Harry Potter and why is life so difficult?

I sat in the suffocating darkness, turning the question over in my mind. What emotion had made the barrier fail?

Hate?

No, that didn't fit. Petunia didn't hate Vernon. Sure, they argued, but hate was too strong a word for what had happened. Their fight was a small, bitter squabble—not the kind of raw emotion that could break something as powerful as a magical barrier.

Rage?

Petunia was often angry, sometimes over ridiculous things. Burnt toast, a dirty floor, Dudley not getting his way. But rage? That didn't seem right either. It felt too fickle, too shallow to be the foundation of something so resilient.

Then what?

I wracked my brain, chasing the answer like it was just out of reach. And then, unbidden, another word crept into my thoughts: love.

I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Love? Really? What is this, the power of friendship?

But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.

Petunia loved Vernon. She loved Dudley. And the barrier—whatever it was—seemed to protect the people she cared about. That fight earlier wasn't driven by hate or rage; it was a fracture in the affection she normally felt for Vernon. For that brief moment, she hadn't been his loving, loyal wife.

The barrier wasn't just about keeping Vernon safe from harm. It was a manifestation of her feelings, of her love.

And love... love was what kept me unprotected.

I felt a cold, hollow realization settle in my chest. She didn't love me. She never had.

No wonder the barrier lets him hit me.

It wasn't about the lack of magic in my blood or some grand, cosmic rule. The barrier didn't care about me because Petunia didn't care about me.

The thought burned, but it also sparked something else. Something fierce and stubborn. If the barrier relied on love, then maybe it wasn't as perfect as I'd thought. Maybe it could be broken.

Because love, for all its strength, was also fragile.

The plan began to form in my mind, fragile and imperfect, but it was something.

Can I even stop their love?

I doubted it. Vernon wasn't exactly the poster child for husband of the year, but Petunia seemed stubbornly loyal to him. Their bond might fray at the edges, but it wouldn't snap completely—not from anything I could do without risking exposure.

But dragging Vernon down wouldn't solve my problems anyway. What's the point of removing his barrier if I can't stop the wizards from putting me right back here afterward? Killing him was a short-sighted move, and one I wasn't even sure I could accomplish.

No, I needed a different approach. Instead of pulling Vernon down to my level, maybe I could elevate myself.

The thought was laughable. Petunia loving me? Protecting me? It felt impossible. She didn't even see me as human most of the time. I wasn't deluded enough to think I could charm her. I was no master manipulator, no silver-tongued negotiator.

But then my thoughts shifted to the wizards—the ones who had placed the compulsion on me to stay, to accept my life here without question. They had shown me what magic could do, how it could twist and shape a person's thoughts.

That's the key, I realized, a slow determination spreading through me. If I couldn't win Petunia over naturally, then I'd use magic to make her feel protective of me. Just enough for the barrier to recognize me as someone worth shielding.

It wouldn't be easy. I didn't even know where to start with magic. But I couldn't afford to shy away from the idea. If I managed it, I'd not only be physically protected but might also improve my treatment here. Petunia's cruelty would have no choice but to diminish if she felt any real connection to me.

It was a gamble, a dangerous and desperate one, but it was the only way forward. The same magic that had been used to bind me to this miserable house might also be my salvation.

I just need to figure out how.

I mulled over the possibilities, my mind racing as I tried to piece together a plan. Magic had to come from within; the tools—wands, staves, runes—were just conduits. If the wizards could manipulate thoughts and bind me to this place, they must have activated magic somehow, with or without their tools.

What came first, the wand or the wizard?

It was obvious: the wizard. Those tools existed to channel magic more effectively, but the magic itself had to originate inside the person. And if that were true, then I had magic inside me too. I just needed to figure out how to force it out.

I didn't need control. I didn't need to summon fire or levitate objects. I just needed one burst of magic—one targeted reaction to protect myself.

How do I make it happen?

An idea struck me, an uncomfortable but undeniable logic. People could do extraordinary things when their lives were in danger. I'd read stories about parents performing superhuman feats to save their children, about adrenaline granting strength that defied reason. True or not, the concept had a ring of truth. If extreme situations could unlock hidden reserves of strength, why not magic?

Magic must be tied to survival, I thought. Wizards couldn't have survived for generations without some instinctive reaction to protect themselves. That instinct might be buried deep inside me, dormant and untrained, but it had to be there.

I needed to trigger it.

But how?

I couldn't just sit in the cupboard and hope. I needed to create a situation that felt genuinely life-threatening. It had to be real enough for my brain—and my magic—to believe it.

But the risks... My thoughts spiraled, considering options.

Fire? Too uncontrollable. Heights? Too obvious if I fail. Maybe drowning?

I shuddered. These were dangerous ideas, all of them. But if I wanted to awaken my magic, I had to take a leap of faith.

It only needs to work once.

I steeled myself. I would need time to plan, to figure out a method that wouldn't kill me outright. But one way or another, I was going to force my magic to the surface. My life here depended on it.

The unknown is often far scarier than the known, which meant if I wanted to trigger a real sense of danger, I'd need to involve someone unpredictable. Another person. Their actions, unlike a controlled situation, would be uncertain—something even I couldn't anticipate, increasing the fear and adrenaline.

But who could I use? Petunia? No, that was out of the question. She might scream or slap me, but she was still too restrained, too careful in her cruelty. Vernon? He was a grown man, dangerously strong and completely unhinged when angry. If I pushed him too far, I'd have no chance of walking away intact, especially if he was drunk.

That left only Dudley.

Dudley, who outweighed me by a terrifying margin. Dudley, who was big, clumsy, and easily provoked. Dudley, who didn't seem to have an off switch when it came to dishing out pain. If anyone posed a real, tangible threat to me, it was him.

So, maybe that was the answer. Wait until we were alone, provoke him just enough to spark a real conflict, and put myself in a situation where my well-being was genuinely on the line. The danger could be enough to push my survival instincts—and hopefully my magic—into action.

It was a terrible plan. Reckless, stupid, and dangerous. But I didn't have any better ideas.

The opportunity came one rainy afternoon when Petunia was out shopping, and Vernon had taken a rare outing to the pub. Dudley and I were alone. He was slouched on the couch, stuffing his face with crisps and watching cartoons. I stood off to the side, pacing and mentally preparing myself.

This was it.

I took a deep breath and let out a mocking laugh. "Wow, Dudley, you're really good at sitting around and doing nothing. Is that your special talent?"

He turned, his expression twisting into confusion before settling into anger. "Shut up, freak. Nobody asked you!"

"Touchy, aren't we? Probably because you know it's true." I smirked, but inside, my heart was racing. "I bet you couldn't beat me at anything if you tried."

That did it. Dudley threw down his crisps and stood, towering over me. "Oh yeah? You think you're better than me? Let's see how smart you are when I pound you into the floor!"

"Bring it on," I said, stepping back and readying myself.

He charged like a bull, but I was faster. I sidestepped, causing him to stumble into the wall. His frustration grew with every failed attempt. I kept dodging, narrowly avoiding his clumsy swings. My body screamed at me to stop, to run, but I stayed. The longer I dodged, the angrier he got, and the closer I hoped I was to unlocking the magic I so desperately needed.

But nothing happened.

No spark, no barrier, no sudden burst of power. Just me and my racing heart. Dudley's face grew redder with every miss. Finally, he snapped.

"You think you're so clever!" he bellowed. His eyes darted to the kitchen counter. "Let's see how clever you are now!"

He grabbed a knife from the sink.

Panic gripped me like ice water pouring over my head. This wasn't part of the plan. I backed away as he approached, the blade glinting ominously in his hand.

"Dudley, wait!" I stammered, my confidence evaporating. "You don't want to do this. You'll get in trouble!"

But reason was long gone from his mind. He swung wildly, the knife cutting through the air. I ducked and stumbled back, my pulse thundering in my ears. I could dodge now, but I knew it wouldn't last.

Then it happened.

He swung again, and I miscalculated. I was backed against the kitchen table. There was nowhere left to go. The knife was coming straight for me, and I knew I wouldn't dodge in time.

In that split second, my entire body felt electrified. Every nerve was alive, every hair stood on end, and a strange, warm energy coursed through me like fire.

This is it!

I could feel it—this had to be magic! My survival instinct had triggered it.

"Now, Petunia!" I whispered to myself, clinging to the hope that somehow this newfound power would do exactly what I needed. Love me! Protect me!

*SQUELCH* *drip* *drip*

"…Huh?"