Pain of the Innocent

Already I was plotting and planning my revenge. I practiced my gift at every chance I got and by the age nine I could do almost anything. Had I shown how much I knew at school I would have been called a child prodigy. Had I shown what I could do with my gift I would have been called a freak even more so.

I also practiced on physical training. I knew that I needed to have both a strong body and mind. By nine I wouldn’t call myself buff in any meaning of the word; I was still thin but I had a lean body and was stronger then I looked and I could fight. I was able to move without making a sound and be somewhere without people noticing.

Of course I had to get the money for books somewhere now didn’t I? I became a pickpocket and often snuck out to London to pick the pockets of unsuspecting people. I bought books and only books for they kept me occupied and taught me what I needed to know in order to survive. I grew fast in two years.

And through those two years my uncle never touched me again. I don’t know why he never did but I was glad. The beatings came as usual though but as they say, “what does not kill us makes us stronger.” I find that to be very true.

But at nine everything went to hell. Well, a more terrible hell then it already was.

My uncle came home drunk while my aunt and cousin were out. Apparently he lost his job so he went to a bar. He beat me terribly and by the end of it my right leg was broken, my left arm was fractured in three places, my jaw and nose were broken, I had three broken ribs, and there were cuts and bruises all over my body. I was lucky he didn’t just kill me.

He then pushed me onto the couch and ripped off my clothes. I tried to push him off but it didn’t work. He was pulling his pants off with one hand while the other held me down. In fear I flailed around.

“Stop flailing boy! You know you want this,” he slurred.

I kept repeating “No!” over and over again but he didn’t listen. It was just like last time two years before. But I wasn’t going to let him do this to me again. With my unbroken leg I kicked him in the nuts and ran into the kitchen while he was bent over in pain. I grabbed a chef’s knife to protect myself. A minute later he stepped into the kitchen without any pants on. I paled.

“Don’t you dare come one step closer!” I yelled at him.

As though mocking me he took one step closer towards me. The drunken idiot didn’t even seem to register that I had his chef’s knife in my hands. I was shaking in fear as he started to walk towards me.

Then he lunged for me. Without meaning to I thrust the knife forward. He was impaled on the knife. His eyes were wide in fright and dull with death. I had to back away quickly so he didn’t fall on me.

Looking down at my bloodstained hands, I realized that I enjoyed seeing the light in his eyes vanish. I enjoyed killing him.

But I knew I had to get away. There was no way I was going to jail and being only nine, there was no way anybody would believe it was self defense. Running to my cupboard, I grabbed my most prized books and my clothes. I got dressed before going back to the kitchen and found the floor covered in blood. As best I could I dodged the blood on the floor and made it to the fridge and got some food.

Then I ran out the door.

I ran into the woods so nobody would see my bloody hands. There, I analyzed my feelings about what had occurred. I sat on a large rock and put my worn out book-bag next to it.

I really did enjoy it, I realized. I loved the euphoric feeling of taking somebody’s life. It was as though I had reached heaven. Then I realized I wanted to do it again. I wanted to kill somebody again. The very thought of having somebody’s blood on my hands and watching the light leave their eyes made me shiver in pleasure.

A sadistic smile graced my lips and I sat there remembering the kill until well after midnight. With a sigh I went to the river I had visited many times before and washed my hands. I was planning on going to London and live on the streets there. There would be plenty of people to pickpocket then, I mused.

I left the woods and walked towards the big city that awaited.

It was dawn when I made it to London and I was exhausted and hungry. I walked into an alley and found shelter in a large cardboard box there. I rummaged through my book-bag until I found some bread and cheese. I made myself a cheese sandwich and ate quietly. Soon people would fill the streets and I could get me a decent lunch.

I sat in my cardboard box and read until people started pouring into the streets. With a sly smirk I packed my stuff, slung my book-bag over my shoulder, and walked into the crowd and blended in. Half an hour later I had ten pounds. Not a very good catch but enough for a few donuts.

I went to a bakery I found down the street. It seemed quite popular and, if you can tell by the prices, had good food. I was eager to get donuts as they were the best thing I had ever tasted before, though I only ever had a piece once.

I bought three jelly filled donuts and sat in a corner. I stayed there even after I finished eating. I sat there reading and listening to the conversations around me. People came and went. It was around three thirty when an unexpected person came in.

I was reading the Lord or the Rings when Aunt Petunia walked in. Her eyes were swollen and red as though she had been crying but she was smiling.

“Why ‘Tunia, what’s wrong? You’ve been crying,” asked the female cashier on duty.

Aunt Petunia nodded sadly, her smile vanished. “My husband, Vernon, was dead when I came home yesterday. Stabbed in the heart with his pants off. Blood all over the k-kitchen a-and m-my nephew has g-gone m-missing to!” Aunt Petunia sobbed.

The cashier came around, I could see her name was Nancy now, and wrapped her arms around Aunt Petunia and rubbed circles on her back to comfort her.

“You know what? I’ll get you something to eat then you best be getting home deary,” the cashier, Nancy, said before going and getting a couple donuts.

Since Aunt Petunia came in I had been hiding under the table. It wasn’t much protection but I doubted she would bother to look under tables.

About ten minutes later she left and I got back up. I was sore from crouching under the table for ten minutes but that wasn’t what I was thinking about at the moment. I was thinking about the panic I must have caused back at Privet Drive.

This was good. I wished I had stayed for the big scene but I had to get away from there. Grinning like an idiot I got back to reading my book.

It was after closing time when they kicked me out but not without something to eat because of my starved appearance. Smiling, I got back to my cardboard box just in time as it started to rain. I scowled as I huddled in the box. Soon the rain would leak in and I would get wet but it was better then nothing. I fell into an uneasy sleep.

A/N: I hope you liked the chapter. Anyway, the poll is still up. What should Harry’s new name be? The choices:

Vince-3
Kira-
Dante-3
Damian-
Jalen-
Alexander-2

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