Mrs. Figg wiped the sweat from her eyes as she laboured, hunched over her rose garden. Bending back and hearing the bones creak and pop under the stress, she surveyed the results of five weeks hard work. Reds, whites and yellows peppered her front lawn, looking simply superb if she did say so herself. Certainly enough to rival Petunia’s and Mrs. Haggleton’s gardens, that was for sure.

She sighed and clucked her tongue, shielding her eyes as she gazed up at the clear blue sky. This summer was certainly a scorcher, she considered herself crazy to be out here in the sun all day, every day. Not as crazy as little Harry and his not-so-little cousin, Dudley. Always running about and screaming. She assumed they always played some tag, and Dudley always seemed to be it since she constantly saw them pelting around the neighbourhood, Dudley with a feral grin on his face as he raced after Harry. Boys will be boys, she supposed.

As if on cue, she heard hurried footsteps growing louder as they pounded down the pavement. Leaning over the hedges, she looked down the street and sure enough, there were two figures in the distance. Leading the chase was the unmistakeable black hair of Harry Potter, who looked as though he was running for his life. Bringing up the rear, doing what appeared to be a surprisingly fast leaping motion, was Dudley Dursley.

Mrs Figg felt bad for the boy, he was only young and had already inherited his father’s – to put it lightly – pudgy figure. As Harry passed her in a black and white blur, she tutted and turned around, bending back over her roses. She hoped they would be a little careful; she wouldn’t want to have to call Albus about a young boy’s death because of silly games.

                                                                 XxX

He was tired.

He was hot.

He was scared.

He had been up at the playground all on his own because Aunt Petunia had told him to leave her alone while the nice electrician came over. He’d been minding his own business, just tossing a couple of sticks around when Dudley showed up. Harry accidently threw a stick at him as he rode past on his bike, but he never expected it to hit. Dudley had stood up next to his fallen bike with red grazes on his arms and face. He looked so angry when he turned to Harry. So Harry did the smartest thing he could.

Harry ran.

He hated Dudley, he really did. They were both only eight years old, but Dudley was always so mean to him. He pushed him over all the time and stole his lunch at school, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon wouldn’t ever believe him. They just yelled at him. That was really scary too.

They weren’t as scary as Dudley right now though. So Harry ran home.

His feet hurt from running non-stop all the way from the playground but he was almost there, he couldn’t let Dudley catch him now. He saw old Mrs. Figg’s house coming up on the left but he didn’t even consider stopping there. Mrs. Figg was wrinkly and old, there was no way she would be able to help him against Dudley, who was still running after him like that mean dog Aunt Marge had.

Zooming past Mrs Figg, Harry felt a bubble of hope in his chest. He could see his house! He was gonna make it, and Dudley couldn’t do anything about it. He stole a look behind him, Dudley wasn’t far behind but he could make it inside where Aunt Petunia would stop him from being killed. She’d just give him jobs, and that wasn’t as bad as having Dudley jump on you. That was a fact.

Leaping over the hedges, Harry jumped up to the front door of Number 4, stumbling just a little on the front steps. Wrenching the door open, he leapt inside only to feel a quick rush of air and a sharp pain on his chin. He had tripped over a jacket and a big heavy bag, which probably belonged to the electrician Aunt Petunia was speaking about as she did her hair.

He stumbled up and started to head towards his cupboard, but it was too late. He felt Dudley’s meaty hands grab him and throw him into the kitchen. Harry landed roughly on his back and his funny bone exploded in pain as it smacked sharply on the shining linoleum floor. He looked up, the beginnings of tears in his eyes at his cousin who stood panting heavily in the kitchen doorway.

“Dudley, I - I’m sorry,” Harry said, stumbling up to his feet. “It was an accident. I never meant to hit you, I’m so sorry.” He was really scared now as he looked at the furious Dudley Dursley. Dudley moved forward and shoved him into the counter, where Harry’s head smacked into a big cake bowl, sending it skidding across the counter to hang precariously over the corner.

“I don’t care if you’re sorry!” cried Dudley, and Harry could faintly hear tears of pain in his voice. The fall off of his bike must have hurt more than he thought. “Daddy says you’re a freak, and not normal like me, so you tried to hurt me since you're just jealous that Mummy and Daddy like me more than you.” Dudley sneered as he said this, the sting of the words not lost even with his high pitched, child’s voice.

Glancing at the counter, Dudley grinned and picked up a long, serrated bread knife. He looked at Harry and his smile got even wider.

“Are you scared, Harry?” he said, waving the knife at Harry. “Scared I’m gonna cut you up like a pirate?” He laughed as he said this, jabbing at Harry with the knife and causing him to cry out as he nicked him. It was only a small cut, but then again, he was just a small kid. Harry was really scared now.

Dudley laughed. “Stop being such a big baby, I’m just joking you dumbhead. Mummy would get angry if I hurt you too much…but I guess a little wouldn’t matter.” He giggled again and started waving the knife around Harry’s face to scare him. As he reached back his arm to get a particularly wild swing in, he bumped the cake bowl hanging over the edge.

One touch was all it needed, it crashed to the floor, shattering into hundreds of pieces, but not before cracking Dudley’s ankle on the way down. Dudley let out a shriek of pain and fell to the floor, clutching his bleeding and broken foot, tears running down his face. The knife had clattered to the ground, not far from Harry.

In the distance, Harry could hear voices and a slight thumping upstairs. He didn’t pay any attention to it however, his gaze was drawn to the blood oozing out of Dudley’s ankle and pooling on the floor. It was a rich, dark red and it spread so perfectly, a pool of liquid rose on the kitchen floor.

Harry felt an odd shortness of breath and his mouth went dry. “It’s so…pretty” he thought as he gazed at the dark puddle of blood growing steadily larger, amid Dudley’s quietened sobs of pain. “I want to see more…”

His gaze flicked towards the shining knife lying not too far from him and he reached for it, almost subconsciously. He picked it up and held it close to his face, where he could see himself reflected in the glinting steel. The cut on his shoulder was still bleeding a little, still throbbing.

The knife was sharp.

Harry stared into his reflection, an amazing sense of calm washing over him, backed by a primal urge to watch his cousin’s life flood the kitchen floor. He moved forward slowly to Dudley, the knife dazzling in his hand, his eyes set on the blood.

Dudley raised his eye to Harry’s face, getting his attention. The stared at each other and Harry saw those clouded blue eye widen as he stared at them.

“Harry…” Dudley choked out through his quiet sobs. “Harry, what are you doing?” He sounded scared.

What was he doing? Harry felt the calm, lustful feeling falter a little as he thought about it. It was wrong wasn’t it, teachers always told them to play nice and never to hurt each other.

But, said a forceful voice in the back of Harry’s head. He deserves it. He’s mean to you. He steals your lunch and calls you names. So make him pay. He deserves to die.

That was that. Back was the cool feeling of serenity. Back was the thirst for blood. Back was the thought of the shining knife and colourful blood. Harry wanted to see the pretty blood. He wanted to kill.

As he leaned over his cousin, he heard footsteps coming down the stairs but he payed them no mind. He stared at the knife then at his cousin’s heaving chest. Dudley looked back with terrified eyes, he was shaking like he’d just gotten out of the pool. He held the blade above Dudley’s chest, the tip poking ever so slightly into his chest.

“Ha – Harry?” Dudley whispered. Harry’s eyes snapped up to meet the watery blue ones.

“You deserve it, Dudley.” He said softly. Then he plunged the knife in.

Dudley breathed in sharply and cried out as the blade sliced deep into his body, piercing the heart. Harry watched, fascinated as the blood flowed quickly out of his wound. It streamed across his chest spreading out and over on the sides like a blossoming flower. It pooled and spread on the floor, working it's way into every linoleum crack, joining up with the blood from his foot and covering even more of Petunia's floor.

Harry was smiling, he felt this strange, exhilarating rush spread through him. Looking down at his cousin, dead by his hands didn't feel wrong at all. It felt...prefect. He was happy.

At the moment, there came the sound of bare feet padding across the living room.

"...you two boys are fighting again when I told you I wanted my pri- " Aunt Petunia stopped talking as she entered the kitchen. Her hand flew up to her mouth and she let out a choked gaze as she stared at her son's bloodied body. Eyes filling with tears, she stumbled backwards, leaning against the pantry.

Harry looked up at her, his hands dripping with blood.

"Dudley deserved it, Aunt Petunia," said Harry in a soft voice as she rose her gaze to meet his. "He deserved to die, honest!"

The watery agonized look vanished as she stared into his eyes. Unbridled hatred replaced it, and her mouth twisted into a vicious snarl. Behind her, Harry could see a man talking on the phone, who kept glancing in his direction.

He saw Aunt Petunia get up and leap towards him but Harry just stared back down at Dudley's body and the rivers of red.

He smiled.

XxX

As Mrs. Figg climbed in her car, with her lovely new crocodile skin purse and purple shawl, she paused. She thought she heard someone yelling out from down the street. Petunia probably dropped her cuppa, she thought and shrugged as she closed the door.

As she pulled out of the driveway, she cast one quick look at the ring Dumbledore had given her. Still blue, which meant Harry was fine. Nodding happily to herself, she packed it away in her purse and pulled out of the driveway.

Two minutes later, she was humming an old tune to herself as she pulled into Magnolia Crescent and she slowed down quickly to avoid three police cars. Shaking her head at the antics of the day, she continued along driving and humming to meet her friends for dinner.