Now this story doesn't start happy; it starts with a child's dieing wish...

10 year old harry potter was bruised, broken and bleeding, every short in-take of breath was producing agonizing pain that his small, malnourished body couldn't handle. Harry Potter was dieing.

His uncle Vernon had gone to far, and every occupant of 4 private drive knew so. His cousin Dudley was pale and just staring at harrys broken, bleeding body just lying there on the hallway floor. His aunt, his only blood relative, the women who was supposed to love and protect him, the womem who hated him with every fiber of her being for having what she could never have, weepet, though not for the dying boy on the floor, but for herself, her dudlekins, her husband, and for her life as she knew it.

Vernon eyed the rotten boy on the floor, full of self-rightness and satisfaction of the actions that had taken place in his home, he remembered the pleasure that ran though out his body with every blow that he landed on the boy. The pleasure of every cry, every scream, every beg to stop. The sounds of bones breaking, the wheezing coming from the boys broken nose and pierced lungs. The sound of blood dripping from his hands onto the floor.

Harry Potter lay there, barely conscious, barely breathing, wishing to die. To escape from his prison, his hell on earth and join his parents. His Mum and Dad.

And so. his wish was granted, though not in the way he expected.