[Make sure to put trigger warning in Author's Note]

It's OK, Omega is here! And hey, I actually came through this time! Brand new chapter in a little over a week. . . that will be immediately followed up by an indefinite hiatus, but hey, you take what you can get. Anyway, just wanted to let you know that there will be a TRIGGER WARNING for this chapter.

WARNING: This chapter contains several instances of abuse done towards a child, including assault and mutilation. If this is a problem for you, then I recommend you look for the second -OK- I use near the halfway point of the chapter.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

-OK-

"Oi, Freak, wait up!"

Harry Potter didn't know his name until he was five years old. For most of his short life, he'd been called everything from boy to freak to brat, but never his actual name. It wasn't until he started school that he was told his name was Harry Potter.

In the year that followed, his life remained much the same as it was before he knew his name. His relatives continued to berate him, beat him, starve him, and keep him locked in the cupboard beneath the stairs, but the past week, in particular, had been much worse than the others. He'd burned himself trying to cook bacon for his relatives; Aunt Petunia had screamed at him and denied him dinner after he accidentally trimmed one of her roses; His Uncle Vernon hadn't been doing so well at his job and was taking his frustrations out on Harry after work.

That's why, when his Cousin Dudley started chasing him after school ended, Harry wasn't the least bit surprised. Games of 'Chase the Freak', followed by 'Beat the Freak', had started a very long time ago, but Harry was tired.

He was tired and hurt and not for the first time, he wished that everyone would just leave him alone. Harry didn't even run away, he let Dudley catch up to him, he let Dudley shove him so hard he fell onto the ground and scraped his knee.

"Aww, it isn't as fun when he doesn't run," said Piers Polkiss, Dudley's primary friend/minion. He walked over and kicked Harry's leg. "Oi, get up and run so we can catch you!"

Harry didn't respond. He just got up and started walking again without saying a word to Dudley or his friends. . . Dudley didn't like that.

"We're talking to you, Freak!" As Dudley screamed, Harry felt something strike the back of his head. Pain spread across his face like a fire; he knew right away that Dudley had punched him, it hurt in a different way when he threw rocks at him.

A headache bloomed and between that and his horrible, no-good week and everything else that was awful in his life, Harry did something very stupid.

He turned around, eyes shut tight with anger, as something deep in his stomach bubbled like a pot of boiling water. Harry opened his mouth and screamed, "Leave me ALONE!"

Harry felt a gust of wind ruffle his hair and heard several of Dudley's friends gasp. When he opened his eyes, Harry felt like gasping himself. He knew Dudley had been right behind him before, but now he was lying on his back, some ten feet away with a very bloody nose.

"Did you see that?" One of Dudley's friends asked.

"—Didn't even touch him. . ." Another one whispered.

Harry didn't know what to do. His chest started to hurt as they all turned to stare at him and glare, and he couldn't seem to get any air into his lungs. When Piers took a step toward him, Harry turned around and ran.

He ran as fast as possible, faster than he'd ever run before. And he kept running until he found himself at a playground. He'd been there before, always to hide from Dudley during the summer months, when his cousin was bored and wanted some excitement. It felt like a good place to hide for a few hours.

Dudley would get bored, sooner or later, and then he'd leave Harry alone until tomorrow.

Harry repeated those words to himself, over and over again, but something deep inside him knew something was different. He'd run before, he'd hidden, and he'd also gotten beat up, but he'd never fought back. Harry didn't know what was going to happen, but he knew it wouldn't be good.

Eventually, when his stomach growled like a wild beast and the sun was about to dip past the horizon, Harry knew he couldn't avoid what was coming to him anymore.

He made his way back to Number 4 Privet Drive, taking deep breaths to calm himself, even though his hands twitched, and his feet were heavier than lead bricks.

When he opened the door to Number 4, his senses were assaulted by the scent of alcohol. Right away, something deep in Harry's stomach warned him to turn around, to walk away and never come back, but Harry didn't know where he'd go, so he didn't run.

He stepped forward; eyes focused on the cupboard beneath the stairs. Harry was hungry, but he could maybe avoid being punished if he just went straight to his cupboard. They'd forget about him, maybe just lock him inside for a week. That'd be okay, Harry had done that before, it wasn't a big deal.

Before his fingertips could graze the bronze handle of his cupboard, a massive, meaty hand gripped his shoulder and ripped him into the living room.

Harry looked up and flinched. His Uncle Vernon smelled like alcohol, a lot of it, and his face was so red he was almost glowing with rage. The hairs on his mustache bristled like a porcupine, ready to attack.

"What did you do, Boy!?" He yelled, covering Harry's face in booze-coated spittle. The hand on his shoulder gripped even tighter; Harry tried to bury the pain deep inside where it wouldn't hurt him. "What did you do to my son!?"

Harry's eyes drifted past Vernon, where Petunia was holding Dudley against her stomach as if he were still a toddler. There were tissues wadded up in Dudley's nose. Aunt Petunia's gaze dripped with venom, even though she didn't speak, Harry could tell that she was furious.

Suddenly, pain erupted across Harry's cheek. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, and his right ear was ringing like a telephone. Uncle Vernon had slapped him.

"We brought you into our house, we fed you, clothed you, gave you a place to sleep, and this is how you repay us!? You attacked my son with your freakishness!" Uncle Vernon slammed him against the wall and Harry's vision went black for a second. Pain erupted across his back in waves of hot flashes.

One of Vernon's meaty hands wrapped around Harry's neck and, suddenly, Harry couldn't breathe. They'd never done this before; Harry didn't know what to do when someone was choking him. All he could do was struggle and kick and claw at the hand around his throat, which only seemed to make Vernon angrier.

"I'm going to make sure you never forget what you are, Boy!" Vernon's off-hand reached for something, and Harry saw a glint of metal. A kitchen knife, Harry knew its edge was dull, but no one tried to replace it.

Fear paralyzed him; his eyes wouldn't leave the tip of the knife. Time almost slowed down as he watched it move closer to him. And when it first dug into his flesh, Harry screamed.

He didn't know how long it lasted. It could have been minutes or hours or even days; all Harry knew was that it hurt more than anything he'd ever felt before and he wanted it to stop. Why wouldn't it stop?

It did, finally, after a very long time. The hand around his throat disappeared. Harry fell to the ground with a soft thud, and his forehead burned with white-hot lines of pain. He could feel something warm and wet inch its way onto his face; it was only when it touched his eyes did Harry realize it was blood.

Aunt Petunia stood up from her chair in the living room and rushed over to her husband. She grabbed him by the shoulder. "Vernon, what have you done!?"

For a moment, a single, hopeful moment, Harry thought his Aunt was going to help him. He thought she was going to stop Uncle Vernon from hurting him anymore.

"What are the neighbors going to say? We can't keep him here any longer, looking like this, they'll start asking questions!" She glared at Harry with more venom than any snake or cobra could produce. Harry started to cry, and between the pain and his aunt's words, tears started spilling down his cheeks like a flood. "We need to get rid of him. . ."

In the background, Harry could hear Dudley say, "Mum, wha—"

"Quiet, Dudders!" Dudley recoiled as his mother screamed at him for the first time in his young life. She turned back to Vernon. "We need to get rid of the body, Vernon. We can— we can dump it in the woods where they won't find him!"

Harry couldn't breathe. They were going to kill him, they were really going to kill him. He needed to run, and hide, and get as far away from here as possible, but. . . but he couldn't move. Harry couldn't move his legs or his arms, all he could do was stare as his Aunt and Uncle planned his death.

Vernon's grip on his knife tightened. "Yes. . . Yes, that sounds reasonable. We'll tell everyone the little Freak ran away in the middle of the night. No one would ask any questions, not for his sake. And then we can be free of his freakishness forever!"

He moved towards Harry; the bloody knife gripped tight in his massive hand. Harry couldn't stop thinking about the pain, the absolute misery, that thing had caused. He stared at, heart beating faster and faster with each passing second, and something inside Harry just snapped.

"STAY AWAY!" Harry closed his eyes tight and screamed as loud as he possibly could. And, at the same time, something like fire bloomed in his chest.

"TORU!"

Harry waited for the pain to continue, but it never happened. He heard something like a tree branch snapping in half, and then a shrill scream, and then a loud crash. Harry opened his eyes, confused, and felt his breath leave him.

Vernon was no longer close to him, in fact, he was on the other side of the room. His body slumped up against the wall with the impression of a fist in his fat chest. The knife wasn't there anymore, where had it gone?

Harry jumped as a metallic clatter sounded off to his right. The knife that had been wrapped up tight in Vernon's meaty fist was now lying next to Harry. He looked up and gasped.

Standing above him was a figure, wearing silver clothes decorated with bright-green branches. . . No, not branches, antlers, like the kind you'd see on deer. A silver mask covered his mouth, and his right eye was shadowed by the sharp black hat on top of his head, while the other eye was bright, luminescent green.

Harry didn't know where he'd come from or why he'd helped him until Harry saw the way his feet floated off the ground and how he glowed with green miasma. The figure gave Harry a single nod and then he vanished.

"What did you do, you Freak!?" Harry slowly turned his head and saw Aunt Petunia, standing as far away from Harry as possible, holding Dudley to her chest. She looked scared. Harry didn't know how to answer her.

And he didn't have to, as the police arrived just moments later.

Apparently, the sound of a young child screaming in pain was enough to get the neighbors to call the police. They broke down Number 4's door and, upon seeing the gruesome sight inside, took Vernon Dursley into custody.

Harry was taken to the hospital, where they treated his wounds and gave him a lollipop. He'd never had a lollipop before; they were sweet and tasted like fruit. They told him the cuts from the knife would scar, but Harry didn't mind all that much. Not when his guardian angel hovered over his head whenever Harry wanted to see him.

Later that week, Harry was released into the care of Aunt Petunia. He didn't know how or why; he knew enough about the law to know that shouldn't have happened. But, at the same time, he didn't care. She was scared of him now. She didn't make him work in the garden or make breakfast, and she never yelled at him anymore.

Harry decided that it had been the best Birthday present he could have asked for.

-OK-

Harry James Potter doesn't allow himself much on his birthday.

He doesn't expect anyone to make a big deal out of it. Aunt Petunia would never say a word about it, and Dudley was always too guilty to say anything about it; Harry didn't blame him, not anymore. Though recently, he received a letter from Neville wishing him a Happy Birthday, and Hermione called him to say that she was sorry she couldn't say it in person.

Apparently, she and her family went on a yearly trip to Paris. Harry said that was cool and asked her to pickpocket someone for him. Hermione immediately scolded him, and it felt like he was home again.

But, regardless, Harry did allow himself one thing on his birthday: a visit to her majesty's Prison Wandsworth.

Every year, on the same day, Harry would take a bus to Wandsworth, sign in on the visitor's sheet, and say hello to any guards he recognized on his way in. After the third visit, some of them had started to recognize him; hard not to recognize a pre-teen so confidently strolling into one of the largest Men's Prisons in London.

Harry took his seat behind the sheet of plexiglass, picked up the phone connecting to the other side, and waited.

Every year, almost like clockwork, Vernon would appear and take the seat across from his nephew. Harry didn't know why; these visits were never pleasant, and Vernon could refuse him if he wished, but he never failed to show up when Harry came to visit.

"Hello, Uncle Vernon," Harry said, grinning like a very-happy cartoon cat. "You're looking well."

He'd lost weight since the last time Harry'd seen him, not by choice, he assumed. Vernon wasn't the big, fat blubbering pile of lard Harry remembered as a child. His hair had been cut short, almost to the scalp, yet the Walrus-esque mustache remained, as did the scowl.

"What do you want, boy?" Vernon growled. He'd learned many years ago that screaming and shouting only earned him a beating from the guards. Didn't mean he wouldn't glare at Harry with all the hatred of a thousand suns, but he was less obvious about it.

"Same thing as last year," Harry said, "Just wanted to give you an update on how things have been going around ol' Number 4. Let's see, Aunt Petunia doing well, she's been working on this new meatloaf recipe lately. Has not had good results, I'll tell you that, I can see why you and she forced me to cook for you when I was younger."

A vein bulges against Vernon's forehead and Harry felt his grin widen. The one thing he allowed himself every year on his birthday; just a dollop of righteous psychological torture.

"Dudley's been doing great; he's really found his calling working with plants. . . Speaking of which, I should really introduce him to a friend of mine, you know, one of my friends from my Magic school." Vernon's face turns tomato-red in the span of a single moment. Ooh, Harry almost managed to make Mount Vernon explode early this time. "Never did end up going to Smeltings Academy for Boys like you wanted. Ended up staying in public school and I think he's happier for it.

"Let's see, what else. . . Oh, right, I've been keeping up with the bills; water, heating, electric, you know how it works. Keep everything up and running while you're stuck in here. Cause, you know, you can't do the job you're supposed to do for your family, which is provide for them. And I suppose that responsibility falls on my shoulders."

And just like that, Mount Vernon erupts.

His chair goes flying backward as Vernon shoots to his feet, punching the plexiglass window with no-longer-meaty fists. He screams, his face a bright cherry-red, "I should have killed you when I had the chance, boy! You stay the hell away from my family, you— YOU FREAK! If I ever get out of here, I am going to gut you like a carp and mount your head above my fireplace!"

He's been getting more creative with his threats, Harry noted. It's at this point that the guards get involved. It takes three of them to subdue Vernon and he needs to be tazed as they drag him out of the room.

Harry leaves, his hat tipped low as his shoulders shook. The newbies around the prison believed the young boy was crying, the ones who were familiar with Harry knew that he was just barely managing to contain his laughter.

When he left the prison gates behind, Harry took in a deep breath of air and smiled. He hadn't laughed like that in a long time.

"Get back here, you mutt!" Harry could hear a man screaming off to his right. He turned his head and saw a man wearing an apron emblazoned with a hot dog, chasing after a scruffy black dog. A dog that all but crashed into Harry's leg, almost knocking him over.

"Woah, easy there, bud," Harry said as he crouched down to pet the stray. As his hand trailed across the dog's side, Harry could feel ribs protruding through the fur; this dog hadn't eaten in a while.

"Hey, kid, this your dog?" The man with the apron had caught up to them; he was huffing and puffing with a face almost as red as the hot dog on his apron.

"No, first time I'm seeing him, why? What'd he do to you?" Harry asked, keeping a firm, protective hand on the dog's side.

"The mutt stole a hotdog from my cart," he said. "And it ain't the first time neither. I'm calling animal control on this thing, so I don't have to deal with it no more. Let them deal with the mangy thing."

Harry could feel the dog pressing itself against his side; the thing was trembling against him and Harry could hear a low whine building in its throat. He sighed and reached into his pocket. "Here, take this, bring me five more hot dogs, and forget about this whole thing, alright?"

He tossed a stack of cash at the hotdog man, all fifties, who looked at it in shock for a few seconds, before running off back to his cart. Harry glared at him once his back was turned. "He better come back with those hotdogs. . ."

Harry looked down and saw the stray dog staring at him with massive pitch-black eyes; his head tilted to the side in question. "Sue me, I got a weakness for strays. . . Come on, once we get you something to eat, I've got a few friends who owe me some favors. We can get you in a good home by the end of the day."

The dog leapt to its feet, tail wagging, tongue falling out of its mouth as it panted. Harry smirked and ruffled its ears before he started walking down the street.

Probably his best Birthday in a while, Harry admitted to himself.

-OK-

I don't know why I had this British Hot Dog Stand guy sound like he was from New York, I don't even know if London has hot dog stands. Anyway, like I said, this is my last chapter for a while. Admittedly, I've never had much planned for Years 3 and 4. Most of my ideas centered around the first two years and the last two, the stuff in the middle has always been a mystery to me. Mind you, I've got tons of Stand Ideas, most of which I had help with (Thank you, Sliksick), but the actual story for these next two years is a bit of a question mark.

God, I don't even know how I'd fit a Time Turner into this fic or the Triwizard Tournament, so it's probably best I let this settle for a bit and maybe come up with some plans.

Hopefully, I'm not gone for too long this time. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and I'll see you all next time, OK is out!