Jigoku Shounen

Summary: As a young child, Harry Potter brought upon the ire of the Lord of Hell, thus cursing himself for all eternity to bring out people's vengeance against others and take their antagonists to Hell. Will the Prophecy concerning Voldemort change this, or will Harry be forever tasked with carrying out others' revenge?

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Jigoku Shoujo, both of which this fan fiction are based on.

AN: I'm surprised there's not a huge fanfiction section for Hell Girl, aka Jigoku Shoujo. This anime simply blows my mind away! I mean, it's like Death Note in feeling, disturbingly amazing. You should check it out. Oh, and I'll put another three chapters out for My Other Self this weekend, still editing. As it is, this is only a one-shot for now, since I don't want to fall into my phase of writing a million stories at once again...

-----

Harry Potter was a curious young six year old. Brought up by his reluctant relatives, Vernon and Petunia Dursley, he had a rather queer upbringing. When he was a baby, if he cried for something, it would suddenly appear in his chubby little hands. If he were angry, things would shake very slightly. And if he were happy, things would float. Naturally, this scared the wits out of his aunt and uncle, and they vowed to forever stamp the freakishness out of the boy, no matter what the cost.

When Harry started kindergarten at the ripe age of five, he made the mistake of accidently turning his teacher's hair blue. He had no idea what he did to do this, but suffice to say, the Dursleys were not pleased. He had been locked up in his tiny cupboard underneath the stairs for a whole day, and went without food until the next morning, when he was able to filch some breakfast as he made it for his 'family'. The accidents, however, continued, and random things kept happening, like Harry appearing on the roof of the school when getting chased by Dudley (his obese cousin) and his gang, making a girl lose all her hair when she called him a bad name, and somehow transforming his nasty teacher's chair into a pin cushion. Complete with double-edged pins.

Harry tried hard to control himself, but being a highly emotional child of five, he couldn't help but have his outbursts. Vernon's solution most of the time was to either smack him around or lock him in his cupboard, both of which did no good of course. It soon came to the point where Vernon would give Harry regular beatings, many of which were severe to the boy's waifly frame. Harry had to be taken to the hospital seven times during his kindergarten year, and only when his homeroom teacher noticed. The Dursleys hadn't bothered to get Harry's sometime serious wounds healed, leaving the boy to cry in his little cupboard with large cuts or even broken bones.

Luckily, Harry's teacher, a Miss Evelyn Kent, had very good eyes, and she could see the little boy wince whenever somebody bumped into him. She would personally take Harry to the hospital herself so he could be taken care of. She so wanted to get the authorities after Vernon, but without proper evidence, she couldn't. Harry wouldn't speak of it to anybody either, for Vernon had threatened him with death if he did. One day, it would escalate to the point where Harry could die, and she didn't know what to do.

That day came soon enough, on July 30th, the day before Harry's seventh birthday. Dudley had somehow blamed Harry for the fact that half of his gigantic birthday cake had dissapeared (nevermind the fact that the gluttonous slob had chocolate smears on his shirt) and Vernon lit into him.

"You dare eat my boy's cake?!" Vernon shouted, taking his buckled belt off and whipping Harry across the back with it. Harry cried out in pain as the hard leather bruised his flesh and the steel buckle tore his skin. "I'll teach you some manners you good-for-nothing wierdo!"

It was not until many more lashes that Vernon tired himself out, and threw Harry's limp body into the cupboard. The Dursley family then went out to the nearest Dairy Queen to get Dudley yet another cake. Harry lay on his stomach on his tattered mattress (saved over from his crib), crying his eyes out. After a few moments, he stopped shedding tears and wiped his face furiously, anger settling onto his face.

"I don't deserve this!" he whispered to himself, glaring angrily at a spot on the wooden floor. "I see the other kids at school, this doesn't happen to them! Why me? Why does no one like me?"

He sat up, ignoring the pain in his back, a feat for someone so small. "I hate them!" he said vehemently. "I hate all of them! I hate Dudley, I hate Petunia and I really hate Vernon! I wish they were dead! I wish they would fly off the motorway and explode into fire!"

-----

On the M6 motorway, a Volvo saloon suddenly careened out of its lane, smashing over the guardrail and flying down forty feet into the concrete below, bursting into flames. All occupants died instantly.

-----

Harry was still sniffling as he tended to his back, trying to wrap his cleanest shirt around it to stop the bleeding. Suddenly, he felt something akin to vertigo, and his cupboard room dissapeared as he somehow began to fall, downwards and deep. Harry looked around in silent terror as he passed by red and black images, none clear enough to see, but frightening all the same. He finally landed on his feet and cautiously stood up, looking around. In front of him stood a huge, gnarled old tree, with wicked looking limbs and roots that burrowed deeply around him. Trapped within its roots were decaying skeletons, many with some flesh still on their skulls and bones.

Harry let out a quiet scream of horror and turned around to run away, only to be met by a gigantic spider with three slits for eyes on its abdomen. They shone an eerie purple as they opened up wider and looked down at him in distate.

"Harry Potter," a deep and powerful voice boomed. "By exacting your vengeance, you have given birth to new resentments. This is a grave sin."

"Wh-what are you talking about it?" Harry asked boldly.

"You killed your relatives," the voice, coming from the spider, replied. "They have just died on the motorway."

Harry's eyes widened. "I only said those things!" he protested. "It's not my fault it actually happened! It's not my fault!"

"You are not allowed to go down to Hell," the spider continued, ignoring him. "You will remain in the present world to atone for your sins. There is a task that you must complete before you are taken. Two, in fact."

"But, I didn't do it!" Harry started to cry. "You can't blame me if I didn't do it! I was in my cupboard all day!"

"You wished for it to happen, and your wish was granted," the spider said darkly. "That is more than enough to sin. If you refuse to do what I ask of you next, then the souls of your beloved ones will wander for all eternity. Your parents, Harry."

Harry gasped. "No, not my parents!" he cried. "I'll do whatever you want!"

"I know that," the spider said, its eyes closing slowly. "From this moment on, you are Harry Potter, the Hell Boy."

Everything faded away and Harry felt himself fall onto his side, into a lying position. He closed his eyes from the feeling of rapid ascending, and then opened them once it stopped. In front of him was dirt, and he could smell water. Standing up, Harry looked around. He was in a place that he didn't know, which had muddy shores that ran along a scary-looking lake, with a huge gate standing over the end which formed into a river. Something about the small ferry-like boat in front of him and the river made Harry edgy. There were also many small boats the size of video cassette floating around, each with a candle and cover around it, casting an eerie yellow glow as they floated their way to the river.

"Hell Boy?" Harry whispered, glancing down at himself. His ratty hand-me-downs were gone, in their place was a black sort of dress, something he had never seen before. It had a large sash wrapped around his waist that was red, and he had two layers of clothing of the same sort underneath, red and white.

"You will wear a kimono when carrying out vengeance," the spider's voice told Harry, making the boy look towards the sky. In place of a moon in the dark night, the four purple slits shone down at him, three of them with eyes in them. "And your eyes shall be marked as ones of the person who carries out such work."

Harry looked into the water of the lake and was shocked to see that his bright green eyes had been transformed into scary, glowing red ones, with a thick black rim on the outside. His eyes were such a red that there would be no doubt in anybody's mind that he was Hell's associate.

"Your work shall transcend time and space," the spider said after Harry turned his attention back to it. "When and where does not matter. If you are called, you will appear in front of the victim. You will do well to remember this next part."

Harry perked up.

"When a tortured soul calls for your help, it is because someone is causing them pain," the spider explained. "Your job is simple. If the victim agrees to a contract with you, you will immediately bring their antagonist to Hell."

"What?!" Harry gasped.

"In return, the victim's soul is also taken to Hell, but when they die naturally of course," the spider finished. "That is the contract's terms. When one person is cursed, two graves are dug."

Harry swallowed. "So... That's what I have to do?" he asked. "What kind of people am I bringing into Hell?"

The spider's eyes widened and closed for a bit. "It is usually the bad sort," it relented. "For if they are antagonizing someone, it surely can't be for good, can it?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Okay," he said. "If they're bad, then it's not such a terrible thing then... Right?"

"Right..." the spider said maliciously. "Now, you have hundreds of years to perform this task! Let's start your work sometime in the early ages, shall we?"

-----

Vincent St. Pierre cursed. That damn harlot! That wicked salope! How dare she two-time him!

The Frenchman had just walked in on his fiancee in bed with another man. It turned out that she had been cheating on him for almost two years. He had thrown the man out (his best friend, Montague no doubt) with threats of death and tossed Claire out on her ass. The humiliation he felt was terrible. Everyone, everyone had known but him! Oh, what a fool he had been to fall for Claire's good looks and cunning words! He should have seen it all along! That lying, disgusting, filthy whore!

"I want to see her dead!" he spat to himself as he paced around in his room. "She does not deserve to live! Claire should die for what she has done to me!"

"St. Pierre," a soft voice spoke behind him. Vincent spun around in surprise and fell onto his behind. Standing in front of him was a young boy, maybe around ten or so, wearing some Asian clothes with deep red cherry blossoms lining the collar. The boy's unnatural red eyes glowed in the dark room as they stared down at Vincent apathetically.

"You..." Vincent breathed. "Hell Boy!"

The Hell Boy held out his hand limply. "You wish for me to shake hands?" Vincent laughed nervously, eyeing Hell Boy's hand warily.

"If you truly wish to eliminate your antagonist, you must shake my hand," Hell Boy said in his soft, eerie voice. "If you shake my hand, you shall officially enter into a contract with me."

Hell Boy stepped up closer and Vincent took an uneasy step back, as the boy now stood a mere foot away. Those crimson blood eyes looked up at him all the time.

"The one you seek revenge upon shall immediately be taken to Hell," Hell Boy explained.

"To Hell?" Vincent asked, staring at the outstretched hand.

"However, if I deliver your revenge, I must have you make restitution to me," Hell Boy said flatly. "When one person is cursed... Two graves are dug."

Vincent's eyes widened.

"If you accept the contract, thy soul shall fall into the pit of Hell," Hell Boy said warningly.

Vincent winced. "I'll go to Hell... as well?" he asked shakily.

Hell Boy looked very slightly amused. "Well," he said in an almost light tone, "that's after you die."

"But that is not fair!" Vincent protested. "Why should I go to Hell as well? I have done nothing wrong! It's her fault, it's all Claire's fault!"

"But you are the one sending her to Hell," Hell Boy said quietly. "Is that not a sin? You would be going after you live your life to its fullest, no?"

"But, but," Vincent choked, his eyes tightly shut as he clenched his fists. "I don't want to go to Hell!"

"Then do not shake my hand then," Hell Boy whispered, backing away. "My time here is done."

"No, wait!" Vincent cried, making the boy stop in midstep. "I - I, very well! I accept your terms."

They shook hands, and Vincent felt something burn into his chest. Yanking his shirt down, the Frenchman saw a tattoo in the shape of a circle, with some odd design in the center. He looked down to Hell Boy in question.

"To remind you that your soul belongs to me," Hell Boy said creepily, before dissapearing into the darkness of the night.

"So... so you'll do it then?" Vincent asked the darkness desperately. "You'll do it?"

"I hear and deliver this vengeance," Hell Boy whispered.

-----

"Oh, that St. Pierre, what an idiot!" Montague laughed, wrapping his arm around Claire, his girlfriend. "I did not think that he was that blind to not have noticed the signs!"

"Well, he is Vincent St. Pierre my love," Claire giggled, curling around him. "Say, would you like to get us some champagne?"

Montague kissed her on the lips. "Of course, my love," he said, exiting the chamber. Claire busied herself with a smile, shying out of her expensive dress that Montague had bought with Vincent's money. 1818 was turning out to be a good year.

She blinked, and was suddenly bathed in darkness. "Huh?" she said in panic. "Where am I?"

A light was turned on somewhere, and it shone down at her. "Allo?" she called out. "Is anyone there?"

Footsteps were heard, and Claire turned around to see a scary-looking boy standing some distance away from her. His lumiscient red eyes terrified her. "Who are you?" she demanded. "Where are we?"

"Do you enjoy the company of men?" the boy asked in a very quiet voice. Claire was about to ask him what the hell he was talking about, but suddenly, figures started to come out of the shadows.

"What's going on?!" she cried, as the dark shadowy forms of men started to grab her. They began to tear her clothes off. "Stop this! Stop this at once! Montague! Montague! MONTAGUE!!!"

It started to get louder with some scary music, that featured violins and a haunting opera that chilled her very bones. Soon, Claire could not hear anything but as the shadow men began to force her legs open...

In an instant, they were all gone, and Claire fell onto her back, sobbing uncontrollably as she held her ripped clothes to her body. The darkness shattered away, as if it were a mirror, and the world was now bathed in dark purple and gray as the demon-boy stood before her, looking down at her apathetically.

"Oh pitiful shadow cloaked in darkness," he said, his long black hair swaying in the wind, "Thy actions cause men pain and suffering."

The Asian clothes he wore were now completely bloodred, with black shadows of roses imprinted on them. "Thy hollow soul drowns in thy sins," he continued, still looking at her, but not at her.

The wind died instantly, and it was silent as a grave. "How would you like to see what death is like?" he whispered in the absolutely scariest tone Claire had ever heard. She started to scream.

The boy held up his arms as the black petals of roses flew from his clothes, and covered her vision.

When Claire woke up, she was lying on her back on a small boat, and she could smell water. She sat up quickly, and saw the boy manning the rudder at the back of the boat. "What is this?" she asked in horror, seeing all the floating graves. "Where are we going?!"

The boy ignored her, using the rudder to paddle the boat steadily towards a large, ominous gate ahead of them. "Turn this boat around!" Claire shrieked. "Turn it around!"

Suddenly, something grabbed her heel, and Claire looked down in terror. Transparent, decaying arms were appearing out of the bottom of the boat, and they were grabbing onto her. She screamed and tried to bat them away, but more kept grabbing her.

"Stop it!" she cried, as dozens of hands now grabbed at her indecently. "Please, stop! Stop! Stop!!!"

Hell Boy kept steering his boat without emotion, staring ahead at the gateway to Hell. "I shall carry this vengeance to Hell," he said softly, the young woman's screams dying down slowly. They passed through the gate, and it made one chime as they faded away into the mist.

-----

In a room filled with burning candles, another one floated into view, carrying the name, Vincent St. Pierre.