Chapter 1: The Darkest Days with the Dursleys

Harry Potter lay on his thin mattress in the cupboard under the stairs, feeling the rough wool blanket scratch against his skin. The heavy door was shut tight, leaving only the faintest sliver of light through the crack at the bottom. His stomach twisted with hunger, the grumble almost loud enough to drown out the rapid thudding of his heart.

It was late—far past midnight—but sleep wouldn't come. Not tonight. He knew what awaited him in the morning. Vernon had warned him, had grabbed him by the scruff of his neck just hours earlier and hissed in his ear about the punishment that awaited him for "ruining Dudley's birthday." The pain still lingered where Vernon's thick fingers had pressed into his skin.

Harry shifted under the blanket, trying to ignore the hollow ache in his chest. The air was heavy, pressing in around him as if the small, cramped space was trying to suffocate him. It wasn't the first time he'd felt like this, trapped and smothered in the Dursleys' house, but something about tonight was different. There was an intensity to it—a weight that made his heart beat faster and his skin crawl.

A loud thud from upstairs sent a jolt through Harry's body. He knew what that sound was. It was Vernon's heavy footsteps on the landing, the same sound that usually meant trouble. Harry's heart skipped a beat as the footsteps grew louder, coming down the stairs, each one more deliberate than the last. Then came the rattling of the cupboard lock, followed by a blinding flood of light as the door was yanked open.

"Get up, boy," Vernon snarled, his voice a low growl. His eyes were wild, the usual glint of rage magnified. "I warned you."

Harry's throat tightened. He could see the bottle of whiskey Vernon had clutched in his hand. His uncle had been drinking again. That was never a good sign.

Harry tried to stand, but his limbs felt like lead, weighed down by fear and exhaustion. Before he could make it to his feet, Vernon lunged at him, grabbing him by the collar of his oversized shirt and dragging him out of the cupboard. The world spun as Harry was yanked through the hallway and thrown into the kitchen. His body hit the floor with a painful thud, knocking the breath from his lungs.

"Thought you could hide from me in there, did you?" Vernon hissed, towering over Harry. His breath reeked of alcohol, and his face was twisted into an ugly sneer. "After all we've done for you, this is how you repay us?"

Harry wanted to speak, to tell Vernon that he hadn't done anything, that he hadn't asked for any of this. But his voice was stuck in his throat, trapped beneath the growing terror that gripped him.

"You're a curse," Vernon spat, his face growing redder with each word. "You're nothing but a freak—a burden! You think I don't know what you are?"

Vernon's hand shot out, grabbing Harry by the neck and lifting him off the ground. Harry's feet kicked helplessly in the air as his uncle's grip tightened. His vision blurred, and his lungs screamed for air.

Panic surged through Harry's body. He clawed at Vernon's hand, but his uncle's grip was iron. Darkness began to creep in around the edges of his vision, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. His limbs felt heavy, as though the life was being drained out of him. Every breath was a struggle. He could feel the world slipping away, his heart slowing, his body growing colder.

This is it, Harry thought distantly, his mind growing numb. He could hear the faint thudding of his heart, each beat slower than the last. He was going to die here, in this kitchen, alone.

Then, something deep within him stirred. It was like a spark igniting in the depths of his soul, a burning heat spreading through his body. His magic—the core of his being—reacted, flaring to life in one last desperate attempt to save him. It surged through him, wild and uncontrollable, searching for an outlet.

The air around him crackled with energy, and the lights in the house flickered violently. A strange humming filled the room, growing louder with each passing second.

Vernon's grip loosened for just a moment, his face twisting in confusion as he looked around the room, startled by the sudden surge of power. But Harry barely noticed. The heat inside him was growing, his magic spiraling out of control, searching for something—anything—to latch onto.

That's when he saw it.

Through the haze of darkness, Harry's eyes caught sight of something outside the window. A sleek, black car was parked just across the street. It wasn't one of the neighbors' cars. It hadn't been there before. It was just sitting there, silent and still, but something about it called to him.

Without thinking, Harry's magic latched onto the car. The connection was immediate and powerful, like a jolt of electricity coursing through his veins. He could feel his magic reaching out, pouring into the car, filling it with life.

Suddenly, the car began to shift. Its metal frame groaned and twisted, the sleek body transforming before his eyes. The tires folded inward, the hood expanded, and the vehicle rose up on two massive legs, growing taller and more menacing by the second.

Harry's breath caught in his throat as he watched the transformation unfold. The car—no, the machine—was no longer just a car. It was something more. Something alive.

The massive figure, now towering over the house, bent down, its glowing blue optics locking onto Harry.

"Creator," the machine rumbled, its voice deep and reverberating, sending vibrations through the floor. "You are in danger. I am here to protect you."

Vernon, still frozen in shock, stumbled back, his eyes wide with terror as the towering mechanical being reached down. With a swift movement, it knocked Vernon aside as if he were nothing more than a fly. Vernon hit the far wall and collapsed, groaning in pain.

Harry collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath, his vision spinning. He could feel his heart beating faster now, the cold grip of death retreating as his magic settled. His body shook with exhaustion, but his mind was ablaze with questions.

The machine—a Transformer, he realized in disbelief—lowered itself to Harry's level, extending a hand as if to offer him comfort.

"You saved me," Harry whispered hoarsely, his voice weak but filled with awe.

"I am *Tempest*," the Transformer said solemnly, his optics flickering as he looked down at Harry. "And you are my Creator. Your power has given me life. I am here to serve and protect you, always."

Harry blinked, still struggling to comprehend what had just happened. But deep down, he knew this was only the beginning.

The boy who had spent his life being told he was nothing, that he was a freak, had just given life to something beyond imagination. He had created life. And now, this giant, mechanical being was calling him "Creator."

As Harry sat there, trembling and gasping for air, he couldn't help but wonder what this power inside him truly meant—and what it would lead to.