Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
"We're going to meet an old friend of your aunts for lunch and won't be back until later tonight, got it, boy? We expect dinner to be ready when we get back or there'll be hell to pay!" Vernon threatened heatedly, spittle flying from his mouth, nearly hitting me in the face. Luckily, I am able to maneuver myself out of the way in time, avoiding the product of my uncle's saliva gland which is something I'd rather not touch me, ever.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon." He seemed satisfied with my answer, despite the large amount of sarcasm I used in the word 'uncle'. Either he doesn't notice, or he ignored it completely. I'm thinking the former is the more probable answer, as my uncle wouldn't let his freak of a nephew get away with such insolence. He's never been the sharpest knife in the drawer, or as wizards say, the quickest on the draw. A wand, if you're wondering.
"Dudley is staying home." My aunt's voice sounds from behind me. It's always made me wince, either mentally or physically. Who wouldn't? It's like the sound you get when running your fingernails across the surface of a chalkboard. Very unpleasant. "If you use any of your unnaturalness while we are gone, we'll know about it. Isn't that right Diddy-Dumkins?" I turn slightly to see my aunt praising my fat-ass of a cousin, Dudley Dursley, who is currently eating a packet of chips, unsurprisingly.
"Don't worry mum, I'll keep the freak in line." I rolled my eyes, something that goes unnoticed by everyone. He's such a suck up, that boy is. Has his parents wrapped around his chubby little pinkie finger. It's quite disgusting, though I'm used to this by now. This is how it's always been, from the beginning.
"I want you to mow the lawn out back and out front, as well as clean the bathroom. It's about time you start pulling your weight around here." I wonder how he pulls his own weight around here, let alone anywhere, but I hold my tongue, knowing there was no point in arguing. It's too troublesome. He continues to ramble for a few minutes about how his son is an upstanding member of the community and how I'm nothing but worthless trash, leeching off the hard worker in today's society. I've never been so bored and utterly amused at the same time, which I feel is quite a feat. How does one feel amused if one is so bored? It makes no sense.
"I'll need some money." I interfere, cutting him off. His face turns red, and then purple, then slowly, ever so slowly returns to its normal shade of fleshy-pink. I've always wondered how he could change the color of his face so effectively, as if he were a Metamorphmagus. I doubt he'd appreciate it if I told him so.
"For what?" He hisses quietly, his multiple chins wobbling slightly. I notice that my aunt's lips are pursed in a thin line, her lips disappearing entirely. Dudley looks shocked that I spoke, let alone asked for money.
"There isn't much in the fridge, see?" I answer slowly. "If I'm going to make dinner I need mushrooms, carrots, onions, pot-"
"Here!" He bellows, interrupting me and thrusting a fifty pound note in my face. I blink, before reaching up and snatching it from his pudgy hand. The look on his face is one of extreme pain. It's the first time he's ever given me more than a pound-twenty. You'd think he'd just committed a crime and was caught in the act. Petunia has already left, shooting one more sour look over her shoulder as she exits. Vernon quickly follows after telling me that I better not use the money for anything else or it'll be my head, and that dinner is to be ready by eight o'clock sharp.
As the door closes, I turn towards Dudley. He's staring at me with a weird grin on his face. It was times like these that I wished the law restricting underage magic was no more. It'd be fun to hear the piggy squeal after a few good curses. If only the gods weren't so cruel.
"And what are you grinning at?" I ask, slowly making my way up the stairs, my loose black jeans rustling as I walk. "I'm not a steak, don't try to eat me."
I can tell my small insult has hit its metaphorical mark by the sound of his chip packet being scrunched up in his meaty fist, the food within being grinded into smaller pieces. "Shut up, freak. I'm having some friends over so you better stay out of our way if you know what's good for ya!"
I snort humorlessly as I reach the top, turning to look down at the beefy boy. "Yeah, I'll be sure to keep away from your boyfriends." I don't wait for his resort as I glide down the hall and enter my humble abode.
The room is quite small and most my age would complain with its size, but I don't mind. It's a lot bigger than my old cupboard and for that I'm grateful, somewhat. I'd like to think that in winter it would be quite warm, but I'll never know for sure since I'm away in Scotland around that time of year, living in a gigantic castle. I have very few belongings and most of them are still packed within my trunk that rests at the end of my small single bed that's positioned directly under the window, allowing the night time breeze to wash over me as I sleep. The old desk I received when I moved into this room five years ago is still useable, but now takes up the space that my old wardrobe used to, the damaged, rickety chair that came with it still sitting, ready to be used. The wardrobe is now gone, having been used as firewood last winter. They probably thought I'd be angry, but I'm not, since all my things fit in my trunk.
I stride over the desk, picking up one of my larger books that I've been studying recently before resting at the head of my bed, back against the wall, the perfect position to watch the happenings of the outside world. Placing the book in my lap, I open it and remove the bookmark - one of Hedwig's snowy-white feathers - before reading onwards, soaking up as much as I can.
I'm not completely sure why I'm doing this, reading every piece of knowledge I own. I know about the prophecy but the thing is, is that I've accepted it. I've accepted that there is no way in hell that I can defeat Voldemort. It's impossible. It's just that simple.
Every aspect he is better than I, loath that I am to admit it.
I know I am powerful, there is no doubting that. I am probably the most powerful student, magically, that currently attends Hogwarts. I'm probably more powerful than ninety percent of the Auror Corps and Death Eaters. The problem is, power isn't everything. The only thing apart from magical power that I have going for me is luck. Unfortunately, luck won't be enough, not against him.
Of course, I'm supposed to have some type of 'power he knows not', something that Albus Dumbledore, Hogwart's illustrious headmaster, believes is love.
It's so laughable that I feel like cackling right now at the top of my lungs like some cheap cartoon villain, but I stop myself, I don't need the neighbors telling the Dursley's that I've finally lost my marbles bringing even more annoyances. How can love save me and the rest of the wizarding world? With the way I've grown up, I know nothing of this emotion. Nothing.
At one point I believed I loved the Weasley's, as well as my two best friends, possibly the headmaster as well, but it is not true, it can't be true. I like them, perhaps, though I'm starting to even doubt that, but love? No, I cannot say I love them. How can it be love when, in my dreams, I see myself killing them, torturing them... raping them.
At first I thought that it may be Voldemort sending me visions, trying to corrupt my mind, trying to break my spirit. Problem was, I realized with a start that I'd had these dreams since before he was reborn forth year, before he was capable of pulling off such a feat of mind magic. That, and my scar did not burn after one of these fantasies. Not once.
Maybe I have cracked, I do not know, but all I can say is that with each passing day, I feel as if I'm losing apart of myself. Everyday, the pull of my dreams, my fantasies, becomes stronger, almost to the point were I've come close, oh so close to acting one of them out. It's taken all my will power to stay my hand but it doesn't look as if I can hold them back forever. Sooner or later, I will snap, and when I do, god save whoever I set my sights on.
Glancing outside, I spot a group of teenagers heading towards the house. I recognize most of them on sight, despite the fact that I haven't seen them in a long while.
Piers Polkiss, the rat-faced bastard himself, was in the lead. He was no longer the scrawny shit he once was, but one wouldn't call him fit either. He was followed by Gordon and Malcolm, making up the rest of Dudley's 'gang' of idiots. Behind them was a girl I vaguely remember from primary, a snobby bitch that used to put gum in my hair for the hell of it, Melissa something, her last name isn't important, though I do recall her family is rich. She was talking with another girl who looked like she'd been run over by a tractor, very unattractive but carried herself in the same manner Melissa did. Lastly, there was another boy that I hadn't seen before, but remember Dudley talking about a person who fit his discretion by the name of 'John'. Apparently, he boxed with Dudley, not that I care.
Sighing softly, I close my book and glance at the battered clock perched on the far corner of my desk. To my surprise it's nearing twelve; the Dursley's have been gone for an hour already. How time flies when one is lost in thought.
I hear Dudley waddle down the stairs, each step creaking dangerously under his immense weight, as a loud knock sounds on the door. It is strange that I didn't hear the little whale come up in the first place. Perhaps it would be prudent to pay more attention to my surroundings in the future, especially with a psychotic Dark Lord after me.
Leaping gracefully to my feet, I toss the book back on the desk and pace to the door, only to find it is locked from the outside. I frown, not amused. I now know why the tub-of-lard was upstairs. Having not heard the lock click shut when the act was being preformed displeases me more. Voldemort and his rag-tag group of Pureblood ass-kissers could have walked in and I wouldn't have noticed.
I turn towards my window once more and make my way over, opening it fully, peering to the ground below. It isn't far, so I decide to jump. Landing in a rosebush, I muse, wasn't the smartest thing to do, but it can't be helped.
Striding across the lawn, I pat the fifty pound note in my pocket before heading down the street, towards the supermarket. For some reason, I'm furious at my cousin for locking my door. He has done worse things over the years but for unknown reasons, this has really pissed me off. Perhaps it has something to so with the dream I had last night, the joy I felt when he became the hunted and I was the hunter. 'Dudley Hunting' didn't have the same ring to it, but all the same, it was enjoyable, that is, until I awoke and found it to be nothing but a false reality.
Arriving at my destination, I idly stroll through the isles, a bright yellow basket hanging from my left arm. I've decided what I'll be cooking this night, something I haven't had in quite awhile. Despite my feelings regarding 'Aunt' Marge, she makes a mean cottage pie, probably the only thing I've ever liked coming from her. It might have been leftovers, but I enjoyed it, though that might have been because I was a starved child.
I quickly finish my shopping; buying myself a bottle of coke with the change before heading back, lugging a bag of potato's over my shoulder, a plastic bag containing mushrooms, onions and minced beef over the other. I'm positive everything else needed is in the Dursley's kitchen and various herbs could be found in their garden.
By the time I returned, my cousin was missing along with his friends. He probably thinks I'm still in my room. Setting everything down on the table, I head outside to grab the lawn mower. The sooner I complete my chores, the sooner I can sit around and do nothing. I haven't the energy to do anything exciting, not that I could do anything like that around here.
Soon enough, the backyard is complete and I wheel the loud contraption out front, an empty soda bottle sticking out of my right jean pocket. I dislike hot weather, working in it is hell. My mood is slowly worsening with each turn I take. Halfway complete with the front, I have to remove my sweat soaked shirt as it is irritably sticking to my skin. How annoying the sun is, give me rain or snow any day.
My task doesn't take too much longer, and when I finish I pack away the mower before heading inside. Putting all the groceries away in there places, I decide it's time for a long, relaxing shower. Unfortunately, it looks like Dudley is home, his friends in tow.
It doesn't take them long to notice me when they enter since I'm standing in the middle of the hall. Even if they were blind, they'd probably smell me since I reek from the yard-work. Dudley looks shocked that I'm out of my room before fear seeps into his eyes. I'm not exactly sure why he is afraid, maybe he thinks I used magic to escape?
"Oh look, it's Potter." Polkiss sneers, his lips curling slightly at the sight of my bare chest. "Put your shirt back on, Potter, I don't want to be sick."
I quirk an eyebrow as my gaze focuses down on my body. I'll be the first to admit I am fairly short and thin for my age, but I am a lot fitter than the average teen. While I'm not buff, I do have defined muscles, surprisingly. They were built more for agility and speed than brute force. Considering I barely exercised apart from my chores, and played no sport at all apart from Quidditch that did absolutely nothing for ones body unless you were a beater, I felt I was lucky to have what I did. I guess all the 'Harry Hunting' while I was younger and all the times I've run from danger in the past contributed, but mostly, it must have just been good genes.
"Polkiss, I'm hurt," I comment casually, tracing one of the many scars that litter my torso slowly, my gaze rising to meet his. "Aren't I pretty enough for you?"
The rat's eyes narrow at the subtle change in my voice. "What are you talking about?"
"I heard you swing for the same team these days. Am I not hairy enough for you, is that it?"
It seems I have hit a nerve, a very big, raw nerve. I'm thinking this isn't the first time his sexuality has been brought into question. I am not surprised, not really. I wonder if he is attracted to Dudley. I mentally blanch. I shall think no more on this matter.
His face contorts into a look of rage as he lumbers forward, his right arm pulled back to deliver a mighty punch, one that, if hit, would remove a good amount of teeth from my mouth. I get ready to move when Dudley suddenly steps in front of his friend. Polkiss is surprised for a second, his eyes flickering, before the anger returns. "What are you doing?" He hisses.
"Don't..." They are shocked at the fear they hear in his voice. He believes I have used my magic today already without punishment. I'd be scared too if I were him, especially with how I've been treated over the years.
"Come on, Dud. Let Piers at him!" Malcolm exclaimed, his eyes boring into me. I smirk at them, my hand falling from the scar above my heart to my pocket.
"My cousin's right, ya know," I stare at them with hooded eyes, my smirk growing at their looks of unease. I notice the girls in the back are staring at me strangely. "He's told you where I go to school, right?" Polkiss' eyes widen in sudden comprehension. I've never been more grateful of the lies my 'family' has spread until now. "St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys... catchy, isn't it?" Polkiss stumbles back while the others stare at me as if I'll snap any moment. "Trust me; you don't want to meet my... freaky friends." I say this while staring at Dudley. He gets the message loud and clear.
"Now, if we are finished here, I'm going to have a shower." As I slide pass, I notice that 'John' fellow is no longer with them. It is only Dudley's gang and the two snobby cows that are looking at me warily, probably watching for any sudden movements. I toy with the idea of feinting towards them but decide it's not worth the effort.
I ascend the stairs quickly and enter my room after unlocking the door with an annoyed grunt, grabbing some clean clothes before heading into the bathroom, locking the door. Even if they are momentarily frightened of me, I wouldn't put it passed them to try something while I'm unprepared.
Thirty minutes later I step out of the shower, clean and refreshed. Drying myself off, I slip on a pair of boxers, black shorts that reach my knees and a plain navy-blue shirt. Quickly disposing of my former wear, I exit the bathroom and silently pad into my bedroom, closing the door firmly. Whatever they are doing downstairs, it's loud enough to be irritating. The television is blaring, explosions and gun fire from whatever they are watching rattling the windows.
Muttering swear words under my breath, I flop ungracefully upon my bed, slipping into unconsciousness within seconds.
When I awake hours later, everything is silent, not a noise sounding anywhere within or outside number four. It is strange for absolute silence to blanket the street, even at night there is always something making some sort of sound, whether it's only a snore here and there or a cat meowing to be let in. To be honest, it makes me nervous. Perhaps everyone is dead? The Death Eaters might have found where I live and decided to have some fun with the surrounding muggles? But no, their fun is never quiet. Maybe a silencing charm?
I warily climb to my feet, vaguely taking note of the darkening sky. I didn't intend to sleep so long but it can't be helped. I quietly creep out of my bedroom, wand in hand, a variety of curses speeding through my mind. The silence is deafening, a slight ringing sounding in my ears at its intensity. It's not until I reach the lounge room that I find something.
At first I thought that maybe he was hit with the killing curse while sleeping, as he didn't have a look of shocked horror upon his face that most victims of the fatal green light did. The slow rise of the lumps chest dispelled any thoughts of his death. I am strangely disappointed. I should feel sick with myself for actually feeling disappointment upon realizing my cousin still lived, but I don't.
Sighing, I pocket my wand and move into the kitchen, filling a glass with water and downing it in seconds. I repeat this four more times. I have no idea why I am so thirsty, I just am. After I am finished ridding the glass of water, I decide to start of dinner. They will be home in just under two hours, plenty of time to finish everything that needs to be done.
I flick on the light before starting; chopping a couple of onions to decently sized cubes before peeling the appropriate amount of potatoes. They soon find themselves in a pot of water, quickly being brought to the boil. The rest of the things are prepared quickly; mushrooms, corn, peas, but one thing was missing.
I frown when I can't find the mince. I know I put it in the fridge next to the bowl of three-day old custard tart. However, it is obviously no longer there, or anywhere else in the kitchen. I scowl harshly, my frustration reaching a new level. Dudley, I summarize, has something to do with the missing meat.
I storm into the lounge and grip the back of the couch, using all my strength to tip it enough to roll the large boy off. He hit the ground with a fleshy thud, his fat rolling grossly from the impact.
"Get up, now!" I shout, my patience completely gone. He looks up at me in anger, knowing I'm the one who disturbed his peaceful slumber.
"What do you think your doing, freak?" He has trouble getting to his feet. He has to use the coffee table as a brace to do so.
"Where is the mince I brought today? I was going to use it for dinner!" The asshole has the gall to smirk at me as if he is better. My arm twitches violently, wanting nothing more than to wipe it off his pudgy face. It seems his fear from earlier is forgotten.
"Oh, that," He pauses, knowing it will only anger me more. "Piers needed some dog food so I gave him some."
"You did what?" I hiss, very nearly slipping into parseltongue. I'm not sure exactly why I'm getting so angry, but today every small thing this waste of space before me has done has just pissed me off beyond belief. I wonder if this is sixteen years worth of anger at this family finally coming through.
"You heard me, freak. You'll just have to find something else to cook us." I start to tremble slightly from rage, hands clenching painfully. "You better hurry up; mum and dad'll be home soon."
I use every tiny piece of willpower I have to reign in my magic. I do not need the Ministry breaking down the door to find my cousin's beefy chunks all over the lounge room walls after responding to the underage magic detector they seem to have shoved up my ass at birth. I will not hurt my cousin with magic...
...but this is definitely not going unpunished.
Calming my features remarkably fast, my face that had been contorted in rage a few seconds before is now blank; the only evidence of my anger is in my eyes which were clouded with anger and hate. I spin around and swiftly stride into the kitchen, hastily flinging open the backdoor and powering across the lawn I had mowed earlier, the short blades faintly tickling my bare feet.
It feels as if I'm no longer in control of my body as I open the metal door to the tool shed, like another force is controlling my movements and I'm just going along for the ride. A ride I somehow knew in the depths of my very soul I was going to enjoy immensely.
I study the multitude of tools that surround me, ranging from battery powered drills to sturdy looking hammers, before coming to a decision. Reaching out, I unlatch the well made steel axe from the wall, running my hands over the smooth wood that made up its long handle. It was a tool designed to chop wood, something I did a lot of before going to Hogwarts for the first time. It was the perfect weapon in my eyes.
It doesn't take me long to get back to the house, absentmindedly grabbing a large black garbage bag from the third drawer as I pass through into the lounge only to find it empty. Undeterred, I head upstairs and make a beeline for his bedroom. I hear the shower is going but I know the boy doesn't take much time. I won't have to wait long. What's ten minutes compared to the years I have waited to return the pain they have so graciously showed me?
I wait silently with my arms bend backwards over my head, holding the polished wooden handle tightly as the steel of the head rests against my lower back. I am going straight for the kill, no messing around. I have more sinister plans lying in wait for the other members of the family. Dudley will, in my mind, get off easy compared to his parents.
When he enters, a large towel wrapped around his lower half, he has no time to move as I swing with all my might, the axe descending upon my cousin's skull before he can scream for help. His eyes widen in absolute fear, his orbs faintly reflecting my image, axe held high, as I become the last thing he ever sees.
Crimson red liquid sprays forth against the roof and doorframe, staining it with its presence, as the sharp blade of the axe embedded itself in the obese boy's skull, penetrating the brain tissue below. I can feel liquid running down my cheeks but it is not tears, but blood. It seems I have also been stained, as well as my shirt, but it matters not. Dudley's large frame sways before his thick legs buckle, the axe handle slipping out of my grip as he crashes to the floor in a crumpled heap, lifeless, blood pooling on the floor around his sprawled form.
I take a moment to admire my work, smiling softly at the dead Dursley's dull, lifeless eyes that gazed upon me in an accusatory fashion, blood leaking down his forehead onto the rest of his face. I grab the handle with both hands and place a foot on the corpse's chest, grunting at the effort to dislodge the axe. I gaze at the now red sheen on the blade before heaving it over my shoulder, only to bring it down again, this time lodging it in the boys left shoulder, bone giving way to steel.
Again and again I continue to hack my cousin's body, all the while enjoying every moment of it. I especially like the sound his flesh makes when giving way under the force of my hits. I am enjoying it so much that I start to hum a tune, and then sing. It is an old poem or rhyme that I learnt years ago, only I am substituting a few words with my own.
"Harry Potter took an axe," I sung loudly, cheerfully, an insane glint in my emerald green eyes as I struck again with the axe, lodging it in Dudley's chest. "And gave that fat-ass forty whacks!" Again the sound of steel hacking flesh filled the room, blood sloshing and spraying everywhere. "When he saw what he had done," The axe tore a large chunk of muscle and flesh this time when I dislodged it, causing me to grin sadistically as I shook it off the end. "He then went and gave him forty-one!" I finished my small song with a hack to the groin.
I continue the assault, curiously eyeing the large boy's intestines as they roll out onto the floor with a sloppy splat, until I feel the parts are small enough to fit in the garbage bag I have with me. I leave only the head, and some thigh meat out, the rest being prepared for disposal. I am totally drenched in blood now as I handle the mangled human being, as is the surrounding area. I find myself playing with his lungs before I snap out of the little trance I seemed to have slipped into. It's time to get to work.
I rid myself of my blood soaked clothes and grab a few of my cousins since he won't mind, making sure to clean as much of the blood from my feet as possible with a rag. I can't be leaving footprints, not yet, at least. I use the rag, or t-shirt, I used to wipe my feet to wrap the axe in.
Tying the bag shut, I drag the still considerable weight out into the hall and down the stairs, wrapped axe over my shoulder, careful not to tear the flimsy plastic and spill the contents everywhere. My arms and face are still colored crimson, so I have to maneuver extra carefully least I rub up against the walls.
Soon enough, I am hauling the bag across the backyard. I am nearly to the shed when something totally unexpected happens, something that makes me groan mentally in despair. It seems I forgot one little tiny detail...
"Harry!" A feminine voice called from behind, "What happened to you? Are you okay? Where has all this blood come from?" I stop where I am and turn, coming face to face with the beautiful face of Nymphadora Tonks. Her hair is neon green tonight, pulled back into a long ponytail that looks to reach her waist. Her sky-blue eyes are wide, staring straight into mine. She has her wand out.
This isn't good. Not good at all.
I paint a fearful look on my face as I release the bag, taking a step back. "Tonks! Thank Merlin you're here!"
"Harry, what happened?" She asks, lowering her wand slightly. My fearful expression slowly fades and I take a deep breath, nodding towards the large black garbage bag. I must admit I'm a pretty good actor. "Death Eaters. I was able to catch them by surprise. I... I..." Her face softens and takes a step forward, placing a hand on my shoulder.
"It's okay, Harry. You did what you had to do." I nod slowly, still playing the timid part I have created. "What's... in the bag?"
"Oh, that." I grimace. "Lucius Malfoy."
Her eyes widen in shock as she turns towards the bag, kneeling down to open it. She wants visual proof. "The rest are still inside, I couldn't fit them all in there..."
She doesn't see it coming.
As her hands slowly pull the mouth of the bag open, I release the stained axe on my shoulder from its wrapping and swing, the blade cleaving straight through her exposed neck. Blood sprays forth like a fountain from her body as her head hits the ground with a soft thump, rolling a few feet away and coming to a stop. The body slumps over onto the bag, still gushing the life giving substance that all living beings have.
I sigh. I really didn't want to do that but I had no choice. She would have taken me in before I could get my revenge which was totally unacceptable.
Gathering her head, I place it in the bag and drag it behind the shed. I will have to dig a grave later but right now, this will do. I fetch her body and drag it around back, dumping it on top of the bag. My task complete, I hurry over to the hose and clean the axe off, as well as my arms and face. I will have to shower again before they get home but that's easy enough.
Axe cleaned, I go back inside, hiding the weapon behind the kitchen door before going upstairs with some smaller plastic bags. I place Dudley's head in one and the meat in the other before going back downstairs to the kitchen. The potatoes are ready to be mashed and everything else is ready.
The plastic bag that holds my cousins head is hidden with the axe, easily accessible when the time comes. I feel excited, giddy even, as I place the other bag on the large wooden chopping board, grasping the handle of a large butcher's knife. It's time to finish dinner.
Excitement still floods my system, making me feel lightheaded as I clean the blender, removing the last of the blood. I didn't have enough time to completely drain the meat but it won't matter, it was still good enough to cook.
After I had finished mincing the meat, I added the other ingredients and fried them in the pan, until the meat was semi-cooked. It was now in the oven in a large glass dish, a layer of mashed potato on top, being cooked to perfection. I always enjoyed cooking, though not the people I cooked for, but this time, it felt really good. I couldn't wait.
Finished with the cleaning, I pack everything away and set the table before jumping in the shower. I don't take as long as the last time, though I scrub twice as hard, making sure I leave no evidence. When I'm done, I dress myself in a pair of black slacks which happened to be my school ones, and an emerald green button-up. For some reason, I feel the need to dress up a bit, as if it were a birthday or something similar.
Putting on my black dress shoes, I slowly make my way back to the kitchen, dumping Dudley's oversized blood soaked clothes in the hamper, taking in the sights for what will be the last time. I was never fond of this place, of his house and Privet Drive, but until the age of eleven, it was all I knew. I would never forget it, no matter how hard I might try in the future; especially my old bedroom.
After setting the table, I spend the rest of the time it takes the Dursley's to arrive home staring at the door to the cupboard under the stairs. If I had any lingering doubts about what I had done and what I'm about to do, which I'm sure I didn't, staring at that small wooden door blew them all away.
I slowly rise from my sitting position in the hall as the front door opens, revealing my large uncle. Over his shoulder I see the horse-like face of my aunt. My mother definitely got all the good genes. It's hard to believe they were related at all, let alone sisters.
"Boy, what are you doing in the hallway?" Is the first thing Vernon says, staring at me suspiciously.
"Dinner's ready." I reply neutrally, turning to enter the kitchen. "I made cottage pie."
As they follow me in, Petunia asks the million dollar question.
"Where's my Diddy-Dumkins? I have something for him." She practically squealed, nearly blowing my eardrums. I am amused to note that my uncle winces.
"He is staying at a friend's house tonight. He said he was having dinner there." I answer while opening the oven, my oven-mitt clad hands grasping the hot glass the pie is resting in. I quickly place it on a placemat on the table before turning off the oven and grabbing a large spoon to dish it out. I have to fight the grin that tries to rise on my face.
As I serve them dinner, I make sure to only take a small amount. I am curious about how it tastes, but I must act normal. If I were to take a large amount, they would surely think something was up, even if they didn't have a clue what.
Eagerly, I watch them eat, bite by bite, piece by piece. Slowly, I copy them, chewing a fork load thoroughly before swallowing. It tastes a little like pork, one of my favorite meats. I hum softly as I reach for the tomato sauce, applying a generous amount. I have to say, Dudley was, for once, good for something. It must have been all that fat.
All too soon they finish their meal. I am currently eating seconds. It seems that they were so caught up in eating that they didn't even see me reach for the dish a second time. They must have liked it.
"Boy..." My uncle starts, staring at me from across the table. "You didn't use your... freaky powers to make this, did you?" I shook my head as I finish off the rest of my food.
"You know I'm not allowed to use it outside of school." My aunt is now staring at me as well.
"It was... nice." She hesitantly said.
I blinked; then blinked again. Did she just... no, she can't of... but she did!
"Thanks..." I am speechless. That has got to be the first time in my life that she has said something nice to me, at all. I discreetly look off to the side, just to make sure the world isn't ending. It isn't.
"What mince did you use?" She asked. It sounded like she really, truly wanted to know. My lips twitch as I stand, walking towards the door.
"It's funny you should ask that..." I reply slowly, moving the door and reaching for a certain plastic bag. I turn around and open it, reaching to grasp the crimson dyed blonde hair of my deceased relative. As I pull it out for them to see, I beam at them cheerfully. "Does this answer your question?"
The looks on their faces are something I will remember for a life time.
The shock, the horror, the fear, the anger and the revulsion combined to make one truly hilarious facial expression. My aunt was the first to move, stumbling from her seat and vomiting into the kitchen sink. Vernon followed soon after, though he wasn't able to make it to the bin he was aiming for. He heaved all over the floor, coating it in a thick film of yellowish acidy fluid and chucky meat, with various other things.
I smirk, watching them nearly choke on the food they had just recently eaten. The smell was foul, as was the sight of the stuff they were spewing, but it was strangely beautiful. I figure that it's probably the feeling of a plan coming together. It's very satisfying. No wonder Voldemort is so pissed whenever one of his fail.
The axe was now in my hands once more, held high above my head as I stood behind the kneeling form of my uncle. He never saw the weapon descend through the air, the axe blade entering his back with a meaty 'thunk', severing his spine in one shot. His scream of pain was muffled by the fluid still gathered in his throat and he could do nothing as he fell forward, bleeding profoundly from the back as he drowned in his self-created puddle of gunk.
Stepping over my dear uncle, I grasp the handle of a large kitchen knife, pulling it free from its wooden holder. Petunia had heard the sound of axe meeting flesh but had been unable to turn, still heaving in the sink. Now she turned, having finished, only too see the dying body of her husband. Her mouth opened wide, ready to let forth one of the loudest screams she had ever let loose in her life when she felt cold steel slice along her throat. She stumbled as she grasped her now gushing neck, the pain finally making its self known.
The only noise she could make was a weak gurgling as her flowery dress was soaked in her blood. I watched, a smile upon my face, as she fell, her top half resting on the table. She was growing weaker with each passing moment, lack of air causing her to pass out, lack of blood making her succumb to death.
I stare at the dead bodies of my relatives, smiling contently. As I thrust the knife into the back my departed aunt, I say one last thing before leaving to dig some graves.
"Dinner is served."
Authors Notes: I had a lot of fun writing this. I'm not used to writing in first person but I felt it fit this story better. After reading and helping with a few of 'Vash the Unholys' stories, I felt I should give it a shot. I feel it turned out quite good. What do you think?
My other stories have not been abandoned, don't worry. I've just been lazy and for a while, I lost interest in Harry Potter. It was mainly lack of anything good to read that I hadn't already done. That's why I've recently started reading 'Naruto' stories. I kinda got caught up in that fandom and shit happens. Hopefully, after writing this, I'll be back on track. I really want to finish 'Darkness' but if my muse dies, I can't really do much about it, can I?
I haven't been totally inactive since my last update however. Over on 'Dark Lord Potter Forums' I have posted three chapters of another story that I began. It won't be finished for a long while as it's just something I write when I'm blocked on everything else, but I plan to take it all the way when I get time. It's Tom Riddle-centric, something a bit different from all the Harry-centric that I write.
The original poem/rhyme that Harry sings in this story does not belong to me. It belongs to whoever wrote it. The original goes something like this:
Lizzie Borden took an axe,
And gave her mother forty whacks.
When she saw what she had done,
She gave her father forty-one.
Interesting, isn't it? I hope you enjoyed reading this little story thing.