Notes! Warnings for lots of cursing and mentions of abuse!
Also, ffn is stupid, so strikethroughs are identified by parentheses :3
For Magi! Happy (early) birthday! To many more chatzy...conversations?
Shoutout to Aima D. Duragon, who inspired me to write this by her fic, 'Letters From Little Hangleton'. I suggest you go read that, it's really good. Better than this at least lol :3
thanks to Krissy, Blue, and Jet for betaing :3
Word Count: 1072 by Google Docs
Dear Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Dudley,
I'm writing you guys a collective letter, even though I have seperate things to say to all of you. It wouldn't matter anyway, because I'm not going to send this. (I'm too much of a coward.)
I've been seeing this therapist, and she reckons I should—how'd she put it?—'visit the ghost of my past'. I have, for a lot of them. (I would offer a list, but you wouldn't care, would you?) And they've actually helped me. Yet something was still messing with me, so here I am.
I'm actually sitting in my bedroom writing this. My therapist says that I should 'visit my places of trauma' to help me face my fears of it, but I'm not going to go to Number Four, Privet Drive. (I've had enough of that place for a lifetime.) You might see me. (Again, I'm a coward. Why'd I think I could face my past?)
You fucked me up. You fucked me up really bad, and I don't think you realized that. I don't think I realized that, until recently.
You abused me. And I don't know how to get over that.
I'll let you off on one thing: it's not entirely your fault that I'm so messed up right now. It's definitely not, because I had to (deal with some fucked up shit at that fucked up school with those fucked up people) face things other than you, things bigger than you. But for ten years of my life, I didn't have to deal with anything else, but an aunt, uncle and cousin, who seemed to hate me for no reason.
That left an imprint.
So, fuck you.
Fuck you.
Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.
I hate you so much, and it's so bad right now because I can't believe that I didn't realize it until now. It's all just crashing down. (And I thought I hated Voldemort the most out of everyone in the world.)
Merriam-Webster defines the word abuse as physical maltreatment. Physical—having material existence. Maltreatment—to treat cruelly. (Thought I would look it up for you, seeing as, when I knew you guys, you were too stupid to sew a blanket together.) I think that fits pretty well.
You're almost still doing it now. I can feel your fists pounding into me as I write, Uncle Vernon.
Dudley—I'm sorry. (You don't deserve to be on here, really.) I blame you, but I blame your parents for you. I forgive you. (No, I don't.) I think you're bound to copy anything you see your parents did and as your parents abused me, so did you. (Even though you did do most of the physical damage to me. I don't forgive you. I hate you.) I'm so glad I'm not a 'waste of space' (even though you've always made me feel like one).
(This is stupid. I don't know why I'm doing this. I can't. I can't.)
Aunt Petunia—really? I've met a lot of stupid people in my life, but none as stupid as you. The only thing to give you credit: you didn't physically abuse me that much. You were still a bitch. A complete and utter bitch. Because you still did abuse me. Don't think you're getting off. Verbal abuse is just as bad. You would always put me down, for no reason. Why? Because the gene pool gave my mother magic and not you? (Jealous bitch.) I'm really trying not to curse you out in this, because I'd be a big, fat hypocrite, wouldn't I? I'd just be verbally abusing you right back. (Not that you'll read this.)
(I guess you were the real freak; anyone who holds a ten year grudge and then passes it down is a freak, in my book.)
Uncle Vernon—how do I start?
(Because of you, I was surprised that people actually liked me.)
(I never knew what it felt like to be loved, because of you.)
(You set me off with nothing.)
(You were one of the worst people I have met.)
I can't even put it into words. (Here's a few of my tears.)
Somehow, realising all of this years later is really tough. It's hitting me hard. (Just like you did.)
I have three lasting marks on my body. One is from the Darkest Wizard of all time, the lightning bolt on my forehead. That happened when he tried to murder me. One is from my fifth year teacher, who was a crazy bitch, and made me take lines with my own blood. The third is from you. (Think about that. I got two lasting scars from really dark magic, and then one from you…) When I was nine, you brought Dudley and I to the park. You really didn't want to bring me, but there was no other choice; everyone was busy with something. Dudley fell, maybe five inches, and you raced over to him. I was in the way. (I thought it was a mistake but I should've known better. You're you.) You pushed me onto a nail sticking out from a slide. I was bleeding on my side; you didn't really care.
(Thanks.)
Fuck you.
I can't think of anything better to send you. I don't know if I ever will.
(You know, maybe I should go to Number Four, Privet Drive, just to knock on the door, see your shock at seeing me, spit in your face, and tell you 'fuck you' right to your face. You really deserve it.)
I don't think I'll ever be fully okay because of you, really, now that I think about it, but (—don't take this the wrong way—) thank you. You did it in a really stupid way, but you somehow made me stronger. You forced me to learn resilience. Resilience has gotten me through a few tough spots. So thank you, but fuck you. (I probably could've learned it without you, so emphasis on the fuck you.)
Maybe I'll keep this letter. (Maybe one day I'll be less of a coward. I hate myself right now. I think you taught me that one.) Maybe I'll send it to you one day. Maybe you'll actually listen, for once. (If you ever have any grandchildren, or children, they'll deserve better than what I got from all three of you.) Probably not.
None of the best. I truly wish you all the worst.
Harry