Vernon woke with a start, breathing heavily. He sighed in relief when he realized it had all been a dream, and that none of it had happened. He relaxed in his bed, laying spread-eagle. He tried to reach over and scratch his nose, but the handcuffs around his wrists held him in place. Giving up and resigning himself to the fact that this itch couldn't be scratched at the moment, he closed his eyes and tried to drift off to the land of dreams.

'Handcuffs?'

His eyes shooting open, Vernon only just realized the position he was in. He was chained to his bed, each limb handcuffed to a post. Struggling, Vernon realized he couldn't move at all. Lifting his head, he looked around and found himself in his own room with his bed standing all alone in the middle.

"Oh you're finally up? I was wondering how long it would take you to come to." It was that voice, that sickeningly high pitched, demonic voice. "You know I found it odd that you and that woman would have handcuffs in your room, but now that I think about it, I guess it makes sense. This isn't the first time you've woken like this is it? Now I personally don't care what kind of disgusting things you pigs do but hey! If it works, it works, yes?"

Vernon looked over to the source of the voice, seeing a figure outlined against the moon light coming in from the window.

The figure hopped off the window sill and slowly walked over to the bed, brandishing an ever so recognizable knife that glinted when the moonlight hit it just right. Vernon stared, panicking and scared, as the figure took slow deliberate steps closer and closer to the edge of the bed where he lay.

"Now, you see, I don't hold a grudge against you for what you did to me, since after all, you were the one who created me. No, it's nothing so complicated Uncle. It's just that I like hearing people scream." Finally reaching the bedside, the figures face was made recognizable. Scraggly green hair, pale white skin, ruby red lips, and a smile so wide it looked as if it covered at least half his face.

"Now allow me to introduce myself," with a flourish, the thing spread his arms out "I am… the Prankster!" Silence filled the room as the thing stood there with a queer look on its face. "No wait, that doesn't sounds right… the Jester? No no no, that sounds friendly, how about…The Joker! Heh. Has as a ring to it, right? I am… The Joker!" Nodding his head in satisfaction, he looked down at Vernon once more, noticing his hysteric look.

The Joker adopted a look of confusion on his face when he saw where Vernon's gaze was directed. "What? What?! WHAT?! What is it?! Why are you looking at me like that?! Is there something on my face?! WHAT IS IT?! TELL ME!" Reaching up and patting his face, the Joker's expression changed to an understanding one.

"Oh is that what it is? Are these things bothering you? Excuse me, I just had to put them on today before I left. Don't they look just perfect?" Smiling his deformed smile, the thing leaned closer "I couldn't help wearing them you see, they were a gift from my…dear…uncle…" Trailing off, the Joker studied Vernon for a bit before he broke out into a psychotic grin.

"Wait a minute! That was you!" the Joker gushed "I love them ever so much! Oh, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!" If possible, he smiled even wider "Don't you love them? They're exquisite!"

Noticing Vernon's horrified expression he frowned. "You don't like them? Why not? I spent so much time on them." Suddenly, the Joker's face lit up with glee "Oh! Oh oh oh! I know why you don't like them. I know! I KNOW! You're JEALOUS!" Nodding his head in understanding, the Joker raised his knife. "Well that's not fair at all! Everyone should smile, right? I mean, it's no good if everyone is serious all the time, right? Why so serious?"

Realizing what was about to happen Vernon became hysterical, trying his hardest to break free of the handcuffs and avoid the fate that was to befall him. Thrashing wildly, trying to get away with all his might, Vernon yelled and screamed, calling for Petunia or Dudley, even the police! "You're insane! You won't get away with this! They will come looking for me, the police will investigate, and you will be caught!"

"Insane? Insane?" The Joker howled with laughter, leaning in close enough that Vernon could see his flushed and sweaty face reflected in the madman's eyes. "Do I look insane to you?"

"If I'm insane, Vernon, what does that make you?" He abruptly stopped laughing. "All it takes is one bad day to reduce the sanest man alive to lunacy, and you, Vernon Dursely, are far from the sanest man alive."

He leaned away, deranged grin back on his face, "And who knows what will happen Vernon? Certainly not you!"

Shadows –and blood, lots of blood- were thrown against the wall as Vernon's screams echoed all around the house.

Harry woke to the sound of the front door breaking down, his ears ringing and his eyes blurry. His back was against the solid surface of the kitchen table. He tried to move, only for pain to shoot through his entire body. The pain of having fire in your veins, the pain of your body burning from the inside out.

Harry screamed.

Reaching for the source of the pain, Harry pulled the blur that was his hand away from his abdomen, bloodied. Eyes still blurry, Harry noticed several shapes rushing towards him, yelling. He couldn't make out any words, their voices distant and quiet. Feeling the cold grip of unconsciousness tightening around him, Harry closed his eyes.

Harry's eyes opened very slightly, only able to see a small, convex shaped sliver of the world. He saw flashing lights, and the night sky passing by above him. He heard screaming, yelling, and shouting as the surface he was on shook while rolling on the cement of the driveway.

He blinked.

Now he saw, from the same sliver, a white roof with two shadows looming over him, both frantic but determined as they talked about punctured abdomens and blood loss while sirens blared in the background. The ground seemed to be shaking underneath him.

'Who was hurt?'

He blinked.

He didn't know where he was right now, but there was a light as bright as the sun shining in his face. Several men wearing surgical masks stood over him, offering some relief from the harsh light.

"Doctor, he's up." Harry heard a feminine voice say.

"Put him under, we need to operate immediately." He heard another voice say, "God damn which ever sick bastard would do this to a bloody child."

'I hope whoever's hurt gets better soon.'

Harry saw something being lowered to his face, and he knew no more.

Harry woke to a constant beeping. It was a steady pace, about once per second. He quickly found that he was not in his cupboard. He was then hit by the strong smell of disinfectant, something that seemed foreign and new, something Harry had only smelt in the nurse's office at school. He tried opening his eyes, to get a better sense of where he was, but his eye-lids were heavy, as if they were made of pure lead. Harry could not open his eyes an inch. Harry could, however, hear another noise. A person.

"Homicide and attempted murder…Stabbed in the abdomen… Heavy blood loss…. Miracle…. No organs hit…. Months of rehabilitation…."

'Are they talking about the same person as before? That sounds awful…'

When Harry awoke this time, he resurfaced to the same steady beeping, but this time he could open his eyes. The first thing he noticed was that the room was blurry. In fact, everything was blurry. 'That's right,' He thought 'I don't have my glasses on'

He tried to sit up, but the slightest motion resulted in pain. His gut was burning. There was a fire that felt like it started on his skin and ran deep into his core. A searing pain that forced a cry out from Harry, which caused even more pain. The beeping intensified, quickly picking up in pace as footsteps came rushing down the hallway. The last thing he heard was the doors slamming open, and then nothing but pain and darkness.

Back at Privet drive any sense of normalcy had vanished, replaced by the blue and red and yellow of a crime scene. Number 4 was blocked off with police tape, and several cruisers had pulled up on the street.

A detective slammed the door of his car shut and made his way to the barricade at the driveway. Ducking under the police tape, he looked around and caught the eye of the uniformed officer who was in charge. He made his way over and nodded his greeting, flipping open a notepad he took out of his jacket pocket.

"Alright, let me hear it."

"Number 4 Privet drive. Home to Vernon and Petunia Dursley, and their son Dudley. Also home to Petunia's nephew, one Harry Potter."

"Dursley himself was found murdered brutally upstairs, and the kid was found on the table alive, but with a knife in his gut. Seems like our perp has a fucked up calling card. You'll see when we go in. Backdoor was left open, but there's no trace of anyone leaving. Wife and kid are gone to a family member's house for the night. Their alibis hold up."

"Call was made around midnight by the nephew it seems like. The kid must've been terrified. Well shit hit the fan and it seems like he was found by the perp. What happened was not pretty. Me and Jackson showed up to a right mess. No signs of forced entry, hell the house looked damn normal enough from the outside. The inside though…. Well, maybe it would be better if you saw for yourself."

Motioning for the officer to lead the way, they went inside and were immediately hit by the familiar stench of blood. They made their way into the kitchen, where the table seemed to be painted in it.

"This is where we found the kid, bleeding out but still breathing. Face carved up like a pumpkin, but it seemed like someone tried to stitch it back together. With sewing equipment." The detective took a quick look around and nodded, briefly jotting a few notes on his pad.

Following along, they made their way up the stairs where the smell of blood became even stronger. "Just a heads up, this is the worst body I've ever seen, and I've been serving fifteen years." With that, he opened the door to hell. The room was painted with blood. The walls, the floor, the bed, the table. Everything that was in splash range from the bed had the crimson liquid on it. The detective held back a gag as he looked at the corpse of the late Vernon Dursley, appendages handcuffed or tied up to the four posts of the bed.

"Ridiculous amount of stab wounds in the neck, chest, genitals, legs, feet, arms, and hands. If I had a pound for every cut, I'd be a rich man. The only place that didn't get stabbed to fuck is the face, but that's another situation on its own." And indeed it was. The man's head was leaning back, eyes closed. His mouth was wide open, and not of its own accord. From the sides of his mouth all the way to his ears, someone had cut his face wide open. Blood pooled in the dead man's mouth and dribbled down, soaking the bed.

"Weapon?"

"Seems like it was the same knife that was left in the kid. We're having forensics run it through for prints as we speak."

"Anything from the neighbors?"

"None of them heard a thing. Hell, they were sure we had the wrong address when we were questioning them. Door duty was useless as usual, but protocol is protocol." The officer held up his hands in a 'what can you do' fashion.

"Maybe not as useless as you think. That man couldn't have died silently. How is it that no one heard a single thing?" The detective scribbled a few more notes before snapping shut his note pad and nodding decisively. "You also said no signs of a forced entry, and no trace of an escape. There's definitely something going on here."

From one of his several pockets he fished out a pair of blue latex gloves and slipped them on. "It's gonna be a long night."

The next time Harry awoke, he was very careful to move as little as possible. He still couldn't see a thing. Trying to reach for the bedside table for his glasses, Harry stopped moving when an uncomfortable tugging came from his arm. Looking down he realized there was a tube attached to his arm. The tube was attached to some sort of sac that was hanging from a pole next to his bed and was filled with a clear liquid. 'That's Odd' Harry thought. He attempted to sit up and examine his hospital room – 'Hospital? What am I doing in here?' - when a lance of pain shot through his abdomen. Screaming quietly, he lay back down and tried to focus on where he was and why.

Then, it all came rushing back to him. Cutting Vernon's finger, Vernon going ballistic, and the incisions that were made on his face afterwards. His hands shot up to his face, feeling the bandages that wrapped around his cheeks. 'Did he also stab me in the gut afterwards?' All the snippets of conversation he remembered coming back to him, he was grateful to be alive and that Vernon had missed all of his organs. Craning his neck, he saw that he was in a white room, with a window that had its shades pulled. Before he could investigate further, the doors opened and a doctor walked in, a blonde man with a gentle face who seemed to define the word tired. Nevertheless, he looked at Harry with a wide smile on his face when he made eye contact.

"Good morning young man." He said "Or should I say good afternoon?" As he said this the doctor pulled open the drapes, lighting the room up with the autumn sunlight. It did in fact seem to be mid-day as the sun was nowhere he could see. The view of London was beautiful, with Big Ben visible in the background of many buildings. Looking away from the window, he realized that the doctor had been looking at him with a worried look in his eyes. The doctor quickly schooled his features into a gentle smile and offered Harry a cup of water. As Harry drank, the doctor spoke "As you can probably tell, you're in the London Hospital. My name is Dr. Quinzel, and I was in charge of your operation after you had that….incident." The doctor, Quinzel once again had a look of sadness and worry in his eyes, and Harry finally recognized it as pity, but it only lasted a brief moment. "Now, how are you feeling Harry?" Quinzel looked at him, smiling a gentle smile.

After thoroughly draining the cup of water he had been given, Harry tried to open his mouth to speak, but couldn't. His throat was raw and he couldn't move his mouth without hurting. Once again, the man looked at him with pity and Harry decided right then and there that he hated that look. A stranger feeling bad for him, feeling sorry for the misfortunes Harry had been a victim of. How dare anyone even feel pity for him when they didn't know half of his misery?!

Harry calmed himself down when he noticed Dr. Quinzel giving him a strange look, his irrational anger having subsided. It really wasn't like him at all to snap at others for caring.

He was jarred from his thoughts when the doctor spoke again, "Now Harry, how old are you?"

Confused as to why it mattered, Harry held up six fingers, followed by a dazed blink as tiredness set in.

The doctor frowned and was about to say something when he noticed Harry's expression. "I see you're feeling tired again. Just remember Harry, if you have any questions, don't be afraid to ask me anything." With a gentle smile and another flash of that wretched pity, Quinzel exited the room.

Feeling the clutches of sleep gripping him, Harry relaxed into his pillow and drifted off into sleep, where he had odd dreams of clowns doing magic tricks to a faceless audience.

AN: It's crazy to think I wrote this almost a decade ago. I'm only posting this for a couple friends who discovered this... if you know you know. I probably will not be updating again, but I hope the doctor is familiar