A/N Well, thank you very much for all the responses so far! Thank you especially to those who have dropped me a review. Follow and Favourite notifications make me feel warm inside, but reviews are so much more personal. Plus, I'm sure there are many things I could improve on, but I need pointers to know where I'm going wrong (and right, of course). Constructive criticism is always welcome. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the continuation.
Chapter 2
Harry did manage to finish his painting a few hours before daylight, but he was exhausted. One odd thing, however, was that all his bruises somehow healed themselves during the conversation with the strange man. Harry was thankful for it, though. Knowing he wouldn't manage to sneak the bag of magical lemon-drops into the house with Vernon watching him, he hid them in the shed, behind a few paint cans. It wasn't as though Vernon ever went there except on a Saturday to get the lawnmower out to do the lawn: one of the few house-hold jobs Harry didn't have to do. He then collapsed onto a pile of sacking at the back of the shed.
The sun coming through the shed window, straight into his eyes, woke him just in time to hear Uncle Vernon's call. He hurried inside and got to work on the breakfast with merely a clip around the ear.
The rest of the day passed normally. The only hitch was when he fell asleep on his desk during the library period. His teacher woke him up and he was obliged to make up a 'nail-biting' book he had been reading which kept him up at nights. He didn't tell the truth: what good would it do? After his first complaint where the teacher was, in effect, drummed out of town, he had tried twice more. The first time, he was called a liar. The second time he was called a liar once more, but the teacher had taken him to the Principal. The Principal had then called the Dursleys in. Harry shuddered at the memory of that punishment. He would not be forgetting the experience anytime soon.
When he got home, he was once more given a list of chores. Luckily one of them took him outside. He went to get the bag out of the shed, checked the lemon-drops were still there – they were – and looked around for watchers before scurrying towards the house. Unfortunately, just as he was trying to get in the door, he ran into Dudley who was coming out. Dudley's eyes fixed themselves on the bag.
"What'cha got there, freak?" he demanded.
"Nothing, Dudley," Harry replied warily.
"Don't look like nothing. Give it here, then." Harry clutched the bag tighter, eyes darting round for an escape. Unfortunately, the fences and hedges were high enough around the back garden he couldn't get over them, nor could he get through. Dudley reached for the bag, faster than Harry would have thought. He grabbed the paper, but Harry wouldn't let go.
"It's mine, Dudley! Let go!" he shouted.
"S'not yours. Nothing here's yours," Dudley said cruelly. "If you won't give it, I'll tell Dad." Harry bit his lip, but even that threat wouldn't make him let go, instead it made him cling on harder. A tug of war ensued until, as could have been predicted, the bag couldn't take it anymore and the paper broke.
"No!" cried Harry as the lemon-drops showered the ground. He tried to gather them up, grovelling in the dirt, but they were surprisingly mobile, darting away from his fingers and burrowing in the ground. Harry sat back on his heels, his head hanging, downcast.
"What was that, freak?!" demanded Dudley, his tone slightly fearful and angry because of it. Harry didn't answer. Dudley kicked him and a wave of anger swept through him. Too much! It was too much. The Dursleys always took away everything good he ever had. Growling ferally, Harry, uncharacteristically, jumped up at Dudley, punching every inch he could reach. Dudley seemed startled, but then responded with equal anger. He used his superior weight and size, as well as the fact he wasn't exhausted from a night spent awake, to pin Harry and beat him up. Finally, after much struggling and getting nowhere, Harry lay limp, the anger gone and replaced with pain. Satisfied the freak had been taught his place, Dudley got up, spat at Harry's prone form, kicked him once more for good measure and then stomped off back to the house. "I'm telling Dad you've been playing with freaky things and hurt me when I told you to stop!" he shouted back, a smug tone in his voice.
Harry knew he should get up and beg Dudley not to tell: he was pretty sure his punishment would be far worse than last night if Dudley complained, as he was sure to, but he couldn't move. The disappearance of hope and anger both was enough to numb him until he couldn't care about anything.
Sure enough, when Vernon came home, there was an almighty backlash for his temerity to actually fight back for once. The beating seemed to go on and on. Harry actually started fearing for his life. Vernon just wasn't stopping, even though Harry was pretty sure he had broken something already. Harry's saving grace came in the form of Petunia's voice drifting into the house.
"Vernon, Vernon! Come here! You won't believe this!" Vernon grunted and sneered at Harry, then turned around to go to his wife. Harry pulled himself painfully off the ground with the help of the banisters and limped out to see what they were looking at. Almost absent-mindedly he wiped at the blood trickling down his face with the sleeve of his clothes.
When he got to the kitchen doorstep, his eyes went wide in shock and he leaned against the doorway to keep him standing up. On the top-most branch of the tree nearest where the lemon-drops had been spilled, a huge fruit was growing. Looking at it, he thought it might be a peach. It was the size of a football and was still growing under their very eyes.
"Im-impossible," stammered Vernon, his and Petunia's eyes fixated on the giant fruit. "The most that tree's ever borne has been the odd blossom or two which just withered. Nothing more!" Despite his protests, the fruit was most definitely there. Within a few minutes it had grown heavy enough that the tree was no longer able to support its weight. The wood groaned, but didn't snap, as it bent enough to rest the peach on the ground. And yet, it still grew!
Finally, it stopped getting visibly bigger when it was as big as the house, no, slightly bigger, and the fences around the garden were barely able to contain it. Released from their fixation, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia shared an odd glance, then as one they turned to look at Harry. Harry started backing away from the intense gaze, sure it meant nothing good. Vernon took a threatening step forwards.
"Boy, what have you done?" He asked in a hissing whisper. Harry realised he didn't want to catch the attention of the neighbours, though they had surely noticed the appearance of a huge peach in the backyard of a cookie-cutter house.
"I-I," Harry stammered, shaking his head desperately. He was sure any more violence would kill him at this point. "I-I d-di-didn't d-do-"
"No lies, boy! I know you did something!" Vernon stomped towards Harry who tried to run, but tripped over because one of his legs wasn't working properly. His uncle loomed threateningly above him, but was checked by Petunia's voice.
"Hang on, Vernon," she said, contemplatively. Vernon turned to her and Harry breathed. "I don't think there's ever been a peach as big as this before." Vernon's piggy eyes lit up with avarice as he caught onto what Petunia was saying.
"People would come from all over to see it, wouldn't they," he mused out loud. They shared another glance. This time Harry could easily decipher it: it was a look of shared greed and understanding.
"Boy, go away," Petunia said, almost absent-mindedly. When Harry didn't move, not sure what she meant, she turned to him, her expression impatient. "Get inside and cook dinner," she snapped. Harry nodded and once more stood, wincing at every movement. He cooked, they ate and he was sent to his cupboard without any supper as further punishment for fighting with Dudley.
He massaged his stomach that felt as though wolves were tearing at it. He had missed lunch both that day and the day before because Dudley had snatched it. In addition, he hadn't been allowed breakfast that morning or dinner the previous night because of the creosote job. As a result, he hadn't eaten in 36 hours and was fast approaching his limit of being able to endure without collapsing.
The next day was Saturday and no ordinary Saturday. He was given scraps at breakfast, thank goodness, but then was set to work the rest of the day cooking cakes, making sandwiches and mixing drinks to supply those outside. Vernon was standing at the garden gate, charging people to come in to look at the enormous peach while Petunia kept the tables supplied with the refreshments Harry made and socialised with the guests. Dudley was making a nuisance of himself, as usual, but had been bribed with his favourite foods and a new top twenty cassette tape to keep him out of the way. He played with his friends in the backyard and annoyed the guests, but at least he stayed out of the kitchen for the most part.
Harry managed to snaffle a few bits of food while he was cooking, but the starving boy was thwarted most of the time by Petunia. She had a horrible habit of coming in just as he was putting something to his mouth or balancing whatever he was holding so he had a hand free to eat with.
The day was long, but it ended eventually. Harry leaned against a counter, the only thing keeping him upright after he had done the usual supper preparation and tidy up. He longed to be sent to his cupboard, but in vain. Vernon, pleased from the day's intake, 'magnanimously' allowed him to pick the chicken skeleton from the roast and chew the single leftover potato and the few extra carrots. He then sent the exhausted boy out with a brush and bin to clear up the mess all the people had made.
"And don't go near our peach," Petunia warned Harry shrilly as he left the room. Harry got out the door, but then collapsed against the wall, almost too tired to eat the bits of food he had managed to salvage. It wasn't enough, it wasn't nearly enough to even begin to fill his stomach, let alone make up for the missed meals. Harry found himself looking involuntarily at the huge fruit covering most of the lawn, his mouth watering. Almost violently, he jerked his gaze away and started collecting the rubbish and brushing off the paving slabs. At this point, he needed to stay under the Dursleys' radar and avoid injury as much as possible. While he might not like his life, he certainly wasn't ready to leave it in a permanent manner, particularly not at the hands of his hateful and hated relatives.
Just as he was picking up a discarded plastic cup, he saw something move. It was one of those lemon-drop things! Harry tried to grab it but it was too quick. It led him on a dance around the lawn and then finally eluded him completely. The brief surge of hope died down completely leaving Harry feeling empty in its wake. Looking around where he was, he realised he had come right next to the peach by accident. Biting his lip, Harry tried not to imagine the punishment he would get if one of his relatives came out at that moment.
Logically, the best course of action at this point would be to move to the other side of the garden and carry on with his job. Unfortunately, logic wasn't playing much part in Harry's decision making at this point. A much baser organ had taken over. Enraptured by the glorious scent of the fruit, Harry's stomach was directing his hands to sink into the firm flesh of the peach and pull out a glob of orange dessert. Harry brought it to his lips as if under a spell and sank his teeth in. Unbeknownst to him, that lemon-drop he had chased over the garden had sunk itself into just that spot. His mouthful glowed yellowy-green for a moment and then disappeared down his throat.
Harry almost moaned. He had never tasted anything quite so delicious. The peach was firm enough to be chewed, but with so much liquid it ran down his throat and soothed the insides of his digestion system. When the flesh had made its way down his throat, it settled in his stomach in a way that made him feel full, but not so heavily it made him feel ill, considering his recent bout of starvation.
So wrapped with the sensations of what he was eating, Harry didn't realise that the magic of the lemon-drop was healing his body and even undoing some of the damage he had received from long term malnutrition. Where Harry had dug out a handful of fruit, a hole was deepening and glowing bright yellow. He only noticed that when he had completely consumed the fruit and was licking his fingers clean. Curious, and not even sparing a thought for his relatives, Harry stuck his head in the hole. He realised it was just the right size for a boy like him to crawl in, so that's what he did.
The tunnel was long, soft and sticky. Finally he reached the end: a hole in something hard which had to be the stone, the seed casing. Voices were coming through the hole, but his view was obscured by something. The voices seemed somewhat angry, though muffled. Harry leant towards the hole, hoping to hear more clearly, but underestimated how slippery his handhold was. He went tumbling, head over heels through the thin hole-covering and down into the middle of the hollow stone.
Rubbing his head and briefly distracted by the fact that nothing else hurt, Harry looked up and saw figures around him. The next thing he noticed was that the figures weren't human. Following upon the heels of that realisation, he discovered that figures were actually bugs, huge bugs. Terrified, he scrambled backwards like a crab until he hit the wall of the stone. Raising his shaking arms in front of his head, he made a plea in desperate tones.
"Please don't eat me!" he cried out, his voice high and thin.
A/N OK, challenge for you all. Can you guess who each of the bugs will be? They will all be well-known characters, most from Hogwarts, so no one like Rufus Scrimangeour or that guy Luna married who I can never remember the name of.
