Harry had been having a good week. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he hadn't been having a bad week, which he supposed was as close to a good week as he was going to get. So, yeah, he had been having a good week.

Vernon, Harry's uncle and caretaker, had been offered a promotion by his boss. Offered being the key word here. From what Harry understood, Vernon's current business deal in Japan was meant as a sort of test or evaluation. Depending on how things went, Vernon may be due for a raise and more people to yell at.

Of course, Vernon somehow managed to get his entire family a paid trip to Fuyuki for the duration of negotiations. The entire family plus Harry. For reasons that Harry was unaware of, though he had a feeling it had something to do with the cat lady down the street being in the hospital and Aunt Marge hating him, he had to go on the trip with the Dursleys. Of course, he didn't get to go see the sights like Petunia and Dudley got to while Vernon was working, but he'd rather be alone in the hotel than with the Dursleys anyways.

The great thing though was that the Dursleys were in a good mood all week. Apparently negotiations with the up and coming business mogul, a Minaka something or other, had been going well so far. And happy Dursleys meant an untouched Harry. Though he was only six years old, Harry's body sported several scars from belt lashings. Harry was also rather small for his age, and his baggy clothing only made his malnourishment more apparent. However, for the entire week they were in Japan the Dursleys had not laid a single finger on him. It was amazing! No punches, no lashes, no kicks, no choking...it was like a dream.

A dream that couldn't last.

Anyone who knew Vernon Dursley, truly knew him, knew that it was a miracle that negotiations had gone as well as they had for so long. As such, no one would be surprised to know that Vernon ultimately failed to make the business deal. No one except anyone with the last name Dursley.

And anyone who truly knew Vernon wouldn't be surprised to know that Vernon would be very upset about this.

Harry's body slammed against the wall of the hotel room, creating a resounding crack that Harry hoped someone in the hotel heard. Though hope wasn't needed. Vernon was so angry, so out of his mind in that moment that he had scared Petunia and Dudley off, and that he wasn't holding back. Someone would hear. Someone would come, sooner or later. Smack. He beat his fists against the boy's skull and chest. Smack. He shouted and roared as he tossed Harry's small frame against the wall again and again. Smack. He rose he foot and slammed it against his nephew's side, putting all his weight onto it as he collapsed the small boy's rib cage, breaking the bones and pushing them into Harry's lungs. Smack. Harry was dying. Smack. He couldn't breathe. Smack. He was drowning. Smack. HE WAS DYING!

The sky suddenly went red. The air went cold and the world tilted. Then there was fire. Then black tar boiling hot and screaming flooded the Earth. It broke through the windows, the ceiling, the floor, the walls. It buried them. Vernon shouted obscenities as he was carried away and torn apart by the tar, but Harry did not move. The tar did not shove him. No, the tar surrounded him, entombed him, ate him.

"I don't want to die.", the broken boy cried as his life faded.

"I can't let it end like this.", the broken grail cried as its power faded.

"I…still…"

"I…still…"

"I still need to make the world bleed just like me!"

And as the hotel crumbled, shards of a once powerful artifact, remnants of a terrible force, buried themselves within the body of a kindred spirit. The boy would live. For though a single wish could do nothing, two wishes for survival, for retribution, would be enough. Angra Manyu, Harry Potter, they would survive.

"Oh? What do we have here?"

And old man, a man that wasn't a man but was, stood over the broken body of the broken boy hours after the tears of tar and fire had receded, eyes fixated on the broken pieces of the broken grail lodged in the broken boy's broken body. And as the boy looked at the man, all he could think about was how much the man looked like a worm.

"Looks like the fates have favored me. I've just found the vessel for the next grail.", the magus spoke as a sadistic grin spread across his face.

No, Harry Potter, Angra Manyu, would not die. They would live. They would suffer. They would grow. And they would have their revenge…one day…

AN: Greetings humans. This is my first story on this site, and it is a response to a challenge posted on Arawn D. Draven's profile. This story will feature a Dark Harry, an abused Harry, a Harry raised by the Matou's, and most likely a harem. I feel the need to note that Harry will not be godlike, though he will be smart, but more in the manipulative sociopath way than the "I know everything, I have it here in this book" way. Harry will eventually make it to Hogwarts, but he will be going through the Holy Grail War first. This will also feature a lot of smart assedness, so don't be surprised by any of that.

oh, and I like the crazies, so expect the girls who will be getting all romantic with our protagonist won't exactly be what the hot crazy scale says you should go for.

So, if any of that made you cringe, then go away, now, I'm serious, you won't like this story. The rest of you have been warned. I'll be updating within the next week.