Chapter Text
The fat sow probably thought himself Alexander atop Bucephalus he rode through the gates of a conquered Persia. In reality, it was another outrageously expensive gift from Vernon.
The pain flared at her rib as she watched the behmoth ride his new bicycle. Obviously it was brand new and shiny with the most outrageous red painted on it. Dudley hooted with glee, drunk on his own triumph, fat fingers clutching the handlebars as though he had conquered a kingdom.
Just an hour ago, those same fingers had twisted in her hair, dragging her through the hallway, slamming her into the cupboard as though she were meat to be stored. When she did not cry out, he stomped on her side until her vision collapsed into black.
A proper birthday tradition in the hell that was Number 13 Privet Drive.
Already cold, smooth figners without any physical form danced over her ribs, healing them far faster than a trip down to the hospital ever could. She hated the fingers. Hated how her “family” took it for granted and never took her to the hospital. The fingers had so far bought her back from near death far too many times. She didn’t know what it was.
Oh, but you always know who I’m, Rose.
For a moment she imagined Dudley riding his bike down the stairs, falling, and snapping his neck. She vigorously shook her head to rid herself of such evil thoughts. No matter what the Dursley’s did – they did not deserve murder.
Rose frowned, already straining her moral fiber at the prospect of sparing Dursley.
A millennia of brutal evolution has led to power coursing through your veins, little Rose. It doesn’t behove the wise to avoid nature.
She was unwittingly made to look at Dudley again. His fat form, beady little eyes, the bare naked thirst for power, the way those eyes looked at her everytime Petunia wasn’t watching. The way that smile leered at her. Rose inadvertently shuddered in disgust at it.
Look at that creature and speak plainly.
Rose remained quiet and the voice spoke again.
What in him is worth saving?
He is a human being, Rose muttered.
Exactly! He is a mere human being. Weak, corrupt, and prone to treachery . The voice spoke.
I am a human, Rose muttered in confusion but the voice ignored her and continued on.
Why not act as you were meant to? Rise like a dragon. Take him in your talons. Fling him skyward and let him plummet until his spine shatters across stone. Peel the meat from his bones and make the world know what it means to harm a daughter of fire and ruin.
"No," she said, barely more than a breath.
Why not?
"Because that's not what good people do."
Good. Evil. Such pitiful words.
You are not a good person, Rose. You are not a person at all. You are a godling, buried in human skin. You were meant to command. To conquer. You should not grovel in cupboards or bleed on linoleum. You were made to reign.
Rose’s hands trembled, but she said nothing.
How long?
The voice returned, colder now, less patient.
How long do you intend to endure them, little heir of ruin? How many more bones must snap before you accept what you are?
The air seemed to thicken. Her breath caught in her throat as her vision folded inward. She knew what was coming, but the voice gave no mercy.
The classroom swam into view, too bright, the air thick with chalk and cruelty. Her little sculpture, shaped clumsily with love, sat on the teacher’s desk. Dudley loomed over it, already grinning. Then came the crunch. Clay cracked beneath his palm. Laughter followed, loud and merciless. She stood frozen in the aisle, humiliated while her cousin grinned at her tears.
The memory snapped. Another took its place.
The kitchen. Petunia’s hand clutched a frying pan. The smell of scorched vegetables lingered. She had tried to cook. Tried to help. The blow came without warning, ringing against the side of her skull, sharp enough to send her to her knees. Her aunt’s voice hissed about wastefulness, about stupidity, about how freaks ruined everything they touched.
Then came the belt.
The living room, dim. Vernon breathing heavily, belt in hand. She had made the vase tremble without touching it. It had danced, just slightly, on the table’s edge. She remembered the sound of the belt more than the pain. Petunia stood by the wall and did nothing, except nod.
The images faded, but the voice stayed.
These are your elders? These are the ones you would honor?
She swallowed hard.
"They are still my family," she said softly. "And Sunday School says we must respect our elders. Obey them. No matter what."
The voice did not laugh this time. It grew quieter. But no less cruel.
Then your Sunday School is a shrine to cowardice.
You cling to illusions, the voice whispered, no longer soft. You cradle weakness like a child’s toy. I tried to spare you. I held back so much. Out of love.
Rose closed her eyes. Her breath shook in her throat.
But I see now that mercy only made you frail.
“No,” she said. “Please. I remember enough. Don’t show me more.”
You remember what you can survive, the voice said. But I will show you what you refused to survive.
Her legs buckled. The cupboard vanished around her. Memory did not rise — it was forced.
The house was dim. Empty. Vernon and Petunia had gone. She was ten. Alone with him. Alone with it.
She heard his breath before she saw him. Wet. Heavy. She heard the creak of the floorboards, the pause before her cupboard door, the giggle. She saw his shadow stretch across the hallway. She tried not to gag at the stench as Dudley took of his shorts and tugged at his crotch while she lay trembling against her cupboard’s door – hoping against hope he wouldn’t enter.
The vision twisted to remove a more worse memory.
Dudley and Rose walking to school where Dudley forcibly grabbed her hand and rubbed it at his crotch. Rose screamed in terror as she ran away, tears trailing down her eyes. The last was the worst. Rose bathing in the shower while Dudley peaked from a semi-opened door.
Rose gasped for mercy through a tear stained face but there was nothing there.
The vision shifted again.
"I need to tell you something," the younger Rose had said. Her voice had trembled, but she stood straight. "It’s about Dudley. He—he’s been—he keeps coming near me when I’m—"
Petunia’s eyes sharpened.
"He watches me," Rose continued, breath catching. "When I’m alone. In the bathroom. I think he touched—"
The slap came faster than her breath.
Hard, clean, practiced.
The world rang.
"You filthy liar," Petunia said. Her voice didn’t crack. It didn’t rise. It simply dropped into something crueler. "Making up disgusting things about your own cousin. Just like your mother. Always seeking attention. Always twisting the truth. That’s where you got it from, isn’t it?"
Rose's mouth fell open, but no sound came out.
Petunia’s eyes narrowed. "You will not repeat this. Not to me. Not to Vernon. And certainly not to any teachers. Do you understand me?"
"But—"
"I said do you understand me?"
Rose nodded. She did not trust her voice.
"You will not smear Dudley's name because you’re jealous of him. You will not poison this house with those freakish lies."
The memory faded away leaving Rose a whimpering mess on the ground.
You shall know the truth. And the truth shall set you free. Isn’t that what the good book teaches little one? Well now you know the truth.
Rose felt a hand cup her cheek and force her to look at the sky.
Well now little one. Shall you grow your fangs and claw, flare your wings and take to the sky, setting all your enemies ablaze? Or will you keep crawling amidst the filth and muck that spawned you?
The Next Day
Something changed after the memories returned.
Not all at once. Not with screams or curses. But with silence.
Rose became quieter than usual, and she had already been half a ghost to begin with. Now she moved like one. Her eyes no longer darted in fear. They simply watched. Her footsteps softened. Her shoulders stayed drawn, like an animal conserving heat in a killing frost.
She didn’t cry anymore. She didn’t argue. She just... endured.
But inside, something was growing.
In the playground, she sat alone on a rusted swing, fingers curled around the chains. Dudley loitered near the sandbox, loudly mocking a boy with glasses. Rose stared at him, unblinking.
One clean stab to the neck, the voice whispered. Slide the blade beneath the jaw, twist gently. Watch the grunting stop. Feel the air shift when the predator becomes meat.
She imagined it. Imagined how red would look on his windbreaker.
Her lips parted.
She laughed.
A dry, sharp sound. Hysterical. It bubbled out of her throat like a cough, and once it started she couldn’t stop. Children turned. One girl stepped away from the swing set. Another whispered something and pointed.
Rose kept laughing until her stomach hurt.
Later, in the kitchen, she passed Petunia standing over a simmering pot. Her aunt held the lid just slightly ajar, breathing in the steam with that tight-lipped smugness she always wore when pretending to be human.
Rose paused.
She imagined grabbing the back of Petunia’s head and shoving it into the pot. Holding it down until the screams turned to bubbles. Letting the stew season itself with silence.
The laugh returned. Wet. Broken. Too loud.
Petunia turned, startled, but before she could speak, Vernon’s voice bellowed from the sitting room.
"Shut that noise up, girl! What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"
Rose stumbled away from the kitchen, her legs numb. Still laughing. Still unable to stop.
You are waking, the voice crooned, low and soothing. This is what it means to remember. This is what they wanted you to forget. But I remember every insult. Every blow. Every time they looked at you like you were something that crawled from a drain.
Night Time
Rose lay curled in the thin blanket, staring into the dark. She had not slept. Not for hours. Not since the laughter. Not since the memories.
The voice had been silent.
Until now.
"Who are you?" she asked. Not brave. Not afraid. Just tired. Empty.
At first, she thought it would not answer.
Then, from the dark, it came. Soft as fog. Cold as buried bone.
I am the whisper that waits beneath your name.
I am the hunger between questions.
I am the shape that shifts when no one is looking.
When the night creaks and no breath answers, that is me.
When your heart stammers for no reason, I am listening.
When your bones remember what your mind denies, I am watching.
I do not sleep. I do not fade. I do not forget.
You lit the candle, little one. I am the flame.
You cracked the door. I am the wind that entered.
You asked, and now I am answering.
I am Voldemort. I am flight from death.
I am Lilith Gaunt Riddle
But you little one, may call me Mistress
And
I am yours. And you are mine. Until the end.
LET ME IN! LET ME IN! LET ME IN! LET ME IN! LET ME IN! LET ME IN!