Calm before the storm.

The discovery of magic had a big impact on Harry's life. Once he'd figured it out, it was easy to see just why the Dursley's hated him so much... His Aunt and Uncle almost constantly glanced his way suspiciously, as if he were always up to something.

The only person who was apparently left out of the 'big secret' was Dudley, who relentlessly bullied him just to emulate his parents. Of course, he'd hate to let the Dursley's know that he knew, otherwise they might actually kill him.

It was really kind of strange, learning the reason everyone seemed to hate him but not attempting to escape it in turn. Instead, he viewed magic as an escape from all the cruel 'regular' folk. Of course, he'd never met someone else capable of using magic yet, so he'd leave judging them until then.

After he'd conducted the failed ritual, he began looking for other avenues to acquire magic. He'd scoured the library for storybooks, historical accounts of magic being used, and anything else he could get his hands on.

The legend of Merlin was one that intrigued him. Even to this day, people debated whether or not Camelot was a real place, which meant that Merlin might have been real as well. Indeed, he'd spent many a night dreaming of constructing himself a giant wizard tower somewhere far away from everything...

He'd also start trying to make use of magic personally, he remembered the few occasions when magic had happened around him, so it wasn't too far fetched to think he might be able to control it...

It was a new night, and Harry was sitting hunched back in his cupboard, glaring at the feather of a pigeon he'd picked off of the street, holding his hand out with a constipated expression. "Fllllooaaaat. Float. Floooooat!... Levitate. Up. Shazaam! Abra-cada...bra..." he intones, but for some reason the last incantation caused his stomach to twist into a painful knot...

It seemed like incantations either didn't have any influence whatsoever, or he just wasn't able to levitate the feather at all. He shakes his head, there must be a method to it, he couldn't accomplish much with only ritual circles, especially since he'd failed the last one.

"God damn it, just WORK!" he shouts, gesturing at the feather with nothing continuing to happen.

*THUD THUD*

"Shut the fuck up down there! Or I'll beat your arse until you're properly asleep, freak!" the voice of his uncle calls down, sounding irritated, but not enraged... Fortunately.

Harry grits his teeth, "Fucking fat bastard." he growls, another flare of anger making itself known. His rage doesn't last long though, as the feather abruptly started levitating, along with the lightbulb above him starting to flicker.

"I did it... I DID... It..." he's about to celebrate but feels as if he'd run two marathons while being stuck constantly in the back of the head. His eyes roll back and he promptly passes out, falling to the floor motionless.

His eyes fluttered open a while later, he wasn't in his cupboard anymore and instead, lying on the floor in the living room. He felt a pain in his side and looked over, spotting Dudley kicking him lightly in the ribs while looking at his father. "I think he's dead... What are you going to do with him?"

"Dump him in a lake somewhere and tell everyone he ran away, they'll believe it." Vernon states, not knowing why everyone ignored continued to ignore the boy's plight... If it were anyone else Vernon might've been arrested by now... Must be his freakishness.

Harry slaps away Dudley's foot, causing the boy to jump back with a squeal. "ZOMBIE!"

Vernon hovers directly over Harry's head, glowering down at him, "So you're still alive, boy. Should have figured a freak like you could live for a week passed out."

Harry's eyes open wide, A WEEK? He'd been unconscious for a week after such a light use of magic? That's insane! "I still feel ill, can I have some food?" he asks, hoping to pity the man into sparing him some.

Vernon growls, "No. Get back in your cupboard, and prepare for tomorrow... You have chores to complete." he states, and Harry takes the chance to look around the house, finding that yes, chores had begun piling up.

He thought that Petunia might have begun doing them in his absence, but no, she was just as fat, lazy, and useless as the rest of them. He sighs regardless of his rising anger, if he obeyed he'd save himself a beating. "Yes sir." he says, hobbling back into his cupboard.

Immediately as he sat down, he felt hunger pains assault him, but had no way to stop them... Instead, he begins focussing on why he'd passed out... And after a while, he came to three conclusions.

The first is that he was too weak to use any meaningful magic without passing out for an extended period of time.

The second is that magic itself was weak, which is why no one seemed to practise it, or even know of its existence.

Third, is that he simply lacked the experience and knowledge needed to properly utilise it... Harry was praying to whatever gods existed that the latter is true. If magic or he himself was too weak to do anything, his hopes for the future would be dashed, leaving him the same, useless freak as before he'd discovered it.

"No... The reason doesn't matter. I'll overcome it, by any means necessary. I refuse to live like this anymore... In THIS... Cupboard." he whispers to himself, rage practically emanating from him.