Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in it. Harry Potter is the property of JK Rowling and her publishers. No profit is made from this.

What have we done

At first, the books they were reading had angered them and fueled their hate for the boy and everything he was.

To read about the boy, Freak!, Boy!, Hooligan!, had not been on their list of priorities, but the books had intrigued them nevertheless.

Who would have thought, that there would one day be books about their no-good, worthless nephew. The fact that those books existed, that the books were on sale in shops – normal bookstores! – were what decided it for them.

The facts in the book, facts about their treatment of the boy, were surprisingly accurate but they knew, knew without doubt that the author had left the worst out – or maybe she hadn't known?

They read the first book – Harry Potter and the Philosopher's stone – with much jeering, sneering and rude remarks.

As if they could believe these books! No, no, their nephew was a scrawny, timid little freak with no regard for others. There was no way that they would believe he had gone up against, and defeated, the most powerful Dark Lord of the time when he was just eleven.

No, this was just some plot by the boy to earn more fame and to expose his 'freakishness' to the world. Yes, that was it!

They did not dwell on the fact that it would be impossible for the boy to do so… no, no, better not think of that…

They read the second book with even more sneering and incredulity. The Harry Potter they knew, the one they had painstakingly raised and put under thumb, was not the same as the one in the books. It was impossible!

The snake had probably been just a small little thing and with the boy's 'ability', he would have easily defeated a harmless little reptile. Yes, that was it… the author had just gone and blown it all out of proportion to make the reader feel 'oh so very sad' for the 'poor, poor boy'.

When they came to the third book however, they had to rethink their previous conceptions and beliefs. There really had been a Sirius Black, who the boy had claimed as his godfather. They had seen his picture on the television, along with everyone else in Britain. Could the author, the, the 'magical' – was whispered softly – community really have brainwashed all of London, all of Britain into thinking that some lunatic had escaped?

The boy had told them himself that his godfather was a criminal and had escaped to come save him from his wretched muggles. Those words had earned the boy a sound beating and no food for two days. How dare he talk to them that way!

By the time they finished the fourth book, they were all quaking in their seats.

It was true, it was all true!

The boy told them, told them about the maniac who wanted to kill him. The maniac who would kill them too, if the boy did not put up some 'wards' – he called them. It didn't matter to them, not at the time. It was something freakish and it was the boy who wanted to do it! Of course they said no! Of course they beat the living daylights out of the boy!

Who did he think he was?

Now they knew…

Now they knew.

He was the world's only hope.

The fifth book nearly brought the aunt to tears. She didn't cry though, no, who would cry for that foul, loathsome idiot of a nephew? He might have lost his godfather, might have lost the only person he looked up to as a parent. It didn't matter, not to them.

The sixth book had them all rooted in their seats. How? How?

They knew, knew, that the old man had not come by the time the boy was supposed to leave, but they had not wondered on it. They had not thought anything amiss at the time.

Counted their blessings, that's what they had done.

No one came for the boy, no one showed up the whole of that summer. No one, nothing.

It had been a blessing in disguise for them.

The seventh book was the worst. There was no Harry Potter in that book. There was no hope, no cheer, no light at the end of that dark, dark tunnel.

Despair, hopelessness, anguish, it could all be felt like a tangible thing in the air while they read and read and read…

The wizarding world had been conquered. Evil had prevailed and darkness enveloped the world.

The seventh book was a warning. A warning to all muggle folk, anyone without magic. The world was at an end. Evil, dark wizards was coming and there was nothing the muggle world could do about it.

Right at the end, on the very last page of the twenty-page book the author came to the crux of the matter.

The Dursley family read the last page with growing horror as the seriousness of their actions finally made it into their thick skulls.

"The world as we know it is at an end. Evil wizards have conquered the magical community and are coming to the muggle world.

All this is happening because of the faults of one family.

We will leave the decision for punishment to the muggle community, for the people responsible are muggles.

Harry Potter's family, his aunt Petunia Dursley, uncle Vernon Dursley and cousin Dudley Dursley are those truly responsible for the evil in the world today.

They killed Harry Potter - killed him in cold blood after his sixth year because he was a freak in their eyes. Because he was abnormal.

We leave the decision to you, the muggle community, as to what to do. You may deal with that family as you see fit.

As for you Dursley, if you are reading this… run, run far away, but nowhere will be safe. You have nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.

Your name will be known, your name will be printed, but it will not be as you have wished – with adulation and acclaim attached to it – no, it will be spit out as the sour piece of trash you really are. Run Dursley, run!!"

The end

Hehe, this is just something that popped into mind as I read a request on Fictionalley and I decided to write it.

What did you think?