I own nothing, except for my words, analogies, and plotline. Everything but the characters and setting. I'm only going to say that once, so make sure you paid attention.
If I catch you stealing my story, I'll hunt you down and rape you up the poop chute. Don't doubt me, I will. If you want to do a spin off of my story, just email me and ask.
As a forewarning, I don't want any bitching about girls getting hurt in this. If girls can hit guys, I don't see why guys can't hit girls back. It's justice. I don't want to hear about it.
I welcome flames. I like them. They're amusing to me.
There WILL be slash, hopefully in chapter four. But I'm not into giggly, fluffy slash. I'm into realistic slash, which needs to grow on both parties, then nag them until they simply -must- do something about it. This fic features a GOOD Draco and Harry who finally snaps.
There are SPOILERS in this fic for Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince! There. That was your warning. Don't complain about how you didn't know so and so killed so and so and I killed the book for you. I couldn't care less.
This fic was not meant for children's eyes. It has messy deaths, rape, swears, and man-sex in it. But then again, I've been reading R rated fics since I was 13. Whatev.
This was beta'd by the lovely Heather "Fuzzy". I freaking love her.
Harry James Potter was furious. Not just any kind of furious, but the maddening, spitting fury that consumes the whole body with white flames of rage. And this fury came from none other than that fat old windbag sitting in the far corner of the room cackling madly.
He lay face-up on his bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to quell the beast within him. He was slick with sweat, wet tendrils of his unwashed hair sticking to his forehead. His nose itched. He could not scratch it.
Again and again, for the hundredth time this morning, he twisted his wrists back and forth, the rope expertly tied around them burning painfully. He moved his knees upward slightly, the cuffs secured around his ankles biting into his skin. He relaxed again, blinking at the ceiling once more.
His uncle sat around ten feet away, giggling like a mad little schoolgirl. He wasn't exactly sure what was wrong with him; either he'd finally snapped, or he was under the Imperius. He was leaning towards the former. He woke up at around 4 this morning, like he usually did, to do his summer schoolwork. Just because he had dropped out of Hogwarts after Dumbledore's death didn't mean that he could go around without any proper schooling. He'd gone to get up, and then realized that he'd been trussed to the bed like a pig ripe for slaughter.
He chewed on his gag thoughtfully. Not because he was trying to escape, he was just terribly, terribly bored. He didn't fear for his life; Vernon never actually went farther than beatings. He didn't mind the beatings for that matter, either. He'd become nearly immune to them. Yes, they hurt, but he'd just kind of... retreat into himself, and all he had to deal with was the soreness afterwards.
He was shirtless, for that was the way he slept, which bothered him in a way. When tied to a bed by an insane fat man, one wishes to be fully clothed. But, per usual, he ignored the nagging embarrassment, and waited for his uncle to make his first move.
"You awake, boy?"
Harry snorted. Of course he was awake. He had been for hours. His eyes had been wide open, and he'd been moving about. He wished he didn't have the gag on, to make a witty comeback, but alas, Vernon didn't seem inclined to be doing him any favors.
"Answer me!" The irritated tone rang in his ears, sharply rattling his nerves. He turned his head to the side and glared at him. Idiot.
As if reading his thoughts, Vernon got up, and smacked him across the face. He tasted blood in his mouth. He ripped off the gag, and threw it aside. Kneeling beside the mattress, he gripped Harry's face in his right hand, a mere two inches from his nose.
"You're pathetic, boy."
Harry rolled his eyes. "So you've told me. But see, if I wanted to attack you, I wouldn't tie you up in your sleep, I'd come at you head on. Seems to me that you're the pathetic one here."
Vernon snarled. "I don't know where your damned wand is. I don't tolerate that 'abracadabra' mumbo-jumbo."
Harry pulled his head out from his grasp and turned away, looking up at the ceiling again. "I can't do magic in here and you know it. Whole house is charmed against it since the Marge incident. Plus, I don't need my wand half the time. If we were in a normal house, I would have untied myself and hexed you into oblivion in no time."
Vernon stood up and grabbed Harry by the hair, dragging him off the mattress. It didn't quite work, however, because he was cuffed by the feet to the footboard, so he only succeeded in yanking him over so that his head hovered a few inches above the ground, his legs twisted awkwardly. "Don't you backtalk me, you filthy maggot! I won't stand with being threatened, not in my own damned house!"
Harry looked up at him, still fully composed, eyes blazing with hatred. "Then do it already."
He sneered at him, regaining his composure. "I might do just that."
Come twilight, Harry regained consciousness. Groaning softly, he rubbed his now freed wrists and sat up. The familiar anger came flooding back, running through his veins like liquid fire. Normally, he would quench these feelings with his cold, impassive mask that he'd stolen from his most hated enemy; but not today. Today, he nursed it, stroked it, until it became an ebony blaze issuing from his very soul. One thing dominated his thoughts; revenge. Sweet revenge.
With a grin that could make a lunatic jealous, he stood up, not heeding the burning of his back, the welts forming on his rear, the blood trickling from his head into his eyes, or the numbing pain coming from his left cheek, where he'd most likely gotten his cheekbone broken. The fury melted all these petty pains into nothingness.
Silently, he gathered up his remaining dirty and ripped clothes and placed them in his trunk, alongside his quills, ink, wand, and Hedwig's empty cage. Luckily, he'd sent her out yesterday to deliver a message to Hermione. Closing the lid, he went over to his closet and retrieved his broom. A quick search led him to find the rope Vernon had tied him up with, which he used to tie his trunk to his broom. He opened his window and gently pushed his things out, so that it floated a few feet away from the house, level with the window, right above the sidewalk. With a smile, he shut the window.
He walked calmly down the stairs with the utmost care, skipping the third step, as it squeaked. He padded along the hallway, his worn shoes making no noise whatsoever. He could hear noises from the kitchen, the soft splash of water and the clangs of metal.
He moved into the doorway of the kitchen. Petunia's back was turned on him; she was looking out the window over the sink while she washed dishes, watching the neighbor's cookout. A swift flash of her swinging a pot at his head two nights ago blinked before his eyes, refueling his anger. He cleared his throat.
With a startled jump, she whirled around. Seeing that it was him, she sneered. "What, didn't get enough from Vernon this morning?"
With a sweet smile, he shook his head, took a step forward, and punched her in the face. The pot fell from her hands and crashed on the linoleum. She crumpled to the floor gracefully, landing in a not-so-graceful heap.
There was a horrendous hurricane of noise from the hallway, which only meant one thing; Dudley was coming down the stairs. He burst into the kitchen, his pudgy face red from exertion, blond hair askew.
Harry didn't wait for him to finish his sentence, but grabbed his fat face in his hands and pulled it down, crashing his knee upwards to collide with his face. With a scream of agony, Dudley tore away from him, grabbing at his nose with his right hand, blood gushing through his porky fingers. With his free hand, he swung wildly in Harry's general direction, but the pain slowed his movements and Harry jumped away easily. He grabbed Dudley's shoulder, spun him around, and pulled him back into a headlock from behind. His left hand tangled itself in his gel-slicked locks, and his right bicep twitched in anticipation.
"I could kill you right now," he whispered hotly into Dudley's ear, a half-grin forming on his face. "After everything you've done to me, all the taunts, the chases, the pummeling, I hold your life in my hands this very instant." to emphasize his point, he tightened his hold around his neck for a moment. Blood trickled down Dudley's face onto Harry's arm, the sickeningly sweet smell assaulting his nostrils. He grinned, as Dudley began to whimper.
"Pl-please d-d-don't Harry. 'M s-sorry. So s-sorry." he blubbered. Power flooded through Harry's veins at Dudley's pleas. One quick snap, Harry realized, and he'd never have to listen do Dudley's tantrums again. He'd get all the bacon he wanted at breakfast, he'd get Dudley's room, he'd get Dudley's things, he'd get everything.
What he did not realize was that he was beginning to glow. A deep, dark red, the same color of Dudley's blood on his arm. He tightened his hold, choking off Dudley's air supply. With a squeak of panic, Dudley began to claw at the arm keeping him in place, nails raking down Harry's arm. When that didn't provide any results, he reached behind him and scratched at his face, leaving bloody gashes in their wake. Harry didn't feel it. Harry just smiled as he cousin went limp.
After Dudley ceased moving, and slumped in Harry's arms, he dropped him unceremoniously to the ground. The unconscious form wheezed unpleasantly at him. He kicked the boy in the ribs and sat at the kitchen table, in the head seat. The seat he'd never dreamt of sitting in. Grasping the teacup his aunt had apparently been drinking from before, he sipped at it casually. And waited.
Five minutes later, his uncle came in the front door down the hall.
"Petunia? Dudders? I've got some ice cream, come on downstairs." he called, walking into the kitchen. He stopped dead in his tracks, the bags he held dropping to the floor, staring at the fallen forms of his wife and son. His eyes caught Harry's, yet he made no movement towards him. The gangly teen was no longer as weak or frail as he had seemed this morning, tied up and demolished. Now, he seemed to be nearly omnipotent. Swathed in a bloody glow, he looked taller, more muscular, and more horrifying.
"You killed them." Vernon muttered, blinking at him dumbly. Harry smiled.
"And if I did?"
"You'll get put in that Azi-whatsit for your people. You won't get away with it," he said, his eyes wild. "You'll get put away."
Harry placed the teacup down, and stood up slowly, seemingly relaxed. "I doubt it. The wizarding world's in chaos. No one would notice. No Azkaban, no repercussions, no regrets. I could kill you right now."
Vernon straightened himself, and took several steps backwards, until the handle of the fridge was pressing against his back. "You can't. The house is charmed, you said so yourself."
Harry laughed, a genuine one. "What, you don't think I could kill you with my own bare hands? No one would care, I'm sure. It seems infinitely more satisfying than a quick spell."
"They'll figure it out."
"I won't care at that point."
If someone were to walk in on this scene, it would seem almost ridiculous. This young boy, unarmed, was terrifying this middle aged whale of a man, four times the size of him. It seemed as if all he had to do was sit on Harry in order to kill him. But, this was not the case.
Vernon's heavy brows furrowed together in confusion. "Wait... Why now?"
Harry's smile slid off his face, and he gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling for a moment. "Well... I suppose because before, I never wanted to." he looked at his uncle's baffled expression and sighed. "Before tonight, I never let myself get angry. Today, I decided 'Why the hell not?' and here I am. Once I got mad, I realized how very much I wish you dead."
"Then take bloody yoga, boy!"
Harry's eyes flashed. "Did you? Did you ever do anything else to relieve yourself? No. You'd yell until you couldn't yell anymore, you'd hit me until your own hand hurt, you'd beat me until you got tired. Why didn't you ever try to rein in your anger, just once?"
Vernon sputtered for a moment, unsure of how to answer. Deciding to keep him talking, he then hastily asked, "Well, then.. Then why wouldn't you care about getting caught, after you've... killed me?"
Harry grinned once more, pausing in his advance. "Because by then, I'd have killed Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy. And after that, I'll fight Voldemort, and I'll inevitably, loose. So, if they did find it out, I'd be dead by the time they came to get me."
Vernon began to edge away from Harry, trying to make his movements as unnoticeable as possible. "Boy... I-I looked after you for all these years... Ever since you were a child... Like my own son..."
Harry laughed, a tight bark of a laugh. "Really? Tell me, uncle-dearest, did you beat Dudley until he was unconscious, then wipe spit on his face?" Vernon opened and closed his mouth in outrage, but made no sound. The red glow about Harry grew deeper. "Did you ever starve Dudley until his muscles had deteriorated so badly he couldn't move, then laugh about it?" Vernon's toes lifted two inches off the floor as he began to thrash violently in terror. Pure, unadulterated fury etched Harry's features. "Did you ever beat off in front of Dudley while you forced him to shower in front of you?" Raw hatred cracked Harry's voice as Vernon's face began to turn slightly blue. Harry's hands clenched into fists, lips twitching. "I NEVER DID ANYTHING TO YOU," he screamed, screwing his eyes shut, "WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST LOVE ME!"
Fighting off tears, he looked up at his uncle, now floating high above him, hair brushing the ceiling. Blood seeped out his nostrils, and his lips began to turn purple and swell. "Fr-"
Harry stared at him, confused. "What?"
There was an echoing snap, and a broken piece of gold fell to the floor. He recognized it immediately as Vernon's wedding band. His fingers had become so big they now resembled fat little sausages. The seams of his shirt stretched, his trousers bulging out as he was rapidly becoming too large to fit in them. Blood trickled down his earlobes. "Fr-"
His eyes became bloodshot, his head falling backwards as it was so swollen his neck couldn't hold its weight. His body began to shake slightly, as if he might explode. With the little strength he had left, Vernon rolled his head to his shoulder so that his bulging eyes locked onto Harry's. "Freak," he spat out, his voice thick and hoarse.
Harry's jaw worked, his face contorted into a horrid mix between pain and wrath. With soul-rending scream, he spread his arms wide, face tilted towards the heavens, and let all the hate he ever felt pour from his body. The light around him turned from dark red to black. And exploded.
Vernon's body twisted and convulsed in mid-air, blood frothing and bubbling from his mouth, until, finally, he gave one last guttural grunt, and fell to the floor from the air.
He was dead.
Harry collapsed, much like his world did around him.
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