The Cursed Child: Book 1

Book 1 Chapter 1

Full Summary:

Halloween was a day of celebration and candy. A day of mixed feelings both of weariness and joy. In 1981 to a particular family; however, it was a day of fear. Lily Potter and James Potter were both killed that fateful day by Voldemort, better known as You-Know-Who by the general wizarding public. An attempt to kill their one-year-old son for some reason strangely backfires leading to the downfall of the man's reign of terror. All good things must come at a cost, however. Harry might have lived to see another day, but he didn't come out completely unharmed. The killing curse might not have killed his soul, but it sure did kill his emotions and everything that made him human. Lily's love might have saved his body and a small part of his soul, but the true Harry Potter was gone. Will the savior the wizarding world is hailing now break their society and way of life in the upcoming years? Or will he stand against Voldemort and protect it?

Chapter 1

Harry Potter sat quietly on his bed. It was dark in his small cupboard, but that didn't stop the six-year-old from waiting. The seconds turned into minutes which probably would have turned into hours if it weren't for the jingles of metal locks finally securing his cupboard door.

Harry held his breath, waiting a few more seconds in complete silence before finally hearing the sounds of footsteps residing. With an extremely sadistic smile on his face, Harry finally moved off his bed and went to the door. Not that it was a long walk, or much of a walk anyway. Reaching his lean hands up to grab at the bobby pin he had snatched from Aunt Petunia sometime last week, Harry put the round part in first, shifting it so the door lock would open easily.

Harry then slowly opened his door, smiling wider when he saw the extra metal chains stopping his door from opening all the way. Reaching his bony arm through the chains he bent his arms and turned the bobby pins around to match the way the movies had done it. In just a minute the chains keeping the door shut clattered loudly on the ground, no doubt successfully waking up the Dursleys.

Knowing it wasn't possible to smile any wider than he already was, Harry just hummed in acknowledgment at the noise he had made and walked back to his bed. Laying down, he didn't even bother to close his eye, but still listened for the sounds of frantic footsteps running up to his door.

He wasn't disappointed today. If he had attempted to leave the cupboard, he most likely wouldn't have made it to the kitchen before one of them caught up with him. Not like they would do anything even if they had seen him with their own eyes.

Harry let out an airy giggle, probably sounding insane to any onlooker, but he had also successfully almost ruined his plan. Frowning, Harry sat up as he listened. He could still hear her, breathing heavily out of fear, struggling to quickly secured all the chains back in place before he tried anything funny. Must have already locked the door Harry thought absent-mindedly.

Figuring she hadn't heard him giggle earlier, he completely sat up, rocking his long legs as he bathed in her terrified breathing. This was only just the beginning.

It was no secret Harry Potter was mentally ill. The only problem was with what?

After being dropped off at the Dursleys at the tender and delicate age of one by some unknown person, Harry Potter had been subjected to abuse. Or more specific, neglect and verbal abuse. It was no surprise after that why Harry was a late bloomer and rarely talked or did much of anything really. He didn't whine like the other children, or cry and throw a hissy fit. More importantly, to Petunia at least, he showed absolutely no sign of magic. He honestly didn't show much of anything emotion wise.

The Harry Potter during the day, even as young as he was now, was the golden picture of depressed. He was the perfect scapegoat for Dudley and a quiet punching bag. For Vernon and Petunia, he was the ideal slave. Quietly doing his chores and accepting whatever beating he earned himself for his nighttime endeavors. Fortunately, those beatings seem to have completely vanished after he was diagnosed with multiple personality disorder. What nightly endeavors might you ask?

Well, it all started the first day little four-year-old Harry had met Aunt Marge. That was the year Harry had been kicked out of the nursing room and move into his cupboard. The year Dudley learned how to scream and slap people to get what he wanted. The year Aunt Marge's dog, Ripper, died a gruesome death.

Aunt Marge was not amused when she saw her supposed nephew Harry. How frail and skinny he was. How quiet and unresponsive, her amusement turned into resentment when she learned of his drunken parents and how they got themselves killed in car crash. Her dog Ripper? He obviously didn't like Harry from the start, something Harry had surprisingly picked up on. By then Harry had slowly been raiding Aunt Petunia's kitchen of knives, plotting the days he would make them suffer.

Ripper? He was the first to go. The weakest in Harry's eyes. Something that didn't need a planned out course of action. That night Aunt Marge had left Ripper chained up around the coat hangers. Harry at four knew the basics. Dogs liked meat. Dogs liked boys like him. Either way, Ripper would follow him somehow.

With that thought in mind, Harry mimicked a smile he had seen Dudley make. Moving with an actual purpose, which was something he had never done before, he brought out the little from the leftovers he managed to swipe that day. Pulling out an old box from under his bed, Harry quickly got all the knives he snagged from Aunt Petunia and threw them in the box along with his leftovers. Moving to his cupboard door, Harry let out a sigh as it opened without much of a fight.

They obviously didn't see him as a threat as he was only four at the time and very obedient to start with. Continuing on, he quietly moved out of his cupboard and over to the front door where Ripper slept peacefully. Harry sidestepped him and opened the door, shivering as the cold air hit him. Wincing he looked down to see that Ripper had also moved, sensing the cold air. His scheming skills needed work. Still, he forged on with his plan. Reaching over he loosed the leash keeping Ripper secured to the post and gently moved it, stretching it as long as he dared without pulling on the dog's neck outside. Thankfully the leash was long enough to almost reach their mailbox, good enough.

Harry quickly ran back in to grab his box. Rushing back out the door Harry set it down and cut up the steak, making a nice line leading to the mailbox. By then Ripper was already starting to wake up so Harry knew he didn't need to bother with waking him up without getting bit. Still, he gently walked over and bent down to face Ripper, a little worried that he had left the door open a bit too long and someone would come to investigate. No one did.

Unloosening his collar was the final straw, Ripper's eyes snapped open and he let out an angry and pretty loud bark as he saw Harry fiddling with his collar. Startled, Harry jumped back, running outside out to avoid the angry dog bounding after him. The only thought he could think of was that he was going to be in big trouble. Ripper ran out to meet him, door wide open so the Dursleys could probably wake up any minute to the noise. Harry kept repeating in his mind how stupid he was as he dived for the leash, quickly securing it onto the mailbox before Ripper could reach him. Next, Harry made to go close the door but blinked when he realized it had already closed on its own. It was only him and the dog.

Harry smiled and moved closer into Ripper's biting range, congratulating himself for unloosening the collar. Ripper only growled again, following him with his eyes until Ripper decided to strick again. Harry smiled then, slowly backing away from Ripper as the dog pushed against the leash. Without the collar being secured, the base of it tightened and tightened the more Ripper fought it and before Harry knew it the dog had collapsed on the ground, not dead yet though.

Harry laughed. It was a hollow sound, just like his monotonous voice. Practically dancing over to the fallen dog, Harry grabbed the base and pulled with all his might making the base as tight as he possibly could. Ripper moved then. Legs thrashing about as he struggled and then all of a sudden the dog fell silent again but Harry wasn't done with his fun.

Grabbing the knives, Harry flipped the dog over to lay it on its side.

He thought about sticking the knife in the strangle little hole near the dog's tail, but he figured he would have to go through the trouble of hiding the knife and all. How did he know Ripper was even dead and not actually pretending so he could come back and literally bite Harry later. After a few minutes of thinking, Harry did it on impulse, sticking the knife as far down in the dog as he could. Then another question popped into his mind. Just how many knives could he fit in there?

The answer was five, by the way, leaving Harry with a sense of accomplishment and this wonderful feeling he couldn't shake. For once he understood why Uncle Vernon was so hard on him. He was weak, like Ripper, and weak people deserved to feel pain and suffering. They couldn't defend themselves, weren't smart enough too. That's why they're at the bottom. Harry couldn't wait to surpass his Uncle and be at the top, to inflict pain and suffering on everyone who opposed him.

It's why Harry couldn't shake his smile as he saw the blood running down the dog's legs. This is what power felt like, the sight of breaking someone so far beyond repair. Killing them. It felt so good.

With the air of someone who had found out he had won the lottery Harry Potter had unchained the dog and stuffed it in the box he had brought outside, not bothering to remove the knives. There was blood on the snow, but Harry didn't care. He couldn't care. Everything he had used for this night's fun had been stuffed along with the dog and placed next to the mailbox. The box Harry brought, unfortunately, didn't have a cover so he just left it the way it was, happily trudging back to the front door with one knife still placed between his clothes. The only one that wouldn't fit in the dog.

Harry went to bed that night with a smile on his face. It was the same smile that greeted his relatives that morning. The same smile that looked at his handiwork in the morning, complete with small white bugs - maggots- Harry would later learn crawling around the pierced skin.

Dudley threw up, Petunia was screeching, Vernon was furious, and Marge was wailing. The cops were called that day. A week later results pointed to Harry's fingerprints. Aunt Petunia had readily claimed that she did all the cooking and that there was no way Harry could have had his fingerprints on there before. That led to a week at a mental institute. Harry at the age of four was to be officially diagnosed as soon as he turned 11 with a mental illness that would forever follow him around as he was too young for an accurate diagnosis. The psychiatrist had debated on a term Harry couldn't remember, before coming to the conclusion that he had multiple personality disorder.

The doctor had explained that it meant having more than one personality in a dumbed down version to Harry as he went on explaining to the Dursleys that Harry might have a murderous new personality that has a nighttime trigger. They were advised to not annoy Harry until he was old enough to be put on the medication that would control his alternate personality. Harry didn't buy their crap. After Ripper Harry always had the urge to try out a new method now that he knew not breathing could kill you. Whether during the night or day, Harry just had this urge to kill something. To be superior. He honestly didn't have a second personality but he immediately knew how it could work in his favor if he acted like he did.

And so that's how the current Harry was born. While the Dursleys refrained from beating him during the day, they still treated him like dirt and locked him up in a cupboard at night. They weren't really scared of their nephew until a month later when Uncle Vernon bought Dudley four hamsters as he had asked for. No, Dudley did not take care of them, his parents did. The hamsters were honestly just decorations to satisfy Dudley.

Three days after, Harry had given two of them a bath and "forgot" them face down in the water. The third he had attempted to take downstairs to his cupboard for safekeeping when he accidentally dropped it. The poor guy was a twitching mess, so Harry dunked it in the water along with the other two. The last he successfully brought down safely and had stashed away for a months worth of torture.

Dudley was the first to see the three floating hamsters in the morning. It was also the first day in months Vernon had beat Harry. His next crime was actually a failed attempt when he had just turned five. After feeding the hamster next to nothing all week Harry had brought it to the kitchen to search for a knife to see if the girl could survive after having its legs chopped off. Harry had only found three since Aunt Petunia had failed to restock the kitchen for the third time after his weekly knife raids.

Setting to work, he was impressed when Gwen was still moving her other three legs after the last one was cut off. Maybe he could turn her into a pirate and keep her? Before he could decide if he was going to go on with his torture, he heard a scream from the doorway and reacted faster than his brain could think. Flinging the knife in his hand, he winced at how close he was to his aunt's eyes. As it was the knife just grazed her eyebrows, leaving a small wound.

"Good night Aunt Petunia," Harry had muttered in the most innocent five-year-old voice he could muster. Snatching up the bleeding and probably dead hamster and his knives, he fled the room not registering how shocked and fearful his Aunt looked. Not even a few hours later in the morning, Dudley had woken up screaming as he was met with his hamster missing a leg and bleeding unto his pillow with a knife through its body. Harry had strangely gotten off of getting beaten that day. A frantic Petunia muttering feverishly to her husband as he attempted to discipline Harry.

It was the day Harry learned another lesson. His life would be a lot easier if he just acted a bit more psychotic during the night. And as it was night-time became a battle zone for the Dursleys as they struggled to stay alive from their crazy nephew. The kid always had a knife. Petunia even had strict rules that no one was to leave their room if it was the night Harry decided to actually leave his cupboard and not just toy with them. Petunia had also installed chains on Dudley's door with a key she possessed after Harry had snuck in and tried to slit his throat. Dudley was in the hospital for weeks.

Now, Harry didn't hesitate to attack any and everyone he saw at night. What freaked everyone out the most was Harry's smile. At night you always saw the Cheshire smile with pearly straight white teeth floating in the air before you actually saw the emerald green eyes and the glistening of a knife in his hand. Which brings us back to the present.

Six-year-old Harry got up and repeated what he had done before. Unlocking the door before unlocking the chains keeping the door closed alerting the already wide awake Dursley to the threat. Again Aunt Petunia would hurriedly run down and lock the door, her terrified breathing filling Harry with joy. After doing it a generous amount of times Aunt Petunia became sluggish. To be honest, Harry himself was a bit tired so he decided to leave her a parting gift.

He quietly tiptoed towards the door once he heard her fiddling with the chains for the 10th time. With a loud bang, Harry banged his hands on the door, smiling when he heard her drop the chains.

"Betty!" Harry sang in a sing-song voice, smirking when her breathing became irregular. The tall tale sign of a panic attack. Yes, Harry Potter had given both his Aunt and cousin Anxiety, Betty was the name he would call her when he felt like stabbing something with his knife.

"Betty, let's play a game," Harry tried again, adding an unfelt slightly crazy giggle at the end as he ran his knife along the door. That kicked Petunia back into action as she secured the chains quicker than Harry had ever heard her and was up the stairs faster than a sleep-deprived woman should have gone.

Harry smirked knowing Petunia was taking Dudley on Vernon's Business trip this morning giving him the time to sleep in as the rest of the people in the house would be suffering from his nonstop noisemaking. Yes, at the age of six Harry Potter was allowed to stay home alone. Mrs. Figgs hadn't wanted him after all her cats had disappeared one night.

With a shrug, Harry settled in for the night. By the time he was diagnosed at 11, he should have complete control over the Dursleys. Of course, they might send him somewhere, but the Dursleys will be broken by then. Harry would make sure of it.