I really wanted to write something sweet and cuddly for a change. But then Dudley took over and demanded that at last I will tell the truth about what he did. I don't know why he wants to do that, really, the world will be a better place without his confession, but he insisted.

So in a moment of weakness I'm posting it with a firm warning that it's strange.

I don't own Dudley or Harry Potter, and believe me, this is better off that way. If it was up to me, the magical world was in ruins in less than a week.

Sweet Dreams, Harry

Now it's time to say good night
Good night Sleep tight
Now the sun turns out his light
Good night Sleep tight
Dream sweet dreams for me
Dream sweet dreams for you.

Close your eyes and I'll close mine
Good night Sleep tight
Now the moon begins to shine
Good night Sleep tight
Dream sweet dreams for me
Dream sweet dreams for you.

I have done many wrong in my life. None of which I'm proud to confess in front of you, yet there is no other choice for me. I am coming to the end of my life and my mind tires not from the images that are running through it days and nights, hunting me forever. I seek only peace yet know that when the maker will meet me, he will not approve of my doings. Neither will you, probably.
But as I have already said, I have no choice. The guilt is becoming too heavy even for my used shoulders to carry.

It has all began when we were mere kids. I have heard many who said that the young ones know not what a real hatred is. They probably were never young.

I have hated him with all my body and soul. I wanted him to be gone to the pit from which he came, in the same way he one day appeared in our lives only to never leave them as they were. He was the living reminder of everything I could not be. He was smart and popular and had my parent's favor. They all always danced around him like a little child of princehood that would one day reach the throne, whether I shall remain the shell I was meant to be, nothing more than the lowest servant.
When my aunt came, things got worse. He had her on a leash, such a small child, so many persuasive powers. He would stomp with his little feet every time he would wish to be heard, and no matter what my aunt did before, she would drop it and come to his aid. She would always hear him, she would never hear me.

So, I have grown to hate him. I objected to everything that he had done from either hate or jealousy. Nothing he did was right to my eyes, but he was no better than I. In fact, he has been worse.
Ha mocked me every moment of the days, his eyes twitching in scorn every time they were upon me. He called his friends to come and torture me with their twisted games, hurting me, calling me disgraceful names.

Maybe I should have been stronger. Maybe I should have stayed home when they came, hid, or simply ignored them in hope that some day they would, just like everyone else, grow up and spread their wings to worthier nests. But I did not know that way when I as young, I have been proud, and demanded to be treated like a human being, with respect. I refused to run shrieking when I have heard their bicycles behind me, though I knew what that meant. That yet another time I would be thrown aside, another part that has once been intact, now broken and aching.
I refused to hide when he and his gang came home and were greeted with kind words by my mother, or being pet like the dogs they were by my father, while all along they kept looking at me, their smile content and evil, promising me another adventure that would soon come. Yes, I knew what their smiles meant, I have learnt to decipher it, yet I could escape from it.
For how can one run away from his life?

Then the shame came. He turned eleven and in the exact day of his birthday he got a letter telling him he has won a scholarship in a private, very well thought of school. Man, he was proud. You could practically see him walking swollen around the block, telling everyone who would heed of the miracle.

That was the worst day of my life. The beginning of their end, you could even say. As I have been then already 12 and my grades declined, my social status was still stuck somewhere where it was from the 3grade and quite frankly, I believed I could not make my own parents proud. They were too preoccupied with someone else's child.

I was burning with disgust and jealousy and pain. I couldn't wait for him to pack and leave us all alone, but even I wasn't that naïve. Things were not going to get better. I just knew it. In fact, in his absence, his goons would most likely continue harassing me and my parents would now have more ammo against me. That yet again, I was not good enough.

I stayed up that night, counting the minutes, seconds, waiting. Scheming. There had to be something I could do.

There's gotta be.

Then I have heard the whispers of Satan just below my ear. There was a bottle of psychotic drugs in the bathroom, I remembered. I got up and in the steps of a hunting cat, the pace I had to acquire if I wished to continue living in the hell that was my life, I reached the cabinet. Not hesitating for even a minute I opened it and took out couple of pills.

Then I went to his room. Near him there was a glass half full with water.

"Shhh" I soothed him when it seemed for a minute that he would wake up, and indeed, he came back to sleep.
The hour was right.

The clock made a loud noise. It was 12:00 PM. The time of murderers.

But I was not a murderer. I wished not to take his body, only his soul. So I have forced the pills down his throat, and when I have seen him swallowing them and coming back to his deep slumber, I came back to my bed, happy.

Tomorrow, I knew, the land of dreams would become his reality.

Close your eyes and I'll close mine
Good night Sleep tight
Now the sun turns out his light
Good night Sleep tight
Dream sweet dreams for me
Dream sweet dreams for you.

Good night Good night Everybody
Everybody everywhere
Good night.

Good Night , Beatles