Third time's the charm. Or at least that's what he thought he heard his aunt saying a few times. It occurred to Harry that no matter how many times he experienced this kind of pain, it would never get any better. Each time he was resurrected his body was healed and everything he felt was new again. Harry realized that he needed to do something drastic and that thought was the only thing keeping him sane as the pain wracked his body.

Harry managed to stay on his bed in the cupboard this time, though he almost fell off several times. Unfortunately, he couldn't muffle his screams and he knew that it was inevitable that the Dursleys would soon wake and come to take him to the church.

After a while, the pain stopped and Harry panted. He heard the footsteps as the Dursleys made their way down the stairs. Harry's eyes narrowed and he snarled. For the first time, he really truly hated the Dursleys. They had never been kind to him before, but this was only happening because of them. If they had just left him to suffer in the cupboard, then he would never have to continue to die horribly.

Harry grabbed one of his pencils and hid behind the door. When it slammed open Harry held still. For all of one moment, Harry heard his breaths and he only had that moment to himself before Vernon stuck his large head in.

Harry was furious and had the memories of two deaths playing over and over in his mind. He didn't even think of the morality or legality of his next action and stabbed Vernon through the neck with his pencil. Then he ran out of the cupboard and towards the door. He heard the choked splutters of his fat uncle and the startled cries of his aunt and cousin as they took in what was happening.

Harry sprinted past Petunia, but she tripped him and started pulling him backwards screaming "Look at what you did!" while crying. She looked caught between fury and agony as she watched her husband choke on his own blood.

Harry roared and clawed at her eyes like the teens did to him. She screamed and cried, but Harry didn't stop. In the blind haze of pure hatred, Harry ripped one of her eyes clean out of its socket and Dudley screamed but didn't do anything, too shocked and scared.

Harry then strolled over to where a vase lay and picked it up, gliding over to his petrified aunt. With a cold gleam in his eye, Harry brought the vase down on her head once, then twice, then thrice. He just kept hitting her over and over again. He distantly heard Dudley talking in the background, but couldn't stop smashing his aunt's head in. Blood from his uncle pooled and Harry didn't realize he was coated in it until he heard the splash of his fist hitting the blood. He watched as his arm robotically hit the floor over and over as if he was still bashing her head in.

Harry didn't pay any mind to that though. He just cried tears of relief that he wasn't being transported to the church where he would soon meet his end. He laughed and didn't stop laughing even as the police barged in and pointed their weapons at him. He just sat there in his relatives' blood and cackled madly.

The next few days were a blur. Harry was moved around multiple times as different people talked to him. Or really at him. He didn't say anything, he was just happy that he wasn't suffering and he prayed to magic that he would never suffer like that again. Nothing else could penetrate his mind. Even the persistent owl didn't faze him. The only thing he noticed that briefly broke him out of his spell was the sight of his fading scar in the mirror. It had never changed before, but now It appeared faded. Harry tilted his head to the side, an odd look on his face. It was then that he noticed he wasn't wearing his glasses. How had he forgotten about them?

Harry took that lapse in his recurring thoughts to ponder his new circumstances. Harry imagined he should feel bad about what happened, but somehow, he didn't. He felt different now. Colder, more collected. He was always stumbling through life, but Harry now felt in control. Somehow he knew, and he didn't know how, but he knew that something in him had changed. Harry imagined he had changed for the better. He also realized that he had just gone several minutes without defaulting to the chant that got him through the past several days.

Harry breathed in and out. He thought of nothing. Just clearing his mind. What?

He jolted. How did he know to do that? Harry felt a shiver go up his spine. For better or for worse, he had changed and now he had new behaviors. He also knew instinctively that magic was real and he was a wizard. He didn't know how, but he knew and it was great.

Harry giggled to himself and felt an odd sort of amusement in the back of his mind. Weird. He was so caught up in himself that he didn't notice the door to the bathroom opening and a man from the station coming in. Harry immediately stopped laughing and put on a serious face.

Harry knew that he needed to convince these people he was sane. He crafted a story in his mind. He knew they would believe it. All he would need to do was look into their eyes and…

Another shiver coursed through him and Harry faltered, but shook it off. These muggle fools couldn't hold him. He didn't know what a muggle was, but knew that he hated them. Harry followed the man silently and sat down at a table with two other adults.

"Hello Harry." One of them stated, a smile twitching at his lips. "I see you are in a good mood today. I hope you can help shed light on the events of Sunday night."

The man spoke calmly, but Harry knew it was false. He was nervous. Harry also sensed relief and also some fear. Harry knew he had to say the right thing. These muggles don't know what actually happened yet.

"Sir, I'm very sorry. This is difficult for me. I have spent the last few days grieving you see." Harry started off. He was surprised at the silver words that were pouring out of his mouth. He imitated a grief-stricken face and he could sense sympathy from the man and the two others.

After giving him a moment, a woman spoke softly. "Harry, could you tell us what happened. We won't be angry. We just want to know the truth. Can you do that?"

Harry felt touched at her words and almost complied before a wave of coolness swept over him and he went back to his original plan.

"I, I don't know exactly what happened. See, I had been in my cupboard for the night and-" But Harry was cut off.

"A cupboard?" One of them choked. Fixing Harry with a shocked look. Harry tried not to smile. He needed to lay out the facts first, make them see how miserable his life was. Then he could twist their minds more easily.

"Yes, sir." Harry answered and felt the man react to his politeness. "My aunt and uncle keep me in a cupboard. That's where I sleep and spend most of my day in." At that, the occupants looked horrified and Harry continued. "What's wrong? Did you not have cupboards of your own while growing up?" Harry stated with mock innocence.

He felt pain from the three and they looked at him more sadly. Harry thought he should feel bad for tricking them, but remembered that they were useless muggles.

"I was spending the night in my cupboard. I heard loud noises at first and thought it was my aunt and uncle watching the telly." Harry started and gauged their reactions. Some skepticism, but pity and sympathy were still the reigning emotions.

"I heard what sounded like a loud bang and realized that it must have been a home invasion. I immediately grabbed a pencil and hid behind the door in case someone dangerous entered my cupboard."

One of them was taking notes furiously while the others watched nervously.

"My door swung open and a head came in. I didn't think to see who it was, I just swung my hand and felt something impact. It wasn't until I heard my aunt scream that I knew I had done something bad." Harry started crying now. He Looked up at them with a helpless expression. "I didn't know what I did. What did I do?" He said while looking directly into the woman's face.

She emanated pity and sadness. Harry knew he needed to tie this all together.

"I turned to look at my aunt, but her distraction was all the masked man needed and he swung a vase at her head, knocking her over. He then started beating on her and - and – and…" Harry broke off again, while crying furiously.

He took several moments to calm down and began again. "The man was dressed from head to toe. He had gloves and a mask that were all the same color." Now for the finishing blow. "After he finished, he threw me the vase and said 'thanks kid' nodding at my uncle who was dead. So much blood, there was so much blood and I killed him." Harry trailed off. "I killed him and helped the man murder my aunt." He repeated this statement again and again while sobbing and looked into the skeptical one's eyes. He willed the emotion away.

After he did that, he felt the skepticism die and one of them converged on him hugging him to her. Harry sobbed with relief, now free. He had convinced them. Now he was free. Harry saw his reflection and his eyes glowed red and he smiled.

oOoOo

After his performance, Harry was shepherded around by various adults. He was given time to 'grieve', then was told he was to now reside in an orphanage. Immediately after hearing that word, Tom had felt hot white rage, wait Tom? Harry shook his head. He had caught himself several times. He had called himself Tom. He did not know why. But orphanages. He didn't know why that made him so angry. Luckily, he caught himself before it showed on his face. Wouldn't want to blow his cover. Harry didn't know when he had gotten so good at lying.

As soon as Harry had entered the place; Wool's it had been called, Harry had the urge to burn it all down. The place absolutely disgusted him and he decided that everyone here was worthless and would die if they offended him in any way. Harry pushed his fingers through his now, slightly more manageable, hair and waited for the social workers to stop babbling to the matron. He didn't react to her in any way but strangely got an impression of a different lady. One much older with white hair. She had a sneer on her face and Harry giggled as he remembered making her hang herself. Wait what?

Harry shook his head. He'd figure it out later, it wasn't important. The social workers left after glancing back at Harry sadly. Harry tried not to sneer at the disgusting muggles. Then he was led upstairs. He glared down each of the children, ensuring that he implanted fear in them. They needed to know that he was better than them. They were nothing but a bunch of worthless muggles after all. Harry remembered pushing a tall boy down some stairs and seeing his neck crack. He giggled again and the matron looked at him strangely.

After he had gotten settled in his room, Harry found a bed and flopped down on it. He drifted off thinking about crucioing someone and remembering the bliss.

Harry woke with a jolt. It was dark. It was dark and someone was on top of him. They were strangling him. Harry's eyes adjusted after awhile and they focused on his cousin. The one he had forgotten about. The one who had called the police on him and was now straddling him, squeezing the life out of him. Harry weakly shot a command for Dudley to stop, but it bounced off. The beady eyed boy didn't stop. He had a look of utter hatred on his face as he wrung Harry's neck.