A/N: This is an insanely old fic (written in '03) that I was browbeaten into re-uploading. Feel free to flame. It's quite crappy. Harry Potter is not mine, nor is the song The Red by Chevelle.


The Red

Tick, tick, tick.

The sound of thick, red liquid on tile echoed through an almost empty house. A pair of flashing green eyes glared about furiously as they remembered…


They say freak

When you're singled out.

Ever since Harry got back, he couldn't stand to be contained in his body. He was too depressed, guilty, and so…furious. A fiery rage entered him that he couldn't explain. All the people he loved were gone because of him. Because once again, he was singled out. Now he knew, he no longer had any control over his life.

The Dursleys had been walking on eggshells around him the past few weeks because of the threats they received from Lupin, Moody, and Tonks. However, an owl from the Order changed all that. The letter told them not to leave Harry alone too long and to keep a close eye on him.

The red,

Well, it filters through.

That didn't bother Harry. He could ignore the Dursleys well enough. What he could not ignore were Dudley's comments about his vocal nightmares in which he would call out to Sirius, or when Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia made snide comments about him and his associations. When Harry stopped to stare at Uncle Vernon, his uncle said, "What are you staring at, freak?"

Harry snapped.

So lay down,

The threat is real.

When his sight

Goes red again…

"How dare you?" Harry whispered barely audible to his uncle.

"Come again, freak?" came his uncle's foolishly swift reply.

"How DARE YOU!" Harry's voice rose to a crescendo as rage built up into him.

To Harry's right, Dudley giggled. "Look at him mum! He's blubbering!" He and Aunt Petunia doubled over in laughter, for indeed, Harry's eyes were full of tears.

Little did the Dursleys know, they were tears of rage.

"How dare I what?" Vernon shot back at Harry.

Harry replied in a tone that revealed his deepest loathing, "How dare you live?"

Seeing red again…

This change

He won't contain

Slip away

To clear your mind.

Harry had one thing in mind and one thing only.

As Harry's hand slipped into the cutlery drawer, he realized what he was doing. I can't do something like this, Harry thought to himself. Oh yes you can. You can control your own life. You can even control the people in your life.

No! a small voice protested. You can't do this! was the last rational thought Harry held as his mind cleared into certain resolve. He started forward.

When asked

Who made it show

The truth

He gives in to most.

Years of oppression, isolation, and hurt guided Harry's hand. The Dursleys had always neglected him and mentally abused him. For years he grew up as the "freak" and "abnormality" that was a burden upon them. At Hogwarts, Harry was isolated because he was "The Boy Who Lived." He was nothing more than a legend, not to be touched. Everywhere, everyone he knew and loved died. And now, Harry realized, if good people didn't deserve to live, no one deserved to live.

Life showed him the truth.

So lay down

The threat is real

When his sight

Goes red again…

Red tinted Harry's vision as the screams tore through his mind. Harry was angry. These stupid people! How dare they fight their fate!? Harry felt better when he felt flesh ripping under his blade.

So lay down

The threat is real

When his sight

Goes red again…

Oh, what a thrill! It was almost poetic, the effect of the screams, gaping wounds, flowing blood. Harry was mildly surprised that he hadn't realized how wonderful it would be to do this before.

Harry soon realized the screaming had stopped. Three mutilated figures lay still on the tiled kitchen floor. No wait, the largest one was still breathing. Harry crept up to examine the hulking form. Grey-blue eyes stared up at him through a sheen of liquid red.

They say freak

When you're singled out.

The large man took a last gasping breath and with it, said that damning word once again.

"Freak…"

The Red

It filters through.

With that, Harry lifted his hand and brought the blade home into the man's chest. Harry watched as the life left the man's eyes.


Harry looked about him from his vantage on the floor. He could just make out three still forms in front of him in the fading sunlight. The setting sun painted the bloody scene with a red wash. As Harry watched the last of the sunlight filter through the window, he realized just what a wonderful color red was.

The end.