A/N: Sorry for the delay, rl isn't always the most accommodating. I also must confess to having suffered a bit of writer's block on this one, but hopefully it turned out fairly well – or at least interesting – just the same. It's short, unfortunately, but if I didn't post something soon, I knew I would lose the nerve to, and I'd hate to disappoint.

Chapter 7

Harry Potter was an extremely smart boy, but more importantly in his life up until now – he was also a fairly lucky one. Lucky that the first accidental magic he performed at the Dursleys that was witnessed was to help both himself and his cousin Dudley (even though the first magic he had performed had been a year before and involved making the mobile on his crib move in a way that rather frightened Dudley for some reason). He was even lucky that his aunt and uncle had given him a chance instead of loathing him on the spot. He was lucky that since Marge was technically family and had not been harmed or been effected directly by his accidental magic that the Obliviators had not removed the memory, which would have probably ruined much of the progress made on his part with the Dursleys. He was lucky Dudley liked being entertained in any form and thus saved himself from being a punching bag.

He was also very lucky that his Aunt Petunia discovered the madness that was Uncle Vernon's plan. While she had nothing against the boys being involved in sports or being athletic, Vernon was not the sort to watch them – leaving them unsupervised with weights and the like – and this only added fuel to her disapproval. She had insisted that four year olds were not old enough to be expected to follow through on his mad schemes. This was, of course, partially due to the fact she had watched and knew they did not, roughhousing in the center of the room while Vernon watched the telly.

Petunia did, however, make it a point to let them watch rugby and football matches, and even found a park nearby with a football field set up. Their Christmas presents from her were a ball and gear to play.

Despite his luck, Harry was still a very bright child, earning high marks for the most part that, while better than his cousin's, didn't spark any resentment. This no doubt had something to do with the fact Dudley's marks were not failing or even just average but something that could be respectively called 'decent'. Dudley, Harry, and Linda dominated their year, and despite the inevitable minor squabbles they held together pretty well. Dudley preferred lording himself over the other boys and stayed away from Linda (because she was a girl and therefore innately boring) but Harry didn't mind. At first, he had only stood up for her because she was being attacked and he just thought it was the right thing to do. When he had discovered just how many fun ideas she had though… well, Harry had decided that since she didn't act all flowery and 'girl' like, he didn't need to treat her like one. This was an arrangement that worked fairly well for all involved.

There were a few things that bothered Harry though. As the weeks and months passed, he noticed more and more of the world around him. While some of the changes made sense – like being able to write more easily and how the reading began to make more sense – other events did not add up in his mind. He had not made any progress on discovering whatever the Secret was, but there were quite enough other little mysteries to capture his attention. Things like Mr. Lupin being sick every month or otherwise incapacitated were things he had originally thought were coincidences, but now saddened him to worry about. If he had thought Mr. Lupin just wanted to be alone, that would have been one thing, but Mr. Lupin had always been open with Harry and his guardians, and he was pretty sure anyway that if he wanted to be alone Mr. Pettigrew wouldn't visit.

He would no longer touch the comic book he had gotten at Mr. Lupin's, preferring the Marvel ones with their normality. The occasional moving pictures unnerved him. Not because they moved, but because he had only seen the panels move when he was alone – it made him doubt his sanity.

Then there were the smaller things. Harry knew know that his dragon was not battery operated. He had inspected the toy quite thoroughly sometime after his fifth birthday and had found no sign of so much as a battery pack. Yet it could not be denied that the little dragon would move. There were other minor incidents; their minder's hair had turned blue just the other day for instance.

Most unnerving and distressing of all was the snake incident. When he had heard the snake snarling about two leggers invading his dominion, Harry and Dudley had both frozen. Originally, it had not occurred to him to question the fact the snake was talking so great was the mixture of fear and adrenaline in that moment. He had told the snake to leave them alone, that they weren't bothering him – a futile gesture in his mind, about the equivalent of 'nice doggie….' Imagine his shock and surprise when the snake had turned, looked at him for a moment, then slithered off saying something along the lines of 'as you wish'.

Now, being a fairly rational child – or at least as rational as he could be at his age – Harry rather thought that he had been imagining things. After all, everyone knows that snakes can't talk. And he certainly could come up with some odd things – flying motorbikes and humans who could turn into dogs.

Unfortunately for Harry's piece of mind, there were still plenty of odd things that he knew to be real. Still, he had tried to put the incident out of his mind, on the whole grateful that it had occurred as he and Dudley had gotten along fairly smashingly ever since. Before, while they had grown up together they were definitely cousins in their treatment of each other. Afterwards, they had grown to something closer to the line of brothers. There are some things that you just cannot go through without coming out the closer for it. To a four year old, a spitting snake was just as frightening as an armed twelve foot mountain troll. At least with the troll, there was bound to be some hope it was a nightmare – and if not, then some fairytales had it that they turned to stone in the sunlight anyway. But what kind of dunce would dream about being attacked by a snake at school when he'd never seen one before? No snake could be subdued by something as minor as a little sunshine either.

A closer friendship between the two boys and the later formation of their gang among their year mates was not the only result of the talking snake. For, as much as Harry wished to deny it, it had taken very little time for more snakes to find him. Barely a week past between each sighting of a snake at first, and although it eventually subsided, he could not refute the fact he was being visited by the creatures. They would come whenever he was out in the garden alone, and they would whisper things to him. Whisper of plans and possibilities, and talk of the earth and the life within her and then they would continue on their way, only staying their departure if he made a response or asked a question.

As the year passed, Harry tried to push all of the oddities out of his mind. He threw himself into football with the encouragement of his guardians and his friends. While Dudley was still keen on learning rugby, and while Harry was even a good enough sport about it to practice with his cousin and watch games, Harry's passion was football. He wasn't great at it – what five year old truly excelled at any sport unless the measurement of the child's play is taken with respect to it's age – but he enjoyed himself immensely, and that was enough for him for the time being. Dudley's interest in the game peaked after discovering its similarity to hockey – a ruthless looking sport he thought might be fun to play as well someday. Football was just the less bloody version with immensely different rules.

Alright, so football and hockey weren't really on the same playing field. To five year old Dudley, they both had goalies and they both involved trying to score with everyone else. The other intricacies mattered little to him. If he could master the concept of football, he could later master the concept of hockey. It was that simple in his mind, and possibly even in truth.

Petunia and Vernon were both rather proud of their charges. A new photograph had been placed on the mantel of a slightly slimmer Dudley attempting to give Harry a noogie after they had won a match of football (not played to regulations, admittedly) that Petunia had arranged amongst Harry and Dudley's gang and the neighborhood children. Dudley was showing promise of being a decent goalie, taking it as a personal offense if a ball got past him. His main problem – other than the obvious lack of experience and the slowly increasing skill – was that he often wanted to punch the ball instead of catching it, a habit that did not always work out in his teams favor.

At this point, the Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans had all been eaten or partially eaten anyway. Harry and Dudley's lists had been quietly picked up by Petunia and stowed away in separate folders she had fondly labeled 'Memories'. In this folder, she also began to store several snapshots of what she was slowly beginning to consider as 'her' children.

This idea of a true claim to Harry had begun slowly, but like most processes had been eclipsed by a certain event or chain of events. For Petunia, the conclusion of this idea formation had come as a bit of a surprise. The five year old Harry had come home from school with her Dudley clutching a sheet of paper, just like her son. Her first thought had been a grade report, but Petunia soon learned that, in fact, was not the case. Instead, they were simply holding their drawings from art class. The teacher had asked them to draw their favorite things to do. For Dudley, this had been his train set with two obviously happy blobby figures in the background (one rather stout and the other tall with a long face). His drawing had also included a figure guiding the train – most probably himself – and a smaller figure to the left side that appeared to be studying a rectangle (er, reading a book).

This in itself was enough to draw some attention. She certainly did not hate her nephew, but she had never thought of his inclusion in the family in such an obvious way before. He was always at her Dudley's side, and despite the rivalry, when it came to either of them being threatened, they would always band together and tended to forget about their differences even after whatever issue was resolved. Staring at her son's picture, she had to admit that she was rather… fond of the boy.

Petunia jerked away from the picture quickly, smiling to her blonde angel and assuring him that she would put it on the fridge at once. It was only after doing so that she turned to her nephew with a slightly pursed look, having forgotten he had a drawing too. Taking it from the suddenly shy boy, she blinked slightly at the crudely drawn scene in front of her.

Harry had drawn what appeared to be himself and Dudley in their football gear, but obviously after a game as it was inside, with the blonde Dudley flourishing a hammer and the dark haired Harry playing with his abacus. He also had drawn figures in the background. There was a thin yellow eyed (probably the closest he could get to amber) man who appeared to be crouching next to Harry, a round bearded figure with a plastic screwdriver in his hand in front of Dudley, and a smiling woman holding flowers in the doorway.

Petunia immediately recognized the scene, remembering how proud Dudley and Harry had been when they gave her... well, they were weeds really, but from their point of view the dandelions had been flowers. Rather than hurt their feelings, and honestly touched by the sentiment given the fact they were boys and tended to avoid any – well – flowery shows of affection, even with her. The only thing Petunia did not understand was why it looked like there was either a snake or a squiggle in Dudley's shadow or why there was a cat that looked awfully like Harry's description of his favorite of the cats that lurked around that crazy old… that is, the well meaning Mrs. Figg.

Later though, Petunia would look back and realize that was the precise moment she began to love Lily's son. She had begun the process of forgiving her little sister long before, the night she had found out the true meaning of betrayal. But it had taken a two simple child's drawings to coax out the complete forgiveness and to open her heart again.

Harry's life had grown better than ever, even including the mysteries and the Secret, save for one thing – Aunt Marge, for multiple reasons.

For one, she never seemed to really let go of the idea that Harry was abnormal, and she certainly never got over calling the small boy a runt. Petunia saw to it that Harry had regular meals and he had access to food whenever he wished for it, just like Dudley. Unlike his cousin, Harry simply did not take the opportunity except for the occasional joining in of tea and biscuits around three on weekends. This was not to say that Harry did not eat at all, simply not in excess, and it appeared what he did eat was put to other uses than growing. His muscles developed, as did Dudley's, from the increasing exercise of football and the play boxing and wrestling and heaven's knows whatever shenanigans the boys got into, but he simply did not grow much taller and certainly no rounder. Marge apparently thought this state to be enormously unhealthy for a growing boy, and this along with her still lingering dislike for him, meant Harry was the recipient of many caustic comments from the woman.

Vernon would later report to his wife that Marge had indeed asked Colonel Fubster about possible reasons for the strange episode she had witnessed. His baffled answer that he expected she was either hallucinating or that one of the boys (Dudley could have done it in reaction to Harry's request after all) had ESP. She had been even further flustered when she discovered that the Colonel had a lovely young bulldog who appeared to be growing into quite a fine specimen. She was only two or three, but Marge reckoned she knew good breeding when she saw it, but for some reason, the Colonel refused to tell her where he came across the dog, saying only she had been given to him.

This was of course, not the crux of the Marge issue for Harry. What she really did was constantly remind him that something fishy was going on. Something strange and decidedly unordinary and something he had yet to figure out. Moreover, while her constant spoiling of Dudley and disregard for Harry continued (lavishing expensive gifts on him and supposedly worthless books like encyclopedias on Harry – which wouldn't help him for a few years and he could actually comprehend them), the balance of the Dursley household was offset every time she visited. This eventually came to a head when she sicced her dog Ripper on the poor lad for accidentally tripping over her rather corpulent form. As if it was Harry's fault she had insisted on far more brandy than she could handle.

The dog took a little encouragement, but Harry soon found himself treed in the backyard. Marge was drunk as a lord at this point and refused to call the dog off. Vernon eventually took it upon himself to knock the dog out after Ripper started growling and debating attacking Dudley as well (who was attempting to help his cousin). Marge was hustled to the guest room and back home safely after an extremely quiet end of her visit. Vernon drove her back alone and returned with a somber but satisfied look on his face.

Oddly enough, one Marge Dursley had not been seen at Number 4 since, although she continued to send post.