R-Evolve: Attack

A vein in Vernon Dursley's massive purple neck was throbbing violently as he waited for his unwanted charge. The train that was supposed to be bringing his freakish nephew back to London had arrived, unloaded, and departed again nearly an hours ago, and the boy still refused to make an appearance.

Vernon cursed colorfully and glanced at the sparkling silver watch that engulfed his meaty wrist. He had taken valuable time out of his not-so-busy-as-of-late schedule to come and collect the brat, but the ungrateful boy had the nerve not to show up! Vernon consulted his watch again and tapped his loafer-clad foot impatiently. No one makes a fool out of Vernon Dursley, especially some orphaned freak. That boy would pay for this dearly when they got home...

A baby whale tugged at Vernon's sleeve and started to whine pathetically about ice cream. Vernon brushed the pink, pudgy hand away and twisted his ugly moustache nervously.

'Where could that blasted boy be? He'll be sorry for this, no doubt about that,' the part of Vernon's brain that was halfway intelligent thought.

As Vernon's beady little eyes scanned the station for a glimpse of any movement or any sign of life, his wife Petunia finally spoke up.

"Vernon, dear," she began, her large horse-like teeth making her voice resemble that of a beaver, "That boy hasn't shown up for over an hour. Let's just go home."

"Please Daddy!" A small whimper managed to escape the mouth of the baby whale, otherwise known as Dudley Dursley. "Harry's not coming. I wanna go home!"

"Do not speak the boy's name!" Vernon roared. Upon seeing the look that his wife sent his way, he calmed down considerably and continued. He didn't want to make a scene, even if the family were the only living beings at King's Cross Station at that time. "If that little freak doesn't turn up in another minute, we'll leave. Then that old Bumblefellow or something can't say I didn't try."

Vernon and his moustache looked incredibly smug. He could leave the boy here and not get blamed for it. His day, he figured, could not get any worse. Vernon clapped and rubbed his hands excitedly.

Suddenly, a swirl of black cloth attracted his attention. Vernon wheeled around, a vein nervously throbbing in his temple. But no one was there. A few seconds later, Vernon thought he heard faint footsteps echoing off a nearby platform. His beady eyes warily scanned the area again, more frantically this time, and he saw a flicker of movement. Vernon's eyes narrowed as he tried to focus on the outline of a figure, but it wasn't there anymore.

Somewhere behind him, Petunia and Dudley screamed. The last thing Vernon saw before he fell into the void of unconsciousness was a glowing flash of light and two glittering pairs of eyes that were laced with pure venom.

A pair of startling green eyes opened slowly and their owner cursed. Bright sunlight streamed into Harry's eyes, temporarily blinding him. He fumbled around for his glasses until he remembered that he didn't need the clumsy lenses anymore. His lover had paid for him to get his eyes fixed almost a year ago. The operation had been a recent breakthrough in modern magical science and it had been fairly controversial, but Harry had undergone the procedure nonetheless. It was painful, not to mention risky, but his vision was now better than perfect and he had no regrets.

Harry sat up and stretched lazily. He used one hand to stifle a yawn and used the other to toss the covers off of his naked form. Glancing down, Harry saw that he had a problem. A rather large problem.

Blushing furiously in spite of himself, Harry swung his legs over the side of the large and comfortable bed and stood up. His weary muscles protested- he hadn't gotten much sleep lately- and he stretched for a bit.

Harry, finally feeling at least somewhat relaxed, padded softly across the bedroom carpet until he reached the bathroom. He opened the door silently, slipped inside, and let the door click gently into place behind him.

Severus was startled out of his morning musings when he choked on his coffee. It was warm! In the background, he could barely make out the sound of a distant shower running.

'He's finally up, then. Thank Salazar,' he thought, relieved. 'At least I don't have to go wake him up. That would not have ended pleasantly...'

Severus let an uncharacteristic chuckle escape his lips as he sipped his re-warmed coffee.

'That boy really was a handful...' Severus choked on his coffee yet again as he realized his subconscious innuendo.

The black-haired man cast a quick tempus charm and realized that it was nearly one o'clock in the afternoon. He had been (heaven forbid) so absorbed in his musings that he hadn't noticed the time. He didn't realize it was so late already; half the day was already gone! Severus cursed and decided to hurry up his lover- they still had a lot to do today.

On his way up the stairs, Severus tripped on a shoe. As he fell to the ground, he cursed his luck. It looked like it was going to be a long day.

'Why the HELL is there a SHOE on my stairs?' Severus scowled and kicked the offending object, stubbing his toe in the process. 'Blast! Why do I keep making a fool out of myself? What do the gods have against me?'

Unfortunately for Severus, he was so preoccupied with mentally cursing the shoe that he wasn't paying attention to where he was stepping. Consequently, as he began to ascend the staircase again, he tripped rather ungracefully over the next stair.

After severaly minutes of what can only be described as humiliation, Severus reached the master bedroom. By now he was irritated and was in no mood to play games. Banging loudly and rather violently on the connecting bathroom's door, he shouted:

"What in Salazar's name are you doing, brat? You've been in there for nearly an hour! Get out! And WHY was there a SHOE on the bloody stairs?"

"Just... erm..." The rest of the sentence was muffled by the sound of cascading water. Severus wansn't in the mood for excuses anyway.

A series of thumps and loud knocking sounds followed the vague and inaudible statement and Severus could have sworn he heard the sound of glass breaking. Concerned, he threw open the door.

Harry had been in the shower for fifty long and steamy minutes when he heard banging coming from the general direction of the bedroom.

"What in Salazar's name are you doing, brat? You've been in there for nearly an hour! Get out!" The voice beyond the bathroom door sounded agitated, impatient, and not at all pleased. "And WHY was there a SHOE on the bloody stairs?"

Harry immediately snapped out of his blissful trance and shouted a generic response. He had been so involved in his... activities... that he hadn't even noticed the water had turned icy cold.

Harry yelped shrilly and tried to jump out of the shower so quickly that he banged his head on the shower's glass door and slipped on a bar of soap. As he fell to the floor of the shower in a pathetic heap, a bottle of shampoo fell onto his head and broke open, the viscous liquid running down his face and into his eyes.

The scene that met Severus' eyes could only be described as a disaster. His young lover lay in a crumpled mess, sobbing pathetically. There was a bottle of shampoo on his head and it was leaking shampoo into the boy's eyes. A split bar of soap was attached to the shower wall and miscellaneous bottles and vials were strewn across the floor. The glass of the shower's door was indeed cracked, but it was fixed with a simple reparo. Water still cascaded from the faucet, so Severus shut it off.

"H-Harry... what happened?" Severus asked, genuinely concerned. 'What happened here?'

Harry's answer was weak and barely audible: "Sev... we need to talk..." And then he passed out.

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