Vernon was profoundly regretful as he watched Harry, still unconscious from the bullet-like impact of the Snitch. Profoundly regretful that Madam Pomfrey's ward was full of potential witnesses if he were to wrap his hands around Harry's throat and just squeeze.
His transformation hadn't robbed him of the memories oh his life as Vernon Dursley, Muggle's Muggle and keen magicphobe. Vernon the wizard could recall his day-to-day life with Harry at 4 Privet Drive. Doing so made his perfectly-white teeth grind together with barely restrained anger. Oh yes, he remembered- of all the trouble he had gone through to raise him. Goddamn, Vernon had plans for the room under the stairs that he'd had to give it up for Harry's use! For ten years he'd gone through the trouble to feed and cloth his shameful nephew. And the thanks from Harry for all the Sacrifices he'd made to raise him? Years of insolence and inflating his sister like a cheap circus balloon! Vernon had to restrain himself from throttling Harry right there and then, witnesses be damned.
Vernon closed his eyes and began the relaxive meditation technique practised by the Hopi Indians of Hindostan for thousands of years. In his mind's eye, Vernon was standing waist-deep in water by a sandy beach…the cold waves washed over him…whoosh…
Calmed, Vernon stood up from his seat by Harry's bed and left the ward. As he was still wearing his Quidditch uniform, he began making his way towards the Slytherin common room.
"Um…excusez-moi," a female voice spoke up from behind him. Vernon turned around, his mind calculating the possibilities of who the mysterious voice belonged to. One of Dumbledore's notorious hired assassins? It was very inept of her to announce her presence like that- or very confident. .
Standing there before him was no killer-for-hire, but an exquisitely beautiful blond girl. Why, it was none other than Fleur Delacour!
"Bonjour!," she said sweetly with a smile. "I saw you at ze Quidditch game and I just want to say," she stammered, clearly flustered at speaking with the student who had single-handedly thrashed the Gryffindor team, "Magnifique!"
Ordinarily, Vernon would have just brushed her off, yet…there was something about the amazingly pretty French girl that made him reconsider as he looked her over. She might be useful for my needs, Vernon thought to himself. As a pawn against Harry…or otherwise.
"Why thank you," he said modestly. "Fleur Delacour, right? Dernon Versley." He extended his hand, which she took. Fleur's hand was felt delicate- Vernon could shatter it with the slightest pressure from his adamantium grip. "My sources- erm…friends said that you were working at Gringotts…?
"I was, yes," the French girl answered, " but malheursement, my job was transferred to a centre in Pakistan to cut expenses," she answered, pronouncing the name Pakheestan. "All 'zhose moves in ze air! Mon Dieu, I 'ave nevehr zeen anything like 'zaht!,"
"Why thank you," Vernon said at this praise. "It wasn't too bad, considering that I'm out of practise. Anyway, what brings you to Hogwarts?"
"Oh! 'eadmaster Dumbledore has hired me as an in-class tutor to 'elp out some of ze more…slow é tudiants. I'm going to be beginning with the sixth years, actually."
"Is that so?," Vernon mused. "I look forward to see you in class, then. I'd love to stay and chat, but I've a positively horrid amount of Transfiguration homework," moaned Vernon, who'd completed it before McGonagall had finished writing out the required parchment length on the chalkboard.
"Oh! I understand. Bye!," Fleur said with a wave and a smile.
Interesting. Very interesting, Vernon pondered as he walked to the Slytherin common room.
%%%%%
The following morning at breakfast, it became clear that Vernon's prestige amongst the other students had gone through the roof. All throughout the meal, students would stop by where he was sitting at the Slytherin table and offer congratulations and high-fives on his solid trouncing of the Gryffindor team. Pretty girls would nudge their friends and point at him and whisper. So great was Vernon's reputation that he had usurped the de facto leadership of Slytherin from Draco, who was now eating lone glumly, having been deserted by Crabbe and Goyle ever since the whuppage they'd received on the Express.
Vernon spied Harry sitting down to eat following the morning's mail delivery. He seemed a little pale, but otherwise alright. Harry caught sight of Vernon looking at him. Vernon flashed a thumbs-up, which Harry returned after a slight pause. Good, he suspected nothing. Vernon's mind then turned to his next move. It had to be fast, otherwise the momentum he'd gained by p0wning Harry at Quidditch would be squandered. The answer came to him during Potions.
"Damnit Potter! That's the third virility brew you've ruined this class!," The Potions master screeched with indignation. "Even Longbottom remembered to use three mermaid scales instead of four! Tell me Potter, is your solution supposed to be bright orange!?" Harry stared down at his cauldron, his cheeks bright red from the humiliation of being shouted in front of the entire class.
"N-no, sir."
Snape marched to the chalk board and there wrote Harry's grade for the entire class to see: The big black donut- zero! Instantly the entire class burst into laughter- Draco looked cheered and Fleur had to suppress a giggle over where she was working with Ron, who, along with Hermione, were the only two not laughing themselves rotten.
At that moment, it was clear where Vernon had to strike next.
Snape.
%%%%%
That day after classes had finished, Vernon procured the Sky Streaker and a rather large burlap sack- two things he would need to begin his planned two-pronged assault against Snape. Mounting the broom, he sped away towards the south and before long was flying over his destination- Snape's house. To be honest, house was a misnomer. Estate was a much more fitting title. Many students and even some of the staff would be greatly surprised to learn that Severus Snape was actually one of the wealthiest men in the Wizarding world, and his home certainly reflected his bank account. It was a Neo-Victorian with a few customized touches, presumably to reflect the Potion master's taste in Architecture, such as the Ionic columns by the entrance or the stained-glass windows, and not to be forgotten was were the pink neon letters that spelt out "Casa de Snape." Behind the mansion were field in which Black slaves cut sugarcane under the watchful eyes of overseers.
Vernon flew down some distance from the mansion and hid the Sky Streaker in some bushes before making his way over to Snape's home. As night was falling, this task was not particularly difficult. Vernon crept around to the side and jimmied a window open to let himself in. Quickly and quietly moving from room to room, Vernon ascertained that Snape's house was empty. Apparently, he hired the staff on a seasonal basis for during Christmas and summer, when the Potion master required their services.
Having free rein over the house, Vernon sprang into action. He poured cement mix into the toilets, placed dead animals under the floor boards and between the walls, took , stole Snape's TV and helped himself to some fried chicken in the fridge for good measure.
He was back at Hogwart's before anyone suspected anything amiss.
%%%%%
In his room, Vernon stashed the loot under his bed for safekeeping (though the TV required a fair bit of shoving) then began rummaging through trunk at the foot of the bed for something he could use at tomorrow's Potions class. The legendary sword Excalibur that'd pried from the cold dead hands of the Lady of the Lake? Too impractical. The cursed journal of Morden the Mad? That would be the equivalent of using a sledgehammer to kill a fly. The Lance of Longinus? Holy Relics tended to be fickle with their powers, tending only to work if you were pure of heart and all that. He kept it mostly for sentimental value anyway. Vernon continued rummaging through his trunk.
He smiled widely when he finally pulled out what he needed- The Mystic Kettle of Nackledirk! Forged from pure Mythril by the insane Dwarves of Borkwood, it had been purchased by a visiting Wizard from the Harry Potter Universe by the name of Mark Evans, who was on record as being one of the most fearsome wizards in either mythos. Evans brought the Kettle back with him following his vacation in Middle Earth, and it would have remained there in his possesion had he not made the unfortunate error of leaving his wand at home while taking the Kettle to show his friend Winnie the Wise. Dudley Dursley and his mates fell upon him with a most terrible vengeance while he was crossing the street to her house. Dudley, thinking the Kettle was some sort of jewellery on account of its platinum colouring, took it as a war trophy, which Muggle Vernon thence confiscated from his son the same evening. Upon his re-awakening, True Vernon, aware of its significance, had promptly taken it from the kitchen, where Petunia had been planning on using to make tea the following morning.
The sound of footsteps came pounding up the staircase. Vernon hastily put the Kettle back in the trunk. A third-year boy whose name Vernon hadn't bothered to remembered appeared there, visibly out of breath. Apparently He'd jogged the whole way up.
"Dernon… I say, Dernon! Come quickly down to the common room! You're needed!," he wheezed before disappearing as quickly as he'd appeared. Upon entering the common as asked, Vernon noted a great of commotion of shouting and general disorder centring around two Second-year boys.
"What's all this, then?" Vernon demanded to no one in particular. Instantly the room fell silent. One of the two boys spoke up.
"Well, sir, the problem is that this wanker 'ere stole my Firebolt (as the Firebolt was now several years old, the price had dropped so that more than a few students now owned one), he did," the first boy declared.
"Did not!," protested the second boy. "Everyone here knows that's my broom, which I've been using for Quidditch all year!"
"Liar!," the first boy shot back. Furiously they began screaming at each other once more.
"Silence!," Vernon shouted. Instantly there was again quiet in the Slytherin common room. "Are there any witnesses here who can vouch for either boy's story?," he asked of the crowd. Nobody stepped forward. "Very well, then," Vernon said with mock sadness. "I had hoped it wouldn't have come to this but you two leave me no choice. Does anyone here have a saw?" A boy stepped forward with a handsaw clutched in his hands. "Thank you." Then he turned to the neutral observer who had been holding the Firebolt in question. "May I have the broom, please?"
The second boy began to sweat profusions. "W-what are you going to do with that, sir?" he stammered.
"Saw it in half. That way you'll both have a broom…or part of one anyway." he replied. Vernon then began aligning the saw along the Broom's shaft for an even cut down the middle.
"Stop, stop! Don't destroy my Firebolt.. I'd rather the other boy have it than to see it wrecked." said the second boy, practically in tears.
His pleas had made it clear that it had been the first boy had stolen the broom. He was sentenced to thirty lashes with the Cat-o-Nine Tales Finch kept in his office and a month of scrubbing the common room floor.
Vernon smirked. Justice had been served.
%%%%%
"Simmer down class," Snape told them from his desk as Potions class was nearing its end for the day. He had assigned them a fairly complex ginseng designed to improve one's…ahem…amorous strength. Vernon watched the Potion master take a sip from his tea, then return to marking papers. Vernon looked down beside him where he'd smuggled in The Mystic Kettle of Nackledirk, which was currently boiling on a portable hot plate which he'd thus far managed to keep hidden.
"I'll be right back," Snape growled as he stood up and excused himself. "No slacking off." Snape marched out the door, leaving the class unattended. Looking about him and noting everyone there absorbed in their work, Vernon took the Kettle, stood up and carefully made his way to Snape's desk at the head of the classroom. There he poured the Kettle's contents into his teacup, careful not to spill a single drop. Once it was full, Vernon returned to his desk, and not a moment later Snape returned, glaring at the students, searching their expressions for signs of mischief. He sat down and reached for his teacup and slowly brought it to his lips…
The normally dignified Potion master doubled over and spat out his tea in a dark mist. The other students looked up from their work and stared at their teacher with wonder. Seeing his cue, Vernon stood up.
"Professor Snape, Sir, are you alright?"
Snape picked up his desk, held it over his head and chucked it at Vernon, who nimbly jumped aside. The desk smashed against the opposite wall, leaving a huge dent and falling with a mighty crash.
Snape had fallen under the Kettle's power- whoever drank tea brewed from it fell into a blind rage, impervious to reasoning or compassion, attacking the person they perceived responsible for the wretched brew. His eyes glowed bright red and his lips pulled back in an enraged snarl.
"Stand back class! I'll take care of this!," Vernon shouted. The students spread out and formed a circle around the two. Seeing that Snape had his wand in hand, Vernon drew back his robe and drew the Gustav II Adolf in a single swift movement. Several pretty girls swooned, while the less attractive ones watched, unmoved.
"Infernus Exportum!," Snape screamed while pointing his wand. The blazing hex. A huge elephant-sized fireball shot out of Snape's wand and hurtled toward Vernon, threatening to burn him with to cinders like he had the Sorting Hat.
"Defensor Aquarius!," countered Vernon with the water shield charm. A blue semi-circle of light bearing the crest of the water God Poseitune appeared in front of him. Snape's fireball hissed like a candle being put out with water and vanished harmlessly when it met Vernon's barrier. Next, with a shout of "shovenius!" Snape performed the displacement charm. Vernon found himself thrown violently backwards in the air. In a feat that would have made any trapeze artist proud he landed on his feet- only to see the enraged Snape charging towards him.
Taking the initiative, Vernon halted the Potion master with a series of devastating blows to his midsection. Having stopped Snape's assault, Vernon knew it was time to take it to the endgame. Seizing Snape's coller with his left hand, he drew back his right fist and relentlessly began pummelling him. POW! POW! POW! Again and again Vernon's fist smacked his House Head's face until it was a raw bloody mess. All around them the students gasped and watched with amazement at the spectacle of their professor getting owned. At long last Vernon released his captive and allowed Snape to slump to the floor.
"Hey, Snape! Here's a formula for you: 1 parts your face and equal parts my fist equals one sorry Potion master!," Vernon crowed. He reached into his robe and produced a pair of Okely sunglasses. "C'mere Snape. You and me is goin' fo' a ride," he said as put them on. He reached down to grab a fistful of Snape's hair-
And stared in surprise when they slipped out of his grasp like a bar of soap. Snape's oily locks had the texture of eels swimming in a bucket of motor oil. Vernon grabbed something decidedly firmer- Snape's leg- and dragged him out the door, with the breathless class following close behind.
%%%%%
When the class at last caught up with Vernon and the semi-conscious Snape, they found him outside near the near, snapping on a leg shackle on Snape's leg that was attached by a length of chain to his broom, the Sky Streaker. There was a collective gasp as Vernon took his seat and took off- with Snape dragging behind him! Flying low to the ground, Vernon relished the sound of Snape's screams of pain as his body was dragged over the rocks and soil of the Hogwart's environs.
"Having fun, Snape?" Vernon called over his shoulder. Snape made no answer- at least, no intelligible one. "Hope you've got a potion for grass stains!" A few moments later they completed their first lap around the castle. Vernon made a slight deviation and headed for the lake. Soon they were over it and Vernon caught her Snape's bubbled screams and curses as he was dragged across it. "You know, seeing as how you wash your hair so rarely, you may not love water, Professor, but from the looks of it" Vernon cackled, "it sure loves you!" They completed their second revolution of the castle.
"Ohhhhhhhhhh Nooooooooo!," Snape howled when he saw where Vernon was taking him next- the Forbidden Forrest. Flying over the tree tops, the sound of Snape alternating being hit with branches or scratched by pine trees was a veritable symphony with nature as its orchestra- sort of like one of those CDs you can buy of rushing waterfalls or birds chirping.
Vernon decided that he'd made his point and descended along with the battered Potion master near where the crowd had been watching, which had grown considerably as other students caught a glimpse from the windows. As Vernon got off his broom, Albus Dumbledore himself made his way through the students and approached him.
"Mr. Dernon Versley, may I have a moment with you in my office?"
"Sure thing, headmaster," Vernon said. He looked back over his shoulder at the beaten Snape. "Wash your hair, you filthy communist hippy," he sneered before following Dumbledore into the castle.
%%%%%
"I would be very grateful if you would recount the events leading up to you engaging my Potion master in fistcuffs then dragging about the grounds." Dumbledore said to him across his desk. His expression was neutral, his tone patient. Vernon told him a reasonably accurate depiction of the events- omitting the part about the Mystic Kettle involvement, of course.
"So you attacked a teacher because for some mysterious reason he went mad?," Dumbledore inquired when he'd finished.
"Yes," Vernon answered.
"And you believed him to be a danger to the other students?"
"Yes."
"And you thought this was a sufficient reason to attack him?"
"Yes."
Dumbledore paused and clasped his hands together, seemingly lost in thought. He spoke again. "Mr. Vursley, I'm afraid I have no choice…" Vernon tensed. If he was expelled, his contact with Harry would be cut off and he would fail Voldemort's mission. Would he have to take on Dumbledore here, right in his office? Even he couldn't guess the outcome of that fight. Vernon's hand drifted down to Gustav II Adolf's holster. "…But to award Slytherin 20 points."
His hand went away.
"What? House points?," asked a confused Vernon.
"Why not? You displayed a selfless concern for others in the face of danger,"answered Dumbledore with a fatherly smile.
"But…Professor Snape's a teacher!"
"Indeed. But let me tell you, Dernon," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye, "Danger can come in many guises."
As he left Dumbledore's office, Vernon had to wade through a crowd of eager students who bombarded him with questions and congratulations. As he made his way through, he caught a glimpse of Fleur there among them. As he moved by her, he whispered by her ear, "the password is 'Imperator," and walked down the hall casually.
%%%%%
Owing to the age lines he had drawn at either entrance, Vernon was alone in the his section of the Slytherin boy's dormitory. Waiting and reflecting on the day's events. What a devastating mental blow it must have been for Harry to witness the teacher he hated most to be humiliated in such a manner. He grinned a predator's smile. Now, when he tightened Harry's screws it was going to be twice as effective- at least. Footsteps were coming up the staircase.
Fleur Delacour stepped over the age line and entered the room. They both knew why she was here. Without a word she climbed onto his bed and began passionately kissing him. His arms locked around her back and he fell back on the bed with Fleur on top of him. She then sat up and began undoing the buttons on her robe- when the sound of footsteps again came up the stairwell- someone where high-heels, from the sound of it. Fleur squeaked and got off Vernon. The mysterious figure soon appeared at the stairway entrance: a blond woman wearing a white coat as well as lipstick, eyeliner, rouge and highlights.
"Hi," she said by way of introduction. "Are you the guy that called?"
"Vernon, 'oo 'ees this?" asked a confused Fleur.
"Yeah, that's me," Vernon answered the new woman. To Fleur: "Listen, sweetheart, I wanted our first time to be extra special so I sent an owl to Hogsmeade and hired an…assistant to help us out. Fleur, this is Misty. Misty, Fleur." The latter woman was on the bed now. Fleur looked hesitant. Vernon saw this and came up with an ice-breaker. He touched Fleur's shoulder.
"I want you," he whispered in her ear with a voice soaking with gentle seduction," to kiss her."
%%%%%
When the three figures at long last ran out of stamina and drifted off to sleep, Tommy Perkins waited a few more minutes just to be safe and took off the Invisibility Cloak where'd been standing in a corner.
"So that's how it's done," he murmered in amazement. Dernon can be rough, he thought, but he came through with the promised reward in exchange for digging up info on Harry. Careful not to awaken him, he slipped the cloak back on and went down the staircase.
