8 years old

Feather-light steps were almost soundless as he sneaked into the kitchen, brilliant emerald eyes an eerie light in the darkness. Long slim fingers, which seemed almost out of place on his small hands, traced the surface of the kitchen counter, a harsh hiss leaving full lips as they found nothing. Why was it that his dearest aunt had to make him clean the whole kitchen if she couldn't even reward him in the end. Wasn't he her blood relative or was there a piece of information he was missing? Shaking his head in defeat, he tightly wrapped his thin arms around his midsection in hopes of pushing away the overwhelming feeling of being hungry. Blood relative. A sneer formed his lips as he crept along the wall, his back pressed against it, on his way back to his cupboard. If that was how a blood relative treated him, then he certainly would never think of how an enemy would treat him. Working carefully he slowly opened the door of his cupboard, releasing a sigh as it didn't creak. Slipping inside, all that was left now was to close the stupid door again. With a clunk he finally managed to close it, followed by the soft klink when the lock on the outside of his cupboard slid into place.

His hand traced the door in the darkness, his mind lost in the tingling feeling had spread throughout his body from when he had locked the door. Ever since he had been left in this god forsaken place, he had somehow always known that he didn't belong here. Especially not with them. His relatives. Such a plain word for those foul people. His fingernails dug into the almost rotten wood of the door, his whole body tense as he was overcome by the hatred of whoever had left him here. The worst part of it all being that he could no longer remember the circumstances behind his placement with his relatives. The house had been blown up, his relatives had said. He could still remember the spittle that had flown out of his aunt's mouth as she had accused him of being the reason for the "accident" whatever that was. And to think that she had even raised her filthy hand on him. He lightly traced his fingers over the still sore spot left from that morning. How should he have known that asking if his parents were dead would leave him with no food, a handprint across his cheek and spit on his face. He could still remember his uncle's smug look as he had literally thrown him into the cupboard, his left side colliding with the hard wall as his uncle had spat on his face, telling him that he no longer had a place left in this house. Tch, as if he even wanted to be here in the first place. If only someone would… no No! He harshly bit into the soft flesh of his bottom lip to stop such thoughts. If someone had wanted him, they would have saved him from this place long ago. But maybe She didn't know. Maybe his mother didn't know. His chest tightened. No matter what he did, no matter how emotionless he tried to be, he still wished for her to get him. How could he not. He was still only a boy, who longed for her to love him. To feel her fingers carding through his hair, the feeling of a warm motherly hug, and soft words whispered in his ears in the case he woke up from a nightmare. To think that he even had moments where all he wanted was to be in Dudley's place, that stupid whale. What had Dudley done to deserve people who loved him, when he himself had none.

His eyes landed on his left forearm, skin hidden by the long sleeves of one of Dudley's old shirts. He had had for almost a year now. He had even gone so far as to ask one of his teachers what you called drawings that were on the bodies. Eyes downcast, he had made the picture of innocence as he had explained that he had seen a man with drawings on his arm. A tattoo she had called it. He lifted the sleeve as he gazed into the eyes of the snake that slowly slithered out of the mouth of the skull. Tattoo indeed. Even if did move. It was almost..magical. Yes, magical. He savoured the sound of the word, as he knew that whatever it was he could do, couldn't be called anything else than magic. Whether or not it was called something else he didn't know but since his dear aunt always screeched whenever someone said the word, it certainly couldn't be anything else. But then, did she know? Was that why she said that whatever had happened was his fault, because he wasn't normal? He shrugged, as he gazed up, his eyes tracing the underside of the stairs. Locking and unlocking doors whenever he willed it. A mysterious tattoo suddenly appearing on his arm, almost as if ..marking him.

Normal? No he certainly wasn't normal. Neither did he want to be normal. Normal was for people, filthy people like his relatives. No, he was better, much better. And one day, when he found the person who had been so gracious as to mark him with the tattoo that had become his, one of the few things he owned besides the snake that he kept hidden, he would ask him. Ask him to show his relatives who were the better, the superior of them all. With bright eyes he contemplated and planned as he finally fell asleep, his lips still forming silent thanks and grazing the spot where the snake kept itself hidden inside of the mouth of the skull