Chapter Three: Hell's Fury

- - - - - - - 15 August, cont. - - - - - - -

Petunia was unable to wake Harry when she entered his room that morning, but in a rare fit of humanity she decided to leave him be and phoned his employer at the gravel yard to tell him that Harry would be unable to attend work that day. The boy just looked so incredibly miserable and vulnerable lying there on the floor, and her motherly instinct finally kicked in temporarily when it came to Harry, in some small way, and she made an effort to distract Vernon and Dudley until they left the house for their daily plans.

Harry's unmoving body lay on the hard floor of his bedroom. Hours passed by slowly and there were no movements from the smallest bedroom at Number 4. The stillness of his body however, did not reflect on the activity of his mind. His system was very busy that day, assimilating all the new information it had been bombarded with during the night. Past lives found their places within Harry's memory, knowledge gathered over the course of thousands of years settled into his mental files, and the comfortable wisdom of great age and experience established itself in him.

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It was nearly 6 pm when the first signs of consciousness appeared in Harry. His eyes began moving slowly behind their lids, then a hand twitched, he drew a great shuddering breath and moaned in pain. The sky began to darken above Little Whingig as he awoke, and a faint rumbling of thunder could be heard in the distance.

The first coherent thought that passed Harry's mind that evening as he opened his eyes was, "Damn, that hurt." His thoughts then progressed to "Where the hell am I?" and "WHO the hell am I?!" He was slightly confused, with good cause. Multiple lives flashed through his mind in an instant, before settling on the one he was currently experiencing. "Oh."

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Vernon was whistling as he walked through the front garden that evening at 6:33 pm. He had had a good day at work, eating pastries and ordering people about, generally making a nuisance of himself. Petunia watched him through the front window as she listened to the quiet rustling coming from the smallest bedroom on the second floor. Finally the boy was awake.

"Good evening my dear!" Mr. Dursley greeted his wife at the door in his usual manner, with a kiss on the cheek. "How was your day?"

Petunia glanced at the stairs quickly before replying, "Oh, it was splendid. So quiet. I locked the boy in his bedroom all day."

"Excellent. I don't want to see his face tonight, I've had a pleasant day. In fact, why don't we go out for supper this evening. We'll leave as soon as Dudley gets home." Vernon sneered as he thought of a list of chores to have the freak do while they were out of the house.

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"Well, that was certainly more traumatic than last time," Harry muttered to himself as he stretched and contorted his body into various positions, trying to crack every joint and soothe every muscle he could figure out how to reach. "Must be because I'm a runty little git," he commented as he looked down at himself critically. He was having a slight amount of trouble sorting himself out; he kept thinking he was a 6'3" blonde with a burly chest and a nine pack. "I suppose it will have to do for now though, won't it. Yep."

He heard Vernon come in and speak to his aunt. He smelt relief in the air, when Vernon said they would be going out to dinner, and wondered about it for a moment before he heard his uncle's voice bellow up the stairs at him. "BOY! We're going out. You'd better have your chores done and be in that room before we get home or you'll be back under the stairs before you can blink!"

Ten minutes later Dudley walked in the door and promptly began whining that he was hungry. Petunia simpered at him, Vernon made a comment about him being strong as an ox, and the family walked out the door, got in their car, and drove away.

Harry waited another five minutes before opening his door and making his way down the hallway to the stairs. He was still sore from his ordeal the night before, and from the beatings he had been receiving lately, so it took him several minutes to get down the stairs. He walked into the kitchen to find his list of chores and find a piece of bread to eat. Munching on some stale ends that he found in the bread drawer, Harry picked up his list and stared down at it ... and stared some more, mouth hanging open and bread crumbs falling onto the floor. The Dursleys had left him some incredibly stupid chores before, but this took the cake. As he read down the list, he could do nothing but shake his head, and ready himself for life in the cupboard.

Wash the car. But ... it's in London?

Clean the pool. They don't have a pool!

Organize the basement. What basement?

Polish Dudley's marble collection. Uhm. Okaaay...

Die. That's nice.

Being the only possible thing from a list of impossible (or otherwise unwise) tasks, Harry went up to 'his' room to polish Dudley's marble collection, which he finished in about 2 minutes since Dudley's 'collection' consisted of exactly four and a half marbles.

After finishing with that, being extremely tired from the day's exertions, he went back up to his bedroom and brought all of his things down to the cupboard under the stairs. Harry had had enough experience by that time to know that Vernon would make good on his promise to throw him back in there, and decided to save himself the pain; so after pushing his things in, he laid down on the floor of the cramped space, and went to sleep.

- - - - - - - - 16 August - - - - - - - - -

'Lazy good for nothing fat arse muggle. Do this boy! Do that boy! Well what if I don't want to you bloody cretin!? Hmm? What then. I guess you suppose I'll just do it anyway, yeah?! Well I will then! That didn't make any sense moron. Yes it did! Shut up. I didn't ask you anyway. You never ask me, but I always tell you anyhow. Yes! And it's bloody fucking annoying you stupid American bitch! Hey! Don't mind him he's just feeling a bit snarky. Who the hell is that!? How many voices do I need in my head just to complain about my ugly uncle? At least three more I'd say. Perhaps four since you don't really mean it. Mmm. Or maybe just one more, but it would have to be Canadian. Or maybe Swedish. I resent that. OO'

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Harry was not having a very good day. He'd woken up that morning in his cupboard, and strangely, it was rather comforting. After living in there for 10 years, confined spaces made him feel safe, and protected in a way. There was a peace to the early morning, the house quiet, lying in the darkness; but then it was ripped away by the sound of Vernon coming down the stairs above him and throwing open the door to his cupboard. Harry was lost in his own thoughts as his uncle grabbed him by his arm and flung him into the hall, and therefore didn't have time to react before his head hit the wall.

His vision went blurry, and as he tried to listen to Vernon through the haze that the blow to his head was causing Harry saw something, in astonishing clarity despite his pain. He saw the desperate terror and insanity inside his uncle, and he sympathized with it. At that moment, his life changed once again, because although he had understood on some base level before, he now was able to understand and accept the motivations and feelings of those around him. It was strangely like empathy, and he could no longer hate Vernon because of his fear.

As he sat there, again lost in his thoughts, he vaguely heard his uncle order him to get out of his house and not be late to work before stomping off into the kitchen. He shook his head once, to clear the fading haze from his mind, then quickly got dressed and dashed out of the house, barely making it to the gravel yard in time to bag the first load of the morning.

At that point Harry's day had been ... fairly normal. The whole, understanding everyone's pain and suffering and whatnot was a bit odd, but when was his life not odd? No, it was the small things that made him have angry conversations with the voices in his head. Toward the end of his 'work' day, three 50 lb. sacks of gravel fell off the steel he was loading them onto, and landed on him. Then on his way home, he'd tripped on a crack in the street and landed on his bum, which resulted in a big bruise, which was seen by a group of teenagers from the local secondary school. Then when he'd got back to Privet Drive, he'd been given a long list of chores to do before he could go back to his cupboard that night.

It was 7:56 pm and Harry Potter was in the front garden of the Dursley home, weeding. Again. He'd also just discovered that he had some unknown number of new voices in his head. Probably run over from all his past lives.

'Which is just bloody great, I'm telling you. Innumerable past lives, all with their special little imaginary friends, and idiot multiple personalities. I don't have multiple personalities! Shut up! Prats. Leave him alone. Thank you. Sure. Hmm.'

As Harry continued to pull weeds and argue with himself, he didn't notice the slight movements coming from the row of heather that lined the garden fence. Nor did he notice the beautiful creature that slowly crept up to him, flicking its tongue curiously.

"What's it doing? Silly thing. The earth is our friend. We should bite it. Yesss."

Harry's head shot up when he heard the voice, talking about him. "No! Don't bite me, please."

The young serpent made a surprised noise and coiled up when it heard him. It was a truly beautiful specimen. Slender, approximately two and one half feet long, and completely white but for the slightly darker coloration of the markings. "It speaks! What is it?"

"Just a boy. A human. My name is Harry."

"Harry. Never has one of your kind spoken before. Why should I not bite you. You kill the earth!"

"There is only one other of my kind that speaks. Be glad you haven't met him, and please don't bite me. I have no choice but to pull these plants, or else my family will hurt me."

"Humans hurt their own kin? What kind of beasts are you, to do such things."

"Not all humans do such things. Just my kin. They hate me because I am different. They're frightened of me. They cannot help it."

"I see. Fear is a powerful thing. Not all beings are strong enough to overcome it. Your kin are weak of will. Beings with weak will can be very dangerous. Perhaps I should stay with you from now on. Many beings are frightened of my kind. Would you like my companionship?"

"I would very much like if we could be companions. Would you like to come to my school with me when I go back in a couple of weeks?"

"I would like to stay with you always, if you will allow it young Harry. I have no kin to be with. You can be my kin."

"Fabulous! I do get rather lonely. But if we're to be kin, I must know your name."

"When I was a nestling, my mother called me Meinwen. That is my name."

"It is a beautiful name."

Meinwen hissed happily at that, and settled back in one of the heather plants to watch as Harry finished weeding the front garden and prepared to go indoors. As he stood up, she (yes, it's a she) slithered up his leg and inside his shirt, to coil herself around his stomach.

Both Harry and Meinwen sensed a change in the air as they went back into the house, and Harry looked up to see that a storm was brewing over Little Whingig. He shrugged it off though. Rain was hardly an uncommon thing in Britain after all. Neither of the companions noticed however, that the storm suddenly disappeared into the night sky as the door of the house shut, and all natural noise ceased for several milliseconds, restarting only when the sound of the closing door vanished.

- - - - - - - - 17 August - - - - - - - - - -

Harry tried to ignore the pain in his right cheek as he rummaged through the garden shed. That morning, Vernon had gotten an urgent call from Grunnings. They'd asked him to, "Please come in to the office at your earliest convenience." Which actually meant that he'd better bring his fat arse down there right now. He'd been furious, but Harry hadn't known that when he came out of his cupboard to go to the loo. Vernon had looked at him with a certain gleam in his eye, one that promised pain, and before he had backed up even one step Vernon had backhanded him across the face.

Harry now believed that the blow had broken his cheekbone, as it hurt to move his face in any way. He concentrated on keeping his face as still as possible as he unwound the garden hose from the pipe that protruded from the side of the shed. A gentle movement around his waist reminded Harry that Meinwen at least was still with him. She wouldn't leave him, or think badly of him because of his family.

'It's really unfortunate you know. An entire family paralyzed by fear to such an extent. Yes, but at least there is no one here now to bother you. Yes. Aunt Petunia took Dudley into London to have his new school uniform fitted. He has to have them specially tailored now you know. Really? Yep. If you'd ever seen him you would believe it in a second. He must weigh about 400 lbs. Wow. That's a lot. Yeah yeah. Shut up. Just because you were built like a god doesn't mean we all can be. Sorry. Whatever. Would you guys stop please?! My face hurts enough without adding a headache to the mix.'

It had already been several hours since all of the Dursleys left the house that morning. Harry had cleaned the dishes, vacuumed the entire house, scrubbed all the toilets, dusted, mopped, polished the silver, and was, at the time of his most recent discussion with himself, beginning a new rose bed in the back garden. His aunt had seen some lovely iceberg roses in the neighbor's yard and absolutely HAD to have some of her own. So, there he sat, at 2:17 pm on a Saturday, clearing ground, making holes and putting five small rose plants into them; he did notice a slight chill in the air, a sudden quiet and a slight darkness, but paid it no heed as he finished up.

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Vernon Dursley was not at all happy as he quietly made his way into his house. In fact, you could call him violently infuriated. You know, when someone is so angry that they're calm? So focused on their own bad fortune, that nothing else matters except for release. Like when steam builds up in a tea kettle, getting hotter and hotter, smoldering as the bowels of Hell, before expelling itself by way of the spout. That's what the whistling sound is. Fury.

Those were the things that Mr. Dursley felt as he trudged his way through his house and into the kitchen. His company board of executives had called him in that morning to discuss with him the reason why he was being voted out of his position at Grunnings. Evidently the company had come under investigation for tax fraud, and the authorities had discovered that one Mr. Vernon Dursley had been cheating on his business taxes for the past ten years, and he was personally being sued by the government for the sum of £1,000,000.00, and facing many years of jail time.

It is safe to say that Dursley was not exactly in a stable frame of mind as he went to the kitchen window to check on the boy's progress in the back garden. A shadow crossed his face as he took in the scene from his window. There was his abomination of a nephew, bent over gathering up the garden tools, surrounded by an atmosphere more suitable for dusk, than midday. It was night in his back garden, but day in the neighbors'. Vernon's wrath had found its vent.

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"The old fat one is coming." Harry heard his new companion hiss to him, as his uncle came slowly out of the kitchen door.

"I know Meinwen. Please try to stay out of sight, and be silent. I don't want him to harm you."

"Yes Harry."

"What are you doing boy!" Vernon fairly screeched at Harry. "I'll have no more of your abnormality in my home!" With the pleasantries out of the way, not waiting for a response from the boy, Vernon grabbed him by the shirt collar and slammed him up against the side of the shed, but swiftly drew his hand back as he heard a sickening squelching sound, and a small grunt from the boy.

Harry's eyes widened, almost comically as he felt himself impaled, and let out a quiet grunt, blood already pooling in his mouth and running down his chin. Through hazy vision, he looked down slightly to see the jagged end of the pipe he used to hang the garden hose on, protruding from his chest, and let out another small gurgling groan as his vision slowly faded to gray.

Vernon stared in horror as his nephew slowly slumped against the wall of the shed, body supported slightly by the pipe, keeping him from collapsing completely to the ground, and he heard one last exhalation of blood smattered breath before turning and fleeing through the house, squealing tires in his haste to get away from Number 4 Privet Drive.

As such, he did not see the corpse in his back garden as it began to gleam in the light of the dying afternoon sun. Nor did he see it as it burst into violent indigo flames before disappearing completely, leaving no trace behind, except for a trail of blood.