Disclaimer: Harry Potter and friends belongs to J.K Rowling, not me.
By all rights, Vernon Dursley should have been a content man. Sunday evening just after dinner found him sitting on the living room chair at his home on 4 Privet Drive reading his newspaper and trying to focus on the relief over his insufferable wizard nephew Harry spending the rest of the summer holidays with the Weasly's and getting out of his hair for another semester. The only thing bothering him was the voice.
It had begun a few hours ago. At first it was no more than a whisper that made Vernon glance about to see who was calling his name. Over the course of the day it had increased in frequency, growing gradually from once every few hours to seemingly every other minute. At first he had tried ignoring it, like spilled water that would evaporate if left alone, but the voice had only become more persistent. His wife Petunia and his son Dudley had both gone to sleep earlier, leaving Vernon alone to face the nameless presence. Vernon glanced about the room, trying to catch a glimpse of someone crouched in the shadows or peeking around a corner. His hand were shaking, causing the newspaper he was holding to vibrate and rustle loudly.
Vernon stood up and reached over to turn on the electric fireplace-
And fell to his knees as an unbearable ache suddenly exploded In his head. In the background he could hear himself screaming. Vernon pushed his hands against the sides of his head- anything to try and stop the pain. The voice spoke again, clear and distinct inside his mind
…..Vernon…..I know you can hear me…..
He opened his eyes. No one was there in the room. Suddenly there was a great flash of light and standing there was a gaunt man, with blood-red eyes and skin the colour of palest milk. His mysterious visitor began speaking in a terrible, cold.
"Ahh, Vernon. My ace in the sleeve, my Manhattan Project, my trump card," he cackled, a horrible sound. "I had hoped it wouldn't have come to this, but Potter has proven to be more difficult than I anticipated." Through his torturous haze, Vernon recognized the name of his shameful nephew. The figure then pulled something out of his robes that greatly alarmed Vernon: a wand. He could only watch in horror as the wizard approached him with the magic weapon in hand.
"Fear not, Vernon" he assured as he raised it. "You're going to be very grateful, very shortly." The wizard then narrowed his eyes, lightly tapped the top of Vernon Dursley's head and performed the summoning charm: "Awakenio!"
The pain in his head vanished and was replaced by a sense of euphoria the likes of which Vernon had rarely felt before. Suddenly, his feet left the ground- he was…levitating! Not only that, but the dull and drab setting of 4 Privat drive had somehow been changed to an impressive expanse of galatic supernovas and glittering rainbow colours. [AN: Think the Sailor Moon transformation scenes.] A huge wave of power surged across him and Vernon saw his body begin to…glow with white light. He began to spin around, faster and faster until all he saw was a blur of light and colour. Then, it all came flooding back to him in a rush that no drug could hope to match. His memories…his powers…they returned his long-dormant true self re-awakened. Vernon's body began to shrink and contract to it's original form. Gone was his disgusting pot belly, replaced by a set of rock-hard abs tanned by the merciless Mediterranean sun. His eyes changed from boring brown to a blue the colour of the icy arctic seas. His raunchy porn-star moustache vanished. His dirty, unkempt hair grew down to his shoulders and automatically tied itself into a ponytail. He height shrunk down to just slightly above a seventeen year-old's average. He opened his eyes.
"I. AM. VERNON!," he shouted in a voice that rocked the houses surrounding 4 Privet Drive with its raw intensity. In the skies above the nondescript suburban home a mighty thunderbolt Zeus himself would have been proud of pierced the stillness of the night. 300 miles away, though he did not know why, Albus Dumbledore awoke from his sleep screaming. With the transformation complete, the living room of the Dursley home returned to normal. Vernon kneeled before his lord and master, Voldemort.
"Well, Vernon. Your return has lost none of its grandeur," Voldemort said with a light chuckle.
"My lord, I live to serve you."
"And serve me you shall. You are to infiltrate Hogwarts and slay my mortal opponent, The Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter." His voiced quivered with rage at the mention of the hated name.
"Yes, my Lord," Vernon affirmed. "But…I understand that Potter is not to be underestimated, but is a simple assassination mission not an inefficient use of my considerable powers?"
"Ordinarily, yes, but my spies and sympathizers within Hogwarts (and there are many) have informed me that Dumbledore has somehow placed Harry under the protection of a charm that renders him invulnerable to all attack magic." At this Vernon looked up from his position, a question in his piercing blue eyes. Voldemort answered it before he could speak. "Yes Vernon, even to your powers. Ordinarily this would spell disaster for us but my sources divulged the one way to bypass it: It doesn't protect the user from magic he casts on himself."
"You mean…?"
"Yes. Vernon, you are to change Potter's life decisively for the worse. In Muggleman's terms, you are to make it a living hell and keep it up until he has no choice to turn his wand on himself."
"I understand, Lord Voldemort."
"Good. I expect mighty deeds of you, Vernon." There was a flash of light as the Dark Lord Disparated out of 4 Privet Drive. Vernon stood up and took in a deep breath. He could feel the power of 1000 enraged wizards bellowing for through his veins. His mind began with racing with supercomputer efficiency working out the most efficient way to carry out the task his master had assigned-
"Vernon! What's all that racket!?" a woman called from upstairs. Vernon turned. It was his useless Muggle wife. Doubtless she and his fat piggy of a son would come down to investigate. A few moments they appeared at the stairs, dressed in their pyjamas and peering curiously at the wizard their Patriarch had become.
Vernon licked his lips. Fresh meat.
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With a flush, the last of Petunia and Dudley's body parts swirled down the toilet bowl and into the depths of the Surrey sewer system. He dusted his hands in satisfaction and stepped back into the living room.
"How silly of me- I'd nearly forgotten," he said out loud to the empty room. "A wizard's not much good without his wand, is he?," Vernon thrust out his hand and screamed "Accio Gustav II Adolf!" Thousands of miles away, his wand, named for the Swedish dictator-king who donated smallpox-infected blankets that cruelly spread disease amongst the peace-loving Hapsburg tribe during the Thirty Years War, quivered and shook where it lay on the ocean floor and sped towards its master. Faster and faster its speed became after it rose above the waves. Speeding overland, it pierced anything and anyone in the way to its master- concrete and steel, flesh and bone. At last, Gustav II Adolf smashed through the Dursley house wall and into the waiting hand of its master. A split second later a there was a sonic boom as the sound at last caught up to the speeding stick.
Gustav II Adolf was verily a sight to behold. Carved from the sacred tree Yggdrasil and powered by an angel feather, Vernon's wand had gems of such beauty and wealth that the mere sight of them caused Muggle women to faint. Along the wand's side was its name written in golden-platinum letters.
As for its origins, it was assembled by an expelled member of Gandalf's order, a wizard whose power was so mighty that it made the Grey Pilgrim look like a level 1 newbie in comparison. The wand made its way to the Harry Potter universe by means of an inter-fandom traveller and eventually into Vernon's ownership, where he now held it high, resplendent in all its glory.
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Several days later, Vernon was sitting in a Hogwart's Express compartment, resting his cheek against his hand and absently watching Britangland's purple mountains and amber waves of grain speed by. Seated next to him was a little first-year boy with a golden-blond hair and rosy-red apple cheeks and big green eyes that were staring intensely at Vernon's wand in its leather holster at his side. The temptation at last became too much, and he reached forward to touch the awesome wizard weapon.
Vernon slapped the boy's hand without looking away from the window.
"Don't touch the Adolf." A few moments later he turned aside to stretch and noticed that the slight swat he had dealt the boy had killed him instantly.
"Oh, for the love of…," Vernon grumbled. The boy was slumped in his seat with his eyes staring sightlessly at the train ceiling. Vernon placed his hands on the his forehead and shouted "Vivera Ressurectio!" Listening closely, one could hear the sound of organs and choir music as the boy's soul descended from heaven and return to his body. After a moment, his corpse opened his eyes and looked around at his surroundings in wonderment. He suddenly seemed to remember what happened, as he ran out of the compartment in tears.
"That's impossible!," cried a girl sitting across the aisle who had witnessed the whole thing. "No magic can wake the dead!"
"It's possible because it wasn't magic I used," Vernon explained matter-of-factly. "It was a miracle."
"Oh. Ok," she said understandably before returning to the book she had been reading. Vernon was scarcely able to enjoy a moment's peace before the compartment door slid open and three figures stepped in. Vernon caught a glimpse of them as they swaggered down the aisle. Draco Malfoy, followed as always by Goyle and Crabbe. Vernon sat back in his seat, disappointed. He'd hoped it had been Harry who'd opened the door. As for Malfoy, he perhaps had the attitude of a potential death eater, attracting the attention of Voldemort himself, but after being discreetly monitored, he was judged unfit on the grounds of his cowardice and poor grades. Vernon returned to staring out the window. He didn't look back when he sensed the three Slytherins standing in the aisle by his seat.
"Hold up," came Malfoy's lazy drawl. "Never seen you before, and you're too old to be a first year. What's your name?" Vernon stretched his hands behind his head and continued watching the countryside run past.
"Hey! I'm talking to you! Draco said loudly with a hint of anger. Vernon turned his head leisurely to face the three.
"I'm sorry, were you saying something?," he asked. Draco, caught off guard by this stranger's lazy indifference.
"Look, I'm Draco Malfoy, son of the wealthy and influential Lucius Malfoy. Now kindly tell me your name in return." Vernon looked over Draco, his clothes, his face, then stared into his eyes.
"No." Vernon enjoyed watching Draco's pale face flush red with anger.
"W-Why not?" he stammered.
"You don't meet my standards," he explained politely," I simply don't like you enough to tell you my name." Vernon's lips curled into a grin. Time to push some buttons. "The wealthy and influential Lucius Malfoy, eh? I doubt his money and power can help him when it's shower time at Azkaban." Draco's eyes opened wide. His mouth quivered as he searched his head for someway to answer this insult on his family's honour. Words must have failed him, for the pale boy reached for his wand. A little annihilation would relive the boredom of the long train ride nicely, Vernon thought as his hand snatched Gustav II Adolf out of its holster and raised it above his head.
"Avada-" he began, looking forward to sending doing away with these wannabe Death Eaters. Hell, he might as well go for a clean sweep and take out the whole compartment. "Khe-" A cold voice inside Vernon's mind interrupted the terrible fury he was on the verge of unleashing, and indeed saved the lives of everyone riding that compartment of The Hogwart's Express. It was the voice of none other than Voldemort
Dursley, do no such thing.
My Lord, why?, he protested. Draco, Crabbe and Goyle stared in astonishment as the boy suddenly lowered his wand and began staring off into the distance. Draco stepped forward and cautiously waved his hand in front of Vernon's eyes. No reaction.
It would draw too much attention to yourself if you were to single-handily slaughter everyone in that compartment. You may do as you may with those boys, but no bodies! Do I make myself clear?
Yes, Vernon sighed. He snapped back to attention, startling the three Slytherins."Expelliarmus!," Vernon shouted three times in quick succession. Their wands flew out of their hands and clattered against the compartment wall before falling to the floor. "Don't worry lads," Vernon began with a laugh. "While I can't get too rough, I think we'll be able to have some fun." Draco, Goyle and Crabbe stepped back as he assumed the stance of the fighting style the pacifist Franciscan monks of St. Ann's Parish had taught him. A battle cry erupted from him just before he unleashed his non-lethal fury: "Baka!"
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The boy's mouth dropped open in surprise when he opened the compartment door. Sprawled over the curve of a seat top was an unconscious Goyle. Crabbe's head had somehow burst through the compartment ceiling and become caught in it. His dangling lower body struggled unsuccessfully to free it. And in the aisle, a teenage boy dressed in a Hogwart's uniform with his brown hair tied in a ponytailed, had his hated rival Draco Malfoy in a headlock.
Harry Potter gasped.
The stranger (and Draco) turned around to face him. His eyes widened. His arms went to his sides. Draco, more dead than alive, slumped to the floor.
Vernon stared at Harry. Here was the boy he was going to make miserable. A smile spread like disease across his lips. Inflate his sister Marge, would he?
"Erm…," Harry began, "is everything all right in here?"
"Just fine," Vernon replied courteously. "Me, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle were just having a discussion over the whole Iraq affair and things got a bit heated when Goyle called Blair a war criminal. Isn't that right, Draco?" He nudged Draco's prone form with his solid-gold buckled shoe.
"Merp!" a semi-conscious Draco squeaked.
"Well, if you say so. By the way, we've arrived at Hogwart's station," Harry informed. Vernon glanced out the window.
"Why, so we have," he remarked. Harry turned to leave. "Harry, one last thing." He turned around.
"Yes?"
"I'm going to be your new best friend." Harry's expression scrunched up in confusion. He was on the verge of asking a question when a voice from the other compartment interrupted him.
"Harry, come on. We're gonna miss the sorting!" Voldemort's foe looked back briefly before opening the door and leaving. It was only on the carriage ride to the castle itself that he realized the stranger had called him by his name.
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Vernon was aware of the need for him to be sorted into one of the four houses, and for this reason walked followed the first years as Hagrid herded them into the boats for the lake crossing. The groundskeeper gave him an odd look but said nothing, thus Vernon was able to climb into a boat with three other boys who looked at him uneasily during the trip. Finally, one had the courage to speak up.
"Aren't you a little…old for a first year?"
"No, I'm just tall for my age," Vernon answered.
"Oh."
The Hogwarts castle at last came into view. Vernon cracked his knuckles. Soon.
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Before long, Vernon found himself standing amongst the first years in the Great Hall as Professor McGonagall entered the room with the Sorting Hat and its stool. He tapped his foot as he waited for the sorting song to begin. The tattered hat looked even more worn than usual, as though the slightest touch would cause its stitching to fall apart. It quivered and at last began its swan sorting song.
Many a year ago when I was sewn,
The wizard world had split
Over who was greatest amongst our own:
Which students were magically the most fit?
Perhaps they were in Ravenclaw,
Who use brains to achieve their aims
And thence achieve rich fame.
Yet let us not forget in Gryffindor, so noble.
But if you look down on the honest way
Then it is in devious Slytherin
where succeed you may!
Yet let us forget Hufflepuff's fine souls
While neither neglecting the old saying:
'Hoc quod patrium optabamus oramouls'
That is, 'long saddened is he with a good heart!'
Though long I am getting in age
I can only hope this song has given advice sage.
Now all that's left is to put me own
And on to your destiny
And may your successes be many!
Vernon politely applauded along with the rest of the first years. Looking about the room, he saw older students sitting among the tables pointing at him and whispering to their friends. He wasn't difficult to spot, the way he towered over the first years he was standing amongst. Let them whisper and wonder, Vernon thought. They be talking about me plenty more in the future.
"Simon, Armsmith," Professor McGonagall called out." Thus began the sorting. One by one the first years put the hat on, had their house called out by the hat and ran over to join their respective table. Following "Yardmen, Charles's" sorting, McGonagall began to fold up the parchment with the names of the new students on it. Vernon saw this and made his way through the crowd of first years, knocking more than a few of them to the floor.
"Erm, excuse me," he began when he reached her. "I don't believe my name was called."
"Hm. That's odd," she said. "And you are?" Vernon smiled. He had came up with a pseudonym so clever that no one, not Harry, not Dumbledore would ever suspect.
"Dernon Vursley.""You're not on the list," McGonagall observed as she looked over the parchment.
"I'm an exchange student," Vernon said in the flawless American English he had been speaking ever since boarding the Hogwart's express. "From New York's Gerald Brosseau Gardner Wizarding Community College." McGonagall sighed and rolled her eyes. "Another Yank? Good heavens, the already sizable American community here gets even larger." She gestured to where a row of strikingly beautiful girls sporting hair and eyes of every shade and tint sat. Some had piercings, some wore Goth makeup. Vernon couldn't put his finger on It, but they all seemed oddly out of place. Professor McGonagall spoke up. "Very well, go get sorted."
Vernon took his time walking towards the hat. He rubbed his hands together as he came closer and closer. The hat began to shake as he reached for it. He sat on the stool, raised the hat and lowered it onto his head-
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGG!!!
," the Sorting Hat screamed out as it frantically tried to leap off of Vernon's head. Vernon's hands tightened their grip, his fingers digging into the Hat's rough fabric. There was a sound like a match igniting, then to the enormous surprise of the entire school, the Sorting Hat spontaneously burst into flames. Now the sound of cackling fire was added to the high-pitched shrieking of the Hat. After several agonizing (for the hat) moments, Vernon at last stood up and threw the charred chapeau to the floor, where the flames burnt themselves out, revealing a pile of ashes where the Sorting Hat had once been. A crowd gathered around it, that was soon parted by none other than Dumbledore himself."Most unusual. What happened?," he asked, staring at the remains on the floor.
"I-I don't know, Headmaster," he said innocently. "I put it on and it started yelling then set itself on fire."
"Indeed. Tell me…?"
"Dernon.""Why you kept holding on to the Hat?"
"Oh, well, I reckon I was paralysed with fear, Sir," Vernon explained." It's not everyday the hat on your head spontaneously combusts."
"Truer words were never spoken. Mmh. Perhaps it's the dry weather we've been having." He turned to Professor McGonagall. "Minerva, kindly put in an order for a new Sorting Hat." He then turned back to Vernon. "There's still the matter of your house-"
"Oh, don't worry, Sir. In the Hat's last moments, I think I heard it wheeze out 'Slytherin!'".
"Ah, splendid. Well then, welcome to Hogwart's!," Dumbledore said jovially. As Vernon made his way to the Slytherin table, he caught sight of a very distressed looking Draco Malfoy sporting facial bandages and a black eye. Vernon grinned and flashed him a thumbs-up. Draco hunched over and covered his face with his hands.
Vernon sat back and daydreamed through Dumbledore's boring speech and ate hungrily when the food was served at last. There was much work ahead of him.