1 Prologue

In the quiet and humble town of Little Whinging, there sat a usually normal street known as Privet Drive. It was a place for regular folks with regular children to live out their regular lives... Unfortunately for some, a common disturbance had been occurring as of late...

A loud voice could be heard screaming from the building with Number 4 fixed on the door. Most knew the owner of said voice, but strangely felt no urge to intervene, despite the tone and content currently being shouted.

Vernon Dursley's face was bright red, almost turning purple as he continued to berate the 'creature' that'd cursed their household for eight years now. "Damn freak! I told you before. you talk and I'll sew your freakish mouth shut!"

The young eight-year-old instinctively raises his arms to protect his face, even before the first punch is thrown. This had always happened when his Uncle lost his temper and young Harry Potter had almost made it an art to read how much danger he was in by the colour of his uncle's face.

He groans slightly as the punch breaks through his frail defence, and almost coughs up a lung when Vernon follows it up with a kick to the young boy's stomach, throwing him against the wall with a thud.

Behind the man were the man's 'co-conspirators' as Harry liked to label them. His Aunt Petunia Dursley, and their son Dudley Dursley. The duo was smiling and smirking as if watching a play. "Yeah, dad! Get him!" Dudley cheers, not affected in the least at the level of violence currently being imparted upon such a young boy.

Vernon seemed emboldened by his son's words, his barrage of punches and kicks increasing in strength as Harry finally broke down and started to cry, shouting in pain as each blow connected. After a couple minutes of this, the man finally stops, breathing heavily and looking down at the bloodied child with a satisfied look.

Usually, if one had sustained such injuries, you'd immediately be sent to the hospital to receive quick and extensive treatment... But not Harry, Vernon instead picks up his limp body and tosses him into the small and claustrophobic cupboard under the stairs.

"GOOD FOR NOTHING! You stay in there and wait until I give you permission to leave. If you disobey me I'll do worse than just now! YOU UNDERSTAND!" Vernon shouts, clapping his hands off and leaving.

Harry just lays limply looking up at the ceiling of his cupboard, each breath he took was like fire, and he swore something watery was building up in his chest. Tears escape from his eyes as he begins silently sobbing, trying his utmost not to catch the fat man's attention again. The only reason he felt safe enough to cry was because he'd heard Vernon's steps leaving his vicinity.

"Why..." he whispers to himself, wondering why everyone hated him so much... The recent beating he'd taken was retaliation because he'd tried to call the police in a vain hope of receiving help... Of course, they said they'd be at the house right away, but they hadn't arrived at all... Instead, his Uncle received a phone call, resulting in... This...

This wasn't the first time he'd tried to seek help either, teachers, doctors, the authorities... All said they'd help, but betrayed him at the last second, calling his Uncle and telling him what Harry had done. Every time he'd received a beating, with each subsequent one getting increasingly brutal and vicious.

Harry didn't know why people hated him so, but he'd found himself reciprocating those feelings the longer he was stuck in this hell. The Durley's forced him to do everything for them, cleaning, gardening, cooking, even DIY on the things Dudley had managed to break with his fat fingers. The only food he managed to eat were the straps left on their plates after he'd been told to clean them... Not that the fat bastards left much.

Harry had never even been to the hospital, and he had no idea how he'd survived up until now... Even now he could feel that a couple of his ribs were broken, he'd lost a couple teeth, and judging by how awkwardly bent his arm and leg were currently, they were broken too.

Despite that, a day or two afterwards most of his injuries would heal. Leaving him unharmed with only the scars to show for his time here.

Harry was actually quite intelligent for an eight-year-old. And knew his rate of healing was unnatural. In the past he'd wondered if this was the reason the Dursleys called him 'freak', but knew it not to be completely the case, as anything would set his uncle off...

The lights were flickering? Must be the freak.

An object wasn't where Vernon left it? Must be the freak.

Vernon lost a significant deal at his job? IT MUST HAVE BEEN THE FREAK!

As much as Harry hated to admit it, he couldn't disprove his involvement either, as he himself had noticed strange things happening around himself... Once when he was running from Dudley, he'd run into a crowd of people and found that none seemed to notice him... Even when he'd bumped into them the victim looked around in confusion, as if they couldn't see him.

Another instance happened when Dudley and his gang were chasing him in school, he'd found himself at a dead end and closed his eyes, desperately wishing to be elsewhere... And suddenly found himself on the roof of the school.

Of course, Dudley told Vernon afterwards and Harry was beaten to an inch of his life... Come to think of it, most of the strange occasions had happened when he was being chased by Dudley...

The depths of the Dursley's cruelty hadn't even spared him when he was a baby... He thought his name was freak until he entered school and had his name called out... He hadn't answered obviously, as he had no idea who 'Harry Potter' was... He received detention, and a beating from Vernon afterwards anyway though.

He even had to sabotage his own grades to avoid further retaliation, as if he proved himself better than Dudley at anything, that was proof he was using his 'freakishness' again.

Harry truly hated them, with a ferocity he hadn't thought possible. He was sure this wasn't the usual random spike of anger he sometimes felt, no, unlike that unfocused rage, he felt cold, unadulterated hatred for his oppressors.

The only thing stopping Harry from sneaking from his cupboard in the middle of the night, grabbing a knife from the kitchen and butchering his 'family' in their sleep was the tide of fear that swept him every time he moved to do it.

He'd reached the kitchen once, but once he wrapped his fingers around the handle of the knife, he found that his body was frozen in fear. Unable to move until he relinquished the blade. That night he stashed the knife away and cried himself to sleep, berating himself for being a coward and not noticing the cupboard lightbulb flickering.

Harry wipes his eyes with his one good arm and repositions a pillow under his head, not daring to move due to the severity of his injuries... "I wish everyone would leave me alone..." he whispers, falling asleep.