This story is funnier and more traumatizing than I intended it to be, but I've decided I'm not sorry.

Also, why does my Harry curse so much?

Read, Review, Enjoy.

...

He thought about what he could do if he had his wand. He thought about how he would throttle those kids when he found them. He thought about his disappointment. He thought about how he'd hoped there would be some sort of afterlife at the end of that train ride, where his family would be, asking him what had taken him so long. Asking him why he was there so soon. (A flash of green light.) You really have to mean it when you cast an unforgivable. You have to want it.

He thought about nothing at all.

It was a few hours later, after he had thoroughly exhausted himself making fingers that bent in the right direction, that there was a sound like a heavy wooden door creaking open. Footsteps, too, on creaky stairs and then wooden floorboards.

It was a woman.

An older woman, who walked slowly and had wrinkles upon wrinkles, but none of aged lines on her face were the kind you get from laughing a lot or smiling too much.

"You poor thing." She crooned at him. "Let's get you fixed up." Her words were warm, but her eyes cold.

She prodded at his mouth, something red and gleaming in her hands, and tried to slip it passed his teeth. He couldn't tell what it was behind the taste of blood and agony, a pill maybe. He spit it out, and tried to bite the woman. She snatched her hand back and hissed. Harry attempted to ward her off with his hands, but only succeeded in hurting himself with his thrashing.

"I'm trying to help you, dear." He could hear her teeth grinding. It pleased him immensely to hear it. "Eat this," she continued, "-and your form will stabilize. You'll look human, be able to walk and talk and run. Come on dear, open up."

Look human?

"-if you feed a homunculus a multitude of compressed human souls, they will gain human form, but lose their humanity."

Death had said that. He'd said a homunculus was a body that was made by a dark wizard in an attempt to raise the dead, (a body like the one Harry now possessed), inhabited by one of the unformed souls from beyond the gate, inhabited by one of those shadowy hands (as this body would have been, if Harry had not been the first one through the gate once the toll for the dark magic had been paid). The resulting combination of shadow and flesh was called a homunculus, and if you fed a homunculus human souls, they would look human, but lose their humanity. (Question: did those shadow things have any humanity to begin with? Harry had watched them tear a kid's arm off, after all.) So this woman thought Harry was a homunculus because his body was made by death magic, and she was trying to put something in his mouth that tasted like death and would 'make him look human'.

She grew frustrated with his continued insistence on resisting her attempts to poison him. She leaned back and eyed him speculatively.

Those kids hadn't been evil or dark or trying to create something that looked human but wasn't; they were just...stupid, and missed their mom. Ignorant, dangerous, but not evil. The children could not rightfully be called evil. The step in that process that made it evil was the part were you started ripping people's souls out and feeding them to undead monsters. Ergo, the evil one in this situation was the one trying to feed him human souls. (Which strangely tasted like rock?)

Harry would bet money that the old woman trying to shove evil down his throat was behind the kid's attempt to dabble in necromancy. She probably "accidentally" left an evil book out were the brats would find it right after their mom died, gave prodigious, grieving kids desperate ideas. (Because where else are ten year old's going to learn how to raise the dead, the family library? Only a total moron leaves those kinds of books where your children can find them; it had to be the evil witch maliciously trying to corrupt children, no one was stupid enough to leave those kinds of books where just anyone can find them.) That bitch might have even killed the brat's mom herself, just to give them a reason to attempt necromancy so she didn't have to pay the toll herself. The orphans die making a homunculus, and she swoops in to turn the result into a caricature of a human being that would probably obey her every whim. What a bastard.

"Oh of course," She said, in a tone that seemed to be trying to put him at ease. "allow me to introduce myself. My name is Dan-" -who gives a fuck.

She was still muttering nonsense, she had been looking him over like a fresh cut of meat ever sense his weak attempts to ward her off. She looked at him with pursed lips and a calculating eye. Harry stared back, body twitching to move but lacking the energy and physiology to do so. Damn he wanted his wand back. His eyes met her's. It would be really nice to be a master legilimens right about now.

It suddenly clicked in his mind. This was the dark one. The evil one in this story. The orphan maker. The Voldemort. A flash of green light. A woman screaming. She needed to die. All that had happened to those boys had happened because of her. She had to die. This-this was what Harry was born to do. There were four spells he could do wandlessly. The summoning charm, lumos, the patronus spell, and one other, but that one...

Even on a good day with a half decent wand, casting that spell would require incredible amounts of concentration to control. While incredibly easy to cast, attempting it now, in his current condition, it would be nearly impossible to control. Undoubtedly, Harry would die as well as the witch. But those boys...what if she decides to tie up loose ends?

"Are you going to turn out to be Sloth or Wrath, then? Those are the only two unaccounted for..."

Fuck this bitch. Why is she still talking? Why is he still listening to her talk? Harry is the master of fucking death, dying costs him nothing and killing this bitch will doubtlessly save those two boys from a world of hurt.

He reached out his hand, with his newly bendable fingers, tightened a hold around her skirt and concentrated on his hatred, how dare this fucking bitch; focusing so hard it hurt, it burned. Fiendfyre leapt from his hand, racing up the old hag's clothes and clawing at her face. For her, the fiendfyre took on the forms of wailing, indistinguishable faces, human faces crying out in misery and clawing at her skin. She struck him on the head and jumped back, hissed, pawing at herself. Things blurred a little when his skull hit concrete. Red lightning flashed at her fingertips and around her body, like a crucio, but fiendfyre was born to eat dark spells and cursed artifacts. The very lightning burned. She began shrieking, her body jerking and flailing without her control, and then she was on the ground, rolling around in agony as lightning and fire burst around her. Her insides were red, but wrong. No blood or organs burned inside her; she was full of only that color, curse red, glowing red the color of red stones. Whatever her insides were made of though, they still burned just as well as anything else did under fiendfyre. She shrieked and flailed far longer than any mortal human should have, long passed the point most people would have died.

She didn't stop moving until her entire body was streaks on the floor, until every speck of red light had been consumed by fiendfyre.

And with no more flesh to feed it, the fire turned it's attention to the concrete below it. It followed the blood on the floor like normal fire would follow gasoline, crawling like cockroaches.

It followed the blood, and Harry was covered in it.

This is the day that Harry Potter learns that killing yourself with fiendfyre is even less fun than killing yourself with an avada kedavra. There is fire, not enough air in the world to scream, and then there is death.

...

And then there is Death, grinning at him as it sits in front of a black gate in an unformed white landscape.

...

Have an ubiquitous day.