Harry sat bolt upright in bed. Sweat poured down his face, but although the nightmare had been bad, he did not make a sound. He knew what would happen if he did. His ears strained to hear the Dursleys sleeping to make sure he was alright, letting out a sigh of relief as he heard his uncle's loud snores.

He hated it here. Hated every minute of it. The Dursleys hated him, he didn't know why, and didn't even seem to care whether or not he lived out each day. Usually, when he was beaten really bad, he didn't care either. Most of the time, though, he would be thrown into his cupboard by a leg or arm (which tended to be broken by then) and left to scream inside his head, asking the same question over and over. 'What did I do to deserve this?' If he made any noise, there would be another beating, which could have been worse, depending on how tired Uncle Vernon was by then.

But when the Dursleys were asleep, his life wasn't any better. Because he went to sleep as well. And sleep brought the green light. And the woman's scream. That was why he had woken up- he had had the nightmare again. It was driving him mad. If only he knew answers- who the woman was, why she was screaming, where the green light came from. And above all, why why WHY was he stuck with the Dursleys? The questions chased each other round his mind until he was dizzy. He just wanted answers. That was all. Just one answer for one thing, maybe. Even that would be a relief.

You never got answers with the Dursleys. You couldn't even ask questions- if Harry asked about anything, his Aunt would practically have a fit and his uncle would go mad with rage. A beating would always follow that. Once Harry had even been thrown down the stairs when he asked why he had to live with them and where his parents were. His leg had broken- he still remembered the searing pain. But- and here was the odd thing- everything his uncle gave him, every bruise, cut or broken limb always healed within hours. Harry'd be sitting in his cupboard, willing it to heal… and it would. No matter how bad it was. It puzzled him, but seemed to give his uncle a kind of evil delight. Now when his uncle was about to beat him, Harry could definitely see a glint in his eyes- like a cat that has cornered its prey.

He stopped. He could hear footsteps above his uncle's snores. That meant his aunt was up. His thought were confirmed when he heard her coming down the steps- his time spent under said steps meant he knew what each of his relatives sounded like on their way up or down, and this was definitely Petunia's soft, deliberate tread walking down above his head right now. As quietly as possible, he slipped under his thin, ragged blanket and pretended to be asleep. A shadow passed over the room as she peered through the grille on the door, giving a small 'hmm' when she saw Harry 'asleep'. As she went into the kitchen, he heard sing softly 'Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday to diddums…' Harry groaned and ducked under the blanket, hoping that hadn't been true. Because what he had just heard meant it was Dudley's birthday. And that meant Dudley would be worse than usual to Harry.

An hour later, Vernon's thudding footfalls went down the stairs above. Dust, dislodged from the ceiling, fell into Harry's face. He coughed quietly. A few minutes later, Dudley thundered down the stairs. Halfway, he paused before going up to the stair he knew was above Harry's head and jumping on it- yelling "WAKE UP SCARHEAD!" Harry swung round and off his mattress. As he came out of the cupboard, though, Dudley shoved him back inside. Harry slammed into the wall and stood there for a minute, winded. Then Vernon called "BOY! Where are you, boy? Get in here!" Harry slowly made his way into the kitchen, where Petunia ordered him to get all the toast buttered.

When he had finished, he piled it onto a plate and carried it over to the table, where Dudley was eyeing his presents and trying to count them. When he finally failed miserably, he turned to his father demanding to know how many there were. "25" came the reply.

"25! But LAST year I had 26! I want more!" Yelled Dudley, about to go into a tantrum.

"Consider yourself lucky" Harry told him as he dished him some toast "I only got one!"

"I DON'T CARE!" Dudley screamed into Harry's face. "Daddy, can I beat him up?"

"Count it as an extra present son." His father said without looking up from his newspaper. A malicious look spread over Dudley's face. Shoving his chair back, he stood to face Harry.

"I call this one the Dudley amazing underarm punch supremo!" Dudley said, barely able to contain his delight. However, as he swung his arm forward to Harry's stomach, hot anger blazed inside his target. Harry was seeing red. He would NOT let Dudley bully him any more! He would not let ANYONE bully him anymore! Without thinking, he imagined a shield in between him and Dudley. He closed his eyes to concentrate on it more. He opened his eyes when a yell of pain resounded from his cousin, who was now holding his hand as though he had just punched something seriously hard. For a moment, Harry was surprised it had worked- it was obviously the shield his cousin had hit. Why hadn't he thought of it before? And if he could do defence…

Now it was Harry with the evil smirk. His cousin and aunt cowered away, but Vernon kept reading his newspaper. Harry called to mind all the times his uncle had beaten him. His smirk grew even wider as he thought of a brilliant way to repay him. Vernon did not notice, Petunia and Dudley being too scared to tell him. Without looking up, Vernon muttered "Show him who's boss, Dudders."

'Odd last words, but for you I think they'll do.' Thought Harry. Anger swelled up in him again. He waited until it was at it's peak, then gathered it into his hands, which glowed a deep red. Raising them, he pointed them at his target and with a yell, released his anger. Vernon barely saw it coming. The red light hit him squarely in the chest. He screamed once before slumping on the floor. Petunia wailed. Dudley wrenched himself away from his mother's terrified grasp. "Diddums, nooooo!" Petunia shrieked. Dudley did not hear her- intent as he was on avenging his father. Harry turned to him, leering. "You're next, birthday boy." In seconds, Dudley had joined his father.

As his cousin keeled over, Harry looked over his body to where his aunt stood crying. She looked him in the eye, sobbing "Why? Why? Why are you doing this?" Harry simply raised an eyebrow.

"Thought you never liked people asking questions. You know the answer to that anyway- my turn to ask you one now." He glared at her "Why was I stuck with you?"

"Y-your parents…" Petunia whimpered "Th-they d-d-died. M-m-m-murdered. I d-d-don't know who by…"

"Thankyou" replied Harry "That was all I needed to know. Makes you pretty useless now." Looking at her one last time, he struck her down like her husband and son before her. With one last glance around the room and his dead relatives, he focused on trying to get out of there. It was worth a try. He needed somewhere to go, somewhere he would be wanted…