Summary: Harry stumbles upon a book titled, "The Rotten World" and his life is forever changed. And not necessarily for the better (as far as everyone else is concerned, at least)~

PROLOGUE

As with many things in Harry Potter's life, it was by chance that he stumbled upon the book that would change his life. He had been dodging Dudley and his group of bullies while they played Harry Hunting in the half hour between the end of school and when they were all picked up and ended up in the nearby joint school-public library, of all places. It wasn't that Harry disliked the library, per se…simply that the head librarian was a good friend of Aunt Petunia's and as a result thought Harry was a good-for-nothing rascal who was out to ruin everything good in their neighborhood.

With this in mind, Harry made sure to stay out of sight of the counter as best he could, scurrying to one of the darker sections as a result. He panted for breath, listening hard for sounds of Dudley or the others following him, and only breathed in relief when he was sure none of them had.

Carefully young Harry looked around him and was surprised to find he had ended up in the part of the library between the children's section and the teen's. He hadn't come here often, mostly because the books were harder than he at 7 was supposed to be able to read. "Supposed to" being the key words. Harry had always been good at reading, although he didn't dare share this with his Aunt or Uncle or his teachers for fear of what would happen. After all, Dudley couldn't read well, and Dudley wasn't a freak at all, so if Harry liked and was good at something Dudley wasn't, it just proved to the others he was more of a freak…right?

Shaking his head, Harry took a moment to look over the books before him. Most were what he expected—the series Animorphs, which he only knew about because Dudley had seen the TV show a few times; some books about dragons that would have given Uncle Vernon a heart attack if he saw them; a few easy-level romances. Yet one book in particular caught Harry's eye among the otherwise colorful titles.

Faded brown, thin, with a single line of silver down the middle, the book's spine was entirely unremarkable. Harry hesitated a moment before he pulled out the aging book and stared at its cover, which was also plain except a star in a circle in the middle in the same silver and dark red, looping writing over it. It took a few moments before Harry was able to read the apparent title, squinting, as, "The Rotten World".

A nearby car horn honked and, startled, Harry glanced at the clock in the child's area only to quickly pale in horror. He was late! Aunt Petunia was going to kill him if he didn't hurry!

It wasn't until later that night inside of his cupboard under the stairs, nursing the welt on his cheek from where Aunt Petunia had slapped him, that he realized that the book had somehow ended up in his ratty old book bag. He was at a loss as to what to do, but eventually decided with a thrill that came whenever he did something against his Aunt and Uncle's wishes that he would keep and read it. Without further pause the young boy opened it to the first page.

Deep in the Rotten World, five beings felt a call and began to laugh in excitement for their next inevitable summoning…

-CHAPTER ONE-

Three years later, Harry was beyond bored. Sitting in his admittedly spacious room, surrounded by second-hand but beautiful furniture, toys, books, and whatever else he had managed to get over the years, he wondered what to do when life had turned out so great. Good food, almost no chores, no stupid aunt or uncle trying to "teach him manners" or complaining about his lack of normality, no more Harry Hunting…life was pretty fuckin' great, he had to say.

One of the main reasons for that was gently tugged into being by his mellow mood and distant desire for entertainment.

"What is uuuup, dearest Larkspur-Child?" the young woman who appeared asked in a detached, drawling, but melodic and fond voice*. Yet many would be hard-pressed to call the woman that, for you see, she was far from normal. Her skin was a pale, sickly green color, the sort that would be seen more comfortably in dying grass than a living being; her face, while beautifully rounded and open, was tinged purple and blue, giving a molted look to it; her long, black hair was stringy and grimy with God-knew-what. Her eyes were sunken and filmy white and under that two different colors, the left a golden yellow and the right icy blue, the latter drifting a bit to the side as if she had a lazy eye.

Most shocking at first glance, however, were the horrid stitches and open wounds that covered her. She appeared to have had her skin flayed open multiple times and in multiple directions—across her forehead, around her neck, across her shoulders and chest, down through her middle to her split waist, around her wrists, stretching her mouth in a horrid Gangslow grin…and those were only the visible ones. Thick white stitches were barely holding these splits together enough for her to function, yet they were loose enough that bits of muscle and bone were easily visible in the gaps that were left.

Yet Harry was more than used to the woman's otherwise horrifying appearance and simply gave a small smile. "Nothing much, Mariska," said he in a much more gentle voice than many others ever would have heard. "Just contemplating life."

"Deep," Mariska responded without pause, smirking knowingly at Harry. "Got anything good?"

"Not yet, other than it's getting really boring."

The strange woman chuckled, and it was as drawling yet harmonious as her speaking voice. "I know that feeling, Larkspur-Child. Want me to…shake it up a bit?"

The smirk twisting Mariska's lips would have made most grown men wet themselves but Harry simply smiled back. "Not right now. Maybe later. The Dursleys are still a bit overwhelmed by Zed's last visit…we don't want to kill them with yours so soon after." He paused before his smile turned into a dangerous smirk. "…yet."

Mariska chuckled again and nodded. "Right, right. So then, what do you want to do?"

Harry hummed lightly, rocking from side to side from his sitting position on the bed across from where Mariska was standing. "Well, today is Dudley's birthday…and he has been rather good for this past month…" he mused aloud. "Mind helping me give him a gift?"

"What sort of gift?" asked Mariska, eyes glinting and lips curling into a smirk.

Twenty minutes later, Dudley had the distinct look about him of one who was high, giggling at random times and mumbling nonsense to whatever he was seeing. Petunia and Vernon were sitting in the corner of the room, horrified, staring at the smirking Harry and meditating Mariska with deep-seated fear.

"He'll be fine," Harry repeated for the third time, more amused than exasperated. "It's a tame one, all about making him mellow and happy…"

"So he may rot along with the rest of us," Mariska breathed, eyes alight with passion as she strummed her sitar and hovered in a cross-legged position between the two young boys. Petunia stifled a sob. "You could join him, if you want…step outside the boundaries of your mind, slip into the collective unconsciousness…a world of everlasting peace. And rot. And Hell…"

Vernon was getting steadily more red in the face and Petunia burst into tears at Mariska's heartfelt words, yet Harry simply watched, smirking and twirling his fork. His eyes were alight with glee and mischief as he, too, drifted through the meditative state the soft humming and sitar-playing brought about him. But Harry had enough presence not to drift too far.

One day, he knew, he would join Mariska in her rotting realm beyond the doors of perception. Until then though he simply contented himself with terrifying his so-called blood family and just taking the time to breathe…

-Scene Break-

Excepting an interesting trip to the zoo, Harry was once more left full of boredom for the month following Dudley's birthday. Until the morning he received a strange letter, that is.

He hadn't thought anything of the mail that morning, at first. Dudley (who now seemed even more out of it than before on a permanent basis, although instead of it being because of his stupidity it was because of his "mellow" moodset) had gone to get it without complaint, stupid grin in place, and when he came back moved to hand one of the envelopes to Harry. Harry had assumed it was a mistake but took it anyway.

His eyebrow rose upon reading the address:

Mr. H. Potter

Littlest Bedroom

Number 4, Privet Drive

Little Whingington, Surrey

"That's…disturbing," he mused aloud. Vernon glared and opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Petunia's loud gasp of horror.

"V-Vernon, it's…it's from…them!" she announced with so much fear that for a moment Harry wondered if he had accidentally summoned someone. But it was clear after a moment that Petunia was staring in horror at the letter rather than anything else in the room.

"Who's 'them'?"

Petunia shrieked a bit in surprise and ducked away while Vernon turned redder in the face than normal. "Get the fuck out of my house, you little freak!" shouted he, standing and glaring at Harry. "I've had it up to HERE" (he gestured vaguely towards his head…or maybe his neck…they were so close together it was hard to tell which) "with your FREAKISHNESS! Now that they've gotten to you, you—you can find one of them to live with!"

Harry watched Vernon's minor freakout with a deadpan expression, waiting patiently for the end of the rant. Then, ever-so-calmly, he said, "Vernon. Clearly you want a repeat of the last visit you had with my…friends." When the large walrus-like man was sufficiently pale, Harry continued to speak, still with that same blank tone. "As for my leaving, you can rest assured that I want to be here as little as you want me to be here, which is not at all. If I had my way, I would have left a long time ago.

"Now that we have that settled," continued Harry, turning his gaze to Petunia, "tell me what you mean by 'them' and why it's set off Vernon's already short temper."

So Petunia told him, everything. Of the world alongside their own filled with "freaks"—magicals—that hid from the non-magicals—"muggles"—to protect their society; of his mother, showing early signs of her "freakishness" and making friends with another one of her kind that Petunia simply called "him"; of turning teacups into toads and spells that could control the mind and kill much too easily. Then Petunia told him the truth of his parents, how at first they hated each other but eventually turned that hate into love; how they were targeted by a "dark lord" that wanted to kill any non-magicals along with those born to them, magic-filled or not; how they went into hiding and spent well over a year successfully as such until one day the so-called Dark Lord found them and killed them.

Petunia paused here and stood, walking upstairs, leaving dead silence in her wake. She returned with a worn letter that she handed to Harry, lips pursed, face white, shaking.

"This is the letter we found you with," she simply said. Without further explanation she gathered her husband and son and brought them upstairs, but Harry didn't care; he had all the information he needed. And while he was furious as to what he learned had been kept from him he was also intrigued and, so, opened the letter:

Dear Petunia,

I am sorry to have to break this news to you, but your sister Lily has died this morning of Friday October 31st at precisely 2:53:07 AM at the hands of Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as the Dark Lord Voldemort. Both she and her husband James (whom I am sure you met) were killed by the unstoppable Killing Curse, which I'm sure your sister has told you about in the past. He attempted to do the same to young Harry, but when he did, it was stopped before backfiring spectacularly. Harry is the first to survive this curse in the known history of the Wizarding World. This feat is a cause for celebration, but at the same time it has resulted in many enemies for young Harry, who cannot effectively defend himself.

I have placed a spell upon Harry so that he and whoever he lives with—so long as they are blood related—will be protected from outside harm. Please note that without this protection, it is likely that both your family and whichever one Harry would end up with would die horribly at the hands of the remaining Death Eaters (Voldemort's followers). Keep this in mind as you raise Harry to be an upstanding member of society.

Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

-END-

*Larkspur, in the language of flowers, means "beautiful spirit". Mariska uses this as an affectionate nickname for Harry, whom she can tell has a calm and genuinely caring soul…despite the others' bad influences.

MKL's Post-Production Notes (9-24-13): Can I just say that Lollipop Chainsaw was my favorite mindless/humorous beat-'em-up game EVER up until Deadpool came around? And even then Deadpool only wins because I'm biased through my love of the comics? 'Cause it's true~ ^.^

SPOILERS: Obviously all the Dark Purveyors would have made appearances, although Mariska would have been there most often as the mother-figure he'd never had (NOT BECAUSE I LIKE HER BEST OR ANYTHING -shifty eyes-). His family would be the only ones who'd have any idea they existed. At some point an older Juliet-now in college-would have shown up, but that wouldn't have happened until after, like, third year at the earliest. Probably closer to summer after fourth year since her family would have heard about Voldemort's uprising, given their occupation and all. But other than that, I have no idea what would have happened. Probably lots of tormenting the Dursleys and the oblivious Hogwarts, who wouldn't be able to trace the Dark Purveyors to Harry due to...reasons...?