Written for the Musical Category Competition and the Can You Make It To the End Challenge.

The eyes kept her awake at night.

Harry's eyes.

Lily's eyes.

Every night Petunia would slip under the covers, praying for rest.

And every night she saw the eyes.

Harry's eyes.

Lily's eyes.

Lily was dead, so it had to be Harry.


As soon as the last morsels of dinner were consumed each evening, Petunia would make sure they were alone, and Harry would feel the sting of her hand against his skin. Many times.

Sometimes it was because he was bad.

Because a glass wasn't scrubbed to perfection.

Because he had knocked his cup over at dinner.

But mostly it had to do with the eyes.

Harry's eyes.

Lily's eyes.


Petunia thought that the eyes would leave her alone if she distanced herself from their wearer.

If she hit him.

If she worked him day and night.

If she starved him of affection.

They didn't.

So she had to take things a step further.


Each time Petunia hit Harry's head against the wall, she watched his eyes close. Maybe it was the force she used, or maybe the boy had no desire to watch what she was doing. Either way, she hoped the eyes would close and stay closed.

They never did.

At night, when Petunia closed her eyes, the ones in her nightmares were everywhere.

In the dark.

In the light.

At home.


On Lily.

On Harry.

They were unavoidable.

But when she left hers open, the eyes lurked in corners, watching Petunia's every move. There was no privacy. Just the eyes, drinking in everything they saw.

Petunia couldn't blink.

She would merely have to face the eyes when she finished, anyway.

Sometimes she saw them during the day, too.

This was when Petunia knew what she would have to do.


Petunia held Harry's face in her hands. Staring into his eyes.

Staring into the eyes.

She raised her knife and sank the blade into her nephew's left eye.

Then the right.

No more would Petunia let the eyes plague her. No longer would Petunia be deprived of her privacy. Of her dignity. The eyes had taken everything from her, and it was time to reclaim it.

She spared Harry only a small glance before she extracted the knife from his right eye.

She plunged it into his chest.

There was penetration.

There was blood.

There was agony.

There was quiet.

(Harry knew better than to scream.)

His breathing stopped, and he crumpled to the floor.

Petunia thought taking the eyes away would keep them at bay.

They stuck around.

Harry's eyes.

Lily's eyes.

Staring down at her from where she was defenseless against them.

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