Disclaimer: I'm too young to be Rowling so there is sadly no way Harry Potter is mine…
Placing:6years after the first war.
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PAINTED ROOM
sSs
Harry was painting.
With slow, even strokes he painted the wall in the hallway.
At the same time, he was humming.
"Sala-gadoola-menchicka-boo-la Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo," he hummed good-humouredly. "Put'em together and what have you got? Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo…"
Again, the paint brush was tipped into the reddish white substance in Harry's little bucket.
Then Harry returned the brush to the wall and continued to spread the slightly pink colour evenly over the surface, all while continuing to hum the current song that was stuck in his head.
Oh, Harry knew that if the Dursleys could hear him, they wouldn't be too happy with the choice of his song – but truthfully, Harry didn't care, at the moment.
He was in far too good of a mood to care for something as irrelevant as that.
Again, he tipped the tip of his brush into the reddish white substance in his bucket.
In that moment, the door to the cupboard under the stairs shook and a muffled "mhh!" could be heard from its depth.
Harry removed the brush from the substance and turned to look at the closed door of the cupboard.
"Do you have to go to toilet, Dudders?" He asked sweetly. "Just rap the door once for 'yes' and two for 'no'."
For a moment, there was no answer from inside the cupboard, then the door was rapped two times.
"Oh, well," Harry said and turned back to painting. "If it's something else, that can wait. You're not due for your meal until tonight and I'll let you have your glass of water at the same time, alright?"
The answer was another muffled "mhh!" and Harry turned back to the wall.
"I've still a thing or two to do, Dudders," he said sweetly. "Now excuse me – I'm in the middle of something important."
With that he returned to painting the wall in a brilliant reddish white – a colour, that slowly but surely the more it dried dulled to a colour in between copper brown and eggshell white.
Harry thought it was quite a nice colour for the wall in the entrance hall…
Sadly, the reddish white substance he had in his bucket wouldn't be enough to finish his second paintjob of the wall today.
"Oh well," Harry mumbled to himself. "'S not as if I have to hurry…"
Then he returned to humming "Sala-gadoola-menchicka-boo-la…"
He continued to paint for another five to ten minutes, not at all disturbed by the rapping from beneath the stairs, then he started to wash out the brush and bucket for today.
He was about to put away both things to their usual place when the phone in the hallway rung.
The noise from under the stairs tripled.
Harry flicked his fingers at the door when he passed by it and suddenly the noise vanished without a trace. He rubbed his hands dry on his too-big-shirt and then took up the phone.
"Dursley residence," he said. "Harry Potter speaking."
For a moment, there was confused silence on the other end of the phone, then a man's voice spoke up, a frown even evident in its tone.
"Is this the home of Vernon Dursley?" The man asked.
"It is," Harry assured him. "He's my uncle."
"Oh… well," the man said, still sounding a bit stumped that Harry was on the phone. "Here's Charles Grunnings, your uncle's boss speaking. Can you hand him the phone, lad?"
"I'm sorry, I can't," Harry said sadly. "He's currently sleeping."
"Sleeping?" This time the other man sounded a bit incredulous.
"Yeah," Harry said. "He feels very poorly at the moment. Low blood pressure, I think."
"Alright," Mr Grunnings said slowly with disbelief in his voice, before continuing a bit stronger. "Is that the reason he has been missing from work for the past three days?"
"Huh?" Harry said surprised. "It's three days already?"
For a moment he contemplated that fact, then he reminded himself that he hadn't gotten a time and place from the others to meet yet and that he had time, so he shrugged it of unconcerned.
"Ah, yes," he chirped. "I guess that might be the reason why he's been missing from work."
Mr Grunnings on the other end of the phone huffed.
"He should have called in and told us he was ill," he said unhappily.
Harry shrugged and for good measure waved it off as well – not at all bothered that his uncle's boss couldn't see him at all.
"Yeah, well – that's not my concern, is it?" He said matter-of-factly.
Mr Grunnings stifled an amused snort.
"I guess it's not, lad," he said, before continuing. "May I speak to your aunt, then?"
Harry frowned at his reddish, slowly brownish painted wall in thought.
"Hmm," he said slowly. "I've actually no idea where she is, currently."
He thought about it a bit further.
"It's been three days since my uncle came to work?" He assured himself while trying to figure out where his aunt would be after three days…
This time there was a choked noise from the other side of the phone.
"Are you telling me you haven't seen your aunt in three days?" His uncle's boss exclaimed, half in disbelief, half in alarm.
"Huh?" For a moment Harry wondered why the man on the other end of the phone sounded as if he was half on the way to call the police, then Ledger nudged him mentally and made him remember that he was currently a six-year-old child – and even if the man on the other end of the phone couldn't see him, his voice sounded far too young to be alone for such a length of time.
"Oh, no," Harry assured the man, his uncle's boss, deciding to tell a bit of the truth so that the man wouldn't worry. "I've seen to her just this morning. I just don't know where she is right now."
"Oh," Mr Grunnings said and for a moment he seemed to waver between believing Harry and calling the police anyway.
Harry shrugged mentally and decided to add another half-truth for that matter.
"My cousin hasn't been able to go to school as well for the last three days and he's a bit cranky, I guess she might have gone for some thing or another to keep him entertained," he said.
"Ah," his uncle's boss said, and this time he clearly believed Harry. "And you're looking after your uncle while she's out?"
"Of course," Harry said sweetly. "What else should I do?"
"Well," Mr Grunnings huffed. "Then please remind your uncle or your aunt to call us and tell us how long it will take until your uncle will be able to return to work, will you?"
"Of course," Harry told his uncle's boss. "I will pass on the message as soon as I can."
"Thank you, lad," Mr Grunnings said. "Have a good day."
"You, too, Mr Grunnings!" Harry chirped and then hang up the phone.
For a moment, Harry looked at the nice red wall, then he shrugged and returned to the bucket.
"Might as well continue to paint a bit more," he thought to himself. "It's still some hours until dinner, after all."
With that happy thought he ascended the stairs to his uncle's and aunt's bedroom.
He knocked harshly and then simply opened the door.
"Hello, uncle!" He greeted the man chipper. "How are we today?"
His uncle was lying on the bed. Sadly, the mattress he was lying on was the old and lumpy thing they had had stuffed away in Dudley's second toy room and not his normal, very expensive one.
The moment Harry stepped into the stripped bare room, his uncle struggled to open his eyes and glare at Harry.
"You… will… pay… for… that," he pressed out, clearly having to struggle to even move his jaw. He was pale and sweaty and unable to move.
Harry crooked his head with an oddly tender smile on his face.
"Of course, Uncle Vernon," he told his uncle lovingly. "Exactly what you say, dear uncle."
With that he stepped up next to the obese man.
Said man tried to lift one of his hands – most likely to strangle his nephew – but all he managed was to twitch with his fingers.
"Now, now, uncle," Harry said. "Didn't you listen to the doctor? No moving about. That's just bad for your low blood pressure, you know?"
With that Harry poised his empty little bucket next to his uncle's hand.
"Don't worry, uncle," he said sweetly. "Doctor Harry will make you alright again in no time at all!"
His uncle's eyes widened in fear.
That was when Harry remembered the phone call.
"Oh," he said. "Before I forget! Your boss called. He said to call him and tell him when you'll be able to return to work. I'd told him never – but since I guessed that he wouldn't believe me if I'd say that, I simply promised to pass on the message."
"You… boy!" His uncle fumed, but he was far too exhausted to say more than he had.
Harry smiled at the man and patted his shoulder.
"Don't worry, uncle," he said. "You already lost some weight. I'm sure in a day or two you'll move on to a new life! I'm good at my job, after all!"
His uncle's eyes nearly bugged out at that, but Harry didn't look into his uncle's face. He was far too busy to position the hand of his uncle just right – Aunt Petunia didn't like strains on her carpet, after all – and moving the bucket beneath it.
Ten minutes later he left the room again with a little bucket full of red substance mixed with white wall paint.
"Guess that should be enough for around the entrance door," Harry guessed with good humour. "That should also be enough of work for me until I'll have to make some dinner."
With that, he returned to the entrance hallway and started to paint the wall around the entrance door.
He started to hum "Sala-gadoola-menchicka-boo-la Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo…"
He was about half a door in, when something banged against the door of the cupboard under the stairs.
Harry stopped and turned to the noise.
"You know the drill, Dudders," he said sweetly. "Do you have to go to the toilet? Once for 'yes', two for 'no'."
This time, something slammed against the door once.
Harry considered it.
"I had to silence you today," he said aloud with a frown. "And you've been banging against that door for hours now…"
He hummed in thought.
"Nope," he finally declared. "I think that warrants a punishment, don't you think so, too, Dudders?"
The banging got louder.
Harry looked at the cupboard.
"I guess Aunt Petunia would have let you out already," he said with a thoughtful frown. "But then, she wouldn't have bothered if it was me…"
With that thought he shrugged and turned back towards the entrance door.
"I'll start dinner in about an hour," he said. "I'll let you out, then."
With that he returned to humming and painting, not bothered at all by the noise behind him.
He was just a few inches further when suddenly something rapped against the window in the living room.
Harry rubbed his forehead in surprise, but then sat down his paint brush and went to take a look.
Outside the window, an owl was waiting.
Harry smiled at the owl.
"Hello, beautiful!" He greeted her chipper and opened the window to let her in. The owl dropped a letter into his hands and then perched on Petunia Dursley's precious glass cabinet.
Harry smiled at the owl.
"Take care up there," he said. "Aunt might be unhappy if we smash it…"
That sentence made him thoughtful, but before he could think further about it, his eyes again landed onto the letter in his hands.
He decided, that he could think about his idea later and opened the letter instead while simultaneously walking into the kitchen to get the owl some bacon.
He opened the refrigerator, pushed aside the huge-eyed, gagged and bound form of his aunt – he pushed her into space that shouldn't even exist inside a refrigerator that size – and pulled out some bacon.
Then he closed the door of the refrigerator again and returned to the living room to feed the owl, all the while brooding over the list he had gotten from Luna and Neville.
When the owl had swooped down, grabbed the bacon and left, he finally put down the list and held out his hands for nothing instead.
"Ledger!" He called and his empty hands filled with a leather bound book.
The moment book came into being in his hands, it flipped open and a voice was heard coming out of the pages.
"Finally!" The book complained. "I began to think you planned to ignore me for the rest of the day as well!"
Harry shrugged unconcerned.
"I talked to you just last night," he pointed out.
The book pouted.
"You were doing paperwork, yesterday night," it pointed out sullenly. "That's not talking to me at all!"
Harry frowned.
"But I asked you about the circumstances and all that," he defended himself. "I think that that counts as talking!"
"But paperwork is boring!" Ledger complained.
Harry looked at the book pointedly.
"Then you shouldn't have waited to do yours that long!" He scolded. "You should have searched yourself a victim for your paperwork centuries ago!"
The answer was another pout.
"It's not as if I could just walk up to a random human and tell them: 'Hey! I decided to take you with me and make you do paperwork for me! Come on, hurry or the paperwork will get even worse than it is!'," Ledger said unhappily. "No – the rules say that the only one who can call me is Death – and Death is the owner of the three Deathly Hallows."
Harry raised an eyebrow at his leathery companion.
"You are aware that I currently don't own even one of the Hallows, are you?" He asked pointedly.
The book snuggled into his hands.
"Doesn't matter if you currently have them or not," it said. "They're bound to your soul and your memories. As long as you still remember gaining them – as long as you still have the same soul – you are their master, no matter where they are or who is using them."
Harry rolled his eyes.
"I'm sure you just made up that rule," he said amused. "You're harder to get rid of than a tattoo – and that says something!"
"As if you wanted to get rid of me, master!" Ledger exclaimed.
Harry rolled his eyes, but in the end sat down Ledger next to the list Luna and Neville had send him on the living room table.
"Whatever you say, Ledger," he said with fondness in his voice. "Whatever you say!"
With that he tipped the blank pages of the book in front of him, while saying the first name on the list Luna had send him.
"Oh!" Ledger exclaimed. "That's a naughty boy! I like naughty boys like him!"
Harry just patted the book fondly.
"You just like them because they're nargles for me," he said amused.
The book snapped after his fingers by closing rapidly.
Sadly enough, Harry was used to that particular behaviour and was able to snatch them back before the book hit them.
"I'm just saying the truth," he defended himself to Ledger. "It's not my fault that you don't want to admit it!"
The book opened back up, its pages still proclaiming the entire curriculum vitae of the man Harry had inquired about.
"I've always liked naughty boys," Ledger exclaimed. "It's not my fault that you have taken to use those people as… nargles." The book said the last word with clear distaste in its voice and Harry patted it soothingly.
"Of course, my dear," he said. "You're absolutely right, my dear."
"If you don't stop it now I will snap at you again," Ledger warned him and Harry pouted.
"Alright, alright," he said, before standing up and heeding back towards the hallway. "It's not as if I have time to tease you further, anyway. I have to use up my paint before it expires."
"Paint?" Ledger asked interestedly. "What paint?"
"Vernon Dursley," Harry said. "I mixed it about an hour and a half ago."
The books pages changed to the curriculum vitae of one Vernon Dursley.
"Oh!" Ledger exclaimed with clear interest in its voice. "What a nice vintage! He must make a very nice coloured wall!"
Harry looked at the rest of the hallway he had already painted.
"Oh yes," he said. "He does!"
Ledger paged through the curriculum vitae of Vernon Dursley.
"Hmm," it exclaimed. "That must be about thirty years that will lay unclaimed when you're done with him. Truly, an excellent choice. I'm sure Mr Grunnings will appreciate your choice when he won't loose that deal with that Italian business man in 1999. It will give his firm international recognition and will safe them from ruin."
"Huh? It will?" Harry said. "Mr Grunnings didn't say anything of that kind when I talked to him about two hours ago."
"Well, people have always been a bit ungrateful when it came to your work," Ledger pointed out reasonably.
Harry thought that over while tipping his brush into the reddish white substance in his little bucket.
"I think you're right about that," he said thoughtfully. "They've never truly appreciated me. Well – most of them. Luna has always been grateful to me!"
"Yeah," Ledger agreed. "And that just shows you that there's something wrong with that girl."
"But –"
"No, master," Ledger said. "You should know that the norm is decided by the bigger percentage – and that makes that girl an oddity."
Harry guessed that he couldn't object to that, so he shrugged.
"She's still a great friend," he pointed out. "After all, she has always been considerate enough to point me towards some nargles."
For a moment, Ledger stayed silent, then it sighed.
"I guess I can't object to that," it said unhappily.
"Good," Harry said. "And now read to me the curriculum vitae of that nargle I asked you to look at before you changed the topic to my paint."
Ledger pouted, but did as it was asked.
Another forty-five minutes later, Harry was finally done with his paintjob and went to wash out the paint again. When he had finally put away the bucket and brush, he opened the door to the cupboard under the stairs.
His cousin looked back at him with huge eyes.
"I hope you haven't let loose in here," Harry said coolly in his best Aunt-Petunia-voice. "Because if you did, you'll have to sleep in it tonight."
Dudley shook his head frantically.
"Good," Harry said. "Then go to the bathroom now. And don't you dare to not come back immediately! If you dare to do something you aren't allowed to, you will go to bed hungry tonight – do you understand me?"
Dudley nodded frantically again and then hurried up the stairs and into the bathroom.
"Seems you're quite good when it comes to raising children to responsible adults," Ledger said.
Harry just waived it off.
"I figured that I had to use Aunt Petunia's methods with him," he said. "There must have been a reason why she chose those to raise me into a responsible adult, after all…"
Ledger snickered.
"So you're a responsible adult now, master?" it asked amused.
Harry raised an eyebrow at the book on the living room table.
"If you remember," he said dryly. "I'm currently working off the paperwork of centuries – if that isn't what responsible adults do, then I don't know!"
For a moment, there was no answer from Ledger.
Then the book snickered again.
"If you put it like that…" it said.
Ten minutes later, Harry had to go up the stairs and stun his cousin to drag him back into the cupboard.
He closed the door between himself and his cousin and then removed the magic from the other boy.
Immediately Dudley complained loudly.
"Let me out, freak! Mummy! The freak has –"
His cousin's voice broke of mid-sentence when the curse Harry had placed on him snapped back in place.
Harry rolled his eyes at the cupboard.
"I told you that using any kind of swear-words or calling other people names will end with you losing your voice again," he pointed out. "That will be no dinner for you, tonight. I hope you used your time in the bathroom to drink from the water tap – if you haven't, well, your fault."
With that, Harry turned away from the cupboard and went into the kitchen.
He opened the door to the refrigerator, reached over his bound and gagged aunt and withdrew the pizza he had prepared for himself in the morning.
From the living room, he could hear Ledger snicker.
"I bet, in a few days your child rearing skills will ensure that the brat learns to obey you," Ledger cackled.
Harry shrugged, not concerned with the fact if Ledger could see him or not.
"I hope so," he said. "'S not as if I have endless time to train Dudders, you know? And now, don't change the topic anymore – go back to reading out the curriculum vitae of the person I opened last."
Harry had a very productive rest of the evening.
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Well, that was Harry in action. I tried to not make it too gory…
I hope you liked it.
'Till next time
Ebenbild