Old crayon marks on the walls stood out in sharp detail.
Tiny spiders in the corners were no longer vague shadows.
The nails that had always caught his skin were clear and distinct.
All of it was sharper than he had ever experienced—made even more remarkable by the fact that the only light came from the thin gap under the door.
The examination ended abruptly when another, more urgent need made itself known.
It had been a long time since he last moved.
Longer still since he had last used a bathroom.
He glared at the locked door.
Making noise would only earn a beating.
If they had not come to check on him or let him out, they intended him either to soil himself so they could punish him for the mess, or simply to die.
Complaint would bring only pain either way.
He had just driven a drill of pure light through an evil monster’s skull.
A cheap hardware-store lock was not going to stop him.
He pressed his hand firmly against the hinge and called for the thread.
Two answered at once, sliding down his arm into his palm.
Even sore and exhausted, his control had improved.
He coiled the threads around each finger until they hardened into something solid and sharp.
Then he set the reinforced digits against the rusted metal.
Instead of cutting his own flesh, the hinges began to squeak as he forced the top and bottom pins apart.
Leaving the lock itself untouched, he pushed the hinged side of the door inward and listened.
The Loud Man could sleep through anything.
The Thin Woman had long since learned to sleep through the Loud Man’s snoring.
The only real risk was Dudley, and that required almost no effort.
Cover the overweight boy in jam and he might, maybe, roll over.
Any noise that did not come from the cupboard under the stairs would simply be blamed on someone else upstairs.
He stripped off the rags he wore and left them inside the cupboard.
Being caught naked would not make the punishment worse, and clothing could snag or make sound.
Bare and silent, he ghosted up the stairs and toward the shared bathroom.
He left the bathroom, closing the door without a sound.
He had been too afraid to switch on the lights, yet after a long, tense few minutes he felt markedly better.
He had risked using the sink as well, scrubbing grime and dried blood from his face and upper body—the filth he had long since stopped noticing.
His mind, however, felt strange.
Ideas and half-formed plans crowded in where once there had been only careful, limited focus.
Before the changes, every movement had required concentration; sore muscles twitched at the wrong moment, tired fingers lost their grip.
Now the difference was almost dizzying.
He needed to keep improving.
The changes so far were valuable, but he remained broken in too many ways.
Priorities sorted themselves quickly.
Leaving was an option, yet an unknown one.
Better to heal here first, where the dangers—though many—were familiar and, for the moment, avoidable.
He also understood something important about the Dursleys: they did not notice what they preferred not to see.
Dudley stole money and blamed the freak; he ate whatever he wanted whenever he wanted; he received everything he asked for and valued none of it.
That carelessness was a gift.
The boy reached Dudley’s door and pressed a finger near the hinges.
A green thread answered at once.
He willed it through the wood.
The heat against his fingertip bordered on burning, but pain was an old companion.
Ignoring it, he watched a hair-thin filament slip into the hinge itself, coating the metal with a layer of light that should keep it silent.
He repeated the process on the remaining two hinges, then carefully eased the door open and peered inside.
Snores filled the dark room, louder now.
The heavy shape on the bed seemed determined to punish the sagging mattress.
A soft noise made the quiet child freeze.
The floor was a minefield of toys and discarded clothing.
Moving with extreme care, he found a narrow, worn path of carpet—created, no doubt, by Dudley kicking obstacles aside each morning.
He followed it to the dresser and the large jar of notes sitting on top.
Dudley could not be bothered to count properly.
If the jar looked roughly full he would simply complain until one of his parents handed him more—usually while hitting the freak for good measure.
As long as the level appeared unchanged, nothing would be missed.
Working deliberately, the boy opened the jar and sorted the cash across the dresser top.
Smaller notes were easiest to hide, so he rebuilt the jar with every £5 and £10, then added a few of the larger ones for appearance.
The sheer amount of money shocked him; the oversized child never actually spent any of it—he simply demanded things and received them.
Alongside the expected £20 notes sat three £50s.
Shaking his head at the waste, he restored most of the money and kept roughly £320.
A quick, sharp-eyed sweep of the room turned up more.
Near a heap of oversized trousers lay several wallets.
Dudley lost things constantly and simply acquired duplicates.
The boy selected a thin black one and found another £25 inside.
Two more wallets yielded £55 between them.
He left the room carrying nearly £400—far more than he had expected—and the certain knowledge that he could return regularly.
Dudley would ask for fresh money long before he ever searched for what he had misplaced.
The notes went into the now-bulging wallet.
From the floor he took a small pillowcase cover; Dudley threw such things away rather than have them cleaned.
It would make a useful bag.
Silent once more, he moved downstairs, placing each foot on the outer edge of the treads where the nails met the woodwork, avoiding every possible squeak.
It was time to gather food and water.
He slipped the wallet beneath the loose floorboard in his cupboard, then moved into the kitchen.
Although he cooked most of the household meals, the men of the house had not reached their present size by eating sparingly.
The pantry and shelves overflowed with ready-to-eat food—nothing particularly healthy, but heavily preserved and requiring no refrigeration.
His small hands trembled slightly as he began filling the pillowcase, concentrating on the items that tended to be ignored and eventually thrown away.
Energy bars (“Dudleykins needs his energy!”), muffins, jerky, packaged breads filled with jam.
The pantry itself was so forbidden that he had once been slapped merely for walking too close.