As Harry lay in his cramped cupboard, listening to the rhythmic snores of the Dursleys, a voice echoed in his mind.
"You awaken, little ember."
It was Him. The being from the Void. The god who had granted him his wishes.
Harry didn't flinch. He wasn't scared. He simply listened.
"You wished for the Phoenix Force, and so I granted it. But power must be earned, not simply given."
There was amusement in that ancient voice, but also a weight of truth.
"The strength of your flames will correspond to your magic. As your magic grows, so too will the Phoenix Force. When you reach the power of Death itself, you will ascend—to your true form, the White Phoenix."
White Phoenix. The words resonated within him.
Power beyond mortal comprehension. True cosmic rebirth.
"You are at the beginning of your path, little ember. Burn brightly. Amuse me."
And just like that, the presence was gone.
But something lingered. A faint heat beneath his skin. A flicker of golden fire deep within him. It was weak now, barely more than a whisper, but it was there.
A slow smirk curled his lips.
So, he had to grow. Strengthen his magic. Push his limits. Only then would the Phoenix Force truly awaken.
Fine.
He could work with that.
For now, he was just a boy in a cupboard. Weak. Small. Forgotten.
But one day, the world would look upon him and see something far greater.
Not a victim.
Not a tool.
Not even a hero.
But a force beyond magic itself.