A\N: This may offend some people, probably far more than anything else I've written, but I'd like to think that people literate enough to read my stories possess the ability to take them with a grain (many) of salt. The humanistic/religious philosophies are not my own, rather they belong to the estate of A.S. LaVey et. al. No, Virginia, they don't actually believe in the Judeo-Christian concept of Satan. They just pretend too because they like to see your knickers in a twist. Oh, and there's mention of Vernon Dursley getting laid. Sorry. Just… think about puppies.
This story is told from (mostly) Vernon's POV.
o.O
Sirius Black reflected on his time across the Veil of Death. It certainly wasn't what he expected, not from the after life or any other form of magical transdimensional teleportation. Instead of seeing Lily and James, he met up with a scantily clad goddess who looked rather miffed at his presence.
"Damn it, why couldn't you have been the blond girl. She'd have been a lot more fun." The deity whined. Later on, she explained exactly what the Veil was, and what she meant by the blond being more fun. Something about her being more open to new experiences. For the life of him, Sirius couldn't figure out what the girl would be open to that he wouldn't, and he'd proceeded to shag (and be shagged) stupid in an effort to prove her wrong.
Later, the still unnamed goddess (Sirius thought of her as Sue. He didn't know why, it simply struck him as appropriate. If pressed, he'd reply it was short for Suzanne.) explained that he was allowed one minor change to the time-line of his original plane, but he'd best be careful. Unfortunately, saving Lily and James would only result in their death at a later point, and Harry's paralysis. Finally, it struck him that a fat useless pig like Vernon had to have turned out that way for a reason, and he'd decided to take a quick review of the bastard's life to see exactly why he'd grown into such an overstuffed arse. The results of his inquiry shocked him, to say the least. It seems that Vernon'd grown up much like Harry, and in some sick way actually thought he was doing right by the boy. After getting assurances from Sue that Vernon and Petunia were (shudder) soul mates fated to fall madly in (shudder) love, Sirius smiled and indicated the single event he'd alter. Sue smiled, curious to see the results.
And so it was that one Vernon Dursley, starving and exhausted from a day of forced labor under his Cromwellian step-father, noticed a beat-up copy of Anton LaVey's Satanic Bible at a 5-pence thrift store. Unlike the original timeline, his curiosity got the better of him, and he paid the price with the coins he'd managed to find on the sidewalk.
o.O
Vernon Dursley was a very happy man. He and his wife had just finished another long bout of love making, his hated supervisor had just committed suicide after his wife discovered his adulterous ways, opening the way for another promotion. He basked in the afterglow, his great belly heaving in delight, when his pleasant post-coital bliss was disrupted by a knock from the front door. 'Who in the bloody hell would visit at this hour?' He thought, disgruntled at the interruption. 'If it's the boys from the ol' Hellfire club, I'm going to beat them senseless.' He dragged his vast (and hard-earned) bulk out of bed, followed by a grumbling Petunia. The pair trundled down the stairs and opened the door, prepared to tear the inconsiderate sot that interrupted their nightly ritual a new one. Vernon's eyes narrowed at the empty space where an arsehole should have stood. He was just about the slam the door and swear long and loudly about the neighborhood brats when Petunia's gasp broke his concentration. He followed her pointing spindly finger to the figure of a one-year-old baby laying in a basket on his porch. He noted the kid was wrapped in blankets, and he seemed to have one Hell of a dinger on his forhead. "Now what sort of Evangelical arse-nugget would leave a baby alone and injured like that?" He spat out, growing rather more pissed by the second. Petunia gasped when the child opened its eyes, revealing the most incredibly bright green orbs Vernon'd ever seen.
"That… that's Lily's child," she stammered. "No! I will not have her child in my house!" She shrieked.
For the first time in his life, Vernon restrained himself from slapping his wife. "Pet! What in the bloody hell is wrong with you! It's a baby, for Christ's sakes. I don't care what bad blood you and your sister may or may not have had, but this child is injured and needs to see a doctor!" He gently picked up the baby, marveling at how tiny it was in his hands, just like his little Dudders. A letter fell from the wrappings. With shaking hands, Petunia began to read. She blinked, shocked. Vernon glanced over at his wife. "What is it, Pet?"
"Lily's… dead. James too. They've been murdered." She stammered.
"And so some bloody buggering arse up and dropped the baby off on our doorstep, not even having the common fucking courtesy to heal him up? What sort of sick, sadistic freaks did your sister hang out with?"
"Freaks is exactly what they were, and I won't have another one of them in my house." Petunia spat.
Vernon's eyes narrowed. "Pet… think about what you just said."
Petunia had the descency to blush. "Oh, right. Sorry dear… it's just there's so many bad memories…"
Vernon drew his wife into a one-armed hug. "Look, Pet, we've all got bad memories. The point is hate the people that are worth hating, and love the people worth loving. He's just a baby. Don't get all Nationalist on me, Pet, you're better than that."
Petunia sniffed, fighting back tears of shame. She nodded. "So, what are we going to do?"
"First, we're going to get the boy looked at. Then we're going to make sure that this is all above the table. Satan knows we can't bloody well afford the tiniest hint of illegality in our lives, considering how the small minded plebes take our religion."
Petunia nodded. "I'll take care of Duddi-kins. You go do whatever it is you need to do."
With a grunt, Vernon hugged his wife and carried the baby back inside. Gently laying the boy down, he changed out of his pyjamas and, picking him gently up, carried the newest member of the Dursley family out the door and to his car.
"Well, kid, looks like you've been handed a wad of shite from the get-go. Don't worry, though. We'll make sure you've got your head on straight and grow up strong and proud." Smirking to himself, Vernon considered the benefits of having a child around that his Pet, whom he loved from the bottom of his heart but couldn't help but know she'd be a right petty bitch sometimes, wouldn't mind near as much that Vernon'd raise him up to be a proper Satanist, just like his dear adoptive dad.
o.O
Vernon paced the hospital waiting room nervously. He didn't like the sudden frantic efforts of the doctor, not when it was happening to his nephew. He was just about to barge in and demand to know what in the Hell was going on when a flustered, but obviously relieved, doctor walked calmly into the room. Vernon glared at the man, out of spite.
"Mr. Dursley?" The doctor asked. Vernon swallowed a nasty comment over the fact that he was alone in the room and nodded. The doctor continued. "I must say your nephew is incredibly fortunate that you took him in when you did. We found a rapidly, and I do mean rapidly, growing tumor in the center of his wound. I really must say that I've never seen something quite like it."
Vernon glared. "And? Is the boy going to be alright?"
The doctor had the grace to blush. "Oh, sorry, he's just fine. It's just… well… the whole affair was quite unusual. I don't think I've ever heard of a tumor actively trying to resist removal… and when we finally got the thing out and dropped it into the proper disposal…" The doctor shuddered. "I'm still trying to understand that horrible horrible scream…" He brightened visibly as he continued. "But no matter. I'd say your nephew is going to be just fine. In fact, his health visibly improved the moment that tumor was disposed off… although whatever possessed the nurse to inject it with drain cleaner, stab it fifty or so times with a scalpel, then drop it into the incinerator…"
Vernon blinked. That didn't sound too terribly medical to him. "Err… is that normal disposal?"
The doctor blinked, suddenly filled with visions of lawsuits and malfeasance letters. "Oh, yes… um, we find it catharitic to dispose of dangerous tumors that way. Really. It's harmless, you see… not attached any more and all that."
Vernon pondered the doctors words for a moment. "Too right. Sounds bloody brilliant, now that you mention it. Excellent gesture that." The doctor let out a sigh of relief, his golf cart no longer floating away in the winds of malpractice suits. "So, um… when can I see the boy?"
The doctor smiled, touched by the elephantine man's concern. "Oh, well, we're going to keep him overnight for observation, and to make sure there aren't any bits of that tumor left over… in fact, we watching it like a hawk, considering the growth rate I rather doubt we'd fail to notice any missing bits… Normally we'd suggest chemo, but right now we're almost convinced that perhaps it was some form of mutated fly larvae that managed to wrap itself in the boy's damaged tissues… yes, that would explain the antagonistic behavior… yes, that's it!"
Vernon shrugged, having seen such fits of rationalization many times in his life, and having underwent them a few on his own. "Well, I'll just wait here until I can see the boy."
The doctor nodded. "That sounds like a wonderful idea." He seemed to deliberate for a moment, before adding, "and by the way, perhaps you'd like to take this opportunity to review some of our nutritional pamphlets? You know that obesity is one of the contributing factors to heart disease."
Vernon narrowed his eyes and closed the gap between him and the doctor. "I. Like. To. Eat. If that means I keel over before I'm stuck in a home, then jolly that!" The doctor stammered out some form of hasty excuse and fled the room. Vernon grunted, happy that he'd managed to out-bully the worst kind of bully: the kind that thought they knew how to run your life better than you did.
o.O
Vernon spent the next few years raising his two boys and advancing up the Grunnings corporate ladder. His wife may have resented the intrusion in her house, but she couldn't find fault with the joy that having another son brought her beloved husband. She seemed to appreciate the fact that Harry's eating habits were far closer to her own than her Diddikins and Hubby. Vernon grunted, but who was he to judge. After all, the boy certainly showed signs of loving life in his own way, and even at the youngest age possessed a burning need to get himself into messes he otherwise shouldn't. And so the years passed, with Vernon imparting bits of LaVey's wisdom to his sons (as he considered Harry to be as much, if not sometimes a bit more, his child as Dudders). Harry lapped it up, although Dudders seemed more like his mother at times. Vernon still remembered the time Harry got into his first bit of serious trouble at school.
Harry had gotten into a boyish spat with two lads a few years older and twice his size. Like the proper Satanist, there was none of that silly turn-the-other-cheek nonsense, rather he'd properly busted the sodding bastards up. Still, Vernon had to find out why the lad busted the brats (making him all fuzzy and proud inside). To his disgust, it was because the kids had been bullying some other boys. He'd taken Harry aside and had a little chat about that.
"Now Harry, don't you think for one minute I'm upset because you knocked those bastards around a bit. I'm angry because of why you did it. Were those boys your friends?"
Harry shook his head. "Actually, I don't much like them," he replied. "They are very snooty."
Vernon grunted. "Then why did you stick up for them?"
Harry blinked. "Because… because it's wrong to beat up people just because they annoy you."
Vernon nodded. "That's right… so why am I upset?"
Harry shuffled his feet in shame. "Because I shouldn't have gotten involved?"
Vernon shook his head. "No, boy, that's not it at all. I've got to say I'm proud that you're willing to bloody people for your convictions, but you've got to do it for the right reasons. You see, the people who should have stopped the problem are the teachers. They didn't, which is exactly what you have to expect from authority, the two-faced moralistic hypocrites that they are. Those boys, however, didn't deserve you sticking up for them. I mean, do you think they'll be your friends now? Do you even want them to be? Let the sheep get culled, and don't waste your energy on the worthless." Harry flushed in shame. Vernon gave him a manly clap on the shoulder. "Now don't you waste your time with shame, Harry, guilt is for the mindless masses. Learn, and do better, be stronger than your enemies, and never miss a chance to tweak their tiny little minds."
Harry grinned. "Like the time I hollered out 'Ave Satanis' in the middle of forced mass?"
Vernon beamed. "Precicely! Now, next time I hear of you brutally beating up your classmates, I want to know that it was for the right reason!"
Harry nodded, vowing to become a stronger boy, not one of the mindless sheep.
o.O
And so the years passed, with Harry become the star attraction amongst the local Six-Six-Six. Vernon was dancing on the clouds for days after Harry'd discovered he could speak to snakes. "Oh wait until the Hellfire boys hear about this! They'll be so envious they'll be pissing shamrock green for months!"
Finally, on the advent of Harry's eleventh birthday, a large brown owl swooped into the kitchen during breakfast and dropped a letter on his lap. In flowing green letters, it revealed that Harry was a Wizard, and was invited to attend Hogwarts. Vernon narrowed his eyes at the frankly abysmal lack of information in the letter. "Seems to me somebody's trying to pull a horse-and-pony show with you, Harry. Tell you what, go ahead and reply, and I'll ask about if any of the boys know other parents with children attending an 'exclusive boarding school in Scotland.' I smell horseshit, and I'd rather you feed 'em rather than eat it." Harry nodded, silently agreeing with his adopted father.
And so it was that Vernon made quite inquiries amongst the local and regional Six-Six-Six. A day later, he'd gotten an invitation to meet with another parent over at one of the nastiest football bars. Vernon quickly agreed, asking how he'd know the contact. The message was passed: 'squick the sheep, hooligans are as superstitious as the next wanker.'
He grinned, it'd been a while since he'd crashed a bar in full regalia.
o.O
Vernon thundered into the bar dressed in a solid black suit with red tie and trim, dripping with pentagrams, upside-down crosses, and other blasphemous jewelry. No sooner than the door closed behind him that he raised his fist in an Imperial Roman salute and belted out a bellowing "HAIL SATAN!"
The bar fell silent as wide-eyed no-necked thugs strained themselves looking at the large man who'd so calmly claimed allegiance to the devil. Mind you, they thought in smaller words than that. Vernon heard the audible snap of the patron's necks when a responding "HAIL SATAN!" came from the lips of a smallish looking gent in proper Catholic livery. Vernon grinned and trundled his way over. "Padre," he said sarcastically as he plopped down next to the man.
Needless to say, their conversation was followed religiously by the patrons, and upon hearing the words witches and magic quickly dismissed as the ramblings of a pair of obvious lunatics. A few of the braver, and drunker, patrons thought about taking a swing at the bastards who didn't love Jesus like a proper Brit should, but lingering childhood boogey-men and superstitions stayed their hands. After all, you never know if the crazy bastards might actually have an in with the Devil, and Heaven help the man who got the Lord of Flies attention. No, they'd simply keep there ears open and make sure they weren't planning on sacrificing anybody important, like their sons and daughters.
By the end of the conversation, Vernon Dursley was a very unhappy man. It appeared his fellow Satanist (a British dentist… how fitting) and his wife (also a Satanist, also a dentist) received a much more informative packet, as well as a personal visit from one of the professors that very day. After discussing his boy's parentage, as well as the painfully terse letter, the pair agreed that yes, somebody was trying to jerk them around, and no, they didn't like that at all. The decided that they'd get together and let Harry have a good look at the material that hadn't made its way to the Dursley residence. The next half-hour was spent listening to the man wake rhapsodic about the virtues of his daughter, a trait Vernon'd grown used to (and a bit sympathetic if his own bragging about his boys were any indication), chuckling over Dr. Granger's plight. It seems their daughter hit upon the 'rebellious activist' stage, even going so far as to place a poster of Margret Thatcher up on her wall.
"Margret Bloody Thatcher!" Dr. Granger exclaimed. "How the Hell am I supposed to live down the shame!" Vernon chuckled, quite happy his own boys hadn't hit the rebellious stage yet.
"Don't you worry, my boy's a proper Satanist, he'll set her back on the Downward Path." Vernon bragged.
Dr. Granger laughed, then gave Vernon a playful glare. "He'd best keep his Adultery to himself!"
Vernon snorted. "Ha! No worries, no worries, he's bloody eleven. Doubt his balls've dropped yet." Vernon chuckled at Dr. Granger's odd dichotomy of protective father-figure faced with a blooming daughter against his religious belief that sexual morality was a tool designed to constrain the masses through needless guilt over feelings every living creature feels within thirty minutes of waking. Vernon silently thanked his lucky stars that he didn't have a daughter, and thus could avoid the whole messy thing.
A\N: Dunno if I'm going to write more of this… (seriously doubt it) still, that'd be a story for the DLP crew. If you're going to write dark!independant!but not actually EVIL!Harry, might as well go for the gold!