Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter... Duh... I'm borrowing him from Draco...

NOTE***: So it's really hard to type this because I've like already typed this and I feel like crying because I had written so much, but then I had been lying on the floor to be comfortable while I typed and my carpet made me get all staticky and I touched my computer and it got shocked which made it shut off... and I had been about to save what I had written, but then I shocked my computer and it shut off!!! I don't think I've been so depressed ever!!! What I had was SOOOO good... and now I'm retyping it!!! *tear*

Also, I'm messing with the ages in this, I'm aware. I know that he is too old when the first chapter actually starts... it's for a reason. Be patient... Please enjoy! OH! And Vernon is a sadistic bastard... like he is REALLY bad in this... to anyone who likes him... I'm sorry... Dumbledore is a jerk...

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Opening

Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, carefully held the small infant in his arms. He lightly traced the small scar on the boy's face; a mark that would forever make this boy want vengeance, both for himself and for the family he would never know... Albus could sense a great power within the small child, no older than one year... He had been done a terrible injustice and Albus would delight in helping the boy he held right the wrong done to him. He relished the thought of causing the darkness in their magical world to fall forever... and this small child in his arms would help to make that happen...

Dumbledore gazed upon Number Four Privet Drive, disdainfully. Leaving any child in a place like this was a crime in his twinkling blue eyes; the Dursley's were unfit to raise their own son, none the less someone else's... Unfortunately, Albus felt obligated to leave them with another child; a child that had been cursed to need them...

After watching the house quietly for some time... he finally decided to apparate away, before he could change his mind. It was better for the boy inside that hideous house to be with his family than with anyone else... Besides, Albus had one more stop to make...

Chapter One

Harry James Potter jumped up quickly from his semi-comfortable spot in his bed when he felt more than heard his uncle call for him. Uncle Vernon's voice always shook the walls of his small room under the stairs... especially when he was angry... He sounded livid.

Without seeing, Harry grabbed a shirt from a pile next to the bed and threw it on; it swallowed him whole. He had never worn any type of clothing that had actually fit him; after all, why should his aunt and uncle spend money for him to have decent clothes when he was only allowed to go to school and then right back home? The only new clothes he ever got were clothes that no longer fit his enormous cousin, Dudley. He didn't bother with running a brush through his thick black hair; it always looked as if he just woke up anyway; no matter what he did with it. He finally slid glasses over his emerald green eyes, not that it mattered much: they were broken and he had very little light in the cupboard he slpet in, every few months he got a new light bulb but it wasn't necessarily "new". He threw the door to his "room" open and ran out, nearly whacking himself in the head on the low rising entrance.

He stopped in the entrance way to the kitchen. His Uncle Vernon was standing in the middle of the kitchen, making it appear as if the large space was five times smaller than it really was. At the kitchen table sat Aunt Petunia, her pale blonde hair hanging limply on her shoulders. Next to her sat Dudley, a beast of a boy who had been slowly trading his fat in for muscles as he got into wrestling. Harry had to deal with those new muscles constantly as he was his cousin's favorite punching bag. As always, Harry was still shocked at the slight weight and size of his aunt, especially next to Vernon and their son. She was about the size of a toothpick next to her son and husband... maybe half a toothpick... Harry thought all his family would be nice looking if they would just take care of themsleves better, maybe smile every once in a while...

He continued to stand in the doorway, being carful to avoid eye contact... they hated it when he looked at them... He tried not to let them know how much it hurt when they would mistreat him, or even worse when they ignored him... His family had always made it clear to him that he was unwanted and while he hated being treated as if he were a filthy stray dog that needed to be impounded, he pathetically needed their hate and scorn of him. At least when they were being mean to him they were actually acknowledging his presence... He preferred being hurt to being invisible...

"Well!?" his uncle exclaimed angrily, his face a surprisingly light shade of purple, "What are you doing still standing around!? Get to work!"

Harry ran to the fridge, still trying to avoid eye contact, and pulled out some things to make breakfast. He knew perfectly well why his uncle was in such a horrid mood. One: he was hungry (big surprise there), and two: it was the day before Harry's birthday.

Uncle Vernon hated Harry's birthday almost as much Harry himself. Birthday's for Harry were never happy. They were nothing like the ones he had seen on the telly (that is, on the few occasions he had been able to watch the television), where everyone cheered and clapped and had fun... He had never one had fun on July 31st, never even wanted to celebrate the day he was born into a life that he hated. The only person who got presents on this horrid day was Dudley, and he got more presents on Harry's birthday than on his own... Harry would gladly never have another birthday again... It was just another day for his family to shun his presence and to cut into his heart even deeper. Uncle Vernon's hatred for the day of his birth only made it hurt more and the man always looked as if he were expecting something horrible to happen... Harry had no clue what...

When Vernon sat down at the table to await breakfast, Harry hurriedly tried to ready something. If his unlce was late for work again because of him, he knew he would get a major thrashing. Uncle Vernon was a strong believer in corporal punishment... at least on Harry anyways...

As he cooked some bacon, Harry found himself daydreaming of a life he knew he would never have. He could picture in his mind a warm pair of arms wrapping around him, hugging him tightly. He could hear a soft voice telling him how precious he was and how much he was loved. He could feel the sheer joy of having a family that would love him... And although he could never see the faces of the people whom cared, he knew they were his parents. He knew that although he had no clue what they looked like they were beautiful and they were his. He could imagine leaving the Dursleys and running to a new home, one that was big and warm, running into the arms of people who actually cared about him, people who actually loved him. No matter how bad he felt, whenever he escaped to the world in his mind he would always feel better.

He didn't even know what happened to his real parents. Sure, he knew they were dead (his aunt and uncle had at least been decent enough to tell him that) but he had no clue how they died or when... They were like missing pieces in his mind, pieces he desperately wanted to be filled in... He wanted so badly to ask what happened to his parents, but he always held his tongue when he felt like asking. One: his parents were a definite sore spot for his aunt and uncle, not even the fact that they were dead, it was more like they hated the Potters. In the (today) fourteen years he had been living with the Dursleys he had not seen a single photo of himself or his parents. He had cleaned the house mulitiple times, literally from top to bottom, and had not once found anything regarding Lilly or James Potter. Two: he had the childish fear that if he questioned the death of his parents and his aunt or uncle actually answered him, the truth would only hurt him. He felt that if he asked for details, his aunt and uncle would only paint him a picture of another couple like them. He feared with all his being that his parents could have been anything like the Dursleys. He could handle one pair of Vernon and Petunia, another pair, one that gave birth to him, would kill him.

He looked at not knowing the truth as the nicest gift his family could give him. Because he didn't know anything about his parents, not even what they looked like, he could imagine that they were perfect. He could imagine his mother Lilly smiling at him and hugging him, doting upon him on his birthday or nusring him back to health when he was sick... He could imagine his father James teaching him to play sports and bragging about him to all his friends and fellow employees, much like Uncle Vernon did with Dudley. He could imagine that they would eat together like a family, and he wouldn't be forced to eat any leftovers if he was hungry. He would be given his own plate of food (food he didn't have to make himself) like a member of the family, and he could eat as much as he wanted. He wouldn't be forced to do the dishes or clean the house. He could wear clothes that fit and he could go to all the places he'd never been too, like the library or the zoo. He could pretend in his head that, though it wasn't real, he was loved...

"Bloody hell boy!" he heard Uncle Vernon scream.

Harry snapped out of his daydreaming and his senses were instantly clogged with the ungodly stench of burnt bacon. He covered his mouth with his hand, quickly shutting the stove off and placing the burning bacon pan into the sink, turning the water on. The room was almost filled with steam and smoke. He reached to turn the water off, but he was suddenly grabbed roughly by the arm.

"Were you trying to burn my house down boy!?" his uncle exclaimed, his darkening face inches from Harry's in the still smoky room.

"N-no sir," Harry stuttered, wincing as Uncle Vernon's fingers dug into the soft skin of his arm. He would definitely have some bruises later...

Vernon began to drag him towards his little cupboard, his grip tightening. "Make Dudley some breakfast Petunia," he growled over his shoulder as he wrenched the door open to the room beneath the stairs and threw Harry in. He glared wrathfully at the green-eyed boy, his face getting redder and redder as he fought off the urge to strangle the boy. "I haven't had breakfast, I'm going to be late for work, and the stupid boy that I regretfully took in under my roof because his bloody parents are dead has tried to burn my house down..." His glare was seemingly trying to turn Harry into a pile of ash on the floor. "When I get back you'll get the biggest lashing of your life," the big man growled out, still glaring. "You will stay in this cupboard all day until I return. If Petunia tells me one time you tried to leave I'll come right back; do you hear me?" Harry nodded quickly, doubting his uncle's words not the slightest bit. "Good," the man nodded, the fat of his neck jiggling. He shot Harry one last evil glare. "Have a jolly day," he said as he slammed the door and walked away, his tone laced with malicious joy. He paused just long enough to watch the hurt flash through Harry's eyes. He couldn't wait to come back home and beat the living hell out of his nephew... it always brought a smile to his face...

Later that afternoon...

Harry had sat on his little bed all day... He only moved to get comfortable and to examine the bruising on his arm. He could see Uncle Vernon's hand print as if it had been done in paint. Any markings on his skin looked darker than normal, mainly because he was so pale. He was only allowed outside for school and yard work, which on days like today didn't matter. When he was told he was going to be locked in the cupboard, he was going to be locked in the cupboard. His arm hurt horribly, and he could only expect more when his uncle got home. Someone really hated him if he had been cursed to live with this family... He almost preferred the thought of being alone for the rest of his life to being with the Dursleys.

He almost felt like crying when he felt another pang in his empty stomach. His lunch had been stolen at school yesterday, there had been no leftovers from dinner last night, he hadn't even been able to cook breakfast, and then he was not allowed out of his cupboard for lunch... although he could smell the mouth-watering scent of some sort of stew cooking. It had been cooking all day, stabbing small knives of hunger in Harry's stomach, awaiting the arrival of Uncle Vernon. Dudley had already come home from school; Harry knew not only because the boy had yelled loudly when coming in, but also because he had ran up and down the stairs a few times and then asked Harry if he wanted a snack. Of course, he shoved a peice of cake in his mouth while asking and while it had been incredibly disgusting to hear his cousin talk with his mouth full, it had made Harry incredibly envious, and it only made the hunger pains even worse...

Harry tried to read his watch in the dim light and through his broken glasses; he wanted to know how much time he had until his uncle would come home... But as soon as he could finally make out a time it didn't matter. At that precise moment, Harry could hear Uncle Vernon burst through the front door.

"Petunia... Dudley... I'm home!" he called, sounding unusually cheerful. Of course, it was probably the fact that he was going to get to take his frustrations out on poor Harry...

Harry watched through the grate on the front of his door as the enormous silhouette of his uncle walked by and towards the kitchen. He leaned back agaisnt the wall of his room, wrapping his arms around his waist as if he could hold off the hunger. Without even realizing it, he fell alseep.

...

Suddenly being pulled from his bed caused Harry to wake up. He cried out as he hit the floor and was drug from the room like a garbage bag, hitting his head multiple times. At the foot of the stairs, he was hoisted onto a pair of meaty shoulders and roughly carried to an empty room where he was literally thrown onto the floor.

His hunger was completely forgotten as he watched his uncle's dark form walk across the room to a closet and pull something out. Even without his glasses, which had either fallen off in his sleep or during the rough dragging, he knew what Uncle Vernon had pulled from the closet. It had the unmistakable shape and form a whip... He still wasn't sure when or where his uncle had come across it, but he had started using it on Harry about three years ago. Harry wasn't even sure if Petunia even knew about the whip... all he knew was that it hurt like hell and it always bit into his back with a savage sting... It also took weeks to stop hurting and even longer to fully heal.

Uncle Vernon walked back to Harry and pulled him up by his messy black hair, earning a cry of pain. "Shh..." he said to the boy, tugging on his hair some, "You can't wake up Petunia or Dudley... I would hate to have to hit you harder for disturbing them..." He dropped Harry suddenly and delighted in hearing a small crack. To give Harry credit though, he only let out a small whimper as he felt the white-hot burning of his broken wrist. "Hurry up boy," Vernon sneered, "take that bloody shirt off. I would like to get this over with."

Harry painfully tried to slide his shirt off, his wrist making it difficult. He felt as if hundreds of little pieces of glass were embedded into his arm. He almost got it off without too much pain until Vernon yanked it off of him roughly, his limp wrist getting caught in a sleeve. Vernon viciously pulled the shirt away and he heard another small snap. Harry let out a cry this time... making Vernon smile.

He kicked the suddenly woozy Harry over onto his stomach and smiled at the boy's back. He could see the scars from other thrashings he'd given his nephew... they criss-crossed over his back. They looked as if recieving them had been incredibly painful and Vernon sure as hell had tried to make them that way... He loved having power over people, and the weakest person he knew was Harry... He loved hitting Harry with his whip, imagining the young boy as all the other people he wanted to beat his control into... The feeling of power was incredible and addictive...

Harry felt his back tense up as he awaited the first stinging blow of the whip... He loathed how his uncle would wait and wait to start beating him... If he was going to whip him, Harry just wished he would start and then get it over with. He hated waiting to feel pain...

Vernon waited a few more minutes for the anxiety to build before he pulled his hand back behind him and then let it fly forward. He watched as the boy's back tensed even more than it had been when he could hear the whistle of air as the whip sliced through it...

The whip made a sharp slapping sound when it finally struck Harry's back. His eyes watered and he wanted to scream, but he allowed no tears to fall and only a pained gasp to escape his lips. He knew that Uncle Vernon liked to hear him in pain the most, so he would try his hardest not to give him that satisfaction.

As the whip pulled away just to strike again, it was a little harder not to cry out. Harry had to bite his lip; and when he was hit a third time he tasted blood. He would. Not. Cry...

Vernon smiled as the fourth hit drew a little bit of blood. He hit again, harder, and got more blood. He liked the dark red of blood against the pale skin of Harry's scarred back... He liked the colors... He continued to hit his nephew, wanting to see more blood...

Harry was trying harder and harder not to cry out and scream... He could feel something warm run down his back and he could smell the rusty scent of his blood... It hurt so much... He had lost count of how many times he'd been hit... He was beginning to feel light-headed and the hunger from two days without food was attacking him again. He felt as if his stomach would rip a whole right through him, and he felt like his back was being massaged with shards of broken glass and rusty nails... Just when he thought he couldn't stand it any more, just when he was about to break, the biting whip left his back and remained off. He tried to sigh in relief, but it came out as a quiet sob instead. He wanted to cover his mouth so he wouldn't be heard, but the pain left him immobile. He felt that one move would make all the pain he felt increase ten-fold.

He was lifted off the floor and back onto a pair of meaty shoulders where he could feel them walking back to his room. He was almost gently tossed onto his bed where his uncle had the decency to at least place him on his stomach. He was partially lying on his hurt wirst, but it was no where near as painful as his bloodied back... Relief washed over him as he felt the presence of his uncle leave. He let out a quiet sob, still not wanting anyone to hear. He wanted to wipe his face but he still couldn't muster up the ability to move.

He painfully awaited sleep to claim him, begging desperately to dream of anything that could distract him from the pain he felt. He was thoroughly convinced that the aching would follow him even in his dreams...

The last thing he heard as he was greatfully sucked into the world of unconsciousness was the beeping of his watch as it read 12:00 a.m.

"Happy birthday," he mumbled to himself, finally allowing sleep to take over.

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X

Harry woke up and instantly wished he hadn't. He wished, not for the first time in his life, that he would have just died in his sleep. Dying had to be a hell of a whole lot better than living... at least in his world...

He hurt so much... It was hard to breathe because the pain was so intense. His back was aching and burning, as if someone was behind him running a hot iron over it; his wrist, which he had heard snap twice last night, was still uncomfortably settled partially beneath him... What he could see of his arm was a sickly blackish-blue color... it hurt like hell... Why couldn't he have just died in his sleep? Did some higher being hate him so much?

At least, he knew he had the whole day to himself. It was his birthday; his aunt and uncle would be gone all day to do stuff with Dudley so the boy could come home and brag about what he had done in Harry's face. He wouldn't receive a cake, a single present, or even a 'Happy Birthday!'. His family didn't care enough to even pretend that it mattered to them whether he even had a happy birthday or not. They took Dudley out all of the time and bought him whatever he wanted; on Harry's birthday Dudley was treated to a second Christmas...

Harry moaned as he tried to sit up, his body protesting with every breath. He didn't want to move, he didn't want to breathe... he didn't want to live... He had never felt this bad before, never. His head was pounding, his back was burning, his wrist was throbbing, his stomach was aching... It had never been this bad before...

He grabbed one of the bigger T-shirts the Dursleys had given him and, with some difficulty, managed to put it on. The cool fabric gave just the slightest bit of soothing to his aching back. He would need to take a shower to rid his back of the dry blood he could feel sticking to his skin. He felt horrible, absolutely disgusting.

With even more protest from his body, Harry managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed. The cool tile of the floor seemed to burn his pain-sensitive skin. He whimpered as his stomach clenched painfully and he accidentally put pressure on his broken wrist. His entire left arm was one giant bruise, his right arm still sporting his uncle's large handprint. He didn't even want to see his back...

His body still begging him not to move, he stood from his bed and, his legs wobbling, made his way to the door. He opened it slowly with his right hand, keeping his left one securely against his bare chest. He hobbled his way to the kitchen where the sunlight seemed to brighten his spirits just a tiny bit. He reached the fridge and pulled it open.

He thought that he would want everything inside the fridge. He thought that he would have ravaged everything inside... However... at the sight of all that food, his stomach churned and he felt sick. He wanted to run to the bathroom but his knees began shaking horribly. He moved to the sink as quickly as his body would allow him to and emptied what little there was inside his stomach. He stood as still as he could when he was finished, not wanting to risk motion sickness.

When he finally thought he could move, he rinsed the sink out and then his mouth. The scar on his forhead, an odd lightning bolt-shaped scar he had gotten shortly after his first birthday, began to tingle. He splashed water over his whole face with his good hand and used the front of his overly-large t-shirt to dry off. His movements were slow and his entire body was sore, his broken wrist sending waves of pain up and down his arm with even the slightest movements. How was he going to fix this? He wouldn't be able to do any of his chores in this condition but he didn't dare ask for help... Harry recieving help from any of the Dursleys was like Vernon losing weight: impossible.

As he stood on unsteady legs and thought about what he should do, the scar on his forhead's tingling grew more and more annoying, almost to the point of pain. He took a deep breath and steeled himself against the pain he was sure would come as he made his way out of the kitchen and headed back to his room under the stairs.

As he walked his body protested with every step. The walls of the hall seemed to be closing in on him and for the first time he was scared that his uncle had gone too far this time, that this time the Dursleys would be rid of him for good. He reached out and used his right hand to steady himself and prop up against the wall. He sunk down to the floor, unable to stay standing. I'm dying this time, he thought as he closed his eyes tightly to block out the tears fighting to escape. The air around him crackled with an odd energy and when he opened his eyes again he could have sworn that he saw small sparks randomly appearing in the air. He was really scared now. What was going on? His head throbbed as his scar exploded in pain. He grabbed his head, ignoring the pain in his wrist and cried out from the pressure building up in his head and in the air around him. It was crushing him. The walls were getting closer, the sparks bigger and more pronounced.

The last thing Harry managed to see was a shadow approaching him from seemingly nowhere.

And then the world went black again...

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NOTE: Please review!!!

And I am quite aware that Lilly is spelled different in this story than in my other one. I wrote this one a few months back... Blah Blah Blah... So I'm sorry for spelling it 2 different ways.