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Carefully Tangled Webs of Darkness	By : Ladygreychaton Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 37461 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: Do not own Harry Potter, characters, rights to, any books, movies, songs, poems or references made. Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowling, this is just for fun, with no intentions of profit.

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[[ Do not own Harry Potter, characters, rights to, any books, movies, songs, poems or references made. ]]
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Vernon had called in sick that day, citing the reason that his nephew who had lost his parents just last October, was having issues adjusting. While this was mostly true, and earned him plenty of sympathy, it was really to see how quickly the portly man could test Harry's 'abilities'.

He'd immediately set out to see what the boy could do. After a heated debate (in whispers) and assuring his beloved Tuney that he would not let any harm befall their young family, he had quized her once more on the things her unnatural sister could do. Petunia had cited the need for a wand, but after some deliberation, had recalled that 'children didn't seem to need it, bloody emotional things that they were'. He'd set her at the table with a calming cup of tea, and set his Dudders in the playpen with the mini-tele on for his amusement, one of those children's shows on for him.

And so, Vernon sought to see what could trigger these bits of... magic, and how to control them. Petunia wearily recalled one of Lily's Professor's making things float as they spoke to her parents, and so with unrestrained glee, Vernon had turned to the small boy (who was out of his cupboard by now and standing quietly in the kitchen) and set a small spoon on the floor and demanded the boy to 'make it float' or 'fly about'. The boy had looked at him curiously for a moment, and then looked on confused. After Petunia explained, bitterly, that Lily had said it was all about intent... wanting something to happen, and making it happen, when the redhaired prodigy had been little, the boy had nodded and stared at the spoon sitting innocently on the floor.

After a few moments, it had begun to tremble then slid across the floor and under the table. The boy sighed, as though displeased with the actions of the spoon. The green eyed creature held out it's small hand, and the spoon trembled nervously, before flying obediently out from under the table, and moved to hover above the boy's small hand. The boy held a small look of wonder, the largest emotional reaction Vernon or Petunia had seen from him thus far. But neither cared at the moment.

Petunia, slightly nervous and frightened, glanced at her husband, who was smiling deviously. He was thinking that if the training could go this quickly, and Harry could grasp things this easily, then surely they'd made the right choice! Greed shone in his beady blue eyes and he patted his thin wife's hand.

After a few more moments, the spoon clattered to the floor and Harry sighed. The boy looked to the Dursleys for further instruction or reprimand, but Vernon was thinking. After a moment, he set an apple on the table. "This, make this float," He demanded.

The boy's small brow creased, but after a moment, he glanced at his Aunt who looked at him coldly and muttered, "It's the same thing. You just... want it to." She then went back to her tea. In some ways, she was delighted to be considered knowledgeable on magic. In others, it was like being back with Lily again. But Vernon was quite right... if they were to be saddled with the boy, they had might as well use it. Perhaps it would even protect them from the others who threatened them in the first place.

Harry nodded slowly and held his hand out for the apple, brow creasing as he stood barefoot on the tile in the kitchen. His small body was dwarfed by the furniture and simple appliances, and yet the magic he was preforming and mastering was amazing for his age.

After a moment, the apple shivered and shot towards the dark haired boy at high speeds only slowing when it reached his open palm. There, it stopped and simply rotated, floating expectantly above his hand. Harry stared at it again, wondering at the abilities that were being unlocked by his family.

After a while, Vernon moved on to moving larger things, and then more than one. Petunia screeched when he went to hover the table, and the man was left to soothe his wife and placate her. But the overly thin woman wasn't having it, and with a trembling voice announced that she and Dudley would be going shopping and taking the car for a bit. Knowing better than to argue, Vernon nodded, handed over a few pound notes to his wife and kissed her cold cheek as she swept out with his flailing child.

As soon as the front door slammed, they were back to training, however.

When Petunia returned that night, she walked into the kitchen to find the dishes scrubbing themselves, plates moving in and out of the water spray and suds. She stood silently for a few moments before grudgingly telling Vernon with a sneer at the boy, "As long as the brat doesn't break anything." Which, from her, was as good as it was going to get. While she might hate magic, anything that meant less work for her was welcomed.

Vernon was saved from the couch that night, and had worked hard on the control of floating objects with the boy. When he put his nephew in his room and instructed him to sleep, Harry slept fitfully-- waking up often. Surprised at the softness of the guest bedroom mattress compared to his cot, and the quietness of the upstairs bedroom. Harry was far more used to the creaking of the stairs after all.

It wasn't until he spotted a spider asleep in the windowsill and invited it to share his bed, like those in his cupboard, that Harry truly slept. The spider, having made a small funnel web in the darker corner of the glass, clicked and chittered for a moment, it's mandibles relaying the sounds of it's response. It had noticed the darker boy, and expressed it's agreement to join the young tot in his bed, helping him feel more at ease, more in a comfortable environment. And so, the oddity continued, not the Vernon knew.

Vernon continued to drill Harry on what he could do the next day. What he could lift, and how many. How many objects he could control while focusing on other things. Could he split his attention between the two without dropping or losing it? The beginning was quite hard, and with many mistakes, but Vernon attributed that to age. Never doubting that this was something Harry could learn. And since Harry's magic was not given any limitations, it knew none.

After several days, when nearly the whole kitchen was flying about, lunch cooking, dishes cleaning, and table hovering off the floor, it appeared that they'd reached the toddler's cap for multi-tasking. Perhaps they'd work on more when he was older, it was decided. But at the moment, Vernon was satisfied. Strangely, the Dursleys would notice that the more things he seemed to do, the more a strange... dark outline seemed to appear around objects. Almost as though if he was doing too many things at once, something was holding it for him. But they never questioned it. If they had asked Harry, he simply would've told them that too many objects made him tired, so that he held them with the dark, like a good Shadow. That would've confused them further. But, being blind and greedy muggles, they didn't ask.

Vernon was satisfied with the hovering however, stating, "Well, we'll have to work on it, won't we? I imagine it's like a muscle for your Kind, right? If we work hard, it'll get better." The Dursleys had no way of knowing just how advanced this level of control was, or that it was considered wandless magic. Let alone at Harry's age.

They moved on to other things, next. What other branches of magic could Harry do? Vernon had written up a routine to follow around his own work schedule. Petunia had again, grudgingly and bitterly worked with her husband and nephew. Frostily she began to explain things that her 'perfect sister' could do, or even things that those 'weird professors' could do. Things mentioned in letters she dug up from old steamer trunks of keepsakes from their parents, and things Lily herself had babbled about.

When it came to coloring things, they hit a slight snag. Oh yes, the boy could color walls and clothes with the touch of a fingertip to the desired object. Though they would have to work on what was affected eventually. However... it appeared, strangely, that the boy was colorblind. Vernon had questioned his wife, was Lily and others of their Kind colorblind as well? Petunia was confused, but denied the claim, before writing it off. Lily was an anomally, she'd been told. A random strain appearing in a perfectly normal family. However, her husband's family, the Potters, had been unnatural for hundreds of years. His darling wife also produced a photo of the man wearing glasses. Perhaps it was inherited? They'd written the oddity off after that, never questioning the abnormality further.

Truth be told, they reported it to the optometrist, during the boy's scheduled visit. Strangely, it appeared that the boy was not near-sighted. Petunia had been... almost certain that the boy's sire had been. But, perhaps Lily's own vision had carried over. Indeed, it appeared he had inherited a rare form of colorblindness. Most forms were red-green blindness, or even rarer, blue-yellow color blindness. But dear Harry was actually completely monochromantic blind. His world was a wash of black, whites and grays. A bouquet of flowers showed shades rather than colors to the boy.

When questioned by the doctor, he dutifully informed him that, no, this had not always been so. He did recall colors. But... he simply could not see them anymore. Strangely, the boy's color perception was not due to cataracts or any known reason. The doctor was stumped but advised him to wear sunglasses if the light bothered his eyes, having no other advice for the toddler. The Dursleys, glad that they wouldn't have to pay for expensive prescription glasses, agreed and left the optometrist still scratching his head as he had no other symptoms.

When they went back to the training of this newest trick, it turned out to be the hardest because of his disability. It took a long time, but after much coaxing, Harry told Vernon that he could hear the command and see the magic's colors and recall the memory. However, as soon as the magic settled, it would fade to gray in his vision, and sometimes that would show in the transfer of his spells. As the color would gradually fade out to a strange slate gray, similar to what Harry must have naturally seen, his magic reflecting his vision on the wall.

But with hard work, and lots of barked orders, Harry managed to circumvent this, watching the spark of his magic and willing it to the many pallets of color he imagined and was told. It helped that there was a strange dome of red around the house, with weird strings tied to his Aunt, and even a singular string tied around his cousin. Harry was able to see this red all the time, and so he'd often find red one of the easier colors to manipulate. Strangely, he also dreamt of a beam of green light each night accompanied by a screaming voice. These were the only constant colors that he could reference without trouble or struggle.

It was weeks before he mastered the color-changing spell then, and by the time he could touch something and alter it to the specified color with the brush of a fingertip Vernon was amused. He let out a wet laugh and barked, "Look at that, Tuney! We'll never have to pay for the salon again!" Petunia did not share in her husband's humor.

Next, Vernon had Harry enlarge things. An apple became the size of a salad plate, and a blueberry the size of an apple, accordingly. Vernon greedily thought of the money they could save with this type of work. He wondered what else he could do in this manner? Could he order bolts of fabric, expensive silks? Would the threadcount be the same, or would that enlarge too? They'd have to pratice on swatches first, and then enlarge it, really. Maybe he could get little Harry to sew them seamlessly, with his many talents. Enhance it a little? Make it so it wouldn't stain?

There was a world of wonders that was opening for the Dursleys and he couldn't wait to begin to cultivate the seed he had planted. He'd have his work cut out for him, and many of these things would have to wait. But the boy was young, there was plenty of time. Vernon wanted to pat himself on the back for a job well done, this endeavor was turning out to be ripe indeed!

Petunia was scowling in the kitchen, as she helped herself to hot sandwiches made with the help of Harry's 'handy little ability'. She was still convinced that this whole thing would blow up in their face, and often would reprimand him on the topic of the boy. But suddenly, she shrieked and slid gracelessly to the floor.

A knife, having been cleaned with a sponge, had attempted to dry itself by a nearby towel and return to the knife block. Petunia, ever insistent on her ranting, hadn't noticed it's path. Gesticulating wildly, she had interrupted it's path. The knife, not having sentience, had merrily continued on it's way, slicing through the woman's palm. It left a long, gaping gash, the edges yawning open. Blood blossoming across the counter and dripping onto the floor where she now knelt, Vernon watched in horror as Petunia screeched, "You see, Vernon?! You see?! His Kind are never safe! They are never a good idea! They're dangerous, even when they're helping! Oh, Vernon!"

As his wife continued to wail, clutching a dishtowel uselessly to her hand, Vernon stood frozen, scared. Wondering if his precious wife was perhaps right about this. If, perhaps, just maybe this whole mad project that he was invested in was simply too risky. Perhaps, he simply ought to put the beast back beneath the stairs and leave it be. Maybe his greed had simply gotten the best of him, when he should have put his family's safety first.

However, just at that very moment, little Harry walked around him with a quiet sort of determination as he whispered, "Excuse me, Sir." He stepped around his rather large uncle, into the kitchen proper, and up to the distraught woman. With sure, but tiny hands, the boy tugged her down to his level. For a moment, Petunia Dursley was caught in a gaze of the purest green and all was quiet.

Petunia was terrified. Did he mean to hurt her further? She was more afraid to resist him, and kept quite still, caught in that strange, not-quite-young gaze. The thin woman was certain he was going to kill her, any moment now it would be over.

A small, pale hand pried her hand off the injured palm clutched protectively to her chest, and his hand moved to settle gently across the steadily seeping wound. His green eyes caught her own pale eyes, and wasn't that strange? When had she managed to look away? She could've sworn those eyes were glowing, but she was further distracted, breath catching as she felt something settle. It was... warmth. Her hand was warming up beneath his.

Her first instinct was to yank her hand away, but she realized just as quickly... the pain was fading. Dulling, disappearing like an iceberg beneath the water. The knife had cut her deeply, and it had ached, throbbed and snarled with a steady ebb of nerve ending pain.

The blood had been flowing down in a sure stream, not especially fast, but confident in it's trekk just the same. Now all that was disappearing, washing away behind a tidal wave of soothing warmth. The toddler pulled his hand away to reveal a thick, pale pink scar where the cut had been. A fresh sort of scar, you might say. There was crusted blood, proof that she was not losing her mind. Once, she had been injured, now there was none.

Petunia swallowed on a parched throat, feeling as though something significant had just transpired. A frown marred tiny Harry's face as he said, "I... I'm sorry I can't do more. There shouldn't have been a scar, but... I don't think I'm strong enough yet. I just didn't want you to... to hurt. It's better though... please don't be mad at me... M-Miss?" The last was stuttered, as though searching for a way to address his aunt. He had been informed to call his uncle 'Sir' but not what to call his aunt. Surely he wouldn't be punished for this?

Petunia, pale with shock and confusion wet her lips and cleared her throat before responding. "Yes, well..." Her eyes sought her husband's, needing something stable as she whispered again. "Vernon... it's gone...?" Somehow, she could not grasp what the boy had done for her. She held her hand up, showing the freshly healed wound to her portly husband as proof. It appeared to have healed well, really. If she applied the proper creams, there likely wouldn't be a permanent scar. Or noticeable, at least, the horse-faced woman thought with a frown.

Jerking her pale eyes to the boy, who was now swaying a bit and looking tired, she nodded. "Yes, well..." She continued. "...You will call me Miss or Ma'am. And Vernon?" Her gobsmacked husband looked up at her, and her eyes tried to convey her understanding. "I approve of this," She announced before rising from the floor and leaving the kitchen to changed from her bloody clothes, the only sign of the whole debacle. If the brat could be of use to them, better than having him as a hindrance.

Vernon's heartrate slowed back to a regular pace. He'd been frightened. Frightened for his wife, his home. For his sudden dreams of grandeur. He'd always wanted to live well, but accepted that perhaps middle class was as high as his star would rise. And because he couldn't live above others, he'd wanted to live as normally as possibly. A life of mediocracy. Anyone that didn't fit into the mold had bothered him. Meeting James and Lily Potter all those years ago had been such a terrible thing. They were so... abnormal. Lily, charming and beautiful. But she simply stood out too much, he'd decided! And James, her husband was loud, and claimed to have no need for a job! He said something about old money. What was this? How could he? They had stormed out, his wife and he, furious at the two. How could they possibly live with themselves?

But now, he could be more. He had a pet to raise, that could do tricks. Tricks that could protect his family. Tricks that would help it rise out of middle class suburbia. Out of the ordinary neighborhood! Perhaps the boy could help him reach higher, and they'd live the high life.

Vernon imagined Petunia, her long neck swathed in jewels while she donned a thick fur coat. Lily had not owned one, he was sure. He imagined himself in a fine wingback chair, drinking expensive whiskey and smoking cigars, while Dudley attended only the finest schools, owning only the finest things. Rubbing elbows with all the best people, of course. Yes, that would be their future. And he wouldn't have to choose between them!

"You can heal, boy?" Vernon questioned, trying to keep his voice soft, though he wanted to yell or laugh, perhaps dance. He wanted to shout. He wanted to be in a million places at once. But he had to take it slow. Patience, was not Vernon Dursley's strong point. He was, after all, a redhead.

Harry turned to his Uncle, his hands having lost any of the blood that was left on them from his Aunt's injury. Where had in gone? Had they... had they absorbed them? How disturbing, Vernon thought. All the more reason to train this monster.

The boy's green eyes dimmed, as though he seemed to be considering the question internally. Either that, or going over the words. Finally, he spoke. "I... know things, sometimes. I'm not sure how, Sir. They come to me. As if I've known them before. I knew that there are those my Kind that can heal with a spell... and I wanted Miss to be better, Sir." The boy puzzled out his answer slowly, as he did when he had to answer something that required a long response. Vernon noted he didn't talk much, but when he did, he was very intelligent, albeit strange.

"Do you... always do things based off want? Like what your Aunt said? Can you make things happen simply because you want it to?" Vernon mused, ignoring how weary the child seemed to be. The question was partly to the boy, and partly to himself.

Harry cocked his head to the side, as though listening to something. After a moment of stillness, "I don't know, Sir. Ask me, and I shall want it."

Vernon smiled his usual smile, the one filled with a smug sort of avarice. So, casually, he remarked. "Hm, well now... what do I want?" He pretended to think it over, stroking his mustache with his thick, beefy fingers. "What I want, is for me to have a day off, with paid leave. The boss will call and say they've decided that I need to take tomorrow off to work with the family, since I've done such and explementary job, or something. And maybe a nice twenty pound raise a week... that wouldn't be asking too much, would it?" He then laughed at his own audacity. The man did want to torment his nephew a little. After the boy admitted he couldn't do it, he'd ask for something else.

The boy's tired face scrunched up. Something flickered in his eyes. His brow furrowed and he walked towards the phone with determined steps. Gently, the boy set his hands on the landline, and paused, his breathing speeding up. His eyes closed tightly, a sweat breaking out over his scarred brow. Vernon began to worry about the boy as the clock ticked by, minutes passing and whatever he was attempting seemed straining. The boy had never appeared this strained before. Maybe a bit tired, especially after healing his Flower, but not like this. Surely he couldn't really be attempting to---?

The phone rang once. The boy unclenched slowly, his white knuckled hands relaxing a bit. He opened his eyes and swayed. "M-May I go lay down, Sir? I'm... tired..." Harry's eyes were quite dull at the moment and Vernon nodded in vague confusion as he stumbled from the room. Idly, he noted the cupboard door opening, and the small boy must've crawled inside on the cot, for in the next moment all was quiet. Till the phone rang again. Had he not been so distracted by that phone call, he might have paid attention to the strange shadows flickering about in the cupboard, or the way the spiders moved about, almost seeming to blanket the small tot in their midst. However, Vernon Dursley was much more focused and stunned by the current actions taking place with his telephone.

Vernon's fingers trembled a bit, but he picked up the reciever and answerd, "Vernon Dursley speaking how may I---? Yes? Oh... yes, I see. No, thank you. Oh, really... ah. I see... yes, ahh... really, yes. No, no... really, we're quite well. Yes, that's great. No, I understand, sir. Yes, sir. See you then, sir. Goodnight." In shock, the portly man hung up the phone.

He turned to his now-cold lunch and sat at the kitchen table, waiting for his wife to return. "Well?" Petunia asked waspishly as she set down a cup of cold milk before her husband. She was impatient, wanting to know if the brat had done it. She'd caught the tail-end of the request, and had quietly eavesdropped, waiting for the results. "Darling, what happened?" In a moment the woman would have to head up to go check on Dudley and she wanted to eat her sandwich in peace, but finding out the news was a great curiosity for her.

Vernon took a bite of his sandwich, chewed mechanically, swallowed, and followed it with a long drink of his milk. After he'd done this, in a voice that appeared to carry the shock the man felt, he began, "That was my boss." He shifted in his seat, causing the wooden chair to groan beneath his weight. "It appears Mr. Sanders likes my... work ethic, despite personal family matters. Thought I could use a break with a death in the family, and a new family member, in addition to my own son. He gave me a raise, and a small promotion starting on monday. I have the weekend to recooperate... on paid leave, with an advance." It was more than he had considered, really. But somehow, the boy had done it. When he'd asked, he'd never expected the boy to follow through!

Petunia dropped her sandwich back to her plate, no longer caring as she gasped, mouth falling open. "Vernon, darling! Do you know what this means?!"

Vernon nodded woodenly, as it began to sink in and he slowly smiled, his beady eyes moving from his sandwich to his wife. "Yes, Pet, I do. We have control... over a boy... who can control others. Over a boy who can change things, who can control people for us. Petunia," The man looked into her suddenly vicious eyes, his jowls jiggling as he grinned. "Things are going to change."
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Carefully Tangled Webs of Darkness