Warning: First Fic! AU, small amounts of non-explicit HarryTorture, de-sanctification of several adult characters.
Disclaimer: Like Duo, Heero, Aragorn and Legolas, Harry Potter and co only belong to me in the 10 minutes just before I wake up every morning. The rest of the time they belong to You-know-who-sama. I'm not making any money out of this (actually I'm not making any money at all), though I may be saving some (oh, sorry, that was on the X rated fics).
A/N: While JKR's stuff is wonderful, it's all a bit good_ old_ fashioned_ values in it's family dynamics. This is the wonderful world of Harry Potter, with family dynamics, trees, and feuds courtesy of Dallas, Eastenders and Animal Farm. More or less.
A few later aspects of this fic were inspired by Myr's Fugitive Prince, which is a fantastic creation well worth reading.
Pretty please, review, and thank you for reading.
1. Enter Dursley, Dursley and Dursley, Stage Left.
Number 4, Privet Drive was a very normal looking house. The front garden was very neat, the windows were sparkling clean, the back fence was well maintained and the milk bottles were never left on the doorstep.
Every morning, at precisely 10 past 8, Vernon Dursley, a fleshy man with a florid face and manicured hands, would back his car out of the garage and leave it, engine idling, by the front door. Vernon would then lever himself back out of the drivers seat and wander down the drive to say good morning to Mr Arlington, who would be passing Number 4 at 8:13 walking his two cocker spaniels, Mutt and Jeff.
Mutt and Jeff did not like Vernon Dursley. They would snap at him and then hide behind Mr Arlington. Vernon Dursley thought that they were playing, and Mr Arlington had chosen not to enlighten him.
Mr Arlington did not like Vernon Dursley either.
Vernon Dursley was Managing Director of a small firm that manufactured drills. He liked to think of himself as an important businessman and talk loudly about the state of the economy and that idiot Ellis who ran the local Chamber of Commerce. Mr Arlington who, before he retired, had run a large multinational chemical corporation, found Mr Dursleys business pronouncements rather tiresome.
Vernon Dursley played golf and liked to talk about the good old days when he'd played rugby. Mr Arlington, who in his youth had been a forward prop, looked suspiciously at Vernon's triple chins, non-existent neck, manicured hands and weak legs and kept his opinions to himself.
After two minutes of conversation, Vernon Dursley would say "Well, got to be getting along now. You know how it is..." He would then wink or shrug at Mr Arlington, depending on his mood, stretch his hands above his head, crack his knuckles and walk back to the car, tucking his shirt back in and yelling for Dudley.
Mr Arlington would ruffle Mutt and Jeff's ears reassuringly, and the trio would progress up the road to Magnolia Crescent, interrupted only by a pause to share a rueful smile and a head shake with Mrs Figg of Number 6.
Dudley Dursley, at this moment being shooed out of the front door by Petunia Dursley, would whine that he didn't need to leave for school this early, and Petunia would apologise and explain about Vernon's important work.
Dudley and Petunia were about as different as mother and son could get. Dudley was red faced and blond, Petunia was sallow faced and mouse. Dudley, at very nearly eleven, was barely shorter than his mother and was fat enough that he had two chairs at the kitchen table. Petunia was thin enough, as Mrs Figg put it, that she wouldn't even be good for stock. Dudley had no neck whatsoever, and had great difficulty with his school uniform because of this. Petunia had a great deal of neck, which she used mainly for peering over the enormously tall fence surrounding the Dursleys back garden and spying on the neighbours.
Dudley was pig faced. Petunia was horse faced.
Dudley whined and threw tantrums. Petunia pouted and bitched.
Dudley worshipped the ground he walked on. So did Petunia.
A great many of the neighbours found watching the Dursley family very entertaining, although a number of the less charitable ones had been heard to mention that they'd rather watch them on TV, or in some other remote location where they could be avoided or switched off.
After Dudley had left for school, Petunia would begin a round of shopping and gossiping. Sometimes, in nice weather, she would work in the front garden. At half past four, Dudley would be dropped back at the house by Mrs Polkiss, who lived ten minutes away on Arbutus Walk and who's son, Piers, was Dudley's best friend.
Dudley would be heard stomping around the house for ten minutes, and would then appear dressed in casual clothes. He would saunter down the road towards Pier's house, looking for trouble.
Mrs Figg's cats, the toddlers at number 10 and Mutt and Jeff knew very well to stay out of Dudley's way.
At half past five, Vernon Dursley would come home from work, put the car in the garage and stalk into the house, radiating well being.
At ten to six, the small, scruffy boy who ran errands for the Dursleys and did their garden would appear. He would say hello to the toddlers, pet whichever cat was in range and wave to Mutt and Jeff. He would then knock on the front door of Number 4 and shortly afterwards he could be seen tidying the back garden or washing the car.
If the neighbours had truly been paying attention, they might have noticed that the boy never seemed to leave.
Harry Potter, also aged nearly eleven, although less nearly eleven than Dudley Dursley, was of the opinion that the Dursley household was in fact very abnormal.
The first strange thing about the Dursley household was that nobody except the headmaster of his old school knew he lived there.
Harry had been sent to stay with the Dursleys for a week or two almost 6 years ago, and somehow nobody had ever come to collect him. Vernon Dursley, who hated all of Petunia's family, had nearly thrown him out there and then. However, the letter from Aunt Rose, who he'd been living with before, had calmed Vernon down a little, and won Harry a place to stay.
Initially, Vernon had wanted to keep Harry in the cupboard under the stairs. However, Petunia had argued that she kept the ironing board and the vacuum cleaner in there, and she didn't want to be bothered with hauling them both up and down the stairs from the cellar. Vernon had then realised that if they kept Harry in the cellar, they didn't have to worry about getting him a baby sitter. The cellar, after all, had a loo and a hand basin. Harry could drink from the tap and they could leave him some dry food. That way they could go on holiday to Lanzarote next week without worrying.
After due consideration, Harry was given a rather moth eaten blanket and a list of chores and pushed into the cellar.
The first chore on the list was planting a large, evergreen shrub in front of the tiny, high window that was the cellar's only source of fresh air.
When the Dursleys came back from Lanzarote, lobster red and bad tempered, it had taken them three days to remember to look in the cellar. By that time Harry had gone past very tired of eating cornflakes and tap water and on to worrying hard about not eating cornflakes at all.
Blinking in the sudden light, Harry had failed to dodge when Vernon slapped him for not finishing the chores while they were away.
Harry felt that that moment had set the tone for the next six years. He went to school (the Dursleys had still been being cautious when they enrolled him), did his chores and otherwise pretended he didn't exist. Petunia and Vernon were very unpleasant to him, but rarely actually hit him. Dudley hit him whenever he could catch him, but was a lot nicer to talk to.
Harry was actually quite grateful to Dudley for spending all his free time beating on him. Aunt Rose had been home tutoring him before he came to the Dursley's, and he was quite a long way ahead of his grade. Dudley's incessant bullying and Petunia and Vernon's disinclination to discipline him had drawn the attention of the headmaster, a rather eccentric old man nearing retirement age. The obvious solution, at least to Mr Betony, was to accidentally drop cigarette ash on Harry's file, burning a hole where Harry's date of birth had been. Shortly after that, Harry had found himself class mascot/ teddy bear for the seven year olds. The seven year olds had been bigger than five year old Dudley and did much more interesting things in class.
There were two other very strange things about the Dursley family. One was Harry himself, and the other was Dudley.
Harry had always known that his parents had been a witch and a wizard. Aunt Rose and Uncle Blaine were a witch and a wizard too and they had explained it to him. Every now and then, when Harry was scared or upset, he'd find he could do magic too. There'd been the time when Dudley's gang had trapped him, and seconds later he'd found himself on the roof with no idea how he came to be there. There'd been the time when Aunt Petunia's hair turned blue, and when Aunt Marge's yappy little sausage dog had actually turned into a sausage (Dudley had eaten it).
Harry was very puzzled by Dudley. Vernon and Petunia were about as magic free as you could get, but Harry was sure one of the strange things that happened on Privet Drive had been Dudley and not Harry. Harry had been blamed, of course, but that was so normal Harry barely even noticed anymore.
Harry had had more sense than to mention that he thought Dudley might have magic. He kept his head down, did his chores, and waited for his sixteenth birthday.
Drawn on the wall of Harry's cellar was a large and intricate calendar, specially designed by Harry himself to count down to the day he could walk out of Privet Drive and never come back. It was large because it had to cover 10 years. It was intricate because 6 year old Harry had felt that a straight list of 3652 days would be overly depressing.
Part of Harry's daily ritual was, after being shoved back into the cellar on finishing his chores, to pull an eagle feather quill and a pot of ink out of his satchel and tick off the day. After that he'd hide the quill and ink again and get on with his homework. Homework done, if there was any light at all, Harry would pull his book from the satchel and read a few pages before curling up in his blanket and going to sleep.
The book was called 'Magical Herbs and Fungi of the British Isles Including Ireland, the Channel Islands and Gibraltar.' It was very fat. Harry knew it by heart.
On this particular evening at the beginning of July, Harry was intending to spend a very long time on his book. He'd finished all his summer homework in the first week, and this year he wouldn't need to do Dudley's. His chores had been relatively light today and Harry had a whole two hours of daylight to read in. He'd just gotten thoroughly absorbed in the uses of lesser mugwort when there was a strange, almost slithery, plop from under the broken window and a voice said "Bugger."
Harry looked up from his book. Underneath the window was an adder. Surprised, he asked "I'm sorry, did you just say something?"
The snake squirmed round to face him. Harry thought, if snakes could blush this one would be glowing. "Ah, yes. Sorry about that, mate. Won't happen again."
Harry put the book down. "But you just did."
The snake cocked it's head sideways. "Right. Yes. You mean the talking thing, don't you?"
Harry nodded. "I didn't know snakes could talk. What did you mean?"
The snake glared at him. "Never you mind." It slithered over to Harry and twined around his leg with it's head resting on his knee. "I'm Ethan, by the way."
"Pleased to meet you. I'm Harry."
"I know who you are."
"You do?" asked Harry. Nobody outside school knew who Harry was.
Ethan hissed irritably. "We all know who you are. There aren't many humans who can talk to us, you know. We do try to keep track of them."
"Really? I'm speaking snake?"
"Yes, yes. Can't you tell?"
Harry shook his head. It really did sound exactly like English to him. "So, uh, did you mean to come down here?" asked Harry. This was the longest conversation he'd ever had at Privet Drive and he wanted it to last, but maybe Ethan would be more inclined to come back if Harry was helpful now.
Ethan swung his head back and forward. "I did want a look around in here, but I didn't quite mean to do it this way."
Harry grinned at the snakes mournful tone. "I can try and help you out, if you want."
"That would be kind."
Harry stood up, a little off balance with Ethan clinging to his leg. "If I stand on my books, I can almost touch the window frame. Do you think you could manage?"
Ethan slithered up Harry and looped around his neck. "Dear me, you are a shrimp, aren't you?"
Harry stiffened. "Well, that's not my fault, is it?"
"No, no. No need to be touchy, I was just _saying_"
"Oh, sorry." Harry blushed. "It's just, Uncle Vernon always says stuff like that, you know?"
Ethan brushed his head across Harry's face. "Hmm. That's a very fat book you've got there."
Harry picked up 'Magical Herbs and Fungi' and said, "Yeah, I kind of brought it here by accident."
Ethan sniffed. "How do you bring something that big somewhere by accident?"
Harry closed the book and put it on the ground under the window. "Oh, well, I wasn't supposed to be touching it outside lessons, but I wanted to look something up. I had it in my room and I heard Auntie Rose coming. So I just stuffed it in my bag along with all the evidence. Auntie Rose made me pack to come here without even looking at what I already had in the bag."
Harry balanced his maths and chemistry books carefully on top of 'Magical Herbs and Fungi' and followed them up with two neat towers of paperbacks. On top of that he put another thick tome, 'Theoretical Studies for Advanced Transfiguration 18 and 19: Sub-Atomic Physics and the I-Ching.'
"Oof," said Ethan. "That looks nasty."
Harry flicked the book open. It was filled with obscure symbols and fifteen syllable words. "Yeah. Aunt Rose was teaching us to write neatly, but if she gave us something we could understand then we concentrated on that and not our handwriting. It got packed by accident too."
Harry plopped the book back down on the heap and followed it up with a few more paperbacks and his physics and biology books. He poked the heap gently. Nothing happened.
Very carefully indeed, Harry climbed up onto the stack of books and reached up. He could just touch his fingertips to the bottom of the frame if he stood on tiptoe. Ethan wriggled quickly up Harry's arm, ignoring the slight swaying, and lunged across the gap. He had just managed to get the first six inches of himself out of the window when he felt Harry begin to topple backwards.
Ethan did the first thing that came to mind. Bite the shrub in front of him and thrash his tail until he managed to get out of the window.
Harry crashed to the floor in a tangle of books.
From upstairs, he could hear Vernon's heavy footsteps approaching.
"Bugger," he said, and scrambled frantically to hide the books he wasn't supposed to have.
Harry was picking up the last of his schoolbooks when Vernon unlocked the cellar door. The paperbacks were stacked behind the door (Vernon never closed the door while he was in the room) and the two tomes were back in Harry's school satchel.
Harry took one look at Uncle Vernon's face and winced. It was pale, with high colour in his cheeks. Vernon's nostrils were flared and he was breathing hard.
"I'm sorry, sir," tried Harry, tentatively. It couldn't make things worse, could it?
"Sorry?" hissed Vernon viciously. "You're sorry, you worthless piece of scum? I have important guests tonight and the only task I have given you is to remain quiet and out of sight. And you are not even capable of that, you useless brat." Vernon kicked casually at Harry, not even caring if he hit him or not. "I haven't got time to punish you now, freak, but don't think I've forgotten. You will be sorry, oh yes."
Harry remained completely still, listening to Vernon stomp back up the stairs and into the kitchen, listening to him call, "Oh, nothing Dear, just one of Mrs Figg's cats got into the basement and knocked over a few boxes. I'll just be a moment." Finally, convinced that Vernon wasn't waiting just outside the cellar for him to relax, Harry curled into a ball in his blanket and pretended to be asleep.
Ethan slipped away into the gathering dusk. He would tell his family that the youngest speaker was a kind child and that the people he lived with smelt bad. Someone, somewhere, would do something.
Three mornings later, Harry was awoken by Aunt Petunia unlocking his cellar and demanding that he get up instantly and cook Duddykins' birthday breakfast.
Frying bacon and sausages in the kitchen, Harry listened to Dudley counting his presents. Harry wondered if that was the most school work Dudley had done all year. Pushing the bacon to one side to keep warm, Harry fried bread, a tomato for Aunt Petunia and six eggs. He carefully plated up the three heart attacks and surreptitiously wiped out the frying pans with the heels of the new loaf. He scarfed one slice down before walking through to the living room to let the Dursleys know breakfast was cooked.
Dudley had more presents for his birthday than Harry remembered the whole of Aunt Rose's family having at Christmas.
"Aunt Petunia? Breakfast is ready." Harry paused briefly. He could never tell whether Petunia wanted him to wait to be told to serve breakfast or whether she wanted him to get on and do it.
Petunia didn't acknowledge him, but Dudley's head came up from the mound of wrapping paper and turned to him. Food was a surefire way of getting Dudley's attention.
Harry scooted back into the kitchen and poured Aunt Petunia's tea (weak, with lemon and sugar), Uncle Vernon's coffee (strong, with cream and sugar) and Dudley's coke (extra caffiene and sugar). He put the plates on the table as the family came into the room and leaned back against the wall, waiting for them to finish eating.
Dudley, it seemed, did not have quite enough presents.
Present number 37, from Vernon Dursley and sponsored involuntarily by Harry, was a punch bag.
Picking himself off the floor, Harry retrieved his now slightly grubby heel from the floor and ate it anyway. Most of what was on it was his blood and he was hungry enough not to care what it was. While doing the dishes, Harry managed to get his hands on half a sausage and a good scraping of egg yolk. Feeling really quite uncomfortably full, Harry started moping the kitchen floor. While it was drying, he made the beds and picked up the laundry. Washing on, Harry went back upstairs to finish straightening up and clean the bathrooms.
When Harry came back downstairs, there were footprints all over the kitchen floor, extra dishes and a note saying they'd be back at 4 and he'd better have finished the housework and be well into the gardening by then.
Harry took the opportunity to say all the words Vernon used that he wasn't allowed to, and then raided the first aid kit and went back upstairs for a real bath.
4 o'clock came and went. Harry barely noticed. Deep in the flower beds, he was pulling up weeds. At six, having caught the newest crop of dandelions in the lawn, he was pushing the mower back and forth. At eight, washing the ground floor windows, Harry was beginning to worry. Not that he particularly minded if something bad happened to the Dursleys, he assured himself, it was just that he didn't fancy being blamed for whatever it was. And besides, if they never came back he'd have to go to an orphanage, and from what his friend Joey said, they weren't much fun at all.
Just after nine, Harry heard the car in the drive. Harry hastily turned off Dudley's new gameboy without saving, put it back where he'd found it and dashed into the kitchen. He'd prepared dinner earlier, so all he had to do now was turn on the heat.
Harry listened to the conversation as he cooked. As far as he could tell, given Dudley's tendency to exaggerate, Dudley had leaned on the glass in the reptile house and it had broken. Dudley had found himself wearing a boa constrictor while Petunia and Vernon had been bitten by a pair of rather venomous creatures from South America. Unfortunately, both snakes had been milked during their sleep and had had only tiny amounts of venom left, and Dudley's boa constrictor hadn't been big enough to get a good hold on him.
Petunia and Vernon had been dosed up with anti-venin just to be on the safe side, and Dudley had gotten away with a bruise or two. Harry noticed that no-one was saying anything much about how Dudley had gotten away, and Harry wondered again if Dudley did have magic.
He was lucky. Not even the Dursleys could blame him for this.
Five days later, Harry picked up the post as normal and sorted it as he walked back to the kitchen. Bills for Uncle Vernon, letters for Aunt Petunia, newspaper, postcard for Dudley, letter for Dudley, letter for Harry.
Letter for Harry?
Harry looked again. The address said:
The Cellar
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
Harry stopped dead in the hall and looked again at the letter for Dudley. This one said, in the same green copperplate:
The Second and Fourth Bedrooms
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
Harry put everyone else's post by their plates and turned the heat up slightly under the sausages. Leaning against the counter and pretending to watch the bacon, Harry opened his letter.
Dear Mr Potter,
You have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry....
Harry froze in sheer horror. He knew about Hogwarts, of course, though he hadn't thought he'd be able to go living with the Dursleys. That wasn't the problem. The problem was what Uncle Vernon would do to him for infecting Dudley with his abnormality.
Harry ran back to the cellar as fast as he could. He yanked quill and ink out of his bag and scrawled a quick acceptance note on the envelope. Harry stuffed all his possessions into the satchel and bolted back up the stairs, envelope in hand. After a quick stop in the kitchen to turn the heat off, Harry slipped out of the back door and climbed over the fence where it was shortest into Number 5. From there he got onto Privet Drive and set off walking in the general direction of Joey's orphanage.