Good Ole One-Two
Setting: Privet Drive, 6th year.
Warning: Crack!Fic. With a some nice lumps of Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.
Rating: M for language.
The sun was setting in that most dreadful of places. The livestock at number four was properly fed by their caretaker, a teenager with the most emaciated figure you'd ever see. Really, even a vet form 'Nam, dosed up on opium would look better. Still, the slave of Privet drive was dutifully cleaning his cousin's bedroom when his hunger pains made themselves known yet again.
'I wonder if I am going to survive here this year... figures, I fight Voldemort, arrest his deranged whore and emo blond poofter along with the other deathfucks only to starve to death in a perfectly normal, boring, muggle neighborhood.'
Stomach grumbling he returned to cleaning the whale's room. Dudley was almost never at home these days, only coming back home late in the night from his "tea time" with the Polkisses. 'Bugger that, he was out there vandalizing the park, scaring little kids and being an allround menace, that's what'. In any case, Dudley's behavior took a turn to the worse; he was more irritable, eager to beat the crap out of the Oliver Twist that resided in his house pretty much all the time, eyes a never ending reddish color...
Yes, Dudley was in a downward spiral, heading to juvie in no time it seemed.
On the other hand, Harry was piling up the bed sheets on the corner of the room to be washed when, due to a particularly forceful tug, the mattress was displaced and some odd, white cubes dropped on the floor. Upon closer inspection Harry was puzzled by what he saw: why in the effing hell would Dudley carve a hole in his own mattress? Furthermore, why would he fill it to the brim with... sugar cubes!
'Damn, if I don't put anything in there I'll faint for sure, sight's blurred already as it is...'
Well, sugar was sweet and packed a nice amount of energy. Not the good kind but hey, if you are starving you can't be picky. Tentatively, Harry took one of the little cubes and put it in his mouth.
It was pure Heaven! 'Gods, ye ole' Gods, thank you for this! This will keep me alive this summer, I'm sure of that.' He soon found himself in a conundrum of sorts, however. If he took all the cubes, Dudley would certainly notice. If he didn't, he was as well as dead since his relatives outright stopped feeding him even the merest of crumbs. Then again, Dudley was almost never at home, and only to sleep and eat. Factor in the amount of fat the whale had instead of grey matter...
Harry hastily took all the sugar cubes and put them in a makeshift satchel, tearing up a good portion of his oversized t-shirt to make it. Racing to his own room as if his salvation was going to disappear he hurriedly stored it away, right below the loosened tile on the floor.
Once his salvation was assured, Harry went back to his cousin's room to finish the cleaning.
Odd things came around his field of vision. Colors, mostly, but it was as if they were running away from him, enticing him to chase them. He shook his head but instead of clearing it, it became even more... colorful.
Well, it was nothing until he came to his cousin's bedroom.
There, right on the corner where Dudley's old (and still pristine) cricket bat was something else.
"Hello Mr. Potter."
The... being, for lack of a better name held a sinister smile, much like Snape's, but none of the grease. It had numbers on it, a faded number one and number two that were, incredibly, dancing one on top of the other. Or was that one in front of the other? Actually, the number two seemed to make most of the mouth and number one was the hair. Greaseless, of course.
"Allow me to introduce myself: One-Two's the name and I beat away!"
"Beat away? What exactly?"
The sneer. Oh. My. God. The sneer! So full of loathing, despise and ill omens. The mismatched brownish wood looking teeth would make Snape envy this... thing. The greasy git would frown on the lack of greaseness though.
" Kiddo, I beat'em up and beat'em good. Vases and furniture I break'em, lamps, sinks can't stand me, fryin' pans all bend themselves before me, cutlery and forks and spoons can't hur' me. Bones I love'em, so stiff and eager I am to break'em; flesh oh the pliable flesh I pound 'till tissue I see, and sinew and nerve, I live to mash'em and mash'em good for Kiddo I'm the Ole' One-Two!"
"Uh... and why are you... you know... standing there then? Shouldn't you be beating things away?"
Number one bent a little in the middle and Number two twisted in a devious, spiteful smirk.
"Kiddo I'm violence unbound, the battification of vengeance and deliverance! I pave the way to freedom, I shatter bone and mash nerve and muscle and YOU shall be my avatar!"
Never once thinking how odd it was to be on speaking terms with a piece of wood, Harry engaged once more in conversation.
"Avatar? What the heck are you talking about One-Two?"
"I'm the spirit, you the medium. A fine battification of freedom like meself don't do the heavy work, that's yer job puppet-face."
"Quit dawdling puppetsy, let's get to some batting now! Come, wield me and let's greet Vern's car; always wanted to test those untamable shatter-proof glass. Ha, they'll shatter they will...!"
Without a second thought, Harry grabbed One-Two and made his way towards the garage. As soon as he left his cousin's bedroom he was assaulted in all angles by a multitude of things. The vases were floating all around the sitting-room, the TV was resting comfortably in the sofa, nursing a whiskey and drawing a good and deep smoke from a Cohiba. If Harry squinted his eyes hard enough, he could see that it was tuned at Discovery Channel, a few tropical islands making the picture it seemed.
"Want a drag Mr.? These are the best, Castro's favorites; rolled off of virgin cuban's thighs." Drag. Inhale. Exhale. "Now, I don't know if the virgins are male or female but hot damn they can roll a cigar! And look, no pubes in this one! Sure you don't wanna a drag, sport?"
"No... no thanks Mr... TV."
"No prob, sport, no prob." And the TV was there, nursing the whiskey once again.
'This day is getting weirder by the minute but at least I'm not hungry anymore. Oh well, let's see what One-Two wants to do with the car.'
Getting to the garage through a peddling washing machine "My rotor for a bar of soap, please sirrah, a bar of soap and I'll give ya everything inside of me!".
Now that was disturbing. On many, many, levels.
Finally Harry and One-Two made it to the garage. There, in all its magnificence, stood a brand new Volvo, latest type, no doubt a fruit of Vernon's felony efforts. A person with his pay grade would never be able to afford such a car. Even if it was ugly as hell. It was supposed to be awful safe though.
One-Two was salivating already. The prospect of retorted metal, shattering shatter-proof glass, destroying headlights... it was almost too much of the old (yet pristine) cricket bat.
Harry was just going along, but then something happened. After watching the car for a few moments he noticed the steady ups and downs of the vehicle. Almost as if it were asleep. Vehicles don't do ups and downs.
And sure as Hell they don't sleep.
Harry remembered, however, that this was Vernon's pride and joy. The old fart loved to gush all over it, showing it to the less fortunate neighbors just to boost his own over-inflated ego – in the vain hope it would equal his waist.
He felt himself caring less and less if the car slept or not. He'd beat this car up. He'd bend it over, twist the metals and shatter the damn glasses. One-Two would help him with that.
"Atta boy! That's it kiddo, feel the freedom, the violence, and let's mash'it up well and good! Let's shatter this nancy boy's coat, shrivel up its nose and bum, let's get to the beating kiddo!"
One-Two's "mouth" was foaming already, it's eyes shiny and deranged. He was a fierce spirit though, no question about that.
Harry wielded the bat with his two hands. Unbeknownst to him, with his perception so altered, he let the emotions flow, and flow freely. This, in turn, was all it took for magic to leisurely seep out of his core and into his hands.
One-Two never felt so invigorated before.
There went the rear view mirror.
"KA-TCHIIIINNN!" There went the window glass. Shattered, of course.
"God, Stop please what ever did I do to deserve such a beating! I am such a good and well behaved transport, I..."
"POW, KAPLUNKT!" Damn, One-Two never had a better day! That headlight was well and truly shot, the punch was so forceful that it dropped on the ground.
"PLEASE, for all that is sacred, stop!"
Harry stopped mid-swing and turned to the car.
"What's your name nancy-boy?"
"Albert is my name Sir, please sto..."
"Albert? Who the fuck named you Albert?"
"Eh, well Sir, it was the most prestigious nobleman, one Vernon Dursley, he's baptised me on the 9th of august of our Lord's year of 199..."
"KAPOW! Thunk. That steering wheel would never recover. Perhaps they came in square shaped sizes as well?
"Albert, Albert... Vernon is a sick bastard really, how the effing hell you name a car? And Albert, no less!"
"Ow, Ow Sir... Please stop! Please, at least don't damage the exhaust, Vernon would be most displeased if that were to happen! He's always complimenting me because of that..."
'Dis - pleased? Uh... One-Two are you thinking what I am thinking? 'Cause if you are, then Vernon is not only a sick, but a very, very demented waste of air.'
"Can ya blame him Kiddo? Your Aunt, horse-faced bitch she is, can't make one's big ben point upwards with all the viagra in the effing world. You ask me, the good Ole' One-Two, the embodiment of vengeance and freedom, If I find that weird? Kiddo, I don't give a flying fuck if he sticks his weiner where none would. What it matters is that WE. ARE. MASHING. THIS. NANCY. ALBERT. UP. Capisce?"
After two seconds deliberating if Albert would keep its exhaust intact, Harry answered.
"Fair enough, One-Two, fair enough."
That was the most restful sleep. Ever. No Voldemort trying to pick his mind, no hunger, just utterly blissful, sleep.
Some things were strange though.
Number one: why were his arms so sore? Sure, he did all the chores around the house, but this was beyond normal.
Number two: why was his shirt torn in a few places? Entire lengths of cloth were torn apart for no good reason, apparently.
And finally, why in the blazes he was holding Dudley's old cricket bat in his left hand? Said bat was full of tiny indentations, and haphazard stains of color, mostly black.
Black as in Vernon's brand new Volvo.
'No no no, it was a bad dream, it didn't happen, it couldn't possibly hap..."
Down below, in the sitting-room, Harry could hear his Uncle. Little Whinging could hear his uncle, really.
"I'M GONNA KILL THAT GOOD FOR NOTHING FREAK; NO THREE FOOT BEARDED MAN COULD STOP ME, I'M GONNA END THAT SON OF A BITCH!"