31st of October, 1981

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl. Stand aside now!"

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead -"

"This is my last warning!"

"Not Harry! Please! Have mercy… have mercy! Not Harry! Not Harry! Please - I'll do anything -"

"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"

There was a flash of green light, and Lily Potter's heart fell silent. The cloaked figure stepped over the minor annoyance that had just given her life for her son, pointing his wand at the infant. The young child stared up at the Dark Lord and started to whimper, not understanding why his mother wasn't standing up. He began bawling, just wanting his mother to hold him, to tell him everything was going to be okay. He wanted his father to show him the pretty lights, he needed his mother to kiss his head and sing him back to sleep, he just wanted his mother -

"Avada Kedavra!" There was a second flash of green light, refracting off of the infant's forehead and back onto the cloaked figure. The Dark Lord fell, the child's cries growing louder and louder. He screamed and pleaded for his mother, but there was no one to hear him.

17th of May, 1985

"You stupid boy!" Roared Uncle Vernon, spittle flying from his mouth, his bloodshot eyes bulging.

"I'm sorry!" Harry cried, scrambling away from the broken vase. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I -"

"Shut it, freak!" Uncle Vernon spat. Harry ducked behind the sofa, rocking back and forth on his feet, his hands over his head. He didn't understand why Uncle Vernon was so angry - he had tried to be careful, but he was only six, and he couldn't really reach the vase, but when he had tried to point this out to Aunt Petunia, not understanding how he was meant to clean it, she had just threw the frying pan at his head. But he had really tried his best, he didn't understand he was sorry he was sorry he was sorry -

A cry was ripped from his throat when he felt Uncle Vernon's fingers grasp his wrist, throwing his tiny body to the other side of the living room. There was a dull 'thud', and Harry felt a screaming pain in his left side. Salty tears stained his cheeks and he sobbed quietly as his uncle left the room, grumbling under his breath.

It was two hours before he worked up the courage to crawl away into his cupboard.

3rd of September, 1987

Harry refused to let the tears fall, even as his uncle backhanded him across the face again. He knew that crying would just incite further violence in the man, so he just stood there, his body tense, as his uncle spat in his face.

"I told you," the older man practically screamed, "we would have no more of your freakishness! Get in your cupboard, and you'll be lucky if Petunia remembers to bring you food tomorrow!"

Harry ducked his head and followed his uncle's orders, eager to be out of his uncle's immediate area. He didn't bother explaining that it was an accident, he didn't know how his uncle's belt buckle had melted off of the belt, he just knew that he didn't want it to hit him again. He knew his uncle would only be further enraged. He'd given up apologizing as well; it never did any good.

23rd of June, 1989

Harry narrowed his eyes at Uncle Vernon from across the kitchen, his fists clenched tightly beneath the table. He was watching the Dursleys with intense loathing as they fawned over Dudley's newest birthday present - a new computer. What had Harry gotten for his birthday? A broken wrist and bruised ribs. And Dudley? A new computer. Dudley was eleven! What eleven-year-old needed his own computer?

The Dursleys were too focused on Dudley and his extravagant gifts to notice their nephew leaving the room and ducking into his cupboard. He closed the door sharply behind him and sat down heavily on his bed, biting the inside of his cheek. He refused to let the tears fall; his uncle had shown him from a very young age that crying was weak - and weakness got punished. Harry drew in a deep, shuddering breath, before swallowing.

I could do it, He thought silently. I could run away. What could be worse than staying here? I'd rather be murdered in the street than continue to stay here, having to come up with new excuses at school every week for my new injuries. Nobody would notice; Nobody cares enough to notice, and the Dursley's certainly aren't going to miss me. The more he thought about the idea, the more enticing it sounded. What was stopping him? He was right - nobody would even notice he was gone before he got halfway across the county.

A tremble ran through his bones as he realised he was actually considering the ludicrous idea. He sat on his cot for over an hour, weighing the pros and cons of the decision. Finally, he decided the idea was completely far-fetched; he'd likely die less than a week out on his own, whether it be from starvation or hypothermia. Harry lay down on his cot, pulling the thin cotton blanket over him, and closed his eyes, trying to fall into the sweet embrace of sleep.

However, a single thought kept tugging at the back of his mind. The thought that perhaps… perhaps he was tougher than he thought. He'd almost died plenty of times before - when Uncle Vernon had broken a couple of his ribs, when Dudley had chased him into an alleyway where there was a drug deal going down, when he'd fallen into the sea after Dudley had pushed him off of the docks - but out of some sheer luck, he'd survived. Maybe he could count on his luck to keep him alive, at least until he learned how to live without it.

Harry decided to sleep on it; he wasn't one for rash decisions. (This was an utter lie; he was definitely one for rash decisions, but he was exhausted.)

The next morning, he woke up to the pleasant tone of Aunt Petunia's high-pitched screeching. He blinked his eyes open blearily, before he felt a thick hand grasp his collar and haul him from his cupboard.

"Stop being so lazy, boy," Uncle Vernon spat at him, his beady eyes narrowed in impossible and undeserved anger. "We have guests coming tonight - start polishing the silver!" He finished, shoving Harry roughly toward the living room.

Harry stumbled forward, catching his balance by grasping onto the wall. He swallowed thickly and rubbed his sore shoulder, before doing as he was told. His mind roiled with all the things he wished he could do to the Dursleys. He didn't think of himself as an evil person, but the things he thought when looking at his family would be at home in a criminal psychiatric hospital.

As he trudged back into the hallway, finally finished with the silver, the doorbell rang out shrilly. Uncle Vernon lumbered toward the door, glaring at Harry with a warning to stay out of the way.

Uncle Vernon opened the door, and Harry craned his neck to see over his uncle's shoulder. He managed to spy a very pretty teenage girl of perhaps fifteen.

She smiled up at Uncle Vernon and said sweetly, "Hello sir. I represent the Little Whinging Assisted Living Community, and I was wondering if you'd like to do your part as a vital member of our community to help out with our elders. I would…" Harry stopped listening, and became more focused on the look of hunger on his uncle's face.

Disgust roiled inside of Harry's stomach, and he heard his uncle say, "Why don't you come in? I'll get you a snack, and you can explain exactly what I can do for you."

Harry saw the girl's smile falter slightly, but she took a step toward Uncle Vernon nonetheless. Harry swallowed, repulsed at the look in his uncle's eyes. Before the girl could come any farther, he sprinted around his uncle and grabbed the girl by the hand. He tugged her away from Number Four, Privet Drive and down the road.

"What the Hell?! Hey, kid! What are you -" She demanded, looking slightly angry but mostly just bewildered. Harry finally stopped when they were at the end of the lane.

"Don't go back there," he said firmly, glancing around nervously. "He would have… well, just… you're better off not knowing," he admitted, revulsion still thick in his throat.

Understanding - and then fear - flickered in the girl's eyes, and she nodded. "Thank you," she said cautiously. "Hey, kid - how old are you anyway? Seven? Eight?"

"Nine!" Harry said indignantly. He wasn't that small! The girl's eyes widened.

"Nine? But you're…" she trailed off, and her face hardened. "That bastard," she muttered quietly. Her expression quickly changed to one of concern. "If you go back, after you helped me, what will happen to you?" She asked quietly.

Harry flinched slightly at the prospect of going back, but tried to answer nonchalantly. "Oh, nothing too bad," he lied.

The girl snorted. "Yeah, okay kid. What's this?" She asked, pointing toward the purple bruises flowering on his arms and shoulder. He swallowed.

"Um, just - you know - I fell, and -"

"Bullshit," she interrupted flatly. "What's your name, anyway?"

He blinked. "Um - Harry."

The girl cocked her head. "Harry… not too bad. Eh, it'll do for the time being," she said. Harry blinked in confusion. The time being?

"My name was Charlie, but you're going to call me Shade," she said confidently. Harry's forehead creased, still lost. The name "Shade" sounded a bit pretentious, but he was too polite to say so.

"I'm - why not just your name?" He asked slowly, wanting an explanation.

She crossed her arms, but didn't look defensive, merely patient. "Because Charlie wasn't strong enough. So I got rid of her, and became Shade." Shade stooped down a little and had her face level with Harry's. She bit her lip in concentration as she stared at his face. His cheeks heated at the scrutinization.

"Look at me," she murmured quietly. "Do you think Harry is strong enough to survive?"

Harry looked at her blankly.

"If not, you don't have to be him anymore. You're going to become someone new, someone strong. You're going to be great someday, and unleash your wrath onto those who have wronged you - and may God have mercy on their souls."

"How do you know?" He asked softly. "That I'll be great."
A smirk spread across her face, quiet mirth dancing in her eyes. "It's my superpower. But truly, kid… you're going to be a supernova. An assassin to everyone who has dared defy you." A shadow fell over her face, and a grim smile tugged at her lips. "There we go. Assassin - Sin, for short." She winked at him. "I think Sin will fit you nicely."