I don't own Harry Potter.

I don't know what's wrong with me. No one likes me. No one loved me. No one ever helped me when I was sick or when I fell like everyone did for my cousin Dudley. My Uncle Vernon likes to hit me, my cousin likes to beat me up, and my Aunt just avoids me and yells at me for my appearance. She has never ever looked me in the eyes. Not once. I couldn't blame her.

I am a freak. I don't know what I did wrong, since freak is apparently a mean name for someone. Well, I kind of thought that it was mean by the way they said it, so it was probably bad. Who knows? It could have been my real name. Did I spill Dudley's breakfast on him when I was little? Is that why they all hate me, and don't even want me to be in the same room with them?

They hate me because I'm bad. I do very bad things, unspeakable things. I am worthless, useless, and they burdened themselves by taking me in. I'm supposed to be happy that they did, so I deserve to be hurt. I deserve the pain I get because they were kind enough to take me in. I'm not happy.

When Dudley and Uncle Vernon are beating me, my Aunt Petunia always leaves the room. I think she doesn't want to see her clean rug dirtied with my filty tainted blood. I don't blame her. Afterwords, I always tell her I'm sorry, and she just tells me to go back to my room, still not looking me in the eyes.

I live in the cupboard under the stairs. I should be so happy that they actually are nice enough to let me have my own little room! I should be the perfect little angel for them since they were so nice. I'm not.

I wonder about a lot of different things. I never ask them though, I don't want to impose on their kindness too much. I wonder what happened to my parents. I wonder how old I am. I wonder why everyone hates me. I wonder when my birthday is. I wonder what my real name is. I wonder what my parents were like, what they looked like, and how they acted.

I work a lot outside in the backyard, so no one can see me. No one wanted to see a freak anyway. It's always either hot or cold, but that doesn't bother me. There is always someone to keep me company. The snakes come to me, and they talk to me. It's nice. I feel all warm inside when they come to visit. Is this what it's like to have a friend?

"Freak! What are you doing?" Oh no! That's my Uncle! He sounds really mad... I know I've been bad, so I turn to him and get on my knees, ready for my punishment.

"Oh, look. You're talking to a fucking snake. A snake! You are a freak, boy, and that is all you'll ever be. Pathetic little shit..."

As Uncle Vernon pulled me inside by the hair, I never struggled once. I deserved this. I wasn't allowed to have friends, it was against the rules. I had been bad. So bad. This is what I get for being so bad.

Uncle Vernon slammed me on the kitchen table, I stared blankly up at the ceiling, wondering what he would do this time. I looked over at Uncle to see him pulling out a large butchers knife, a gallon of gasoline he kept under the sink, and some matches. That's what it looked like from here anyway, I couldn't see very well.

My eyes widened. I understood what was happening. This was it. He was going to kill me. For some reason, I didn't feel scared. I felt sort of happy. Guess that shows how much of a freak I am.

Uncle chuckled darkly at me, and he growled, "Now you won't be my burden anymore. You are a freak. You are worthless. You are useless. You do not deserve to live, so I am going to make sure you don't. I'm going to do the world a favor and make sure there is one less freak in it."

He approached me, and I closed my green eyes. It's not like I could see him anyway, my glasses had been thrown away. Dudley punched me yesterday and they couldn't be fixed anymore. The Dursley's didn't want to have to pay for new ones, I wasn't worth their money, so they decided I could see well enough without my glasses.

That's when I felt it. My eyes opened wide, just in time for him to bring down the knife right into my left eye. I screamed in pain as I felt blood spurting everywhere, dripping down my face, onto the table, and staining the clothes I wore, Dudley's old ones.

I heard a shluck as the knife was dislodged from my eye socket. I could only see with my one eye now, and I knew what was coming before it was even inflicted.

My Uncle gave a wicked grin as he jabbed the knife into my right eye, rendering me blind. This time, I didn't scream. I was too tired to do anything. I felt dizzy, and I felt numb. Uncle laughed cruelly as he pulled the knife out of my right eye socket, and then slammed the knife into my abdomen.

I felt the blood rush down my stomach, neck, legs, face, everywhere you could think of, but I did not feel the pain. I was still there, still alive. I hoped for freedom, and I nearly smiled as I was granted it.

I didn't feel the sting of the gasoline being poured into my cuts, into my empty eye sockets, and all over my body. I heard him light the match and throw it on me.

The last feeling I ever felt was a comfortable warmth, from both the fire and the people who were smiling and stretching their arms out to me. A man with hair like mine, and a woman with eyes like mine. I could see them clearly. Were they angels? I would find out soon enough. I ran to them and they hugged my gently, smiling and crying and kissing my hair. They whispered they loved me, and that they always would, and that they were so happy I was with them now. I began to cry tears of joy.

I was finally free.

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