Prologue
"Pest! We never wanted you to live here! You're just a waste of space!" A large, fat hand scored many bruises on the young boy's skin. The child began to shake, but didn't make a sound. Vernon Dursley, an extremely porky, pink-skinned man, grew evermore furious at his victim's lack of fear. Vernon Dursley was hell-bent on making his poor nephew, Harry Potter, feel the real thing—pain. The little shit just had to have survived. Like his parents, he deserved to be killed.
Harry Potter was eight. He had short, messy black hair, captivating green eyes and, his most distinguishable feature, a sharp lightning-shaped scar on the right side of his forehead. The only reason that he had gone to live with his fierce relatives was because his parents, James Potter and Lily Potter (nee Evans), had died (in a car accident, Uncle Vernon had always said nastily to Harry, their kind were always terrible drivers. Harry didn't know what he meant by 'their kind' but Uncle Vernon was probably hinting that his parents were loony drunks.) It wasn't like the Dursleys had a choice—Harry had been delivered to them on their front doorstep, along with a note. After reading it, they decided that they despised Harry because of his parents (for some reason Harry could not decipher) and robbed him of most of the food that he needed to gain nutrients.
Harry Potter flinched as blow after blow landed on nearly every part of his skin. Uncle Vernon was ruthless. He absolutely despised Harry, and, every so often, would start a 'torture session' with him. Harry learnt when to predict a 'torture session' by noting that he wouldn't get even one scrap of food on the day of the punishing attacks. Harry, used to the assaults by now, learnt to endure it slightly, and not to feel as much pain.
Uncle Vernon sneered cruelly at Harry, straightening up and giving him one last, hard kick with his steel-toed boots. Harry barely suppressed an agonized scream—multiple bones were broken in several places, and he knew that it wasn't like the Dursleys to drive him up to the hospital. If they could they would, with broad grins, dump him in a pool to let him drown and pretend it was an accident, but apparently something inside the note banned them from permanently killing him.
"Feel lucky, punk. I have every intention to kill you now. And if you accidentally make a mistake, you'll know where you're headed." Dursley crossed out from the tiny room underneath the staircase—which was Harry's sleeping place. His family and himself planned to make him suffer as much as he could 'before the freak leaves'—whatever it meant.
A/N: Hi guys. X.X This is my first story. Don't expect it to be great. There'll be quite a few OC characters in this story. I don't expect to complete the series, though, so don't get your hopes up.
Kyuube xP