Don't own Harry potter or Creepypasta character

I would really like review on this fiction because I never wrote something so very gore

With so complex personage.

Anyway

Enjoy~

Drip

It...

Drop

It was...

Drip

Mesmerising...

Drop

Like the beat of the metronome.

Drip

It was a never ending flow of rhythm.

Drop

The relaxed feeling that it convoyed was a whole new sensation.

Drip

Calming the raging beast inside of her, lusting for blood

Drop

The glorious blood...

Drip

The blood that escaped the corpse she butchered, sliding on the surface of the coffee table...

Drop

It finally descended on the floor. It was like... like...

Drip

...Like a lullaby...

Drop...

Iris Potter knew that she will die this day; there was no hesitation in the statement. It was a pure fact. And she knew she could not escape it. But she still fought the pull to just go to sleep.

Previously in the day, her aunt had taken Dudley to one shopping trip and let her alone at the house with a list of chore to do or risking the cupboard without food for the night. The summer day at been nice, no relative to abuse her, she hummed herself softly in good mood. The little red head was still marvelling at the bitter saying her aunt gave her before going out with Dudley.

"You look just like your whore of a mother" She ignored the insult pretty easily and concentred on the incredible feeling inside of her: she looked like her mother! Does she had something to relate with her father?

Despite the joy of the she felt. It went downhill pretty quickly for the 8 years old.

Her uncle had come home earlier than usual, drunk off his rocker. Raging like a lunatic at the unfairness of his now jobless statue. But the moment the he saw her cleaning the tile of the kitchen, cautiously not meeting his gaze that the situation exploded in more dangerous route.

He accused her to be the reason he was fired, her and her freakiness. He started a full blown rant about her ungrateful being at their family that took her with the goodness of their heart, give her their food, of how they tried to beat the unnaturalness out of her and tried to make her a good member of the society.

"But no more, this business as lasted long enough" Uncle Vernon slurred out.

Iris knew something bad would happen, she tried to make a run for it. She didn't make it; Vernon grabbed her by the hair and threw her in the middle of the kitchen with a cry of pain. She tried to crawl away, only to receive a kick in the middle, making her hard to breath. Her uncle took advantage of her breathless form; he rained his fists on her form, taking out all frustration and hates on her little body. But like always it was nothing new of the usual beating she received. She was lucky that he wasn't focused to break her bone like last time.

When he stopped, the relief for Iris was short lived. He took a step away of her body mumbling nonsense in his drunken haze. Still struggling to flee her mad relative in her battered state, Iris never saw the knife in the hand of her uncle.

He didn't stabbed her, he slashed across the left eye and in grand final slashed her throat messily and not deep enough to kill her outright but to slowly bleed out. She gurgled, her left eye firmly closed and her right was wide in panic, her mindset became rawer in emotion. Unknown to her, her magic tried to protect her but the magical block of Albus Dumbledore halted all effort to manifest in her desire to survive. Vernon still drunk and out of any rational thought dropped the knife he mounted the stair searching his bed's comfort.

Iris Potter was going to die. She was dying and could not accept it. All her life she suffered like a slave at the hand of her relative knowing it wasn't right. How she hated her Aunt for her vicious word against her dead parents and her constant verbal abuse on her. She despised her cousin with her whole being, for the Iris hunting the beating and the lies. But above all she loathed her uncle for the beating, the verbal and emotional abuse... for killing her.

But soon the loss of blood was too much for her and she died in her own blood. To never be notified at with a certain headmaster with the nonexistent blood ward. For the notion of home was never there.

After that she found herself in a train station, a very white train station. A peaceful place surely guiding her to her parent, but she was already lost. So lost in grief she didn't see the baby like monstrosity hiding under the bench. She was to consumed by wild hate and murderous rage, leaving a single desire in her mind:

Revenge, Blood, Return, Blood, Kill, Blood, Sweet Screams and Suffering, Blood!

It was enough to bring her back...

Back in the kitchen of the Dursley family, in the setting sun, the still warm corpse of their niece seemed to twitch and slowly regain sign of life. Her magic liberated at her death helped her regain her mobility and healed at the best of it ability. But the magic was instinctual at best and could not repaired totally the damage done at her throat but it stitched it closed, leaving a grotesque scar behind. It was by pure luck her left eyes was intact

Picking the abandoned knife at her side she stood up shakily on her feet. Chuckling in a rough sound no girl should possess, she smiled darkly at her reflection in the window. There stood now black haired child with red streak, glowing mad emerald eyes, long scar crossing over her left eye and a demented little smile firmly plastered across her face. Stretching her sore muscle she could feel the hidden power coursing in her body, making her eyes darken in sick wonder of how it could be used. A loud snore stopped her short in her reflections. Looking up her smile transformed in a dark Cheshire one.

"But my dear uncle I didn't sing you your lullaby... how could you sleep without one," Iris rasped out in a definitely more husky voice.

Marching in the shadow she followed her instinct and willed herself in the master bedroom. She stepped out of the corner shadow of the sleeping man. Continuing to follow her intuition she controlled the shadow to restrain her uncle, she then strutted at his side and stabbed his hand waking him up in pain. As he made motion to scream she willed him silent. Iris started humming softly, never leaving her gaze from the terrified one of her uncle.

"Oh won't you come with me

Where the moon is made of suffering

And in the morning sun

You will be screaming

In the forever pit of wailing"

Iris rasped in a parody of smoothing voice. Humming a few note she traced her knife over the trashing man and settled over his rapidly beating heart.

"Have fear to follow me

Be glad of silent torment

Exhaust your faint heart

In the harsh wind of my foly"

She finished in husky murmur. Cutting a semi deep cut above the beating heart, she willed her hands with sharp claw, and plunged her hand in the body of the man. Passing the bones easily she reached for the heart and plunged it out of the heavily bleeding corpse of Vernon.

"Sweet dream Uncle" Rasped out the newly murdered.

Throwing aside the still beating organ, Iris sit quietly on the bed not minding the corpse the slightest and started humming random song waiting for her aunt to arrive.

Petunia had a bad feeling...

Paying the cab she took her bag and dragged her Dudley across the lawn, pushing aside her unease. Entering the house she found it unusually silent, calling her husband only the silence responded. Taking the hand of her boy ignoring his whining as the bad feeling retook full force. She was about to call the Freak when the front door locket itself, starling her and Dudley. Reaching to unlock it she found it stuck, to her wariness. Suddenly a rasping voice from the top of the stairs made them jump in fright.

"Let me hear your pretty voice..."

There stood in her morbid glory her niece in Dudley hand me down covered in blood her left hand drenched in red in her right a knife full blooded. She surveyed them in the shadow, before disappearing. The last thing she heard was the soft humming behind her and her own scream, and then nothing.

Looking at the cooling corpse of her cousin in the living room, Iris felt alive. Like a height had been lifted from her shoulder. The Rage inside of her had became addicted at the violence and she could not reprimand it for she loved the sensation of power herself. Looking at the full moon she smiled once more and disappeared from privet drive to never see it again.

Stepping out of a random shadow, she instinctively knew she was in a forest of North America. Panting in exertion, she righted herself, it was time for a new life where she was free.

It had been three months already that she butchered her relative, living as her whim directed her. Over these months she scratched her itch numerous times, the itch to murder. Never, have she really chosen her victims but in majority were abuser.

Over these months she changed from her hand me down clothes and stole a black Lolita dress she found in Japan. She found the styles at her taste, and also stole a pretty red purse were she hide her knife, cleaver and a other things.

She also found herself experimenting with her power and determined the basic foundation of them

First, she could shadow walk, the more distance they are the more extensive is the exhaustion, on the side the shadow restrain demand a good concentration and it work better on already immobile victim. She could also hide in the shadow as long no direct light flash her.

Secondly she could silence her playmate but found she preferred them screaming. On the side she learned to amplify her on voice when it becomes difficult to be heard after using her voice lengthily.

Thirdly she could levitate pretty much everything as long she could see it. She found she could multiple things at the same time; her present limit was five objects.

But after the second month she found herself in moment where she sensed a presence watching her. It bugged her she could never found her spy, and suspected her spy as his own power. She caught a gleam of him one time and holy shit he was tall.

Tonight, she was coming back from a play date with her 'friend'. And took refuge in the forest nearby, she paused at a strange drawing of a circle with a cross on it on one of the three.

"Beautiful kill" A voice echoed in her head starling her a little; there was a static buzz, than she felt a presence familiar nearby.

"It was my dear little spy" rasped out Iris not that bothered to be in presence of another psychopath.

"Recognising me already, how curious... I wish to know, why are you killing, little one?" continued the voice still not facing her.

"Hmmm. to hear a sweet lullaby of despair, the guiltier the better." Iris rasped out, tilting her head just to see a tall man with no face at her side. "Name's Iris, So who are you Mister?"

"I am the Slenderman and I have a proposition for you, ever heard of the Creppypasta?"

Please review

LeonFeneBlack~