Blood & Famine
“Useless freak!” Vernon hissed, spittle flying, as he kicked the faintly whimpering beaten form of his freakish nephew. He had had enough of the freak living with his normal family. The boy had brought nothing but trouble the day they found him on the front stoop.
‘Should have tossed the brat in the river and been done with it.’
Vernon Dursley had grabbed his frail nephew from his cupboard as soon as he had gotten home that night. He had hauled the boy to the car under the cover of darkness and had driven to the far side of London.
Veron was tired of the little ingrate ruining his perfectly good breakfast for the last week, uncaring that the boy was but a child.
So lost in his spiteful thoughts that he missed the figure lurking at the end of the Alley way he had dragged the boy down, with the intent of beating the child to death.
At first glance one would mistake the figure for a young girl; only upon closer inspection would the truth be distinguished.
The figure was lean, female with a slim athletic build, a tad on the short side standing at an even 5 foot tall and dressed all in black. Long dark red hair pulled back in a single braid and illuminous narrowed silver eyes aimed at the obtuse man.
The feminine form was both silent and graceful, striding with experienced confidence into the darkened alleyway where the gasping, obese form of Vernon Dursley loomed over the petiteform of his unwanted nephew.
The boy was barely 5 years old, a tiny waifish thing; probably couldn’t take much more of a beating, as frail as his body looked.
As it was, cold silver eyes could see that the bright green eyes of the boy were glassy and unfocused with pain; on the brink of losing consciousness.
With a quick flick of a thin wrist, and a hidden knife silently sprung free of its hiding place. The sharpened blade glimmering in the dark from the faint street light shining off in the distance.
Oddly the blade shone the exact shade as the illuminated silver eyes that glowed in the darkness of the alley way.
The flash of light caught Vernon’s attention, sluggishly he turned to berate the intruder, intent on making them leave. So he could finish what he should have done the day the freak was dropped on his doorstep.
But the woman was faster.
With the speed of a coiled viper, the blade slashed with ease across the piggish form of Vernon Dursley. The sharp blade slicing cleanly through the flesh and muscle of his throat effortlessly, like a red hot knife slicing through butter.
A slash of blood splattered across the brick wall of the Alley way.
Vernon’s beady eyes flew wide, as he stumbled back, the pain beginning to register only after his mouth began to fill with the metallic tang of blood.
Fat hands rose up in an attempt to stem his profusely bleeding throat. His lard form fell heavily to his knees as he attempted to scream out for help, only for a wet gurgle to form, and allowed more of his blood to spill from his mouth.
A shift of movement to his left, and his attention fell to the wickedly grinning, manic eyed woman welding the now blood coated knife. The woman stood looming over him like he had just been over his freakish nephew.
Fear flooded his system as his grim reality hit him full force. He was going to die here in the alleyway that was supposed to be the freak’s end; not his own. Vernon only hoped that the freak died before the night’s end.
It was only after all his strength left him, and he was laying in an ever-growing puddle of his own blood did he get to hear his killer's voice.
“Such a weak little lamb,” the woman cooed as she approached the boy’s unconscious crumpled form. Her voice was soft with a razor cruel edge, like a velvet encased blade; soft but ready to cut down the first person who undermined the hidden danger lurking beneath. “Perhaps if you are strong enough to survive, I’ll teach you how to bite back at the world; become a wolf in lamb’s wool.”
The woman crouched down beside the boy, flipping the blade and swiftly wiped it upon Vernon’s back, before putting the now clean blade away.
It was as Vernon’s artery clogged heart gave its final beat that the woman scooped up the frail boy and strode out of the alleyway and disappeared into the night.
Vernon Dursley would never return home, and his body would only show up on the news a week later; his killer, still at large.
The wizarding world would never know how in just one night the thin thread of fate attached to their precious savior had twisted and corrupted beyond their most frightful nightmares.
No longer within the oppressive hands of his muggle relatives; their precious little Savior, Harry Potter, was now in the hands of someone far darker.
Even Darker than the fearsome Dark Lord, Voldemort...