Hi everyone!

Here it is: Harry's revenge! I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

I am struggling the update because of my job - believe me, every free second I have, I try to write, so it looks like the updates will be monthly for at least the next period of time. I hope to increase uploading, but I want to put our quality content, and I need to take my time to do so.

In the meantime: thank you SO MUCH for everyone who keeps reading, commenting, favoriting, subscribing, et cetera. I still get notifications every day and that makes my heart soar. You guys are awesome!

Stay safe, everyone! These are strange times: I hope this story can distract you from any hardships you face right now.

Love, Flora

Edit: It seems FFnet doesn't like uploading this chapter on the website for some reason. For the app, it works just fine. I hope I manage to get it to work!

Chapter 35: How Vernon Dursley was absolutely miserable.

It simply couldn't be.

Vernon had checked. And then he had checked again. Up until now, his presentation went swimmingly. The advisors seemed pleased, he managed to sneak in a few jokes here and there, he heard scribbling on notepads and saw approving nods. But still, there was something… off. He couldn't quite place it.

Maybe it was the young man in the corner.

First and foremost, the young man seemed familiar, and not in a good way. He had no idea why, because he didn't know any young men, aside from the few men from his team and some close friends of Dudley. He knew this man was affiliated with neither. Vernon was certain he was imagining things: this lad was a new advisor, not someone he had already been acquainted with. Then why was the young man giving him those vibes? He had no idea why, but the more Vernon focused on the man, the angrier he got. Something about the boy – the smugness, the hairstyle, the way he hid his face behind his notepad – got him riled up. What was it exactly?

The young man wore a green dress shirt – maybe that was it. The lad hadn't bothered to put on a decent suit, let alone wear a tie. Or maybe it was the way he sat – he sat slightly hunched over, doodling something on a piece of paper, too laid-back for an important advisor for Mister Goodall. But no, it wasn't his shirt, or his stance. It was something else that bothered him. The young man refused to look him in the eye, as if on purpose. Was that it?

Vernon had to remind himself a couple of times that, in order to convince the entire board, he needed to focus on the entire group, not just some youngster sulking in his meeting. This wasn't about weird hunches – he needed to succeed in this presentation, for Christ's sake!

So, he did just that. He explained the concept for their new Drillings "Do It Yourself"-Drill, paid special attention to Eric Goodall and his nearest advisor, ignored the young man and flipped another sheet over. He reached for his marker, to highlight some features on his flipboard.

'So, the main feature of this new technique, is-…'

His wurst-like fingers traced around on the desk, as Vernon fell silent, mid-sentence, searching for the pen. Where was the blasted thing? He'd put it down on his desk, not five minutes ago.

It had rolled away from the place he put it. Just a few inches, but nonetheless. No harm done, Vernon had probably just miscalculated. He smiled awkwardly, reached for the marker once more, and then something extraordinary happened.

The marker moved.

Not because he touched it. It was as if the marker had decided that he didn't want to be held by Vernon, as it rolled an inch from his grasp. Frustrated, Vernon tried again. He reached, but the marker moved – he reached, and the bloody thing moved again. How in the world…?

Vernon was now arching over the desk, his chubby little legs straining against the side of the table, fingers outstretched and flexing. The marker moved, and moved again: Vernon groaned, the veins in his neck pumping furiously. The blasted thing had rolled some six foot by now, seemingly determined to escape from Vernon's grasp. He did a last ditch effort, growling while his fingers touched the plastic surface of the pen and then the blasted thing fell from the desk.

He heard a slight snicker from the crowd, and saw the two ladies that sat on the first row, try to stifle their chuckles with their clipboards.

'Useless thing,' Vernon muttered, as he tried to deflect the situation with a smile.

'Sorry, ladies and gents. Let me go and pick that up.'

He walked around the table, bowed down and reached for the little devil. It rolled away from him again. If Vernon didn't know any better, he would have thought someone was pulling a prank on him. But that wasn't possible. There was no string attached to the bloody pen and it couldn't be rigged – he had taken it from his office desk that morning.

He was just unlucky. His fingers pushed the thing away from him, rather than fixating around the object. That must have been it. He did get a bit older, after all. Petunia had tried to convince him to wear glasses for about three years now, but he refused. Wearing glasses would make him seem weak and senile.

The thing lay still now and didn't move. He groaned, his mean little eyes focusing in on the rebellious marker, and he grinned somewhat victoriously when his fingers wrapped around it. Just unlucky, that was it. Nothing extraordinary. Just bad luck.

It was then, the nearby owl decided to shriek again.

Vernon shot up, as if something had pricked him, and hit his head hard against the underside of the table. He cursed – a very, uncivilized word escaped his lips, as he saw stars for a second, struggling to stand up as fast as he could.

'What was that?!' he shouted, his bushy mustache vibrating.

'What was… what, Dursley?' Eric Goodall asked, with an amused look on his face. The advisors of his boss were positively giggling right now, looking half-entertained, half-pitying to how Vernon rubbed his throbbing head.

'I heard… It was… An owl… Didn't-…' Vernon stuttered, feeling the blood rush to his head.

'An owl?' one of the girls repeated. 'I think it was just a bird screeching, sir. London has been flocked with seagulls lately.'

'Now, Vernon,' an older advisor of Eric chuckled. 'Don't repeat the disaster with the cake in front of this CEO as well, would you?'

Vernon laughed nervously, still rubbing his head.

'Yes, I misheard,' he nodded. 'Let's… Let's get on with the presentation, shall we?'

He turned around, ready to take the cap of his marker, and then saw the young man in the corner again. He was looking directly at him, his eyes glistening in amusement.

It couldn't be. It simply couldn't be.

Vernon felt his throat run dry and his hands run sweaty. He recognized that look, he recognized those eyes – those emerald eyes, that had belonged to his sister-in-law. And now he also noticed what had been so off-putting about the boy. It was the hair – the same, deep, dark locks that he had sported as a teenager. The boy had cut his hair, so it was shorter, and he had managed to tame it to a certain extent, but it was still unruly enough to be noticeable.

The boy was here. Why was the boy here? How did he get in? What business did the boy have here? He had never expressed any interest in Drillings when he was younger – why did he now? Surely, the boy had a job in their world, there would be no reason for him to come to this very meeting. Vernon had been so glad that the boy hadn't reached out to him and Petunia once since his departure. He didn't want to be involved in the life of the despicable brat, he didn't want to be associating with their kind. Their kind meant trouble.

His face was turned towards the flipboard now. Maybe he was mistaken, Vernon thought. It wouldn't make sense for the boy to turn up here and he was a bit stressed about the whole marker-incident. Maybe his mind was playing tricks with him again. After all: the boy had absolutely zero reason to be attending one of his meetings. What would his goal be?

'As I was saying, the main feature of this technique-…'

He took the cap off the marker and put the felt-tip on the paper. He intended on writing a circle around the word "self-sufficiency", but he only heard a nasty, squeaky sound come from the felt-tip. Nothing, not even a spot of ink. It was as if the pen had dried out completely.

'The main feature-… Why isn't this working?'

He dragged the pen over the paper again and again, forcing the ink to flow from the tip.

'I tested it this morning! I have no idea why-… Co-operate, you stupid thing!'

He pushed the pen forcefully on the paper and brought his face closer in, urging the marker to work.

Vernon realized what a possible motive could be for the boy as the marker exploded in his face.

The felt tip had burst under his pressure: green ink flooded across the board, over his hands, specks flew around, covering his face and moustache in ink-residue and bits of marker. He sputtered, wiped some out of his tiny, watery eyes and sniffed.

The board now laughed in unison. Vernon was immediately reminded of his time at Smeltings Academy, where he had been laughed at like this as well, a few years before he was buff enough to bully little first graders himself.

The girls in the front row stood up to give him some napkins as Vernon growled and his eyes fixated on the boy in the corner. He didn't laugh out loud, but he smiled, broadly and obviously, and he noticed Vernon returned his gaze. The boy looked at him knowingly, his grin intensifying and reached into the pocket of his jeans. Vernon felt himself stiffen – was he reaching for that thing? Surely he wouldn't dare to use that nonsense in front of all his colleagues?! But then he saw that the boys had retrieved his glasses. Apparently he wore a more luxurious version of the round, black-rimmed spectacles Petunia had grabbed for him out of a clearance bin all those years ago.

The boy took his time straightening the legs of his glasses, cleaning the lenses with the hem of his shirt before putting it on. He leaned towards Vernon's CEO, that only sat a couple of chairs away, and made a remark that had the man laughing again. The boy knew his boss? How on earth did the freak manage to get in contact with one of the most influential men in Britain?

As he wiped his face with a wetted towel one of the girls fetched from the bathroom, Vernon's surprise and shock turned into something else. First there was fear - fear of knowing the power the freak possessed, having witnessed his outburst since his childhood. The picture of his inflated sister was still fresh in his mind. If the boy managed to defeat this evil "What's-His-Name" at age 17, while his own parents were murdered by the same person, he must be stronger than him and Petunia anticipated. He hated the boy the moment he'd lain his eyes on him and he hadn't kept that a secret. He'd always felt the harsh upbringing he gave the boy was just - he needed to vent off his anger, he needed to show the boy who was boss. But then, three years back, Dudley had planted a seed of doubt in his mind.

Dudley had been visiting him and Petunia when he moved out at age 19. First the visits would be a weekly thing, but a week became a fortnight, and a fortnight became once every month. Then he stopped coming altogether. Petunia would call him every week, but the calls became shorter and more detached, and Petunia had cried in the bed one night, asking herself what they'd done wrong.

'Nothing,' Vernon replied. 'He's just learning to stand on his own two feet. It's healthy for a boy not to need his parents. Mine moved abroad as soon as we were old enough, don't you remember?'

Petunia had nodded and sobbed.

It was another three months after that when they saw Dudley again. He didn't come alone this time.

Dudley met someone. Vernon had looked forward to the moment his little boy would bring a girl home - he wanted to see what an amazing broad his strapping young son had been able to court. He imagined her to be beautiful, young and blonde, just like his wife had been.

Beautiful, young, blonde: yes. But when Vernon opened the door to their home, the smell of poached salmon filling the front-yard, those weren't the features Vernon focused on.

'Ah - a friend of yours, Dudley?' Vernon nervously asked, as he tried to ignore the quite feminine young men on his doorstep, impeccably groomed and dressed in a bright blue suit. He looked at his son, dressed in a T-shirt, jacket and jeans. He would never forget the looks on his face.

'No. Boyfriend.'

There was a silence. Vernon didn't know what to reply: he wanted to scream and slam the door in his son's face, he wanted to tell him how abnormal this all was, and how he hated all things that weren't normal. But he also knew that Dudley was aware of that, and that he had decided to come to their home nonetheless.

'You can either let us in, or never see me again, dad. Your choice.'

His son sounded calm but serious. God, how the boy had grown. Vernon didn't know what to say, so he didn't talk, as he stepped aside to let his son enter their home.

The dinner that followed had been incredibly awkward. Petunia hadn't dared to say anything about the whole situation, eyeing Vernon nervously for his response the entire time. Dudley and his… friend seemed kind enough, talking pleasantries and ignoring the very obvious wrongness of it all. It was when Petunia brought out the main dish that Dudley felt confident enough to address the situation. Vernon was still in shock, debating on if he should throw his only son out until this thing, that had to be some kind of weird, experimental phase of some sort, blew over, so the man was startled when his son opened his mouth.

'We need to talk about this, mom and dad.'

His son looked over to the blonde boy, who placed a soothing hand on Dudley's lower arm.

'I needed space over the last couple of months, accepting that this is who I am and this is who I want to be. I'm gay. The truth is – I've known I was gay since I was about fourteen years old. I think I knew it even before then, but I wouldn't dare to think about being… Different. You guys were always adamant on me turning out "normal". So I hid it. From myself, at first. I dated a couple of girls, but I was miserable. It was only when I moved out and met other people that I realized… That this is who I am. I am happy being who I am right now.'

Petunia looked over to Vernon at this point, silently pleading him to say something, anything, but he couldn't. He stared at his salmon.

'That's all that's important to us, Diddykins,' his wife wailed, not being able to take the silence any longer. 'We want you to be happy. And you are certain that this… This young man makes you happy?'

'One hundred percent,' Dudley said, confidently. 'There is no one who has made me happier than Elliot.'

Vernon felt his stomach turn as Dudley used his free hand to squeeze his boyfriends, giving him a loving smile.

'Stop that,' he heard himself say. 'It's bad enough you have those kinds of… feelings. But to show them like that at my table, in my house?'

He felt his voice tremble.

'You are just confused, Dudley. That has to be it. No son of mine is a… a-…'

'Freak?' Dudley said, his face a stark, grim contrast with the happiness that adorned it not seconds earlier.

Vernon had meant to say the way cruder word "poof", so he blinked a few times.

'I know how you deal with people who are different, dad. The way you and mom treated Harry… I thought for a long time why I was so afraid to come out to you, to speak my truth, if I could remember an instance where you were homophobic or slurring, but then I talked with my therapist. I was afraid because of what the both of you did to Harry. He was an ordinary kid, and a very bad thing happened to him, and instead of taking him in and raising him as my brother, as an equal, because he was just an innocent toddler, the both of you bullied and abused him for years and years and years, just because he wasn't like you and me. Just because he was different. You had me call him a freak. You had me bully him, you both urged me to make his life miserable, to make sure no one ever got close to him. And I went along with it, because I saw my mommy and daddy do it since Harry came to stay with us, so why should it be wrong? The adults in my life treated him like shit, so I reckoned he deserved it. Well, I learned my lesson the hard way. He didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve to be treated like that, just for being different from the rest of us. And neither should I let you call me names, just for loving another consenting human being.'

His son now stood up, the atmosphere in the room thick as syrup. Vernon felt his anger build as he rose from his chair as well, his knuckles whiten at the thought of the words that were just spoken to him.

'What that boy was and what you think is going on with you right now is entirely different,' Vernon shouted. 'You had no idea of the pressure your mother and I were on. We knew the damage that boy could do. By isolating him, we protected our home, our society from him. We protected you from him.'

'What did I need to be protected from?' Dudley shouted back. 'He wasn't even two years old when he came to stay with us, dad. He must have been in his diapers still!'

'But… Harry has nothing to do with you right now, dear,' Petunia pleaded. 'Let's sit down and talk about you. Let's sort this out. Let's-…'

'Harry has got nothing to do with it,' Dudley agreed, 'but the way you treated him, showed exactly how you would treat me if I would behave out of the ordinary to you. It shows how cruel the both of you are. I have love for the both of you as well – you are my parents, after all. But I hate the things you have done. To Harry, to me. I am certain Harry bears the emotional scars of what you did to him. And even though you didn't hit me as much, so do I. You made my life a lot more miserable than it should have been. With the overfeeding and the isolating and the hatred you poisoned my mind with. It took me months of therapy to be able to tell the truth to you. And you responded exactly like how I predicted. Mom will do anything to please her Diddykins, Dad will stop at nothing to protect his family from turning into one of those households. Well, let this message be clear to you, dad: I will not come back here until you've apologized to me. To me, and to Elliot.'

'I will not apologize to you, you ungrateful little-…'

'Well, then I'm leaving,' Dudley shouted over him. 'You won't hear anything from me until I get that apology. You don't have a son anymore, is that clear? And I don't have a dad!'

He threw his chair to the floor and raced out of the kitchen, Petunia and Elliot in his wake. Vernon shouted to him that Dudley couldn't do that to him, that it was unfair, that he was his father and that he should be respected, but Dudley didn't come back. It took another half hour for Petunia to retreat back into the house, and then the situation exploded into the biggest row he and his wife had ever had. Petunia and him normally never argued – he decided what was right for the family and she abided by his rules. But that day had been different, they had rowed for hours upon hours. Petunia insisted on keeping in contact with Dudley, albeit via telephone, and at the end of the evening, Vernon had reluctantly agreed. When they went to bed that night, Petunia had said one, tiny, almost whispered statement.

'He was right about Harry, Vernon. You know he was.'

They never spoke of it again.

He did apologize to Dudley, two years later. His son was still dating that… Elliot person, and Vernon hated every second of being in the effeminate boy's presence, so they kept their visits brief and formal. He kept his opinions on Dudley's kind of people to himself, in order for Petunia to have the relationship with her son she so craved, but he was sure to tell everyone at the office that his strapping young son was still single. "Enjoying the single, young years," he would brag to his colleagues. "I wish I had spent more time doing that!" Most of the times, his colleagues would laugh and Vernon would revel in the pretence of his perfect family.

The pretence of that perfect family was shattered once again as Vernon was reminded of his son's own words, that had been thrown in his face all those years ago. Dudley said they had bullied and abused the boy. No, Vernon assured himself. They'd raised the boy with adequate discipline, to keep his condition under control. It was to protect him. It was to protect us.

He ignored another voice that told him that he had enjoyed causing misery to the little boy. That he revelled in the pain and suffering he had caused him – he and Petunia both had. This went further than raising someone with a firm hand. He had lashed out at the boy more times than he could count. The boy learned to duck for frying pans, the boy had learned to evade his gripping fingers. As a child, the boy had been rightfully afraid of him, and that fear worked well into his teenage years, Vernon was sure of that. Not even that silly piece of wood could have curbed that.

But the boy was not a teenager anymore. He was an adult now. A fully grown man with the same, piercing, emerald eyes – the same flaring temper. Vernon had been hit by his father as well, and he had always resented the man. But, because he was his father, Vernon had never acted out against him. You wouldn't do that to a parent, would you?

Vernon wasn't a parent for the boy, though. He had never been. Fear struck him in full force now, turning him a lot whiter than he usually was, squeezing his stomach tight. The boy had come for revenge, he was certain of it. The freak who managed to defeat the most powerful being of all time when he was still sporting his teenage pimples was out to get him. He felt his hands began to shake, as he hid his face into the damp towel, rubbing fiercely against his face. He was done for. He would never be able to compete with the power of that monster. If a marker was the first step, he didn't dare know what came next.

Then came the second emotion: anger. Anger at the unfairness of it all. He was defenceless right now, standing in front of his co-workers and superiors, and the freak was having a laugh at his expense. It was sadistic, it was uncalled for. He had given the boy food and shelter, even though he hated the little brat with every fibre of his soul. He and his wife had protected him for 17 years against this evil person whose name he couldn't remember. Yes, he slapped the boy a bit too much, probably. Yes, the cupboard without a light had probably been a bit too cruel for the circumstance. But they had kept him alive. They had even sent him to school. They had paid for his food and his clothes with money earned from the very job he was still practising. The freak had benefitted from this. And now he wanted revenge? He'd show the boy some lessons in gratefulness!

He threw the towel on his table and growled something, ready to get on with the presentation and determined to not have him influenced by the presence of the freak.

'Vernon,' Eric Goodall interrupted Vernon's train of thought, his voice soft and buttery. 'I know there's a slight hold-up right now anyways, so I'd like to move on to introductions. I thought you'd include them in your presentation?'

'Mister Goodall,' Vernon hurried, for a moment forgotten about the fact that he was actually holding a presentation in front of his CEO and not just his deranged nephew, 'I thought we'd know everyone on the board, so I didn't deem it necessary-…'

'Well, I'd love to do some introductions either way,' Mister Goodall said, smiling sugary. 'I want to make sure everyone knows everyone in this room. We have a few new faces here, after all. It's surprised me, actually – you haven't recognized your own nephew?'

Every single face on the board turned backwards towards the young man in the corner. He rose from his chair, gave a friendly nod and a smile.

'My name is Harry Potter. I'm an expert on safety and security, currently working for the government. Eric's asked me to be here as a little favour.'

The freak had been in this meeting as a favour? Vernon was tongue-tied.

'Exactly,' Goodall smiled. 'Young Harry here is highly praised within his ranks and, fun fact, has been raised by Vernon Dursley. Isn't that right, Dursley? I thought you'd recognize him!'

There was a short silence. Harry looked at him with a slight, taunting smirk, and Vernon had to do a lot of effort to hide his grinding teeth.

'It's been a long time since I've seen him,' Vernon dismissed. 'He changed a lot since he moved out.'

Vernon tried to smile, but he knew he looked like he was in pain. He managed to do a slight, awkward wave, that only broadened the taunting smirk of his nephew. His colleagues looked at him strangely and he realized he had to kick it up a notch.

'Harry,' he now spoke, directly to the freak. 'How… How have you been?'

That was the best you could do, Vernon?! He scolded inwardly. The boy would murder him with words, he was sure of it. He noticed he visibly winced when the boy opened his mouth, fearful of what was to come.

'Good, actually. Really good. You and Petunia? How's Dudley?'

Vernon hadn't expected that. It was a friendly response, said with sincerity that met his eyes. It was as if the boy had forgotten all about his early youth – if it hadn't been for the taste of ink that still lingered in Vernon's mouth, he would have thought the boy had forgiven him.

'Dudley is great, Petunia too…' Vernon mumbled. He managed to get out a broad grin, as if he was genuinely interested in the boy, and knew he had to act favourably for the onlookers.

'So, really good? Sounds exciting, Harry.'

Speaking the name of the boy was still foreign to Vernon. He preferred the term "freak".

'He is engaged to my little niece, Hermione Granger,' Mister Goodall explained. 'You might know her – they were good friends for years before they got together.'

'The nerdy girl with the teeth and the hair?' Vernon asked, before he could help himself. His wife's nosiness really was rubbing off on him. He noticed both the freak and his boss glare at him, so he smiled humbly.

'I mean...' he tried to salvage, 'that girl that used to hug you stiff every time we came to pick you up from... school?'

'The very same,' Harry nodded, coldly, probably angered by the way he described the weird girl he'd seen clinging to his nephew once or twice.

'I always thought you said your nephew went to an all boys school,' his CEO added. 'Because of him being a thug, and all that.'

There was a silence. The board was intrigued with the incredibly awkward situation - a welcome distractions from the DIY drill, probably. Vernon felt his excessive sweating return - he used the damp cloth to elevate his slowly reddening forehead, unknowingly smearing a green smudge over the surface just above his eyebrows, leaving a giant, green frown. The crowd began giggling again.

Vernon knew he was supposed to speak, but he didn't know what to say - he couldn't speak ill of the freak in front of his CEO, especially not since his niece would get married to his nephew! He began stammering, a coarse "uuhhh" leaving his throat, his moustache buzzing. It lasted for about 30 seconds - 30 long, long seconds, that had increased Vernon's heart-rate to alarming heights.

Then, he was saved. By the last person he expected a favour from.

'My uncle was obliged to tell a different story,' Harry spoke, softly. 'My parents paid for me to attend a very exclusive boarding school. It's a school where youngsters are trained from a young age to work in the ranks of the secret service. They did too, you see. And they wanted me to follow in their footsteps.'

Vernon couldn't believe his ears, especially not since Harry followed it up with the next dialogue:

"Petunia and Vernon had to keep my existence as much as a secret as they could. It was probably very hard for my uncle to paint me in such a bad light. He was always very kind to me."

Now he really wasn't able to speak. Mister Goodall looked surprised as well, blinking a few times.

'Isn't that right, uncle?'

Harry stared at him, almost flouting, but it was subtle enough for only Vernon te notice, so he took it with open arms.

'Exactly right, yes! That's - that's what the fuzz is about. My dear boy - again, it's amazing to see you, and I'd love to catch up-...'

'But you need to get on with your presentation, uncle. By all means, we're ready to hear about the main features of this drills...'

Vernon sighed happily and turned around to his board. He began rambling about the DIY drill again, until his son's voice popped into his head yet again.

"He was an ordinary kid... instead of taking him in and raising him, you bullied and abused him for years and years and years... Just because he was different... I am certain Harry bears the emotional scars of what you did to him..."

Vernon Dursley knew the freak had been a burden, but he hadn't been stupid. They'd handed Harry a golden opportunity to throw him under the bus. And he didn't take the bait. Why didn't he take the bait?

Maybe he was forgiving, or forgetful, or something along those lines.

Or maybe, just maybe, Harry Potter was waiting for something better. The marker had only been the beginning, right? What could the boy possibly have in store for him?

Then he remembered the owl screech.

The thumping of Vernon's heart increased once again as he knew that the worst was yet to come.