Scared, Potter?

A loud thump in the night woke young Harry Potter from his dreamy sleep. He rolled over and rubbed his eyes, ridding himself of his fading dream image of Professor Snape. On a Firebolt broomstick. In a purple bikini. To the theme of Mighty Mouse.

What the?!

Harry sat up, and clutched his stomach, feeling remarkably ill. He shook his head violently, which only sufficed to intensify his nausea. He leapt out of bed and raced to the bathroom, fading snatches of Snape singing, 'Here I come to save the day!' chasing him all the way there.

Kicking open the door, he stumbled to his knees and began to pray to the porcelain deity. Perhaps he should not have had so much to drink that evening with Ron and the twins behind the Dursley's residence. Fred's expertise in silencing charms was truly a godsend. Harry and the Weasley's were partying it up nearly every week in the garden shed behind the house, and the Dursley's were none the wiser. Harry dragged himself up to the sink and splashed cold water on his face.

He rose slowly, dramatically locking bright green eyes with the mirror. Oh, the perfect, flawless beauty of dark haired virgins. It was unmatched, even by shimmering new, top-of-the-line broomsticks and bright golden baby unicorns. No wonder certain religions held the belief that the killing of an infidel would entitle the wielder to a heaven of seventy-one dark haired virgins (or is it seventy-one crystal clear raisins...? But I digress...)

"Well, Mr. Potter," Harry said to his reflection, "What have you learned from this?"

He raised his voice several octaves. "Missa Snape, I'sa learned not to play with fire, I'sa has sir, I swear!" He giggled to himself, and began practicing his brooding skills.

"I am the wizarding world's - no, the entire world's savior! But I still have a heart. I am full of pain and sorrow and loneliness. Perhaps my fears could be quelled if only two...or possibly twelve lovely ladies would throw their panties at me and tell me everything will be all right!" He appeased himself with several exotic stripteases, and then left the bathroom in favor of raiding the kitchen. He hummed to himself as he padded down the stairs, his lingering drunkenness causing him to ignore the peril in which he placed himself. Uncle Vernon had been threatening to sit on him lately, and this presented quite a terrifying intimidation indeed.

Eh, let the dirty bugger try, thought Harry, I'll turn him into a cake. Then Dudley can eat him. He giggled yet again, and tried very hard not to trip over the last creaky step. Entering the kitchen, he didn't bother with the light and made straight for the refrigerator. He yanked it open and seized the first dish available to him - lime green Jell-O. He had shut the door and plunged a hand into the open container, when something snapped in his mind. He pulled a confused face, and opened the refrigerator again. This was a mistake, as he had yet to eat the Jell-O out of his hand. The lump of gelled dessert hit the pristine tiled floor with a satisfying splat! Harry ignored it, and, tightening his slippery grip on the handle, yanked the refrigerator door open.

There was...only green Jell-O. Dishes upon dishes stacked on top of one another - even the silver pots and pans were full of the jiggly stuff. There was not an inch of space in the entire icebox. Puzzled, Harry shut the door, shrugged to himself, and began to shovel handfuls of the Jell-O into his mouth. Out of curiosity, he opened the pantry, smearing the gelatinous muck all over the handle. The door swung open slowly, eerily - it almost sounded as though someone were whispering 'kill kill kill...die die die'. The air conditioner whirred ominously, releasing a volley of frigid air into the kitchen.

Squinting against the darkness, Harry couldn't make out much of anything. The alcohol still impaired his vision. But, if he had possessed the common sense to pull the light chain, he would have seen that the pantry shelves held hundreds, perhaps thousands, of jaunty green boxes proclaiming that foreboding, hyphenated, five lettered word.

'Jell-O'

He turned, absentmindly, and pulled out a chair for himself in the breakfast nook. Sitting down heavily, he enjoyed the sugary sweet taste and delightful texture of the easiest dessert ever created. Sensing the presence of another, he looked up sharply and was more than a bit surprised to see a massive, hulking form sitting across from him. Even in the dark, he knew immediately who it was.

"'Lo, Dudley!" he exclaimed. "What're you doin' down 'ere so late, then?"

Dudley did not answer.

"Well fine, if you're goin' to be a prick about it, then. No Jell-O for you! Do remember you're on a diet, you fat-bottomed wanker!" Harry laughed hard at his own wit. Dudley did not move. This began to perturb Harry. Never before had Dudley been so...unwilling to smack him across the face. Harry reached across the table and prodded him. No reaction from the monstrous cousin.

How odd...Harry stood and fumbled his way toward the light switch. He flipped it on, and turned to face the person who had terrorized him for the whole of his childhood.

Dudley was sitting in his usual chair - the one that sagged terribly - with his arms and legs bound. He was even more engorged than usual - in fact, his skin was bloated and purple all over his body. A bucket of bright green vomit was placed next to his chair. Harry's Jell-O dish slipped from his fingers and shattered ominously on the floor. He could hear Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon shouting from their bedroom, and then pounding feet on the stairs. The tiny shards of china skittered and danced along the floor, coming to rest along a single word, written in green Jell-O and Crisco.

Gluttony