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Chapter 2: Harrypuffs and Diddykins
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Harry Potter had a quick wit. His eyes possessed intelligence uncanny for small children, and he seemed to comprehend the world around him on a higher level than Dudley. He had been the first to talk, crawl and walk. He absorbed things as a sponge, imitating persons around him with perfection.
It was too bad that out of all the skills he had copied, his favorite was Dudley's impressive ability to hurl food all the way up to the ceiling. Thanks to the toddlers turning the household into a battleground where eggs were flung as grenades, and peas replaced bullets, every ceiling and wall on the bottom floor had to be repainted once a month.
However, that was not what troubled Vernon and Petunia. What else were young boys supposed to do but commit some good-natured mischief?
The problem with the bright-eyed orphan was the fact that he simply refused to put on weight. While Dudders had his baby fat all in the right places, poor Harry was as skinny as girls were supposed to be. It displeased Vernon, thus Harry was now receiving triple portions.
It did not help.
Harry's first bout of accidental magic came with the age of three. For a reason unknown to anyone, Dudley grew angry with his favorite cream-colored teddy. His chubby hands separated the toy's head away from its body with a practiced motion (it was his seventh decapitated teddy), but what ensued this time instead of usual giggling, were the cries that deeply distressed his parents.
Harry, always the quitter one, observed his cousin as he proceeded to cry his eyes out. His small lips, which were always pressed in an expression almost smiling, quivered. Petunia thought the child was about to cry, something he had never done, but instead he hummed, a sound that made blood congeal in her veins.
It was a lullaby.
The lullaby, the one that Rose Evans used to sing whenever the sisters would grow restless.
The one Petunia had forgotten until now, the one Lily must had sung to her boy.
The mutilated teddy glowed in the softest yellow, and both Petunia and Vernon let out undignified whimpers. Petunia at least gathered enough wits to dash over to the windows, drawing the curtains before somebody could take notice.
Once the glow faded, the teddy bear was seamlessly repaired, head in place, the pale blue ribbon tied back around its neck.
"That's it, we can't put up with this frea—"
Vernon never said what he intended, for Dudley stopped to cry, a brilliant smile to challenge stars replacing the ugly grimace. He lifted his big hands and clapped in sheer joy.
Petunia and Vernon exchanged looks, worried, dissatisfied, yet somehow firmly resigned.
How to call it freakish if it made their angel smile?
First thing Harry learned about his aunt Pet was that she loved flowers. She tended to them, took pride in watching them grow tall and bright. She'd smile and talk to them as though they were sentient. She'd frown if one of them wilted or had its leaves chewed by bugs.
The second thing he learned was that she hated Mrs. Jameson two houses down the street because her bushes had sprouted flawless roses precisely that month when Petunia's were struck with some parasitic disease.
Some roses those were, all puffed up and velvety to the touch, glistening under the sun in different shades of crimson.
For two days Harry observed the blooming bushes, wondering what about them caused his aunt's jaw to clench and her eyes to darken with some emotion unknown to the young boy.
Perhaps his aunt did not like that precise shade?
Perhaps they had too many thorns?
Or perhaps it was because hers were shriveled in sad-looking clumps of darkened blood-red?
It was probably the last one.
Two more days Harry watched the offending bushes, a frown upon his tiny face as he concentrated his thoughts, portraying them lusterless, imagining the diseased veins spreading across the leaves, the glorious crimson gradually melting into a disgusting brown, as brown as the eyes of the boy who had wanted to usurp and ride Harry's new bike. Thankfully, his big cousin had been there to show the boy just how bad of an idea it'd been.
On the fifth day, the roses that tormented his aunt were nothing but an ugly mess of rotten leaves and discolored petals.
On the sixth day, his aunt's roses started to gain a healthier shade, ruptured leaves mending as though by magic.
That day, Harry was presented with the biggest chocolate cake he had ever seen (with loads of fudge and sprinkles on top!), and though that night he went to bed with severe stomach cramps, it was worth it. The cake was absolutely delicious.
Marjorie Dursley had a brother with a heart too good to be real, and a sister-in-law to match. Who else would have taken in an orphaned child, with knobby knees at that. It was all his father's genes, Petunia whispered so the boy would not hear, but the boy luckily inherited his mother's spirit. Or at least that was what Marge presumed, a woman as proper as Petunia could not have graceless kin.
She had at first been wary of the boy, but her dogs took an instant liking to the child. They slobbered all over him, followed him around, and dare say obeyed him as much as her.
The one who was loved by animals certainly was not a wicked spirit.
Marge would never love him as she loved Diddy, that angelic puff, but she was determined not to separate the children, until provided with a reason.
That Christmas, both Harry and Dudley received motor jeeps for children. Their joy could not be greater.
Vernon and Petunia thought it was a good idea to send the boys to primary school instead of tutoring them privately, which they had been considering in order to minimize the chances of Harry accidentally displaying his hocus pocus in public. They needed to work on their social skills if they wanted to get anywhere in life. Besides, Petunia secretly craved a moment of peace and quiet, which were a luxury with two boys blasting music, jumping on beds and battling with fake glowing swords.
Sadly, they were mistaken.
Two months later they were summoned to the headmaster's office and informed that the behavior of their boys was not up to the institution's standard.
Dudley was accused of trying to steal some boy's chocolate, while Harry was blamed of pushing the same boy from the swings after he'd reported Dudley.
It was nothing but a horrible lie, of course.
Dudley explained just how everything had transpired, tears as big as marbles in his eyes.
"I-I just asked him to give me a piece, mommy, I swear, a-and he was rude, told me get your own fatso…" The boy could barely proceed through the sniffles: "I-I might've tried to snatch it then, ma, b-but I just wanted it for Harry, you know how much he loves chocolate and you forgot to pack him any."
Both Vernon and Petunia were deeply moved by the kindness of their boy. Such a caring soul, always thinking about his cousin who despite all their effort, was still nowhere close to their Dudders in growth.
Harry openly admitted to pushing the boy. He said he had been enraged some low-class spawn had been going around badmouthing his cousin.
For the first time since they took Harry in, Petunia saw Vernon's eyes gleam with pride. The boy he had always only politely tolerated and treated with general reserve was repeating the words he had through years picked up from him.
Both boys were suspended for a week.
"It's an outrage, that's what it is! Punishing the lads for standing up for themselves and protecting each other!" Vernon thundered with all the might his lungs could muster. "What's the world coming to, Pet?"
Angry as they were, the worried parents could not do anything to influence the headmaster's choice. They could only console the wronged boys.
They decided to take the boys to London, buy them two of everything McDonald's had to offer, and let them spend the whole night watching their favorite movies and enjoying the wide assortment of snacks that had barely fit in Vernon's baggage.
It did not matter Petunia had to spend the whole next morning cleaning the mess that was the living room, discarded carboard boxes, forgotten, cold fries and dozens of snack bags eaten by a half. The children needed to be rewarded for doing the right thing.
If there was something Petunia hated about Harry, who according to Vernon, was going to grow up into a decent chap, it was the boy's hair. It refused to be combed properly, even after Petunia resorted to treating it with various hair products.
In the end, she decided to cut it short, not even an inch above the skin, cursing her late sister for laying with a man who could have pretended for the title of World's Messiest Hair. The fringe had to be kept, of course, so the poor boy would not have to flash that unsightly scar around and embarrass himself.
It was unsightly, tad too punkish for Petunia's taste, but everything was better than that bird's nest.
The next morning, when Harry descended for breakfast, Petunia noticed with a terrified thump of her heart that the boy's hair had regrown, if possibly thicker and messier than ever. Hoping that it was a one time incident, she cut his hair again…
Only for it to be back, this time in a shade of blonde to match Dudley's.
It amused Harry and Dudley to no end, and just as Dudley suggested that perhaps she could cut his hair too and see if it is gonna grow back on in some different color, or maybe even with curls, Petunia had to bring one of the hardest life decisions.
The boys had to be told.
She locked the doors, drew the curtains tight, and in a whisper that could scarcely be heard, relayed the horrible truth to the children.
Thanks to the genes that came from both of his parents, Harry could do magic. It did not shock the boys as much as she anticipated, then again, a month ago Harry had somehow succeeded to scream the television back to life after a short circuit interrupted their favorite show.
Petunia took great care to explain how serious of a matter it was. Magic was not normal, at least not to the people like them, and while she would always be grateful to Harry for his minor repairs and occasional resurrection of wilted flowers, it was something he needed to hide. Something nobody would understand and everybody would ostracize.
With tears in her eyes and stammer in her voice, she confessed her greatest fear of being shunned by everyone and forever branded an outcast because one of her kin was sadly unnatural.
Petunia expected Harry to show some of his parent's spirit and protest, telling her about the wonders of magic while gazing up to her with his mother's eyes. What the boy did instead, left her speechless.
Harry observed her for a long while, small lips pursed in deep thought. A determined expression ultimately appeared on his face, hardening his features into something so distinctly Lily's. Only she could appear so ready to take on the entire world when the need was great.
He bolted from his chair, which Dudley did not bother to stop from crashing onto the floor, and wrapped Petunia in the tightest hug she was ever given.
"Don't worry, aunt. I'll keep it down, I promise." A loopy grin widened his mouth. "Won't do me good to be naughty before Christmas, you know if I don't get that remote car too, I can't race with Dud."
"Hey, your father's a dud," Dudley grunted, throwing candies from the decorative bowl at his cousin (and missing by more than five inches), who just stuck his tongue out at him and let out a 'pffttt' sound.
Petunia laughed shakily at their antics, and patted Harry's back in an awkward motion. She had never lavished physical affection upon him, in fear that one day she would be forced to give him up, just like Lily.
But maybe it wasn't going to be the same.
It was all going to be good.
Harry often wondered why all the kids he knew had moms and dads, while he just had his aunt and uncle. Not that it bothered him in the slightest, his aunt and uncle gave him everything parents were supposed to, even more.
He doubted Brian's—the clumsy boy his cousin D often loved to chase around—parents could ever afford him brand-new leather gloves with insides of warmest fur. His uncle Vern said something about them being loafers who never had an honest day of work, and that was why. He, as always, was inclined to agree.
He was merely curious, and just like every curious child, he needed to ask. Aunt and uncle never mentioned them; all he knew about them was that they possessed magic Harry had inherited.
While uncle Vernon offered him a grunt, similar to that of a man choking on a fishbone, his aunt took on herself the duty to clarify things.
His mother and father were dead. Back in their world, the one where only people who had magic lived, there was a dictator called the Dark Lord Voldemort (Harry snickered at the name), against whom his parents rebelled. They were murdered as a punishment, and Harry was left with his closest kin.
Harry was soured with the news, after his initial excitement about his parents being badass warriors like in Star Wars waned. This was not some fantasy world, it was all too real, and his parents had been reckless enough to engage in some guerilla war. Uncle Vernon had always been saying how decent people kept to their business. Had they not been thinking about him, what could happen with their son in case they would die? What if aunt and uncle had refused to take him in?
He did not want to imagine himself as a penniless orphan roaming the streets and feeding himself from trash cans. He was lucky the Dursley's had took him in despite he was different.
He swore to himself he would never let them down. He was not going to risk being abandoned.
At the age of seven, Dudley Dursley was the most popular boy in and out of school. He was big-boned, tall, had the nicest clothes and was always the first to obtain whatever gadget appeared on the market. All boys, at least those that were smart, crowded around him. Most important of all, he had his luckiest charm: his cousin Harry.
While Dudley's mother had strictly emphasized Harry was in no way allowed to use magic, Dudley had persuaded the boy to break that rule many a time. Of course, Harry had always been more than careful, a trait Dudley himself never possessed, and nothing he'd ever done could've been traced back to him, yet the children had started to suspect that somehow, it had been always Harry.
Dudley never failed to win a card game when his cousin was around, the prize for which usually were collectible cards or toys. Everyone who pointed their finger at Dudley and dared to call him a lumbering whale, fatass, or threw other insults out of jealousy he was the biggest, most muscular boy around, ended up with nasty sores, stomach cramps, raging fevers, and in one occasion, a severe case of hair loss.
In turn, Dudley was more than happy to set in place everyone who'd ask Harry: "Where are your parents, freak? Got tired of your scarred mug and run away?"
Granted, Harry could deal with them on his own, but Dudley felt the need to repay the favor.
Big D and Skinny H were a team, after all.
Harry was not the prodigy child, but he had more than decent grades in all of his classes. He worked hard, not to the point of becoming a bookworm, god forbid, that would effectively cost him Dudley's company and his social standing, simply hard enough to please Pet and Vern with his report cards.
On the other side, Dudley hated studies, had no proclivity for anything but drawing. Harry wondered how Dudley was not worried about angering his parents, how he dared to risk his privileges? Certainly, there was going to come a day when they'd stop ignoring his lazy study habits and cut down his television time, or worse: confiscate his toys. Harry heard about other parents doing that.
He was determined not to let his cousin suffer such a fate, and so he found himself entasked with Dudley's homework. It was not an easy task, seeing as he had to paraphrase everything he'd written in his assignments, so the teachers would not catch them cheating. It was worse on the tests, where Harry not only had to do the aforementioned, but he had to magic the words to appear on Dudley's sheet, all the while making certain nobody could see.
However, the effort was well worth it. Harry was now getting the bigger part of the toys Dudley confiscated from the smaller, defenseless kids, and aunt Pet gushed through the whole neighborhood how positively brilliant her boys were.
Everyone was happy.
"I AM NOT GOING TO WEAR GLASSES!"
For the first time in all the years, Harry was throwing an open tantrum. His voice reached such a volume even Vernon could envy him on it.
"Harrypuff, sweetie, it's for your own good," Petunia tried to reassure him carefully. "You can no longer read from the chalkboard."
"I don't care!" Harry shouted, making sure to emphasize the last words. "Glasses are for nerds."
Glasses were for the kids Dudley hunted, the low steps of the ladder, kids nobody cared about, and Harry was one of the cool kids, had always been.
"Glasses are for people who need them, and you are one of those."
"Everyone's going to laugh at me."
"Surely they won't dare, sweetie," Petunia comforted him, giving him a rub on the shoulder.
"Kids always laugh at something," Harry muttered under his breath. "They're stupid."
"If somebody laughs at you, you can always tell me and Vernon. We'll talk with their parents and they will be punished accordingly." Once Harry did not show any signs of being placated: "We'll get you new rollerblades after glasses, your old ones are getting ratty."
Harry lifted his head from the bunch of crayons he was snapping in half as a stress relief, peering at aunt Petunia under his bangs.
"How about a new bike too? The one I have is too small for me now."
Petunia nodded with a wide smile.
"I'm sure we can work it out. Vern's getting a salary raise this month."
"Thank you…"
Harry grew quiet, having at least managed to get something out of this misfortunate situation, but his spirits did not lift much. The glasses were going to be a pain. He was not going to be able to participate in sport activities with ease anymore, and unlike Dudley, he loved them almost as much as playing video and board games with his cousin.
He proceeded to mope around for the entire day, occasionally breaking a thing or two. He was careful to pick stuff no one in the household was going to miss, though.
In the evening, when Vernon returned from work, and was explained everything, Harry received a pat on the back that was supposed to be comfort, but almost sent him hurling into the wall. The man needed to lose some weight. He was becoming a menace thanks to his sheer size, his son following in his footsteps. Not that Harry would ever say that out loud, he was too smart to provoke someone's fury. Angry persons did not give gifts around.
"So sorry, m' boy. Was hoping the bad genes are going to skip you, but your father had lenses thick as a jar bottom. Nothing to be done there."
At that moment, Harry started to hate James Potter just a bit. Were glasses and shame that followed wearing those the only thing he was ever going to have from his father?
It was not fair.
Albus Dumbledore required of Petunia to inform him about Harry's progress once in a month. He never had any doubt Harry would be treated well, but it was imperative to do something to placate Minerva, determined not to give an ounce of trust to the Muggles. There was Severus' fault in that, he had regaled her with the tales of Petunia's childhood jealousy, which in Albus' opinion he shouldn't have done. People changed, and Severus should know that better than everyone.
Petunia complied, under one condition: no 'freakish' birds. He was to use the Muggle post, a charming thing, but nowhere as practical as owl system. The letters he was picking from the nearest Muggle city were often belated.
By now, Albus had a sizable collection of pictures that showed Harry in various states of growth. Harry in his crib, Harry waving a plushie zebra at the camera, Harry's finally complete set of teeth, Harry's first device with wheels Severus informed him was a bike (Albus was sorry he was not a child himself to get one), Harry almost invisible under a pile of birthday gifts, Harry on a swing, Harry planting flowers alongside his aunt with a tulip tucked behind his ear, Harry as a part of the school's swimming team, Harry with the entire family in posh suits, him and Petunia barely noticable next to the… well, elegantly plump gentlemen.
Harry was wearing glasses in the last one, which endeared him further to Minerva. On the other side, it made Severus snort and mutter 'like father, like son' under his breath.
Both teachers were eagerly anticipating letters, though Severus would rather color his hair violet than admit it. He claimed he was merely interested to see what new thing the brat was spoiled with.
Albus knew better. He always did. Such was the fate of ingenious persons.
The newest letter, the one his colleagues gathered in his office to read, sadly did not have any pictures of the boy Albus was already considering dear.
It was full of Petunia's laments, who had been yet again denied access to the Potter's vault. Albus was sending them a sizable amount each month, the one Lily and James had put into Harry's growth fund, but it was not enough for Dursleys to purchase a new, bigger house.
Petunia was outraged the boys had to be cramped together in one room, because the other one was full to the ceiling with toys and books. It would be a sacrilege to get rid of their childhood memories, Petunia insisted. Albus allowed those memories as precious, but a full room of toys the boys appeared to have overgrown was an overkill.
She had tried to discard some of them, but Diddykins and Harrypuffs had been so distraught at the notion she had given up the reasonable solution.
Once the letter was read aloud, his colleagues were left in similar states of shock.
Minerva's lips spasmed for almost a minute, twitches of a person who might had as well ingested poison.
"H-Harrypuffs?"
It was a wonder to hear the no-nonsense woman utter such a sickeningly sweet nickname. If Albus were any less polite, he would have laughed.
Severus appeared to be positively gleeful, a smug sneer on his lips as he stated:
"Only Potter's brat could insist on having a room dedicated to his toys."
"Now, Severus, Harry's not his father," Albus chided softly. "He's merely a child, and they sometimes hyperfixate on most trivial things."
"He seems to be more like Lily, to be honest," Minerva added once she recovered from the stupor that nickname induced. She picked up the teacup with flamingos (Albus' favorite), and added with a smile: "I can't remember James ever showing an interest in flowers. Except his Lily-flower, of course."
Albus chuckled at the words, while Severus donned a sour expression. Poor man was never going to get over Lily.
"Potter wouldn't tell a dahlia apart from a cornflower even if they bore name tags," Severus remarked.
"The love for flowers is definitively from his mother's side. If I remember well, all Evans woman had a green thumb," Albus noticed.
Severus nodded.
"Lily's mother had a garden so vast I used to think she must had been magical to maintain it alone."
"Perhaps he's also going to inherit his mother's talent for potions," Albus speculated. He remembered Lily once mentioning that her sister had a penchant for chemistry, a Muggle science Albus found so similar to potions and alchemy. Harry too seemed to be good at the subject.
Severus offered him a look Albus knew all too well. It was the look of a man who dared not to hope, but craved it dearly.
"Potions are a delicate subject, and I'll certainly be relieved if he doesn't turn out a menace."
So typically Severus, downplaying any emotions with notes of disgruntlement.
"If he turns out a mixture of his parents' talents, he'll be good at pretty much everything," Minerva pointed out. "James was my best student, and had the poor lad lived long enough, he'd have surpassed my ability thrice."
"Or he'd have broken his head with his Quidditch stunts first," Severus quipped.
"Say whatever you want, he was just as bright as Lily. I'll admit it was a shame he was not more studious, though," Minerva said, taking a sip of her tea.
"Brat's probably not going to be either. I doubt he has much desire to study with all those distracting toys. I grew up with Muggles, and their children are just as obsessed with bicycles as ours are with brooms."
"Harry is doing very well at school," Albus interjected to sooth any qualms. "He's top of his class in chemistry and mathematics."
"It's good," Minerva puffed out. "I was so—still am—worried they'll spoil him too much."
"Minerva, the brat is already spoiled."
"Don't tell me you think James and Lily wouldn't have spoiled him too? Just a bit?" Albus questioned. James had been a scion of one of the richest Wizarding families, and had grown surrounded with nothing but luxury. Lily would have counterbalanced it with reason, but Albus could never portray the late girl as a potentially strict parent.
"I shudder at the thought."
"Either way, James had grown into a decent man with time, and even if somewhat spoiled, I'm sure Harry will too," Albus reassured them both.
He had made a right choice placing young Harry into the Dursley's care. They seemed to be quite fond of the boy, and Petunia took pride in him never disobeying them. Certainly, he was given too much, and asked for too little, but Albus was positive no expensive toys or uncontrolled dosage of sweets would ever rot the heart of gold the Potter's child was predisposed to have.
As his colleagues continued to bicker about Harry—Minerva insisted he was going to be her Lion, and Severus remained firm about Harry seeming to have a more Hufflepuffish nature—Fawkes thrilled sadly on his perch.
A/N: If you puked just a little while reading this, I'm totally not holding you accountable.
Lucy Elizabeth Dawson: Thank you so much! Am happy you like the idea.
