A/N - I've decided to rewrite this story, adding in more detail. Please excuse any spelling and grammar issues. If you do find any, please say and I will try and fix it.

It was always the same. My Uncle Vernon would come home from work on a Friday night drunk. Give his wife and son a look, and then 'hurt' me. It was always the same...

Except for today... Today Uncle Vernon went too far... Today Uncle Vernon almost killed me. My name is Harry, Harry James Potter - and this is the story of how I almost died at the age of seven.

Vernon Dursley - or my Uncle Vernon - hated me. He hated me with all his fat, and he was a pretty big man. I never knew why, at the time I thought it was because my parents were drunks. He told me that my father got drunk one night and got into his car, that my mother got both me and her into the car as well. That my father drove while drunk because I was such a freak that they wanted to die.

One night, Uncle Vernon came home drunk and angry. He had just missed out on the promotion of his life at Grunnings - a power tool manufacturing company. Of course, the first point of action was to blame me. However, this time I didn't use his belt. He went into the garden and grabbed the washing line, forcing me into a chair and tying me up with the line. I still remember the feeling of the line, thick enough to hold me down but thin enough to cut into my skin. Blood was running down my body from where the lines were cutting into my skin. But the worst was yet to come...

It was always the same. All the girls would laugh at me for looking the way I look. My father hated me because I wasn't a male. He hated my little sister more, so much so that one day he got up and took her into the forest. I thought I would never see her again. He made me wear rags like a house-elf, he even treated me like one.

However, one day, he snapped like he did with my sister. It was my seventh birthday when he dragged me out of the house by my hair, apparated us to a muggle dumping ground and left me there. I cried out, begging him to come back. Seven years old, left to die. That was when I heard moaning...

Uncle Vernon took a knife from the draw and stabbed me in the stomach. Over and over would he pull the blade out and push it back in another place on my stomach. Again and again and again, everytime my screams would get louder. This was all until another scream joined mine. My Aunt Petunia had walked down stairs and seen the sight of her "freakish" nephew bleeding on her floor while her husband stabbed him over and over again. Imagine if her sweet Vernon went to prison.

Petunia made Vernon sit down and untied me. As soon as I was free I collapsed to the ground. She picked me up and dragged me into her car, leaving a blood trail behind me. I faded in and out of consciousness, the pain was unbearable. I wanted nothing but to die. But something deep inside kept him alive. He hated it, but he was also confused. He could see the wound healing slowly, but it shouldn't be healing that quick.

Eventually, the car stopped, I felt her drag me out of the car, and then feel the movement of being thrown down a hill. I feel broken glass dig into my body, then the sound of a car driving off.

They had finally done it, the Dursleys had gotten rid of their freakish secret. They had left it in a dump. Just then, I heard the sound that sounded like a gust of wind, and then I heard it again.

"Daddy! Daddy! Please! Come back Daddy!" A little girl called out into the dump. She needed help, and maybe she can help me. I try to get up but the wounds start to hurt more. I can't help but moan in pain, the blood starts to seep out of the wounds more. However, before I could see the girl, I pass out in pain.

I turn towards the moaning and see a boy who looks about the same age as me. He was badly hurt. I see him stand up slightly before collapsing. He needs help. I rush towards him and pull him onto his back, I use my hands to try and stop the bleeding, but there are too many wounds. I looked at his face, it was getting more pale over time. However, that wasn't what caught my breath. It was the scar on his forehead. I, Daphne Greengrass, was hold the bleeding and dying body, of Harry James Potter.

I was holding the savour of the wizarding world. And he was going to die.