Prologue

Cold today. Unusually cold. People usually say that cold weather is depressing, but you don't get that. Cold is great. You don't sweat nearly as much in the cold. Not like summer.

Aunt Petunia always works you the hardest at summer. "Freaks like you don't deserve to laze about in the summer," she always says.

Cold days like today make you wish that there was something to keep you warm. Something warm like a fire. Kind of like the fire you're lighting at the moment. Vernon always complains about his old sofa. If you weren't such a drain on their finances they could afford a new one by now!

You light one of the Pig's cigarettes and carefully place it between two of the cushions. Have to make it look like a tragic accident you see.

The alarms won't go off; not now, and not even when the house is reduced to a pile of ash. You've recently taken up cooking, and unfortunately, you have a tendency to burn things. Aunt thought that it wouldn't seem 'normal' if the fire alarm went off every day, so she took the batteries out of the alarm.

It would be her fingerprints on the battery sitting in a nearby drawer. Given that she will be dead soon, you don't think they will feel the need to prosecute her.

She'll be dead, the Pig will be dead, and even Pig Jr. will be dead.

You feel nothing about their impending deaths, and why would you? You've never felt anything your whole life, so why start now? People talk about feeling happy or sad; that doesn't describe you.

All you've ever felt in your entire life is either anger or greed.

At a young age you discovered you were different. When others around you laughed or smiled you wondered why. When you didn't react correctly they looked at you funny. So you learned to laugh when needed, and to smile at all the right times.

Crying still eludes you however. You'll get there though.

You crawl in your 'room' and latch the lock from the inside. It was a difficult skill to pick up. Two weeks of endless nights learning how to pick a lock. Good thing you watched that show on the telly, or you may have never learned that a lock could be picked! Now you're locked in and that is exactly what you need. You need an alibi. "I was locked in my 'room'" is a good one. When it starts to get hot and smoky you'll kick the door until the latch breaks. Then you'll run outside and wait for the firemen.

That's the plan anyways. Now just to wait.

Lots of time to wait and think when you've been locked in your 'room'. Eight years of long nights thinking about anything at all.

You think about that wallet you stole a few years back. It's currently hidden outside under a flowerpot with a false bottom. A trophy. One of many. Vernon was not too happy when you stole his wallet. He didn't know it was you, but the burden of proof is not very difficult to overcome in this household. A sound thrashing was given that day. One of many. You didn't even need the wallet or the money. It was just a little adventure. It's fun to steal and you've been at it for years.

Stealing is fun, but lying is just so much better. When you don't feel anything it is very easy to keep a straight face while spinning falsehoods. Misdirection is the name of the game, and you're the best in the business.

You started to lie and steal to get things. Things you were denied. Things to survive. Food. Water. Then it grew to things you wanted. Toys. Books. Then you lied and stole just for the experience.

You hear the neighbor's dog yapping. Their first dog fit a tragic end. Small little thing it was. Yapped all the time; day and night. This was back in the day when you were still attempting to make your guardians love you. They kept complaining about it so you decided to get rid of it. It squirmed for a good little while when you stuffed its head in the bucket of water.

Sadly, it didn't make your relatives love you. Shame that.

They have a new dog now, and it doesn't like you very much. It can probably smell it's predecessor all over you. It's normally very quiet; that means it's time. It can smell the smoke and so can you.

You prep your leg, and like a gun you shoot your leg out and hit the lock dead on. First hit earns you a loud crack but no broken lock, and so you give it another shot.

Good.

Staying low to the floor like they teach you in school, you creep down the hallway and make your way to the door.

Taking a moment to collect yourself, you get into character. Frantic and terrified nine year old coming right up. You sprint out the front door screaming at the top of your lungs, "Fire! Fire! Someone call the fire department!"

Lights shoot on all the way up and down the block; in less than a minute people started pouring out their doors to get a look. Nosy bastards want to see the fire for a bit before they call the fire department.

Five minutes pass before the first people decide to call triple nine, another ten before the fire-engine arrives.

The Dursleys were dead long before that.

AN: The idea popped into my head a little while ago and I decided to run with it.

Harry in this story is a psychopath. He feels no emotions whatsoever. No guilt. He's based on the character Dexter from the showtime program of the same name. I have not read the Dexter books so expect no references to that material. Also, one does not need to know anything about Dexter to read this.

After reading over jbern's 'bungle in the jungle' again, I decided to write my own story from a second person perspective. All of Harry's rambling thoughts will be open to you as he tries to find a place in a new world.

This story will be of epic length.