Disclaimer: I'm just playing with someone else's toys; JK Rowling owns them!

A/N – So Harry finds out he's dead in this chapter; no surprise there. If that idea upsets you, skip to the next chapter. But really, this isn't too graphic. I apologize now for my horrid summary, chances are I have not found one that I like yet. It will probably change often.

.

The First Step is Fatal

Chapter 1: Demise

.

.

Harry Potter was having one of the strangest days ever he'd ever experienced in his young life. And between accidentally jumping onto the roof of his school and having Dudley's brown puffball sweater from Aunt Marge shrink on himself; he'd certainly had some weird ones.

This one took the cake though.

'Short life?' Harry pondered from the top of the stairs as the paramedics burst through the front door, and rushed over to his hyperventilating Aunt who was hovering over the body that lay at the foot of the stairs. She was alternating between wringing her hands and looking over her shoulder, as though she half expected someone to chastise her for something she wasn't supposed to be doing. Shards of glass that had once been the front of Dudley's new top-of-the-line plasma television set littered the carpeted floor above a steadily growing pool of blood. In a feat of uncharacteristic strength made by his Aunt, the shattered TV was set off to the side, where the gaping maw of the front hung open with shard like teeth around where the now obviously deceased boy's head had gone through it. The sight of the growing pool of blood sinking into the pristine white carpet chilled Harry to the core as he wrapped his arms around himself.

Uncle Vernon placed the phone on the table outside the master bedroom and watched the proceedings the the second story with a calm demeanor and a paleness in his cheeks Harry had only seen once; when it was directed at a bawling, injured Dudley. It was so unlike his usual method of bellowing at whatever set him off with his usual ruddy complexion.

"You better not have done this on purpose boy, ruining Dudley's special day like this."

Harry's face quickly morphed from bland and apathetic to an irritated scowl.

"Aunt Petunia's gonna make me clean the carpet as soon as they leave! It's hard to get blood out of anything!" He snarled in a furious whisper as he watched the paramedics flit around the body; gloved hands pawed at the thin dead boy.

Vernon Dursley clutched the rail at the top of the stairs and growled.

Harry flinched back from his uncle. He quickly recognized the danger signs, and ducked out of his uncle's line of view. Once out of sight, he sighed and made his way to the upstairs bathroom a door past Dudley's main bedroom. The new television was to have been a surprise, even though his large cousin had already known he was getting one. He always got something expensive. Always. A temper tantrum of epic proportions occurred if he was not given an increasing number of gifts; in the last few years inexpensive gifts were setting him off as well. No one could scent a 'Dudley Tantrum' like Aunt Petunia, though Harry must have been a close second. Only Harry wasn't exactly concerned with preventing them. He preferred to be out of the room as soon as possible. Dudley's room was filled with a bunch of beautifully wrapped and unopened presents; many in Dudley's favorite colors. The presents would have been brought down when Dudley had arrived back from the zoo with Piers and a few of his other brutish friends. They now lay forlornly on the floor; Harry imagined dust accumulating on some of the brighter boxes. He wondered if his aunt would still make him clean Dudley's room even though the boy was dead.

As Harry meandered slowly into the sparkling bathroom that he had cleaned earlier that morning, he turned to the cabinets where the towels were kept and proceeded to drag one flowered monstrosity out and shake it. He swallowed a sigh.

Harry himself had almost been allowed to go to the zoo, and he thought he'd had the outing in the bag until Dudley caught wind of his plan and raised a big stink about it. Dudley's seventh birthday was the first one he was not locked in his cupboard for. A classmate's father had found Harry in his cupboard when the man attempted to store some discarded trainers there to keep the hallway clear. Aunt Petunia had hastily assured the parent that Harry must have been playing hide and seek, and accidently locked himself in. From then on, he was placed with Ms. Figg the street over on Wisteria Walk. This year she was sick.

Petunia was very upset about this.

She called Ms. Figg a number of times after she had bailed out of babysitting him. If Harry was close enough when his Aunt was on the phone in the kitchen, he could sometimes hear the person on the other side of the conversation. Sometimes he used these conversations as entertainment while cleaning; he would fantasize about other children like himself secretly communicating through their relatives. It was safer than imaging how his parents would come rescue him and they would live happily ever after. It had not happened to him yet after all, so why make himself more depressed? Many of the books in the school library ended that way. It was nice.

But it was not reality.

When the phone rang earlier that day, Harry was wiping the morning dishes. He finished as quickly as possible and moved on to cleaning the counters with speed he rarely demonstrated. He was able to get close enough to his Aunt and the phone to catch Ms. Figg saying that "…she had to go to St. Mango because she had caught the draggin' pox". Sounded nasty. And grossly wet. Harry's aunt looked pasty as she hung up the phone. Harry was pretty sure that his aunt believed Ms. Figg to be a nutter, but everyone on the street had some sort of weird quirk; the Dursley's pursuit of extreme normalcy was one.

The fact that there were no other babysitters available seemed to be another. Aunt Petunia was quite upset indeed.

And so, Harry had been relegated to "party preparation duty", while Mr. and Mrs. Polkiss escorted his rotund cousin and entourage to a fun day at the zoo.

'Wait.'

The cabinet wasn't opening. Harry stared at it. Perplexed, he decided to ignore the fact that he could not feel the handle against his fingers.

"Somebody locked it!" Harry accused in a shout towards the open door.

No one had ever locked him out of the cabinet before; he didn't even know it could be locked. The Dursleys locked him out of the pantry and out of Dudley's sweets cupboard, they would not lock him out of the cleaning supplies. Harry's forehead scrunched up as he started to gnaw on the back of a knuckle nervously. He looked towards the open door then back to the cabinet with increasing unease. Something wasn't right.

His mind flew back to the macerated creature lying like a broken rag doll at the foot of the stairs.

"No. No, it couldn't have been. I would know! That was Dudley!" He said in a mumble that quickly rose in volume.

He suddenly needed to see; he needed to know that it was his cousin lying shattered at the bottom of the stairs. His cousin that caused his aunt to shake like a leaf. His cousin that had a face and neck so covered in slick, dark weeping blood that – that it resembled nothing other than uncooked ground hamburger.

An urge to run overcame him as he quickly shot up straight; eyes down and focusing anywhere, anywhere! but the mirror above the sink and cabinets. He dashed into the hallway; passed both of Dudley's rooms and made it to the stairs. Uncle Vernon was still there. Harry heard him mutter about "trouble with those dress wearing freaks".

"What are you talking about?"

Uncle Vernon did not answer.

He edged around Uncle Vernon who shivered, almost visible air rolled out of his nostrils like smoke. Harry hesitatingly made his way down the stairs. A lump formed in his throat as he stopped every few steps. He was drawn to the scene. Pain welled up in his chest and he rolled a hand in the thin old shirt he had on.

He took a deep breath, and scrambled down the last few stairs.

The paramedics were still there. The body was covered up by a blue plastic body bag, the end zipped up before he could get a better look at the form inside. The sound of sirens got louder. The front door was wide open. He wanted to ask one of them to close the front door. His brow scrunched in confusion when he attempted it himself.

Harry's hand went through the door handle. He gasped and jerked away, something was wrong here; he just was not sure what it was. It niggled in his mind, the thought that – no that was impossible.

Harry turned back to the scene behind him and clutched his hands together in front of himself.

Aunt Petunia eyed the open door way as she nervously answered the paramedic's questions.

Yes – It was an accident. Yes – she would arrange for the body. No – she did not want to ride with the body. No – she did not want any condolences – Please take him away now before my – Harry tuned out his aunt and stared at the body bag. It was smaller than he expected his cousin to fit in.

The body was no longer splayed out. Placed in the bag it took up less space. As no one had berated him yet for being so close, he moved closer to his aunt. She might like her son better than him, Harry knew this, but she was the only person he knew in the room. Aunt Petunia looked at him wide-eyed, shivered and stumbled through the paramedic's last few questions.

"Wow! This is the best-est! Party ever! A surprise murder mystery game with real ambulances!"

And Dudley, alive and well, floundered excitedly though the open doorway. He ran to straight to his mother and stood in the exact spot that Harry himself occupied.