Once inside the house, Harry removed the cloak and put it inside his pocket.
For a moment, Harry just stood there, observing the home. He had lived here his entire childhood. He has been coming here during each Hogwarts vacation every year.
Yet, today felt different. He came for a different reason.
To put an end to his pain.
Harry took a few steps and arrived next to the Cupboard Under the Stairs.
He paused. Then he pressed his hand against the door and closed his eyes. He remembered how he used to wake every morning, looking up at the underside of the staircase, which was more often than not adorned with a spider or two. He remembered the time when Dudley would jump on the stairs above to make noise to disturb Harry. This small space has been his everything. Whenever there was a mistake, his uncle would shut him inside.
Harry's thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the muffled sounds coming from the living room.
This was undoubtedly a voice he knew.
The familiar tempo of Uncle Vernon's gruff voice and Aunt Petunia's disapproving tone reached his ear.
They were there, like he predicted. Always on time for dinner. If he were home right now, they would have given him some dish to clean or other housework to do.
Turning away from the Cupboard Under the Stairs, Harry noticed a partially opened door opposite him. He could hear the faint hum of the television, and curiosity drove him to investigate. As he approached the living room, he caught sight of Dudley sprawled on the sofa, eyes fixated on the television screen.
This was a moment that Harry never got a chance to live. He was forbidden from watching TV. Only Dudley had that privilege.
For a moment, Harry stood still and looked around.
The living room had not changed a single bit. The worn-out furniture and the mismatched decor. To Harry, it felt like years had passed since he was last here, but in fact just a few months.
Harry turned his head towards the kitchen. Both Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were facing the opposite side.
Petunia was taking care of the dishes. She was wiping them off and putting them back on the shelf. Vernon, like always, sat at the kitchen table. His face was completely blocked by the newspaper in his hand.
As Harry observed the Dursleys, a surge of conflicting emotions welled within him. The years of mistreatment and neglect, the relentless torment at the hands of his relatives, and the scars etched into his soul. These were the foundations of his rough relationship with the Dursleys.
As Harry continued to observe them, more particularly, Aunt Petunia, his mind wandered. In that moment, an image flashed in his mind. A vision of a woman with kind eyes, a woman who shared the same eye color and carried an air of warmth and love.
Lily Potter, his mother.
As he watched Aunt Petunia move about the kitchen, Harry's imagination painted a different reality. What if Lily Potter had survived? What if she had been there to protect him from the Dursleys' cruelty? A surge of longing and regret swelled within him, the ache of a son who had been denied the embrace of a mother's love.
He imagined his father's laughter, warm and reassuring, as he ruffled Harry's hair. James would share tales of wizarding adventures. He would have been there to guide him. Maybe helping him with his spells. Lily would prepare his favorite meals. Praise him for his achievement. Consult him whenever he feels down.
Harry let himself drown in this imaginary haven. The Dursleys, the pain, and everything else disappeared, replaced by a dream. A dream where Harry lived with his father and mother.
In the midst of this imagined reunion, Harry's heart quickened. The contrast between the heartbreaking reality and the fleeting dream stirred a wild sea of emotions within him. The desire for a family, for a mother's touch, collided with the harsh truth of his upbringing.
The conflicting emotions tore at Harry's resolve. The vision of the idealized family, his mother, father, and himself living a life of love and warmth, felt like a cruel mirage. The dream broke, and the silhouette of his parents disappeared from sight.
He stood in the Dursley kitchen, the sounds of Aunt Petunia's clattering pots and Uncle Vernon's gruff muttering surrounding him.
This was reality.
And now he remembered the reason he was here. To cut the ties holding him to the Dursleys. To break from the torment of his past. He remembered Voldemort's words.
"This is necessary if you want to join me. To break free from Dumbledore's manipulation."
But these were the family of his mother. The blood that ran through his veins. How could he bring himself to harm them, to extinguish lives that were, in some distant way, connected to his own?
Harry's mindset broke, and he lost all the strength to kill them.
Then Aunt Petunia's mean voice broke through Harry's daydreaming. As Aunt Petunia set a plate of snacks on the table, she glanced toward the living room. "Dudley, don't slouch. And turn that television down. We don't want any more trouble with the neighb..."
Aunt Petunia's words trailed off abruptly as her gaze fixed on the doorway of the kitchen. The plate of snacks she held slipped slightly in her hands, her eyes widening with a mix of disbelief and horror.
Uncle Vernon, still engrossed in his newspaper, grunted without looking up. "What's the matter, Petunia?"
Aunt Petunia, unable to tear her eyes away from the doorway, stammered, "Vernon, look... look over there."