Harry crouched low in the garden, the soft morning light just brushing the tops of the flowers. He had learned to move with near-perfect silence, a skill developed over months of avoiding the Dursleys' attention. Even Dudley, who could be deafening when awake, never noticed Harry slipping past him, tiny as a shadow, a whisper in the morning air.
The black cat padded beside him, sleek and silent, tail flicking with a rhythm only Harry seemed to notice. Its eyes followed every leaf and movement with precision, and Harry mirrored its patience, waiting for subtle signs of life. A small leaf quivered, almost imperceptibly. Harry held his breath and moved his hands above it, tracing soft patterns that made it twist and flutter.
He whispered words in a low, rolling voice, and the pulse beneath his skin began to hum, stronger than before. The leaf lifted slightly from the ground, spinning gently as if caught in a wind only he could feel. Harry's heart raced with excitement, a dangerous thrill he always craved in these quiet moments. The Dursleys, as usual, were oblivious. Dudley's heavy footsteps and Petunia's muttering never reached him here.
The cat sat back on its haunches, observing him. Harry knew it understood the rhythm of his focus, the quiet patience required for subtle magic. Every shift in the shadows, every twitch of a leaf, was a lesson. He crouched lower, letting the pulse of magic beneath his skin guide him. He traced a larger, more intricate pattern in the air. Another leaf rose, spinning faster, then gently floated back to the ground.
Harry allowed himself a quiet smile. Every small success was a victory. These moments were his alone, his training grounds, and his sanctuary. Each experiment reinforced the rhythm he had learned: observe, endure, and act only when the moment was perfect.
He turned his attention to the small flowers at the edge of the garden. Whispering, he brushed his fingers over the petals, and he could feel a faint warmth, a response to his pulse. The flowers trembled subtly, leaning toward him as if aware of his presence. Harry marveled at the precision. It was not full magic, not yet, but it was the beginning of something extraordinary.
By mid-morning, he had moved silently across the garden, testing small wards he had begun sketching in the dirt with his fingers. Invisible lines formed around the beds of flowers, creating soft protective boundaries. The black cat walked through them, testing the strength, yet nothing harmed it. Harry noted every detail: the flicker of a shadow, the pulse of the wind, the way magic responded to focus.
When Dudley finally trundled past, cursing at a butterfly that had dared to land near him, Harry froze in place. The cat flattened against the ground, tail flicking. Harry's pulse steadied, and he whispered soft words under his breath, letting the wards absorb his fear. Dudley stomped by, oblivious, and Harry exhaled quietly. These moments of invisibility were crucial. They allowed him to practice without interference, to hone skills that even he could barely name.
By evening, Harry returned to the cupboard under the stairs, hands dirty with soil and energy buzzing through him. The house was quiet again, and he traced the symbols he had practiced all day in the air. The pulse beneath his skin hummed with recognition. Objects trembled, shadows shifted, and he felt a growing mastery over the small, subtle influences he could exert.
The black cat curled up beside him, purring softly. Harry lay back against the cold wall, letting the hum of magic settle. Outside, the night carried possibilities he was only beginning to understand. He would continue exploring, continue learning, and continue growing stronger, unnoticed, unseen, and unstoppable.