Harry Potter and The Dark Emissary Book 1 (Male Reader)

Vanishing Glass

Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Pokemon is owned by Nintendo

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3rd POV

Harry woke with a start, the same as every morning, to the sharp voice of Aunt Petunia echoing down the narrow hallway of Number Four, Privet Drive.

"Up! Get up! Now!"

His eyes blinked open to the familiar sight of his small cupboard under the stairs. Dust floated in the morning sunlight that barely filtered through the cracks in the door. With a tired sigh, Harry sat up, stretching his arms before rubbing his eyes. This was how every day began for him—rushed, ordered, never with a moment's peace.

From the corner of the cramped space, a familiar figure watched him silently. Y/N, the mysterious being who had been with Harry for as long as he could remember, floated in the dim shadows, as constant as ever. Harry wasn't sure how he knew Y/N was there—maybe it was the slight shift in the darkness or the faint chill that accompanied his presence—but Harry could always feel him.

"Good morning," Harry muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He glanced over at Y/N, whose glowing blue eyes shimmered softly in response. Harry had always been able to see him, even though he knew no one else could. He had long since stopped questioning why.

There was no reply from Y/N, as usual. But Harry knew he was listening. He always was.

"Get up!" Aunt Petunia's voice shrieked again, this time sharper. Harry could hear her footsteps nearing the cupboard, and the familiar clanging of pots and pans in the kitchen made his stomach twist. Another day in the Dursley household.

Harry quickly dressed in his oversized hand-me-downs, pulling on socks with holes and shoes too big for his small feet. He cast one last look at Y/N, who remained as still as ever in the shadows. Then, with a deep breath, he stepped out of the cupboard.

The kitchen was already busy when he arrived. Aunt Petunia was bustling around, preparing Dudley's birthday breakfast, while Uncle Vernon sat at the table, flipping through the morning paper with a grunt.

"Hurry up, boy!" Uncle Vernon snapped, not even bothering to look up. "We don't have all day!"

Harry moved toward the stove, where the smell of bacon sizzling filled the air. He glanced toward the table, where Dudley's birthday presents were piled high—brightly wrapped boxes nearly spilling over one another. Computers, a second television, a racing bike. It was everything Dudley wanted, though Harry doubted Dudley would ever use the bike for anything other than showing off.

He was used to this. Being invisible in his own home.

From the corner of the kitchen, Y/N floated, his blue eyes fixed on the Dursleys. Harry could feel Y/N's silent gaze following Uncle Vernon's every move, and while Y/N never acted in front of them, there was a faint tension in the air that only Harry could sense.

"They're all the same, aren't they?" Harry whispered to Y/N under his breath as he flipped the bacon. He didn't expect a response, and he didn't get one.

But Y/N hovered closer, watching everything unfold, silent as ever.

*****

The car was cramped, as always. Harry was wedged between Dudley and Piers Polkiss, who both took up far more room than necessary. Dudley, with his usual look of smug superiority, shoved Harry further against the door, a sneer plastered on his round face.