Author's Note: This fic features Dark!Slythirin! Harry and Diclonius!Harry. If you have not seen the anime elfin lied and have no clue what a diclonius is, I suggest you go watch elfin lied before reading this. Its only thirteen episodes long. Quite short for an anime, really. Read and review!
Chapter One - Choice
It was 9:00am on a Friday morning at the Dursley family household. Summer was well underway, halfway finished already as a matter of fact. Uncle Vernon was in the shower upstairs and Dudley was sitting at the kitchen table playing the gameboy color that he'd got for Christmas while Aunt Petunia and Harry fixed breakfast – bacon, eggs, and toast.
"Freak, get started on the toast and set the table." His aunt barked at him, eyeing the white horns on either side of his head like cat ears with a level of disgust she reserved only for him. She didn't even hate the loud neighbors with the barking dog who never mowed their grass as much as she did him and his horns. He'd had them since the day he'd been born. "Make sure you don't burn it! Vernon should be up any minute now." He cringed involuntarily at the mention of Vernon – Vernon would be furious if he burnt the bread or broke a dish. "Yes, Aunt Petunia."
He dutifully got out the bread – white bread for Dudley and Uncle Vernon and whole wheat bread for him and Aunt Petunia and set to making toast. Two slices each for Uncle Vernon and Dudley, and one each for him and Aunt Petunia. He was proud of himself, he hadn't burnt the bread in the new toaster in over a week now. The last time he'd ended up with the metal side of a hot frying pan just off the table to the head courtesy of Aunt Petunia for his stupidity and a fist to the stomach from Uncle Vernon for wasting his money and had gone without breakfast that day. Since then, he'd experimented with the toasting timer and found the perfect setting for the perfect toast and made sure to check it everytime, even if rationally that wasn't a necessity because he was the only one who used the toaster because they only ate toast at breakfast and he was always the one who had to fix it. He would never again burn the toast if he could help it.
When the toast was done he set the plate of buttered toast on the counter by the sink and started setting the table. Dudley was already seated at the table playing the purple gameboy color he got for his birthday a year prior. Judging from the music, he was playing the new pokemon game. Harry had always wanted to play it ever since Dudley got a gameboy and pokemon yellow for his ninth birthday but he wasn't allowed to touch Dudley's toys. The only toys he had were broken and mangled cast-offs from Dudley that he'd had since he was young.
He could hear the shower turn off upstairs. Dread filled him – Uncle Vernon would be mad if breakfast wasn't on the table when he got downstairs. His aunt shoved the hot pan of eggs at him. "Here, boy! Hurry and put this on the table! Remember to put it near my chair, you know Dudley likes the bacon close to his chair." He nodded, only half focusing on what he was doing as he took the eggs from his aunt and put them on the table. Uncle Vernon took family meals very seriously, just as seriously as he took his and Dudley's grade's in school. Even if he was frequently accused of cheating or funny business if he got a higher grade than Dudley did on a spelling or math test. Not that he would escape a blow to the head if he failed the test and let Dudley do better than him, because then he'd just get hit for failing and wasting their hard earned money buying him school supplies and driving him and Dudley to school every day.
"Quit standing there like a useless lump and go get the jelly!" His aunt yelled at him. "And grab the salt and pepper on your way!"
He nodded, then remembered his aunt probably wouldn't see his nod putting the bacon on the table. "Yes, Aunt Petunia." Grabbing the strawberry and grape jelly and the salt and pepper, he put them on the table and sat down just as Uncle Vernon walked in the kitchen.
"Morning Dudley!" Uncle Vernon boomed, watching as Dudley piled half the bacon on the plate onto his own plate. "Good morning, Pet." His aunt and uncle shared a kiss and Harry looked down at his plate in mild disgust. Niceties and lovey-dovey just did not look good on Uncle Vernon. As the both of them sat down to eat, his Aunt noticed Dudley's plate.
"Dudley, dear, save some bacon for your father!" His aunt scolded.
Uncle Vernon gave Aunt Petunia a look as he started filling his own plate with just as much food as Dudley had put on his. "Go easy on him Pet, he's a growing boy! Growing boys need their bacon." His aunt glowered in silence and helped herself to small portions of everything on the table. Harry made sure to pile as much as he could get away with taking onto his plate before Dudley took it all. He couldn't get too much or else Dudley would complain that he was taking all the food.
"Got any plans for the day, Pet?" Uncle Vernon asked. So far he was in a good mood, but it wouldn't take much to set Vernon off. Harry slowly ate his food, keeping his eyes on his plate and hoping Dudley wouldn't find some reason to complain about him. Maybe if he didn't look at anyone he could go through the meal unnoticed. He would have ate quicker but he'd found that if he ate slowly then he would feel fuller than if he wolfed it all down like Dudley currently was.
"Yes, dear, I'm going to take Dudley and the boy school shopping today." His aunt replied. Well, never mind about going unnoticed.
"But mum! Why does he have to go? He'll ruin everything! Why can't he stay home? " Dudley protested, spraying half-chewed food all over the table as he spoke.
His aunt replied as if he wasn't even there. "Because Duddikins, if we leave him home who knows what he'll get up to. We might come home to find the house blown up for all we know."
This didn't console his cousin at all. "But won't dad be home? Why can't Harry stay with dad?" Dudley wailed, starting to fake-cry.
Uncle Vernon growled at this. "Because, Dudley, I'm going out golfing with some potential new business partners today." Harry had to stifle a laugh at this – he couldn't imagine his fat uncle golfing.
Dudley started fake-crying at this. "B-b-but I do-don't want h-him to g-go! He'll – he'll r-ruin it and ev-everyone wi-will stare at th-the horns!"
Harry rolled his eyes, but Uncle Vernon saw it and cuffed him on the head for it. "Don't be smart, boy. You're lucky we even send you to school. If I'd had my way you wouldn't even be going, but its mandatory. Granted if I had my way, we would have put you in an orphanage the day you arrived. You should be grateful, boy. Dudley and Pet are almost done eating, get to work on the dishes, boy!" His uncle growled, before forcefully shoving him off his chair, sending him falling to the tile floor. The glass of orange juice that had been in his hand shattered as it hit the floor, sending glass and half-drank orange juice all over him and the floor.
"I-I'm sorry, Uncle Vernon!" Harry cried, "I didn't mean to break it, I swear! I'll clean it up right away." He sputtered, nearly tripping over his words as he spoke. Nevermind that it had been his uncle's fault the glass broke, he was in for it now.
Vernon got out of his seat and Harry instinctively curled into a protective ball, shielding his head in his arms as his uncle sent a kick to his stomach. "Damnit boy, look what you did! Stupid ungrateful brat!" Another kick, this time to his back. "Get up and clean this mess up! And help your Aunt with the dishes!"
He nodded numbly and stood carefully, mentally assessing how much the fall and kicks had hurt him. "Yes, Uncle Vernon." He was sore and his back and stomach and shoulder hurt but he didn't feel like anything was broken. He would bruise later though. Forcing himself to his feet and fighting back tears, he went to the pantry to get the broom, grabbing a fist-full of paper towels on the way.
"I'm going to go get my golf bag ready and if I come back and that mess isn't cleaned up and the dishes aren't put away, you're gonna get it boy!" Uncle Vernon growled, retreating from the kitchen and heading back upstairs to his and his aunt's room.
Harry didn't reply. Dudley laughed at him on the floor cleaning up the orange juice as he finished off the last few bites on his plate, which of course had also been the last few bites that had been on the table. Dudley was never done until there was no more food left to eat. "You're so stupid, Harry. Can't even hold a glass right. Its no wonder you fail all your classes. A stupid horned freak!" Dudley kicked him on the back of his legs, sending him straight into the juice and glass mess on the floor and embedding small shards of glass into his hands and arms. Dudley put his plate on the counter for his mother to clean before darting out of the kitchen and up the stairs. He wouldn't be expected to help clean, just him. Just the boy, the pest, the freak. He held back a groan of pain as he forced himself back to his hands and knees. This would be the least of his worries if he didn't get the mess cleaned up and the dishes done. If Aunt Petunia had to do all the dishes, he would get it and Uncle Vernon would lock him in the cupboard for the rest of the day without any meals.
Then there were footsteps on tile, and the sound of a dishwasher starting. Oh no! His aunt was already done with the dishes. She was going upstairs to get ready to go. Uncle Vernon would be furious! He hissed in pain as he hurried to pick the glass from his hands and arms with the orange-juice-soaked paper towels. He gingerly wiped the glass shards off of his shirt, trying not to aggravate his hands. He tossed the bloodied, juice-soaked paper towels in the rubbish bin by the counter by the sink and grabbed the broom from where he'd set it against the wall by the table. His hands felt raw and tears were sliding down his sunken, pale cheeks against his will as he swept up the glass into the dustpan, but he had to get it done. He had to. But his mind wouldn't stop thinking anyways.
Tears sprang to his eyes. 'Why does everyone hate me. What did I ever do? Was I just born not good enough? Is that why mom and dad drank, cause they were embarrassed to have freak with horns like me for a kid?' Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia certainly were. They reminded him about it as much as they possibly could every day, either by words or actions. Anger boiled in his veins. 'What did I ever do to them?!'
Suddenly, there was a voice in his head. "You know you don't have to put up with that ,ean, selfish human. I can make him go away for you. Forever." He startled, gasping in shock, and froze in place. The voice again! It sounded like him but not him, darker, more sinister. 'But where else do I have to go? I don't have any more family.' "With me, you can make a family of your own." 'I don't get it, that's not possible. I can't - '
"BOY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" Harry screamed, forced from his thoughts as Uncle Vernon appeared in the doorway of the kitchen with his golf bag thrown over his shoulder. "I TOLD YOU TO CLEAN, BOY." Uncle Vernon advanced on him, red-faced and livid. "And you're standing there in the middle of the kitchen daydreaming again like an idiot!"
"I-I'm sorry Uncle Vernon I didn't mean to!" But Uncle Vernon ignored him and punched him in the face, sending him to the floor once more. Harry curled up in a ball again instinctively, shielding his face and stomach as best he could already sore as he was. "I'll pay attention! I'll get it cleaned up! I swear!" But he was being ignored. Uncle Vernon was kicking him mercilessly, venting his anger at him. Harry focused on the ornamental part of the kitchen table leg that he could see through his arms and tried to tune out the world. If there was nothing, nothing just numbness, if everything was a world away, he could get through it.
No doubt some of his uncle's anger had more to do with having to go to a golf meet for business talks instead of a dinner than him. And because Dudley was going to go out school shopping for supplies for a grade he was having to repeat while Harry went up a year. But ten year old Harry didn't know this, didn't understand it. 'Why? Why me? Why does everyone hate me? Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, Dudley. Even the teachers at school look at me like I'm some idiot cause I have to fail all the tests.'
At some point or another pain exploded in the back of his head. Uncle Vernon must have kicked him in the back of the head. "Vernon, dear, me and Duddikins are going out no-" He heard something, someone screamed. "Vernon, what have you done?! My god, he's laying in his own blood! You're going to kill him! If you kill him that freak headmaster and murderer will both come after us!" It was a high voice. Aunt Petunia? Had Uncle Vernon hurt him too much? Aunt Petunia didn't like it when Uncle Vernon hurt him too much because then he couldn't get her chores done fast enough. "Relax, Pet, the boy will be fine. He's always fine! Damn horned freak can heal faster than us normal people." Dimly, numbly, as if from far, far away, he registered Uncle Vernon picking him up by the collar of his shirt and tossing him in his cupboard. Distantly, he heard the lock slide on his cupboard door. Was he locked in? He could hear a loud voice, what was Uncle Vernon saying? Was he being locked in for the rest of the day? Footsteps retreated up the stairs above him and his Uncle's loud, angry, furious voice began to fade as he was pulled into a deeper part of his mind.
Everything around him was a vast world of darkness. He had been here before, it was the deepest part of his mind where the voice lived. He saw a naked, bandaged figure about his height and build, completely naked save for bandages wrapped completely around their head and horns. All he could see if its face was one single, bright emerald green eye. This was the voice, this was the bandaged one. "Because this world was not made for you." It spoke, putting what was supposed to be a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I can help you there."
He shuddered and backed away from the bandaged one. "But what can you do? You're just a voice, just my imagination. Aren't you?"
The bandaged one shook its head. "You should know by now what I am. Why do you think I have the same emerald green eyes as you?" Harry faltered, unable to come up with a reply. "I am the voice of the instincts of your DNA. You are distressed, you are hurting, I can help."
Harry stared quizzically at the bandaged one. "But how can you help me if you're just my instincts?"
The bandaged one laughed a hollow laugh. "I am much more than your instincts. You have a power laying dormant inside you. You have felt it in your dreams stirring inside you." He gasped. How had the bandaged one known?! He woke up in the middle of the night every night from the same dream – he was in this dark space, and the bandaged one was there but only in voice not body, and he could feel something moving inside him, inside his back.
"I-I have power? But I don't have any power. I'm Harry, just Harry." He stuttered.
The bandaged one held out its hand."Would you like to have power? To make a family of your own? To rid the world of all the mean, selfish, greedy humans that ignore you, insult you, beat you, and look at you like you're just gum on the bottom of their shoe?"
His eyes lit up. "I can have power? I can be strong, and have a real family?"
The bandages shifted on the bandaged one. It was smiling. "Yes. We are one and the same, Harry James Potter. I am your instincts. Listen to me and together we can remake the world into a world of your own."
Harry's expression was glowing with hope for the first time in his life. "What do I have to do?"
The voice laughed again, and smiled even wider. "Its simple really. You just have to kill everyone."
Harry's expression turned scared. "But is that fair? Do they really deserve to die?"
"All your aunt has ever done was use you like a free servant. Your uncle hates your very existence and your cousin bullies you. The teachers scold you and look at you like you're a lost cause. The other students avoid you cause of your horns like you're some sort of disease. Do people who are that selfish, who treat you that badly, really deserve a single breath they take?"
Anger rose up in ten year old Harry James Potter. Everyone had always hated him. Why had everyone always hated him?
The bandaged one spoke up again. "Everyone hates you because this world was not made for you. You have a choice to make. You can chose to ignore me and live a life of being treated like rubbish, or you can chose to listen to me and make this world into a world of your own." The bandaged one took a few steps closer to him, holding out its hand imploringly. "The choice is yours. Which do you choose?"