A/N: Rated M for Death and Violence. Wrote this one when I was in a particularly dark place in my life. When I re-read this story I can't believe I wrote it! But I have to say, it was therapeutic.
Part 1 - The Void
"Hold out your hands."
Harry James Potter; a boy abandoned by his parents. Left at the doorsteps of relatives who hated him; held his tears in, contained the bubble of terror and hate threatening to burst out of his chest, and held out his hands, palms up.
He felt the pain even before the steel cut through the air and smacked into his tiny palms. His arms buckled under the force of his uncle's swing and he could not stop the cry of pain escaping his lips.
"Keep them up boy!"
The steel swung down again.
Harry Potter cried out again and the louder he cried, the happier his Uncle got.
Today it was the scale. He had outscored Dudley in Mathematics and the punishment was whack the hands so he could not hold a pencil.
It was rather insignificant compared to what he had to endure when he had jumped six feet in the air after being surprised when his cousin- Dudley and his gang had jumped out from behind bushes to chase him for fun.
The belt buckle had left deep marks. Going by the amount of pain and heat radiating from his back; he was sure flesh was torn. His body shook trying to expel the pain through sobs but he had decided some time in during the past beatings that he would stop giving the Dursley's the pleasure of seeing him cry.
Harry Potter buried his head as far as could into the bundled up sheet and did his best to keep the sobs in. The sheet helped muffle the few cries that did escape from his heart through his mouth. His eyes were shut tight. He tried not to let the tears leak. Tears meant marks on his face. Marks on his face meant she; his Aunt, would slap him around for giving her a reason to use the sink.
The fear of what was to come helped him overcome the pain. He embraced that heat. Let it wash all over him. He let himself sink into it and almost imagined being sucked into a void. There was no suffering in a void. The void was calm. The void was his friend. He could stay in the void and function like a zombie. Retreating into the void kept him sane.
He had found the void to be a place of safety and had been inspired to find it when he used to peek through his cupboard to try and watch television. He wasn't able to see much but he could hear enough. His favourite was the man with the soothing and haunting voice talking about the desert; the emptiness, the harsh and unforgiving nature. Allowing only the Strong to survive. Those words always rang in his mind when he was being beaten. It was also how he had found the void. It was a place of safety and one where he could survive.
She came the next morning to take him to the bathroom. He was allowed two visits per day. He had missed the last because he had pushed the pig into the mud. It had been when he came out of the void. Outside the void, there was either suffering or anger. He had been angry then. He liked being angry. Being angry made the pain hurt less. He didn't understand it. But he liked it.
She wrinkled her nose at the smell coming from the cupboard under the stairs. It was disgusting but he had learnt to live with it. It was one of his earliest memories. It was when he got used to the smell outside he realised the cupboard was disgusting.
"Vernon certainly went over board yesterday," she said grimacing in disgust as she peeled his torn shirt off his tiny frame. She always kept her distance from him. Like he was a disease.
"Do your thing freak," she snapped. "Heal those wounds quickly. I don't want Dudley being late to school because of you!"
The boy scowled. He let his mind return from the void and he felt the rush of rage. He wanted to hurt this woman. He wanted to kill her. He wanted to make her feel the pain he was feeling a hundred times over. Instead, he clenched his teeth and pulled at the void. The void did strange things. He could never use it at will. However being in the presence of the woman made it almost easy. It was why he never lunged for the razor lying innocently on the porcelain sink and sliced at her neck repeatedly until his hands were red.
He felt his body knitting the injuries until it looked like there was no wound there in the first place.
The woman shuddered and gave the boy a loathsome stare. The boy returned it in full force and his emerald eyes promised retribution with a darkness that just didn't belong on a nine year old.
The thin woman flinched and looked away. "Your clothes are on the floor near the door. Get ready and come down for breakfast. The bus leaves in half an hour." She said that quickly and left.
Harry showered robotically, brushed his teeth with the same brush that he had been given three years ago, towelled himself dry with a thin blanket tossed at his face two years ago and slowly clothed himself with the school colours his Aunt had bought from the thrift store with great reluctance. The pig's hand me downs had turned out to be too large for his much smaller size.
He retreated to the void. He had a vague sense of awareness in the void. There were no senses in the void. He was a part of an emptiness that stretched on forever; just like the desert and there was a metaphorical window through which he could sense what his body was doing.
He only looked through the window when there was a need. Like now. When a teacher was asking him a question.
The boy left the void and blinked.
"Are you listening to me Harry?" the teacher said in an annoyed tone.
Harry nodded. It was the correct thing to do, he knew.
"Then let me ask you again. Can you tell me what 2 times 15 is?"
"Thirty," Harry said automatically. His voice was soft. Too soft and was almost a hiss.
The teacher smiled. Looking very pleased. "You see Dudley!" she exclaimed. "Your cousin knows the answer. You two ought to spend more time together."
Dudley glared at Harry and slid his fat stubby thumb across his neck and then smirked.
The man had warned him. The woman had warned him. Never make Dudley look stupid. Their actual words were never copy off Dudley and pretend to be smarter.
No matter the warnings, Harry liked ignoring them. He knew they would hurt him. He knew there would be pain. He hated the pain. But the pain gave him anger. He liked anger. It made being with the void easier. He almost smiled in anticipation. He never thought his thought process was warped.
He couldn't stop the cries that came from his mouth when the belt slashed into his back. It hurt. It always hurt. No matter how many times the belt descended. It always hurt like it did the first time.
"I warned you!" the man roared. Dudley had complained and run out to play. His parents made sure he never saw what they did to Harry. They would only say they'd take care of it. Little did they know Dudley used to peek through the window and do the same to kids smaller than him and make sure no one saw him and his gang.
"Don't shout darling," the woman hissed. Her cruel eyes glittering. "The neighbours might hear."
"But you never learn do you?" the man growled.
Harry waited but the belt never came down. He chanced a look and saw a thick hand, the size of his face come rushing towards him. The blow sent him tumbling to the side and he crashed into the side table send all the ornaments crashing to the floor.
The woman gasped as her precious vase was shattered.
Harry was dazed. His head had hit the table hard and the air was knocked out of his lungs. It had been long since the hand came down on him. The last time it did, not even the void had been able to help him. It was the only time he was taken to the hospital and since then only the belt was used.
"Now look what you did freak."
The red monster descended on Harry and Harry tried to scramble away. He felt fear. Terrible fear. The hand wrapped around his neck and hoisted him into the air. The fingers squeezed and air stopped entering his lungs. Harry's legs flailed desperately. He tried to suck in the air but nothing went in. His lungs were burning, eyes bulging.
I'm going to die.
It was a terrifying realisation.
Harry didn't want to die. He wanted to be with the void. He wanted to feel anger to summon the void. But he only felt terror. Black spots were beginning to take away his sight. The agony spread over his entire body. He needed to breath. He wanted to live. He couldn't die by the hands of his enemy.
"Please! Help me!" he screamed to the void.
For the first time since he found the void. It suddenly opened in a way he never thought possible. It began to expand rapidly and Harry's eyes widened along with Vernon's when his fingers began to loosen their grip on his neck. Against his will, they were being pushed away and bit by bit, the grip loosened until Harry was free and he fell to the ground.
He watched with wide eyes as his Uncle was frozen in place and his arm began to twist. His body throbbed. Not with pain but with the overwhelming force of the void unfurling and expanding inside his body. He could feel the void's touch on the man and a delightful laugh bubbled from his mouth when he saw the terror in the man's beady brown eyes. It was the first time he had ever laughed.
The void had finally opened. It was no longer hidden in his mind as a place of refuge. It no longer felt like he needed anger to pull it out to do the strange things it was capable of. Now it felt weird. It was like a force was trying to bloat up his body. It was confined and it wanted to be let out. It was caged and it didn't like being caged. The little bit of the void that had latched onto the monster was now forcing those fat fingers around the man's neck, just like they were around Harry's less that a minute back.
He heard a shrill scream and saw the woman lifting the idol of Christ off the kitchen counter to hurl it at his head.
Harry knew what to do. He pushed at the void and gasped when it leapt out of his body and slammed into the woman.
Harry giggled when he saw the horror in her eyes and laughed when her head hit the column of concrete behind. He watched with wide amazed eyes as she slid to the floor unconscious, leaving a trail of blood on the white paint.
"Petunia!" roared the man in terror and fury.
Harry slowly got to his feet. His body felt weak. The void felt like a storm. It wanted to be unleashed at something. Harry frowned. What should he do? Should he just kill the man? Should he hurt the man? He wanted the man to feel pain. That was true enough, but how? Use the belt? How best to use the void?
"B-boy!" gasped Vernon. He was experiencing the lack of oxygen now. His face was purpling. Harry wondered if he had looked like that as well.
The seconds ticked and Harry couldn't think. This was the first time he was in control. The void felt invincible and he didn't know what to do.
"F-f-freak." Vernon's eyes were bulging and his fingers dug into his own neck with the same viciousness that he had caught Harry and he still had enough hate to spit out an insult.
Harry's eyes narrowed. He raised his hands and felt the void rush out of his palm to become an extension of his self. He wrapped the void around the monster and lifted his hand and swiped down hard.
Vernon hit the ceiling and was sent crashing into the floor at ungodly speeds.
Harry felt like he was holding a rag and treated it as such. "Never." he sent the monster crashing into the telly. "Call." Vernon was smashed into the expensive bar crafted in Italy. "Me a. FREAK!" He was pounded into the floor over and over again. "Do you understand!" Harry screamed. The rage, the anger, the desire for revenge and finally merged with the void. Vernon was lifted and slammed into the marble tiles once, twice, thrice… it kept going on. Harry let out an unintelligible scream and continued the brutal treatment.
The marble had long cracked and shattered. Vernon was a bleeding mess. His face unrecognisable. Body limp. It had no life.
When Harry finally stopped, he was panting. He felt light headed. He had lost himself in his rage. The silence in the house was only disturbed by his heavy breathing.
The void felt satisfied. It was slowly retreating into his mind and with it's slow retreat Harry felt something he had never felt before.
The rage returned.
The small boy turned towards the woman who had caused him pain too and narrowed his eyes. He felt like he could call the void whenever he wanted. That made her useless.
He bent down and picked up a sharp piece of the broken Vase. She was the only one he had ever fantasied about killing.
She groaned and opened her eyes had Harry revealed in the terror they held when she saw him standing over her with piece of her precious Vase. She tried to move and run but something weighed her down and held her in place.
Harry moulded the void and kept her still. He smiled and gently sat on her stomach.
He brought the sharp piece of porcelain to the side of her neck and pushed.
Petunia couldn't move; she couldn't scream. She could only feel the touch of the cold Vase as it dug into her neck just below her ear and made her bleed.
It was harder than Harry thought. Her neck was thin but it was difficult to slice it with porcelain. He was nearing her jugular when it piece broke. He frowned. His Aunt was dying. Blood was pouring from her neck, she was coughing blood, his hands were red. "One minute," Harry muttered and looked around for another sharp instrument.
He used the void to call a butchers' knife into his hand. He carefully dug it into her neck where he had left off and pulled sideways. He wanted her neck sliced from ear to ear. Suddenly blood began to spurt like a fountain and it hit him in the eye. He winced and stop his careful slicing to protect his face and wipe his eye. The blood continued to spurt and Harry scowled and moved a bit to the side to avoid getting his face sprayed.
After that it was easy. He reached the other ear and then carefully got up and stepped aside.
He released the void's hold on her and watched in fascination as her limbs began to flail and hands grasped at her throat. Her eyes turned to him and they were desperate. She tried to talk but she only coughed blood. She went still a few seconds later.
That was the scene the Police burst into. The man in the lead took in the sight of the living room in a single glance. An obese man, lying face down on the floor. Blood splatters over the ceiling and walls. Broken furniture and glass everywhere. A thin woman, clutching her neck that had a knife sticking out of the side. And a boy standing next to her, looking at him, with a deranged smile.
A scrawny boy, barely four and a half feet in height. Hair messy and black as midnight. Skin pale and pasty. Eyes a dark shade of green, and blood; blood all over his face and hands.
What freaked the Cop more than anything else was that smile. That smile and those crazed eyes.
The boy raised his hand and the Cops, who were stunned by the scene before them, tensed. One drew his weapon.
But the boy merely waved. "Hi," he said. "My Aunt and Uncle are dead, if you came looking for them. It felt re~ally good killing them."
It was the longest sentence Harry had ever spoken.