Disclaimer: I am a brunette, broke and not British.

Warning: Abusive!Dursley, AU/non-canon, Dumbledore!Bashing, Dursley!Bashing, Father!Snape, Kid!Fic

A/N: My first story, I am very excited and nervous. This story features a Snape/Harry pairing, father and son respectively. While this story's pairing is similar to several stories already written – by authors such as jharad17, Lily Elizabeth Snape, Gillian Middleton (Go check their stories out and leave them a nice comment! They are amazing!) – this storyline will be original, plot and otherwise. However, I feel I must warn you; this story will contain what could be perceived as graphic scenes of child abuse so….no flames okay? I am giving you a fair warning now. Alright, I am done blathering. Please read and enjoy! All comments will be enjoyed and personally responded to. Thanks :)

Prologue

The accident was not my fault.

"Oh, belt up, boy!"

It was not my fault. That's what I wanted to yell at him. And I would have if there weren't a hammy fist stopping me.

"How many times must you be told? Is it that bloody difficult to scrub a few pots and pans?" Uncle Vernon shouted, his fat fingers digging into my cheeks. He shook me, knocking my head against the door to my cupboard.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

By the fourth hit, I could feel the wood groaning against my head and Uncle's purple face began to blur. My lungs burned and my throat tightened. I tried to claw his hands off of me. It did not do any good, it just made him madder.

"I'll teach you your place! Ruin me, my house, my family! Good for nothing freak, I'll teach you to be duff!" He hissed, his grip tightening.

It was not my fault. It was not my fault. It was not my fault.

-HPSSHPSSHPSSHPSS-

The pictures were moving.

I was moving.

I was in something, something warm and soft.

A few more jostles and it suddenly hit me. I was being carried. Carried where? And who was carrying me? Uncle Vernon dragged me by my collar sometimes, but it was usually to throw me outside. Aunt Petunia once boxed my ears and put me back in my cupboard, when she thought I stole her brooch even though it was Dudley. But I could not remember ever being held like this.

'Cept in my dreams.

It suddenly made sense. I was dreaming. I looked up to see who I was dreaming about now. Maybe it was the lady with hair the color of cherries, or it could have been the man with glasses, like the ones I had before Piers took them. Maybe they had come to rescue me, just for tonight. But when I looked up, it was somebody I had never dreamed about before.

It was Mrs. Figg! The rot of cabbage and the stench of cats were unmistakable. I could even make out her hairnet and her flyaway grizzled hair and hear her tartan house-shoes flipping and flopping. The bouncing got faster and soon I could not see the pictures anymore. Everything was spinning around me fast. Too fast.

"Don't worry, child. It's over now. It's all over."

A color and sound I had never faced before was suddenly before us, a roar then crackled green-like flames shot closer. Another jostle and the flames were climbing higher and higher. Before I knew it, I was no longer being held. Everything was gone. I was gone. I was falling and spiraling and dropping, tumbling out into absolutely nothing.

Perhaps it really was all over...