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Not for the first time, Harry Potter lay awake in the dark, engulfed in darkness. A storm raged outside, the wind screaming its eerie tune and the rain falling mercilessly outside his room. Well, it wasn't a room per se, as Harry lived in a cupboard under the stairs. There was nothing extraordinary about him, except that his parents had died in a car crash when he was an infant, and he was living with his uncaring uncle, aunt and cousin. Other than that, he was just another ordinary boy.
At least, that was what he had been told.
Recently, more and more unusual things had been happening that made the boy think he was, as his guardians called it, abnormal.
He sighed, dusted off the paint powder in his hair (Dudley had stomped on the stairs above, causing a racket and paint to dislodge) and walked over to his wardrobe. Next to it, he took out a loose nail and scraped in another tally mark to his ever-growing list. This time, he had been locked in his cupboard for accidentally vanishing the glass at the zoo in the boa constrictor exhibit. He was still confused about the whole ordeal, but that didn't stop Vernon from turning purple and locking him in his cupboard. To say he was livid would be an understatement, as he could still hear yelling and things breaking hours later.
But not anymore.
The sky had suddenly fallen silent, as Harry got up from his mattress and paced around the cramped space.
It was at times like these that Harry caught a breath of something he had never known.
His parents.
His family.
Love.
Delicate, like the scent of lavender on a breeze, barely there yet so tangible, Harry could almost hear their voices, even though he had never remembered hearing them before.
And then it was gone, as Harry resumed his pacing and started to think.
How many times had he been locked in here over the past year, over things he had no control over? How was he supposed to know what he was doing? What had he done to make his guardians hate him in such a way?
Well, he thought to himself, just think. Are you even normal? That time where Aunt Petunia cut off all your hair except your fringe, and it grew back overnight. That's not normal. That day when you were running away from Dudley and his gang, and ended up on the roof. How is that normal? And yesterday, where you made the glass disappear. Normal is not a suitable word to describe you, my friend, he sighed as he sat down.
And what of those nightmares? Those sickeningly recurring nightmares, with a chilling, high, pitched laugh, a flash of green light, a pain in your scar? Far from normal.
He slowly opened the door, the awful chorus resuming and masking the sound, as Harry tiptoed down the corridor to use the bathroom and sneak some food back into his cupboard. A brief flash of lightning lit up a silhouette outside his window. He froze, cautiously peering through the curtains where he could have sworn he saw a woman wearing forest green robes and a crooked hat, but the only thing that was prowling outside seemed to be a stray tabby cat with square markings around its eyes, and an owl perched on a lampost.
He shook his head. Lack of sleep, he reasoned. I'm seeing things.
Harry Potter was far from normal, and the fact that he lived in a cupboard under the stairs was only part of it.
