I own neither Harry Potter, the Time Machine by H.G Wells, or Doctor Who.
The Time Ship.
Harry Potter, 8 years old, growing up, had decided that he was better off alone, and it wasn't by choice either. Not his anyway. Harry simply didn't care about anyone, only himself. Who else was there? Living on Number 4, Privet Drive, the most boring and hideous place on the earth was a nightmare where Harry wished he could just leave and be left alone. Other people believed the worst place was hell, but since Harry lived with an abusive family, living on a street of uncaring people who'd been told nothing but lies about him by the Dursleys, who told people he was a freakish delinquent, and never bothered to actually verify it for themselves, hell wasn't a threat to Harry. In fact, in many ways, he welcomed it. He believed that if he dropped straight into hell then the suffering he was already enduring would be nothing different from what the Dursley family were inflicting. Harry hated the Dursleys. Their attitude to life, their pointless quest to be normal, to be better than everyone else. That sickened Harry. Since he read a book about chaos theory, he'd realised that no matter how much the Dursleys worked for it, it would never materialise because of the simple issue that there simply was no such thing as normal. In Harry's eyes after that book, he'd started to see that the Dursley's constant cleaning of the house, their boastings, they were meaningless because every family was different, not that dull, boring people his relatives - Harry had never considered them family - strove to become. Individuality, that was the true normality.
Living in constant fear for his life, it was no surprise Harry stopped caring about the niceties of life. All he cared about was leaving the Dursleys, and getting away from the misery that was Number 4. The rest of the neighbourhood looked down on him, believing their lies about him, that he was a delinquent wastrel. Harry, again, didn't give a shit. Why should he? It wasn't as if they would listen to him one way or another.
There were only two things that kept Harry Potter sane. Reading books, specifically the books the librarian, the only person in the world to treat him like a human being, allowed him to read. He didn't take any book with him back to his cupboard under the stairs. That would see the books being destroyed. The Dursleys hated books, and never had he watched even Aunt Petunia, admittedly, the smartest of the family read a book, articles in a newspaper or magazine, yes, but never a book. That made Harry proud because it meant he was different from them, something to be truly proud of. Then there was the watch.
It was a pocketwatch, the kind people used to clip into fob pockets. Harry still wasn't sure where the watch he owned came from. It was silver in colour, and it fit easily into the palm of his hand, almost like it had been made for him. Keeping the watch out of sight of the Dursleys was a full time job. They continually searched for anything they could use to break Harry's spirit, like that teddy bear that they'd burnt, forcing Harry to watch. At the time he'd been only 3, and the sounds of Vernon Dursley laughing cruelly filled his mind. The watch kept him sane, at night he would sleep soundly whilst hearing it. Tick - tock. Tick - tock. All night everynight, the sound of the watch would keep him sane.
Mrs Figg was the ultimate proof Harry needed to know humanity was a shit hole. The Dursleys foisted him on her everytime they went out for a special occasion, whether it was a fancy do, a birthday or even a holiday. The Dursleys enjoyed the image they portrayed, and the less Harry had to do with it the better. They'd boasted continuously how his parents had been drunks, who'd ended up in a car crash one night, and they'd ended up lumbered with Harry. After a time Harry had stopped believing them, there was hardly any logic to it. For a start, if he had been left here, where were the social workers who were supposed to keep tabs on him in case of child abuse? Granted, they might've visisted when he was younger and the abuse had only started around the time he'd grown old enough to withstand it all. Then there was the slight fear in their eyes whenever Harry did something...strange. Like all the other times, when that weirdo had shaken his hand walking down the street - Harry didn't get that, even now, but it had been enough for the Dursleys to be nervous and even more belligerant than they had been before.
Mrs Figg was someone Harry prayed would just up and leave. Surely she didn't like the idea of spending time with the local delinquent. All they did together was sit, go through the numerous albums of her fucking cats, something that truly put Harry off all felines, and sniffing the stink of cabbage in the house.
It was enough to drive a perfectly near sane person crazy. Sometimes Harry got the impression the old hag knew more than she let on...
" BOY!" The scream echoed through the house, shaking it to the foundations. Once again Harry wondered how it was possible that the neighbours couldn't hear the abuse taking place, and he'd developed a theory that they welcomed the abuse. It was exactly the reason the earth was screwed up, because of misconceptions.
Harry left the kitchen after cleaning up the dishes from the Dursleys latest meal, and taking his scraps to the cupboard. Thinking of the cupboard made him think of the watch. He hadn't seen the timepiece in a while, and he was afraid that he'd either lost it or it had fallen into the Dursleys hands.
Harry sighed, knowing if he didn't come as bidden then the Dursleys would beat him even more than they were right now. As he took off the rubber gloves his aunt had forced him to wear, he walked into the living room, where he froze.
There, in Vernon's hand, was the pocket watch, and in the other was a hammer. Dursleys face turned into a sick grin as he saw Harry's look of horror.
" Did you really think you could hide it boy, that my Dudders wouldn't see that you had something that wasn't yours?" Harry's eyes flickered over to the other members of the derranged family. Dudley was watching in anticipation, eating an ice lolly that was melting. Petunia was looking down her nose at him and was watching the scene with detachment.
Taking Harry's horror for granted, Vernon slowly placed the pocketwatch on the table...
Harry got a grip on himself and raced back into the kitchen and grabbed a knife, his brain had switched off, he was acting on pure instinct. When he raced back inside, Dursley had raised the hammer and was prepared to bring it down smashing on the watch. Petunia noticed the knife, but before she could even shriek, Harry had raced forward a black blur and had slashed at Vernon's belly. Screaming in sudden shock and pain, Vernon grabbed his bleeding middle, but before either he or his stunned son and wife could do anything, Harry had slashed at his throat, cutting into the veins.
" NO! NO! NO! YOU'VE TAKE EVERYTHING I'VE HAD. YOU'LL NOT TAKE AWAY MY WATCH!" Harry roared like an animal possessed.
When Vernon fell to the ground, bleeding to death, his murderer turned to face the two other witnesses. Rushing towards Dudley, Harry stabbed the obese pig in the heart. Petunia backed up, shrieking in horror. The sounds were starting to hurt Harry's ears, so he took the knife and slashed at the woman's neck. When Harry at last dropped the knife, he breathed in gently as he realised what he'd done. The Dursleys were dead, and he was a murderer. He looked down on himself. He was covered in blood. He raced upstairs and took a hasty bath before he abandoned his clothes. The knife he wiped down and dropped in the bin. The rubbish should hopefully help take away his fingerprints. Getting dressed in other handmedowns, Harry went towards the hanger where Vernon's coat was and he grabbed the mans cards and cash. He also stole all the money Dudley and Petunia had saved up over the years.
An hour later, the police and fire brigade came screeching down into Privet Drive. Number 4 was ablaze. When they found out that the bodies had been stabbed, they started looking for the murderer. What they didn't know was that Harry Potter had already left.