Title: Like The Sea At Midnight
Author: Punkheid
Dislaimer: le sigh Unfortunately I only look like JKR because of my polyjuice supply. It's all her's.
Genre: Crackly!fic of the highest crackness. Hopefully Humour.
Warnings: Quotes from PS.
Pairing: Vernon/Harry >:D
Rating: PG-13
Summary: I'm re-reading all the books and I'd forgotten how funny they were. The bit where Harry steps on his uncle's face cracked me up and inspired a bit of leather-clad uncle visioning.
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"Get the post Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.
"Make Harry get it."
"Get the post, Harry."
"Make Dudley get it."
"Poke him with your Smeltings stick, Dudley."
As Harry dodged Dudley's happy swings, Uncle Vernon's mind busily began to dissect his last remark, and was finding some increasingly interesting things to do with it...
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Later that evening Vernon Dursley rustled through his wardrobe, pushing aside boring business suit after boring business suit after leather trousers after - Ah! There they were! Vernon quickly peeked from the window to make sure his wife was still chattering happily to the woman next door - who looked rather glassy-eyed - before holding up the trousers to the orange light of the setting sun. There was that little scuff mark on the knee where Petunia had gotten a little excitable but apart from that the leather was in all the shining leathery glory of its former days. Tossing his grey slacks into a corner Vernon squeezed himself into the creaking article of clothing and then set about the search for his black silk midriff top.
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Harry was, as usual, in his cupboard. For a change of scene he had decided to close his eyes, and was busily counting to 3,000 in French, which was proving to be enormously exciting. A spider crawled up the bedspread and towards his left nostril but by this time Harry had begun to drift towards sleep and didn't notice as it inserted a leg into it. However, his state of blissful ignorance didn't last long. The spider went flying as the cupboard door was flung wide and a dark shadow stood menacingly in the square of light. As Harry's eyes adjusted to the sudden blinding red of the evening sunlight reflecting on the hall mirror he realised that shape was non other than Vernon Dursley. And he was wearing leather pants. His paunch hung over the skintight leather, held in by shiny patent straps buckled to his chain link belt and the lower edge of the glimmering silk shirt he was wearing tied around his waist. He shook out a sheaf of papers and knelt on one knee upon the dusty floorboards, spiders scuttling frantically for the corners of the room.
"You hair is - " Uncle Vernon began, glancing up at his nephew with adoring eyes. Harry, however, was in no position to notice as he stared in mesmerised terror at the waves of fat undulating beneath the leather -
" - like the sea at midnight," Vernon intoned from his position on the floor.
His stomach has finally stopped wibbling but now his chest hair was making a bid for freedom from the confines of his shirt. The coarse greying hair sprung up through the buttonholes like the tentacles of some strange deep sea creature, and all Harry could do was stare.
"Your eyes, my love, like the green glass bottles which stand upon the windowsill at Joe's cafe," Uncle Vernon said passionately, wiping away the froth of sweat that was clinging to his moustache.
Harry's eyes began to water, sweat beading on his forehead as his Uncle stood, stomach bouncing alarmingly, and bent to pick up the Smeltings stick lying on the floor by his side. One of the patent leather straps snapped with a loud twang.
"And now, my boy, I will show you my undying love in the only way I can. Geronimo!"
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Harry sat bolt upright in bed, screamed, and was then violently sick over his uncle, who, for some unfathomable reason, seemed to be in bed with him.