Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I own NOTHING HERE! J K Rowlings created and owns Harry Potter, the Universe he lives in, and everyone and everything running (or flying) around in it. Buffy The Vampire Slayer, any and all characters, materials, and settings were created by and belong to Joss Whedon and his gang. REMEMBER, IF YOU RECOGNIZE IT, IT'S NOT MINE!
Vernon's chapter is up. I know, I know, traditionally most HP stories open up with Vernon first, however, I felt that since Petunia, fueled by her psychotic grudge against her DEAD sister, the Source Of All Evil in Harry's home life, then she should have the opening curtain call.
Besides Vernon is a rather tricky character to write. He could easily be considered nothing more then an abusive thug, the fist that beats the crap out of Harry in any number of Fanfics. But Vernon is a lot more then Petunia's loud, nasty tool-He is a loving husband, tender and patient with his son, caring and sensitive with his sister; a conscientious hard worker . . .And a complete bastard to Harry.
See why I was having trouble with him?
Anyway, the chapter is done. Vernon, in this one, is suffering from the effects of a certain Human house elf's payback, and is toying with certain . . .ideas.
Vernon considers his life.
Vernon And His Thoughts: Together Again
"God damn this to bloody hell!" Roared the heavyset man, with a thick walrus like moustache, struggling with the slippery wet tire iron.
Vernon Dursley red faced, his bedraggled moustache dripping rainwater at the tips, paused, breathing heavily. He looked up from his task of changing the flat tire on his car, took a brief glance up at the dark, pouring skies, then swiftly lowered his head and swiveled it around to glare at the passing cars and vehicles on the motorway.
He swallowed and breathed heavily, taking in the exhaust laced air. Vernon mentally screamed curses-His quiet pleas of 'Why?' going unheeded by the higher Powers above. Nothing was going right! Nothing had gone right ever since that devil child was dropped off on his front step! As if to agree with his assessment, the skies opened up with a heavier downpour. With horrible, obscene curses, Vernon went back to putting on the new tire.
Finally finished, a thoroughly wet and very cold Vernon slipped into the driver's seat of the dry, but chilly car interior, wincing over the amount of water washing into the upholstery. Nothing to be done about that, Vernon thought tiredly. He reached out to the ignition, with the key, slipped it into the slot and turned it. With the car engine rumbling quietly, Vernon flicked his wrist and the window wipers came to life, pushing away the rainwater, giving him an unobstructed view of the fast moving traffic to his right. He rested his big, meaty hands on the steering wheel, and remembered that day, that Tuesday, the day he had seen a cat reading a map, had been overcast as well. Of course, over nine years later, Vernon knew well and good that the cat had to have been one of Them. He sighed deeply. If he had known then . . .An image of him running down the cat in his car, popped into his head.
The wicked idea had Vernon briefly grinning, lifting his dark mood for a moment. Would that had helped with the Boy? Probably not, Vernon admitted silently. However, he snickered with sadistic glee, it would have made him feel good for a little while, and gifted him with a good memory to warm him up good and proper!
With a last dark chuckled, Vernon fell silent, once again, considering the sad joke his perfectly normal life had become. That Tuesday, he reflected with sorrow, was the last day he and his family enjoyed a normal life. Yes, even barring the cat, the owls, the strangely dressed people, and yes, even that oddly dressed old man hugging him, that day had been . . .Normal.
Vernon then proceeded to do what he always did whenever he thought about the day after-He shook with rage. With that impotent, righteous rage he had growing inside him for years. How dare they! How dare they drop off that damn boy without permission! How dare those freaks demand they take in that boy! Worse yet, write a note with a 'Oh, by the way . . .Your sister's dead'! It was the second time Vernon had seen his precious Pet break down in deep, grieving sobs-The first time had been for her parents death, and he ended up holding Petunia's quivering body, comforting her for the rest of the night.
Taking a moment to compose himself, Vernon, breathing heavily, darkly mused that if Pet had been just a little less loud about finding the boy that morning, maybe they would have had a chance to drop him off at one of the neighbors doorstep. Sans the identifying letter, naturally, Vernon smirked cruelly.
Sadly, Pet's scream had awakened too many neighbors-Inquisitive faces peering out from behind curtains attested to that. After that, it was grin and bear years of freakish happenings-His car attracting some trouble or another, practically on a daily base. Personal hygiene products going so strangely wrong. Shoes and clothing shrinking and expanding-Vernon made an unhappy face, his underwear was tighter then he was comfortable with, especially around the crotch. As for the food . . .Vernon could honestly never recall having suffered so many instances of diarrhea, nausea or heartburn before. He had lost track of the number of times he and his family had been diagnosed with food poisoning-And that was well bloody impossible, given how Pet only purchased the finest quality food items, and watched out for the expiration dates!
Vernon sat quietly in his car, listening to the repeating 'Swish-Thunk' of the window wipers, the rain drumming on the car roof, the steady thrum of the engine, even the wet sliding sound made by fast spinning tires driving through standing water. The sky above had, if anything, become darker, the down pour even heavier. In that relative solitude, Vernon's thoughts took on a rebellious shade. The large man caught himself calmly considering, what if . . .? What if he took another route-? Another road that lead away from Privet drive and what lived in it? Away from the freaks and the insanity they brought with them-After all, as the letter explained, it was Pet's blood that was important to them, not his. He could just keep driving, file for divorce, allowed her to keep the house, most of the money, Dudley . . .
He shifted uneasily in his chair, making the leather squeak.
Could he? Could he just leave everyone and everything he had worked so hard for? It was a moment . . . Just a moment. Still, he could . . .but, no. Vernon doubted he could. His tense body deflated. Regardless of everything-He loved her. He loved Petunia. May God helped him, he loved her so very, very much!
Vernon closed his eyes in resignation, and sighed. He leaned his forehead against the steering wheel, and rested his aching pounding head there for a moment.
For Vernon, his Pet was the reason why he was able to get up in the mornings, because she was going to be there when he woke up. She was the reason he was able to go through those foul, soul-destroying commutes; put up with all those worthless, lazy, incompetent people. She was the reason he submitted himself to humiliation at the hands of his immediate superiors and clients. For the sake of his beloved, Vernon had put up with tedious, boring meetings. He had tolerated ambitious, deceitful and treacherous co-workers, and survived, and thrived, in spite of their games.
All of that . . .All of that and more, for the sake of his Pet, and later, his son, Dudley.
He loved her. He loved his Pet. He loved his son.
Could he abandon them? Abandon his family? Save himself, and leave his wife and son to deal with those freaks, and that devil, by themselves?
Vernon breathed in the car's petrol tainted air, pulled his body back until it came to rest up against the padded, leather chair back. With his eyes still closed, Vernon reached up and to the side of the car for the seat belt. Absently, Vernon drew it across his body, clicked it in place, and then opened his eyes.
He sat there, looking past the working wipers; a slow bitter smile crawled on his lips.
Right, he had better get going then, or he would truly be late for supper. With that thought, Vernon Dursley put the car into Drive and maneuvered it into traffic. Just another normal commuter going home to his normal family.
A lot darker then what I originally intended, but look, I didn't want to present the usual knuckle walking ape, but Vernon is such a difficult bastard to write-He's NOT a nice guy. He's certainly not politically correct. He tends to be weak willed when it comes to Petunia, supporting, and sometimes, participating in her cruel and vicious schemes against her nephew. Hell, there is some sincere suspicion he could have profited from those schemes.
However, he is extremely loyal, protective, and, bizarrely enough, loving, when it comes down to the people he thinks of as family-Sadly, Harry is not in that group.
Vernon sincerely loves Petunia. Sure, he knows she's damaged, and could be dangerous, but he still loves her. Vernon reminds me of Spike-Both love and care for damaged, dangerous, women.
I could go on and give out a lengthy Vernon/Harry father figure rant and rave. But, instead, I think I'll save that for a future story.
So, until the next, and FINAL chapter, good bye, and thanks for reading this fic!
Next up: Dudley!