Harry is strongfastbravegoodsweet bad.
Dudley is meanbigscarybullybad good.
Aunt Petunia says this.
She says Harry is bad, a freak.
She says Dudley is good, an angel.
She says this so often, Harry's words change.
Harry is bad, a freak, small, scrawny.
Dudley is good, big boned, strong, an angel.
After so many years of sweet words turned sour, bitter twisted until they burn like acid, dark and aching, Harry knows what he is.
He is a bad boy, a freak.
And so Harry becomes the worst boy he can be.
Sugar outside, poison inside.
Sweet death of smiles and laughter, bubblegum and childhoods ruined.
In the end it will never matter.
Even when the world bows before him, crumpled and dying, fading and choking on the ashes of the fallen.
The world can burn, for all he cares.
And as Harry sits among the rubble of what the world was, he cries. Laughter trickles out of his madly grinning face, curling into black smoke and fading.
Not a single word or warning, just flames.
Crimson with the blood of everyone killed.
Fuelled with the bones of his family.
Harry burns, crumbles to ash.
A fitting fate, for a bad boy.