He’s three years old when he first notices there’s something wrong with him. He's in the garden, fresh belt wounds on his back festering under the sun's heat while he struggles to pull weeds from their stubborn roots- and as he’s working, he has one stray thought that causes him to pause. ‘I want to kill them.’. He frowns- who exactly is the ‘them’ he’s referring to? His relatives were an easy first choice- but the thought of killing anyone else living on Privet Drive fills him with the same sense of...giddiness as the Dursley’s. He files it away and continues working, for fear of either one of his family catching him daydreaming- for the outcome would be bad regardless of which one caught him.
**********
That night, Harry doesn’t get to sleep. Instead, he finds himself staring blankly into the open darkness of his room, thinking. Does he really want to kill everyone on Privet Drive? He closes his eyes and watches as the usual gruesome fantasies play behind his eyelids. He doesn't smile until the imagery changes- until there’s fire, and screaming- there’s crying, anger, cowardice as the good people of the neighborhood mourn their losses- be it family or possession. But most importantly- there’s blood. Gallons of it- falling from the skies, bubbling from the ground, rolling down the street in a glorious river. He wants to drown the world in it- the whole world. He finally falls asleep with a small smile on his.
***********
He’s seven when he takes his first life, and learns how to stop the abuse from the Dursley’s at the same time. He’s outside, sitting in a small shaded area as far from the playground as he can get, in order to discourage Dudley and his gang of fools that love using him as a punching bag during this time. He’s reading a book- Macbeth. His english teacher didn’t think he could understand it, but let him go with it anyway, apparently too unnerved by his ‘creepy lifeless little face’ to deny him. As he reads, he feels tentative tiny paws on his arm. He blinks and pauses his reading to glance at the creature that bothered to interrupt him. It’s a squirrel- tiny brown eyes wide as it stares at him curiously. It’s small furry, cute- and absolutely helpless. Harry stares back as he drops the book in order to make room to cup the small animal in his hands.
It seems like it’s almost smiling at him, it’s eyes still huge as dinner plates. His hands start to squeeze on their own. It’s dead in less than 15 seconds, and he lets the mangled body drop with a wet thud. He watches it for a few dazed seconds before raising his wide eyes to example his trembling stained hands. He had never actually killed something before- was it supposed to feel so...good? He feels amazing. It’s like he’s flying- the sound of the school bell sends him crashing back to reality. He wipes the blood on his shirt and makes his way to join the line to get back into school, figuring the teacher’s would just ignore the blood the same way they ignore the bruises.
He’s wrong. Mrs. Murray let’s out a blood curdling scream and immediately takes him to the nurse, her skin palling enough to resemble his. The cops are called, the DNA is tested, as he claims it his. More people are called the social services, more police, and finally the Dursley’s.
He’s not allowed in the office while they talk, but he figures he better find a good excuse for the dead squirrel and why he was wearing his blood. Instead, when the Dursley’s come out, they’re pale and shaking- and he frowns, checking them for blood. What were they shaking for? Turns out the DNA somehow matched his- and the Dursley’s were in very serious trouble. He shoves the lollipop the nurse gave him in his mouth to hide his smile.
‘Are they in trouble, miss?’
The social worker smiles reassuringly, her eyes shiny and wet behind her large fake glasses. He puts the lollipop back in his mouth.
‘Is dudley in trouble too?’
She frowns and faces him more fully.
‘Who is Dudley? Why would he be in trouble.’
Harry lets his eyes go wide and innocent like the squirrels.
‘I don’t like to play hunting harry. Dudley said he would hurt me like he did the squirrel.’
Her face is hard and serious, yet still scared at the same time.
‘What squirrel, Harry?’
He smiles around the lollipop.
‘We can show you.’
The social worker is predictable, and calls for Dudley. Together, the three walk outside to the part of the playground where the squirrel lay lifeless. No one from the school can see the area unless they are outside. It’s almost too perfect. The social worker is kneeling next to it, staring horrified at the dead animal as she holds a phone to her ear. Dudley is stuttering excuses, and both have their backs turned to Harry. He grabs a rock, lifts it above his head and lets out a loud scream.
‘Dudley, NO!’
The woman turns, the man on the other end of the call calling something out. She screams, but it's cut short as he brings it down onto the top of her head as hard as he can. It’s almost too easy. He shoves the rock into Dudley’s hand as he stares blankly in shock at the dead body, and smiles.
‘I’m gonna go snitch, Dudley!’
The other boy snaps out of it and lunges forward, face red with anger. He drops the rock and grabs a fistful of Harry’s shirt, but the smaller boy only twists so the shirt rips, and runs.
‘Dudley hurt the nice lady!’
He cries as he runs through the halls towards the Nurses office. He’s stopped by an officer, and hides his face in the officers uniform to shield his smile from view.
************
He’s seven when the Dursley’s are arrested, Dudley is sent to a children’s psych ward, and he moves in with the old Ms Figg. She feeds him daily, lets him leave when he wants, and makes sure his clothes are always nice.
************
Voldemort, aka, The dark Lord, pulled himself from the pensieve with a slow smirk forming on his face. He isn’t sure which follower suggested the pensieve, but he was sure to reward them handsomely as soon as he found out who.
To think- kidnapping the golden boy mere hours before his magical majority was to be his greatest hit to the light side yet. However, it seemed lady fate had other plans in mind. Voldemort couldn’t hide his triumphant grin if he had tried. He brushed a few strands from covering the scar on Harry’s forehead.
“Soon, my little monstre.”