_AN_
Delays. No excuses for delays either. Not as long as I would have hoped but I really feel putting any more in is forcing it.
Oh yes! Quick question: how much do you want me to deviate from the canon? I have several plots already outlined, and it could go either way at this point depending on my mood at time of writing, and how the characters write themselves.
Just thought I would mention something that is funny. I have been putting off writing so that I could do assignments, when I started this while putting off my assignments. My brain is in a weird way ^^
Harry stared at Aunt Petunia as she sat in the car seat stiffly. She'd worn an odd hair-clip, and for all of her talks on normalness it seemed very odd she'd wear something which would place her in the 'weird' category. Not that he was complaining of course. It always made him feel good when someone pointed and stared at something that was not him.
And it also made Uncle Vernon's mustache twitch, which was funny.
Very funny, indeed.
"RUDDY MOTORBIKES!" Came the gruff exclamation from Uncle Vernon, piercing his thoughts like an arrow, "They've no place on the road! Always getting in people's way, causing accidents, the blasted things should be used for scrap metal!" His voice normalised in volume towards the end of his exclamation, but the harshness of his words were enough to make even Harry recoil away from him.
Except Harry was recoiling with laughter.
His Uncle looked ridiculous! Cheeks puffed out and bright red, eyebrows furrowed and obscuring his eyes, and most importantly, he could swear his mustache was shaking!
He had the sudden urge to discuss a dream he'd had several years ago - it was about a flying motorbike, actually, but he barely remembered the details - He squashed the urge with another look at Uncle Vernon. What a stupid dream anyway, no point in risking grievous bodily harm for that.
Not only was present company unappreciative of anything out of the normal, they showed downright hostility at most things which couldn't be picked apart with hard logic and cold calculations; the definitely would not appreciate the tale of a flying motorbike.
He bit his tongue. No need to get my lovely self locked in that boring cupboard, now is there?
He leaned to the right as Uncle Vernon sharply pulled into the car park. He clutched his seat with the strength of a thousand men as his Uncle recklessly sped through the lot. He closed his eyes and pretended he was on a roller-coaster.
Not that he'd ever been on one, unfortunately.
His eyes slammed open when the car lurched forward as it came to a sudden, grinding, halt.
"Right," He started calmly, as if he'd just finished a relaxing stroll on the soft sand of the beach, "Petunia, take the Dudley and, uh, Peer inside. I'll have a quick word with the boy."
Harry stepped out of the car, stretching his limbs and arching his back. The cracks of his spine felt like heaven, especially after such a ridiculous ride in the car, honestly, what did Vernon think he was doing? Not that Harry was arguing. If he was going to go down there should be copious amounts of collateral damage to anything within the vicinity.
"Warning... Funny business... Cupboard for a month..." Harry was hardly listening as Uncle Vernon ranted and raved on, instead wistfully starting at the entrance to the zoo. His Uncle's ugly visage was suddenly in his face, removing the possibility of ignoring him.
"Understand?" The word wasn't quite growled out, but it felt rather like it was forced through the rough bush of his mustache.
"Yes Uncle Vernon." He said automatically. He didn't even know what he agreed to, but it didn't bother him - as long as he didn't do anything stupid, well, to stupid, then all should be fine and dandy.
It was going to be a good day.
He looked around for the umpteenth time. Honestly he thought it was going to be a lot more fun.
He looked down miserably at the half-melted lemonade popsicle he held in his hands. Not only had it's taste seem to diminish to an some kind of off-water, it had made his hands sticky, which in turn had made what seemed to be every conceivable uncovered area of skin into the most powerful glue known to man.
He looked up again, this time frowning in dismay. It was supposed to be better than this. Instead, any time something exciting happened (which was never) Dudley would come charging over, inevitably knock him off his feet, and yell like the Messiah had come to save him.
Which he probably actually had if said animal had moved.
He turned back to his current exhibit, which was arguably the most boring of all. Dudley had looked at it for a minute, before moving on, kindly informing people passing by that it wasn't even worth walking past, that is, if the tone Dudley used could be considered polite. Instead it was rather like a pompous, self-centered pig waling upright informed the neighbouring sheep that the shearer was coming.
Which suited Harry fine.
He stared at the glass. He'd always been rather afraid of snakes, ever since he'd come across one whilst pruning the rose bushes. But now was his best chance to observe the thrice-damned reptile from a safe distance.
And observe he would.
"Rotten mongrel. Honestly you make the cupboard look exciting."
As if his words had sparked life into the object of his attention, it unwound and slithered over to the glass, staring him right into eyes.
He stared back. He wouldn't lose to this obnoxious creature from the deepest section of hell.
"Look dad! Harry's got it to move!" His Dudley senses tingled at the shout, but he was too absorbed into his staring contest to notice Dudley's heavy steps, the thunderous charge on a collision course with one Harry Potter. He slammed like a battering ram right into Harry's side, leaving him in a sprawled heap on the dusty ground.
He glared at Dudley from his position on the tiles.
Bloody idiot, I was going to win that staring contest.
He sat up with a groan, adjusting his optical pieces so that they were no longer providing enhanced vision to his hair follicles. Of course Dudley comes in, he had to ruin the one damned thing which wasn't dead boring.
He glared at The Buffoon. Bespectacled eyes narrowed.
And Dudley promptly fell through the glass.
Harry's eyes opened comically,and his jaw hung open in amazement, before he resignedly began mentally preparing himself for an extended stay in the cupboard.
He heard the gasps of the onlookers, and lay back down on the ground, hardly even noticing the deafening quiet of scales on tiles.
"But where did the glass go?"
Harry honestly thought this man sounded more similar to a broken record than a person. One of the zookeepers - or something (Harry hadn't been listening) - had come down, rather quickly too, and had swiftly rescued Dudley from the enclosure.
Not that he really needed rescuing, as even if a snake had bitten him the enclosure was listed as the non-venomous one.
"I just can't believe it! The glass had to have gone somewhere!"
There was zookeeper man-thing again. Honestly he just wouldn't give it a rest.
Harry turned his head, suddenly incredibly aware of the way his head rotated on an axis. It felt strange, it's not something normally noticed. He scanned down the hallway, where some strange man appeared to be wearing a blue bath robe, featured with pink polka dots and a glorious black top hat. Harry gazed at him for a little while longer, before coming to the conclusion that tourists were crazy.
Dudley was shivering, wrapped up in a towel like an Egyptian mummy.
"It's quite alright sir. We were just going home anyway." Uncle Vernon was barely keeping in his rage, as evident by the quivering of his rather fantastic mustache.
He ushered Dudley and Piers up, the latter having a rather terrified expression adorning his mousy face, guiding them back through the endless maze that was the zoo. After several wrong turns and a very long walk to everywhere except the car, they finally found the exit sign. As they passed by the snake exhibit Dudley let out a mall 'squeek' before hiding behind Uncle Vernon's large frame. Well, kind of.
Maybe it had been worth it.
It had not been worth it. Not at all.
Not only had Uncle Vernon ranted at the top of his admittedly rather impressive lungs for what seemed like hours, he had assigned Harry to the cupboard for a week!
A whole blimey week without anything! Not only that, he didn't get any dinner, and by God did that pizza smell fine.
He lay on his back, his empty stomach refusing to let him sleep until it had at least something with substance in it. He didn't know what time it was, but the computer had stopped making noises a long time ago and the television not long after that.
He stared at the door. He knew the Durselys had probably all gone to bed - but there was always the risk. He contemplated it briefly before deciding that the possibility of food far outweighed any risk he might be under.
He brushed his hand against the lock, feeling the familiar click as it unlocked. He'd always been able to unlock the door without a key. The Dursleys had initially suspected him of stealing food, when he'd first done it, but after they bashed on his door to find it still locked they'd given up.
He pulled on the handle gently, letting the door slowly limp open, the usually creaky door hinges barely making a sound.
Harry didn't notice the door close behind him.
He crept out of the cupboard on his tip-toes, barely making a sound as he slipped through the darkness like a ghost, checking every known hiding spot for a possible ambush from the Big Dog himself.
His heart lurched in his chest when he head the eighth step creak - as if the very house he was ghosting was warning him against danger. Harry quickly executed what is more commonly known as the 'duck' maneuver, slipping his slight profile behind the cabinet.
Which just so happened to be made of glass.
His heart beat at a million miles a minute, he felt light-headed, the thrill, the rush of adrenaline clouded his thoughts. He kept low, the rattle of the padlock on his door betraying the movements of the impromptu search party set upon him.
The eighth step creaked again, and footsteps trailed away into the night.
Operation Feed Harry had the green light.
He slipped into the kitchen, sliding up next to the fridge. The panther took a second to relish in his victory, before he moved on to the task at hand. His deft hands pried the fridge door open, revealing the objects of his desire.
Everything had become invisible to Harry, as he stared into the forbidden depths of the vault.
There it was. Second shelf. Two slices of the most posh, expensive and gourmet pizza that money could buy.
Classic Dursleys.
The elation he was feeling due to his success was suddenly offset by the rustling of something moving.
In his hair.