Heavy rain poured from the grey sky and pounded the rooftop of the Dursley household. All the residents were in a deep sleep- all but one.
A young, pale boy who looked no older than six years old silently stepped from his cupboard; his uncle had been so angry after beating him that he had forgotten to lock the cupboard...a fatal mistake.
Because of this mistake, the family would never see the sunrise.
The boy padded silently from the cupboard, through the kitchen and out of the kitchen door towards the shed with a paperclip in hand.
The locks were just too easy to pick.
He walked toward's two large red plastic containers that had yellow, hastily written labels on the front; Diesel & Petrol.
Lifting the large, full containers with surprising strength the young boy started back to the house, humming quietly to himself.
As soon as he walked inside he unscrewed the lid of the Diesel container and started pouring it along the ground as he walked around the bottom part of the house; wetting the couch, splashing the curtains and making sure that all of the downstairs were nice and wet.
Within minutes he was upstairs; he whistled softly to himself as he started emptying the Petrol along the hallway, making sure to splash the walls and doors.
He silently entered his older cousin's room, grinning to himself as he poured some over the sheets of the oblivious boy and splashed his curtains before moving towards the Master bedroom.
Standing in the doorway, he watched as his fat uncle and skinny aunt slept peacefully, not realising that this was their last moment.
Playful grin turning to a malicious smirk, he walked into the room with silent feet and started splashing the Petrol on the covers, curtains and ground.
Once both containers were empty, he left the Master bedroom and headed back downstairs to the kitchen; he wanted to leave with a Bang!
Giggling to himself he opened the drawers and grabbed a handful of metal spoons, forks and knives before walking to the microwave and placing them inside, setting the timer on for fifty seconds.
Working quickly, he pulled the stove back and, working quickly and with adrenaline, pulled it from its confine and turned the handle, grinning as the smell of gas leaked into the air.
Walking from the kitchen, he reached into his pocket and grabbed a packet of matches he had nicked just over a week ago; opening the packet he grabbed a single match out and struck it, grinning evilly as he threw it on the Diesel line as he walked out of the front door.
10...
9...
8...
7...
He listened with a grin as his aunt Petunia's scream of shock echoed throughout the house.
6...
5...
4...
3...
'' BOOOOYYYY!'' His uncle roared, though the fear was more evident than the anger.
2...
'SMASH! SPLAT!'
He cackled madly at the sight of a burning lump bursting from the bedroom window and splattering on the ground; His idiot cousin thought jumping from the window would help!
1...
0...
'BOOOOM!'
The explosion rocked the street and shook the houses. It threw him back from the lawn and onto the pavement, the back of his head came into contact with the pavement with a sickening 'Crack!'.
Still, Harry howled with laughter at the screams of horror from the neighbours as they stared at him and the burning rubble, the splattered and charred bodies.
Standing with a wobble, Harry gave a mad grin to the neighbours before bolting down the street at the sound of sirens; all the way he ran he howled with laughter, cackling about his success.
That was the day Harry James Potter, the innocent and naive boy died in flames...
And that was the day Azrael Aeron Mors was birthed from the ashes.