If one were to have asked any of the surrounding neighbors of Number 4 Pivet Drive about the family that lived there they would hear the same thing from each one, that the Dursleys are an upstanding model of a truly ordinary and successful family as well as proud and beloved members of their community. The man and bread-winner of the house, Vernon Dursley, is the successful director of the Grunnings Drilling Manufacturing Company and loving husband and father to his wife of 20 years and their child. Vernon was also a well-known authority figure both in and outside of the office and fierce defender of his wife's happiness, along with being an esteemed graduate of Smeltings Academy.

As for his wife, she was none other than the lovely Petunia Dursley, beloved house wife and mother. She would be described as an elegant woman with fine but ordinary taste in all things from clothing to the wall paper in the sitting room.

And finally their son, Dudley Dursley also known as their "ickle Dudleykins" was a large, upstart child that was spoi-I mean greatly loved by his parents. He is known to be constantly surrounded by a large group of his friends at school consisting of both children from within and outside the neighborhood.

But certainly, one might ask, there must be something unique or strange about the household? After all no family, however seemingly normal they are is without flaw. After being called a nosy-gossip by the other party, the questioner would be informed that yes; there was in fact one skeleton that Number 4 Pivet Drive held within its walls.

And that is?

Their nephew, Harry James Potter.

And what possible trouble could a child bring to a family such as the Dursleys?

He's a little criminal. They would say. They told us that his parents were members of some freak cult and that they were murdered by the leader of a rival cult. Next thing they knew he was dumped unto their doorstep the same day with some horrid ritual mark on his head and a threatening letter telling them to watch over the boy.

Why didn't they just report it to the authorities?

They said that they have but every time they do or try to give the child to an orphanage he turns up right back in the house the next day and none of the officers remember ever receiving a report. Since then I've heard that he has been causing all sorts of havoc for the poor family. Apparently he sulks around the streets at night and throws rocks at the lamp posts and tips over trash cans, and then he has the nerve to go and blame it on their sweet little boy when the constable comes to their home.

Oh my.

Indeed. He also does poorly in school even though his uncle is spending his hard-earned money to allow him to attend in the first place, and it's no secret that he's tried to run away no less than eight times.

Truly?

Oh yes. And when the constable brings him back, in irons no less, he has the gall to make up ridicules stories about how he's abused, ABUSED! Can you believe it? As if a proper family like the Dursleys would stoop to something so low. The boy obviously doesn't know the difference between a beating and a proper punishment.

Yes, one would hear no end to the rumors and stories surrounding the troubled young Potter of Number 4 Pivet drive, nor would they forget after the night that the young boy went missing from the house for the final time.

TBH

If one were to approach Number 4 Pivet Drive at this moment they would not be greeted by the warm glow of the lights in the family sitting room or the boisterous laughter of said family. Instead the only sounds one would hear are the calls of sirens and the low murmurs of bystanders' barley rising above the heavy rain. Murmurs and gasps of horror aimed at the sight of the broken and bloodied, but very much alive, residents emerging from the house with the aid of paramedics.

As they were loaded onto stretchers the crowd could see a young baby whale sized child with a twisted leg and a forearm bent at an unnatural angle, an older woman whose once lovely summer gown was now tattered and torn, with both her arms bent and swollen and a small trail of blood leaked from her mouth. And finally the large mountainous form of a man who was without a shred of doubt the worst of them all. With his left leg twisted in reverse while his right was brought up to his side. His arms zigzagging from his slightly caved in torso. His once proud gray walrus like mustache and hair were stained red with blood from the now wrapped up gash in his head.

As the family was loaded and rushed off to the nearest hospital, one question was on the minds of all those who lived near. Where was young Harry Potter?

TBH

As the pulsating lights of red and blue flashed by, a shadow moved swiftly from its hiding place amongst the dumpsters and sprinted into a nearby ally. Weaving through piles of boxes and trash, climbing and jumping over fences, the shadow moved with a clear motivation. Escape. Coming up to the end of the ally way the shadow halted. Crouching down behind a pile of discarded furniture and clothing it waited. It's panting breaths bringing forth small clouds in the cold, stormy weather. Once again the brightly pulsating lights appeared, moving slowly as a white light was shown into the ally right above the shadows hiding spot. With bated breath the shadow waited for them to pass once more before rushing across the road and into another lining of buildings. Moving as if hell was on its heels the shadow ran, weaving in and out of ally after ally, or if unavailable, walking with slow but paced steps before the various lights of corner stores and restaurants ignoring the curious stares it received from the rare individual or couple that walked about in the storm.

As it walked the figures' mind flashed back to the events that lead up to its current situation and couldn't help but shudder at the images that played out in its head.

A large man with a look of primal fury holding him up by his hair, a woman with a pan yelling and smashing him in the sides and a round boy standing in the background pointing and laughing at his pain and fear. He remembered as he was thrown to the floor, curled into a defensive ball as they all loomed over him screaming and laughing. He remembered that he felt a familiar feeling build up in his chest, a feeling that had long ago become a comfort to him. He remembered as it built, reacting to his fear and will of self-preservation but he tried to keep it suppressed less he give them more reasons to hurt him. He remembered as it grew, becoming to large and unbearably painful to hold down as they rained down blow after blow, shouting insult after insult. Until finally he couldn't take it and with a bloodcurdling scream, allowed his rage and fear to guide the once comforting sensation from his core into the world around him.

An explosion shot out around him, lifting his tormenters off their feet and hurling them back over furniture and into walls. He laid there for how long he did not know before he finally lifted his head from the ground. The site of a completely trashed kitchen and the still bodies of his family greeted him. Wide eyed with disbelief he looked around him watching as each one of them laid there with no movement save the rising and falling of their chest with each haggard breath they took. Rising uncertainly to his feet he looked about the room. Water spilled from the broken faucet, a harsh wind-swept across the room from the now glass less windows, broken tables and chairs laid atop his attackers. Turning slowly he noticed what was once the wall that separated the kitchen from the sitting room was now nothing more than a large space of splintered wood and drywall.

A sound from behind drew his attention as he saw the others begin to stir. Panicking he searched in vain hope for something that could save him from the punishment he knew he would receive once they awoke. Finding with nothing he slumped back down to the floor, resigned to his fate until something caught his eye. The door that led to the back yard was open, blow completely off its hinges. He knew that it would most likely be a futile attempt, having tried several times in the past. He knew that even if he did succeed he had nowhere to go and, having no knowledge on how to survive on his own, would most likely starve to death. But he didn't care. Anything had to be better than what he was forced to go through regularly. And with that final thought he gathered himself and bolted from the house and into the backyard before climbing over the fence into the neighbors'. Not noticing the large group of people and the flashing lights that were converging to the house.

He smiled to himself at the memories. At the time the site of the damage he had caused gave him a deep sense of dread only to be replaced by hope and childish joy as he got farther and farther from that horrid place. The joy was short-lived however as another set of images played across his eyes, images of twisted and mangled forms and the look of abstract horror that shown in their still faces. The screams of warning that turned to ones shock and pain only to be silenced in an instant, and the deep, almost feral sense of rage that filled him that was washed aside by the disgust he felt for himself at what he had done. Bringing a hand to his mouth to fight off the rising bile he shook himself. Now wasn't the time.

Turning the final corner of the street the shadow came upon an open cluster of factor buildings, behind which laid a tall, thick forest. Before he could take a step the sound of sirens and screeching tires met its ears. Whipping around he saw three police cars pull up on the side-walk behind him. Frozen in fear the shadow watched as a large hulking form of a man stepped out of his car and moved towards him.

Shining his light at the shadow the officer saw a figure that match the description he received over the radio about a missing child. A short, skinny form of a boy no older than six stood before the officer trembling in the rain. The boy wore an overly large dirty white hoodie with equally large blue-jeans and no shoes. The reflection of his light shone of the boys cracked glasses and he could see that the rain made his dark red shoulder length hair cling to his face.

"Potter?" The officer asked as his companions exited their cars. The boy's head turned to gaze at each one. Getting no response he asked again.

"Harry James Potter"

The boy's head turned back to him, bright green eyes staring into his.

"Is your name Harry Potter?"

Getting a nod the officer raised his hands in a non threatening gesture and stepped closer. "It's alright son. My name is Officer Davis." Still getting no response he continued. "Can you tell me what happened son, how did you get out here, what happened back at the house?" Davis asked to the boy as calmly as he could. The report stated that the child went missing from his home after someone broke in and assaulted the family, but with the victims still unconscious they weren't able to receive an accurate report of what happened. The only reason they knew about the child in the first place was because a frail old woman had approached the responding officers and asked about the child's' health. When they said that they hadn't seen a second boy in the house and there was nothing to suggest that another child lived there she went frantic and described the boys profile and that he was living with the family as an adoptee. Now a case of assault had a possible kidnapping added to it.

Harry took a step back making the officer halt his approach. "I-I wont go back." He stuttered, his form shaking from fear and the cold rain. "You c-cant make me, I WONT GO!"

Davis knelt down to level his eyes with the child trying to calm him, it didn't work. The second the officer dropped his guard Harry turned around and bolted straight for the tree line.

Ignoring the cries of the officers to stop Harry continued to run until he finally raced past the first line of trees. he could hear their foot-steps behind him, closing in fast.

"I won't go back!" he screamed over his shoulder hysteria lacing his voice, and then a hand grabbed his hood.

He was lifted off his feet, kicking, scratching and screaming curses as his limbs were restrained by the other officers. Blinding fear gripped his heart as he heard one of them state that they would bring him to the same hospital his relatives were being cared for in, and once again that familiar feeling raged inside of him, churning and pounding for release. And he let it loose unhindered.

The pain that he felt in those next moments clouded all other sensations. It felt as if every cell in his chest and skull was stretched and split. But he could still see. He could see as a near blinding red light erupted from him. He could see how the forms off the officers froze in place, shrinking and fading till there was only bone left, and that to faded. and then all went black.

TBH

When he finally opened his eye the first thing he noticed was that it was still dark and raining. Sitting up on his elbows he looked about him. He noticed that there was absolutely no sign of what had just happened. No evidence to what he had just done. No signs to the fact that he had, once again, taken more lives with his strange power. This time he allowed the bile to pour from his throat. Rolling to his hands and knees, coughing and spitting the taste from his mouth as he gathered himself.

When he finally calmed he stood using a tree as support. He turned his mind to other matters, eager to distract himself from his guilt. What to do now? This was not the first time he had managed to avoid being captured and returned by the police, having done so several times in the past. No, the hardest and most frightening part was what came after. He would wander around until his energy was sapped and he fell asleep wherever he could hide himself, and when he woke he would be back on his sheets under the stairs. Locked in his cupboard as if nothing had ever happened. It frightened him. How was he always discovered, how had he returned and who returned him? His mind reasoned that he should attempt to stay awake this time, to ward off this cruel act of god for truly a god or gods must be at work. Wanting to see their favorite sheep struggle amongst the wolves.

But he was tired. Oh so tired, and the calming patter of the rain on his skin and the world around him was making it hard to ward off the feeling. He began walking, hoping against hope that it would stave off the impending sleep and if not then at least carry him far enough to avoid being discovered by anyone that came searching for him in the forest. After what felt like an hour he finally came upon a small hole in a large rock face. Crawling inside his already fading mind was happy to note that the hole was in fact a small cave that turned to the side once entered, hiding him from the outside. With no other options and fatigue now forcing his body to shut down young Harry Potter curled into a tight ball and, before sleep claimed him, uttered a small prayer to no being in particular that he would wake where he was. As a silent tear rolled down his face.