Story Summary: WBWL: Harry is not the Boy-Who-Lived; his egotistical, pain-in-the-arse, arrogant twin brother is. During the summer before third year, Harry storms from the Dursleys', intent on never setting foot there again. And, one day, he would extract his revenge from those who plagued his not-so-innocent childhood ... Dark!Harry Smart!Harry (5000-word Chapters) (on Hiatus, sadly)

Author's Note: Welcome. Let's get on with the show!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any canon characters, places, themes, or other related indicia. All rights go to the author, J K Rowling, and her respective publishers and copyright owners. Any ideas that I have are strictly from my own imagination, and any similarities are completely coincidental.

Note: I've realized that I should include a WARNING for *possible* mentions/scenes of torture/non-con/heavy violence/grotesque imagery, et cetera. I don't know about you people, but when an author says "head's up, this chapter includes torture," or "trigger warning: obscure mention of rape," it kinda spoils it for me. You've just told me that it's coming, so it's not as exciting when I read it. If some people want me to specifically PM them in the case of these types of scenes I'd be more than happy to (just tell me so in your review), but for the most part I want to keep that out of my Author Notes after this.

Originally posted October 13, 2014

Chapter 1 – Rising Tension

Harry could hear his bedside clock tick just as he scratched the last word of his sentence onto his History paper. He rubbed his eyes. Usually, he would stay up a little later, as it was surely almost midnight, but he was really tired tonight. Yesterday, he had spent the entire day gardening, and would be bending over on his knees with his hands in the dirt again in the morning, too.

He decided that he would give it up for the night – there was still a long time to go until term started. He put his eagle-feather quill back in the old pillowcase he used to hide things, following the flashlight and ink bottle that had also been in use. He quietly (for he wasn't going to wake the Dursleys up if he could help it) pried the one loose floorboard open and stuck the pillowcase with his things in the little space that was made available to him. Tucking his essay into the book to mark his page, he also stacked his textbook, A History of Magic, in his little closet in the corner of the room next to the door.

Turning around to head back to his bed, he noted the time that read on the clock. It was one in the morning. His stomach gave a funny jolt; he'd been thirteen for an hour and hadn't even realized it. Not that anyone else in the house would care, or even mention it – but, to Harry, it meant that he was another year closer to finishing school and seeking employment. Something he was both excited and apprehensive about.

Harry went to the window – the cool air on his face was nice after hiding with his flashlight under the blankets for so long. He could even see his reflection. Staring back at him was a boy with stubbornly untidy jet-black hair; bright eyes behind black, circular glasses; and smooth features that were becoming slightly more angled with age. The body of the boy was insanely lean – there was so little fat, that one might say he had never eaten junk food in his life. But there was a slight dusting of muscle already rearing its head, something that would one day be the source of jealousy in later years as the muscle developed further. The eyes, though, were a phenomenon. They had once burned bright green but had morphed into a soft grass colour, starting early in his childhood as a near-neon shade of frog to very recently having a much-dulled shade of watermelon.

Looking out the window, Harry searched for a sign of Hedwig, his pet owl. It took him a moment to recognise what he was seeing, but a lop-sided something was flying his way. He quickly realised what it was and threw open the window as far as it could go. The three owls flew through the window and landed on Harry's bed with a flump. The middle owl looked sickly, and it lay still as Harry removed the package tied to its feet. It was a package from the Weasley family. That owl was Errol, and Harry put him in Hedwig's cage. The owl gave a feeble hoot of thanks before gulping some water. Setting the package aside, he moved on to his own owl, a large snowy female. She looked exceptionally pleased with herself and allowed Harry to remove her parcel before giving an affectionate nip on his finger and joining Errol. This one was from Hagrid, he was sure. He, too, set this one aside so that he could relieve what he assumed was a Hogwarts owl of the letters it was carrying. After the strings holding the mail were off, it ruffled its feathers importantly and jumped up onto the windowsill and flew away. There were two letters – one for Harry, and one for his brother, Christopher. Christopher was Harry's twin brother, who was currently asleep on the bed next to Harry's. He had always been in this room for as long as they could remember – Harry had been in the cupboard under the stairs. For everything that had gone wrong, every bit of accidental magic, Harry had always been the scapegoat, with Christopher always getting off free. So, Harry had to stay in the cupboard for his "misbehaviour" while Christopher got to stay in the second room upstairs. When their Hogwarts letters first arrived, the Dursleys got nervous about the possibility of people watching the house and moved Harry into the room with Christopher, much to the spoiled boy's displeasure. He had thrown a tantrum to rival Dudley, but Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon weren't about to be convinced otherwise.

Harry slit open the envelope. Noticing it was a bit thicker than usual, Harry read the first piece of parchment in his letter:

Dear Mr. H Potter,

Please note that the new school year will begin on September the first. The Hogwarts Express will leave from King's Cross Station, platform nine and three-quarters, at eleven o'clock. Third-years are permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade at certain weekends. Please give the enclosed permission slip to your parent or guardian to sign.

A list of books for next year is enclosed.

Yours sincerely,

Professor M. McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

There was a permission slip? That was going to be a problem. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon might sign the innocent piece of paper without batting an eyelid for Christopher, but they certainly weren't going to sign his without putting up a fight. Unless he switched papers with Christopher so that they "accidentally" signed his instead, and Christopher wouldn't be allowed to visit the all-wizard village? But that was a very backhanded, unethical way of doing things, tempting as it was. No … things would have to be done the hard way. He just wondered what would make the Dursleys see sense.

Ignoring the equipment lists and train ticket that were also in the envelope, Harry decided that opening whatever had come from Hagrid would surely cheer him up a little. He picked up the package; it was larger than whatever had been sent from the Weasleys to Christopher. With a slightly smug expression at the thought, he removed the letter from the strings of the parcel and opened it. There were notes for himself and his brother, separately, inside. He threw his brother's letter on top of the parcel from the Weasleys. His letter read:

Dear Harry,

Happy Birthday!

Think you might find this useful for next year. Won't say no more here. Tell you when I see you.

How are you doing, Harry? Hope the muggles are treating you right.

All the best,

Hagrid

He might find whatever Hagrid gave him useful? That didn't exactly calm his nerves; Hagrid tended to have a rather skewed sense of what was dangerous and such. Warning bells were ringing in Harry's head. Was it some sort of book that might give him some nasty spells that he could use? Or was it something simpler, like a broomstick servicing kit? Or even a potion ingredient kit that had a wide stock of oils and essences and smelly animal parts that Hagrid had collected himself, but would most likely only burn his fingers?

Suddenly very cautious and suspicious of whatever might be inside; Harry gently cut open the brown paper covering with a pocket knife. He hadn't gotten very far when the package gave a shudder and a growl and fell from his hands onto the bed because of his surprise. Seeing that it couldn't move (yet), he picked it up and examined the hole he had managed to cut. There was something flat and furry inside. Removing more paper, he could see the title on the book in gold writing, The Monster Book of Monsters, before it jumped out of the parcel and onto his sheets, where it scuttled under the bed and hid. But that wasn't his only problem; the first book, having been removed from the paper packaging, revealed another book of the same caliber that tried to bite his hand off before scuttling in the opposite direction of the other book underneath Christopher's dresser.

Harry leaped out of bed as quietly as he could, for it was still quite late, and used a closed fist, with the fingers wrapped around the thumb to protect it, to lure the book out from under his bed first. It snapped, its rough edge barely grazing his knuckle – leaving a scratch or two that drew no blood. Harry, on instinct, took his chance and threw his elbow upon the book, keeping it still with his weight. It tried to free itself, but Harry, without even thinking, ran a finger down the spine. The book settled and Harry removed his elbow from it. Picking it up, he took a longer look at the cover (for he had only seen a glance before), flipped through a few pages, and put it at the bottom of his textbook pile so that it could not get away.

Focusing on the other book, Christopher's, he used the same trick as he had before, this time receiving no scratches whatsoever and calmed his book also. Christopher would injure himself, he was sure, so he used the cords from Hagrid's parcel and bound the book. He also tucked Christopher's letter under the strings like it had been before and set it underneath the Weasley package. He couldn't wait to hear his brother's girly scream when he found it.

Making sure that he had left no mess anywhere (for his brother would most certainly complain and Harry would have to do all the laundry as punishment), Harry reached up and crossed off another day on the little planner he had made for himself that counted the days left until Hogwarts. Crawling into bed, he pried his glasses from his face and lay on his side, falling asleep almost immediately.

Harry woke to the sound of his brother's annoyingly loud, stretched-out yawn. Making no comment, Harry rolled out of bed, jammed his glasses onto his face and grabbed new clothes for the day. He barely spared a glance at Christopher when the irritation himself exclaimed noisily with gasps and soft curses at whatever had been from Ronald Weasley. Harry also had to hide a grin at the highly anticipated scream from his brother when the boy found his copy of The Monster Book of Monsters … Really, how Christopher had been sorted into Gryffindor, he did not know.

Remembering his own sorting when he had been eleven, nervous and slightly jealous of the attention that his brother was getting, Harry pulled on his trousers and made his way down to break his fast.

(Flashback – Harry's Sorting, 2 years prior)

"Potter, Christopher!"

Harry watched as nearly everybody in the Great Hall struggled to get a glimpse of The-Boy-Who-Lived before the hat fell over the taller, black-haired and green-eyed twin. The hat took a minute to ponder, before announcing "Gryffindor!" at which the students with red crests and ties stood; cheering louder than any of the previous students had been cheered for. Christopher, with another of his stupid grins, strode triumphantly to the table and sat down next to the other first years.

"Potter, Harry!"

Making a point to show no signs of nervousness, Harry made a careful, determined walk and sat on the three-legged stool, whereupon McGonagall placed the hat on his shaggy-haired head.

"Well, Mr. Potter, this is a very fine mind that you have," the hat spoke into his ear. "Thus, it would ever be a shame if you were put in the wrong house … smart, but not grasping for detailed information … cunning, but not quite the stock of ambition Slytherin usually sees … hardworking, but definitely not loyal … brave, but you've never acted with much nerve … Yes, Mr. Potter, this is difficult … difficult. If I were to go with my metaphorical gut, however … I would put you in GRYFFINDOR!"

The last word echoed across the vast Hall, and the hat was removed from his head. He stood up, plastered a polite smile on his face (to mask his uncertain feelings towards being with his brother), and sat as far away from his brother as would still be considered well-mannered.

(End Flashback)

Harry walked down to the kitchen, slightly surprised to find the three Dursleys already there (although his brother was still nowhere to be seen). Taking a piece of toast and spreading some strawberry jam onto it, he shifted his attention to the television screen that had been a gift for his cousin, who had continually complained about the walk between the kitchen and the living room television until a new one had been implemented for his birthday. The news reporter was in the middle of a warning about some escaped convict.

"… the public is warned that Black is armed and extremely dangerous. A special hotline has been set up, and any sighting of Black should be reported immediately."

Uncle Vernon snorted at the state of the prisoner, staring over the top of his mug at the elusive convict. He shot a nasty sideways glance at Harry, commenting on the filthy hair of the escapee before filling his mouth with even more food.

It was then that Christopher made his appearance. As soon as Aunt Petunia saw him, she gave a great big exclamation of "Happy Birthday, Christie!" before engulfing him in a hug. She brought out presents from their hiding spot under the kitchen sink, loading up his arms before he could even touch his food. He said thanks through a very cheesy grin indeed and shoved a muffin into his mouth before ripping off the paper from his first present.

It was mostly candies and things. There were a couple new video game discs for the console that he and Dudley shared, and a gift card for the electronics store. There was also a surprise – tickets for a muggle concert a couple weeks before term started. Of course, those tickets were for Dudley and Christopher only, as Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would find such an event too loud, and it would be "too expensive" or some other such nonsense to buy Harry one.

When the last card was unwrapped (containing a 20-pound note that was quickly pocketed), Uncle Vernon glanced at his wristwatch before saying, "I'd better be off in a minute, Petunia. Marge's train gets in at ten."

Harry, startled, blurted, "Aunt Marge is coming? Coming here?" before he had a chance to think about it.

"Don't you remember? She said she was coming for my birthday," Christopher sneered. "Or are you too busy hiding up in our room, reading your books?"

Aunt Marge was Vernon's sister. She was not a blood relative of Harry's, but he had still been forced to call her "Aunt" all his life. She was a rather large, beefy and fat woman like her brother. She lived in the country breeding her bulldogs. She didn't come to stay often, as she couldn't bear to leave her precious dogs behind, but each of her visits had never been fun for Harry. The last time she had come, Harry had been carrying the dirty dishes after supper and hadn't seen the dog, hidden, under the repulsive woman's mass. He'd accidentally stepped on the toes of Ripper, Marge's favourite dog, and hastily put the dishes on the counter before running from the angered rabid animal. He knew he couldn't escape it for much longer, as four-legged creatures were faster than two-legged ones (which had better endurance). He'd climbed the old willow tree in the corner of the yard with great agility and waited for many hours, past midnight, until Aunt Petunia made Aunt Marge see somewhat a sliver of sense and call the dog off. Of course, Dudley and Christopher had found this extremely amusing and had bugged him constantly about it for some time, until the summer ended and it was time to go back to Hogwarts.

"Marge'll be here for a week," Uncle Vernon snarled, "and while we're on the topic," he pointed a fat finger threateningly at Harry, "we need to get a few things straight before I go and collect her."

Christopher withdrew his gaze from the television with a smug grin, sensing Harry's displeasure. Dudley, almost reluctantly, followed suit.

"Firstly," growled Uncle Vernon, "you'll keep a civil tongue in your head when you're talking to Marge."

"All right," said Harry bitterly, "if she does when she's talking to me."

"Secondly," said Uncle Vernon, acting as though he had not heard Harry's reply, "as Marge doesn't know anything about your abnormality," his eyes briefly flicked to Christopher before continuing, "I don't want any funny stuff while she's here. You behave yourself, got me?

"I will if she does," Harry said through gritted teeth.

"And thirdly," Vernon said, his eyes barely even slits in his great purple face, "we've told Marge you attend St. Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys."

"What?" Harry nearly shrieked.

"And you'll be sticking to that story, boy, or there'll be trouble," spat Uncle Vernon. Turning his head, he spoke in a considerably softer tone to Christopher, "We've told her that you go to Smeltings with Dudley."

"I would expect as much," Christopher all but sneered.

Nodding, Uncle Vernon turned to go and set his breakfast dishes by the sink. He gave Dudley a pat on the shoulder before heading out into the hall.

Harry, getting an idea, followed him out after sticking his dish on top of Uncle Vernon's.

The fatter man paused as he realised Harry was behind him. "I'm not taking you," he said, pulling his arm through his coat sleeve.

"Like I wanted to come," Harry replied coldly. "I want to ask you something."

Uncle Vernon lifted his eyebrows suspiciously but didn't say anything which Harry took as an invitation to go on.

"Third-years are at my school are allowed to visit the village sometimes," Harry began.

"So?"

The man wasn't very quick, apparently.

"I need you to sign my permission form," Harry smoothly and calmly countered.

"And why should I do that?" sneered Uncle Vernon.

So, the man wasn't willing to let go of the past and see reason. He chose his next words carefully.

"Well, it'll be hard work, pretending that I go to St. Whatsit's …" Harry said, putting his acting charade on, looking up to Uncle Vernon's increasingly purple face. "It's a lot to remember. I'll have to make it sound convincing, won't I? What if I were to accidentally let something slip?"

"You'd get the stuffing knocked out of you, wouldn't you?" roared Uncle Vernon, raising his fist threateningly. Harry, however, stood his ground.

"Having the stuffing knocked out of me wouldn't make Marge forget what I could tell her," Harry smirked, almost smugly. "But if you sign my permission form, I'll act normal and remember where I go to school and everything."

Uncle Vernon's jaw ground from side to side audibly. "If I find your behaviour acceptable … I'll sign your ruddy form."

Grinning, Harry headed upstairs to make sure everything related to Hogwarts and magic was hidden from sight; excluding his wand, of course – that would always be on his person. It appeared both Hedwig and Errol had left sometime during the night or morning when he had been eating because the owl cage was empty. He headed downstairs just as Vernon's car rolled in the driveway.

Petunia opened the door for her fat sister-in-law. Bumping their jawbones, Petunia greeted her, "How lovely to see you, Marge! Anything I could get you, dear? Tea, perhaps?"

"That would be lovely, yes, and Ripper'll take some tea out of the saucer, if you would," the immense woman replied. Upon seeing Dudley and Christopher, she cooed, "How is my little Dudders! And the birthday boy himself – Christie! Come and give your auntie a hug!"

The boys allowed her to wrap her massive arms around them, each "mysteriously" having gained a twenty-pound note when her arms returned to her sides.

Seeing Harry, however, dealt a very different reaction. The woman visibly pouted and immediately got to work on ruining his day.

"So, still here are you? You just couldn't let your aunt and uncle live in peace. You know, if he had come to my doorstep, I would have thrown him straight into the orphanage. Don't know why you haven't yet, Petunia," she said, calling out the woman who was bringing a tea-tray and a doggy dish with brown liquid like Marge had asked. The heaviest woman led the party into the sitting room. They chatted for about half an hour before Aunt Petunia left for the kitchen, dragging Harry with her to prepare dinner.

One week later, during the evening meal (steak, buttered asparagus and mashed potatoes), talk turned to that of Aunt Marge's dogs back home.

"So, how are the dogs doing, Marge?" Uncle Vernon queried.

"Oh, I have Colonel Fubster looking after them," boomed Aunt Marge. "He's retired now, so it's good for him to have something to do. But I couldn't leave poor Ripper behind – he gets right upset when he's away from me."

Topics of schooling between Dudley and Christopher came up, and the insult of Harry's supposed school also made an appearance.

"So where does Harry go to school, then? You haven't mentioned Harry going to Smelting's."

"Well, no, Harry goes to St. Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys. It's a first-rate institute for hopeless cases," Uncle Vernon informed her. He looked toward Harry as if to say 'Don't screw this up, or there'll be trouble!'

"And do they use the cane at St. Brutus', boy?" Marge barked from across the table.

Flicking his eyes towards Uncle Vernon to witness the man's chins wobble as he nodded, Harry replied to Aunt Marge, saying, "All the time. Some of the bruises I've had lasted for weeks afterwards." He even remembered to school his face into somewhat of a pout and made his voice sound depressed.

"Well, good. I wouldn't trust any school where they're too cowardly to discipline with the necessary force." Marge harrumphed, turning back to her meal.

Satisfied that he had dodged the bullet, once everyone was done Harry cleared the table and brought out the dessert and wine. Aunt Petunia sliced the cake and Harry gave everyone a plate. Aunt Petunia also poured glasses for the three adults.

In her alcohol-induced state, Aunt Marge was truly horrible. The things that came out of her mouth were not unlike things that Rita Skeeter would say if the journalist was not held back in any form. She criticized things as if she was the master of knowledge about them – not that they would be heeding her biased opinions, but it was disgusting nonetheless.

"There's always one bad pup in a litter. Always gets into trouble, thinks that he's the alpha and marks his territory everywhere, that kind of thing. Oh, destructive too. Usually, I mean, I just take those ones and drown them … But really, those are the kind of pups that showcase the stereotypes that the breed gets. Such a shame, really, I just wish more people weren't such big cowards and actually offed them before they could get a chance to pass on their destructive genes. Really, keeping them alive doesn't do anyone any favours."

It was obvious that Marge at this point was only half talking about dogs, considering the way that she was glaring at Harry as if she was the reason for every single unfortunate thing that had happened in her life.

Highly aware of Dudley and Christopher's snickering, Harry concentrated on keeping his temper in check. If he performed any accidental magic, he would be saying "goodbye!" to Hogsmeade.

"I remember the first pup I had to drown … he was a troublemaker, he was. Always chewing up my slippers. I don't know how many pairs I went through before I had the sense to get it over with and put the thing out of its misery."

Drowning out the woman's words, he remembered a section from his Charms book … "Bombarda (bom-BAR-duh) is a spell that produces a strong blast that can slam open doors and throw heavy objects across the room."

"The rest of the litter was much calmer after that, I assure you. Much more friendly and approachable."

"The spell Lumos (LOO-mos) creates a small beam of white light at the tip of the wand once cast. It –"

"– that year, I even had to drown two of the things; it was as if once the first died the second was doing it in rebellion –"

"– to repel water and other materials, one can use the spell Impervious (ihm-PER-vee-us) on an object. This –"

"– last year I had only 3 pups, so of course having to drown the firstborn –"

"– repairs damage done to an object –"

"– looked a lot like its father –"

It was if his magic twitched with anger; pieces of Marge's wine glass went everywhere.

Hardly bothered, Marge said, "Not to worry, not to worry … I have a very strong grip; I shattered a glass at Colonel Fubster's the other day …"

Meanwhile, Petunia panicked and got straight to cleaning up the glass. Dudley and Christopher had stopped their snickering to make sure they hadn't been targets of the fragmented glass. Uncle Vernon glared at Harry as if to say, "Bedroom, now."

Happy to oblige, Harry got up and pushed in his chair. However, it seemed as if Aunt Marge wasn't going to stop there.

"It's not your fault, Petunia … sometimes the bad ones are just born that way."

And before she realized it, Marge began to swell up like a balloon filled with hydrogen. The buttons on her shirt burst off, the seam of her pants between her buttocks ripped, her necklace broke, and she began to float up out of her chair. On her face was a mixture of shock and disbelief. Overcome with horror, she didn't speak or make any discernible movement when she found herself hit the ceiling.

But Harry was long gone. As soon as the words were out of the foul woman's mouth and Harry could feel his magic sealing the woman's fate, he turned and ran up the stairs into his room. He packed up everything of his that he would need (which was made easier by his storing of his things one week prior), stuffed it all in his trunk (again, keeping his wand out), and dragged it down the stairs. He would leave from the place if they were going to be so disrespectful towards him. Let them try to stop him.

About to unbolt the door, Harry was belated by Vernon's thundering scream.

"YOU GET BACK HERE AND PUT HER RIGHT!" The man's mustache fluttered.

Not about to stand down, especially with the adrenaline running through his veins, Harry matched Vernon's volume. "SHE DESERVED WHAT SHE GOT AND YOU MUST BE MAD IF YOU THINK I'D GO TO THE TROUBLE OF FIXING HER!"

Harry was gripping the handle on his trunk so tight that if he held it any tighter, it would probably break. He could hear his blood pumping in his ears and feel the flow throughout his body; his breathing was deep and heavy.

Harry yanked on the doorknob and could feel the cool night air rejuvenate his sweaty skin. The sensation was incredible. He felt he could punch down the thickest brick wall, swim for miles on end, and climb the highest mountain all in one go … without breaking a sweat.

With this new awareness racking his body, he turned to Vernon to give the man a malicious smile.

"I had hoped, when I was little, that one day I would be treated right. As I got older, I realised that such a thing would be nigh impossible. So here I am today, walking out from your mistreatment and abuse … goodbye, for I desire that this would be the last time you see me."

And he walked through the door frame, on the little bit of pavement from the door to the road. He turned left and headed down the street.

And, in reality, he had never felt so alive.

Author's Note: Whew! We're off to a great start. Tell me what you think. I haven't got a fully-developed storyline, as many circumstances and decisions are subject to change (including pairing(s) - I don't have any planned as of yet). It'd be appreciated if glaring typos and "Americanisms" (*cough cough* I'm Canadian *cough*) were to be pointed out. Also, please point out any sentences that you had to stop and think about before they made sense. Many thanks in advance.

Let me know what you are looking forward to in this story, what you don't want this story to turn out like, and even if this story reminds you of another that you've read that you liked.

You can google up the whole two-legged/four-legged thing if you want, or just say something in your review and I can tell you all about it.

PLEASE ask me anything related (or unrelated, I suppose) to the story if you feel so inclined.
A virtual cupcake to anyone who reviews. Even if it just a "Looking forward to the next chapter." (And to those who type exactly that … *waggles finger reprovingly like Lockhart*)

Note that I borrowed some text that is very close to the original book. If you're as big of a Potterhead as I am you know which parts.

EDIT: If you're reading this, then review! I don't care if it's been 3 days or 3 years since it was uploaded, I love my reviews! They make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside!