Harry knew, the moment he saw his Mum lock the door to his nursery, that something was wrong. She kept a steady wand pointed at the door and he heard her heart make fast thumping sounds. Looking at his mother with a curious expression, he drank in her hazard appearance and shaken disposition. He remembered hearing his father cry out only moments before. He didn't understand a word his father said (since he spoke very fast) and it annoyed him.
He was shaken out of his reverie when the door blasted open and Harry took his first look at the man the entire Wizarding world feared: Lord Voldemort. Harry saw his snake-like features, blood red eyes, and pallid skin. He heard that man's hiss. He smelled a revolting smell of rot coming off the man. Harry crinkled his nose at the Dark Lord.
Lord Voldemort laughed a high-pitched cackle at the sight of his Mum trying to defend him.
"Not Harry, not Harry! Please, not Harry!" his mother begged, tears flowing down her cheeks.
"Stand aside, you silly girl… Stand aside now!"
"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead— "
'He doesn't seem like the type to haggle with.' Harry mused as he tilted his head to the side, the scene playing on before him. He didn't understand a lot of what was happening but the distress his mother exuded was enough to get him to stand up and walk towards his crib railings.
"Not Harry! Please … have mercy … have mercy… "
Harry had a hand around the lock that would lower the railings. He was getting ready to wobble towards his mother, but a sudden shrill of laughter stopped him. He looked up to see a bright green light, a color similar to his mother's eyes, shoot out from the stranger's wand and strike his mother. She had been standing only a few feet from him and he watched her fall, with a loud thump, to the floor.
His eyes grew wide as he looked into the glassy eyes of his beloved mother. Her red hair fanned around her, as if protecting her head from the hard wood floor. He knew, somehow, that she would never rise again. She would never smile again. She would never sing him to sleep again. She would never kiss him goodnight again. She would never again tell him that she loved him.
He tore his eyes away from the person who fed him, comforted him, and protected him. Now, his gaze was directed to the man who took that person away. It was high time that 'goo goo' and 'gaga' gave way. Little Harry Potter was mad, no, he was furious. And he would not let this murderer go without learning to never cross him again. Another green light ignited from the murderer's wand, he watched it fly towards him, and he felt an odd sense of hostility in following the 'get hit and die' rule. He felt the light touch his forehead, entering his brain and trying to take the soul embedded in his little one-year-old body. His eyes widened as he felt it break through an unknown barrier. Feeling something within him snap, he felt pain. But mostly, he felt anger.
He glared at the man who murdered, and lost that little hope he had that his father would come to his rescue. He felt his anger, desperation, and sorrow build inside of him. He threw all of those feelings into knocking that green light out of his little body. But when it came out, it was no longer green. It was now a curious brightness of white. A petrifying scream later, he smiled.
He lay down on his crib and slowly closed his eyes… he could rest for a while.
Five years had passed since that night, and little Harry never forgot how it felt when that eerie green light hit him. Everything else seemed to blend into his forgotten memories. But who could blame him? Even for a prodigious child or genius, remembering anything seen, felt, or heard at the age of one was difficult. Nevertheless, it irked him knowing that he had forgotten something so important.
Harry watched intently as his Aunt Petunia showed him how to make breakfast. He was already mentally calculating the proportion of bacon to the oil, as well as the heat intensity and cooking time, to get the bacon to procure its best crisp. He turned her voice out and watched as eggs were scrambled next. He was so intense in watching and calculating that he did not notice his cousin push him from behind. He knocked into his aunt which, in turn, made her drop the frying pan onto the kitchen floor. With a loud clang, the food spilled everywhere.
His uncle was not someone that Harry had considered to have very good timing. But at that moment, Harry felt like he needed to revise his opinion, since this was the exact moment his Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen.
Looking back on it, Harry thought that he was pretty lucky. He was supposed to go to the market with his Aunt. But after the disaster with the bacon and eggs, he was removed the honor of helping her shop for groceries. That usually meant that he would be left home with a large pile of chores, or sent to Mrs. Figg and her numerous cats. But Mrs. Figg had a bout of flu and Dudley had a play date with a kid named Piers. Only hiis Uncle Vernon would be home and would have been given the task to watch over him. To put it simply, as soon as his Aunt and cousin had left, Harry was kicked out for the afternoon.
He was a small child, he knew that, standing at least a few inches shorter than most of his peers. But he also knew he was smarter than most perceived him to be. Although his grades were nothing to brag about, he actually finished all his school worksheets the day they were given. But he wrote in pencil so he could erase most of his work before handing in. Due to his growing speed with which he accomplished said worksheets, he was often bored in class. Of course, the teacher interpreted it as his having his head in the clouds. It was a good thing that he had a seat nearer to the windows, he often found himself watching the birds outside.
One day, he noticed a group of older kids and their nice teacher go out to study the world around them. This immediately caught his interest and any inkling he had of actually listening to his own teacher was gone. What he didn't know about that class, however, was that this class was the advanced placement class and they were studying beyond even their own age level.
That was how he came to learn of the wonderful world of Physics. He learned that every action had an equal and opposite reaction, and that energy could neither be created nor destroyed but transformed. He learned of calculations way above addition and subtraction. He learned the laws of gravity and the acceleration rate of a free falling body.
Now that Harry found himself outside with no Dursley supervision, he made his way to the park. He looked down at his feet where a pebble was resting innocently on the ground. He picked it up and held it in his hand, his arm outstretched before him. He let go.
The pebble fell in front of him as if it was in slow motion. He calculated the velocity then the rate of acceleration: 9.8 meters per second squared. He picked it up again. Held it at the same height, and let go. Unknowingly, all he could think about was proving that nice teacher wrong. And as he calculated for the rate of acceleration once more, he grinned: 8.9 meters per second squared. He did it again, and watched with a grin as the pebble fell so slowly that it looked like it was hovering mid-air before falling straight to the ground again. The second velocity after rest was calculated at 10.9 meters per second squared.
After that day, Harry spent a lot of time at the school library, reading thick texts of chemistry, physics, physical science, algebra, history, trigonometry and calculus. He was extremely happy that the high school and the elementary school libraries were combined so he was able to read books that he would not usually be able to access.
He didn't know how he did what he did, but he knew he was having fun. In the boys' toilets, he watched as he made water flow upwards. He made a fully-grown fly slowly de-age and become a maggot and then grow back. He made a spider unwind its own web, while dancing in the process. He walked on thin air five centimeters off the ground while his peers moved around him, oblivious. He had to admit that he liked the comments he was getting about how he seemed a bit taller. He was having so much fun.
One of the days during his experimentation, his class' music teacher went on her maternity leave. The new substitute, Ms. Robinson, asked the class to pick up an instrument and try to play it as part of her first lesson. The entire class was very excited. Harry and his classmates watched their teacher show them how to play each of the instruments in the room before asking them to try. Dudley picked the drums and whacked at it with all his might. Some of the other kids picked the piano and it became somewhat hard to listen to even for those who took lessons. They played the pieces they were taught, albeit some a bit off-key. Most of the class chose to play the guitar, and tried imitating rock stars they saw on television.
Harry, on the other hand, picked up the violin.
"Are you sure you want to play the violin Harry?" his teacher asked.
He nodded. He had seen the finger movements and adjustments, as well as the bow stroke along with its corresponding sound. All he needed now was to see how hard he had to press his fingers. He couldn't lie: the harder he pressed his fingers against the strings the more it hurt. Despite the pain, though, he knew that it was something that would dull over time and great practice.
A beautiful quivering note escaped from the violin as Harry tested it out. He smiled, feeling more confident, and started playing the piece Ms. Robinson played… backwards.
The rest of the kids in class were cringing at the unusual music, and Dudley was openly laughing at him. But Ms. Robinson was looking at him with a shocked face and wide eyes. After he finished, she asked the rest of the class to have go to their break, but asked him to stay behind.
That was the day he found out that once he saw something done, he could do it. And apparently, it was not common to possess that particular skill.
Harry, now age ten, remembered his surprise when he found out from Ms. Robinson that it was not normal to be able to do the things he did with the violin, and later on with the piano and the flute. That was what got Harry to start wondering if the others couldn't make a pebble fall at different velocities or make a maggot grow into a fly and back. He didn't understand. He thought at first that maybe it was because everyone wanted to follow the rules he read in books. Like how some followed the rules at school. Dudley broke a lot of those and never got more than a note sent home. So he figured it was okay to break a few of the rules he read, as long as he didn't get caught. He didn't expect that the others literally couldn't break the rules.
Ms. Robinson called him a prodigy or little genius. He asked her to forget the entire thing happened. And amazingly, she did.
He always held back at class, hence the worksheets being erased before submission. But he thought everyone did it since Dudley was a bully who didn't particularly like people who were smarter than him. Dudley especially didn't like it when those he considered beneath him got higher grades. Harry understood that it was an unspoken rule that people didn't cross a bully that could get away with hurting them. But if nothing else, Harry was also painfully curious. So he broke that unspoken rule shortly after the violin incident. He let himself get higher than Dudley by a whole grade point in a single class. But he found that maybe he didn't like to break the unspoken rules. He was locked in his cupboard with nothing to do for a week for that stunt.
Harry was soon getting bored at school. Despite his best efforts to distract himself, he was running out of interesting books he could read in the library. He read some of them multiple times to the point that he ached to take out his pen and correct some pre-conceived notions held within the tomes. He had broken so many "rules" that they had stated were absolute. Although he wasn't the type to memorize, he never forgot a term in his life and drank up every encyclopedia and dictionary he could get his hands on, including those in different languages. That was another funny thing about him. He could do all these things and most of them… he didn't even put any effort into doing.
And it was on one faithful day that his cousin bullied his Uncle into making Harry fetch the mail. For some reason, he felt an odd sense of foreboding. But as he saw a cream colored kind of paper in between the white envelops and colored postcards, he began to understand.
He handed over the rest of the mail to his uncle and made a mad dash to his cupboard. He opened his letter and read through it.
A whole new world suddenly opened up to him, and it was one full of magic and unexplored possibilities. He smiled as he finally found the explanation pertaining to the countless things he could do that others couldn't. As he read on to the list of course books, he smiled even wider. Here it was: a whole new world and a whole new set of rules he wanted to see broken.