Harry Potter and the Enormous Bill

"WHAT?" Harry shouted at the top of his lungs toward the man, who was promptly covered in his spittle.

"You're saying that for all these years, I have been going to Hogwarts on CREDIT?" the enraged sixth year asked coldly.

Albus Dumbledore's twinkle dimmed slightly at his student's mad screams and ice cold question carried across the eight foot gap between them. He nodded sadly at him.

"Yes Mr. Potter, I apologize for not notifying you before but I continued forgetting until the end of the year when you would gallivant off into another adventure, pushing it farther from my mind. In fact, the only reason I remembered this year was I received a statements from Gringotts with records of the Department of Mysteries recent over-enthusiastic spending from your account," Albus Dumbledore said serenely.


"Oh dear me did I forget something else? Ah yes, the Department of Mysteries needed to replace the damaged equipment from your adventure last year, and they decided to replace the old wooden prophecy shelving with crystal shelves. Unfortunately they had already spent their yearly budget for repairs, so naturally they took money from the vault of the one who destroyed it."

Harry was seething. Not only did he have an enormous bill of Hogwarts expenses which had gathered interest, but he most likely didn't even have as much money anymore after the Department of Mysteries decided to buy crystal shelves to replace the old, rickety wooden ones.

Just as Dumbledore was about to drop another bombshell on Harry, Fawkes randomly dropped his perch upon his companion's head, sending him into unconsciousness.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thanks Fawkes, I owe you one," Harry said to the majestic bird.

Fawkes bobbed his head and flew out the window with a comforting trill.

Harry held his head in his hands and blew out a large breath. What would he do for money? The Black Estate was still under debate, even with Sirius's will bequeathing it to both Harry and Remus, and was predicted to take nearly a decade before the contents would be turned over to one party or the other (Narcissa Malfoy decided she wanted the money). Harry sighed again, walked out of the office and back to Gryffindor tower, awaiting what plot twist would undoubtedly come next.


Harry spoke the password to the Fat Lady's portrait and scurried inside, ignoring his house-mate's greetings and proceeding straight to his trunk, beginning to pack all of his personal items inside, all the while puzzling over what he would do for money. The realization hit as a freight train would a Muggle: he didn't care anymore. At that moment something inside of him snapped, his eyes gaining an insane glint to them.

Quickly he dashed down to the Hogwarts Kitchens and nicked an entire range of kitchenware, spanning from salad forks, to the Muggle sporks the Muggle Studies class were currently using, spoons, and even a metal spatula. Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room and went back into his dorm, spying his first victim.


Dean Thomas was laying against the pillows on his bed, reading the latest edition of Football Monthly, a magazine his parents kindly agreed to send him every month. Looking up he saw his year-mate, Harry Potter, standing in the door frame.

"Oh, hey mate. Come on in," Dean said jovially.

Harry smirked darkly and did just that, swaggering in, his spork reflecting the sunlight as he made his towards Dean. Dean, noticing the sharp glint of his spork, began to inch towards the edge of his bed, ready to run at a moments notice. Harry dove at Dean, sinking the spork's sharp tines into his jugular vein and ripping it downwards, a spray of blood erupting from the laceration, soaking Harry's black robe with the crimson liquid.

Dean's last thought before drifting into death was, I should have listened to Sea-, his thoughts cut off as his entire body went into literally back-breaking convulsions. Harry smirked, and let loose an insane laugh before shrinking his trunk and putting it into his jean pocket, his robe pockets soaked with Dean's lifeblood.

As soon as he walked into the common room he was greeted warmly by no less than two dozen students, until they noticed the blood dripping from the hem of his robes. As they began to scream and bolt for the door Harry raised his wand and locked the portrait, locking his prey inside the common room. Pointing his wand at a quivering first year he let off a Killing Curse, watching in satisfaction as the boy fell to the ground, lifeless. One after another he used some form of death-dealing curse, either by the Killing Curse, kitchenware, other Dark Arts, and so on.

Harry proceeded to slaughter the entire common room, out-dueling any resistance. Cackling evilly, he summoned his Firebolt which slammed through the portrait hole and into his hand and took off into the night through a nearby window, planning his reign of terror, and the methods in which he would dispose of Riddle and Dumbledore, but first he needed to steal back his money from the Ministry to finance his campaign against the Wizarding World. Harry cackled again, and continued speeding through the night, his destination Diagon Alley to rob the Ministry bank accounts.

An hour later, Harry swaggered out of Gringotts Bank, his pockets (thoroughly dried) jingling with gold, and walked into the dark of Diagon Alley, only to trip on the topmost stair and stab himself through the heart with his own wand, dying with a snigger at the pure absurdity of the entire situation, and the damned plot twist his insane author created in his twisted mind.


A/N: This story is a one-shot, and is written for my simple amusement and nothing more. To be honest, I've always wanted to see most of the Gryffindors dead, thus I wrote what started as a Humor/Parody into a Dark!Harry.

-Lord Ravenclaw