AN: this story was written after id read a really depressing fic where Harry was horribly abused by the Dursley's. this is sort of my revenge on his behalf.
WARNING!: cointans graphic violence.
He watched with grim satisfaction as he finally got his wish. No, it wouldn't change anything, but it made him feel so much better, so much safer as he watched the fat pig's face turn a ghastly shape of purple. As a stain of dark amber liquid began to spread across the white-tiled floor.
A fleeting anxiety ht him, Aunt Petunia would be mad. But all he had to do was turn a little to the right, further along. He'd done Petunia slow and as messy as possible, forcing Vermon to watch and think of what would happen to him. The blood was spluttered everywhere, it would be merry if it weren't such a macabre sight. Oh well, Dudley would just have to figure out how to clean it.
The pain and shock in his eyes was the sweetest part. Ah, how karma kicked ass. Didn't feel so good did it, when the shoe was on the other foot?
Harry stretched, it was late and he was sleepy. He smiled at his legal guardians, "See you tomorrow. Make sure this place is spotless." He waved his wand and Dudley appeared, a lumpy, disheveled mess. It was a shame that Harry couldn't torture him just yet, but he was afraid that he'd kill him and then where would he be? Without his favorite source of entertainment. He uttered the spell, his words calm and precise, "Blood calls to blood, the living to the dead arise"
A small wisp of crimson came out from his cousin's flared nostrils as he squealed like the pig he was. Yes, Harry could make it less painful, but why would he do that? The shimmering thread wrapped first around his uncle and then his horse faced aunt. The wounds began to heal but, Harry comforted himself, the memories of their deaths and the many previous to these ones would remain.
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