Recca Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Chapter One
An Appreciation Sequel/Omake
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the series used or referenced in this fiction.
Perhaps it had something to do with living in a highly-trapped bedroom, but Recca Potter had always been agile for his age. Recca had an average face, a medium build, green hair, and bright red eyes. He wore frameless glasses held together with a drill mount that his relatives constantly tried to ignore because of all of the times that he summoned replacements from parallel universes. The only thing that Recca really liked about his appearance was the fact that it constantly gave his so-called family fits, especially when he asked his Aunt Petunia why he looked like that.
"Because you're a freak," she would say, before Recca had... educated her... about the disadvantages of racism.
Don't make racist statements -- that was the first rule for an existent life around Recca.
About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over his newspaper and shouted that Recca needed a haircut. Vernon must have had more hospitalizations in his medical history than the rest of his cohort group combined, but it made no difference; he wouldn't learn to leave Recca -- or Recca's hair -- alone.
The Dursleys often spoke about Recca like he wasn't there... usually because he wasn't. As soon as he got the chance, he left the house to do what the Dursleys derisively called "Freaky Things". Recca didn't mind, because... well, even he had to admit that most people would consider his methods of winning street tournaments to be a bit strange, but they worked and that's all that his pocketbook cared about, the odd looks he won after he thumped the street-thug of the week over the head with a black pudding aside.
Every so often, however, Recca wouldn't have a black pudding available. Those days, he'd win by redirecting his opponent's momentum with a loud shout of "Head to the Boot!" It was surprisingly effective.
One day, Recca, who couldn't believe the situation, was stuck sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with Dudley and one of Dudley's more courageous friends, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before they'd left, Uncle Vernon had taken Recca aside.
"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Recca's, "I'm warning you right now, boy -- blow anything up, anything at all -- and you'll be..."
He had stopped at that point because he was too busy grabbing his crotch in an attempt to hold down the bruising.
"You should be sure I don't have a pudding on me when you try to threaten me," advised Recca. "Honestly..."
But Uncle Vernon didn't listen to him. He never did.
The problem was, things tended to blow up around Recca and it was no good telling the Dursleys that they deserved to.
Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Recca coming back from the barber's looking like he hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald. Dudley had laughed himself silly at Recca, but stopped when a loud crashing sound from his room warned him that his entire collection of toys had exploded. The next morning, Recca's hair had looked exactly like it did before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off.
Another time, a group of school bullies had been chasing Recca when, as much to Recca's surprise as anyone else's, they were crushed to death by a falling aircraft carrier. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from the American government about the missiles Recca had stolen from the wreckage.
While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Recca, the council, Recca, the bank, and Recca's collection of HE were just a few of his favorite subjects. This morning, it was motorcycles.
"... roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a motorcycle overtook them.
"I had a dream about a motorcycle," said Recca, remembering it fondly. "It blew up."
"MOTORCYCLES DON'T BLOW UP!"
"Of course they do," said Recca. "You just have to pack the fuel tank with C-4."
After arriving at the zoo, Recca had the best morning he'd had in a long time. He was careful to stay away from the zookeepers so that they wouldn't panic while he played with the lions, but the various guests ran and got them anyway. Regardless, Recca made several new friends and the zookeepers extended an invitation for him to come back whenever he wanted after the lions started letting him rub their bellies.
After lunch Recca went to the reptile house. Dudley had apparently been fascinated by a black mamba that was fast asleep until he knocked on the glass.
The snake suddenly opened its eyes and slowly turned to look at Dudley.
"Want me to take down the barrier so you can bite him?" Recca asked.
The snake nodded vigorously.
"Cool. Now where did I put that thermite..."
The snake rapidly started to look less enthusiastic about getting through the glass. "On second thought," it protested after a moment, "I'd rather just say here where it's safe."
"Oh. I'll stop by every now and then in case you change your mind."
After they got home, Aunt Petunia ran off to get Uncle Vernon a large brandy. Recca didn't blame him for needing it.
Recca lay in his dark bedroom much later, unable to sleep. He'd lived with the Dursleys for nearly ten years, even since he'd been a baby and his current incarnation's parents had been murdered by that snake-freak. He could remember being born to a pair of magic-users after a drunken binge had lead him to do something that was probably rather stupid, although he couldn't remember exactly what. Sometimes, when he strained his memory, he came up with a strange image involving the shinigami's sword, the ginzuishou, and a bizarre seal array. It was for the best, he supposed, that he couldn't remember exactly what he had done. He'd probably have to bang his head against the wall for several hours otherwise.