Harry was a freak, that's all he was ever called by his family. His aunt would refuse to feed him for days at a time, his uncle would beat him every time something strange happened around the house, and his cousin would torment him for fun. He was told to stop using his freakish powers.

He didn't know his real name, he couldn't read or write. To those outside, Harry didn't exist, his uncle refused to put him in school. He was a scourge to his family, a black spot they wanted to wipe out of existence.

A black spot was fitting in Harry's opinion, he found he could suppress his strangeness. When he did that he was given more food and the beatings lessened. But soon it turned into something black, something dark. It would lash out if he didn't reign it in, if it did the disciplining was worse than usual. Harry hated being different, if he wasn't different he wouldn't get hurt.

The black spot started growing greatly when he was eight, it started to get out of control, it started to hurt those around him and destroy parts of the house.

It killed his family. Harry was beaten into a bloody mess, he was too weak to hold it back. It first went after his uncle, the instigator of this chaos. It left him with black scarring al across his skin. Next was his cousin, who was in the room watching the whole time. It gave him a quick death, but its bloodlust was not sated. It wanted them all dead. Harry's form began to blur and he became apart of the creature. It flew through the house, breaking everything in its path. It found her in the kitchen and Harry could feel it killing her. He was able to reign it in but stared in horror at what it had done.

Harry knew he couldn't stay here any longer. He grabbed as much food as the bag he found could fit. And he ran. He didn't know where he was going but his family was gone. The family that hurt him, hated him. He wouldn't miss them but knew their lifeless faces would haunt him. He ran out of the house and kept running. He didn't know when his form fused with the creature but he was moving faster. He knew nothing, that the thing that helped him escape, would kill him and his death would send the world into chaos, or what life was like outside of the "perfect" house one Private Drive. To him he was a freak, not a key player in a hidden world. That history would mark this as the worst catastrophe in all of wizardkind. That he would be known as the Tragic Hero.

He wouldn't care even if he knew any of that. All he truly cared about at that moment was that, for the first time in his life he was free.

This is just a little what if story I wrote on my phone in a day after rewatching Fantastic Beasts. Those who are following the Detective and the Thief, the next chapter is mostly done but I'm rewriting it because I didn't like where it was going. Don't know when it will be up but I'll try before college starts up.