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Prologue.

As he watched the perfect family of three eating their dinners, he seethed with anger and resentment. They hadn't lived through what he had. They hadn't been starved, hit, called names, and worse. That's why they had to suffer, so they would know what people like him went through. After all, he was a person, and he deserved to be treated as such. People like them needed to learn that.

That night, once the Dursleys were in bed, their attacker entered the kitchen, quietly got a butcher's knife from the drawer they were kept in, and went upstairs. He listened at the Whale's door and heard breathing behind it. Good, the boy was asleep. This should be easy. He crept into the room, up to Dudley's bedside, and drew his knife across the fat child's throat, cutting his vocal chords and leaving him unable to call for help as he bled out. This done, the predator went to the adults' room and did the same with Whale Senior, then Red Rum, as he thought of her. This had once been purely because of her resemblance to a racehorse, but now he thought of it, Petunia Dursley's slayer had to laugh when he realised the name was murder spelt backwards. Very appropriate. Thus, absolutely insane cackles issued forth from his mouth as the couple stared at him in horror before their eyes closed forever.

Now that all three Dursleys were dead, their killer went back to the kitchen and washed his hands thoroughly before doing the same with the knife, keeping it under the running water until it went cold for good measure, then he dried it and put it back in the drawer, went to the cupboard under the stairs and entered it before using his 'freakishness' to relock the padlock on the door and settling himself down to sleep. He might only be six and a half years old, but Harry James Potter was far from stupid, and he didn't want to go to jail for what he had done, not if what the Dursleys said about it being worse than their treatment of him was true.

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