In the smallest bedroom of #4 Privet Drive, behind the shadowy door at the end of the second floor hallway, lay a dark-haired young man who couldn't be older than fourteen or fifteen years of age.

The boy lay on the floor, a sight that would make most people pause, the halo of blood radiating out from beneath his head likely making the people watching panic. Except Vernon Dursley wasn't 'most people', in fact he only smirked at the sight, before slamming the door shut and locking it.

As Vernon Dursley headed down the stairs, staggering slightly under the influence of the alcohol in his blood, he was unaware that the boy's eyes had snapped open at the sound of the slamming door.

Pushing himself up onto his hands and knees, the boy scrunched his eyes up and shook his head slightly, trying to clear away the fog that surrounded his mind. Raising his hand without thinking, the boy brushed it over his throbbing temple, flinching at the pain that flared from the gentle touch. Feeling something wet on his fingers, he pulled them away and squinted at them, his vision sharpening as he realised that his fingers were coated in blood. His eyes moving slowly, the boy stared down at the blood pooling on the floor in confusion, not comprehending what his eyes were seeing.

It couldn't be his blood could it?

As he felt a drop of blood making its way across his face and to his nose, the boy's eyes went crossed to follow it as it moved to the tip of his nose and fell, falling to the floor.

It was his blood…

Moving slowly, he forced himself up to his feet and looked around the room he was in, he knew this place. He knew that he knew this place, but… but he couldn't remember… how did he know this place again?

Eyes locking onto a framed picture, he walked over to pick it up, staring at the moving image of the person he instinctively knew to be him standing arm-in-arm with a redheaded boy and a brown-haired girl.

This was his room then?

"Yes, Harry - about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking… you're really getting a bit big for it… we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom."

As the shattered and jumbled memory flashed through his mind, confirming his suspicions, he - Harry- let out a quiet huff. This bedroom wasn't much better than the cupboard. They both were disgustingly cramped, second-rate, and if the leak he could see in the corner of the room was any indication then neither of them were fit to live in. Add to that how he had only been moved there because Vernon had been afraid that they knew how the Dursley's had treated Harry, and it wasn't much of an improvement.

But… but what was wrong with his memories? It was like he could sense them… like he could feel how broken and shoved to the side they were, as if his mind had just snapped and then been swept out of the way. Reaching out tenderly, Harry remained standing in place as he started the process of repairing the fragile memories, watching them in an almost bored detached state of mind.

He lost track of how long it took him to go through the memories, but when he was done, Harry was tempted to destroy them and push them aside again.

They were disgusting…

He was disgusting…

How could he allow himself to be treated that way? By his so-called friends? By his apparent family? He had let everyone walk all over him as they pleased, and he had kept coming back for more, like an abused puppy that didn't know any better.

His face twisting into a sneer, Harry glanced down at the picture in his hand and dropped it, watching as the glass suddenly shattered the moment it left his hand. Losing interest in the picture long before it hit the ground, Harry found himself moving towards the window and looking out of it upon the almost identical houses of Privet Drive, his mind returning to a far more interesting topic.

Patching together most of his memories hadn't answered the question of what had happened to him. He knew he was still missing things, like the name of the man who had not-betrayed James and Lily Potter, and the form the man who really had betrayed them had taken as part of his cover. It was logical for him to assume that the memory he was looking for was one of the missing ones, which meant that he may never remember what had happened to him.

Dismissing the realisation as unimportant, Harry's eyes focused on a spot opposite #4, narrowing his eyes as he took in the sight of the brown-haired woman in robes leaning against #3's apple tree. Was she supposed to be invisible? She wasn't doing a very good job of it… aside from the slight shimmer coating her, Harry could see her as easily as he could the hair on his crossed arms. (Which was perfectly, by the way, he didn't know what happened but he seemed to have somehow cured his eyesight).

Why was there a witch watching his home? She wasn't wearing any kind of uniform, meaning she wasn't an Auror. And she wasn't wearing black robes and a mask, meaning she wasn't a Death Eater. From what little Dumbledore had told the old Harry, the blood wards should keep any witch or wizard away.

The newer Harry however, wasn't willing to take the word of the man who had left him in an abusive household and had insisted on sending him back there at the end of every year at Hogwarts.

Briefly wondering if he should go out and confront the witch, Harry pulled a face and moved away from the window. He needed to eat something… actually no… he wanted to eat something, more for the sake of eating than out of any need to actually eat anything. He wasn't sure how he knew he didn't need to eat, but he just knew that it was so.

Striding across the room, side-stepping his own blood (And didn't the sight of that make him want to tear someone apart) and pulling at the door, Harry froze as it refused to open. Tugging at the door with a frown on his face, it took him a couple of seconds to check his memories before he remembered that Vernon had installed locks on the door hours before he'd told Harry to move up into the bedroom. Yanking roughly on the door again as anger at his relatives' treatment of him surged up in his chest, Harry let go of the door and stepped back to glare at the door.

Blinking his eyes slowly, Harry opened them to reveal what he instinctively knew to be pure black eyes, the door exploding into black particles mere seconds later.

Stepping through the empty doorway as the black swirled back into his pupils, his natural green irises returning as he cracked his neck, Harry glanced up and down the hallway disinterestedly before feeling something small hitting his collarbone through his torn shirt. Staring at the drop of blood for just a moment, Harry grunted to himself before his eyes rose to stare through the open door to the bathroom, and into the mirror he could see from the hallway. Entering the bathroom, Harry took a moment to study the blood on his face, before raising both hands and running them up his face from his jaw to his hair, vanishing the blood from his skin and healing the wounds instantly.

Grunting again Harry blinked once more, his body bending and warping for a second as it vanished from the room. Reforming in the kitchen, Harry was greeted with a high-pitched shriek, and the sound of shattering glass from behind him.

Shooting his relatives a dismissive look, Harry turned to the pantry as Vernon's voice rang through the air, "FREAK! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

"HOW DARE YOU? - ABNORMALITIES - USING THAT STUFF ON DUDLEY! - DON'T DESERVE - ALL WE'VE DONE FOR YOU! - YOU FREAK!"

His head tilted to the side as the memory flashed through his mind, Harry felt his body tensing and coiling up as the reason for his… change… was revealed to him in the form of his memory Uncle's fists.

As Vernon continued yelling and ranting behind him, Harry raised his hand and stared at it blankly, his mind conjuring the image of the blood that had been coating it minutes ago.

Vernon had been responsible for his change…

Vernon had been responsible…

Vernon had tried to kill him…

Vernon had tried to kill Him…

His eyes bleeding black again, Harry slowly turned around to stare at his Uncle, the rage from earlier bubbling up again in chest.

How dare that obese fuck lay a hand on Him! That pathetic muggle!

Not even being aware of moving, Harry's lip curled back to reveal his teeth as he slammed his fat Uncle against the wall, his hand pinning him to the wall where it was lodged deep in his Uncle's chest.

His Aunt screaming in the background, Harry slowly and purposely twisted his hand in the blubbering man's chest, latching onto his heart and squeezing. At the sound of a chair being thrown back and a 'battle cry' filling the air, Harry's free hand shot out, and Dudley's roar turned into a pig-like squeal as he was thrown through the wall with a loud crash.

"What's the matter Uncle?" Harry asked innocently, watching as the man's face shifted between deathly-white and an unhealthy puce. "You should really calm down, all this screaming isn't good for your heart," he spat as his grip tightened.

Sliding his hand out of the man's chest, watching as the bleeding hole sealed itself after his hand, Harry instead merely touched his hand to the man's chest and twisted on the spot. As Vernon impersonated a wrecking ball and demolished the wall Harry had thrown him at, Harry strode back towards the benches and lifted the chef's knife off the bench and tested the sharpness of the blade, not tearing his eyes away from his almost unconscious Uncle.

"You never laid a hand on me Petunia," he growled out, his eyes flicking to the violently trembling woman cowering in the corner, "So as long as you never forget how worthless you are, then you're free to leave."

His Aunt leapt to her feet without hesitation and sprinted into the hallway, Harry stepping back to watch her darting towards the door as he raised the knife in his hands, pivoting on his heel and hurling the knife down the hallway and into Petunia's back just as she opened the door.

"Oh wait…" he began as he waved a hand and Petunia was dragged back down the hallway by an invisible force, "You did. Not that I need a reason to kill you," he continued as he waved a hand through the air, kicking her onto her back as the knife appeared in his hand with a shimmer. "You see, Auntie," he whispered as he crouched beside her head, "I still remember when I was five, and you held a burning frying pan to the side of my face, claiming that I was nothing more than hellspawn."

Reaching out to cup Petunia's face for a second or two, wondering if she had once looked as beautiful as his mother before her hatred corrupted her, Harry snorted at the watery "Please" that escaped his Aunt's mouth.

"The thing is Petunia. You called me a demon," Harry spat, pulling his hand back and backhanding her across the jaw, "And me? I call that a lucky guess."

Straightening up and releasing the knife above his Aunt, Harry let it fall as he vanished from the room, appearing in his bedroom with a ripple. With a wave of his hand, what little he actually wanted to keep had been banished into the void, a place Harry knew it'd be safe until he called for it again.

After glancing down at himself and grimacing at the blood splashed across his chest, he snapped his fingers and was suddenly wearing a black button-up shirt and dress pants. "This…" he murmured to himself, "This is more like it."

Teleporting downstairs again, Harry cast his Aunt's body a dismissive glance as he opened the fridge and pulled out one of Dudley's chocolate bars. Hmmm… he'd never tried one of these before…

Bumping the door shut with his hip, Harry stepped over his gurgling Aunt and started towards the door, just in time for the witch from across the street to rush into the hallway.

"Harry?" she questioned hesitantly, her eyes widening as she noticed Petunia's corpse behind him. "Oh Merlin Harry! Please tell me you didn't!"

Raising an eyebrow at the woman, Harry's lip curled back in disgust, not missing a stride as he continued down the hallway. "I don't have time for you," he muttered, snapping his fingers and making the witch collapse into black particles that he didn't hesitate to stride through as he snapped his fingers once more.

An explosion tore through the house behind him, flames consuming everything in their wake, and curling around his body almost lovingly before spiriting him away from Privet Drive forever. As the detonation reached the borders of the property, it stopped and surged back in towards the epicentre.

Vanishing before the explosion even reached its apex, Harry never saw the way it left nothing in its wake but rubble and fire.

Fallen

Based off DZ2's Revenge of the Fallen challenge.

Okay, so I've been watching a lot of Nogitsune!Stiles videos on youtube. (And is it wrong that Dark!Stiles is kind of a turn on? Probably is). And they've kind of brought about a couple of darker ideas from the part of my mind I don't like talking about, and this is just the first of them.

I don't own Harry Potter.