Destiny Reversed

Chapter 1 Home

"So you're back, are you?"

Vernon Dursley's sneer was unmatched in girth and wicked intentions, as if squinting his beady black pupils alone would cause his nephew to spontaneously combust. Weight shifted on one foot, it was hardly noticeable he was favoring his left leg until Harry's approach compelled him to straighten up and pull up his shirt sleeves.

Harry sighed, taking his time as he pushed his trolley towards the fat man. His uncle seemed to be in an even fouler mood than usual, but maybe he was remembering the goblets that had bounced around on his head last summer, when Dumbledore had come to thankfully rescue Harry. It had been quite a sight, his Aunt and Uncle's terrified faces as fancy gold goblets bounced innocently around their heads.

The slight smile the memory allowed him faded at the thought of Dumbledore. Sometimes he still thought he would turn around the corner and see the Headmaster's crooked nose peeking out from behind a book.

"Have a good year, Uncle Vernon?" Harry said charitably.

But Vernon's mind seemed to be on something else. His eyes narrowed, becoming almost obscured by the heavy bags underneath as his gaze settled on the two other people trailing behind Harry a little too closely for his comfort.

"Who're they?"

Harry turned around to look at his two companions. "Oh, these are my friends," he explained, eyeing his uncle warily. "Hermione and Ron."

Vernon's face turned a rather unpleasant shade of purple at this introduction. "I won't be seen consorting with any more of your people; no I won't!" he said firmly, glaring heatedly at Harry.

However, the effect was lost on Harry. Compared to the numerous of monsters, both creature and human, he's encountered in his short lifetime, his uncle ranked fairly low on the fright scale. Perhaps when he had been little, stilling his sobs in the cupboard under the stairs after an especially brutal day in the Dursley household, but he knew now that the fiends in the closet were nothing compared to the ones that freely roamed Diagon Ally's cobblestone streets and Scotland's ever expanding fields. Vernon Dursley had never, for instance, met a Dementor and was forced to hear his mother's last words over and over again. Nor had he ever felt the slimy, icy skin of Inferi clutching onto his arm, trying to drag him down to the depths, or watched in horror as a monster was reborn, saw it rise above the bubbling cauldron, its red snake-like eyes penetrating every fiber of his body –

No, Vernon Dursley was hardly terrifying.

"They'll be staying over," Harry informed him, unconsciously straightening his posture. "No arguments. Just bear with us until my birthday, and we'll be out of your hair for good. Let them stay, Uncle Vernon; it's the least you can do, after everything."

Vernon puffed out indignantly, insulted that his "freakish" nephew felt so comfortable ordering him around. The nerve of that boy! "Why, you...'the least you can do?' You ungrateful brat! You should be appreciative of all we did for you! We fed you, clothed you, gave you a roof over your head, a bed to sleep in! You have noright to tell me –"

Ron and Hermione exchanged significant glances. So this was the infamous Vernon Dursley. They had seen the enormous man from afar –it was very hard not to notice him– but had never been close enough to see the veins popping out of his forehead, the way his fat fists had clenched at Harry's words. Hermione resisted the urge to grab Ron's arm, understanding in an instant how much power this man must have held in her friend's childhood. One swing of a fat arm, even accidentally, would have sent scrawny Harry flying. Carefully watching Harry's reaction, she was surprised to find his expression unreadable. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he was bored.