Chapter 4 My Love
Vernon dully watched his insane nephew return to the room. The room was windowless and only lit when Harry was present. There was no way of knowing how long he had been gone.
Petunia and he had kicked, pounded, and shoved every inch of the tiny cupboard they were in when he left. Hands and shoulders bruised and bleeding, they finally gave up. They wanted to sleep, but there was only room to sit or stand in the room – there was not enough floor space for even one of them to curl up in a corner.
Sometime during the time Harry was gone, they came to the conclusion their nephew had to be right – they must be in some magical condition. They felt human and alive – they bled, they thirst, and they could cry. Oh how they cried. But they found they did not faint from exhaustion, and had no need to use the bathroom. Somehow they truly were a painting.
They had not been able to tell much of the room their painting was hung in, as it was pitch dark when Harry wasn't there. The floor was stone they agreed, as the torch lit only the area with Harry's chair. Vernon was disturbed that he could not see the walls or dimension of the 'gallery'.
"How was your first night?" Harry leered at the pair. They quaked at the coldness emanating from their nephew. "On with the show" he giggled, sitting down and conjuring up more wine. He gave a mocking toast to his Aunt and Uncle"
"So there I was, barely healed from my 'armectomy' and finding myself the only survivor skirmish after skirmish after skirmish. I learned to kill. The anguish of all your 'lessons', dear Uncle, taught me to like it." Harry stared into space, recalling horrors that Vernon prayed he wouldn't share. "Grimmauld Place has a lovely hidden library of dark arts books. Snape shared the location with me before he died."
Vernon looked at his wife. Grimmauld Place? Dark arts? Snape? None of these words made any sense to them, but they didn't ask.
"I became very powerful, dear Aunt, dear Uncle. I learned all kinds of fun stuff – how to do my 'freakish magic' without a 'stick thingy', elemental stuff, necromancy…, fun. Dark." He smiled a cruel smile. "I ended up with lots of 'power he knows not'. I used it."
"W-w-what happened to V-v-v-oldemort?" Petunia stuttered weakly.
"Dead. Fun and messy!" The insane giggling started again. Vernon and Petunia shuddered. What had they created? It couldn't be their fault – look how sensitive and kind Dudders turned out!
"It's been eight years, dear Aunt, dear Uncle. Eight years yesterday since you axed my arm and the killings started." Harry glared at them. "I removed Voldemort from this earth a little over three years ago. The war he raged took out three-quarters of Britain. Muggle and magical. You are lucky you croaked when you did."
They visibly blanched. "What state is Europe in now?" Petunia asked weakly.
With a dismissive gesture, Harry replied, "its in shambles. Economies collapsed, total chaos, the barriers between the magical and muggle worlds dissolved. They are trying to create a rather medieval type of government of both worlds merged, but the other countries are all weirded out about our wizards." He sipped his wine. "It's not nice – I'm glad I have privacy here – I know how to ward a house. There is no one for miles and miles, and I'm quite a ways underground anyhow. I conjure any food or supplies I need."
"Anyway" he stood abruptly, "I suppose you might be curious what kind of room you are in?" Vernon nodded dully, one eye on the bottle of wine. With a swift gesture the lights flared to reveal their 'home'.
The room was rectangular, the floor indeed stone as were the walls. There was no door or windows. A crude cot was against the far wall – evidently Harry was living in this room and magic'd his necessities and travel to and from. The oddest thing was the décor – paintings were hung all over the walls, floor to ceiling across from his Aunt and Uncle's canvas. They seemed to all face the Dursleys.
"You see, it truly is an art gallery" Harry giggled. He rolled his eyes and wiped some wine from his mouth with his sleeve. "I commissioned some of the portraits, gathered others. These are mostly people that were dear to me eight years ago. Back when my soul was human. They are all asleep, waiting for my touch to wake them."
Vernon and his wife gawked at the paintings – they were darkened and muddy looking – they could barely make out the shapes of figures or buildings in them. Harry grinned, dragged his chair off to a side that gave him a good view of both the Dursleys and the darkened portraits. Satisfied, he limped over to a large painting toward the side. With a gesture and a muttered word, the canvas brightened and came into view. It was a pretty cottage, timber framed and thatched, surrounded by flowers in the bloom of early summer.
"Godric's Hollow. My parent's home. My birthplace. Destroyed by Voldemort 23 years ago." He gazed at the house peacefully, lookingalmost sane for a time. Then he smiled malevolently at his relatives. "Did you know in a typical magical portrait the people can go from painting to painting?"
His aunt and uncle gazed at Harry and the cottage with hope surging in their breasts.
"Not you though. You were a special commission." Harry chuckled, a dry sound without warmth. He moved to a larger canvas next to Godric's Hollow and repeated the incantation. A village street lined with shops and homes came into sharp focus. "Hogsmeade – the only magical town in the UK. You would have hated it."
Harry stopped in front of another canvas. "This is the last one for today. One a day – a painting a day. This is my version of paint by numbers." He giggled at the joke, weak as it was. One more incantation, and a figure came into view. A young, very pretty woman was sitting asleep in a comfortable chair, a book setting in her lap like it had fallen during her nap. Vernon gazed longingly at the plush seat more than the girl.
"This is Ginny. My fiancé'. We were going to be married after graduation. Even with one arm she loved me. Even with all the scars you left me with." Tears poured down his face as he caressed the flat cheeks of the sleeping girl with flaming red hair. "Wake, my love" he whispered.
Petunia and Vernon watched. There was nothing else to do. The girl blinked, yawned and stretched. She looked around and spotted their nephew. "Harry? Am I dead?"
"Yes love, Voldemort got everyone. I'm the only one left." He sobbed, his solitary hand spread on her canvas in a futile gesture of primal longing, wishing he could jump through to her side.
"Everyone, Harry?" she cried in return, dropping the pretty tears of the young and lovely.
"Don't worry – I have more portraits to wake up, Gin. I have your whole family, our friends, and homes to stay in. Many more." He gazed at her hungrily. "I've waited so long for this, Gin. I had to wait for Voldemort to die, wait for all the paintings to be finished."
"You did it? He's gone?" She smiled at the wizard, her right hand mirroring his on the canvas. "I knew you would, my love."
"Yes – he's gone." With a deep breath Harry stroked her painted cheek again. "Gin, I need you to do something for me. That's my dear Aunt and Uncle" and he gestured to the portrait of the Dursleys. "Please give them an earful for me. I wish to have a drink and enjoy it." The redhead snapped her attention over to Harry's relatives with a look of fury. "They cannot leave their canvas or avoid you, my love. They are trapped forever. Right now Godric's Hollow and Hogsmeade are awake – you may go anywhere you wish except the Dursleys."
"How dare you" she hissed at the terrified couple. "How could anyone treat a child the way you treated your own flesh and blood. Do you know how many lives Harry saved during the war? The good he did? How much more he could have done if you cared just half as much as a normal person would have? If you had treated his decently he might have prevented all of what happened!"
Petunia, eyes wide with fear, backed as far away as she could. "N-n-no – we didn't do anything, we did what we could!" There seemed to be the start of guilt manifesting in the woman.
Vernon just gaped. "We treated our son just fine, thank you" he growled at Ginny. "Freaks like him" he gestured at Harry, "don't deserve anything more."
"See, Ginny?" Harry spoke from his chair, cradling a glass of wine. "They don't get it. They are why I had such a hard time sharing feelings, understanding your love." He shook his head with sorrow. "Go on to the Hollow, my dearest. I'll wake up your family tomorrow – I'm really tired."
With a gesture Harry extinguished the torches. The only light in the room was a soft glow from the three moving paintings, and by that light Harry walked over to his cot and fell instantly asleep. Vernon and Petunia watched with envy as Ginny threw a rude finger gesture at them, left her painting and wandered the garden of Godric's Hollow a bit before opening the door of the cottage and entering.