next morning, the tension at Privet Drive reached a new high. Dudley, now ten, had grown more aggressive. Harry could feel the hostility in every glance Dudley shot his way, the way he subtly nudged Harry out of the way when they passed in the hallway. It wasn't just physical anymore; it was in the way Dudley moved, in the way he seemed to own the space around him.
Vernon and Petunia weren't any better. Petunia's smiles were as tight as her curls, and Vernon's attempts at friendly conversation seemed forced, as though they were all playing a part in a charade they could barely keep up.
Harry knew they were afraid of him. But now, he could feel something else, something darker stirring in him. The feeling wasn't just in his dreams or in the odd occurrences around him—it was in his very blood. And it was pushing him toward something he couldn't control.
At breakfast, he felt the pressure building, the oppressive weight of his own thoughts pressing on him like a stone on his chest. Dudley had thrown a tantrum about not getting the last piece of toast, and as usual, Harry was left to clean up the mess. But this time, something snapped.
As Dudley shrieked, his face red and blotchy, Harry stood up abruptly, his hands trembling.
"Shut up, Dudley!" he shouted, his voice hoarse with a surge of emotion he didn't understand.
For a moment, the room fell silent. The sound of the clock ticking, the hum of the refrigerator—everything stopped. Harry didn't know what had happened, but when he looked around, he saw the kitchen light flickering wildly overhead. It wasn't just a blink or a flash. The entire room seemed to tremble, as if it was holding its breath.
Dudley froze, his face a mask of fear, and Harry suddenly realized that the room felt charged, like a storm was about to break. The air was thick with static, the tension palpable.
"Dudley?" Petunia's voice was unnervingly small as she reached out, trying to steady her son, her face pale. "What's wrong with you?"
But Harry didn't know. He didn't do anything. Not consciously. The storm inside him felt like it was raging out of control, and he couldn't stop it.
The lights dimmed, flickered again, and then the tension snapped. The normal hum of the house returned, but Harry felt something in the pit of his stomach—a gnawing certainty that the world was changing around him.
The Dursleys didn't speak for the rest of the meal, and Harry quickly finished what little food they'd given him, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the kitchen
Later that afternoon, as Harry was walking through the garden, trying to escape the claustrophobic feeling that the house seemed to give him, he heard a voice again. Not the snake's voice this time, but something older, colder.
"You can feel it, can't you?" the voice whispered, echoing in the back of his mind. "The power. The pull. It is your birthright. You are the one who was chosen. And you will not be denied."
Harry spun around, heart pounding. There was no one there. No snake, no shadow, no whispering figure in the corner of his vision. Just the wind rustling through the garden, the sky stretching endlessly above him.
But the voice lingered, clinging to him like a cold wind, wrapping around him like chains. He could feel its presence, faint but undeniable, pulling him toward something. A destiny. A purpose.
He didn't know what it meant. But for the first time in his life, Harry felt like he was on the edge of something vast. Something dark. And he couldn't stop it.