A/N:

I read an article about children with sociopathic/psychopathic tendencies, "callous-unemotional" children. It picked my interest and I researched the matter further. As an active HP fanfiction writer and reader, Harry Potter is never far from my mind, and soon the idea for this story was born. I tried to portray Harry as a child with callous-unemotional traits as realistically as possible, but as I'm lacking any personal experience in this area there might be things I got wrong. Thanks to MalevolentMind for her help!

For now this is only a Oneshot. I have ideas for future chapters but I want to concentrate on Just Another Orphan at the moment. Anyway, because there is the possibility of further chapters, I'm not labeling it as complete.

If you have time, please answer the question at the end of this chapter. I value any feedback I get highly.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Heartless Harry

A Harry Potter Fanfiction by ValwithV

When Petunia Dursley opened her door one cold autumn morning and found a baby lying on her front porch, she immediately, unexplainably knew that she would come to rue this day. She stared at it for a minute in shock, not really understanding what she was seeing. There was a baby. In front of her door. On the floor.

Who the hell would leave a baby lying around like that?

For a moment she thought about simply closing the door, pretending not to have seen anything. Then she sighed and picked it up. A letter fell out of its blanket. She went inside, put the sleeping toddler into the crib next to Dudley and went to retrieve the letter.

She had to sit down after reading it. Harry Potter. Albus Dumbledore. Lily and James Potter. Dead. When she began to feel dizzy she realized that she'd been holding her breath.

It was outrageous. She didn't want that child, that thing, in her house, near her son. He was the spawn of her freaky sister, a woman she'd thought to have cut all ties with for good. The letter was very clear though. Petunia was not given a choice, the baby had to stay.

Explaining it to her husband was hard. He sputtered and raged and left without breakfast for the first time she could remember. He drove over one of her flowerbeds and nearly hit the fence on his way out. He didn't come home that night, didn't even call, and Petunia hysterically cried herself to sleep with Dudley in the bed next to her. She didn't dare leave her preciously normal son lying in the crib next to the thing lest its abnormality was contagious.

When Vernon returned the next day after work she didn't ask where he'd been. She just welcomed him with a peck on the cheek like she always did and went to the kitchen to prepare dinner. When they lay in bed and had turned out all lights Vernon addressed their current situation for the first time that day.

"I know we don't have a choice. Just keep it out of my sight."

Petunia squeezed his big, meaty hand and nodded.

The next day she bought a bassinet small enough to fit into the cupboard under the stairs. She wheeled his bassinet out from under the stairs during the day, changed his diapers when necessary, bathed him when she couldn't delay it any further, and fed him when he started to cry.

She didn't coddle and kiss him like she did with Dudley, didn't talk to him, didn't read him any stories and as soon as Vernon came home every night she returned him to the cupboard, forgot about his existence and for a few blissful hours pretended like nothing had changed. Like it was still only she, her husband and their baby boy. Like there wasn't a tiny monster waiting, growing in the dark.

…

In all honesty, even if her talk suggested otherwise, Petunia had expected the boy to grow up at least being somewhat normal. His mother, after all, had only really started expressing her abnormality once she'd entered that school, once she'd spent time among her kind and had been exposed to their influence.

Harry though was different from the very beginning.

As a toddler he was eerily calm one minute but prone to fits that could put even Dudley to shame the next. Whenever she tried to force him into clothes he didn't like for instance, he would stare at her with his creepy green eyes, that reminded her so much of her sister and were so different from hers at the same time, until she looked away.

Of course in the beginning Petunia didn't think much of it, simply averted her gaze and proceeded to try and stuff his little arms into the sleeves of too wide pullovers or his short legs into oversized trousers. Then he would start screaming and crying, his head red with rage, his big eyes overflowing with crocodile tears. He'd scratch her with his tiny nails until he drew blood and kick her as hard as he could. As soon as she stopped and accepted her attempt as failed, he'd stop crying immediately, wipe away his tears and regard her with a small – and dare she say triumphant – smile.

She despised him more every time he managed to get one over her with these little stunts and didn't stop trying until one day, shortly before he turned three, his abnormality reared its ugly head for the first time and the pullover shrunk so much it would only fit a doll in the end. That was the day Petunia finally relented and started buying fitting clothes for her hated nephew. Of course they were still second hand or of the cheapest quality she could find, but they fitted and they were his own, and it seemed that was enough to placate the child.

As he grew older, things only became more complicated.

On Dudley's fifth birthday they invited a few kids from the neighbourhood and threw him a small party in the garden. Vernon grilled sausages for the children and Petunia baked a rich chocolate cake in honour of her son. Dudley was showered with gifts from friends and relatives and if it hadn't been for the dark haired boy sulking in a corner, taking his surroundings in with those big, expressionless eyes, she might have called it a perfect day.

After the last guest had left Harry approached her. He stood next to her and watched her while she cleared the table.

"What?" She snapped when his silent stare became unpleasant.

"Why did Dudley get presents today?"

God, how she resented this calm tone he always spoke in; no child should talk like that.

"Because it's his birthday," she answered briskly and turned to carry the dirty dishes inside.

Harry stayed behind, seemingly deep in thought.

She was already drying the dishes when Harry caught up with her again. She heard him approach, heard him move a chair, then there was silence.

When she turned around he was sitting behind her, his legs swinging back and forth in an even rhythm. "When is my birthday?"

Petunia took in a deep breath. If that little monster expected to get presents or heaven forbid a party too, he'd be severely disappointed. She kind of looked forward to that. It was so hard to get a reaction of any kind – other than a tantrum of course – out of the child.

"On July 31st," she said and left the kitchen.

One week later July 31st arrived. Harry got up more readily than ever and didn't even object to the clothes she prepared for him to wear. He took a seat at the breakfast table next to Dudley and looked at her expectantly. Dudley had received his first two gifts right before breakfast, and she suspected he was now waiting for his. Suddenly she wished Vernon hadn't already left for work. She ignored him as best as she could.

Lunch was creepy to say the least. During the whole meal Harry hardly touched his food but only smiled at her. It wasn't the triumphant mean little smile she was familiar with, but one that almost looked friendly. Almost, because it didn't quite reach his eyes, which just stared at her as expressionless as ever.

He spent the afternoon looking out of the living room window, presumably waiting for his guests to arrive. Petunia smiled a little. It was not right, she knew, but she couldn't help herself. He really was a horrible child, after all.

At around 5 pm Harry left his position by the windowsill and walked towards her and Dudley. He stopped right in front of the TV, blocking it from their view. Dudley understandably started wailing – one of his favourite shows was running at the moment – but Harry didn't even spare him a glance.

"It's my birthday today, isn't it?" Harry said.

"Yes. Now move, we're watching that show."

Harry ignored her last statement. "Then why didn't I get any presents?"

She took a box of hankies from the living-room table. "Here you go. Your present."

He stared at the box, his small face distorting in anger. "That's no toy. I want toys."

He seemed to be on the verge of one of his tantrums but Petunia didn't want to give in. It was already enough that she had to buy him clothes and food; that she had to keep him in her house, around her son and husband. She sure as hell wouldn't buy presents for the little parasite too.

"You don't deserve any," she said. "Only normal children do."

His face went red but the expected paddy never came.

"I even smiled like Dudley," he said, turned around and left the living room. After a few seconds he returned and unplugged a power cord. The TV screen went to black. Petunia huffed, got up and plugged it in again. She shook her head. So that was how he'd decided to get back at her? She certainly preferred it to his usual tantrums. And what was 'smiled like Dudley' supposed to mean? Was he talking about his attempt at a somewhat friendly smile at lunch?

Confused, Petunia went back to watching TV.

An hour later, when she went to prepare dinner, she noticed an intense, stinging smell wafting down from the first floor. She ran up the stairs taking two steps at a time. Oh god. The stench reminded her of burned rubber and smoke was coming out from under the closed door of Dudley's room. She hurried back down, nearly tripping over her own feet, grabbed the fire extinguisher and ran upstairs again.

She kicked the door open with one foot. The room was smoky but she could make out the fire. It was a small, burning pile in the middle of the room. She remembered the instructions Vernon and she had gone through the day they'd bought the fire extinguisher.

Don't aim at the base of the fire.

Did that apply here too or only for flammable liquids? Petunia panicked. She didn't remember. God. She just didn't remember.

When the fire spread to the carpet Petunia was pulled out of her stupor. It didn't really matter, did it? She had to do something or the whole house would burn down.

She pulled out the safety pin, grabbed the handle and pressed down hard. White foam sank down on the fire and soon the flames were extinguished.

She walked through the room on wobbly legs and opened the window. The window looked out towards the back of the garden. She was about to turn away when she saw a small person sitting in the grass beneath. It was Harry. He was looking straight at her, wearing one of his mean little smiles. He waved at her with one of the hankies she'd gifted to him earlier. Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. A shudder went through her body, her breathing became erratic and tears leaked from her eyes. She turned away. She didn't want him to see her cry, see that he'd made her cry.

She inspected the burned pile on the floor and realized in horror that it consisted of all of the presents Dudley had received the week before. His new play station, his computer games, his books, the poster of his favourite football team, his new bag pack – all ruined. Harry had burned things worth several hundred pounds. She didn't have any evidence, but she knew this was Harry's doing. Dudley had been with her the whole time (not that her son would ever do something like that in the first place) and nobody else was at home.

She left the room, closed the door behind her and went to the kitchen to prepare dinner. Vernon would be home soon. He'd expect dinner to be ready.

Shortly before dinner was ready Harry entered the kitchen and took a seat at the table, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't burned Dudley's presents and nearly their house on top of that.

"You set the fire," Petunia stated. She observed him carefully but other than that horrible little smile of his, he displayed no reaction.

"You burned all of Dudley's presents. Expensive presents. You burned several hundred pounds!" Her voice was higher than usual and she knew that there were probably red blotches on her face. She always got those when she was agitated.

"I know," Harry said.

"You could have burned down the whole house!" Petunia continued her rant. She wanted to grab his arms and shake him until he got that into his head. But by god, she wouldn't sink to that because of him. She didn't hit children. She didn't punish them physically. She wasn't that kind of person. She was normal. A normal mother. A good mother.

"I know," Harry said again, still showing no reaction to her words.

"You could have killed us. Me and Dudley. We were in the living room, inside the house. You could have killed us, Harry!"

Harry inclined his head to the right and watched her carefully.

"There is a door to the garden," he said after some time.

"You, you…" Petunia didn't know what to say. Didn't he understand the severity of his actions?

"You should have bought me presents," Harry said.

"So this is my fault?"

Harry nodded. "Better think about it more next time."

Petunia stared at her nephew speechlessly. This was no normal child, not even in his freakish world. This was a little demon, an evil little demon that only wore the skin of a child.

At that moment Vernon came into the kitchen. "Why is it smelling so funny, Pet?" He said instead of his usual greeting.

For a moment Petunia thought about lying to her husband, she didn't know what he would do once he knew the truth, but then her eyes fell upon Harry once more, who was sitting at the dinner table, playing with a fork, completely unaffected by the chaos he had caused. Maybe Harry needed a firmer hand, maybe Vernon could dish out the punishment he undoubtedly deserved, the punishment she felt unable to give.

"Harry set Dudley's birthday presents on fire. The play station. All of it. In Dudley's room."

"He what?" Vernon stuttered, his face went red, nearly violet and his moustache quivered dangerously.

"He set a fire, inside the house," Petunia repeated. "And he isn't sorry about it."

Vernon rounded the table and grabbed Harry's arm in an unforgiving grip. "You little shit. That's how you repay us everything we do for you? All our sacrifices?"

Harry's face was impassive, but his eerie smile disappeared. Vernon lifted the boy up from the chair, sat down himself and put Harry over his knee. The boy struggled to get free but Vernon was stronger. He brought his flat hand down on Harry's behind.

One. Harry began to struggle in earnest.

Two. A cry, more angry than pained, left Harry's lips.

Three. Harry wailed, turned his head and looked at her with big, teary eyes. If he were any other child, she might have felt pity, might have intervened.

Four. Harry's pleading expression morphed into one of hate.

Five. Vernon shouted out loud, his face distorted in pain and he shoved Harry off his knees.

Confused Petunia looked from her husband to the small child, now sitting on the floor. Harry bared his teeth threateningly. They were covered in a thin sheen of blood.

"You, you-", Vernon sputtered, incapable of forming complete sentences. He stood up from the chair and was towering over Harry, his right hand still poised to strike. Involuntarily Petunia took a step back. She knew Vernon's ire was not directed at her, but it frightened her in its intensity nevertheless. The boy showed no sign of fear. Her movements distracted him and Vernon's eyes flew to her. The moment was broken, Vernon got a hold of himself.

"Go cupboard. Now. No dinner," Vernon growled more than said and Harry scrambled to his feet.

After the boy had left Petunia turned to her husband. He was sitting again and inspecting a small wound on his upper leg. Disbelievingly Petunia realized that Harry had bitten through Vernon's trousers. He wore a suit, and the pants were made of thin fabric, stretched even thinner by her husbands impressive frame, but it was unbelievable nonetheless.

A few minutes later Petunia went to check on the boy. He was sitting inside his cupboard, and when he saw her, his eyes were so full of hate that Petunia flinched back. She locked the door and went back to dinner.

…

Aside from a few peeing breaks she didn't let Harry out of the cupboard the next day. Vernon and she had decided that this was probably the best punishment. Two days later, she had to go to the supermarket. She didn't dare leave Harry alone in their home. His freakish talents were unpredictable and she didn't know if he could unlock the cupboard from inside. If he could she didn't dare imagine what he would to the house in her absence.

Like always she asked both boys if they needed to use the loo before they left the house for a longer period of time. Both declined. She packed them into the car and drove to the nearest supermarket. She put both boys in the supermarket trolley to make sure they didn't get lost and went to do the grocery shopping. She turned her back to them for a moment to weigh the bananas and when she turned back, Harry was gone.

"Where's Harry?" She asked Dudley who was still sitting inside the trolley and making small holes into various wrappings.

He looked up startled at the unexpected question. "Don't know," he said and went back to his task.

Petunia took in a deep breath and looked around. The super marked was huge and very busy at this time. For a moment Petunia thought about simply leaving without Harry. Maybe some other family, or one of those horrible paedophiles, who stole children from super markets, would take care of her problem. Something like that happened everyday. The wizards surely couldn't fault her then, could they?

Before she had time to feel guilty for these thoughts, loud voices caught her attention. She followed them and soon stumbled upon her wayward nephew. He was standing in front of a shelf stacked with flour, sugar and other baking utensils. His trousers and underpants were pulled down to his knees and yellowish liquid was dripping from the flour packages right in front of him.

Petunia reached to one of the shelves to steady herself. This was a nightmare.

"This boy belong to you?" A visibly agitated salesman asked, gesturing at Harry.

"Yes," Petunia said quietly. When he heard her voice Harry's head snapped in her direction immediately. That mean, evil little smile back full force. She didn't deserve that. She really, really didn't. She knew she hadn't always treated him ideally, but this… this public humiliating? She didn't deserve that.

"Don't you teach your children nothin'? Peeing in a public place like this, and at his age!"

The people nearby nodded in agreement. An old lady to her right murmured something about incompetent parents. The focus had shifted from Harry to her in a matter of seconds. Holding her head as high as she could, she walked towards Harry, pulled his trousers up and sat him back into the trolley.

"We'll talk about this at home," she hissed. Right now she only wanted to flee this place and not make an even bigger fool out of herself.

"Doesn't even scold him," the old lady said and Petunia had to forcibly keep herself from turning around and giving that woman a piece of her mind. She'd like to see her deal with a child like Harry!

"I'll pay for the flour, of course," Petunia said to the salesman.

"Thank you Madam," he replied sarcastically. "How generous."

Back in the car she turned to look at Harry, who was sitting in the backseat next to Dudley.

"What the hell was that?"

"Your punishment."

"My, my punishment?" Petunia repeated astonished.

"For locking me up all day. And hitting me," Harry explained as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"But that was your punishment, for burning Dudley's toys!"

At that, Dudley seemed to remember that they hadn't yet replaced his presents, and was about to open his mouth, probably to complain, but shut it immediately when he caught his mother's eye.

"I didn't like that," Harry said calmly.

Well, that was the whole purpose of the exercise. Of course he didn't like it. It was punishment.

"Aren't you embarrassed for peeing in public? You're a big boy already," she tried a different approach.

"Why?" Harry asked. He seemed genuinely confused.

"I'll just leave you at home next time," Petunia said and turned around. "Inside the cupboard," she added, because apparently that was one of the few punishments that worked on him.

"Then I'll burn down the house," Harry stated. He was staring at her through the rear view mirror.

"Inside the cupboard," she repeated. Surely he had to realize that he couldn't burn down the house from inside his cupboard. Not without dying himself at least.

"You can't always keep me in the cupboard, can you?" The demon was smiling.

Petunia wanted to bash her head against the steering wheel in frustration. She didn't though, because Harry was still watching her and she wouldn't let him see that he'd won.

…

When the boys started school in September, Petunia had expected to be called to the school because of Harry repeatedly. To her surprise, she wasn't.

At the first parent-teacher meeting one of his teacher's even complimented her on the boy. Petunia was confused, to say the least, but didn't buy his act for one second. At home he was still the same horrible little boy he'd always been. Maybe he'd realized that he wouldn't get away with that behaviour at school? The thought that such a young child could be that manipulative scared her. But then again, when it came to Harry there were few things that didn't.

Over the next few years Harry complained a few times that Dudley and his friends were bullying him at school. She'd bought her son an extra scoop of ice cream on those days. She was relieved to see that Harry's meek act didn't work on the other kids. The same sadly couldn't be said for the adults. She hoped the other children resented him for being such a teacher's pet.

…

Ever since Harry had come to their home, Christmas had been a tense affair at the Dursley's. It was supposed to be a family holiday, but with her nephew lurking around she simply couldn't enjoy it anymore. After his stunt at Dudley's fifth birthday and a similar incident at Christmas the same year, they had succumbed to buying presents for Harry too. They were cheaper than Dudley's and in the long run it was easier then hiding all of Dudley's toys from Harry's destructive outbursts.

On Christmas Eve of 1989, when both boys were nine years old, Vernon had started drinking eggnog and his Christmas brandy earlier than usual. She suspected he too had a hard time getting into the right spirit with Harry around.

After the presents had been handed out, just when the family was ready to gather for dinner, Vernon, in a burst of drunken anger, started collecting Harry's presents into a small basket. He put the basket up onto one of the higher shelves in the living room.

"Go to your cupboard. I want to have dinner with my family, this once," Vernon said.

Harry stared at him hatefully and Petunia immediately had a sinking feeling. This wasn't a good idea, not at all, but she didn't dare object. Vernon was working so hard; he deserved to eat his holiday meal in peace. And she too liked the idea of spending time with her husband and son away from Harry's piercing stare.

"I'd like to take my toys," Harry said.

"Your toys. Your toys. These aren't your toys. I paid for them, you hear me. I worked for them and bought them with my money."

Harry wordlessly disappeared into the hallway. About an hour later the doorbell rang. Vernon, who had been in an unusually good mood ever since Harry left, went for the door.

She heard people talking, then Vernon's loud voice. "The freak said what?"

Petunia jumped from her chair at the dinner table and practically ran to the front door.

Three people were standing on the porch. Two of them were adults, the couple who lived on Number Seven, the third one was smaller, a child, hidden behind her husband's broad frame. Only when she arrived next to him, did she see that it wasn't just any child, but Harry. His hair was untidy and his big, green eyes overflowing with tears. His nose, ears and hands were red from the cold. He wore nothing more than his usual clothes, no winter jacket.

"What kind of people are you?" The woman just finished, pointing an accusing finger at Vernon.

"Excuse me, but what is the problem?" Petunia asked, desperate to steer the conversation to more civilized, less scandalous grounds.

"The problem?" The woman sputtered. "The problem is that you told this boy, this small child that has been entrusted into your care, to make himself scarce on Christmas Eve so that you can celebrate with your 'true' family only. That's the problem."

She petted Harry's head lovingly and the deceitful little boy cried even harder and pressed himself closer to Mrs Number Seven.

"I-We-" Petunia struggled for the right words. "We said no such thing," she finally said.

"Then how come the boy's been outside for over an hour? We saw him sitting in the garden when we left for our Christmas stroll and he was still there when we returned."

"We didn't realize he was gone. He's always up to something," Petunia tried to explain.

"You didn't realize that he wasn't there for the Christmas dinner?"

"Thank you for brining him home. Come inside now, Harry," Vernon suddenly said, probably fed up with the whole situation. Harry looked around frightened and only went into the house after Mrs Number Seven had nodded her head encouragingly.

He walked inside, pressed to the wall next to Petunia, staying as far away from Vernon as possible.

The couple from Number Seven watched the procedure with narrowed eyes. When Harry was out of sight the man addressed Vernon. "We'll check up on him. Don't you dare lay a hand on the child or we'll call the Social Services on you. What you people do is simply disgusting."

Vernon smashed the door into their faces.

"Can I have my toys now?" Harry said as soon as the door was closed.

Vernon walked back to the dinner table without another word and Petunia was left to deal with her nephew alone.

"That's what this was all about? You humiliated us in front of our neighbours just because you didn't get your toys?" She said.

"Dudley's gameboy too. You can buy him a new one tomorrow."

Petunia didn't know what else to do, so she went to retrieve what he'd asked for.

"And while we're at it, I want Dudley's second bedroom. I'm getting too big for the cupboard, and all the other children at school have rooms too." He glared at her reproachfully. "You don't want me to go to the neighbours and accidentally mention that I'm sleeping in a cupboard, do you?"

Christmas Eve 1989 was the day Harry Potter moved out of the cupboard under the stairs and into a room of his own.

…

The following summer, shortly after Harry had turned ten, Vernon's sister Marge came to visit them for a few days.

Whereas before earlier visits, Petunia had had to bribe Harry to behave somewhat acceptably, in recent years he'd more and more come to cultivating a pleasant mask for the outside world all on his own. It was like Harry had two faces. The polite and friendly one he showed to his teachers, their neighbours and any other adult they encountered, and his real face, the ugly, hateful one he reserved for his relatives.

Sometimes Petunia suspected he might have Dissociative Personality Disorder, but most of the time she simply accepted that he was a manipulative little shit that had come to the conclusion that it simply benefitted him more if everybody thought he was a poor but nice orphan.

The peeing-incident at the super market when he was five had been followed by a few other instances where he showed his true colours in public, but he soon had to realize that people weren't prone to believe is little sob stories about his evil relatives if he misbehaved in front of them. No, it was easier for him to manipulate the other adults when he only showed them his nice face.

She vividly remembered, and still felt hot shame creeping up her cheeks, the little stance he'd pulled only last year. Dudley had started to steel Harry's lunch money, and after neither she nor Vernon intervened when he told them about it (in all honesty they thought Harry deserved nothing less), Harry had gone to his teacher and told her that his Aunt and Uncle didn't give him money for food. She readily believed the skinny, wide eyed and all around well-behaved child and summoned Petunia to school.

After receiving a stern talking from the teacher – and wasn't that just laughable, she was a grown-up! – Petunia had returned home deeply embarrassed and talked to Dudley. If there was one thing she hated, it was being talked about negatively by her neighbours. In her neighbourhood and at school she was known as a normal housewife and devoted mother (not counting Mr and Mrs Number Seven, of course) and she wanted to keep it that way.

Marge arrived around noon. Dudley and Harry obediently welcomed her at the door. While Marge showered Dudley with hugs, smacking kisses, money and presents she only glanced at Harry in passing.

"Take my bags upstairs, boy," she said and immediately focused her attention back on Dudley. Petunia watched amused. She didn't really like Marge, but she liked what her presence did to Harry. His eyes narrowed in anger and he kicked the wall on his way upstairs repeatedly, but he followed her command nevertheless.

As usual Marge had brought her bulldog Ripper, who was sitting on a chair next to her at the dinner table. Petunia didn't like it, but had long ago accepted that she couldn't ban the dog from her table.

"Last litter was horrible," Marge said. "One sick pub after another. Something wrong with the bitch, I tell you. Still sold her for a high price though. Just had to find the right moron." She and Vernon laughed heartily and Petunia joined in.

"If there's something wrong with the bitch," she said, waving around with her fork, "then there'll always be something wrong with the pup. Bad blood will out. Same for all mammals, even humans, obviously," she said and focused her fork on Harry.

His face stayed impassive but his eyes might as well have spit fire.

"What are you planning to do with the boy after Primary School? With the way he is," Marge scrunched up her face as if there were an especially unpleasant smell in the room, "no reputable school will take him. St. Brutus might be the right school for him. They deal with criminal boys of all sort."

Harry stood up so fast that his chair fell to the ground. Usually his temper was quite short an he lashed out immediately when things didn't go his way, here he'd obviously been trying to restrain himself.

"Where do you think you're going boy?" Marge called after him.

When he didn't answer Marge looked at her and then Vernon expectantly, but both felt it was safer for their peaceful family life to just let Harry go. Marge shook her head. "Boys like that need a firm hand," she said. "Go Ripper go! Make sure he's behaving." The dog jumped down to the floor and ran after Harry.

Soon they heard Ripper barking loudly, then Harry swearing equally loud, followed by silence. Then faint barking.

When Marge glanced at the door worriedly Petunia stood up. "I'll be back in a minute."

She followed the faint noises – it sounded like scratching – and soon found Harry standing in front of the downstairs toilet door. At first she didn't see Ripper, and when she did, she wished she hadn't. Harry was standing about a meter away from the door, staring at it intensely. Ripper's head was caught between the door and its frame. An invisible force seemed to pull the door shut. The dog's eyes were bulging out unnaturally, its tongue was hanging out of its mouth and it struggled to breath. The scratching noises came from inside the toilet and were probably caused by Ripper's fruitless attempts to free his head. Harry watched the dog uncaringly, but there was a glint in his eyes she didn't like at all.

"Oh god," she breathed and leaned against the closest wall to steady herself. Harry's head swivelled around. The moment the eye contact was broken the door opened and Ripper fell to the floor, hardly moving but still alive.

"It's interesting, isn't it?" She heard Harry say. "How quick life leaves in the absence of air."

She sank to the floor and didn't even care that Harry could hear her sobbing. That child was unnatural. A devil. A mean spirited, evil little demon coming from the deepest pits of hell. No normal child would be able to just watch an animal die this impassively. No normal child would be able to torture and nearly kill a living being without being affected in any way. She was vividly reminded of the time Harry had played with that bird in the backyard. He'd been five back then, and she'd simply assumed he didn't understand what he was doing. Now she knew better. Now she knew that he just didn't care.

Harry walked past her without another word.

…

For as long as Harry could remember he had been different. In the beginning he thought it was just his relatives that he couldn't understand, but when he entered primary school he realized that it were people as a whole.

They were all so emotional, so concerned with other people's thoughts and actions. He didn't understand why other children winced when somebody else scraped their knee, why adults were so angry on his behalf when he told them how bad his relatives allegedly treated him. It wasn't them who were hurt and it wasn't them who were mistreated, so why did they care?

He soon realized that it was some sort of accepted behaviour to show a reaction to the things one observed. Harry learned to imitate expressions of concern, joy, sadness and many more. He trained them in front of a mirror, just to make sure he got them right. The only emotion he didn't have any problem with was anger. Harry experienced anger on a regular basis. When his aunt favoured his cousin over him, Harry got angry. When someone belittled him, he got angry too. Whenever he felt he was treated unfairly, anger was his first reactions. Never sadness or anxiety, emotions the other children and adults seemed to expect.

He didn't really understand shame either. His aunt was ashamed all the time. She was ashamed when her flowers were not as beautiful as her neighbours, she was ashamed when she had to go to school because Dudley beat up some kid or when someone talked bad about her in the neighbourhood. Harry didn't understand why these things made her feel ashamed instead of angry, but he sure knew how to make use of it.

Whenever he didn't get what he wanted, he simply made sure to embarrass his aunt in public and soon everything would go his way.

When he was younger, Harry often did stupid things to make his aunt feel ashamed, but as he got older he realized that he didn't need to be the cause of her shame. Nowadays he preferred to stay in the back, to spread tales that only reflected badly onto his aunt and not himself.

Because Harry had also learned that in a world ruled by emotional people, impressions were everything. They weren't interested in the rationality behind his behaviour, but only in the displayed behaviour itself. They simple-mindedly took everything they saw for granted, for the real deal, and Harry learned to take advantage of that.

In the beginning Harry thought that the other people also didn't really feel the emotions they showed to the world, that they too only pretended because it was the thing to do. With time he learned better.

Now Harry suspected that even his anger was different from the one other people experienced. They showed the anger on their faces, went through stages of anger and were often torn between anger and other emotions. All of that sounded very tedious to Harry.

When somebody made him angry, the emotion was very clear. It came in a wave and encompassed his whole being. Sometimes it simply fizzled out, other times it stayed until he acted on it.

The first time he realized just how different he was, was when Aunt Petunia caught him with the bird in the garden. He had been fascinated by their singing and observed them for days on end before he'd decided to investigate further. It had taken him nearly a week to catch one, and when he finally did the stupid bird refused to sing. He still remembered how soft its feathers felt in his hand, how warm its little body was. He'd told it to sing repeatedly, but the bird didn't obey. It only made irritating, choppy noises.

That though, hadn't deterred Harry. He'd made it too far, invested too much time, to simply give up now. He'd pulled out the knife he'd taken from the kitchen and cut out the little birds tongue. He didn't do it because he was mean or wanted to hurt the bird, he simply wanted to know if it needed the tongue to sing. Aunt Petunia had caught him right after he'd separated the tongue from its owner and had stared at him in horror. When he told her his reason, she hadn't looked any better.

Harry hadn't understood that. On the telly they always said that curiosity was a good quality in children. What he'd done was because of his curiosity, so how could it be a bad thing? Also cats killed birds day in day out, and nobody gave them any grieve about it, so he hadn't thought it was because of that.

Now, a few years later, Harry knew better. Or at least thought he knew, he could never be sure. From what Harry understood it had everything to do with all the emotions other people constantly felt. It was connected to the reason others felt bad when they saw a person in pain. They somehow identified with that person, with their pain. He understood that to some extent, but why anybody would choose to identify with a bird still went over his head.

For the same reason he didn't understand why his Aunt had reacted so badly when he nearly killed Marge's dog, especially as the dog had attacked him first. Did she identify with dogs now too?

In retrospect Harry realised that it might not have been the brightest idea to simply say the first thought that came to his mind. Yes it had been interesting to watch the dog suffocate (Harry was still wondering how he'd done that without touching the door), but he should have known better by then. He should have realised that emotional people might not find it fascinating, that they might take pity on the dog and weren't able to analyse the situation from a rational point of view.

He hadn't deliberately disturbed his Aunt that day. On normal days he didn't hate her, she simply had to be reminded from time to time that certain behaviour on her behalf was not acceptable. He didn't hold it against her that she forgot about his punishments as time went by. He was the same. He hated to be locked up inside the cupboard or when Vernon took him over the knee, but that didn't stop him from acting out either.

…

Their last year of schooling started on a sunny autumn day in September 1990. Like always, Harry was very careful to walk in a safe distance to Dudley.

On Dudley Harry's punishments sadly didn't work. As soon as he was with a group of friends he seemed to forget about Harry's threats and simply followed their lead. They always picked on Harry because he wore second hand clothes, had glasses and was small for his age. It probably also had something to do with his lack of close friends, and maybe even with his good grades. Harry accepted that objectively he was the perfect victim, that didn't make him like it any more though.

For the longest time now, Harry had been on the lookout for a replacement, for somebody else to take on his role in their game, so when Mrs Gordon walked into the classroom with a small boy at her hand, Harry could hardly believe his luck.

"Quiet down class! This is Dominik Aiger. He moved here from Germany this summer. Please give him a warm welcome and help him out wherever you can."

The new student was shy, spoke hardly any English and always kept to himself. If Dudley and his friends didn't accept him as the next victim of their game, Harry would start to take their choice personal.

On the third day of school Harry stole Dudley's new action figure and hid it inside the German boy's schoolbag. When Dudley reported it missing all the children had to empty their bags. Harry opened his bag readily and waited patiently for the teacher to reach the new boy. She pulled the figure out of his bag and gave him a very stern look. "You won't make any new friends with a behaviour like this," she said and returned the toy to Dudley. It was moments like this, when his plans worked to perfection, that Harry felt the other emotions he could call his own. Satisfaction. Deep, all-encompassing satisfaction.

"No, no," new-boy said. "Me not."

Harry watched fascinated as new-boy tried to explain his situation. He guessed that if he could feel emotions like a normal person, he would pity the boy by now.

This was a game Harry played whenever he was bored. He observed certain situations, tried to guess the appropriate reaction, and then looked at the faces of the other children to see if he was right. More often than not it worked nowadays.

The teacher nodded. "Yes, it's not yours, we know that."

Dudley gestured threateningly at new-boy until he shut up. The next break was the first Harry could enjoy in a long time. He ate his lunch in silence, completely unbothered by Dudley and his gang who were busy chasing the new boy through the school. Life was definitely looking up.

…

Harry was sitting on the stairs, listening to his Aunt and Uncle talk in the kitchen. He always liked to stay informed.

"What about the zoo for Dudley's birthday? We could take one of his friends, that Polkins boy with us," Vernon suggested.

Dudley's birthday was the day after tomorrow. It was about time they made their plans known. Harry often enjoyed Dudley's birthday even more than his own, because they always got to do interesting things on that day.

"That sounds nice," Petunia agreed.

"What will we do about the boy?" Vernon asked.

The boy, Harry knew, was he. What about him? He'd got to the zoo with them. He really wanted to see all those exotic animals he knew from TV.

"What about him?" Petunia said, mirroring Harry's thoughts.

"I don't want him with us," Vernon said. "It's Dudley's last birthday before he goes away to boarding school."

There was silence for some time. Then Petunia spoke. "I'll ask Mrs Figg if she can take him."

Anger like he hadn't felt it in a long time rushed through Harry. So they wanted to give him to Mrs Figg? That stupid cat lady? He didn't know how he'd go about it, but he knew that he would sabotage that moronic idea. Hadn't they learned anything from their previous attempts to exclude him from such activities? How stupid, how…

Harry was too angry to concentrate on the rest of their conversation and went up to his bedroom to plot in peace.

The next morning he got up earlier than usual and quietly went over to Mrs Figg's house. He stretched a cord he'd stolen from Petunia's knitting supply in front of her door and hid in her garden to wait for the results.

Not much later Mrs Figg opened her front door. Like always she was surrounded by a gaggle of cats. Harry waited patiently for her to make the first step. He felt excited. Another emotions he should add to his collection. Excitement.

When Mrs Figg walked out of the house she fell to the floor. Harry heard a loud crunching noise, soon followed by a pained cry. That ought be a broken bone at least!

Stealthily Harry made his way back to Number Four and up the stairs to his room. In the afternoon, when Petunia called Mrs Figg, Harry was waiting in earshot.

Petunia hung up the phone and turned to Vernon, a grave expression marring her features. Harry immediately saved it for later to practice in front of a mirror.

"Bad news, Vernon. She can't take him."

It was clear to everybody in the room who she was talking about.

"What?" Vernon sputtered. "But why?"

"She's broken her leg when she stumbled over one of her cats just this morning."

Vernon's face went the familiar violet shade of red.

"So what now? Should we ask Marge?"

"Please, Vernon, she hates the boy."

Vernon nodded. "One of your friends maybe?"

Petunia shook her head. "Yvonne's in Majorca and I don't know anybody who'd take him in. Seems like we'll have to take him with us after all."

Harry tried not to look too satisfied. Petunia always told him his smile turned mean and evil then. It seemed he didn't quite succeed, because Petunia was giving him suspicious glances.

In the end, it didn't really matter to Harry if she suspected anything though. He got what he wanted. He was going to the zoo.

As always, I appreciate your input.

Edit Dez. 8th, Question: A friend of mine thought the story started out a bit boring, and only got interesting later on. (With the paragraph about Dudley's fifth birthday.) I'd love to hear your opinion. Is the opening weak? Did it nearly make you stop reading? I thought about rewriting it, but personally liked the way the story started. Then again, judging ones own stories from an objective POV is always a bit difficult. I'm still thinking about rewriting the first few paragraphs to make them more engaging, but I'd love to hear what you readers think. Big thanks in advance to anybody who takes the time to get back to me.