Discovery
Harry’s discovery of his abilities had changed everything. He was no longer just the unwanted boy in the cupboard—he was something more, something powerful. But power without knowledge was dangerous, and Harry knew he needed to understand his magic if he was to wield it properly. He had power—real power—and every moment he spent alone was now dedicated to exploring the depth of his abilities. But as the days passed, he also became aware of how magic subtly altered the way he interacted with the world.
Magic had started revealing itself in unexpected ways. There were moments where, without even trying, his will shaped reality. If he was cold, the air around him would grow warm. If he was locked in a room, doors would creak open without being touched. But rather than fear it, Harry embraced it.
The Dursleys continued to ignore him, now more out of fear than contempt. They no longer punished him as severely, and Vernon had taken to sending him out of the house for longer periods, preferring not to risk any further ‘freakishness’ under his roof. This suited Harry just fine. He used the extra time outdoors to practice, to explore, and—most importantly—to search for answers.
As he walked through the neighborhood, he saw the world differently. He noticed oddities—little things that normal people would overlook. A Ms. Figg’s cats with oddly intelligent eyes. A bookshop that seemed larger on the inside than it was on the outside. Magic, it seemed, was hidden everywhere.
Harry’s growing knowledge of magic also affected how he interacted with people. At school, he was no longer just the quiet boy that everyone ignored. Now, he listened, he observed. He noticed when someone was lying or when a teacher was about to call on him.
For the first time, he felt like he had control over his own life.
At school, he kept his abilities hidden, but his growing confidence made it easier to navigate social interactions. He even found himself testing minor charms to influence situations—a flicker of intent to make a teacher glance away when he hadn’t done his homework, a whisper of suggestion that made Dudley hesitate before shoving a smaller kid. It was never anything drastic, but it made life smoother.
One dreary afternoon, while the Dursleys were out, Harry found himself wandering the house. He had explored nearly every inch of Privet Drive over the years, but there was one place he had never dared enter: the attic.
The thought of anything magical existing in the Dursley household seemed absurd, but something in his gut told him to look. He quietly retrieved the stepladder from the cupboard and climbed up, pushing open the attic hatch with a creak.
Dust motes swirled in the dim light as he pulled himself inside. The attic was filled with old boxes, discarded furniture, and forgotten relics. Most of it was useless junk, but then, near the back, something caught his eye. A small, battered trunk sat wedged between two wooden crates, covered in a thick layer of dust.
Harry hesitated before kneeling and brushing away the grime. His breath hitched when he saw the initials engraved on the lid: L.E.
His mother’s initials.
Hands trembling, he fumbled with the rusty latch, which, to his surprise, clicked open easily. The trunk was filled with old notebooks, letters, and loose sheets of parchment. At the very top was a small, leather-bound journal.
It was Lily Potter’s diary.
The diary was old, the leather cracked with age, but the handwriting inside was elegant and precise—his mother’s
Harry devoured the pages of the diary every night in the safety of his cupboard. Through his mother’s words, he caught glimpses of a world beyond Privet Drive—a world of magic, of learning, of friendship. He read about her first trip to Diagon Alley, her wonder at receiving her wand, her fascination with charms and potions.
But it was not just stories of Hogwarts that filled the pages. Lily had recorded spells, theories, even her own thoughts on magic. Some of it was far too advanced for Harry to understand, but he copied down everything he could, determined to learn.
The diary also spoke of a man named Severus. Harry wasn’t sure who he was, but from the way his mother wrote about him, he must have been important to her. The name made something stir in his chest, though he didn’t understand why.
Beyond magic, the diary also revealed something else—something far more painful. His mother had loved him. She had written about his birth, about the way his tiny fingers had curled around hers, about the dreams she had for him.
He had been wanted.
For the first time in his life, Harry felt connected to someone, even if that someone was long gone. He wasn’t alone. He had a past, a heritage, and—most importantly—a future.
The more Harry read, the more he realized he needed privacy. The cupboard was no longer enough. He needed space to practice, to study, to grow. And so, he hatched a plan.
Dudley had a second bedroom, one that was filled with broken toys and junk he no longer cared about. Harry had no delusions that the Dursleys would willingly give it to him—but he didn’t need their permission.
He had magic.
One evening, when the Dursleys were out for dinner, Harry stood before Dudley’s room and focused. He reached deep inside himself, pulling at the same energy that allowed him to move objects and change colours. He imagined the locks shifting, the bolts sliding back.
With a quiet click, the door swung open.
Harry wasted no time. He moved quickly, dragging his few belongings from the cupboard into the new room. He left Dudley’s broken toys untouched in the corner but claimed the bed, the desk, and the closet. By the time the Dursleys returned, he was sitting calmly on the mattress, reading his mother’s diary as if he had always belonged there.
Their reaction was predictable.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” Vernon bellowed, his face turning a dangerous shade of purple.
Harry looked up, expression blank. “I live here now.”
Petunia let out a strangled noise. “You—You can’t just—”
“I can,” Harry said simply, holding up a hand. A spark of green light flickered at his fingertips. It was weak, unfocused, but enough.
Vernon’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. Dudley let out a whimper and clutched his mother’s arm.
Without another word, the Dursleys retreated. They didn’t fight him. They didn’t touch him.
For the first time, Harry had won.
With his new space, Harry’s learning accelerated. He practiced magic in secret, experimented with spells from his mother’s notes, and honed his ability to transform into the panther at will. He was still limited—he had no wand, no formal training—but every small success fuelled his determination.
His mother’s notes spoke of old magic—magic tied to bloodlines, to ancient families that had shaped the wizarding world.
There was mention of a name that sent a strange thrill through him: Peverell.
Lily’s notes spoke of an old, powerful family—one that was rumoured to have mastered death itself. Their blood ran through the veins of some of the most powerful wizards in history. And though she never explicitly stated it, Harry had a feeling that it ran through his veins as well.
Lily had speculated that the Potters were distantly related to the Peverell family, an ancient line of powerful wizards. There were notes about legendary artifacts, magical mastery, and whispers of something called the Deathly Hallows.
A name surfaced in his mind—Ignotus Peverell. The owner of the fabled Invisibility Cloak, one of the three Deathly Hallows.
He didn’t know what it meant yet, but something deep within him stirred at the thought. His magic—his instincts—told him that this was important.
Reading through his mother’s notes, Harry learned about magic in a way he never had before. Lily wrote extensively about her discoveries at Hogwarts, her experiments with charms, and even theories about wandlore. One passage in particular stood out:
Magic is more than just wands and spells. It is a force that exists all around us, responding to will, intent, and emotion. A wizard does not simply use magic—he shapes it, bends it to his purpose.
Harry reread the passage, the words lighting a fire in him. If magic responded to will, then perhaps he could learn to control it even without a wand.
He began sneaking out at night, venturing further into the world beyond Privet Drive. He found secluded areas in the nearby park where he could stretch his panther form, run freely beneath the stars, and test the limits of his abilities.
But he knew this was just the beginning.
He had seen the name Hogwarts in his mother’s diary. It was a school, a place where people like him learned real magic. He didn’t know how he would get there, but he would find a way.
Because for the first time in his life, Harry Potter had hope.
And he was never going to let anyone take it from him again.
Harry’s world was expanding, and with it, so was his ambition. He was no longer just the forgotten boy in the cupboard under the stairs. He was something more—something greater. And though he didn’t know where this path would lead, he was determined to follow it.