Chapter 1 - The Chance

Harry looked around the now familiar waiting room. In the month since Dudley's seventh birthday, since something had happened, they'd been here well over a dozen times. At first the receptionist and other staff were surprised that Petunia ordered Harry to stay behind in the waiting room during Dudley's appointments. Now, as soon as they went in for…whatever it was they did, the kind lady behind the desk would chat with him for a few minutes, give him some books, and turn on his favorite show.

Really, it was his only show, or the only one he could call "his."

He set aside this week's book. This one was more advanced than the one from last week, but he'd made it to the end. He glanced up at the screen. The characters smiled a lot and there were bright colors and exaggerated motions. He watched carefully as the girl with an oversized head and pig tails moved her fingers in a complex pattern. The story seemed to pause as she then looked straight at the camera and repeated the motion three times.

Harry copied the motion.

Two days later they had another appointment. This time Ms. Amy, the receptionist, came and sat with him and read him a book—with her hands! Then she had him "read" it back to her.

The next afternoon was a bad one. Dudley was frustrated! He wanted something and Petunia was getting frantic trying to figure out what it was. Dudley was stomping and crying and hitting the furniture. Petunia was crying and wringing her hands and trying to comfort him even as her voice got more and more shrill—but Dudley didn't want comfort and pushed her away.

Harry had no idea why he did it. Maybe it was frustration at his aunt for not learning how to deal with Dudley by now. It'd been over a month for gods' sake. He'd never even been inside an appointment with them and he knew what to do.

Harry stepped right up in from of his cousin, ducked his swinging fist, and brought both hands up beside his face, circling them back a few times.

/Pay attention!/

Dudley froze and stared at Harry in surprise and confusion. Harry lowered his hands and gave Dudley a small smile. He moved his hands again, slowly.

/I hear you./

Dudley stared at him, dumfounded, then frowned and shook his head. Harry put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a small shake.

Using very slow, deliberate motions, Harry signed, /I see your face. I see your hands. I hear you./ and he placed his hand over Dudley's chest. /Understand?/

Dudley gave a little chocking sob and nodded.

/What do you need right now?/ Harry signed. /Crisps, but not crisps?/

Hesitating greatly, Dudley began moving his own hands. When harry didn't immediately understand he began to get frustrated again, but Harry signed him to wait. He jogged to the hall and came back with a simple, children's sign language dictionary that the therapist had sent home with Aunt Petunia the very first week. He flipped between a few pages with signs close to what Dudley was making.

/This?/ he pointed to one, /or this?/ He pointed to another that was similar but had the wrist angle slightly different.

Dudley actually laughed. The accidental meaning of the wrong sign was ridiculous. He pointed to the one he meant. Harry nodded, then pointed out the differences between the two and demonstrated them. Dudley tried it a few times before Harry asked him to, /put it all together./

Dudley did. Harry beamed at him, and Dudley beamed back.

Harry turned to Petunia, who had watched all of this with fascination nigh unto horror. "Dudley wants nachos."

"Nachos?" Petunia echoed wearily.

"Yeah. Crisps with cheese sauce. He didn't know the sign for cheese."

Petunia looked over at Dudley. "Is that right, Dudders? N—nachos—" But Dudley was frowning at her, his brow pulling in.

"Aunt Petunia," Harry said. "He—he can't hear you." Harry signed the words as he said them. Dudley's eyes flew to Harry's hands and he immediately calmed. At the least the appointments were teaching him enough to follow along. "He hasn't learned to read lips ye—"

Petunia whirled on Harry. "I know he can't hear me! Of course I know that, you stupid freak!"

Harry shrank back at once. Petunia rose as she spoke and took a step towards Harry but froze as a low but loud, groaning, keening, horrible yell filled the room. It was the only sound of any volume that Dudley's damaged vocal cords could still make.

Dudley made a slashing arm motion at his mother and stepped close to Harry.

A thrill ran through Harry. Dudley was standing with him. A wild thought lodged in Harry's mind: an opportunity. He wasn't sure exactly for what, but for something…better.

Some would say it was a clever, calculated move. Others that it was a mark of a truly selfless dedicated character. Really it was too quick to be calculated, but Harry's instincts told him to grab this thing—whatever it was—with both hands!

He tapped Dudley on the shoulder, getting his attention. Dudley looked at him and Harry began to sign slowly. He wasn't sure how much BSL Dudley had actually learned himself, though he was the one who needed it most. So he watched Dudley's face carefully to make sure he was following.

Petunia watched tensely, nearly frightened, while Harry signed, and while he coached Dudley through a reply. Dudley had missed a few of Harry's signs and they used the dictionary to cover them, Harry making sure Dudley practiced the new signs a few times before moving on.

Finally, Harry stuck his hand out to Dudley, and Dudley took it, shaking firmly. Both boys gave beaming, satisfied, grateful smiled that had Petunia looking more bewildered than ever.

"I will interpret for Dudley," he said, signing as he said it.

"You?" Petunia spat. "Don't be ridiculous!"

"I can do it!" Harry said, still signing.

"You're a worthless, useless, freak—" she snarled, but cut off as Dudley stepped forward and growled wordlessly at her.

Dudley's hands moved. His eyes were on Petunia, but she sagged and sniffed and started to cry again as she stared at his moving hands, utterly lost.

Dudley's motions got more exaggerated and his body tenser as she didn't respond. Harry stepped closer and put a hand on Dudley's arm, stopping his silent tirade at his mother. Dudley looked at Harry in frustration.

/She doesn't know what you are saying. She is too sad about you to learn./

Dudley's face twisted, both mortified and angry.

"Come on," Harry said gently, signing as he did so. "I'll make you nachos. Then…" he thought hard of something they could do together that he would know most of the signs for. "Card game?"

The next day things got really weird.

Dudley sought Harry out as soon as he was awake. Harry, as usual, was making breakfast for everyone—except himself. When Dudley signed, asking Harry to help him with a video game—which Harry wasn't sure he could keep up with anyway—Harry signed that he had to cook.

Dudley frowned at the pan, and watched Harry's deft hands as the cooked bacon, eggs, and sausages, and set the table, and made the coffee, and kept up with the dishes he dirtied the whole time.

Harry was a bit unnerved at Dudley's scrutiny, but knew if he messed up the food he would get a whack on the head with one of the implements for his trouble.

Once he had the food on the table, Harry called out to the sitting room and the hall that it was ready, and signed to Dudley. Dudley sat at his place and ate mechanically, alongside his parents, but his face was screwed up tight. Harry retreated to the upstairs to make use of the bathroom while his relatives were distracted. He didn't see Dudley's curious stare at the hall door and his frustrated looks at his parents.

That day at school, Dudley dragged Harry over to the interpreter he knew his parents hated paying for. Oh, they pretended to be happy to spend any amount of money on "their Dudley," but somehow he knew it galled them to pay for something so…plebian. So weak.

It had taken some getting used to, having an adult shadow him for much of the school day. But for the past month the only people he could communicate with were his therapists, BSL instructors, and his interpreter. And now Harry!

/Cousin knows BSL!/ Dudley signed excitedly.

The interpreter blinked. /This is your cousin?/

/Yes! He learn BSL! Name H-A-R-R-Y./

The interpreter looked at Harry, who was shifting nervously beside Dudley and giving the man a sheepish look. The man looked at him a little doubtfully.

/Hello, Harry,/ he signed smoothly. Harry couldn't help but smile. Everything the man did was graceful. His hands were almost mesmerizing. /I am Mr. Ashik. You know BSL?/

/Yes,/ Harry signed, still nervous interacting with a strange adult, though he'd seen Mr. Ashik almost daily for the past month.

/Where did you learn?/ Mr. Ashik pressed, moving his hands slowly for Harry.

/At Dudley's t-h-e-r-a-p-i-s-t. / Harry didn't know the sign for "therapist" so he spelled it out. /They have books. I like to learn things./

/You go to his therapy sessions?/ Mr. Ashik replied, looking faintly surprised.

Harry frowned. /Not sessions. I wait./

/You wait?/ He replied.

Harry nodded. /Aunt not want me with them. I read. I wait./ Harry shrugged, trying to show it wasn't a big deal, but Mr. Ashik drew back.

/Why does she bring you if you don't go into the sessions?/

Harry cocked his head, starting to wonder what the man was getting at. /So I not alone in house./

Mr. Ashik nodded, smiling now. /I understand. You live with Dudley?/

/Yes,/ Harry signed, feeling that for the first time this might be seen as a good thing by at least one person.

Mr. Ashik's face broke into a broad, broad smile. He turned to Dudley. /Do your parents learn BSL yet?/

Dudley studied the hands very carefully as he signed, and then clumsily signed back. /No. Not try./

Mr. Ashik's face fell. Harry waved his hand to get Mr. Ashik's attention. /We agreed,/ he signed, gesturing between himself and Dudley. /I will speak for him. Away from school!/ Harry added quickly. /Not good yet. He still need you here./

A rich chuckle emanated from Mr. Ashik. /How long have you studied BSL?/ he signed to Harry.

/Since accident,/ Harry replied.

Mr. Ashik's eyebrows rose. /You are this good in five weeks without teacher?/

Harry cocked his head. /Phone girl at doctor helps me./

Again, Mr. Ashik chuckled. "I think you mean 'receptionist,'" he said out loud, making the appropriate sign.

"Yes!" Harry confirmed, copying the sign, then signing, /sorry./

"Do not apologize," Mr. Ashik replied, signing for Dudley's benefit, and Harry's. "You are doing extraordinarily well."

Harry beamed, straightening a bit under the praise. /Can you help me learn?/

"Here is what I will do," he said, continuing to sign along with his speech. "I will ask the teachers to place you by Dudley, where you can see me as well. You will join us for Dudley's study hall. I will recommend that you stay with him when he is not in class and I am not with him. Perhaps you can teach some phrases to the other students. Also, I will insist that you join in Dudley's therapy and sign language lessons. Do you have a social worker?"

"Social worker?" Harry asked, not recognizing the sign.

"You live with your aunt and uncle. You must have a social worker, from the government, checking on your affairs. Do you know who? I work with many of them. If you become certified you can receive pay for helping Dudley."

"I… what?" Harry felt like his brain was broken.

Mr. Ashik dropped his hands and leaned back giving Harry a look up and down. Harry knew he was finally taking in the ill-fitting clothes and runty appearance and poor vision. Here it comes. It was going so well! Now he's going to decide I'm a worthless freak.

Mr. Ashik turned to Dudley. /Does anyone come to check on Harry?/

Dudley slowly shook his head, his face twisted in confusion and concentration.

/I see./ Mr. Ashik signed again at length. /Well. That is neither here nor there. Class will start soon. We must speak with Mrs. Hudson./

/Okay/ both boys signed and followed Mr. Ashick inside.

At lunch Dudley pulled Harry down beside him at the table with Peirs and the rest of the gang.

"What is the freak doing here?" Peirs hissed, but Dudley lunged forwards and growled in his face. Peirs drew back and flicked startled eyes at Harry. Harry hadn't signed his comment, but the gist had been clear from his expression and body language.

"I—I'm going to interpret for him…with you," Harry said, signing along. "I learned BSL, sign language. I—I can teach you, some of it, if…if you want to."

They all stared between him and Dudley. "So," Piers said slowly, "what we say out loud, you say with your hands, and he knows what we're saying? Like that 'rani bloke that's always sitting with him now."

Dudley nodded, smiling, having watched Harry's hands.

"Actually," said Harry. "He's from Morocco." The other's looked at him, blinking. "Mr. Ashick. He's not Iranian. He's from Morocco. It's—they're on different continents."

More blinking. "What? He's nice. And…you wouldn't like it if someone said you were from Yorkshire or Devon."

The other boys were entirely unsure how to react to being corrected by Harry, or told to consider someone's feelings, especially a foreigner. But Dudley was looked at Harry consideringly. Eventually, he shrugged and looked at his friends. /Ashik is nice,/ he signed.

They moved on, but from that moment Dudley's gang became much less "gang" like in their activities.

That night Petunia cooked dinner herself. Mr. Ashik and Mrs. Hudson had both taken Petunia aside at pick up and praised the new arrangement at length, gushing about how good, how brilliant, it was of Harry to learn BSL to help his cousin, and to offer to 'speak for him' when he couldn't have a professional interpreter. Harry picked up on some implied hints that Dudley's parents ought to be doing that themselves, but Petunia either didn't notice or ignored it.

Thus, Harry was left along the entire afternoon, as long as he was with Dudley. Dudley was thrilled with this—they finished homework in record time, learned a few new signs using Dudley's comic books, and worked on teaching Harry a video game so he could learn to interpret it for Dudley—until his mother called him for dinner. Him, and not Harry.

Harry signed to him that dinner was ready, and he jumped up with a silent whoop and ran to the kitchen. But he stopped short when he saw the table set with only three places. Four chairs, four sides of the table, plenty of food, three place settings.

Dudley stood aside and frowned at the table.

"Yours is there," Petunia snapped at Harry, giving the barest nod at a plate on the counter with pot scrapings on it. Harry nodded with a quiet, "thank you," and picked it up without complaint, happy just to get something. He was almost out the door when he heard Dudley stomp his foot.

Harry looked up to see Dudley glaring fiercely at both his parents and signing firmly. Harry stared at his hands as he repeated the same few things over and over, stunned at the content.

"Dudley, what is it, sweetums?" his mother gushed, looking at his face and not his hands.

"What's wrong, son?" Vernon asked, doing the same.

"Is it the food? You don't want ham, Duddykins?" Petunia purred stepping forward and reaching for Dudley's shoulders.

Dudley stepped back, swinging his arms to knock hers aside and repeated the signs again. When they continued to look at his face and not his hands he growled and pointed at Harry.

Harry tensed, seeing their faces darken. "Harry? Did he do something to you?" Petunia asked almost hungrily.

"Boy!" Vernon yelled twisting around.

Dudley stepped over to stand just in front of Harry, pointing between him and the table. Then he turned sharply and started signing to Harry directly.

Harry slowly put his plate of scraps down and looked at his cousin sadly, then looked at the carpet. /Thank you, Dudley. I can't speak that. They not think truth./

Dudley stilled and glared at him for a long mint. Then he seemed to reach a deciding. He straightened, then jerked suddenly and grabbed Harry's plate. He marched to the kitchen and dumped the scraps in the bin then clumsily wiped it with a dirty dish cloth. Harry winced at each step (including using a dirty cloth to 'clean' the plate). Then Dudley marched to the table and put the plate firmly in front of the empty chair, shoving the other dishes out of the way. Fortunately nothing fell off the table! Then he marched back to the kitchen and returned with a glass and cutlery. Harry didn't even know Dudley could set a place, and indeed the cutlery was all out of order and he saw Petunia twitch.

That done, Dudley stood by the chair and grunted, pointing firmly at Harry, and at the chair, so even his parents could understand his meaning.

Harry hesitated. /You don't have to do this/ he signed.

/Yes/ Dudley signed back. /I do. You sit./

Harry took a hesitant step and glanced at this speechless aunt and uncle. /Why?/ he asked Dudley. /They don't like it./

Dudley grimaced. /Not care. They not care./

Harry stared. He knew Dudley was saying something deeper than the words appeared. He meant his parents didn't care about him, Dudley. Not enough to learn to communicate with him now that he had lost his hearing.

/I need you./ Dudley signed and Harry felt even more thunderstruck. /Please./

Slowly, feeling like he was walking past a live tiger just waiting to pounce on him, Harry edged back into the kitchen and towards the table. Only when Harry was all the way seated did Dudley sit down himself, nodding in satisfaction.

/Thank you,/ Harry signed again. His eyes fell itchy and tight. The feeling increased when Dudley, after seeing the pitiful servings that Harry took under Petunia's fierce glares, snatched the spoons and served Harry portions matching his own.

After dinner, Dudley again dragged Harry away to do things with him. Petunia did the washing up, nagging Vernon into drying. Harry insisted on at least helping clear the leftovers.

When it was time for bed, and Vernon shouted, "Boy! Cupboard!" Harry went without complaint, just grateful that nothing terrible had happened that day.

Until Dudley kicked the cupboard door out of his hand so hard it stung. The door banged shut and bounced opened again. Harry jumped far back, rubbing his stinging hand and staring at Dudley in shock.

Dudley glared thunderously between Harry and the cupboard. He lurched in and ripped Harry's sign, the old untidy scrawl of "Harry's Room" barely visible, off the wall. Harry's heart lurched. What was going on? Was Dudley turning on him?

But Dudley marched over to a little escritoire desk Petunia kept in the hall and snatched the cello tape. Then he grabbed Harry's wrist and dragged him, the sign, and the tape up the stairs.

Once upstairs he released Harry, jerking his head in a clear sign to follow and marched to his second bedroom. He awkwardly ripped off a bit of cellotape, slapped Harry's sign on the door of the second bedroom and carefully placed the tape to hold it there.

Then he stepped back and examined his work. Apparently satisfied, he nodded firmly and dragged Harry to the door.

Harry stood and stared at the door. The paper was more crinkled now, and it was far from straight. But "Harry's Room" was more visible in the light of the hall way. "Harry's Room," on a real door…This was too many shocks for him. He looked at Dudley. /What are you doing?/

/No small box sleep. Your room now./

Harry shook his head. /But your things inside./

Dudley shrugged. /Not care. Broken. You have. You throw away. All yours./ Then Dudley cocked his head. He spun and flung the door open, flicked on the light and looked around. The room had so much junk it was hard to move around. There was a small bed with an ancient mattress and tatty covers, but it was a real bed! Dudley kicked at the junk to make a path to the bed. Giving it a once over he marched back to the hall, past Harry, and into his own bedroom. He returned moments later, as his parents were reaching the top of the stairs to see what their insane deaf son was doing now, with two pillows and a teddy bear in his hands.

He pushed past Harry and dumped them all on the bed. He nodded, then frowned again. Stepping back to Harry, who was still standing stunned in the hall, he signed, /Blanket…bad. Small. Old. Need bigger?/ Harry guessed he meant the blanket was thin and did he want a thicker or better one.

Harry just shook his head. /Okay./ he signed. It was too much. He was going to cry! Hurriedly he signed /thank you/ again and lurched past Dudley to the room and shut the door quickly. Leaning against it Harry slid down to the floor and curled around his knees and let the tears flow.

Dudley saw him! Dudley saw him! Like he was… normal. Harry felt at once more real and more broken than he ever had before in his life. His shoulders shook as he sobbed, silently.

He heard movement, heavy steps, on the other side. His aunt and uncle were saying something but his ears were full of his hitching breaths and he couldn't hear. He hoped Dudley was coping. He hoped Dudley didn't try to push in and do something else confusing.

The voiced rose briefly but cut off when Dudley's room door slammed. The hall lights flicked off.

Harry looked up at the room. His room. The light was harsh and kind of ugly, but it was light! It filled the whole room. Harry was amazed he got a real light fixture. A real room! With a ceiling so high up he almost felt exposed. As raw as his emotions were right now he felt almost terrified of the piles of toys that Dudley said were his.

His eyes fell on the bed—the read bed! With a frame, box, mattress, sheets and a pillow! Two pillows! And…

Harry lurched forward and grabbed the teddy bear, clutching to his chest as he again curled on the floor around his knees, back to the bed, and cried some more, letting all his confusion, his fear, and desperation for it all not to fade away into a dream, leak out onto the soft fluff. The bear still smelled mostly like factory and box. It was both sterile and unappealing, and wonderful, because it smelled new.

Harry had learned to never emotionally engage in what the Dursley's did, or what happened to them. But just now he felt so very, very grateful for Dudley's accident! It had changed everything! And that gratitude in turn made him feel like a horrible, terrible, selfish person, indeed.

The changes did not fade away. It took only a few days for Petunia to realize that Harry was now the key to Dudley's happiness and success. Happiness, because Dudley now saw Harry as an extension of himself. If Dudley got something, he now expected Harry to get one too. And verbal or non-verbal, he made his displeasure known if his new appendage was slighted. And success because—well that one was obvious, especially when his interpreter and BSL therapist both insisted his chances in everything would increase in constant contact with at least someone who used BSL and could interpret for him. Furthermore, it freed her and Vernon from facing so directly the horrible truth that they—they—had a child with a handicap.

This meant Harry now spent almost every minute of every day right at Dudley's elbow. Which in and of itself lead to some other changes.

That very first weekend Petunia took Harry shopping for new clothes for the first time in his memory. If he was to stand next to Dudley all the time, he needed to be presentable. His appearance now reflected on Dudley. The wardrobe was neither expensive nor extensive, but they fit! For a few months anyway.

Being attached at the hip to Dudley and included on every plea for sweets and seconds quickly lead to a growth spurt, and then another. Additionally, Harry was soon commanded to attend all of Dudley's sporting activities. That first summer saw Harry gleefully included in swimming, wrestling, and football camps. It was supposed to be rugby, but Harry was terrible at rugby, and Dudley's coach was fluent in BSL! The next field over had football at the same time by the same company, so the coach just sent Harry there and said nothing to Petunia.

Conversely, Dudley began to lose some of his extra poundage. He spent somewhat less time in front of the telly now, though Harry spent significantly more than previously. After a few months of doing all the chores themselves, as Dudley couldn't spare Harry, Petunia and Vernon finally decided to cajole both boys into doing some chores of their own together. Harry put up no fuss at all, and Dudley agreed with only token resistance.

Dudley, it turned out, liked gardening as much as Harry did, and was actually excited when Petunia announced he had to learn to cook! At first, Harry was the far better cook, but over time Dudley's interest turned him into a capable and adventurous chef. He and Harry also began taking regular walks to the library—the library!—to look up interesting things they'd heard about. They each chose a topic and a book, then went through them together, learning the signs and making up jokes with the gang about it all. Within a few years they both had vast and eclectic mental databases of trivia ranging from comic books to geology to history to pop culture. Wherever they were they often had a side conversation going in sign language full of inside jokes and references that had them snickering.

Through these explorations, Harry found he really liked sciences like biology and chemistry, and languages. Dudley found he actually liked math, space, and engineering—or "how stuff works"—and, oddly, modern art. They both liked historical fiction and science fiction, but weren't too into fantasy. The librarian promised they would be one day, but they were barely eight, so…whatever.

Both their grades skyrocketed. Dudley did his homework, now that he was doing it with his best friend, who wanted to do it! They weren't stellar students, but they did their work solidly, showed interest, and were generally attentive and not disruptive.

And it only took a month into the next school year for the BSL teacher to inform Petunia that Harry simply must see an eye specialist and get a proper prescription for his glasses! Petunia huffed once to herself, grumbling under her breath, but one look at Dudley and she did it without any real complaint. The ophthalmologist was most distressed at the state of Harry's eyes and glasses but astonished at his responsiveness to visual stimuli. Apparently, his peripheral vision preceptors were extraordinary, even without actual acuity! Dudley was proud. Petunia simply handed the man a credit card, told him to get the boy what he needed and get on with it, and marched next door to get a quick foot massage. The man was speechless, but the boys showed shocking responsibility in choosing reasonable frames. Dudley vetoed the cheap thick plastic ones, and they settled on thin metal wires. The man seemed intent on cornering Petunia to schedule a six month followup with Harry.

"I'll take care of it," Harry said, setting a date and taking the appointment card. "Don't worry. We'll be back!" It took a bit of Dudley whinging about how much he needed Harry to be able to see the board for Petunia to agree to take him again, but they did manage to return regularly for the next few years.

The end result was that by the time they were ten, both boys reached healthier weights, heights, diets, grades, and social standings. Harry, indeed, if he only knew, was the darling of the school. Having decent clothes, a healthy appearance, ready mind, and kind heart, and not having his aunt and cousin poisoning every potential friend or ally, allowed everyone to see how attentive he was to his cousin, and indeed, to practically everyone. He was almost constantly being asked to help people with their schoolwork during study hall. Within a few years of Dudley's accident, Dudley had gained enough competence and confidence, and learned to read lips well enough (and enough of their friends had learned a reasonable amount of BSL and to make sure Dudley was looking at them when they spoke) that Harry was able to divide his attention. Little did he know that many of the requests for help were really aimed to get him to use sign language for the asker. Harry signed everything, all the time. Many people talk to themselves; Harry Potter did it in sign language! Although he did like how his hands moved when he signed, and the movement seemed to help him concentrate and think clearly, he didn't quite appreciate just how graceful the movements were. Several schoolmates, mostly girls, but not all, just liked to watch. Once for a talent show, a group of girls asked him if he could sign along with their quartet performance of a pop song. He agreed as soon as Dudley said he would come up with something to do so they could come to rehearsals—Petunia would never agree otherwise. Harry found he loved signing to music, but doing so in front of an audience was something else altogether. He didn't like being stared at. Also, Dudley learned to play the ukulele. It was terrible, but everyone congratulated him for trying.

Dudley received a great deal of positive attention due to his protectiveness of his cousin. He was Harry's great advocate. Everyone could see how dismissive his parents were of his handicap and of his cousin's efforts, and everyone who saw Dudley manipulate his parents to protect Harry began to treat Dudley with new respect. His gang grew. It included girls, and geeks, and new kids, immigrants, kids with prosthetics and wheelchairs, kids with rich parents or poor parents, different skin tones and food preferences and accents and skills. Largely this was because Harry liked everyone, but especially anyone ever mistreated or left out, and Dudley liked anyone that Harry liked. The "gang" as they were still often called, frequently took over the school library or neighborhood park or held movie nights or cookouts on the weekends. Dudley, with Harry as his "voice," was universally acknowledged as the leader, though he would change his mind instantly if Harry was unhappy. Dudley liked this arrangement, a lot. But even at ten he could see how much of this respect depended on people's respect for how he treated them in return, and how he treated Harry.

Petunia and Vernon still treated Harry like staff. They rarely spoke directly to him, addressing Dudley or the boys together if they could, rarely Harry alone; and they still didn't call him by his name. They tolerated his existence now as necessary and helpful to Dudley. They didn't belabor the point, but it was always clear that Harry got clothes so he was presentable as Dudley's interpreter, he got to come with them on outings and vacations so he could help Dudley and so Dudley would be happy. The same went for his glasses and BSL certification, which he received just after his tenth birthday: an unprecedented feat! All was done purely and specifically for Dudley's indirect benefit, not Harry's

The social worker—and yes, he had one now; her name was Jenny Hawkins—pushed this certification through because of Dudley, and that as a certified BSL interpreter and a family member, Harry qualified as an exemption to the government child labor laws to earn a stipend for his work helping his cousin. She also arranged for this to be specified in a legal contract as funds for Harry only, with legal limit as to how much he could use at a time for pocket money, and a list of what did and did not qualify. The funds went to his own bank account, which the Dursley's explicitly did not have access to. Dudley simply refused to let his parents talk to Harry about money at all. Harry's money for helping him was none of their business. Dudley got almost as much pleasure as Harry whenever Harry decided to actually spend some of it, which was rare. A movie ticket here, a pair of converse, a poster for his room, a daredevil action figure, books.

Harry was grateful to have escaped from the abuses of the past—having a few years of more "normal" treatment let him reluctantly, when alone in the dark of night in his own still somewhat shabby room, admit that it had indeed been abuse—and he truly enjoyed his role now. He loved signing! It had been his salvation. That and his cousin's terrible loss.

He didn't feel too guilty about that anymore, most of the time. But he also didn't let himself think about it much.

When Harry turned eight, he and Dudley had started studying space. Dudley was absolutely fascinated! Harry liked it. Then one night, they were talking late in Dudley's room. They frequently turned the lights off so they could see the new glow-in-the-dark star stickers Vernon had put up on his ceiling, then on so they could talk/sign about them. They'd tried to arrange the stickers as close as possible to a star chart included in the packet. They were arguing about which star in a particular constellation was the "brightest" when it happened.

Harry was trying to make the sign for the scientific term, "luminosity" and thinking about things glowing and burning, about bioluminescence and fire, when suddenly sparks swirled around his hands and a ball of light, like a small star make of bioluminescence shimmered into being.

"Holy shit!" he shrieked, scrambling back on the bed as far as he could go. Dudley made his gruntling noise and actually flipped off the bed onto the floor.

The light sputtered and vanished.

Dudley flicked the lights on, and he and Harry stared at each other for a long time.

Without words or signs or any discussion whatsoever they both knew two things: they must never ever tell Dudley's parents; and they had to do it again!

Thus began the Great Experiment.

By the time he was ten, Harry thought he had the best life ever. His cousin was more than a best friend or even a brother. Their relationship was more like how people often describe twins. He was solidly in the top ten percent of his class in his favorite subjects, and top thirty across the board, as was Dudley. They both excelled at swimming and at least one other sport. Harry had his pocket money income from signing for Dudley. They had a wide and excellent group of friends, among whom it was rather widely rumored that Harry's signing was magical. On summer evenings, if the group was alone somewhere, he sometimes could be persuaded (especially if you gave Dudley a Toblerone or helped him practice something, or learned a new BSL sign all by yourself) to make magic light pictures. He'd start signing a story or often a poem and soon glowing lights would trail from his fingers, winding to form pictures that moved for a few moments before fading away. Over the last two summers the pictures had become more elaborate, with light shading and adjacent sparks and different colors, and sometimes there would be music too, like birdsong only bigger and more orchestral, especially if someone started humming. Even more hush hush was his affinity with snakes and healing (the last was never dramatic, but the younger kids all swore hugs from Harry had saved them each trips to hospital). He was their mascot and good luck charm (and aware of neither), and the great secret of the Little Whinging youth.

Life was grand indeed. The summer they both were turning eleven was shaping up to be amazing! The family was traveling to Majorca between their birthdays; Harry was starting guitar lessons (piano had been lots of fun for Harry, but Dudley said guitar was most portable and could be brought to their cookouts with the gang); and the usual sports camps. Hee and Dudley had decided on a whole new line of comic books to tackle (and Dudley wanted to learn about something called quasars: cool. Harry wanted to learn some Faarsi, or maybe just Arabic. Not quite as cool but more useful.).

And then the Letters came.

A/N: This fic is my new obsession! I love sign language, though I've never had opportunity to learn. Comments/corrections from ASL/BSL users are very welcome!
I have four ongoing fics right now! My updates are VERY sporadic, but comments help move things along. Please let me know what you think!