Disclaimer: I am borrowing from the creative mind of J.K. Rowling.

Rating: Rating: This story is M for a reason. There is crude content, foul language and violence in the story. If this offends you, don't read it.

Thank you to my beta Zarathustra46. If you have not read Vows, you should check it out. There are now three parts to the series. They are Vows, Duty and Honour. I have them listed as a favourite on my profile page and in my community, Melverne's Picks.

A/N: If you have read Hogwarts School of War Wizardry (a story I posted but removed), most of it is incorporated into this story. For more details on my ideas about the Harry Potter universe see my profile page. I am always looking for a good Harry Potter story to read. PM me if you have a suggestion to add to my community, Melverne's Picks.

Thicker Than Mud

Chapter 6: The bag of shite on the door step

Time: Summer of 1991

Place: Little Whinging, Surrey

Vernon awoke feeling much better after a full nights rest. The previous day had been a tad off. Some unannounced festivity had taken place. Weirdos were out and about on every street corner in the most outlandish garb. Men were wearing dresses and folk of all ages had cloaks of every colour imaginable. There were even bangers and other explosives going on at all hours of the day. Not to mention the ruddy owls crapping all over the place. The damn birds were supposed to be nocturnal. It had been a difficult day at best for Vernon. This day certainly couldn't be any worse or so Vernon thought. To top it off Vernon heard one of the crazies mention a name that he had hoped to never hear again, Potter.

Petunia had just made it through one hell of a day. She had been razed by what seemed like a flock of owls at the grocers. The damn things had been flying about all day putting her on edge. The constant explosions had irritated her darling little boy to no end. It had been impossible to put the little tyke down for his afternoon nap when the annoying bangers kept going off startling Dudley awake. He had been positively frightful the rest of the day without his nap. It had been an immense relief when the hooligans finally stopped setting off the fireworks. When Vernon came home last night he had been in a right foul mood too. Today would no doubt be much better than yesterday she thought as she went to retrieve the morning paper.

She opened the front door and took a step out. Her foot brushed against something, something that should not be there. Petunia brushed a long blonde lock of hair out of her eyes to peer down at the basket on their door step. Nestled deep in a swaddling blanket laid a messy black head. A scroll protruded near the handle in plain view. At once her expression soured like she had just tasted something rotten. With a shaking hand Petunia pulled out the scroll and shut the door leaving the sleeping babe on the doorstep.

Vernon came down stairs to find Petunia with her back pressed against the door like she was holding up a dam about to burst. Her cheeks had the distinct green hue of someone about to be sick. In her tightly clenched hand was the end of a scroll that had unfurled and rolled across the floor.

"What is it Pet? What's the matter?" He had asked looking at the odd correspondence in her fist. The writing upon it was like cursive but fancier and in a deep emerald green.

"My sister and her husband are dead." Petunia replied flatly.

Vernon huffed indifferently. He had not liked either one of them. They were much too nice for his taste. The bloke had been a handsome man. He was the slim athletic type with a cocky smile and an air of confidence that drew women like flies. His hair had been a disorderly affair that looked utterly ridiculous. A man everyone seemed to like and wanted to be in the company of. Vernon had learned to despise the popular boys like him.

Petunia's sister was a right pretty little bird though. She had startling green eyes that drew your attention and a smile that took her from nice looking to beautiful. The type of young woman you would expect to see on the arm of a chap like that. The Evans had been very proud of Lily and her husband. Both of them had been at the top of their class at some elite private school. Yes, Vernon had disliked both of them on sight. When he found out that neither of them worked it had made Vernon livid from envy. To top it off Potter had to be a rich little bastard. Well off enough that they only had to work if they wanted to. The Potters were two snobs with a lackadaisical attitude Vernon did not care for at all.

"Their baby was left on our doorstep."

"What?" Vernon choked out.

"Their kind, don't think like normal folk do. They have queer ways about them."

"Like the travellers or gypsies?" Vernon asked thinking about all of the weirdos dressed up like they had just escaped from the loony bin that he had seen just yesterday.

"Much worse than that, they are unnatural freaks. Believe me." She said with a shudder. Her face darkened with hatred. "I won't have that abomination in my home no matter how much they pay us."

"Pay? How much are they offering?"

"The monthly stipend for his expenses is more than you make. There is also some money to acquire everything needed to raise another child including a tidy sum of money to purchase a larger house so he has a room of his own."

Vernon licked his lips in anticipation. It couldn't be that bad to have just one more baby in the house. The monthly income granted for the brat's care was more than enough money to make up for Petunia staying at home to raise their little Dudley just like she wanted to. The fools are throwing money at us.

"Let's not be too hasty Petunia. The little tyke is your nephew after all."

Petunia shot daggers at Vernon with her eyes for mentioning that monstrosity on their front step was related to her. "Their ilk is of no concern to me."

"But sweetheart think of the things we could do with that money. Dudley could be raised as he deserves to be and you can continue to stay at home just like you want to."

Her resolve began to waver at the prospect of being a stay at home mother. "I don't know Vernon. The letter said he is one of them."

"It can't be all that bad. So he might look or act a little different. If it's a matter of his willy he's young enough to get that bit nipped off like we did with Dudley. You know so he'll look like other proper Christian boys."

"No, it's not that. They… well. They can do things you would never believe possible." Petunia struggled to say magic without sounding like she was barking mad. Lily had told her that they were prohibited from using magic in front of Muggles or even talking about it. Family members that knew of the Wizarding World, were not allowed to speak of it either.

"Like what?" Vernon asked getting frustrated.

"You'll see if we take that freak into our home," Petunia warned ominously.

Petunia turned and opened the door to her surprise an owl was perched upon the stair railing with a scroll attached to its leg. She knew it was further correspondence from them. Petunia had seen plenty of messages delivered to Lily and their parents. She heard Vernon come up behind her and place a hand on her shoulder. He looked out on the step taking in the basket holding the Potter brat and the owl peering at them expectantly. After a few moments the owl fluffed it feathers irritably and extended the leg holding the scroll towards them.

"Bloody hell," Vernon uttered in Petunia's ear.

"It's a message from them." Her hand lashed out to snatch the scroll afraid of being bitten by the creature. The owl fluttered its wings to reorient itself on the railing. Petunia screeched in fear and backed into Vernon pushing them both into the house then slammed the door.

She unrolled the second scroll. The contract outlined their duties for the care of one Harry James Potter. It described the protections granted to Harry's family upon accepting him into their household. At the bottom were two signature lines. The line for Harry James Potter was completed by a bloody fingerprint on the signature line next to his name. The other for Petunia was waiting for her signature. There was a soft pop when a quill suddenly appeared in the air next to the scroll. It hovered with a slight sway waiting to be used.

Petunia shrieked again and Vernon jumped back knocking the coat rack to the floor. Vernon began to have misgivings about his earlier statements. He was no longer so sure that he wanted the Potter boy in his home. What had Petunia called him? A monstrosity?

Petunia turned hesitantly to Vernon questioningly.

"How long do we have to keep him?"

"Until he reaches his majority, seventeen."

"Sixteen years. You said they could do things. More things like this?" He asked gesturing towards the floating quill.

Petunia nodded and started to recite examples with a slight smile upon her face. "I'm not sure what all he will be able to do. Lily could pick flowers that stayed fresh for months. Flowers would bloom when she touched them. Butterflies would land upon her dozens at a time. Leap from trees and flutter to the ground like a falling leaf. Then…"

"Then what?" Vernon prompted noticing that the slight smile on Petunia's had been replaced by a scowl.

"Her letter from that damn school came. Lily was whisked away and she came home with outlandish stories of a magical castle, ghosts and magic. A stern Scottish woman had visited to deliver Lily's grades in person. She had been so proud of Lily's accomplishments. The woman had allowed Lily to use her wand to do magic. Lily turned a handful of buttons into beetles and half a dozen needles into matches. She even levitated the coffee table. My parents were so pleased."

Petunia was too wrapped up in her tale to notice the look of outright disbelief on Vernon's face. Yet he would turn an eye to the quill that appeared out of nowhere floating in the air mocking him. Vernon picked up a brolly and waved it around the quill in a circle trying to find an invisible wire. He even looked around for a hidden camera. It was a desperate bid to come to terms with what he was seeing.

Watching her husband's antics with the floating quill irritated Petunia. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Are we taking it in or not?"

Vernon hesitated. Petunia was quite clear in the sentiments she had towards the Potters. Yet she was tempted by the gain of bringing the boy in. He was more than in favour of accepting the little bundle of money on their doorstep. The boy was just a baby. They could make him mind. All they would have to do is clearly lay out the expectations. It would be inconvenient to have him around but they could do it. "Yes. We can deal with anything that comes up."

In a sudden rush, Petunia grabbed the quill, slapped the scroll against the wall and scribbled her name as fast as possible before she could change her mind. The instant the quill hit the paper there was a sharp pin prick of pain upon the back of her hand. When Petunia was finished the untidy scrawl of her rushed signature appeared on the back of her hand. A low hiss of pain escaped her lips.

Vernon stared at the back of Petunia's hand taking in the signature that appeared there and the matching blood red signature on the paper. The scroll wiggled out from under Petunia's hand rolled up and vanished along with the quill. His wife ran to the water closet and was violently ill. Vernon stood in the hall occasionally offering support between his own morose thoughts. Petunia scoured her hands until they were bright red and then rubbed an ointment into the signature on the back of her hand.

Glancing at his wrist watch Vernon realized that he was now late for work. "I've got to get going Petunia. I'm late for work." He said apologetically heading for the garage.

In a daze Petunia watched Vernon leave. She heard the back door close and listened to the garage door open. Their car started and Vernon backed down the drive. His tires squealed a bit when he hit the street and again as he sped away from their home. Several more minutes passed before Petunia reluctantly returned to their front doorstep. The basket was still sitting there with the paper next to it. "Where is a wild dingo when you need one," she muttered staring down at the sleeping baby.

She sat Harry down in the lounge and rooted through the basket her nephew arrived in. Surprisingly there was a full set of documents including the birth certificate for Harry and guardianship papers. It would make it simple to add the orphan to their family.

Soon after Harry had been brought into the house the trouble began. Harry had cried from the moment he woke up. The boy never had a single moment of silence. He continuously cried. Until he grew hoarse but even then the tears continued to run from his eyes. Petunia had been sure it was because of the inflamed red scar on his forehead. It was hot to the touch and seemed to pulse beneath her fingertips. It was fortunate that Harry had come with the appropriate paperwork because they soon took him to the paediatrician. Unfortunately they could not find anything wrong with the boy and they would not prescribe anything to help him sleep. So Harry had cried and cried. It drove Vernon crazy and he started to frequent the pub to escape.

They had just moved into their new home and Vernon needed to get away. He departed late one Saturday night after having had enough of unpacking. Harry was still wailing away somewhere in the house.

The brat has a set of lungs on him. I'll give him that but I wish he would just shut the bloody hell up. This was Vernon's last thought to himself as he slammed the front door on his way out. He stalked down to his auto, revved the engine and peeled out of the driveway. "To 'ell with the bloody neighbours," Vernon muttered as he fumbled with the radio stations.

A pair of cold black eyes deep within the shadows of a neighbouring yard watched Vernon back his car up. Once the man was clear of the driveway and in the street a pale hand emerged from the black robes of the watcher. A quick flick and stab of the wand set a tracking charm upon Vernon Dursley. The hand disappeared and the figure seamlessly merged with the shadows once again.

Vernon pulled away oblivious to the eyes watching him and headed for the pub he had found a few blocks away. The patrons were from the surrounding area, a much nicer neighbourhood than they had lived at before, and were a better behaved lot as a whole. A lone telly ran behind the bar playing the latest football game, boxing match or news broadcast. The place was neat and clean, a real family friendly establishment. At this hour everyone was here for a stout lager though.

After finishing off his second drink Vernon hit the loo. He had only been gone an hour and intended to be away until much later when the brat had exhausted himself and passed out or was to hoarse to cry anymore. Plus, there was always the possibility that he could drink himself into a drunken stupor then it wouldn't matter if the kid was next to Vernon's head screaming his lungs out. Vernon stopped at the bar for another round and to watch a bit of news before returning to the table he had claimed.

When he returned to his seat another person was sitting there. It shouldn't have been a surprise for a Saturday night. The pub tended to be a bit busier on the weekends after all but someone taking his table just didn't sit right with Vernon. He stalked over to the table blinded by his momentary rage. His inebriated state did not pick up on the fact that everyone in the pub seemed to be avoiding the stranger dressed in black. Vernon slopped some of his lager on the floor as he began his rant, "Look you. This is…"

Vernon lost his enthusiasm for barking at the stranger when he turned his black eyes on him. The man was obviously unimpressed with the speech. He even managed to look like he was peering down his hooked nose at Vernon even though Vernon was the one standing. His shiny black hair, while greasy, was neatly pulled back revealing his gaunt facial features. The stranger's lip curled back in a sneer when he answered, "You were saying?"

The big man stood dumb struck. There was something unsettling about the stranger at the table. It was quite unusual for anyone of their age to be dressed all in black. But that was the only thing Vernon could place his finger on. There was more and it was avoiding him at the moment.

Seeing that Vernon was at a loss for words, the man gestured to the chair across from him. "Why don't you join me?"

Dumbly Vernon sat down without comment. Remembering the beverage in his had Vernon took a long drink and wiped a meaty paw across his gob. His ability for speech along with his manners were forgotten. They sat silently working on their pints. When their eyes met Vernon felt his head spun for a moment.

"My name is Steven," the man finally introduced himself.

Vernon came out of his stupor when the other man spoke. He shook his head slowly realizing his companion had introduced himself with a generous amount of self import Vernon replied. "Vernon Dursley, I'm a director at Grunnings."

"I am a chemistry professor at a private school," Steven answered sensing that it was important to Vernon to establish credentials.

Steven flagged the barmaid for another two pints as the two men got to know each other. After a few drinks with Steven, Vernon was flapping his gob about everything going on in his life, including the bag of shite left on their door step that the perpetrator forgot to light on fire. He complained of how the awful Potter brat kept crying and how it was driving him mad. His irritable nature and how he had begun to snap at his subordinates.

"Have you raised your voice to Petunia or your son Dudley?"

"Yes," Vernon miserably replied with a shameful face.

"It's not their fault."

"I know," Vernon whinged with his head hung over his drink contemplating its colour.

"Have you raised your hand to your wife or child?"

"No, I would never touch either of them."

"You're a good man Vernon but you need to take control of the situation. The Potter boy is corroding the foundation of your family. If he will not welcome the care you are giving he needs to be isolated. It is a sickness that cannot be allowed to spread to your loving family."

"But we agreed to take the boy into our home."

"True, but did the contract specify that anything other than the basic necessities needed to be provided? He is an obligation. If he will not appreciate the happiness you offer, than focus on your own family. You have agreed to provide food, clothing and shelter. He only needs enough food to keep from starving. The clothing does not need to be fancy or even new, anything that covers his body is fine. A roof over his head is the only shelter he needs."

"He's just a baby."

"For now, but he will grow up. Set his expectations low. Do not cater to his whims. If he deserves better then give him more. Make the boy earn his place; otherwise, it would not be fair to your own flesh and blood, your only child, your son, Dudley. The boy is nothing more than a return on investments at this point. You need to assume the worst. Petunia's sister and brother-in-law were estranged for a reason. Bad blood is bad blood after all. Don't let the little monster run your house."

"Damn straight he won't." Vernon slurred back before hammering down the rest of his drink.

"As for the crying if the doctors reported him healthy it could be the boy's colicky nature. Find someplace dark and quiet. Isolating him could calm him. It will definitely help you to keep your temper under control and your sanity in check."

When Vernon woke up the next morning he couldn't remember how he got home. His head was pounding something awful. At least he had slept peacefully until nearly eleven o'clock in the morning. The sunlight shining in his eyes didn't help any either. Simply turning his face away from the windows set his stomach churning. Across the hall the woeful cries of a fifteen month old boy was getting louder. Vernon groaned and buried his head with pillows hoping to drown out the noise but peace continued to elude him. His blood quickened as Vernon's irritation grew. If he had not been nearly incapacitated from his night on the town Vernon might have wrapped his hands around the kid's neck. "Petunia shut the bloody brat up!"

His shouting just made Dudley start to cry as well. Now both of the little boys were crying. He could hear Petunia making quiet shushing noises to Dudley trying to assure their son that everything was all right. Snippets of last night's conversation started to seep through. Vernon rolled to the side of the bed and forced himself to sit up. "Petunia?"

"Yes Vernon." Petunia poked her head in before cautiously entering the room. Her arms were full of a sniffling Dudley. Their baby boy timidly raised his eyes from Petunia's shoulder to quickly sneak a peek at his Dad. Dudley's little cheeks were streaked with tears. After that brief moment Dudley turned back around and buried his face back in his mother's shoulder.

"We cannot keep carrying on like this."

"I know but what can we do. He will not be still and it is taking its toll on all of us."

"We could move him downstairs to the guest bedroom." Vernon replied carefully watching Petunia's reaction. She was very protective of Dudley and he wasn't sure how Petunia would react to his suggestion of moving her nephew to the first floor bedroom.

"All right, let's try that."

Vernon blinked once in surprise. "All right then. Let's do it."

They had started by moving Harry downstairs to the guest bedroom. When his piercing scream continued to irritate them, they shut his door. With Harry downstairs the noise was almost tolerable. Harry's old bedroom became storage for the growing number of things they bought for Dudley. The only problem with the arrangement was when Marge came to visit. Marge lived far enough away that it wasn't practical for her to stay for just one day. Vernon wasn't about to give up his office, he did too much work from home. Nor did they want to constantly take down the crib and move it every time they had a visitor. Taking his bar acquaintance's advice Vernon proposed moving Harry into the cupboard under the stairs. Petunia's only reply was to walk over to the crib and pick up one end and wait for Vernon to get the other.

Vernon's new found friend had been right. Once everything had been arranged the way they wanted it, the whole family was sleeping better. Even Petunia was in a much better mood. It had been a strain for her to accept Harry into their home. After all it was the Potters who were responsible for the death of Petunia's parents. When he had asked why the boy was not sent to his Grand Parents, Petunia had replied that they had been killed as well. The Potters had become involved in something that resulted in the death of nearly all of their relatives. Petunia loathed her sister and brother-in-law. Vernon had not been surprised at all the boy's ilk were of the worst sort and deserved their ill fates, in his opinion. They didn't even hold decent jobs just like those gypsy people that lived in a trailer somewhere and swindled good honest people out of their money. It called into question where the monthly stipend was coming from. Vernon's dodgy ethics didn't keep him from accepting the money for taking care of Harry though.

Things had been running smoothly for the first few months until the brat learned to climb out of his crib. Harry had scared the living shite out of Vernon one night. The boy knew that he was not allowed upstairs under any circumstances. They had to beat his arse a few times for climbing on the steps but he learned to stay away. So why the hell the boy thought it was acceptable to come upstairs was beyond him. They had just gotten comfortable after Dudley padded in and crawled into their bed when the thunderstorm began. Petunia had soothed and comforted their son until they were sleeping peacefully. There was some heavy rain, strong winds gusting about making the house squeak, lightning and thunder. It was during the lightning that he saw a pair of eyes level with the bed staring at him that scared the piss out of Vernon.

Vernon was so mad he took a brush to Harry's arse before marching him back downstairs. He dropped Harry back in his crib and slammed the door shut. After a moment he locked the door. For safety reasons they had agreed to never lock the door but Vernon was mad as hell after getting scared like that. If the boy now knew how to get out of his crib who knows what else he would get into. Vernon walked around to the steps when a flash of lightning illuminated the room. A crash of thunder that shook the whole house quickly followed. Vernon's foot barely touched the first step when Harry started to beat his tiny fists on the door screaming bloody murder. Vernon stomped back to the cupboard and wrenched it open. A small figure hurtled out of the cupboard and wrapped its arms around Vernon's knees nearly knocking him down. After gaining his balance Vernon pried the boy loose and let Harry have it with the brush again. When the boy was lying on the ground crying Vernon said, "shut your gob and be quite or you'll get more of the same."

Now that they had started to lock Harry in the cupboard at night Harry did not like it at all and would start crying the moment they put him in at night until he cried himself to sleep. Petunia started to shut him in there when Harry disobeyed as well, which grew to include, anytime that Harry or more importantly Dudley cried. When the boys out grew their cribs Dudley got a big boy's bed. They threw the old baby crib mattress on the ground for Harry.

That summer Vernon had run across Steven again. They were deep in their cups when Vernon confessed his handling of Harry may have been a bit heavy handed. The boy was probably just as frightened of the thunder storm as his little Dudley was. Steven had listened, nodded his understanding and advised, "You will not regret this later. A stubborn child must be dealt with decisively. The boy knew he was not allowed upstairs. Children will make you feel guilty for the littlest of things. Do everyone in your household a favour and teach the brat respect."

Vernon continued to see Steven every few months. Normally during the hols when the schools were not in session. Steven had been very accepting of everything Vernon told him over the years, including the first year of primary when Harry had received top marks in school. That day had enraged Vernon like no other. His own son, Dudley, had barely passed and the teacher even recommended holding him back a grade. Vernon had beaten Harry to the point that he passed out. They had thought about taking him to the hospital but they held out for fear of what would happen. It had taken three days before Harry could even get up without help. The boy had an impressive pain threshold, capacity to take abuse and an even more amazing ability to recuperate. Petunia believed it was his freakish nature at work. When Vernon told Steven about how he lost control, Steven only expressed concern for Vernon's family. He had asked if Dudley and Petunia were injured. That was all that mattered. They had never wanted the boy and he would be out of the Dursley home when he came of age. Dudley and Petunia were family and should never be the target of his ire. If Vernon needed to vent his frustrations then use the unwanted child. It was better than taking it out on Dudley or Petunia. Steven knew the score and appreciated what Vernon was going through. He always had solid advice for Vernon.

Vernon was once again at Mickey's Pub in the summer of 1991.

"My boy is growing up," Vernon announced boisterously to the pub and raised his pint to the answering cheer. Most of the patrons couldn't stand Vernon Dursley but this was the second round of the evening he had paid for. He could have been shouting kiss my fat arse and they still would have cheered.

Vernon navigated the busy establishment making his way to the table he shared with his old drinking mate, Steven. After a few pulls on his lager, Vernon pulled out a handful of pictures. All of the pictures were of a gaudy orange and maroon beach ball. "That's my boy," Vernon gloated.

Closer inspection did indeed reveal that the pictures were of a rotund boy in a ridiculous maroon tailcoat, orange knickerbockers and a goofy straw hat. In most of the pictures he held a walking stick. The pictures brought back happy childhood memories for Vernon. He was so proud that Dudley would now be attending his old alma mater. Seeing Dudley strut around in the school uniform had been one of the proudest days of his life. Vernon laughed out loud spraying some of his drink in Steven's face. The man scowled and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe off his face.

"Sorry ol' chap. I couldn't help it. I was thinking of how Dudley had promptly turned on Harry and whacked his arse with that knobbly stick. You should have seen the boy jump."

Vernon snorted in mirth and had to wipe an eye. He could still hear the sound of the stick whistling through the air and the sharp crack when it hit Harry. It was like music to his ears. The smack was a right bloody good one too. Harry had jumped about a foot in the air and rubbed his arse for a minute. The Dursleys had all had a good laugh at that. Dudley was a natural Vernon didn't even need to tell his son the knobbly sticks were used for hitting each other when the teachers weren't looking.

"What about the boy? Where is he going to school?" Steven asked with a note of curiosity in his voice.

"Him? He's going to Stonewall High if they will have him. His scores were barely enough to finish the grade he was in." Vernon answered with a scowl. Today was a day for him to be proud of his boy, Dudley, and he did not want to talk about the freak. In the back of his mind Vernon was hoping and praying that Harry would not be given an alternative.

"I just thought he might be attending school with Dudley. Didn't you say Lily had gone to a prestigious private school? The students had to have certain qualifications to even be accepted."

"Well yes there is that but I don't think it will happen." I hope I beat that nonsense out of him. It's been quite a while since Petunia or I have seen him do anything unnatural. Well the other day when he had been picking up those ruddy snakes again. Petunia said it's just plain creepy to hear him hissing to the snakes and watching them slither right on up to him. Not to mention the conversation with nobody but him around, the boy is a nutter.

"Oh?"

"He hasn't got a letter of acceptance anywhere else and we sure didn't apply on his behalf." He better not get one from Lily's school either.

o~o~O~o~o

After being ambushed by Dudley and his crew shortly before Dudder's birthday, Harry started taking different routes to the Library. He knew that depending on help from anyone was foolish. Not that Mrs. Figg's timely intervention wasn't nice, Harry just couldn't count on her being there every time Dudley assaulted Harry.

So Harry took the simple precaution of leaving for the Library in a random direction. He never managed to shake the habit of leaving as soon as the chores were done. The desire to be away from the Dursleys was just too great. The lure of the book Ms Lyon kept behind the counter for him was also an incentive. Harry rushed through his labours, so he could spend more time at the Library reading about Hogwarts.

One day, after Harry took care of Mrs Figg's yard he sat at the table across from Mrs Figg eating lunch with her. He was more animated and carefree than Mrs Figg had ever seen Harry. His legs bounced jubilantly beneath the table shaking the plates and cups. She didn't have the heart to tell him not to talk with his mouth full or to sit still.

"The Four Founders were the greatest witches and wizards of the century! There was Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw. It was Helga Hufflepuff who summoned the others to forge an alliance to create something greater than any single one of them could achieve on their own. She was the mortar of the Founders. Helga kept the peace. You get that many powerful people together somebody's gotta do that, right?"

"Yes, Harry. You're absolutely right. How about the others? How did they work together?" Mrs Figg asked the excited boy. At once her thoughts turned to how Harry had managed to get a copy of a History of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Well Godric Gryffindor was brave. He carried a sword and fought with it too! It wasn't just magic. Rowena Ravenclaw was a sage of many topics and top notch witch. Salazar Slytherin was a formidable wizard who appreciated being subtle." By this point in his story Harry had finished eating and was pacing back and forth across the kitchen waving his hands about excitedly. Mrs Figg had never seen Harry in this state before and found herself asking him questions to keep the boy talking. She was greatly relieved to see him acting like a typical ten year old boy.

"Don't you mean sly, Harry?"

"Um, no more like being crafty or smart about how to get people to do what he wanted. It was his idea to keep Hogwarts hidden from the real world. He even had a protector for the school."

"Is that how it ends?"

Harry looked up at Mrs Figg and smiled again. "No, there's loads more, I still haven't finished it."

"Which Founder do you like the best, Harry?"

"I think they're all great. Hogwarts wouldn't have been the same without even one of 'em. It's like I said, Hogwarts was bigger than anyone of them. Together they were greater than. . . well, pretty much anything."

Harry cleared the table and washed the dishes humming to himself as he weaved dexterously around the hoard of cats. Once in a while he would pick one up and give it a good petting until he was finished cleaning everything up.

"Do you hear that Harry?" Mrs Figg asked when he was done.

Harry cocked his head to one side and listened. "Hear what?"

"I think a book is calling your name."

A roguish grin lit his face. "Thank you for lunch, Mrs Figg."

"It was my pleasure young man. Good bye, Harry."

"Bye!" Harry waved and bolted out the front door. The door banged shut behind him as Harry sprung lightly down the steps. He was building up speed, suddenly in a rush to get to the Library and the waiting book.

A sharp whistle pierced the air as Harry hit his top speed running past the park. He looked around to see Dudley and his friends in the park watching him.

"Hey, Harry, come here!" Dudley was waiving his Smelting stick motioning Harry over with it. Harry wasn't a big fan of the Smelting stick. It was one of Dudley's numerous birthday gifts. Evidently the boys at Smelting took turns whacking each other with the sticks. Vernon said it built character and actively encouraged Dudley to take swings at Harry with it for practice.

For a second Harry was tempted to give Dudley the finger. Instead he laughed bitterly.

"Come on, Harry."

"Yeah, come on, Harry," Piers parroted.

Harry shook his head. "No, thanks." He turned to leave.

"You sure? I've got something for you. Actually it is something of yours." Dudley smiled and held up Harry's cigar box.

The ache in Harry's stomach felt worse than the time Vernon lost it and punched him in the gut. Harry felt the sandwiches he ate for lunch swell against the back of his throat. It was all he could do to force himself to take the next laboured breath and keep his lunch down. "No," Harry whispered.

Piers shouted in his best game show host voice, "Harry Potter, come on down!"

Harry dreadfully shuffled off in Dudley's direction compelled to obey. His eyes locked on the box in Dudley's hand. Dudley turned away from Harry and walked further into the park. Piers mockingly bowed low to Harry as he walked by.

Dudley talked as they walked along. "You know this was our last year of school together. Next year the only time we'll see each other will be over the summer hols."

They stopped at the picnic tables. Dudley sat the box and his cane on the table then picked up a bag of quick light charcoal. He tossed the bag in the grill and lit it. "I thought we should do something special to celebrate."

Harry plucked at the tail of his t-shirt nervously as he watched Dudley pick up his Smelting stick again. The stick whistled as it whipped through the air. "Dad says I need a little practice. How about it, Harry? Wanna help me out?"

Harry staggered a few steps when Gordon smacked him hard on the back with his hand. "Yeah, give us a hand, chap," Gordon teased.

"May I have the box back afterwards, please?" Harry politely asked. With the Dursleys it was always best to be as polite as possible. He knew something bad was going to happen no matter what he did. Sometimes if he was polite and humble, it wasn't too terrible.

"That depends," Dudley replied leaning on his cane.

"On what?" Harry replied playing Dudley's little game.

"If you do what I tell you." Dudley grinned evilly.

Harry looked at the box and then at Dudley again. He wondered what could possibly be worse than what Vernon or Petunia have done to him. After a second, he knew Dudley had him. There was nothing he wouldn't do to get his only possessions back. "Fine. I'll do whatever you tell me to do."

"Make him take it on the bare!" Piers burst out helpfully.

"Right - O. You heard Piers. Drop your drawers," Dudley commanded.

"No," escaped Harry's lips before he could stop himself. The low gravelly voice seemed to come from a stranger.

Harry jumped when Dudley's Smelting stick cracked down on the cigar box caving in the lid and blowing out the sides. A piece of blue paper poked out the side of the box catching Dudley's attention. "What's this?" His plump hand snatched the paper out of the ruined cigar box.

"Please Dudley. Really I'll do whatever you want." Harry choked out as he hastily unfastened his belt.

Dudley shook out the report card that Harry had dug out of the rubbish bin and pieced together years ago. His eyes narrowed seeing the grades. "Think you're a smart little prick, don't you? You're just an unwanted orphan. Nobody else would take you. So we got stuck with the freak."

Harry let his pants drop around his ankles. "Dudley, please. Let's just get this over with."

In a surprisingly swift move for someone of his size, Dudley rounded the table and struck Harry across the face with his stick knocking him to the ground. The blow shattered a lens on Harry's glasses and snapped the bridge in two. A red welt swiftly raised on his shocked face. A tear leaked from Harry's eyes and he let out a low painful howl. Harry covered his face with both hands, rolled over rubbing his head in the grass and kicked his legs out behind him in agony.

Dudley lashed out with the cane. -SMACK- "You don't ever," -SMACK- "ever," -SMACK- "tell me what to do," -SMACK- Dudley shouted caning Harry across the back. The Dunderheads paused awkwardly at the explosion of violence from the now purple faced Dudley.

Dudley walked back over to the grill and watched the fire consume the bag. The flames licked hungrily at the air. He tore the report card in two to get Harry's attention.

Harry whipped around at the tearing sound. Tears streamed down his face. "Dudley, please don't."

A manic smile stretched Dudley's pudgy cheeks. "You should have done what I told you Harry. Now it's going to cost you." Dudley dropped the report card on the grill. The flames flickered across the paper, browning it as the corners curled then blackened in the fire.

"You. . . you bastard!" Harry shouted as he clawed his way to Dudley on hands and knees. Piers and Dennis grabbed Harry and pulled him roughly to his feet. Harry struggled with them as best as he could with his pants around his ankles.

"No, Harry, I'm not a bastard. I know who my Mum and Dad are. They're still alive." Dudley picked up the remains of the box and moved back over to the grill. "Now, you better do what I tell you. Strip." The jackals snickered at Dudley's command.

"What?" Harry's voice pitched up in surprise.

"You heard me. Let's see your birthday suit. Your birthday is coming up after all. Bet you'd thought I had forgotten about that, huh. How could I forget the day a blight like you entered the world?"

Harry looked around the park. No rescue was waiting and there were no witnesses either. It was unusually empty for a summer afternoon. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other thinking about how someone could come at any time and see him starkers.

"Now! Do it now!" Dudley barked then banged the cigar box on the grill.

Harry cast a wary eye over the park as he stepped on the heels of his shoes, kicked them off, then stepped out of his pants. He drew in a shuddering breath gathering his courage and with an impulsive jerk pulled the shirt over his head before he could think about it.

Piers snatched the shirt out of his hands and ran over to a nearby tree and threw it up into the branches. Dennis copied the action with Harry's pants. Gordon laughed like a hyena in the background.

Harry composed himself and locked eyes with Dudley, then shut down emotionally. He stood tall with his hands at his sides refusing to show any sign of weakness by crouching or covering his private parts in embarrassment. The jackals circled Harry laughing and pointing at his nakedness. Crude and demeaning comments were exchanged at Harry's expense questioning his manhood.

"Lets give ol' Harry here eleven good smacks for his eleventh birthday. Who wants the first go?" Dudley asked.

"Alright, I'll do the honours." Piers volunteered. He took a few practice swings before stepping up to Harry's backside. He swung for the fences. CRACK! Harry involuntarily hopped in place and rubbed his bottom to relieve the stinging sensation. The boys laughed at Harry's antics. Dennis and Gordon each took a turn trying to outdo each other, even arguing over who left the worst welt.

After they had each taken their swings, Harry was left bent over the picnic table with one knee on the bench. Sweat was running from his brow. Saliva dripped from his mouth onto the table. The tips of his finger nails had turned white from the pressure of gripping the table. He blew a ragged bubbly breath.

"Dang, has it been eleven hits already?" Piers joked.

"I'm not sitting this one out. Step aside, ladies, let me show you how it's done. Feel free to let us know how this one feels Harry." Dudley took a few steps back then rushed forward and swung for all he was worth. The Smelting stick broke across Harry's arse and split the angry red skin with the blow.

"Damn, Dudley," Piers said looking at the splintered cane in Dudley's hand.

"Lookit, you made him bleed with that one." Dennis pointed out with amazement.

"How can you tell? His arse was already all red" Gordon asked.

"There's blood on the stick, moron" Dennis shook his head at the stupid question.

"That was a helluva hit, Dudley," Gordon cheered, ignoring Dennis.

"I can't believe you broke the stick." Piers said shaking his head.

Dudley looked at the shortened stick in his hand, "Fuck," then chucked it at Harry.

"C'mon lets get out of here. Oh yeah, thanks for being a sport, Harry. Here's your box." Dudley pitched the box onto the white hot charcoals and watched it ignite in the flames before walking away.

Harry jerked himself off the table with a sob and made his way painfully over to the grill. Not thinking clearly, Harry reached into the fire and snatched his charred possessions from the flames. He grunted and promptly dropped it on the ground unable to force his burned hand to hold it. Harry stomped out the flames with his bare feet. Then dropped to his knees and sifted through the smouldering remains. He salvaged the singed and dirty fragment of his baby blanket.

With great care Harry stood up and looked nervously around the park for visitors. Satisfied the coast was clear, he walked over to the trees to retrieve his clothes. The tall sycamore tree towered over Harry. In the branches above him hung Harry's tattered clothing. It was difficult to judge the distance without his glasses but his kit looked to be within reach. He raised his hands high then leapt into the air. Gritting his teeth Harry crouched lower stretching the shredded skin on his arse. He leapt again, his fingertips brushed the cuff of his trousers. It gave him hope to try again. He tried a stiff legged jog to build up some speed and leapt again. His hand pawed at the trouser leg and narrowly missed grabbing it. There was a quiet dark chuckle.

Harry stopped and dropped his hands to preserve some modesty. He peered around the park but his poor vision failed to see anyone. Cautiously Harry called out, "Who's there?"

There was no reply. Facing the other direction Harry cautiously called out again, "Who's there?"

Still there was no reply. Nervous about being found or watched while being starkers, Harry gave up trying to pull his kit from the trees. Harry stiffly walked over to the rubbish bin, pulled out the liner and dumped the trash back into the container. He tore three holes in the bag. One for his head and two for his arms then pulled it on. Harry looked down to make sure the sack hung low enough to cover the important things before setting out to find his shoes.

Harry found his trainers by the picnic table and slipped them back on. He didn't bother looking for his glasses. Harry knew they were broken beyond repair. The back of Harry's legs tickled as the blood ran down them. His tattered rear end furiously protested every step. In a slow stiff legged shuffle Harry left the park.

The park stood silent witness to the transgressions of Dudley Dursley and his gang. With the children gone all was quiet once again. The shadows lengthened as a figure began to emerge. Like tar, the shadows clung to the man as he pulled away. Dressed in black the man was free of the deep shadows that had concealed him. He chuckled darkly as he walked over to the tree that withheld Harry's kit. The branches curled possessively around the trousers ensnaring the prize. Steven reached for the leg and the branch pulled away in an attempt to evade him. He laughed then raised his wand, "Finite Incantatem!"

Steven pulled down the trousers and shirt. The condition of the kit was deplorable. The Masons wouldn't have taken them. His lips curled back in a vindictive smile. "I'll break the Potter brat before he even steps a foot in Hogwarts."

Story Recommendation: A Marauder's Plan [8045114] by CatsAreCool. This is a Sirius rescues Harry story.

Thank you for reading the chapter. A great deal of time and effort has been committed to this story. The biggest reward you can give is a review. All comments are welcome.

-Melverne