Origins
"My name is Harry Potter," whispered the small, terribly thin boy in wonder.
Today was the best day of his life! Today, he had learned his name wasn't 'Boy' or 'Freak'! He also learned that he would be starting primary school, tomorrow.
He rolled onto his back. He looked up at the bottom of the staircase from his thin, tatty mattress, and tried to contain his excitement. Finally, he would have something to do besides cooking, cleaning, and tending the yard.
It was a struggle, but after wrapping himself in his thin blanket, he finally he drifted off to sleep. He dreamed happy dreams.
The next morning, as the first light of dawn brightened his cupboard under the stairs, Harry got up to start breakfast for his relatives. First, he started the kettle of tea, and then he got out three pans. He fried up three pounds of potatoes, a pound of bacon, and scrambled a dozen eggs. Meanwhile, he toasted and drowned a dozen pieces of bread with butter, and set the table. He put out six different kinds of jelly, and a gallon of milk.
Harry had finished setting the table as Aunt Petunia came down the stairs dressed in a bathrobe. She saw that breakfast wasn't yet ready, and snarled at Harry to hurry up and finish, before Vernon came down to eat. Then she went out the front door to retrieve the morning paper.
Just before breakfast was ready, Harry's Uncle Vernon heaved his vast bulk down the steps and trudged into the dining room to collapse into his seat at the table. Petunia placed his newspaper next to his plate, and Vernon grunted.
Then, he scowled towards the kitchen, and demanded, "Boy! Where is breakfast? Do I need to get out the belt?"
Harry was balanced precariously on a chair, while lifting a heavy pan with both hands. He dumped the fried potatoes into a serving dish and set the fry pan back down with hands trembling from the exertion.
"No, Uncle Vernon! I'm bringing your breakfast right out!"
Harry carried out the plates of bacon and scrambled eggs, and set them on the table. He went back into the kitchen, grabbed the larger plate of fried potatoes, and set it within his uncle's reach. As he turned to go back into the kitchen to begin the clean up, Vernon grabbed him by the upper arm, yanking Harry back to face him.
"What did I tell you about being late with breakfast, Boy?" he yelled, sending bits of bacon and spittle all over Harry's face.
Vernon lifted Harry painfully higher and shook him with every word for emphasis.
"Now listen here, you little freak! You finish cleaning up the kitchen and you can just walk to school, while we drive little Dudley after he's finished his breakfast. No freakishness out of you! You hear me?"
Uncle Vernon tossed Harry towards the kitchen, where he crumpled in a heap. He rubbed his painful left arm as he gathered himself up. Fighting back his tears, not wanting to give his uncle, or cousin, the satisfaction of seeing him cry, Harry wondered if they'd leave anything for him to eat. As he picked up the pans and put them in the sink, he surreptitiously snatched small bits of food left behind in the pans. It was often the only food he managed, despite him cooking most of the meals.
Dudley stomped down the stairs, and walked heavily over to sit next to his father. With a malicious grin at his cousin, Dudley shoveled the remaining food onto his plate, until it was overflowing. He then proceeded to inhale it, seemingly without stopping to chew.
Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley had started for the front door when Harry heard Dudley whining about something.
Uncle Vernon bellowed, "Freak! Come here!"
Harry quickly placed the clean fry pan back in the cabinet where it belong, and rush to the front door, still holding the dish towel. Keeping his eyes down, he asked, "Yes, Uncle?"
"Dudders is finished with some of his comic books. Before you leave, go up to his second bedroom, and clean up that mess."
Harry saw Dudley's satisfied smirk before his relatives headed out, and got into the car. He closed the door, and took the dishtowel back into the kitchen. He made a final sweep with a dishcloth, to insure the kitchen was spotless.
He hung up the towel and ran up the stairs, two at a time. He ran up the stairs, knowing if the mess were as bad as usual, he'd have to run all the way to school, too.
As Harry opened the door to Dudley's second bedroom, he saw the room's floor was covered with ripped up pages of comics, and pieces where his cousin had ripped the comics almost to confetti. Huffing in exasperation, Harry started by just pushing all the destroyed comics into a pile.
As he was about to bin the whole lot, Harry noticed one comic that had merely been ripped in half. Dudley must have run out of steam for whatever had set off this fit of destruction, by the time he'd gotten to this one.
Harry lovingly placed the two halves of the ripped comic into his backpack. He threw it over one shoulder, and ran out of the house.
Harry ran all the way to school. It was nearly two kilometers, so by the time he had gotten to the edge of the school grounds, he was sweating heavily. This was despite the relative coolness of the morning. Seeing that there were still children milling about the playground, and being dropped off by the school lorries; he slowed to a walk, and tried to catch his breath.
Harry was overwhelmed by the teeming activity of the children, and their laughter, as they played games or romped on the playground equipment. He stepped into the shadow of the building near the door, and tried to make sense out of the mass of colorful, fuzzy blobs moving about the playground.
Harry was startled when the school's bell rang. He saw everyone making their way inside, and slipped through the doors near the head of the crowd. He stood inside, uncertainly, unsure of where to go. One of the older students shoved him out of the way, unexpectedly. Harry bounced off a row of lockers on the wall, and fell to his knees.
A small hand grasped him under the arm, and helped Harry to his feet. Shyly, Harry turned to see who had helped him. He saw a small girl with dark brown hair. She was just starting to smile at Harry, when Dudley pushed Harry. Again, he bounced with a bang off the lockers, and fell into a heap on the floor.
Dudley sneered menacingly at the girl, and said loudly, "You'd best stay away from that freak!"
The girl scowled at Dudley's back, and reached down to help Harry up once more. She asked, "That was mean! Are you just starting first year, too?" At Harry's nod, she turned and said over her shoulder, "Follow me, we have Miss Middleton."
Harry enjoyed his first day of school. He especially enjoyed reading aloud to the class from their primer, but he couldn't make out anything the teacher wrote on the blackboard. Finally, he timidly raised his hand. Miss Middleton didn't see his hand for several minutes, and Harry got more and more embarrassed until finally she called on him.
"Yes, Harry isn't it? What do you need?"
"I… it's just that I can't read what's on the board, Miss," Harry stammered.
Perplexed, Miss Middleton asked, "But, Harry, you read that passage from the book quite well. Why can't you read the board?"
Ready to crawl under his desk, Harry squeaked, "It's… it's all just a blur to me, Miss."
One of Miss Middleton's hands rose to cover her mouth in shock. She was still for a moment.
Then she lowered her hand and asked, "Harry, haven't you ever had your eyes examined?"
Harry slumped as he heard Dudley whisper loudly from the front row, "The freak needs glasses! Ha, ha, ha! Then he'll be a four-eyed freak!"
Miss Middleton's lips thinned. She pointed at Dudley and commanded, "You there! Dudley! Go stand in the corner… quietly!"
Then, in a softer voice, she asked Harry to come to the board and read what she had written there. When Harry had no problem, she asked him to move back to the front row. Harry struggled a bit, but was able to read what she'd written.
Coming to a decision, Miss Middleton gave her orders, "Harry, you'll be sitting here, in Dudley's old desk. Dudley, you come grab your stuff, and move back there to where Harry was sitting."
Dudley gaped at her in shock for a moment, until the teacher motioned him to do as she had ordered. Dudley leaned down to grab his bookbag from the shelf under the chair.
He muttered murderously, "You just wait until we get home, freak!"
Harry's eyes flicked nervously to his cousins angry face, and sank down in his new chair as he was sure what his Uncle's response would be. When recess came, Harry begged off, saying he wasn't feeling well. He stayed inside, huddled in misery.
Sure enough, when school ended, Dudley waddled out as quickly as his fat body would allow. He found his mother waiting in her car. As Harry followed slowly, and started to bypass the car and walk home, Dudley rolled down his window.
"Boy! Get over here, and get in the car!" hissed Aunt Petunia.
Head bowed, Harry complied. As soon as he was in the car, but even before he could close the door, Petunia pulled out quickly. The door slammed, narrowly missing Harry's hand, as his aunt started to berate him.
"What do you think you are doing? Acting like you are important! Making Dudley look bad! Having to stand in the corner on his first day! Then, there's this note for an optometrist! Why would you think you deserve glasses? You are nothing more than a useless freak! You just wait until Vernon gets home! He'll show you what's what!"
Harry shrank lower and lower in his seat as Aunt Petunia shrieked at him all the way home.
When the car pulled into the drive of #4 Privet Drive, Aunt Petunia and Dudley both quickly got out of the car and marched angrily to the door. Harry reluctantly and slowly followed. When he got close enough to see that Aunt Petunia's face was clenched in fury, he scampered passed her, and into the house.
As soon as he was by, Petunia slammed the door shut. She grabbed Harry's hair and dragged him bodily over to the cupboard under the stairs. She pulled open the door and threw Harry inside. As soon as he was in, Aunt Petunia slammed the tiny door. Harry could hear it being locked.
Harry let out a weary sigh in the darkness, before reaching up with practiced ease to find the light and turn it on. The bare bulb flared in the darkness, and Harry blinked to let his eyes adjust. He shivered in dreaded anticipation of Uncle Vernon's arrival. He needed something, anything to take his mind off from his probable punishment. There was nothing in his cupboard except for a thin mattress, a worn and thin blanket, plus what he'd brought with him.
Harry remembered that in her haste, Aunt Petunia had thrown him into his cupboard, with his bookbag. With a grin, he opened the bag, and pulled out his schoolbooks. He stacked them at the end of the mattress.
Then, he spotted the frayed edges of the torn comic book. He pulled out the two halves of that, as well. Carefully he fitted the upper and lower halves together and stared at the cover of the comic.
Dudley never let Harry have anything, even when Dudley didn't want it anymore. He destroyed it, first. There had even been gifts Dudley hadn't liked, but Dudley had destroyed them immediately after he received them, just to prevent Harry from getting anything of his own. It was a sad sort of tradition, for Dudley.
That's why Harry just stared at the cover of the comic. He took in every detail. He was in awe of the color, the action implied by the poses of the characters, even before he read the issue, entitled: 'Peter Parker, the Spectacular Spiderman' #68.
He looked down to the title and saw it was a reprint of 'The Amazing Spiderman' #1, the origin of Spiderman. He flipped the two halves of the cover over (it had been ripped in half, horizontally) and began to read the first page.
Just then, he heard the front door open. Uncle Vernon stomped into the house. Harry's panic spiked. He quickly closed the comic and carefully hid it under the end of his mattress. He cowered back into the furthest corner of his cupboard and waited as the voices of his relatives rose in a crescendo from the living room.
When he heard heavy steps coming to the door of his cupboard, Harry pulled his legs up tight to his body and wrapped his arms around them, with his chin nestled between his knees. He heard the locks being unlocked, and then the small door to the cupboard was flung open.
Uncle Vernon growled, "Get out here, now, you worthless freak!"
Harry whimpered, but didn't move.
"Don't make me come in there to get you! Get out here now, boy," shouted Uncle Vernon.
Harry didn't know whether to laugh at the thought of Uncle Vernon trying to cram his bulk through the tiny door, or cry at what he could expect the moment he got outside.
Fear and anticipation of pain won. Harry's eyes filled with tears. He choked back a sob, but forced himself to move. He crawled toward the doorway. As soon as his hand clasped the edge of the doorframe, he was yanked painfully out into the hallway.
Harry never remembered the details of the next few minutes. He did remember that it had started with yelling, punctuated by slaps. It had moved on to screaming, with punches and kicks.
Eventually, Harry regained consciousness in the dark of his cupboard. Spikes of pain from his face, back, stomach, left arm, and right leg all suggested any movement wouldn't be wise. Harry tried to open his eyes, but his right eye didn't respond. It was swollen shut. With a groan at the agony, tears ran down his face, until he finally fell into an exhausted unconsciousness.
While he slept, a pale blue aura surrounded his wounds. The cracked bones in Harry's wrist knit back together, the torn cartilage in his right knee reformed. His torn kidney and the rupture in his abdominal wall healed. The inflamed and torn tissues from all of his bruises and contusions healed at an accelerated rate that crammed several days' worth of healing into hours. The aura stayed and glowed on his eyes; long after everywhere else had been completed.
When he finally awoke, Harry didn't even know what day it was. He felt terribly weak, but the agony he vaguely remembered, had been reduced to dull aches that served as a reminder of his treatment at the hands of his relatives. There wasn't a sound in the house. Harry felt a terrible thirst, and a hollow empty feeling in his tummy. There was nothing he could do to slake either. With no one about to let him out, and no source of food or water, all he could do was endure this further torment.
To take his mind off of his worst fears (that his relatives might be gone for days), Harry sat up carefully, and turned on his light. He looked at his stack of schoolbooks.
Then, remembering the comic he had stashed under the mattress, Harry's hands began shaking in excitement. Harry carefully and reverently pulled the torn comic from its hiding place.
Time had no meaning as Harry read about the shy, outcast loner: Peter Parker. He was intrigued by the visit to the University Laboratory, and he shivered in revulsion at the spiders. He felt an urgent twinge of sympathetic horror when one of the spiders escaped and bit Peter.
As Peter began to explore his newfound powers, Harry shared in his sense of discovery and wonder. Harry had to sit back for a moment, just to take in all of the revelations that the story had thrust upon him so far. He felt a lot like Peter Parker. He was lonely and isolated, because his relatives didn't allow him any contact with anyone. He had never had a friend. He just wished he had something special about him, something like Peter Parker had found.
Shaking his head in negation, he knew there was nothing special about himself. Harry bent to finish the story. He felt a vague unease at Peter Parker's attempt to cash in on his powers. He felt a sense of anguish at his growing estrangement with his Aunt and Uncle.
Harry thought if Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were as nice as Peter's Aunt May and Uncle Ben, he would do anything to keep them happy. He felt a great sadness come over him, wishing his aunt and uncle could be nice to him, too. He swallowed, convulsively. Trying to break through his melancholy before he started crying, he bent to finish reading the comic.
When Peter tricked his Uncle Ben into giving him a ride to the wrestling match, and lied about where he was going and what he would be doing, Harry's unease turned to trepidation. Uncle Ben's heartfelt appeal was oft quoted in the comic: 'with great power, comes great responsibility.'
Harry was stunned into immobility, with his mind racing.
Quietly, Harry murmured, "Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia have great power over me, but they abuse that power, and accept none of the responsibility. They don't feed me properly, they beat me, and they act as if I were some sort of filth."
Again, nearly overcome by his emotions, Harry read on. The wrestling match was funny and interesting, as Peter learned how to fight with his powers. Harry felt a surge of anger at the Promoter, when he reneged on the deal. He only gave Peter one hundred dollars, instead of the two thousand that had been promised. So, when Peter let the robber get by, he cheered silently. His sense of satisfaction was short-lived. When Peter found his Uncle Ben shot, Harry's horror over the scene was at least in part, because he had agreed with Peter's decision to let the robber pass without even trying to stop him.
That the man had immediately gone outside and shot and killed Peter's wonderful Uncle Ben, just to get a car for his getaway, was shattering. Harry shared Peter's sorrow and rage as he chased down the robber, and felt a grim satisfaction as the man got his just deserts, and fell to his death when he tried to kill Spiderman.
He was swept up in Peter's guilt and anguish, and when he resolutely declared that from that day forward he would use his great power to protect the innocent, Harry was overwhelmed and shared Peter's righteous resolution.
Harry sat back and thought harder than he had ever thought before. He was weak and couldn't even protect himself from his terrible relatives. As his stomach groaned in desperation, and Harry noticed his burning thirst once more, he even felt a growing fear that his relatives might just neglect to let him out before he died. Being so small and weak, there was nothing he could do. He kicked desperately at the door, and screamed for someone to let him out. But nobody heard, and the door didn't even rattle.
Harry crawled back into the corner, pulled his legs up, and tucked his chin between his knees. He tried to fight it, but with the overwhelming fear and uncertainty, he was soon crying in desperation.
With his eyes tightly shut and tears running down his face, his fear and uncertainty fought with rage and a sense of betrayal. How could his relatives treat him so horribly? What had he ever done to deserve such treatment?
He wished he had been bitten by a radioactive spider like Peter Parker and gained the powers of Spiderman. Then, he wouldn't have to worry about his relatives, and he too could protect the weak and innocent. He shook with emotion. With his eyes closed, he didn't see the increasing blue glow that covered his entire body.
Suddenly, unable to deal with his wracking emotions, he kicked out at the door in frustration. To Harry's surprise, when his foot struck the door, there was a tremendous splintering crash! The door flew off its hinges and across the hallway to lodge in two major pieces into the wall beyond.
Harry stared in shock. He didn't understand what had happened or why it had happened. Taking in the destruction, he cringed at the thought of what his relatives would do when they found out. However it had happened, they would, no doubt, blame him.
Then, a thought struck him. He was free!
Harry dashed to the bathroom and drank four quick cupfuls of water. The sound of the running water reminded him of other urgent business, and he relieved himself before washing his hands and heading for the kitchen.
He was starving. He figured he was already in as much trouble as he could get, with his relatives. So, he set out to make himself a big breakfast, one that would do even Dudley proud.
Oddly, all of the pans and utensils seemed almost weightless to him. Where normally it took both of his hands to have the strength to pick up the cast iron skillet, now he seemed able to lift it effortlessly with one hand.
Although that was interesting, it wasn't nearly interesting enough to break his fixation with food. Hurriedly, he turned on the burner, threw six rashers of bacon in the pan. He was planning to pull his chair over to the counter below the cabinet with the dishes, when instead, without thinking, he jumped from a standstill halfway across the kitchen to land lightly on top of the counter, below the cabinet he needed.
Harry stopped in surprise for a second, then shrugged and opened the cabinet. He grabbed a bowl to mix his eggs and the other fixings for an omelet, and a plate to hold his breakfast. He would have time to think about what was happening when he finished making his food. He jumped off the counter, and landed lightly.
He pulled out an onion and a slab of leftover ham, plus a couple slices of Swiss cheese. He started dicing onion, ham and cheese, and watched himself with dissociated fascination, as his hands moved faster and faster, until his hands were nearly a blur as he finished dicing the ham.
Again, he simply shook his head, and resolved to add this to the other mysteries he would think about it later. He flipped the bacon, and put four pieces of bread into the big toaster.
As soon as the bacon was done, he poured out most of the grease, and turned down the heat of the burner. He dumped in the eggs, and added the onions, cheese and ham. He put a cover on the pan as he stuffed a whole piece of bacon into his mouth.
He grabbed the toast as it popped up. While he was buttering the toast, he munched on two more pieces of bacon. Harry lifted the frying pan's lid to check on his omelet. Seeing that it still needed a minute or two, he went to the fridge and grabbed his favorite raspberry preserves.
He sighed as he realized that he only knew that raspberry was his favorite, because he'd been able to sneak some during the chaos of one of Dudley's huge birthday parties.
He slathered a thick layer of raspberry preserves on his toast, and took a huge bite. Still chewing and savoring the rich raspberry flavor, Harry checked his omelet. It was done. He casually flipped it up and out of the pan and watched it land, perfectly centered, on his plate. He tilted his head quizzically, grabbed the plate and snagged a jug of apple juice on his way passed the fridge.
He sat down at the dining room table and dug in. He didn't remember ever eating this well, even though he cooked meals like this every day for his relatives. It took several minutes, but Harry devoured every bite, until he was looking at the last bite of toast and the last swig of juice.
He polished both off with a happy sigh and leaned back with a big smile. He felt a new sensation, repletion. He didn't remember every being so full in all his short, miserable life.
Finally, with all of his immediate and desperate needs taken care of, Harry started to think about what had been happening. He didn't know how it had happened, but he couldn't help but notice the similarities between himself, and what had happened to Peter Parker when he first became Spiderman.
He mentally ticked off the points of similarity.
First, there had been the door to the cupboard under the stairs. He hadn't even been able to make it move, before. Suddenly, he had not only made it move, but had destroyed it utterly and sent it rocketing to lodge deep into the plaster of the opposite wall.
Second, there had been that leap. Nobody but Spiderman could leap more than a body length from a standing start, but he had effortlessly not only leapt two body lengths, but also upwards nearly three feet to the countertop.
Finally, there was the speed he had used, without even thinking about it, when chopping his omelet's ingredients.
Ok, then. Just as Peter Parker had been forced to when he first got his powers, Harry Potter needed to do some experimentation, to find his own new limits. He gathered up his dishes, and put them in the sink, figuring that he'd get around to washing them after solving some of these new mysteries.
First, he'd find the limits of his strength. He walked over to one of the heavy dining room chairs and pulled it out. It probably weighed nearly thirty pounds, almost two thirds of his own body weight. Before, he would have struggled just to slide it across the floor. Now, with his two hands, he swiftly and effortlessly lifted it over his head. There was a slight bobble, but only because of the weight shift. He set the chair down just as easily.
Not having a good understanding of mechanics or leverage, Harry then grasped the edge of the table and tried to lift it. To his surprise, because the table weighed far more than he did, and had a much larger moment arm; instead of lifting the table, he swung himself upward into a handstand on the edge of the table.
With a wry grin, Harry tried to push off from the handstand to land on his feet next to the table. Instead, he flew straight upward, and hit the ceiling feet first. In startled panic at the thought that he was about to plummet face first to the floor below, he closed his eyes and wished he could walk on walls, as Spiderman did, too.
He wrapped his arms around his head in preparation for the expected impact with the floor, but nothing happened. He cautiously opened one eye, and peeked through his arms. He saw the table below him.
It took a moment to reorganize his thoughts to comprehend what he was seeing, since the perspective was so odd. Finally, Harry realized he was standing on the ceiling, hanging upside down. He giggled to himself. This was just like Spiderman! It was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him!
'How do I control this,' Harry wondered.
He consciously pulled one foot off the ceiling, yet still he hung by the other foot. He pushed off and placed the foot he'd 'raised' from the ceiling, a short stride from where the first foot still clung. Almost without thinking about it further, he walked across the ceiling to the wall. He reached out with his hands. He thought about clinging to the wall by his hands, and releasing his feet. As quickly as he'd thought it, he did it. He found himself suspended from the wall by both hands. Harry laughed out loud in a shear, simple expression of joy.
With a look of determination, Harry gathered his feet against the wall. He dove across the room, towards the wall above the doorway leading to the entryway near his cupboard. He shot across the room, but had misjudged. He had aimed straight at where he wanted to land. Instead, he dropped slightly during his leap, and shot through the doorway headfirst. His arms flailed outward, and captured the doorframe as he flew past. He yanked to a stop.
Or at least, his head and arms did. The momentum of his legs continued, and they swung under him. He pivoted around his arms until his feet hit the ceiling in the hallway. A bit shaken, Harry decided he needed to take things slower. Until he knew his limits instinctively, he could and would make mistakes. Mistakes might be at least painful, if not dangerous to him.
He decided to try to lift the table one more time. This time, however, Harry concentrated on keeping his footing anchored to the floor, just as he had on the ceiling. It took both hands, but he lifted the entire table from one end. Although it took significant effort, he felt that even with the entire hundred plus pound weight extending straight out from his arms, he could lift even more.
He grinned at his success. Then he frowned, trying to think of something that would be heavier and more of a challenge. Harry walked into the living room, and went to one end of the large, formal couch… the one with the hideous floral pattern. He grabbed the armrest at the top and bottom and lifted the couch straight up.
Harry was so busy and involved in testing his limits, that he didn't hear his Uncle's car pull into the driveway. In fact, he had no idea that anyone was near. The door flew open, with him still holding the couch above his head. Harry spun on his heels in surprise, forgetting that he was still holding the couch. He smashed the living room light fixture with the opposite end of the couch.
Uncle Vernon stopped short and gaped at Harry in incomprehension. Then, seeing the destruction in the hallway and the living room beyond, Vernon's lips curled into a snarl. He started stomping towards his wayward nephew.
Harry panicked at the murderous look in his Uncle's eyes. Without thinking, Harry swung the couch defensively. He watched in shock as the mild impact sent his uncle rocketing across the room. He smashed bodily through an end table, and slammed into the wall hard enough to leave a Vernon sized imprint in the plaster.
Aunt Petunia, hot on Vernon's heels, and with the same murderous look of rage on her face was instantly brought up short.
Both hands shot to her cheeks as she screamed, "Vernon!"
Shooting a look at Harry that was a mixture of both fear and anger, Aunt Petunia rushed to her fat husband's side. She started to panic.
She shrieked, "Oh my God! You've killed him, you horrid little monster!"
Harry rushed to her side and looked at his uncle's slumped form. She tried to slap him, and Harry absently caught both of her wrists, holding them immobile. He ignored her struggles as he gave his uncle a visual inspection.
Harry released the breath he hadn't even realized that he was holding, as he saw Uncle Vernon's chest rise and fall.
He looked back at his aunt and said, "He'll be fine. Look, he's breathing, and he's barely got a bloody nose. Unlike how he left me last time. I didn't mean to hurt him, but he scared me and I just reacted. But I'll not be letting him or you beat me! Not ever again!"
Aunt Petunia sputtered as Harry released her. She looked back to Uncle Vernon, and cradled his head in her hands as she gently tried to wake him. Harry looked over towards the hallway and saw Dudley looking at him, apparently terrified, but unsure what to do about it.
With a grin, Harry suddenly leapt straight upwards. He 'caught' the ceiling with one flat hand, and hung there, all the while grinning madly at his cousin. Dudley shrieked and fled up the stairs. Harry listened to the sound of the door to Dudley's room slamming, with satisfaction.
Uncle Vernon sputtered and groaned. With his wife helping him, he laboriously climbed to his feet. He shook his head, as if to clear it. His eyes finally came to focus on his much-despised nephew. Not even realizing that the boy was hanging from the ceiling, but just that he was at a convenient height to attack, Vernon stumbled into a short charge.
Harry saw him coming, seemingly almost in slow motion. He had plenty of time to decide what to do. That being the case, he decided he didn't need to meet his Uncle's charge head on. Instead, he simply flipped up, and 'laid down' on the ceiling.
Vernon's attack had no finesse and no art, but it had plenty of momentum. When his target seemingly disappeared from right in front of him, he had no chance to stop before he slammed into the corner of the dining room table with his groin. As his groin painfully arrested his forward rush, his upper body and legs continued forward.
His upper body slammed down onto the top of the table, instantly shattering the joins between the table's top and legs. Since Vernon's legs had also continued forward, when he and the remains of the table started to fall, there was nothing to catch him. His fat, well-cushioned buttocks struck the floor with a splat.
Harry had to clap both hands over his mouth, to smother his laughter. He noticed that although his hands were no longer in contact with the ceiling, he did not fall from his 'reclining' position.
Aunt Petunia squeaked, "Vernon!"
She rushed to her husband's side one more time. Then, she stopped and looked down at the wreckage of her dining room table and at Vernon rolling around, and groaning in pain, while holding his groin. She looked up at her nephew, still hanging from the ceiling, and smothered a laugh herself. Calmly, she sat in one of the forlorn looking dining room chairs, next to the now destroyed table, and looked up at Harry.
Taking a deep breath, Aunt Petunia visibly tried to control herself before asking, "What is going on?"
With a huge grin, Harry decided to show off a bit. He flipped himself off the ceiling in a tight ball, and managed three and a half complete rotations before landing on the floor, in perfect balance.
With a flourish and an exaggerated bow, Harry said, "Well, I'm not quite sure. But, as you can see, there have been some changes."
Aunt Petunia blinked in shock, unsure which had surprised her more: the impossible acrobatic maneuver, or the confidence Harry had to have gained, to speak to her so. Fighting not to cringe at the pocket-sized dynamo that her nephew had become, she asked, "What happens now?"
Harry waved at his uncle, and said, "Look, Aunt Petunia, I don't want to hurt anyone. I just won't let him hurt anybody else. I just want to be left alone. I want a chance to live like a human being, not an unwanted cat.
"I'll tell you what, you give me Dudley's second bedroom, I'll cook all of my own meals, and we'll all just ignore each other. Ok?"
Petunia flinched at Harry's unyielding tone. She nodded in agreement.
Then she argued, "Vernon's not going to like it."
Harry again waved in his uncle's direction, where Vernon was still rolling around on the floor, groaning in pain.
He said firmly, "What is he going to do about it? Even he should learn something from this. Talk to him. I don't want to hurt him any more."
Petunia watched as her nephew walked unconcernedly out the front door.
Edited By TeNderLoin