Part two of 'When they learned better".

I'm not late nu-uh, nope. Because I tried really, really really hard to post this. Like, really. But my doctors were being really mean. I think their overrating to be honest. It's like a person can't be admitted to the ER multiple times without someone suddenly acting like I've got a problem. We've established that part. And somehow they thought that all of their medical insight would stop me. Ha! Just because they did their entire, -just-pass-out-damnit-and-stay-still-or-we'll-turn-off-the-internet-we-are-not-kidding- eye threats, they thought I would stop?

Ha, please. Those poor poor amazing bastards. I've had three years of being ill to prefect this.

So yea, I'm not late. No throwing anything at me. Schedules are impossible. But this one is like, twice as long as the others soooo...

Chapter three: The Four Times it Took for Vernon Dursley to Learn Better

Angels were warriors, yes, but The Children of Heaven affected them all the same way. Fledglings, or hatchlings, or a smaller light, or the Newest Creations of their garrisons- whatever they were called, it was part of the angels greater design that, at the mere presence of one, some would drop everything and just coo.

Which could create a problem. They would be hidden under wings and played with, or just carried around while the elders slacked off. One or two could always be found wandering about in the barracks or the libraries, smuggled in. It wasn't allowed or course, but no one really paid it any attention.

And at one time, only an infant of Heaven could make Micheal and Lucifer tolerate each other long enough to get anything done. So many of the troops had resorted to keeping one or two under a wing just in case.

But that was before and this was now. And there hadn't been a one created since the dawn of man. And that little known fact had become almost unbearable. It was a common consensus that without them though, Heaven was quiet.

But then their Father had found one on the outskirts of reality. Which, had made him really rather angry about it. He commanded all the Host to come. And his words were absolute. He had given them one standing order.

Care for it. Now.

The Host weren't just shocked.

It was all out panic.

So, looking back at it, Vernon Dursley could have used that information.

The Host of Heaven were warriors who cared for their weak and untrained. Simple and straight forward... to a point. They didn't coddle- usually- or ninny, or sit around on a person's shoulder waiting at their beck and call. They were instruments of battle. Yes, there were fledglings and, yes, they had basic instincts when it came to them. But they were of conquest, and could be directed by sheer force of will into weapons that burned and seared and obliterated the very existence of their enemies. That was what they were. What they were purposed for in The Beginning. Angels were the first hammers to be struck down. And, of course, they were the means to an end to His will. The Host did not charge into war but simply instead laid waste to any who stood in their path.

But Vernon Dursley did not know any of that.

Which, probably, was why he was still doing what he was doing. Most likely he would have reevaluated many of his recent life choices, and focused on the now- slim- chance of his continued existence if he did.

But, seeing how he didn't know, that tiny really rather important bit of information, he was seconds away from a smiting. Or from multiple angelic blades slamming into his throat. Which ever happened first really.

So it was probably a very good thing that he didn't.

So, instead of panicking like he should, Vernon flipped through the yellow pages as he grumbled under his breath. It was the next morning, after all the windows were blown out in his house, and he was sitting at the kitchen table stewing. His face a permanent shade of red as he watched as his beautiful wife prepare breakfast. His wonderful little flower, his poor little pookie Petunia was twitching at the most random things. And she was also making breakfast instead of the boy.

Which, well, was weird.

She had been acting strange all morning. And, as he tried to find someone to come out and replace all those broken windows from last night, he couldn't help but think his wife wasn't being reasonable. Because, really, it was the next morning and instead of focusing on what mattered- his house was destroyed for gods sake!- he could only watch his beautiful wife prepare breakfast in disbelief. The most random things in the house spooking her and, even more annoyingly, he also noticed how she was refusing to look at him. Not once this morning did she even glance at his direction.

What in the bloody blazes was going on?

And so, as Vernon flipped through the yellow pages grumbling under his breath, he tried to find someone to come out and replace all these windows. He didn't stop himself from scrunching up his face and huffing.

Clearly the stress from dealing with that freak- his face purpled at the mere thought of him, the scrawny little thing was sitting silently across from him, with his head down and not moving an inch- had gotten to his wife. He was going to have to send her to a nice resort. Or something.

And even more so, after Petunia had thrown a book, a Bible of all things at his face and now she wasn't even letting the brat get his punishment! Every time he'd gone to correct the boy, or even shout at him a little, Petunia had made a b-line to head him off.

So now he was sitting at his kitchen table adding up all the damages, gathering all the broken things, and the boy was just sitting there! And he really couldn't quite well take it!

She was acting like nothing happened, fretting over the breakfast with shaking hands and a pale face, even as her hair was still scorched at the tips. He could still smell smoke in the house! He was literally looking at her burned hair!

On top of her own head!

... and she wasn't reacting at all!?

Vernon smacked a heavy hand onto the table, sneering as it rattled his cup of tea. And the boy flinched.

Good.

Clearly it was that sniveling little menace's fault, of course. Did that brat even have the slightest idea how much it was going to cost him to replace everything? How many question the neighbors were going to ask?

No, of course not, the freak probably couldn't understand basic English! So Vernon was done, so very absolutely done with his wife blatant stalling and all of this boy's freakishness! The solution was simple and straightforward, even if Petunia had made him wait until the morning to deal with it.

He'd use a heavy hand, like normal.

But, as he proceeded to yanked the freak up to his feet- just a sharp tug on the boy's scrawny arm really- he missed how his wife paled, or how the room suddenly seemed to close in one him.

Vernon Dursely was not ready.

The earsplitting noise that ripped through the house was so high pitched and terrible that it drowned out Vernon and Petunia's howls, both ducking under the table. They clasped their hand over their ears as they curled into protective balls, and It was such a terribly loud sound that, had the windows not already been broken, they would have shattered alongside every glass and plate in the kitchen.

The sound continued for almost a minute, until it cut off so abruptly that it made Vernon's ears ring and pulse in pain. He'd thought he'd gone deaf. And even an hour later he was still shouting and screaming as he tried to get his hearing back- snapping his fingers frantically by his ears.

Which meant he completely missed the petrified glances Petunia gave the brat at his table. Whom was still in his chair, a curious expression on his face instead of pain.

But really, the first time Vernon actually noticed something had changed, dramatically, was the following morning on Monday.

He was walking to his sedan, wheezing heavily as he jiggled his keys in his slightly too large fingers, when a hoodlum- one of those diseased filled homeless things, the lot of them- appeared out of nowhere and stepped in his way.

The man stood awkwardly in his driveway, blocking him from the driver door. How he didn't notice the man before Vernon didn't have a clue.

Vernon sneered as the man just continued to stare at him emptily. And it looked like the man, still in his early thirties, would rather be dealing with anyone else. And Vernon could agree. There was nothing more useless, more miserable than the scum of society. The homeless were just stumbling around idiots that took and took.

Vernon tried to ward the thing off by shaking his work case, growling as he kept his distance so not to catch whatever it had. But as he tried to shuffle around him there was a rather large problem.

The man wouldn't budge.

"God has a message for you." the man spoke up over Vernon's grunts and huffs and he frowned, thinking it over with a sigh. "Unfortunately."

Vernon shook his bag harder. Great. The hoodlum was also a foreigner.

Ugh.

"Out of the way!" Vernon hissed, his face rapidly purpling as he tried to wiggle out. "I don't give charity to the lazy!"

How had one of these things even gotten into the neighborhood?! Shouldn't someone had called the police before it could make it down to the better parts of town? Stupid rot of the society, stealing pensions from the hard working civilized folk and messing with the good people during the day! This is why there should be no homeless zones! Put spikes on the benches and on the corners of shop sidewalks he says!

The man just raised a brow, his posture completely still. Like a brick wall.

"He's so rude." Another voice started behind him, dryly. "And here I was, going to do the same greeting spill again. You know the entire, 'Hark, be not afraid' thing?"

Vernon spun around, so quickly that he saw double for a moment before focusing on another shorter man standing on his porch. His porch! And there he was, leaning against the front door to his house like he owned the place, while examining his pinky nail in fascination and completely bored.

"Get away from my house! You bloody thing!" Vernon screeched, and the second one looked up as the large vein on the side of Vernon's head pulsed, looking rather fascinated by it.

"Well never mind." The man huffed, "Very rude. I take it back. 'Hark, be afraid' asshole."

The first one sighed, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Go away." The first one groaned.

"Make me~!" The second one sang.

"How about the both of you get out of my neighborhood!" Vernon barked, trying to swing his bag like a weapon. "Don't you have somewhere to get nicked!"

How dare they be around normal people! They should stay in their section and keep quiet! Vernon spun around, shouting through the still not there windows.

"Petunia! Call the cops! Now!" He roared, swinging his arms rapidly as his wife's face appeared in the open window way.

Both men turned, staring him down with matching looks of petty indulgence and boredom, which somehow made them seem related as Petunia looked out- only for her eyes to promptly roll into the back of her head in a dead faint as she caught sight of the two. As the distant sound of his Petunia-wunia's body hitting the floor sounded in the front garden, all the hairs on Vernon's neck and back stood on end.

With a high squeak, Vernon noticed just how uncomfortably humid the air suddenly seemed to be.

"That's not polite." The man by his sedan hummed, as the temperature dropped dramatically.

"Extremely Rude." The man on his porch grunted, and the air became charged.

Vernon tried to scoff, tugging on his tight collar as his armpits soaked through, which was very hard to do right then. Seeing how all the air seemingly disappeared. And after a moment of hesitation he quickly sucked in his gut as far as it would go and shuffled towards his car. Stepping around the clearly drugged hooligans to get to his sedan, he didn't waste any time yanking his door open and hastily getting it.

He slammed the door shut, locking it as quickly as he could.

Good. The faster he was out of here, the better! Hopefully his wife would call the cops while he was at work at get them sent off somewhere. But as he went to start the engine, he had to freeze. His keys to the ignition, a the voice rattled the very air.

The first man stared him down from right outside his door and, somehow, even inside of his car Vernon could heard him clearly.

"Vernon Dursley," He looked almost bored as he raised a lazy fist, but his eyes betrayed him.

They were burning.

"Enough of that hard hand of yours."

With that Vernon reared his engine and sped away, almost running that one over he was sure.

He wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of wasting his time, so he quickly went about forgetting the entire encounter completely.

It didn't work.

The words were almost on repeat, following him around like a black mark for the rest of the day.

In less than an hour at work he had somehow destroyed both of his tea mugs he had stanched in his drawer. Then his pants ripped into two when he tried to stand up, the sound echoing through the room and making everyone stop and just stare.

Then he'd got frustrated with the printer and hit it at lunch time. Which, now that he knew, was a terrible terrible idea.

The bloody thing fell apart.

Into eleven different pieces! Eleven!

Then at three, right as he slapped the wall while laughing at one of Conner's jokes by the water cooler, the wall behind him caved in. Literally. And the floor. And then the water cooler fell through the not-there-floor.

He'd had to stand there, peering down into a giant hole with four other coworkers as his boss stared up at him from another level of the building.

He had thought it couldn't ever get any worse.

Until he got home.

He screamed when, as he tried to change the channel on his television, his finger went through the button and into the wood. Like paper. And then there was a loud fizzling pop as his wonderful television died under his hand.

His. Television. Died!

DIED!

Everything else was one thing, but this was another! That was his television!

He had raged and hollered for hours, Dudley beside him inconsolable as he sobbed in despair, and it wasn't until Petunia forced him to go to the store and buy a new one that he stopped.

So Vernon finally notice just how much of a change there was.

And he had a bloody good idea who was at fault! And, just two hours later after plugging in his new television, he grabbed the boy and decided to give him another lesson!

The chorus of agitated sighs heard throughout were muted by the sudden, and violent, explosion that erupted inside of the Shurrey residence. Though a few soul in their respective Heavens did notice what appeared to be a sudden random bout of thunderstorms in their happy place.

Officially the incident was reported as a small to moderate earthquake on the news, barely felt by people a mile or so out from the epicenter. And, after everyone quieted down after realizing there wouldn't be another one, the news returned to the more fascinating gossip of a cheating ex boy band member. Really fascinating stuff, really. And seeing how there wasn't much damage, and no one died, it was forgotten in less than a week.

Coincidentally, it was a week later after the "earthquake" that Vernon Dursely woke up in the hospital. His entire body was covered in a white cast and his legs strung up in slings, and he had the unfortunate time of having to deal with a really really, really ugly nurse named Bertha taking care of him. Who apparently didn't know her own strength as she washed him.

By hand.

So Vernon Dursely started reading that damn Bible Petunia gave him.