"Stop your dawdling and clear up your mess!" Petunia snapped, glaring down at the child in front of her, squeezing it harshly. Harry ground his teeth, but he didn't react; he had learnt the hard way over the years never to show any reaction, and besides he had gotten better, much better at hiding and masking his pain whenever he was touched.

But he was not a fan of being played like this, and Harry yanked his shoulder out of her hands. Petunia flinched, but Harry had no idea it was because his eyes flared with unnatural light.

"I'll do it, you don't need to push," Harry snapped.

Petunia flinched again; it was becoming increasingly hard for her and Vernon to control the freak, and it was getting worse. She feared, really feared, one day she and Vernon would make a mistake and it would blow up in their faces.

In the meantime, Petunia pushed those fears away and glared down with renewed loathing at the boy whom she'd come to hate so much, like his freak parents.

"No talking back! Just get on with your work!"

Harry grabbed the towel and did that.

Dudley, who had been smirking the entire time at the freak learning his place, as his father called it, called loudly, "Mummy! I want some more food!"

Harry shook his head in disgust, glancing over at Dudley through his peripheral vision. While Harry was small and scrawny with black hair, pale skin and green eyes (he didn't know which of his parents he had to thank for the different features), he knew where Dudley had got his fat build from.

Harry, despite being used to Dudley's tantrums and inability to get things for himself, looked away in disgust. He wasn't in the mood for Dudley, not tonight; he was trying to keep things as quiet as possible, so he could just go to his Cupboard and be left alone for the night.

Perhaps this was what he needed. Petunia and Vernon had been on his case all day, and it was driving him mad now.

But perhaps Dudley could be his salvation for a change, and Petunia forgot all about him.

"Oh, Duddy!" She simpered around her son, fussing over him like crazy. "Mummy will get you another plate for you now, yes!"

Harry only just hid his eyes rolling when he heard his aunt speak to Dudley in baby speak while the two boys were 6 years old.

From the sitting room, Vernon chortled about his 'little tyke.'

Harry ignored them all. He had grown used to the fact the Dursleys would never love him, and after being humiliated so many times, he had felt any hopes for love, affection, or kindness vanish.

After he had finished cleaning up without any incident, Harry silently grabbed some food and went to the cupboard. Turning on the light, he quickly picked up the book he'd managed to smuggle inside the cupboard.

Sherlock Holmes, the Complete Illustrated short stories, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

The abuse Harry had gone through had made him take refuge within the written word (ever since the Dursleys had tried to kill him once when they'd taken him to a bonfire party and he had somehow returned to them, unharmed, the abuse had grown worse and worse; he had found out about their little attempt on his life when he'd overheard Vernon and Petunia talking about it one night after he had lashed out at them with his power), and he had become highly advanced for a 6-year-old.

Settling down to read, Harry thought to himself as he immersed himself in the book's comforting pages. He was a boy who loved books more than he liked people. Books were easy; they allowed one to immerse themselves into a strange new world, some books had great adventures on different planets or in lands where time stood still.

Harry found life much more interesting in a book, and in turn, reading them led to his mind finding whole new possibilities he had never before imagined or suspected would exist. In many books, the authors wrote their characters to have layer upon layer, all hidden within the pages, just waiting to be read, so you discovered their infinite potential for untapped complexity.

Sadly life was not like that, and Harry wished it was. Authors had sent their books out into the world, letting them loose, exploding them like plants spreading their seeds.

Sadly, people like the Dursleys loved banality. Harry was amazed people wrote books like The Hobbit, A Brief History of Time, Time Patrol, Orbitsville, Medusa's Children, The Jungle Book, The First Men in the Moon, Treasure Island, the Lord of the Rings trilogy, The Time Machine, The Invisible Man, War of the Worlds, Beast by Peter Benchley, Oliver Twist (a character he could understand only too well), when in truth, so many readers believed they were so individual and yet they didn't have enough common sense or imagination to fill a thimble.

As Harry started reading through The Final Problem, his mind picturing a dishevelled and shaken Holmes, he remembered the last few years. Harry was now 6 years old. He had lived with the Dursleys for 5 of those years. 5 miserable years of being mentally and physically abused and tortured, every day.

The Dursleys hated and feared him, he knew that only too well, but he had become happy they feared him.

He loved it, he yearned for it; it might be a sad thing for a child to admit, but it was the truth. The Dursleys were simple-minded.

Harry had always known there was something fundamentally different about him. Strange events happened around him and had done, on many occasions beyond his control. Like for instance last year, when he had been annoyed a teacher was insulting him and he had turned her hair blue, or that time when some kid had taken a pencil he'd been using, and it came back to him.

But perhaps, the most extreme case happened when some kids were chasing him across a road and a car was speeding towards him, and Harry…Harry still wasn't sure what happened; he had frozen, but then suddenly he had found himself on the other side of the pavement, like he had walked there, and nothing happened.

Last year had been traumatic for him, as the Dursleys stepped up their abuse until one day he lashed out.

Harry had been keeping a diary of everything that happened, what he had been feeling whenever something happened, and he had discovered he was angry or scared. Once he found that out, he became interested in mastering his powers, and now he was fairly proficient in moving things and he was continuing to develop his knowledge.

But last year, Vernon had nearly given into his violent rages and nearly beat him to death before the belt suddenly transformed into a snake. The snake had scared the Dursleys badly and nearly lashed out at Harry…before he realised he could understand the snake, and suddenly it was in his arms, hissing away at the Dursleys…before it transformed back into a belt, but by then it was too late, the Dursleys were too spooked and horrified to attack him anymore. It took Vernon a minute to realise the snake was gone, and he'd come back for more, but buoyed by the whole thing, Harry had lashed out, throwing his obese uncle backwards into the garden. But Dudley had then taken advantage of his sudden shock and beaten him up, but the incident had made the Dursleys back off of him slightly.

Harry read the story for the next 2 hours, becoming increasingly enamoured by the character of Professor Moriarty; fascinated by the crime lord's control, his intellect and his skill in controlling a massive criminal organisation made Harry fascinated.

The idea, alone…of controlling such a massive network of criminals; thieves, murderers, informants, smugglers, control over life itself, enthralled him. Harry realised he wanted power for himself, the power that commanded respect. Sadly there was little information about Moriarty, no actual scenes where he spoke, so Harry could gauge his personality, but he knew there would be bound to be books and comics in the library of similar figures who controlled massive organisations, but even Harry had to admit controlling such an organisation came with costs.

1, gathering the resources would take time and money.

2, what would happen if someone betrayed him? He couldn't hide in wait forever in the web like an enormous giant spider.

3, could he trust anyone?

The answer to the second one was obvious. Harry knew he could become Moriarty, but it would be better if he was in control over himself only, but the idea of running a gang like Moriarty, staging and planning crimes so meticulously to the letter, each criminal like a cog in a machine, ticking away nicely…it was enthralling.

It was what he wanted. When he escaped from the Dursleys soon, he would try to learn and master all the skills needed to begin his plans.

Author's Note - I love Call me Moriarty, a story that I hope will be updated soon, by ProfessorScrooge, depicting a female Harry who showed sociopathic tendencies. Inspired by that and deciding to write this short, part of a collection, I hope to write about a Harry who rises through so much pain and misery, but worse is to come when he discovers a family secret he never imagined.