Chapitre 1: Prologue
In the dimly lit confines of Number 4 Privet Drive, Harry Potter was practically a human doormat. There he was, crammed into his cupboard beneath the stairs, which was basically a high-end shoebox. Not that it was ever meant to be a home, but rather a punishment for existing. He was the human equivalent of a "Keep Out" sign, constantly dodging verbal grenades from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon Dursley.
Uncle Vernon's voice boomed through the house like an angry foghorn. "You useless lump!" he'd bellow, his face contorted into a permanent scowl. "You're nothing but a walking disaster!"
Aunt Petunia wasn't much better. Her disapproval was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. "You'll never be worth anything," she'd sneer, as if that was the most creative insult she could muster.
Harry's daily life was like being stuck in a video game on the hardest difficulty level. Meals? He got scraps that even a raccoon would turn its nose up at. Clothes? They were hand-me-downs so threadbare, they made rags look like haute couture. And emotional support? Forget it. Every insult felt like a punch to the gut, but hey, Harry was used to that by now.
One particular day, Harry, still stuck in the kitchen, managed to drop a pan with a clang that could wake the dead. The sound seemed to echo through the house like a cry for help. Harry's heart raced as Uncle Vernon stormed in, face redder than a tomato on steroids.
"You can't even handle a simple pan without making a mess!" Uncle Vernon roared, his voice reverberating off the walls. "You're nothing but trouble!"
Harry braced himself for the inevitable. He'd learned the hard way that Uncle Vernon's rage wasn't something you wanted to be on the receiving end of. The familiar grip on his collar yanked him forward, and Harry could practically taste the steam coming from Uncle Vernon's ears.
Then came the slap. It stung so badly Harry thought he'd seen stars. His vision blurred with tears, his cheek burned with a fiery agony. He staggered back, trying to keep his balance as Uncle Vernon loomed over him like a dark cloud.
"Get back to that cupboard and stay there!" Uncle Vernon spat, his voice dripping with disdain. "And don't even think about asking for food. You'll be lucky if you get out of there this week."
With a final, contemptuous shove, Uncle Vernon pushed Harry back into the cramped space. The cupboard closed around him like a vice. Harry slumped against the wall, his stomach growling louder than a lion at feeding time. He curled up, his body trembling with a mix of exhaustion and pain.
In the stifling silence of the cupboard, Harry's mind was a whirlwind of despair. He whispered into the darkness, hoping maybe, just maybe, someone out there would hear him. "Please," he muttered, his voice cracking. "Anyone, help me. Get me out of here, or... or just let me go. I can't handle this anymore."
As Harry's tears mingled with the gloom, his magic, the one thing he had that was still his, began to stir. Little did he know, his plea for help was reaching out to the universe like a beacon. And out in the depths of space, Drakor, a Klyntar Symbiote, was waking up to the cosmic distress signal.
Drakor was sort of like a cosmic Uber driver—when someone needed saving, it showed up. The symbiote, still drowsy from its interstellar nap, started moving towards Earth, guided by Harry's desperate magic. The closer it got, the more its presence intertwined with Harry's plight, like a hero arriving just in time for the climax of the story.
As Harry drifted off into a fitful sleep, unaware of the cosmic twist about to hit his life, Drakor was on its way. Little did Harry know, his ordeal was about to get a serious upgrade. And as Harry slept, his subconscious reached out for salvation, Drakor was heading in to answer the call, ready to turn the page on a new chapter in his tumultuous journey.
—
The night over Privet Drive was about to get a lot more interesting. Forget the usual suburban snooze-fest; tonight, the neighborhood was in for a cosmic surprise.
A sudden crash and blinding flash jolted everyone awake. Uncle Vernon, looking like he'd seen a ghost, huddled with Aunt Petunia and Dudley in the living room, exchanging terrified glances and muttering things like, "What in the name of all that is sane was that?" Spoiler alert: it wasn't a meteorite.
Uncle Vernon, never one to miss an opportunity to make Harry's life worse, grabbed the boy and practically hurled him out the door. "Go check it out, and don't you dare come back until you've searched every corner of this street! I don't want to see you again until you've figured out if we're under attack or if it's just your clumsiness!"
Harry, heart pounding with all the enthusiasm of a kid being sent to do something dangerous, stepped into the night. Shadows danced in the moonlight, and every sound was a potential threat. But Harry's curiosity—or maybe his survival instincts—drew him toward the source of the disturbance.
And what a sight it was. Right in the middle of Privet Drive was a crater that looked like it had been created by someone deciding to play golf with meteors. The ground was still smoldering, and there, in the center of the crater, was a mass of dark, writhing goo. "Definitely not a rock," Harry thought, approaching cautiously.
He didn't know it yet, but he was about to meet Drakor, a Klyntar Symbiote Dragon who had a flair for the dramatic. As Harry neared, the mass shifted and seemed to respond to his presence, like it was saying, "Oh boy, a live one!"
Drakor's inner voice, a mix of exuberance and mischief, piped up in Harry's mind. "Well, hello there, little human! Fancy meeting you here. I'm Drakor, and you, my friend, are about to have your life turned upside down. Buckle up; it's going to be a wild ride!"
Harry's heart did a double flip. As Drakor's tendrils enveloped him, he felt an odd mix of fear and comfort. The dark energy wrapped around him like an overenthusiastic hug from a friendly giant. "Whoa, this is new!" Harry thought as he looked down at his hands, now covered in a sleek, dark substance.
"Yep, that's me! Drakor, the dragon-symbiote extraordinaire," Drakor continued, his voice a playful buzz in Harry's mind. "I'm here to jazz up your life. Consider me your new cosmic bestie."
As the bond solidified, Harry felt an incredible surge of power. His aches and bruises from his uncle's beating seemed to melt away. Drakor's form began to shift, sprouting majestic wings tipped with gold and red. "How do you like my new look? Fancy, right? I'm a big fan of the dramatic entrance," Drakor quipped.
Harry took a deep breath, his fear mingling with exhilaration. He flexed his new wings experimentally, feeling their strength. Then, without a second thought, he leaped into the air. The sensation of flight was like nothing he'd ever imagined—a mix of freedom and sheer exhilaration.
From above, the world looked different. Privet Drive, with all its oppressive familiarity, now seemed like a distant memory. Drakor's voice sang in his mind, a mix of playful taunts and reassuring murmurs.
"Welcome to your new reality, Harry! We're soaring above the mundane now. This is what freedom feels like. No more being squished under the stairs. Let's make some noise and show the world what we're made of!"
As Harry circled back, he couldn't help but smile. He felt invincible, ready to face whatever came next. Back on the ground, the Dursleys watched in stunned silence. Their worst nightmare had taken flight, and little did they know, Harry was no longer their helpless nephew but a force to be reckoned with.
In Drakor's playful voice, he added, "And remember, folks, never underestimate a boy with cosmic powers. We're just getting started!"
Harry's new journey was just beginning, and with Drakor by his side, the possibilities were as endless as the night sky.
---
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone