3 Spark

Harry first discovered the Spark when he was recovering from an exceptionally nasty beating from his cousin.

Dudley and his gang of friends had a game called Harry Hunting. The more fitting name would be Harry Beating, because that was the end result every time Harry couldn't escape. On one day, they came very close to Harry Killing.

That night, the little boy couldn't sleep. It wasn't just the burning in his chest every time he took a breath, but even as he managed to forget himself and pass out, he saw the strangest dream.

A desperate face of a woman. Long fiery-red hair falling on his face as she leaned in to kiss him. "Here, love. This will protect you."

Pain. Somewhere above the eyes. A scream – his scream?

"Please, not Harry!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl!"

Who is this man? Why is he torturing the nice lady?

"Have mercy!"

A flash of green. Not the color of fresh grass, but the kind of sickly swampy green that snakes and frogs wear.

A nauseating acidic urge in the bottom of his stomach. Disgust.

She fell.

Wait, where is the lady? No, nice lady come back! Don't leave me with this man! Save me! Mom, save me! Somebody, help!

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Aaaagh!" Harry sat straight, and immediately shup up. If his shout woke up any one of his relatives, there would be hell to pay. The scorching heat in his chest took the rest of his breath away, and he fell on the cot.

The last few years taught him to keep a straight face. Anything he did, any reaction he showed meant getting more beatings from his uncle. But after seeing that lady with auburn hair fall on the floor, he couldn't hold it in.

"How could he do that? He killed her! He killed the nice lady!" tears streaked down his cheeks as Harry tried not to move his shoulders, not to disturb his healing injuries.

"He flashed her with green! What if I could flash my relatives the same way? I'll say Agava Kadabra! And point my finger at them, like this!"

A small green spark flew out from the tip of Harry's finger.

He stared at it wide-eyed for a minute before noticing it was falling on his chest. "Stop! Get away!"

The spark obediently flew further from his face and stilled in the air.

"My name is Harry," he said for some reason. The spark didn't react in any way, floating in the cupboard's space like a lighthouse on a foggy coast.

The magical child forgot his earlier nightmare. "Can you fly up for me, please?"

It did so, until it met with the ceiling. Oddly enough, the spark didn't stop. It bore into the ceiling, emitting a tiny bit of smoke.

"Wait! Stop! Are you made of fire?" Harry raised his eyebrows. He knew better than to touch it, because it looked the same as the flash that had killed a woman in his dream, so he remained still on the cot. Under his control, the spark was performing pirouettes in the air.

When he willed it to disappear, the spark distorted and melted away.

He pointed up, "Let's try again! Avada… No, Agava… Wait, isn't that a fruit or something? Ugh. Spark!" The familiar night light came to life again.

The six-year-old Harry smiled the happiest smile of his life. He knew for a fact he was special because he had the Spark.

In the coming years, this magical fire changed his life. Harry was too afraid to use it on his uncle because he knew it wasn't enough to put down the 300-pound walrus-like man. Instead, he took what the Spark could give him and learned what it could teach.

It was really made of fire! When Harry used it to burn through a sheet of paper, the paper burst into warm green flames.

The Spark had a constant size, but with a little push Harry was able to make it shine brighter or dim down. From that point on, the inquisitive boy always entertained himself by sneaking and reading books from the library despite the normal darkness of his cupboard.

And if he got tired of books, he even had access to television! With the Spark's help, Harry burned a tiny hole in the wall that separated his cupboard from the living room. On the other side, the hole was right under a heavy table that the Dursleys never moved, so they didn't notice it even to this day.

Evening news were too boring and difficult for Harry, but Dudley's favorites – they were exciting! Dudley enjoyed watching martial arts movies. Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan and other masters of hand-to hand combat; Chinese and Korean shows about flying swordsmen breaking the limits of reality – everything was on the other side of the wall.

Dudley also made a spectacle of himself when the shows were on, jumping around and waving his kiddie nunchucks. The fat boy was just pretending and having fun, but for Harry, the flying martial artists represented a level of freedom he could only dream about.

The last two years passed like that. Sometimes Harry wondered if Dursleys were as normal as they proclaimed to be – who would force a child to work for them like a servant? He tried to reach out to them many times, but they responded with humiliation.

And how could he believe his parents had died in a car crash? He saw that dream often. The nice lady with auburn hair – she was his mom. She had to be his mom!

A green flash, two words, "Avada Kedavra" – and her murderer. The face and voice of that man were etched into Harry's mind forever.

The possibility of something like that, it would seem too surreal if not for the Spark.

Harry didn't know it was almost time for him to be introduced to the hidden magical world where "normal" and "abnormal" were completely messed up.