Summary: Harry grows up working on his Aunts Garden and develops a love for it, meeting Samuel and eventually Max, who gives him a Mark of his own. He finds Magic to be a Wonderful Thing. Rating may change later. Warning for language.
Last chapter until I can next get to the Internet, and I'm currently writing this during a blackout at the park I'm working at… Yay for having charged it last night! (today is August 5, 2012).
So my plan to post this today was foiled. Hope you understand when you do read this, and hope you enjoy the massive amount of work I'm shoving on you all at once.
Look forward to the next batch of chapters! They're coming out hot and plot-riddled!
ALSO: To the Author of Old Souls (if you're still reading) I've been rereading that entire story while I am here, and you've been doing an amazing job, just wanted to say that as it's hard to review from my phone. Oh Leviathan, he's such a funny little character :P TO everyone else, look it up and check it out.
So ON TO THE STORY~! Enjoy :P
Chapter 37—Aunt Petunia
She pulled back the curtains to watch the boy leave for his… self-defense lessons.
As if she doesn't know that he was planning on using what he learned to terrorize her little boy.
Always carrying around that ratty bag even after he went out and bought himself some new clothes—an entire new wardrobe—and always looking so abnormal.
Long hair, always in a mess, never wearing his glasses, strutting about in that strange way of his.
He likely thought he'd had them sign off their souls (and they didn't, they'd checked thoroughly for that in that damnable contract) with that swagger.
And she'd finally realized what was so strange about the boy before, aside from the obvious, when he was wearing Dudley's hand-me-downs to hide it.
He was all skin and bones and muscle.
He must have been planning on beating up her little Diddy-Dums well before bringing up that self-defense program, beefing up while hiding it under his clothing.
No child should have muscle like that so young it was scandalous.
With his new clothing he was practically shoving it into the faces of the neighbors, making her little boy look bad.
Making him look fat.
She was giving him meat on his bones for when he grew up to be a big strong man. She didn't want her little man to be made fun of for being a beanpole in adolescence, she was a thoughtful mother like that! And the boy was out there trying so desperately to show up Diddums!
She whipped the curtains back into place with a huff.
Freakish boy, ruining their good name as a happy, normal family ever since he was left on their doorstep like the rubbish he was.
He was getting more freakish by the day.
His hair growing back so quickly, his ridiculously green eyes (Lilly's eyes no don't think about that), walking around smelling like Mrs. Anderson's imported perfume...
The day she first caught whiff of it, she'd thought the little freak had stolen it!
Then she realized that the boy wouldn't recognize quality like that, and assumed he had used more than his bar of soap, and the floral scent of her own shampoo was likely fooling her nose, and so she went to put a stop to that immediately.
When he next got dirty—sooner than she'd like, the filthy boy—she removed all products from the bathroom and ordered him to wash.
The freak still came out smelling of flowers.
She huffed again and set about preparing a snack for her darling little boy.
She frowned when she saw the faint splatter marks on the counter after she was done, and made a mental note to have the boy—
No, she scowled; he refused to even do that, the lazy boy.
That horrible contract with its horrible little threats.
She only wanted a normal life! Se didn't want any of that unnaturalness in her life!
Didn't any of the freaks see that?
She put the boy to work because it meant she knew where he was and what he was doing—her little boy was such a little adventurer, he needed all her attention, she couldn't be sparing it to watch the little freak stumble about.
And she once had him in the room he stole, but then Dudley had needed the extra room for his toys, and, well, the little freak was little. Much smaller than her strapping young boy. He fit well enough under the stairs, and it once again meant she knew exactly where he was and what he was doing at night, safely locked in that cupboard.
She still wondered what insanity had taken her sister when she decided that she was the one to send her freak son to should she and that horrible boy she married be indisposed. And that threatening letter—ugh!
She had made it quite clear that she wouldn't like to see her sister or any of her freakishness ever again, thank you.
And yet she had still ended up with a freakish little boy with a bleeding forehead—freakish shaped scar—when her freak sister had gotten her and her husband blown up.
And what a way to off themselves! A heart attack not good enough? Couldn't even get into a normal accident like a car crash? Oh no they have to get involved with a murderous psychopath (all of them were, she was sure) and get blown up.
She ignored the slight hitch in her breath at that thought, and pushed her thoughts onward.
Onward to happier things.
Like her little man was doing so well in his class—separate from the little freak.
Mrs. Shaw was a delight, and she'd already had a number of conversations with her over the phone, talking about her little boy's progress. She was very sympathetic when she confided that she rarely got to have long conversations about this as usually talk of her nephew—a horrendous boy, absolutely criminal, she assured her—took up most of her time.
Mrs. Shaw had told her that her little man had warned her off from his cousin as well—oh, her little boy was so thoughtful—and was assured by Petunia's words that Dudley was certainly an honest little boy, very forward with even his classmates.
Petunia mentioned that the other teachers had thought such forwardness as bullying—they both shared a laugh at the prospect of Dudley being a bully, he was an absolute angel—and both agreed that the other teachers were simply not looking at the interactions the right way.
Wasn't it good that Dudley was being forward? Wasn't it grand that he knew what he wanted at such a young age? To see such confidence in a young man was reassuring, not a sign of a bully.
Dudley was popular for sure, and if some of the other kids didn't get along with him, it was surely due to jealousy!
Petunia sighed and said that not everyone could be as outgoing as her son, and she had hoped that any resentment could be reined in enough to keep rumors and slander from being thrown about.
A bully.
Honestly.
Having the freak in a separate classroom was bliss, and it calmed some of her fears that the boy was using his self-defense classes to bully her little boy.
Why she didn't hear anything about the freak bullying, she didn't know.
Perhaps the other children were too scared to come forward.
She thought back to the strangely compact body of her nephew, once hidden by baggy clothes, and the strangeness of it.
She was accustomed, from looking after her little boy and his friends, of seeing the chubby round softness of youth. The round faces that looked up to her, expressions hopeful for a snack, was a common sight to her.
The narrower face and sharp cheekbones had no place on a normal child.
Neither did the compact arms, legs, and torso that made up her nephew.
Such a strange child.
So utterly freakish.
Petunia had done the same chores he had done for years before having Dudley, and she had never gained tone like that. She had never wanted to be described as muscular—heavens no! That would be horridly unladylike—but it took a careful monitoring of calories for her to maintain the figure she did, and the boy ate whatever was put in front of him.
Had she not monitored him, he'd likely eat from the garbage if he could get away with it.
She shivered, revulsion dancing up her spine.
She was only happy that her darling little boy now had a teacher who would give him the attention he deserved.
As for recess—well, perhaps she could enroll Dudley into some sort of defence class of his own.
Boxing perhaps, he would like that no matter how delicate his principles were.
Her little Dudley didn't like violence, after all.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
"FREAK! Where are you!?" she heard her husband call out from upstairs.
Worried, she hurried to the foot of the stairs.
"Vernon?"
"Where is that boy?" he thundered, looking down at her from the top of the stairs. His face was reddening quickly, and she worried once again for his blood pressure. The boy always did this, and would put her whole family in an early grave through heart failure and death by mortification (a trunk! He'd brought home a trunk, lugging it through the neighborhood!).
A faint rattle and click behind her told that her freak nephew was home, and she turned to look disapproving at him. He really was the worst fate one could wish on anyone.
"Boy!"
The freak immediately stopped in the doorway, weary.
Hmph, he knows he's done something to deserve it, then, she thought to herself.
"…Yes, uncle?"
"What's wrong with the door!?"
There was something wrong with the door?
"Which door, uncle?"
"You know damned well what door I'm talking about freak! The door's locked! What did you do to it?"
The boy looked damnably calm after installing locks in their own home, that strange look always in his eyes nowadays, the dead, flat, burning look, and Petunia felt a twist in her stomach.
Vernon took in a breath to tell the boy exactly why that was not done, but the freak interrupted him before he even spoke.
"Uncle, Aunt," he ran those freakish (Lily's eyes no don't even think) eyes over them both, his tone even and even friendly if it weren't for his eyes—
"I believe you misunderstand the nature of our agreement. I am not living here as your nephew, I am little more than a tenant who has paid well in advance for room and board—" Petunia flinched slightly, but really her little boy needed the money more than the brat did anyway— "and so, as a tenant who has nothing else to link him to those rooming him, I have to interact with you only so much as has been agreed upon. I have stayed to my agreed interaction, as have you, but, as a tenant, I gain the right to privacy, and so a lock on my door was natural. When I turn 17 I will obviously be taking the lock down, both on the door and on the window—"
"—The window!?"
"—and will then be out of your lives entirely. Having bought my own furniture and things for the room—the bed and bedframe was moved to the attic, Aunt Petunia—I felt the need for some insurance, and as you were trying to get into what is essentially my room for the next seven to eight years without my permission or presence, I feel this decision was needed. Warranted even."
Petunia felt an ugly flush creeping up her cheeks at the insinuation. As if she would want to steal any of his freakish things. She could still remember the things her sister had brought back form that madhouse. Talking, moving pictures, figurines that moved about, strange jars of things she certainly didn't want to know about, even chess pieces that shouted at you.
She was about to say something to that degree, but then she met his eyes for one horrifying, terrible moment, and saw all and none of what she expected to see. She stopped short, breath caught somewhere between her chest and Lily's grave.
Fatigue, weariness, and resignation looked out at her from those eyes (I guess this is goodbye then, 'Tunia… I'll miss you, for what it's worth), stubbornness and determination (but know if you ever make it around Godrics Hollow, you and your family are welcome) underlying it, before steely determination took over the warring impressions.
(All the luck to you, and I hope you make it to the wedding)
"If that's all?"
Vernon was breathing heavily, but otherwise silent.
Petunia felt the silence of years stretch out before her.
(I love you, 'Tunia)
The boy nodded, once, shortly, and moved past them both to head up the stairs. Feet quiet on the creaking steps; he reached the top, and glanced once more at the two.
(But this is my life now)
Her own eyes met Green for a moment before he turned into Dudley's old toy room. He turned into his room, and closed the door.
(Goodbye)
Lily.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Okay, so I had part of this written out already, and then lost my USB key, and then rewrite this even though I had planned on having a chapter/part like this much earlier. Much shorter than what I've been posting lately, but If I'm not off my mark, I'll likely be posting 4 chapters at once, so if you've a complaint about length, it better be about how it's too long and you don't have enough time to read it all at once. Just over this summer I've written about 15,000 words, so there ;)
Hope you like, even if I don't particularly like… I think I might come back and change this chapter, and if I do then I'll put up a note saying so.
NOTE: I know I overestimated a lot of the prices I had up a few chapters ago, but I don't want to go back and change it all right now. I've gotten a couple of links showing me the errors of my ways (by the way, mowing I accounted for as doing any time the Dursleys can't think of what else to have him do, and so maybe once every one or two weeks any time there's lawn activity), so you'll have to wait for me to go back and do the Great Edit (which happens well after I've finished the story btw), so any pet peeves will have to wait.
I also want to just go out there and say that his Mark/Tattoo WILL be a huge part of this series, and for the people who are either squicked by tattoos or just don't like them, I'm sorry, I hope you'll continue reading anyway.
I personally don't think you should get a tattoo unless it means something huge to you and you think long and hard about what you get.
I'm not a fan of these people who have faces tattooed on them (that lady who had the twilight cast across her back? HOLY FRIG! Also people who get tattoos of their baby's faces. It's creepy, stick to their names if you need it), or who get random and/or generic sh!t tattoos. Also, while religious tattoos look fine, and usually aren't the kind you'll look back on with shame, I'm agnostic and didn't like it when people shoved their religions in my face at high school, don't like it now.
Not to generalize, but it's these people with crosses and stars and various other symbols that end up getting offended at me for my non-religiousness, so I feel I have reason to be weary.
For Harry it means something for him. It's actually important to him, and not to show how serious about plants he is to others. He hasn't showed his Mark off, so you should be able to tell it's for himself, not for others.
And that's all of my little spiel on my opinion on tattoos and on the length of my chapters. Also prices and editing.
Also, this chapter (minus me talking) is a little less than 4 pages long. Sorry about that, but it ended when it did. With a little more drama than I'd thought would be there, but hey. It's there.
COMMENT PLEASE! I love hearing from people, and I'm stranded out in the middle of the woods and need the contact!
~Doodled93~