Chapter 1

October 31st, 1981 - Muggle Britain, Number 4 Privet Drive

Harry whimpered. He may only be a year old, but he knew something bad was going to happen. He knew it was something bad once he was pulled away from his mother and forced to sit outside in the cold without any warmth or even a blanket. He just sat there, on the cold doorstep of a home that most certainly wasn't his, and he knew that his life was changing for the worse once the door opened and a large, purple man appeared. Harry knew that his life was never going to be the same once the man began to shout, and suddenly he was being picked up by another set of arms and locked inside that building with no way out. He knew he was trapped. And he really didn't want this. He didn't want this at all.

He was taken inside and sat down on the kitchen counter. A tall lady appeared and along with the fat, purple man, whispered ferociously to each other.

"What do you suppose we do with the brat?" the man said, looking at the lady fiercely. He held a white envelope in his hands, a smug smirk plastered across his face.

"Vernon, we need to look after him. Just for a year or two. Then he can be trained to look after the house and do things for us instead. After all, he is still a baby. We need to look after him so that he feels indebted to us, and grateful that we took him in with our kind and caring hearts," the woman squeaked out, her voice sounding just as nasty as the heart that beats within her.

"Alright then. And in the end, if it doesn't work out, we could always just dump him off at an orphanage. It won't affect the pay that old man is giving to us."

The two continued scheming the night away whereas poor Harry fell asleep on that counter and dreamt about red eyes and a snake-face.

–– 1 Year Later ––

Harry sat down on the floor of his cupboard with a pout. He was only two years old, however he could already speak full sentences and learnt how to walk just a few days ago. He was a very smart boy, but he knew that things like that would not be appreciated in this house. Every night, he would dream about either one of two things; sometimes it would be about red eyes, but other times he would dream of red hair instead. He wondered what it meant: if they had something in common or maybe if the colour red had any significant meaning towards him. He blinked slowly and laid down on his cardboard bed, placing his head on top of his stack-of-books 'pillow.' He closed his eyes and for once, he had a dreamless sleep.

–– Another Year Later ––

This is when it all suddenly began. At first, it was just calling him "Freak" when they needed him and last year they had taken to verbally abusing him with a few slaps here and there. Now though, was when it took a turn for the worse.

The first time it happened was on a Sunday evening. Uncle Vernon was sitting in the living room watching TV, and then he called for the "Freak." Harry had come running in, smiling innocently at the big monster of a man. Vernon had kissed his teeth at him before ordering young Harry to bring him a cup of tea from Petunia. Harry merely nodded and went to look for the tall lady.

He found her in the garden, and tugged slightly at the hem of her dress. "Yes? What is it, child? Speak up!" Petunia grumbled under her breath.

"Tee!" Harry exclaimed, pointing towards the living room where they could see Vernon sitting on a couch with a newspaper in hand as he watched the telly. Petunia nodded before briskly walking toward the kitchen, making certain the little brat was following her. She quickly made her husband his tea before looking down at the smiling Harry with a glare, which soon transformed into a full-blown grin of her own.

"Why don't you go give it to Vernon yourself, hmm?" She said sweetly, grasping Harry's little fingers and placing them around the smouldering cup of tea and nudging him in the direction where Vernon waited. Harry's smile had disappeared instantly, a small frown making an appearance as he slightly shook his head.

"H-hot..." He stumbled over his words, trying to let go of the cup in his hands. Petunia glared fiercely at him, which caused him to instantly shut his mouth and try to get the cup of hot tea to Vernon without dropping it. Unfortunately, it was too much for him as he dropped the cup of tea just as Dudley came out of the living room. The tea spilled on the floor, although a few drops had landed on Dudley's chubby face and arms. The fat boy began to wail.

"Mummy!" he cried. Petunia came running out to see what made her precious "Duddykins" so upset, and gasped at the scene. Her face grew red with rage and she turned to Harry, hand raised in a threatening manner. She brought it down swiftly and a loud crack echoed throughout the room. Harry shakily brought up his hand, pressing it lightly against his left cheek. He hissed at the pain and stared when he brought his hand back and saw blood. Tears gathered in his eyes but he blinked them away, bottom lip sucked into his mouth as he tried his hardest not to cry.

Then Vernon came.

Harry shook at the sight of the giant man, a scathing look resting on his face as he moved towards the young boy. Vernon gripped Harry's thin arm and dragged him into the living room. He began to undo his belt and once he was done, Harry knew he was in deep trouble. He was scared, but he didn't want to seem weak. He flinched at the look on Vernon's face. He heard it before he felt it. He saw it before he felt it... And then he felt it.

Vernon brought the belt down hard, the cold metal buckle leaving an indent on Harry's bare back. The fat man had stripped the boy of his top and shoved him against the wall until he stayed there. He couldn't hold it anymore. Harry gritted his teeth as tears rolled down his puffed cheeks, one side with a flaming red handprint and the rest of his skin as white as a sheet. He screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to stop the tears from spilling.

Uncle Vernon didn't stop for what felt like eternity. Over and over, again and again. He didn't stop for a single moment, not even when Harry began to scream, not even when Harry began to cry and beg for him to stop. Not even when Harry told him he was sorry, not even when Harry told him it will never happen again... He never stopped.

It was night by the time Harry was able to breathe again. His throat burned from screaming for hours on end, his eyes stung and his cheeks had streaks of tears left on them. He could barely move. He could feel the sticky substance on his back, and realised that he was lying a pool of his own blood. His face was drenched in it, his clothes were ripped apart and he thought for sure that he had broken something.

Before the beast left, he spoke. "Use your shirt or something that won't dirty my house, you brat. Clean up your disgusting filthy mess and I don't want you in my sight for at least a week!"

Harry sighed, pain evident on his features. He knew nothing was ever going to be the same again...