When Life Is Lost
At 1 year and 3 months old, Harry's parents were dead. It would probably be more appropriate to say they were killed, murdered, or slaughtered, but it didn't matter. The end result was the same either way. They were no longer able to take care of him.
Harry, in his young age, was quite a bright child. So yes, he was able to grasp some of what was going on. His parents were no longer there for him, and as the looming figure in black robes stood over him, he understood that he was to be killed too.
It didn't bother him that much, the thought of death. After all, his parents were now unable to care for him which means that he doesn't have that much of a future anymore anyways.
Although the concept had eluded his grasp entirely, remaining a vague idea in the mentality of a child of 15 months. Even if said 15 month child was extremely intelligent.
The cloaked figure gave out a chuckle, and murmured something about immortality. Before pulling out a wand- much like those of his parents. Harry felt some sort of unexplainable pull to the wand, mesmerised by the energy it seemed to exude into the atmosphere.
Then in an instant there was a flash of green light. There were no flashbacks to his short life, no frozen instances of time for final thoughts. It simply struck him, volatile yet controlled and the magic sang to him a song of death, and he was stunned by it's beauty.
The light then suddenly faded, and Harry noticed the fallen body of the caster. He started to cry. Why did the magic not wipe him from this world like his parents? Did death not think him good enough for its seductive clutches? He just didn't understand why someone who was well into their journey of life had theirs ended while his, a life that hadn't even started its journey, continued.
He continued to weep for the dark robed castor, even as the energy from the spell faded. Even as an unfamiliar man came and took him away. Even as conversations about the future he did not want started and ended. Even as he was left, on a cold doorstep, vulnerable in the dark, dark night.
He didn't stop crying long until morning, when his eyes were red and voice raw, but he didn't care. It was less than an hour after he stopped crying that the door opened, with a rather large woman standing there with shock as soon as she caught sight of him.
He was quickly brought inside and placed gently on the table as the woman opened a letter that he had noticed was with him after he stopped crying. The woman's expression changed from shock, to anger, to fury.
She snatched him roughly from the table and stormed up the stairs to where her husband was sleeping in the master bedroom. She quickly woke him up and they quickly exchanged words that Harry couldn't catch. Now the man was also in a rage.
His uncle's harsh fat hand came down on his soft smooth toddler skin. At 1 year 3 months and 1 day old, Harry James Potter was hit for the first time.
But it certainly wasn't the last.
-Timeskip: 1 year-
I sat quietly in the cupboard. I knew that I was not to make a sound or I would be punished. I did not complain. I did not resist. I did not deserve anything because I was nothing. But sometimes, I still felt that bad urge, that sinful temptation, to accomplish something greater than what life demands me to do.
My stomach wanted to growl but I wouldn't let it. Sometimes, if I am quiet enough, the Dursleys would just forget about me for a while. I was very lucky that Halloween was yesterday because it meant that the Dursleys would be too busy with costumes and candy to bother. I hadn't been bothered for about a week now.
Although I knew that they would come again soon. I think 11 days was the longest time they left me alone for, but that had only happened once. Any longer and I may have died, but I was sincerely touched that they thought my life was worth saving.
Thirst was what almost took my life. Starvation didn't help either though. Although it certainly wasn't because I had any food or drink during those 11 days that made me survive. It was my freakishness.
Whenever I did anything freaky the Dursleys were always especially fervent in their beatings. The ones when I emerged from the long days of wait and starvation, hungry but alive were fairly bad. The times when I did the stranger kind of freakishness were the worst beatings.
Like one time when they bought new toys for Dudley. I had thought the ball that lit up when you bounced it was fantastic, and that I really wanted one. I felt some of my freakishness come out and there was a brand new ball sitting in my hand.
The Dursleys skinned me for that. Literally.
I had very few memories from before the Dursleys. Memories of a time with no beatings, and soft voices like a lullaby caring for me. Faint wispy tendrils that could be mistaken as an imagination of what it would like to be human.
Because I wasn't human. I was a freak, and freaks are very distinct and separate creatures from humans, as I had learned very early on. I had learned a lot of things from the Dursleys about freaks and freakishness.
Freaks deserve beatings.
Freaks do not get to participate in human activities.
Freaks do not eat human food.
Freaks do not have an opinion.
Freaks are never better than humans.
Freaks are a pest, and are not tolerated.
But the most important thing that I learned from the Dursleys, is that freaks must always obey humans.
I was probably a freak of a freak then, because I am a freak that wishes it was a human.
-Timeskip: 10 months-
It was the first day of school, and it was one of those rare occasions in which I was let out of the cupboard for something other than my regular beatings and feedings. Instead I was just strapped face up on the coffee table in front of the television while the Dursleys were busy getting their 'ickle Dudleykins' off to his first day of kindergarten.
It was very confusing and disorienting to be in the open space without being pummeled into the floor. And I blame the unusual situation for the scandalous thing that I asked Mr. Dursley that morning as he passed my location on top of the coffee table.
"Mr. Dursley, may I please go to school?", I had asked. Instantly, I knew that I had broken many many rules.
Mr. Dursley's visage darkened into a deep and powerful rage, and he had said, in a cooly furious tone that I didn't know he was capable of using, "Petunia, start walking Dudley to school now."
Oh no. Oh no. The Dursleys only send Dudley away when the punishments they were about to inflict on me were especially cruel. Like skinning. Or burning. Or deboning. There were so many different punishments they could inflict on me that would be fatal to humans or animals, but I could still survive because I'm a freak. They still hurt terribly though.
I knew I was condemned as soon as I heard the door swing shut. Mr. Dursley was on me like a starving lion.
"Now, Freak. Remember your place in this world. Freaks do not get to go to school. Freaks do not talk to normal people, and they especially don't ask things from normal people. Freaks are not worth the time and attention of a human, unless if it is to order something or punish them Do you understand?" Mr. Dursley growled as he advanced closer and closer to where I was still strapped to the table, "Now you will take your punishment, and you will do it without a single sound."
He began to tear off the scraps of clothes that I had on, which wasn't too unusual as he seemed to prefer inflicting the punishments on my bare skin whenever he could. What was new and strange was that Mr. Dursley began to remove his clothes as well. That was what had me panicked.
"Remember," Mr. Dursley threatened with his voice as he pumped his fat cock with his hand, "You do not resist. You do not make a sound."
Without anymore hesitation, Mr. Dursley had pulled me and the restraints down the table so that my legs dangled off the edge, and plunged his penis into my small unprepared anus.
It hurt more than any of my other punishments had. Most of my skin was rough and harder to injure than a human's, but my body was slightly more sensitive from dormant biological reactions that would have had significantly more impact after puberty.
It felt like my entire body was being split into pieces.
I was 3 years and 1 month old when I lost my virginity. Not in a pleasant way, but what kind of way was I supposed to expect for a freak.
-Timeskip: 2 years-
My situation had only slightly improved from that day 2 years ago. I was getting let out of the cupboard more often to do chores like cleaning or cooking. A few times, I even got to go outside to tend to the garden. But the beatings had also increased in frequency and severity, coming more than once everyday.
This year, school started on September 4th instead of September 1st, so the Dursleys had decided to go on holiday for the last week before school started. They left for Cuba 5 days ago.
Obviously, they left me in the cupboard for the duration of the trip. It was a welcome reprieve from the steadily harsher beatings and punishments. Yet it also left me time to think.
Wouldn't it be nice if my life could just end? I mulled the thought over in my mind. Yes, that would be better for everyone, wouldn't it? The Dursleys wouldn't have to tolerate my freakishness anymore. I also wouldn't have to go through any more of those torturous sessions with Mr. Dursley violating my insides.
The thought was certainly tempting, but I was only a freak. I do not get to decide what to do with my life even if it was to end it.
Yet over the days that the Dursleys were gone he noticed something very odd about himself. With the absence of his daily punishments, he felt something almost like an itch on his skin. Some part of me that was yearning for the pain to return.
As the time past within the cupboard, the urge to cause some sort of pain to myself increased until it was nearly unbearable.
I looked frantically around the cupboard, for something anything that I could use to get rid of this constant and desperate need for pain, and a long nail sticking out of the stairs above my head caught my eye.
I practically tore it from the wood it was lodged in and was pleased to notice that it was very sharp- but I didn't dwell on it. The last thought I had before succumbing to the desire to sink the metal deep underneath my flesh was, The Dursleys always seem happier after beating me, a freak. Maybe, just maybe, if I hurt me, the freak, too then I might be able to feel happy.
And so at 5 years and 1 month old, I cut myself for the first time, along with many times after that. It didn't make me very happy, but at least it made me feel better than I did before.
-Timeskip: 4 years 11 months-
Today I turned 10 years old. It didn't seem like an important day, as all my other birthdays had passed with little notice aside from some slightly harsher beatings. My assumption was wrong though, as early in the morning, before the sun had even rose, Mrs. Dursley dragged me out of the cupboard and threw me out the front door.
"There, we took care of you, you dirty freak, until you could take care of yourself. Now scat, and never bother our family again."
I responded to the order as quickly as I could, stumbling and sprinting away from the house. I realized that once the sun rose, there would be humans wandering about, and humans don't tolerate freaks. I wish I could just get somewhere where there were no humans around.
Just like that, my surrounding blurred and I suddenly found myself in the middle of an overgrown forest. I spent the next hour punishing myself for my act of freakishness before I decided to go further into the forest.
Now, I realised, my life no longer belonged the Dursleys. My eyes began to water even though I thought that my last tears had been cried in a time beyond the reaches of my memory. I finally had the freedom to bring an end to my life.
I worked swiftly, looking for a way to kill myself and the nearest option happened to be a tree, which I gleefully slammed my head into full force while everything went black.
To my raging anger, I woke only a few minutes later, and went with a different option. I bit down hard on the veins in my wrist until they were pierced and crushed by my teeth. Watching my blood rush out of my body, my anger returned when the wound sealed itself closed leaving me stranded in the land of the living.
Over the next few days I tried ending my life over and over again. Drowning, impact, suffocation, blunt trauma, cutting, I even discovered I could talk to snakes and managed to convince several venomous ones to inject as much poison as possible into my bloodstream.
None of them worked. My freakishness kept getting in the way. I let out a silent sob, alone in the middle of these unknown woods. Unable to die, but unable to live either. Stuck in some sort of perverted limbo in the land of the living.
Why couldn't fate just let me die?
-Timeskip: 1 year-
A man was walking in the woods, I noticed. In the one year that I had been surviving in this forest, he was the first person that I had seen here. I wonder whether I should avoid him or service him, as either could fall within the expectations of a freak like me. I decide that I will not search him out, but I will also not run or hide if he comes to me.
Over the past year I have done nothing to ensure my survival. I have not drank, eaten, and avoided sleeping as much as possible. It did nothing though, it would not kill me, or weaken my freakishness enough that I could finish myself off. I still did try to kill myself in different ways though, and it satisfied my need for pain and punishment.
But wait, there was a perfectly good human over there that would be able to unleash punishment on me without me needing to inflict it on myself. I did have to admit that there was something more appealing from receiving pain from others than inflicting it on myself.
Or, a thought struck him, maybe my freakishness only prevents me from killing myself, maybe this human would have enough mercy for a freak like me to grant me death. It's worth a try, I thought, The worst that could happen is him beating me for my insolence- which actually is a good thing as it spares me the effort.
I approached the stranger without heed or caution, perhaps if I was lucky, he would've killed me on reflex for appearing out of nowhere. I was only slightly disappointed when he did not, but continued with my original plan.
"Excuse me sir," I said with a rough scratchy voice from a year of misuse as I stopped in front of him, "Would you please kill me, sir?"
"What?" The man asked, with a tone of hidden shock in his voice.
"I said, would you please end my wretched and miserable life." I repeated to him. In my impatience to die, I walked up to him, almost touching, and exposed my bare neck for him. It was an invitation to tear out the vital blood and air passageways inside of it.
"Who are you and why do you want to die?" The stranger demanded from me.
"I am Freak," I responded, "I want to die so I can escape life. I want to purge my freakishness from this world."
The man paused for a moment, and I thought in glee that he was going to hurry up and kill me, but was again disappointed when he didn't. Instead he just asked very slowly as if he was scared I would run away, "What is this 'freakishness' that you are talking about?"
I decided to just demonstrate it for him, because maybe then he would hurry up and kill me. I pulled on the freakishness inside of me and created a knife out of thin air. "That freakishness," I said while handing the knife to him hilt first. On slight consideration, I squeezed the part of the blade I was holding so that the metal sunk halfway into my flesh. Ah, pain certainly made him a little less impatient to die.
"Child, that is not freakishness, it is magic," He snatched the knife from my fingers, "And watch yourself around knives or you'll hurt yourself like you just did."
I almost laughed at that, "I am not a child, I am a freak, and I squeezed the knife because I was trying to hurt myself. What part of 'I want to die' do you not understand?"
"Why don't you just kill yourself then?" The man had asked.
"Because whenever I try, my freakishness gets in the way. It's certainly not from lack of trying. For instance, I haven't drank or eaten since around 8 months ago." I retorted spitefully.
The man paused for a second time, this time for a longer duration, as if he were pondering something. He then said, "Child, I can kill you if you wish, but you must do something for me first"
"Anything," I said instantly.
"See, I am a powerful dark wizard that was… set back because of a prophecy if you will, so I am currently possessing the body of a human. What I want is for you to give me your 'freakishness' as you call it, but I call it magic." The man explained.
I practically shoved my freakishness at him full force, "Take it. Kill me." I was desperate at this point. Vocabulary and complex language drowned out by the need to just die die die.
Then I felt something from the man. Something that moved inside of him. Something that felt much like his own freakishness, but different. Oh how it was different. It was like feeling the darkness of the night wash over my soul and tell it to go to sleep under the darkness of the new moon.
I almost moaned when that spectacular power touched my own freakishness. It was like the softest most reverent of caresses. There was something almost familiar about it. Something that completely escaped his memory but lingered somewhere in his subconscious. It reminded him of the unforgettable, beautiful song of death.
"Please," I murmured, as anything louder would be a crime against the radiating beauty and power from this energy, "Kill me."
"In another life you could have become a great follower to my cause," The man mused aloud, eyes seemingly glazed over as if he also felt the magical beauty of this energy. Or maybe, I thought daringly, He thinks that my freakishness- no he called it magic- is something beautiful.
"Or maybe something else," The man almost looked trance-like as he leaned in and put his lips on mine. It was only a soft, ever soft touch of the mouth and yet it seemed to trigger some sort of mesmerising effect on me. I almost didn't notice when the man continued, "What a shame."
He began to pull on my frea- no it was magic- and I could feel it as it moved out of my body, rushing like a waterfall out of my body and into his. I could also feel, to my joy and wonder, the life leaving me. My body and magic finally stopping in its struggle to anchor me to the living world.
"My name is Lord Voldemort, and I will relieve you of your burden." The newly named man said calmly as I could see the effects of the magic rushing into him. His body changed into something younger, more aristocratic looking, with pale skin and dark hair and wonderful glowing red eyes.
"My name is Freak, and I am eternally thankful to you for allowing me to die," And then I could speak no longer as my body and soul could finally rest in peace. Those were my final words, and Voldemort remained for moments after them thinking of what could drive a child to this obsession of death.
Only minutes after the death of the child who was a freak, the child who wanted to die, an owl came. It landed right on top of the corpse and dropped the letter there, where it would never be read by the owner.
Out of curiosity, Voldemort picked up and opened the letter to see who had sent the suicidal boy a letter. The first line of the letter read:
Dear Harry Potter,
You have been formally accepted to Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.