Web

The world is not a fair place; I learned that a long time ago. The world is cruel, cold, harsh, and unforgiving. But the world could also be compassionate, handing out second chances when the circumstances permitted it.

My life - my past life I suppose - was a web of mangled lies and half-truths. My past is full of terror and hate. My future is a murky path that climaxes in a single crossroads - to kill, or be killed. I ask you, do you begrudge me self-pity?

Mere years ago, in my innocence, I let those around me manipulate me, bending me to their will as one would direct a puppet on strings. During the summer, my resolve hardened - Sirius's death helped me in that sense. I decided to never be influenced by those around me again, especially not by Dumbledore. He had doomed me, in a sense, by entrusting me to my so-called family.

The death (I refuse to say 'passing', only weak fools do) of my godfather played a role, yes, in the change within me. But the Dursleys were my main reason. Vernon was my first. In more ways than one.

Sirius falling through the veil had a huge impact on my mental health. Maybe I could have recovered, if not for the man I used to call uncle. The first time he came for me was a week into the summer holidays. He had never touched me other than a slap or two, so I was truly unprepared.

After he had spent himself in me, he just left, not looking back. You cannot understand how humiliated and fragile I was then - I had just been raped by a family member, and even if he wasn't the perfect uncle, there was still a connection, thin as it could be.

They say hindsight is 20/20, and they speak the truth.

Looking back now, I saw the trouble the Dursleys were going through - Dudley was diagnosed with diabetes and a brain tumor, and for him to live, the Dursleys would have to sell the house to pay for the operation. Vernon put the sale off.

Petunia had an affair with a neighbor; a blond man ten years younger than her, leeching off her money. Vernon found out and unleashed pure fury. She was in the hospital for two days.

Vernon himself was being charged for domestic abuse, and was under severe stress. He was a bomb ready to explode at any minute.

And I lit the fuse.

Consumed by hate for Voldemort, and shock at my plight, I vent my anger out on the only available Dursley: Vernon. I really should have known better. He was never good at controlling his rage, and he wasn't about to start now.

But that did not justify what he did to me one bit. He raped me, that bastard, and laughed every minute of it. He hit me just to hear me plead for him to stop. I didn't beg, not at first, until he killed Hedwig.

I begged more for her, than for myself, because she was still white, and pure. I was dirt, filth, an unworthy little slut.

Until I really started to hate him. He dug his own grave, really, even if he took precautions. My wand, broken into itty bitty pieces was deposited in the trash. I watched the truck carry my precious tool away, eyes leaking tears. He dug his own grave.

I was still Harry, until Hedwig was murdered; broken Harry, true, but still an innocent boy who never really understood what it was like to hate with every fiber of my mind, body, and soul. The emotion consumed me, until my world narrowed down to one single goal - kill Vernon.

He was my first. He snatched up my life and butchered it. He was the first to rape me. He was also the first I killed.

It wasn't hard. At least, it wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. Careful planning made it flawless.

The garbage truck came every week, on Tuesdays. This knowledge I gained from the trashing of my wand. I was allowed to take a shower on Mondays. Vernon liked to take me in the car after I got clean. He always turns the music on full blast to conceal my screams.

It was astonishingly easy. I hid a knife in my cupboard until Monday, and took it with me into the stall. After the shower, I hid it in the towel I wore around my waist. He turned on the music, covered the windows, and turned to me, grinning.

Astonishingly easy.

Vernon was a big man, true, but I was fueled by hate. The space was restricted, and I only had to move a little bit.

A stab to the heart. No, through the heart.

He died almost instantly.

I was in shock afterwards. One can meticulously plan a murder while remaining calm, but not freezing up after the act is done is virtually impossible.

I ran. After taking another shower, pulling on some clothes, and snatching Vernon's bloody wallet, I ran.

Where to, I still don't know. All that registered in my mind was that I killed someone and that I had to get away.

Thinking about it, now, I was amazingly lucky.