Quick authors note: I'll give yall the same rundown I gave ao3. This fic is cross-posted but they are entirely different versions. This is how I originally wanted the fic to go- it's going to be a free for all gorefest. I still love this version and am having a ball writing it. If you see a lot of spelling mistakes shhh no you didn't. I wanted to get this version posted today/tonight too but it's midnight and I still have another story to post so I recommend reading this chapter sometime mid-afternoon est. And I'll make it up by posting the third chapter here first 3 or yk, read on and ignore the spelling and poor grammar so you can see which version you like more- that's kinda fun, right?
Yeah I'm sorry. I'm open to all flames until I post the fully spell proofed and solid version. Then they aren't allowed anymore and you have to say sorry lol. mkay I'm done.
Dinner went about as well as Harry expected it to. There seemed to be a bit of a theme now that Harry had started attending Hogwarts. He could go near the entire summer right as rain- if you ignore the fact he was with abusive relatives, that is- but there was also that one day out of the weeks. One day where he could taste the tang of his magic in the air- where, for a few brief seconds, his relatives seemed scared rather than hateful. Where their shadows would hesitate behind them by the tiniest faction. It was almost a family tradition at this point. Whether the air was heavy with fear or the slight heady sense of power, it was a sensation they all experienced together. Where they were each caressed by the cold hand of magic.
This was one such night, without a doubt. The soup Harry prepared was almost overflowing with a deep, heavy cloud of magic- it rolled off in waves and settled by Harry's feet as he walked- licking at his ankles and calves as if it knew the nature of its creation and approved of its duties. Harry shivered as the weight of it settled within him. Whatever happened tonight, the mother of magic was with him, and he couldn't help the widening of his green if he tried.
The muggles, of course, noticed nothing. They could not sense the waves of magic, weren't bothered as it spilled around them and draped around their shoulders, nestled into their hair and settled into their eyes. If any of them noticed the edge to Harry's smile, it was overwhelmed y a sudden wave of intense hunger. Wave after wave of borderline painful hunger clouded their senses until all they could focus on was that gleaming bowl of deliciously prepared tomato soup. As if the meal itself were radiating a warm, golden light that beckoned them in with open arms.
"Aunt Petunia?"
The thin woman blinked as the cloud around her head dissipated long enough for her to hear the soft voice of her nephew. She started down at him with a frown, irritation at being interrupted just begging to burst forward in a torrent of her usual scorn- but for once, a sense of near pride and almost admiration held it back and fought valiantly, no matter how small. This meal was beyond anything she had ever consumed or even made herself, and it was all thanks to the wretched runt standing in front of her, with emerald eyes wide with concern. She settled for the middle ground.
"What, Potter?" She sniped, already straining to get back to her food.
"Did you want a soon with that?" It was a struggle to keep his face straight, desperate to contain his look of concern even as Aunt Petunias slackened in sudden realization. Her expression only soured as she looked around her immediate surroundings; every supposed refined man and child around her had her special chinaware porcelain bowls up to their face, entire heads buried and sparing no mind to mess or manners as they chugged down their meals with a ferocious intensity.
Petunia clutched her stomach with one hand as another went to cover her mouth. He displays in front of her- she hadn't ever seen something quite as disgusting as this before in her life. She knew instantly that this scene was nothing more than the product of that devilish magic but still- she had been with Lily for the first four years she actually came back home during the summer months- she had tormented her sister just to see her magic, yet even at her angriest Lily had never managed to do something like this.
There wasn't an inch of Vernon or Dudley's face that wasn't covered with soup, from their hair to their noses, even their eyes. And the sounds- god the fucking sounds. Like a barn full of pigs that had been slowly suffocated- Petunia leant over the side of her chair, opposite of where Harry was standing, and emptied the contents of her stomach onto the floor. Her thin frame shuddered and rocked as painful heaves wracked her stomach. The world spun on its axis around her as the sounds of Vernon and his quest choking on their food mixed with light sound of Harry's laughter- swirling together even the sound of her own thoughts was lost to her and-
She blacked out.
Harry stood at the head of the table, looking over at the mess with a disgusted twist in his face. To the immediate side of him, his aunt was slumped over in a puddle of her own waste, out cold. Ahead of him, the others were much the same- and between the two he couldn't tell which was more grotesque. His magic-oh, it was almost as bad as he was- as if it had a mind of its own. That little tick of ending Petunia's enchantment early was almost fucking glorious, and Harry bit his lip as he felt himself shudder, a lick of heat racing down his spine.
Well, the issue of his magic practically working on its own aside, he now had five bodies to deal with. Ah, what a fucking chore- it would've been bad enough dealing with the Dursley's alone, as he had originally planned- now he had two other fully grown men in business suits- no doubt important, active figures in whatever world they came from and sure to be a pain in the ass to deal with. Was magic enough to convince the muggle police to let him get away with murder of the highest degree?
Harry scoffed angrily, shaking his headband ignoring the strands of hair that fell in his eyes as he kicked at the legs of the wooden table. The sear of pain that immediately raced up his shin was instant, but he gritted his teeth through the pain. That was about the last thing on his mind as his thoughts swirled uselessly in his head. What the fuck was he thinking- what was he going to do- where could he hide- what could he say- what why whywhathhowwhy- Harry screamed, gripping fistfuls of his hair and pulling as he kicked at the table again. And again- and againaginaaun until he was suddenly on the ground, holding himself up with his arms as his leg trembled and throbbed with a familiar warmth that told him he was bleeding.
He giggled; his head blissfully clear of the swirling thoughts that had been driving him mad. He just needed to calm the fuck down- that's all. It would be fine- it would always be fine. His leg was already starting to heal, the blood was gone the thoughts the panic. Harry sat back on his legs and took a deep breath inward, then out slowly.
First things first- the Dursley's obviously weren't dead. They were muggles and the lowest, most pathetic of the sort at that- but they weren't dead yet. Ever foul body laying slumped in their own mess was breathing, no matter how thinly. The next best move was to get the scene set for the police. What did he need to make sure there was no suspicions on him? What did he have to use?
Harry's eyes darted around the dining room. When he was younger, before he even knew Hogwarts was a where he belonged- he remembered the rumors. Awful, nasty little fibs the Dursley would whisper in the ears of the neighbors, turning him into some sort of shadowy demonic beast that lurked in the corners and feasted on the innocence of all the normal, non-freakish kids. It caused him so much stress for so long, being shunned before he ever had a chance to prove himself- but, not to say there wasn't some sort of silver lining. Children often pick up the behavior they observe at home. Harry had a multitude of skills he had fine-tuned during his stay at Privet Dive and among them was one of his more lucrative ones: narrative framing. He could ax himself a solid alibi at the best of times, in minutes he needs be. And now he had just as much time as he so pleased.
Harry stood, ignoring the twinge of pain that raced up his leg and dusted himself off. It was a good job that his relatives stubbornly insisted on dressing him in stained and oversized hand me downs. Any additional stains that managed to find its way on the fabric would be easy to explain away. He would need to have a reason to not be involved with the deaths. The muck on his chest consisted of tiny fragments of tomato slices and enough dried soup stains for a story about being made to cook to be believable enough.
He also wouldn't be able to alert the cops himself. They would have to come naturally and discover the scene with a starving child in the cupboard for themselves. It would take two, maybe three days or a week if he was truly lucky. Until then, he would have to either lock himself up early or commit to starving himself until the cops came around.
It was an easy choice to make. It's not as if he could have much of an appetite with what was bound to happen next. He'd better acquire a gasmask, though.
It took 30 minutes for the first of the Dursleys to stir, and Harry summarized it would take around three hours for them to die- but he was only 12 at this point, it's not as if he had any solid way of figuring it out. The first to lift her head was Petunia, her neck and shoulders visibly tensing from the effort as she took in her surroundings blearily. The smell of her sick seemed to reach her at that exact moment if the widening of her eyes was any indication. She sat up in a hurry, any trace of hazy tiredness completely done for. Memory after memory found themselves drifting though Petunia's mind as she sat there horrified by every she had seen.
And if the rancid mess clinging to her cheeks weren't enough, her stomach was being racked with waves of gut-wrenching pain. It was pure agony like nothing she had ever felt before, and she knew it was her freak nephews doing, but she couldn't think clearly through the fire ripping through her abdomen. It was if she were being melted from the inside. The fire was inside her, traveling through her blood and licking at her throat, leaving her unable to do any but so and writhe in silent agony. All he senses knew nothing but heat, tearing at her limps, ripping at her very being with laws of liquid hate.
For all nearly all her life, Petunia held onto the belief that no matter who you were and where you came from, death was the ultimate peace. That death was the ultimate absolute, free of judgment and accepting all with open arms. She thought a concept as silly as sin was beyond death.
She was so, so very wrong. Death watched and death saw, death was patient and death scorned. Death raised fires as tall as the skies from the seas of hell, and death was a linger embrace before the dearly beloved parted from this void. Petunia learned that death for her was a howling, raging inferno, crashing in her ears and every system tell even the act of trying to look around burned through her. Until he only relief against the pain was her own tears. Death was fury and knew no mercy- and her last desperate thought was
"Death is Harry Potter."
Harry grew tired of watching the muggles silent torture after the first hour had passed. His magic, the devious thing that it was turning out to be, had added its own special little touch. An extra curse, lingering like a final kiss. The muggles were dying horribly- trapped in their own minds and endless manifestations of their own nightmares while they were melted from the inside out, unable to scream or cry for help.
Harry shuddered. It was rather gruesome, even for scum like them- and lord knows who the other two men were either. I's not exactly like they were his problem now, anymore. He didn't even need to go through the lengths he had originally planned- his cupboard would be much more beneficial until he could come out and see just how his venom worked with time. The knowledge that his relatives were truly suffering a way that was uniquely him, their last thoughts on a delicious last meal and wide green eyes was more than enough for him.
Harry grinned to himself and opened the door to his old bedroom under the stairs and crawled inside. It didn't take magic to do a simple locking charm, and since tonight he could literally feel his magic resting around his arms and neck like a heavy scarf. Something had changed, and he had no idea what. His aunt made a choked sound behind him and turned to meet bloodshot red eyes full on. He held the gaze even as a blood vessel in both his aunt's eyes fractured at the same time, and she gave a sharp painful lurch as if her spine were being controlled from afar.
He smiled, and let the door swing shut between them slowly, relishing in the look of panic that deepened in his aunts eyes as his frame his hidden firmly by the door, trapping her with the knowledge that she would die alone with her thoughts and most likely written off as an accident.
Meanwhile Harry found himself a pillow, crossed his arms behind his back, and shared a smile with weight of a single action changed the course of the future for many, many lives.