This story is borrows from the book The Dark Fields, and its movie adaption, Limitless, but follows the Harry Potter series in most aspects of setting and character. Naturally, I don't intend to follow canon too closely (except where it makes sense), or take any aspects besides the pill from Limitless, but it is my hope you will inform me if I fail in either regard.

Let me know when I inevitably make mistakes, and please enjoy.

Harry picked up another shirt off his cousin's floor. Idiot—was it so hard to put clothes in the hamper? And why couldn't Dudley clean his own room?

Harry tossed the shirt in a hamper and paused, rubbing his forehead. He had been getting taller, lately, but his closet definitely wasn't. He'd hit his head that morning getting out of bed, and now he had a headache.

Uncle Vernon had said no painkillers until his chores were done, though.

Sighing as his head continued to throb, Harry grabbed the last of the clothes littering his cousin's floor and started on the toys. Aunt Petunia always checked to make sure everything was properly put away, and there'd be no dinner if he didn't finish all his chores.

His headache was killing him, though. He couldn't get any work done like this! Then he realized—he'd seen painkillers in Dudley's room one time, maybe there would be more!

After a quick peek downstairs, Harry decided he would have enough time to snoop around. He started digging around in Dudley's desk drawers, and sure enough, there was a container of Advil sitting in the bottom drawer under a pile of binders and strangely, wrapped inside a dingy grocery bag.

Harry shook the container over his hand. There was just one pill left. It was a tiny clear circle, and Harry wondered about it briefly—he'd never seen painkillers that looked like that before.

The sound of footsteps came from the stairs, and Harry felt a chill tickle down his spine. Someone was coming.

Harry tossed the pill into his mouth and it caught on his tongue, his mouth dry out of nervousness.

He swallowed, then swallowed again, and it finally went down his throat.

And then, standing in the doorway to the room, was Dudley. Harry paled. Dudley would tell on him for sure.

But amazingly, Dudley did not shout for his mum with glee (Harry's cousin always loved to get him in trouble).

Instead, Dudley's eyes darted to the container in Harry's hands and he turned as pale as Harry. He slammed the door behind him with muffled urgency, and locked it.

"Give that to me!", Dudley whispered hotly. Not waiting for a response, he grabbed the container from Harry's hands and peeked inside.

Dudley's hands shook, eyes snapping up to glare at Harry.

"You took it?" At Harry's nod, Dudley threw the empty container at Harry, hard. Harry flinched, but it bounced off harmlessly.

"You! How could you do that! I needed that for my placement test! How'll I get into Smeltings?"

"Who told you that painkillers would help you on a test? Besides, there's plenty more downstairs," Harry said, chuckling a little. It really wasn't a good time to laugh, and Dudley reddened, just like when Uncle Vernon did when he was angry.

Crap. He'd made Dudley angry, and that was stupid. Dudley got whatever he wanted from his parents, and if he wanted Harry in the cupboard for a week that would happen too.

"Listen—you—that wasn't no bloody painkiller."

Harry felt his balance go weird for a moment. It wasn't—?

"That pill you took, it's supposed to be some sort of super pill, make you smarter."

A super pill? But—yes, Harry was beginning to feel it kick in. He wasn't sure he quite agreed with Dudley's description, though. The pill's effects were still growing, but he couldn't feel himself getting any smarter.

"Bloody expensive, too. Cost me 70 quid for the one."

But he was taking in everything, processing it and thinking far faster than he ever had in his life. And he could remember things he hadn't known he knew, references and ideas he'd heard once, passingly.

Dudley's eyes took on a greedy gleam.

"Say, you've taken it now, so you'd better pay me back. In fact, I want extra. How do you think you'll pay for that?"

Harry looked closely at Dudley. His mind was running at a million miles an hour, yet he remained perfectly calm. Before, Dudley confronting him like this would turn Harry into a stuttering wreck. On the pill, Dudley Dursley was a total non-threat.

Harry stood up straight and confident, looking his cousin dead in the eyes.

"I'm not paying you back, Dursley. In fact, you should be paying me."

"What'd you say, freak?"

"You heard me, Dursley. You try to make me pay for the pill in any way, and I will go to the police and I will see you arrested for possession of illegal drugs. See if crying to your mummy helps you then."

Dudley was nervous, now. Even pre-pill Harry could have seen it. He went in for the kill.

"So, Dursley, let me tell you what we're going to do. I'm going to go downstairs. You're going to finish cleaning up your room. And the both of us are not going to breath a word of this to anyone else."

Dudley looked about ready to piss himself, so Harry decided his job was done. He brushed past his fat cousin and to the stairs, but stopped at the doorframe.

"One more thing. What's this thing called, Dudley?"

Dudley frowned. "Er—NZT, I think."

"NZT?"

"Yeah, they want to keep it all—er, designer. Keeps the prices up."

As Harry glided down the stairs, a small smile split his face. So many things that had been important before were now impossibly meaningless. Harry knew exactly what he needed to do and exactly how to do it.

Harry finished his long list of chores plus some in record, almost unbelievable time. Aunt Petunia looked at him strangely a couple of times as he rushed about the house and yard, but they weren't bad looks, just surprised.

As soon as Harry was free from the burden of chores, he proceeded to more important things. He needed to make life at Privet Drive more bearable. Harry would live here for the next seven years, and he couldn't do so from a closet where he was already hitting his head every morning. Dudley had two rooms, he would take over one of those.

He headed to the sitting room, the domain of his Aunt Petunia, on a mission. She might have been an adult, but Harry had every memory, every experience of his life at his fingertips.

"Aunt Petunia?" Harry gave the perfect image of innocence, eyes widened ever so slightly, hands folded just so, the scar Petunia thought so ugly covered up by his fringe. He was wearing his best clothes, the ones Petunia put him into when he needed to look "passable."

He gave her a quick smile when she turned to look at him. Nothing significant, only just enough for her brain to notice without her conscious mind recognizing.

"What do you want, boy?"

"I've finished all the chores for you," he said. "And lunch is started as well. You look like you could use some tea, may I make you some?"

In truth, his aunt was doing nothing more than sitting at the window as she usually did, snooping on the neighbors. But he knew she never turned down tea when it was being served, so it was a good excuse to speak with her.

"Tea would be fine," Petunia replied stiffly.

Harry set about making his aunt's favorite blend, and paired it with her second best teapot and platter. (Aunt Petunia insisted that their best dishes be used only for company.)

"It must be hard for you," Harry said softly as his aunt took a sip.

Petunia looked at him closely. "I'm sorry?"

"When your sister died—I only lost a mother I don't even remember, but you lost your sister. It must have been hard on you."

He watched her reactions just closely enough to not be caught doing so. To his enhanced eyes, everything was crystal clear. Petunia was hiding feelings of regret, doing her best to suppress them.

"I suppose," she returned.

"You do well, for the memories my being here must bring up. I must be a constant reminder of her."

"Yes," Petunia said. There was a slight tremble in her voice.

"Did you get along well, before my mother ran off and became a drunk?"

"Yes, I suppose we did." Petunia turned towards the window, hiding her misty eyes.

"That's good," Harry smiled, "Would you tell me about you and her, Aunt Petunia? Before she got into the drinking, and ran off, I mean."

It was obvious that Petunia's story about his mother had some odd inconsistencies, though Harry hadn't quite had the time to sort through them, having spent his time while he did chores planning every possibility of this conversation. Best stick with the story she claimed, and her good memories, though. It was all unimportant anyways.

"Well…" she mumbled, "I might remember a thing or two…"

Petunia did, in fact, have a few stories about Harry's mother, and they ended up talking until lunch, during which Harry was allowed to eat as much as he liked.

Before Dudley scurried off to go play video games in his room, Harry gave him a stern look before turning to Petunia.

"Aunt Petunia?"

"Yes, Harry?" Harry gave her his micro-smile again. It was good progress that she didn't call him "boy" anymore.

"I was wondering—I've been hitting my head when I go to the cupboard, would it be possible to make it bigger?"

"No, no. That would ruin the stairs." Petunia sized him up. "You are getting big for that cupboard. There's no other space, though, except for maybe Dudley's second bedroom."

Harry looked pointedly at Dudley and nudged his cousin's foot under the table. Dudley jumped.

"He—He can have it, mum," Dudley stumbled out.

"Oh, Dudley! You don't have to," Petunia's simpered.

"No, really, mum. I don't even use the other one," Dudley managed, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

"Such a kind and sharing young man!" Petunia could hardly contain herself. She turned to Harry.

"Well, you had better be grateful. Get lunch cleaned up and move your things upstairs."

Harry smiled at her. "Yes, Aunt Petunia." He turned to his cousin. "And thanks, Dudley."

"Yeah," Dudley said without passion.

As Harry cleaned the dishes, he organized his next moves. Vernon might be the one who dished out the punishments, but he was entirely under Petunia's thumb. With Petunia's recent behavioral changes, Vernon was sure to be more lenient with Harry.

It was Dudley that Harry was more concerned about. Harry had temporarily neutered his cousin as a threat with the blackmail, but Dudley would feel resentment for his methods unless Harry worked to change the relationship.

More importantly, though, Harry needed Dudley's knowledge about the pill. His problems with his relatives would more than likely return when the duration of the pill ran out, so he had to get more somehow.

Later, after Harry was finished moving his things upstairs, he sought out his cousin. Dudley was in his room, hunched over a game controller with the cookie jar from the kitchen. He knocked on the doorframe.

"Hello, Dudley."

Dudley looked up and gave a sort of half glare that he probably thought Harry hadn't noticed. It seemed that Dudley was aware of the thin ice he walked on.

"Don't talk to me," Dudley grumbled. Harry pretended not to hear him, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

"You were wrong, you know," Harry offered, then said nothing else. Dudley pretended not to be interested, but he eventually relented and paused his game.

"About what?"

Harry smiled. "The pill—NZT—it doesn't really make you smarter."

"It doesn't work?"

Harry shook his head. "That's not exactly right. It does work a little. All it does is let you remember what you've already learned a bit quicker." This was a lie, of course. Harry had remembered things he hadn't known he knew, and he was definitely thinking far faster than he ever had before. Dudley didn't need to know that, though.

"Oh." Dudley's disappointment was obvious—Dudley never listened in class, so the pill as Harry described it would be useless to him.

"Do you know where you got it from? I payed fairly good attention in class—if you can get me more, I can help you study for your test," Harry suggested. "Then you won't even need help from some weird pill."

Dudley shrugged. "I guess. Don't have the money, though, and Dad might be upset if I get it from his wallet again."

"Don't worry about money for now," Harry encouraged. "I'll figure something out when I go to buy it."

Dudley shook his head. "You're barking mad, mate. You can't mess with dealers, they'll mess you up."

Harry made a show of peeking out of the door and lowering his voice. "Look, Dudley, I have some money hidden—just stuff I've found laying around—but I should have enough for at least one pill. You don't need to worry about it."

It was a bit of a risk telling Dudley about his getaway stash, especially since most of it was liberated from Dudley's dirty jeans, but Harry figured his cousin wasn't smart enough to connect the dots.

"If you say so," Dudley said doubtfully, "But I don't really know his name. I've gotten beers off him, once, and now this, but he didn't say what his name is. He's just some guy."

"Can you take me to him?"

Dudley shifted.

"Haven't seen him since school got out."

He would find no leads from Dudley, it seemed. Harry sighed, disappointed.

"Well, I guess not, then." Harry changed the topic to Dudley's video games, which his cousin seemed to appreciate. Harry left a measured fifteen minutes of pretending to connect emotionally with Dudley later, frustrated that his cousin couldn't provide any answers. He had made some relational progress, at least, but he needed to get more pills.

Maybe he should just forget that any of this ever happened. He was much better off with the Dursleys now, so life wouldn't be so terrible. He'd have a bit of trouble reading his family and figuring how to maintain rapport once the pill wore off, but he wouldn't be entirely incompetent. And frankly, it would take a miracle at this point to get more NZT.

I've tried to integrate my studies on body language and other behavioral dynamics, but let me know if I've boggled anything.