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Summary
The Dursleys were supposed to love him, to watch over him, because his mum and dad, who had been magical cool fighters against evil, had died fighting what they believed in. They were supposed to read him to sleep, to hold him tight when he had nightmares of echoing laughter and screams. To kiss his fears away.
But they liked him to fear, they liked when he cried in his sleep. They liked when he flinched if they walked into the room with the right measure in their step that told him they weren’t in a good mood and they were going to make it his fault somehow.
Fenrir had told him people fearing as werewolves would steal away kids.
But maybe some kids needed to be stolen away? If the Dursleys were seen as respectable people, and got away with what they did, then maybe he didn’t like respectable people.
Maybe freaks like him were safer with monsters.