Chapter 2: Dursley Dearest

Predictably, Harry was woken up in a few hours by a loud shriek coming from the exceptionally large mouth of a bony blond shrew with an extraordinarily long neck.

This must be the redheaded slattern's sister, the infant thought. Although the coloring was different, the resemblance was uncanny: they had the same slender bodies, the same hairstyle, and the same tendency to make idiots of themselves. Harry smirked. He'd be running circles around these jokers before he was potty-trained.

A disgustingly fat man with a hideously bushy mustache huffed and puffed his way towards his wife. "It's a baby, Petunia," said Fat-Man, when he caught his breath.

"Aren't you a bright one?" asked Harry nastily, still lying on the front porch. Good Lord, it was amazing (and unfortunate) that the excess blubber on the man's frame and all the lard that had obviously settled comfortably on his brain (judging by his mental slowness) hadn't inhibited his ability to speak. So these people would be his "parents" now, would they? At this point, he was ready to revert to his old matricidal tendencies. Hopefully, these buffoons won't have as many lucky escapes as his biological parents had.

"It's not just any baby, Vernon!" Petunia shrieked. "It's my sister's baby! Lily's child!"

Vernon gave this obviously significant statement the consideration it deserved. "So... so, Lily Potter was your sister?" he asked slowly. At Petunia's brisk nod, he continued, gaining confidence. "This boy right here is her son. That would make you... you would be... well, you'd be Lily's sister. It means something else, too. Hang on... Wait! I got it! You would be this baby's AUNT! Haha, get it? AUNT... ANT! They sound the same. 'Please don't bite me, ANT Petunia! I'll never be bad again!' BWAHAHAHAHA!"

Petunia gave her husband a pointed look.

"Hey wait, there's more to this sandwich!" Vernon exclaimed.

"Oh how cute," Harry mumbled. "Imagine a fat person using food-related metaphors to communicate. What's next, a doctor using healthcare-related innuendo to hit on a hot chick? Or how about a Greek seaman talking about... well... semen?"

Vernon would have ignored the baby even if he could understand him, so great was his concentration on what was currently running through his mind. "Wahoo!" he shouted triumphantly. "I'm married to you, right? So that would make me the baby's... the baby's UNCLE! Hey! I'm an uncle! Gosh, I never dreamed this day would come!"

Vernon looked impressively down at the infant. Harry's mind filled with images of semi-trucks falling over sideways and crushing innocent puppies, of the Leaning Tower of Pisa finally falling down on a butterfly that just came out of a cocoon, of... well, you get the idea. Harry found himself in mortal danger, and he hadn't even plotted any of these people's deaths yet.

Mr. Dursley grinned stupidly at the now panicking infant, pointed at himself with his thumb and said, "Just call me Uncle Vernon!"

"I shall call you whatever I please, Fat-Man." Harry allowed an extra bit of venom to slip into his voice to make up for his earlier state of panic. "And you will answer me! Yes, you'll answer me. And you'll shower me with fatherly attention and teach me the ways of the world! You'll take me to soccer games and strip clubs and teach me how to fight the adult-sized bullies that flood our nation's elementary schools! You and I will... What the deuce are you doing?"

Vernon was trying to surreptitiously scratch his butt with a Grunnings Drill Company No. 2 Pencil. Harry sighed. "Look, just try to stay out of my way until I can kill you."

"Vernon, the baby can't stay here!" shrieked the Bony-Bellied Strumpet.

"And just why not?" demanded the infant. "By the look of Fat-Man over there, you people have enough food to go around, and if money's an issue, you could whore yourself out to some chickenshit sleazeball who wants to see a vagina before he dies. Quite frankly, I don't think it would hurt you to take me in and experience a bit of high culture and intelligent discussion before I send you back to Hell where you came from!"

"See, Pet, I think the boy likes the idea," said Vernon, not having a clue what his nephew was saying and paying no mind to the way the boy was angrily thrashing about on the ground.

"Vernon," Petunia whispered urgently. "My sister was a freak. Her husband was a freak. Her in-laws were freaks. Her pet cat was a freak. Her vegetable garden had gnomes that walked and talked and dancing potatoes."

"Potatoes?" Vernon sounded completely bemused. "What's 'taters, precious?"

"Po-tat-oes," said Petunia, enunciating clearly. "You know, boil 'em, mash 'em, stick 'em in a stew?"

"Ah HA!" Vernon screamed with raucous laughter. "I made you say it; I totally made you say it!"

"Anyway," said Petunia, "This boy is a freak."

"You're damn right I'm a freak," screamed Harry. "Freakin' pissed off, that is. Why aren't I being warmly welcomed into your home? How am I supposed to plan an attack on you unsuspecting goofballs if you're going to be prejudiced against me over something I can't help? How am I supposed to put you people out of your misery if you can't learn to trust me? God, I can't believe the idiocy of the modern foster care system!"

"Well, since he's a freak and all... I've always been a firm supporter of normalcy myself..." Vernon mused.

"He'll be better off at some orphanage or a street corner somewhere," insisted Petunia.

"But, truly, what is normal?" questioned the infant lying on the porch. "Would you define it as what the majority of people do? Does not this shallow, pedantic definition need further clarification? What if the majority of people jumped off a bridge? Would the definition change to allow the continued survival of the human race? I for one sure as hell hope it wouldn't..."

"...So, we should give him some sort of test to make sure he isn't a freak," continued Vernon.

"Why, Vernon!" Petunia exclaimed. "That's a fabulous idea!"

"All right! Let's do this!" said Vernon enthusiastically. Harry sighed. He would play their game... for a little while.

Vernon awkwardly picked up the infant by his feet, carried him inside, and deposited him on the sofa. Petunia followed nervously.

"Hello and welcome to Surrey's Number-One- rated gameshow 'Normal or Nuts,'" bellowed Vernon, using his gigantic fist as a pretend microphone. "Let's welcome today's contestant! What is your name, sir?"

"Harry James Potter of Godric's Hollow," the baby replied snootily.

"Well, Harrykins, are you ready to play?"

"Yes, I suppose I should get this over with," sghed Harry.

"The key to the game is to answer the following personality questions. Based on your answers, we- my lovely co-host and I- determine whether or not you are sane. Got it?"

"Yes, yes," groaned Harry.

"Ah-ha, you just answered the first question the way a normal person would! You're obviously smart enough to understand simple instructions, and, I'm not gonna lie, that stuff gets me every time! I sure hope you do turn out to be normal. It'll be a pleasure to have someone intelligent around here, wouldn't it, Pet?"

"My Dudley's much smarter," sniffed Petunia. He truly was an amazing child. She had no idea where he picked up half the words he said.

"OK! Next question!" Vernon bellowed. "If you were a tree, what kind would you be- a mighty oak or a yielding palm?"

Harry thought about that for a while. "I suppose I would be," he said slowly, "the kind that falls on you and KILLS YOU!"

"Hmm... good answer," Vernon admitted. "He definitely thought outside the box, there. Now I don't approve of imagination, but I certainly value thinking outside the box."

"Next question," said Petunia sharply. She seemed determined to trick Harry into giving the wrong answer. "A man gets a chance to see both Heaven and Hell before he dies. So, he visits Hell and sees a bunch of people sitting around a gigantic round table with a bowl of noodles in the middle. Everyone has a pair of three-feet-long chopsticks and is trying to grab some noodles with them. Then, he visits Heaven and sees the exact same thing. At the end of the trip, the man becomes incredibly religious. He says he sees why Hell is so bad and Heaven is so good. Why is this?"

"Obviously, this story takes place in the future, after I've killed you. The reason the man is determined to get into Heaven is because you were in Hell, scumming up the Underworld."

"That was pretty creative, Petunia. Let's give him that one," said Vernon.

"But, that's not the real..." Petunia began.

"Next question!" Vernon interrupted. "If you could have anything you wanted, what would you ask for?"

"Well, first I'd ask for unlimited wishes," mused Harry.

"Ha! Good one!" laughed Vernon.

"Then, I'd wish that you and the bony-bellied strumpet were dead!"

"He's a precocious little guy, I'll give him that," sighed Petunia, who hadn't understood much of what Harry had said, but was able to get the gist. "I suppose he'll have to stay."

Ha, ha, ha. Maybe this Petunia woman wasn't as evil as she first appeared. Of course, she had the potential to be a total bitch, but she seemed to spend most of her time shaking her head over her moronic husband's antics. Harry would bet money that the humorously mismatched couple had some great make-up sex after the Fat-Man did something especially stupid... But best not to think about that, Harry told himself with a shudder.

"You there! Vile Woman!" Harry shouted at his aunt. "I shall require a nutritious breakfast at nine-thirty AM sharp. I want the yolks taken out of the hard-boiled eggs. You know, I dream of slaughtering a massive amount of people, but I just can't bring myself to devour the flesh of dead animals. I guess you could say I'm trying to do the Hitler thing here…haha." He paused for a moment. The blond bimbo did not so much as chuckle, damn her. You try to brighten someone's day, and they can't even be bothered to acknowledge you. "...I say, are you even listening to me?" Harry demanded. "If I don't get a room with an East-facing window with an oak crib and a 6-inch thick mattress, I will make every diaper change absolute Hell for you. Do you hear me?"

Petunia ignored him, throwing a letter that had been on the doorstep next to Harry into the fireplace. She watched it burn with a gleam in her eyes. Great, I'm stuck with a pyromaniac... Well, not for long. Harry sighed. He had a feeling he would be sighing a lot for the next ten years, unless he did something quick.

Harry tried again to make small talk, but Petunia wasn't very chatty.

"So, how would you like to be killed? I'm just asking, you know... entirely hypothetical, of course... but I really want to know... How should I kill you? What would be the most painful way?"

Trying to escape from complete and utter insanity, Harry climbed up the stairs to meet the legendary Dinky Duddydums.

He came upon a playroom, crowded with toys and a plump, blond toddler playing in the middle of it all, completely happy and carefree. That will soon change.

"Excuse me," Harry began politely, "But who the deuce are you?"

"Dud-wey. Me Dud-wey," the blond boy responded cheerfully, completely entranced by this funny, dark-haired boy who spoke so strangely. "My toys! You no touch my toys!"

Ah, Dudley, that was his name. Well, he'd always be Cousin Douchebag to Harry. Harry gave the plump, blond toddler an appraising look. Seems a bit short on brains, although anyone would look like an idiot, sticking a block in their mouth like that.

"Very nice to meet you, Douchebag," Harry said cordially. "I am your cousin, Harry James Potter, but you may call me 'Most Grand, Exalted Royal Master, Savior and Rightful Lord of All Mankind.' Or, on less formal occasions, I will also answer to simply 'Your Royal Highness, Master of Mankind.'"

Dudley continued chewing on the block, his round blue eyes fixed intently upon Harry.

"We should really work on your posture," said Harry, half to himself and half to his cousin. "I suppose it shouldn't matter all that much, seeing as how you'll be dead in a few weeks, anyway. But still, would a simple genuflection kill you?"

No reply. Only that chewing and that glare. Cousin Douchebag, it seemed, was a highly territorial toddler.

"For God's sake, Duddy Douchebag, take that stupid thing out of your mouth this instant. Really, hasn't anyone taught you about playtime? You're supposed to be plotting the deaths of your parents and planning world domination, not imitating a termite. Oh, God. Are you one of those kids who have special needs?"

"Ha-wy. Cuthin Ha-wy," Dudley grunted. "Me no like you."

"The name is 'Ha-rry. But I don't answer to that. I demand to be addressed as 'Most Grand, Exalted Royal Master, Savior and Rightful Lord of All Mankind.'" said Harry.

Dudley continued to look sulky. "Forget it. You just play with your stupid blocks, while I plan real empires."

Harry sat down at the small activity table by the window. He grabbed some crayons and some paper and began drawing out his new, improved plans for world domination. While he was thus absorbed, he spotted a small girl from the house next door looking through her bedroom window at him. He flipped her the bird and drew some extra bloodstains in Canada.

Harry stopped doodling and sighed. So this madhouse was where he'd be growing up, was it? He felt so alone, and he hadn't even killed any of his family. Loneliness without the benefits of bloodshed. There was nothing worse.

He could try to be friendly, he supposed. He walked up to where Dudley was now playing with his trucks.

"Ah, Dum-Dum! Playing Rush Hour now, are we? That's certainly invigorating."

"My toys! My toys!" Dudley screamed as Harry made to pick up a random truck. "You go 'way, Ha-wy!"

Dudley shoved Harry into a pile of cars. Harry barely managed to land on his feet. He pulled out a mysterious-looking ray-gun from the inside of his diaper (A/N: Ewww.), and aimed it at his cousin. The next moment, Dudley was bound from head to foot in ropes. Harry laughed evilly, and then became aware of the pretty toddler in the window giggling at Dudley's predicament. For a second, Harry was tempted to grin at her, but remembered himself and scowled. You'll get yours as well, sister. You just wait.

At that moment, Aunt Petunia came upstairs to bring the boys down for breakfast. "Potter!" she shrieked. "What have you done?" She quickly began untying her precious Dudley.

"Now you sit on the porch and think about what you've done!" commanded Petunia, sitting Harry down on the back porch.

"Well aren't you the one in charge?" Harry snorted at his cousin, now giggling in his mother's arms.

"You'll have breakfast when you can behave," Petunia continued as though she hadn't heard her nephew, which was probably the case.

So, they were going to starve some goodness into his heart, were they? Not if Harry had anything to say about it. He looked through the glass door into the kitchen. A box of animal crackers was sitting, as tempting treats often were, conspicuously on top of a high counter. Harry smirked, concentrating on the box until it levitated in the air and zoomed right towards the back door, which opened by itself to let the treat out. Harry grabbed for it in midair and tore open the box.

As he stuffed his face with the forbidden treat, he became aware of a pair of eyes on him. He glanced up and saw the same little girl from earlier, now watching him from her backyard. She had long, chestnut hair and large, almond-shaped hazel eyes. Yep, she was nuts. She waved, smiling. Harry crossed his eyes at her and went back to gorging himself.

Harry was busy stuffing his face and staring at the girl next door, now having a tea party with her stuffed animals, wondering what it was that was so bloody interesting about her, when he heard a quiet sniggering. He glanced up, alarmed, but all he could see was a tiny snake curled up on one of the tall ferns. Harry heard more sniggering and, this time, noticed the way the snake's frame rippled with laughter.

"Just what is so funny?" Harry asked menacingly, deciding not to read too much into the fact that a snake was laughing at him.

"Looksssss like ssssomeone'sss in love," the snake hissed.

"Ha! That's so funny I forgot to laugh! ...Excluding that first ha..."

"You have all the signs," the snake pointed out. "The need to watch her like a hawk, intense interest in the person... unless of course it's the pink tea set you're interested in..."

"Lies! All lies!" bellowed Harry.

"The sufferer often reacts with immediate denial, but the symptoms are too clear to be mistaken," continued the annoying reptile. "You seem to have it bad, the way you managed to get food all down your front." Harry decided his situation wouldn't be improved by pointing out that he always got food on his front. It was an evil genius thing. "Ha, I'll bet if she ever spoke to you, you'd just babble like an idiot," the snake continued.

"I most certainly would not," huffed Harry. "I would engage her in a moving discussion about arts and literature... WAIT! No, I wouldn't! I would kill her before she could open her mouth!"

The snake smirked, insofar as that was possible. "Show me."

"What?"

"Go talk to her. We'll see how you do, Romeo."

"Fine! I'll show you! Wait... why the deuce am I talking to a snake, anyway?"

"I have no earthly idea. Stop stalling; go talk to the saucy little harlot."

The dumbass snake curled up on Harry's shoulder as the infant stepped over the completely pointless foot-high fence that separated the Dursleys' backyard from the neighbor's. He strolled nonchalantly towards the idiotic girl babbling to her stuffed animals. Harry cleared his throat to make his presence known. The girl stood up and put her hands on her hips.

"Um, this is my yard. I don't know where you live, but it sure as heck isn't here."

"Hmmph. Too bad you have to be such a bitch. Here I was planning to kill you with minimum pain and humiliation." The snake on his shoulder sniggered. Shut up, stupid snake. He wasn't in love. Babbling like an idiot? What a joke! Just look at the grace, the charm, the wit he exhibited in stringing two sentences together in front of that intolerable girl.

The girl tossed her chestnut locks over her shoulder. It sparkled like a jewel in the sunlight... Not that Harry cared. "Get off my property, strange boy," she demanded. She did the hair toss again. Harry tried to concentrate on a point three inches above her left ear so as not to get sucked into her huge, hazel eyes. While he was thus engaged, the girl managed to grab the box of animal crackers from Harry's hand. The snake sniggered again.

"Oh, you're hungry are you?" Harry asked, his voice dripping with false concern. "Here you are, then." And he kicked the girl in the mouth. She screamed and put her hands to her lips, dropping the box of cookies to the ground. Harry picked up the box, tossed it in the air, pulled out his lightning ray from a secret compartment in his diaper (A/N: Again, Ewwwww) and shot at the box of animal crackers. It vaporized in midair. "Ah, well, that's the way the cookie crumbles." he laughed loudly and elbowed the annoyingly appealing toddler. "Eh?" The girl didn't laugh. And Harry had thought she had such a great sense of humor, too... "You'll get that one halfway through your tea party," Harry said cheerfully.

"Looks like you got it bad." This comment came from the snake, who was still on his shoulder for some reason.

"Who the Hell are you, anyway?"

"My name is Stewart Gilligan The Fourth," Said the snake.

"Might I call you 'Stewie?'"

"Sure, Romeo."

"Stewie?"

"Yes?"

"DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIE!"

Harry plucked Stewie off his shoulder and threw him as hard as he could. The snake hit the brick wall of the Dursley house with a loud thump. The girl looked up and shrieked with laughter. Wow, she enjoyed seeing people in pain almost as much as Harry himself did. Not that this made any difference in Harry's mood. His heart didn't leap, his eyes didn't sparkle with joy, a grin didn't tug at his lips. He remained quite composed, swaggering back towards the Dursleys' property, that is until he tripped over the foot-high fence separating the two yards.

Stewie howled with laughter, his injuries forgotten, the intolerable little girl giggled, and Harry pulled a homemade thermal detonator out his pocket, placed it deliberately on top of the stupid midget fence, and pressed a tiny button, activating the timer. It would go off in precisely thirty seconds. Harry dove into Dudley's sandbox and buried himself underneath a thick layer of sand and chintzy plastic toys. He heard a loud BOOM through the sand in his ears. Harry slowly counted to ten and poked his head out.

The backyard was in a state of advanced destruction. Petunia's carefully maintained garden was now a heap of dust and burnt plants. The patio furniture was topsy-turvy and a few shingles had fallen off the roof. Occasional small fires were still burning. Petunia stuck her head out the back window to see her nephew innocently sitting in the sandbox, surrounded by total destruction. The blond woman's eyes narrowed; there could be only one culprit.

"VERNON DURSLEY!" she screamed. "GET OVER HERE, PRONTO!"

Vernon hurried over from his easy chair in the living room. Petunia had insisted that he take the day off to help "deal with" the unexpected addition to the family, but so far, all Vernon was doing was sitting in the living room in his underwear, watching sports.

"What is it, Pet?" he huffed.

"Just look at my beautiful backyard!" his wife shrieked, gesturing towards the miniature dystopia.

"Bit messy, isn't it?" asked Vernon puzzled.

"Messy? Messy? It's ruined! Oh, Vernon! You've been lighting your farts again, haven't you? Haven't you?"

"No, I haven't!" yelled Vernon. "...At least, not recently... I mean..."

"Forget it, Vernon!" his wife interrupted. "You just go back to the TV, while I clean up a humongous mess all by myself with no help from anyone... AS USUAL!"

"All right, then," agreed Vernon, completely missing Petunia's attempt at reverse psychology. He bounced his way back into the living room, sitting down on his easy chair with a loud and dangerous creak. Petunia sighed, putting on thick gloves and a gas mask in case of toxic fumes, and pulled an enthusiastically cheering Harry out of the sandbox and into the house. She was so busy contemplating the huge mess she had to clean that she didn't notice Stewie the snake slither inside behind her as she brought her nephew in. Harry, in his aunt's arms, noticed the snake gazing up at Petunia with a rather soppy look on its face. What was that about?

Petunia went out to clean up the mess, while Harry and Stewie sat on the floor at Vernon's feet. Dudley glared mutinously at Harry before continuing to play with his blocks a few feet away.

Both Vernon and Dudley were completely oblivious to the black-haired infant whispering vindictively to the snake. "I do NOT love her!" Harry whispered loudly. "What the Hell would you know about romance, anyway?"

Unfortunately, Vernon heard this last remark. Thinking it was addressed to him, the fat man's piggy eyes widened in shock and pride. "Awww! My little neffy-poo wants to learn about love!" He gestured for Harry to sit on his lap, which had enough fat to give the entire country of China to die of heart disease. Hee, hee, hee, thought Harry, who would have thought that all of these lame fat jokes would have inspired such a wonderful, awful idea?

In the meantime, however: Harry didn't want to do this, but he could see no other alternative. He had to get closer to Fat-Man, had to gain his trust. Then, he could sink the lethal blow...

Pacing himself, Harry trudged up his uncle's leg fat, a task that proved to be as exerting as that time he climbed Mount Everest.

Family Guy-Style Flashback:

Harry James Potter pulled his way up the final snowy ridge separating his mortal body from the top of Mount Everest. After months of hard work (which was saying something, considering he was only one year old), adjusting his body to lower levels of oxygen in the air, and getting lost a few times, since he realized too late that he had grabbed his father's novelty compass, which always pointed towards the nearest nudist beach, he had done it. He had reached the top. A feat hardly anyone had the stamina nor the courage to accomplish. Only a year old, and he had done it.

Harry absentmindedly kicked at some ice. He looked down towards civilization. He wondered how many idiots had died since he first started climbing this stupid mountain. Maybe their deaths would be published in the next great edition of the Darwin Awards. That was the best thing about civilization, in Harry's opinion: taking pleasure in other people's pain and misery. Schadenfreude.

Harry, completely bored, chucked a few shards of ice. Maybe it would land on someone below. Yes, a heavy piece of like that, combined with air pressure and inertia, would result in someone's death. He hoped it was Rosie O' Donnell. No, wait. He had shot her in the face only a few days after he was born. Ah, well.

Completely bored with the silent, white blankness surrounding him, Harry pulled out the novelty compass he had "borrowed" from James and began his descent.

End of Flashback. Back to the plot (inasmuch as this story has a plot.)

Finally, Harry managed to reach the top of the leg and was sitting awkwardly on his uncle's rather squishy lap. "Now, Harrykins, when a man loves a woman very, very much, as I did your Aunt Petunia..."

Two hours later, Harry was still screaming, Stewie the snake had a dreamy look on his face. Every now and then, Stewie would hiss "AHH, yes. Petunia! Petunia, my pet!" Vernon had turned his attention back to the TV, not noticing his nephew's anguish, or the perverted reptile's horniness.

After a while, Harry stopped screaming for a few minutes to catch his breath. During the momentary silence, he noticed an intriguing commercial on the Dursleys' big-screen TV.

"Are you interested in a bit of high culture? Perhaps seeing one of the classic plays by Shakespeare?"

"BORING!" Vernon yawned.

"Then you should head on down to the Little Whinging Theatre Productions and try out for our production of the classic Shakespeare tragedy, Hamlet."

"What is with these commercials?" Vernon demanded. "They're supposed to be able to read my mind and advertise the product that will solve all of my problems at a reasonable price. I used to have stimulating conversations with them! Now... now... WE'RE BREAKING APART!"

Vernon left the room in tears, heading towards the phone in the kitchen to complain to his cable provider, as Harry watched the last bit of the commercial.

"Become part of the saga of revenge as Hamlet plots to murder his scheming uncle Claudius, usurp of the crown and Queen."

"Plots to kill his uncle, eh..." Harry mused.

"Tryouts for this once-in-a-lifetime-opportunity will be held at the Little Whinging Playhouse Thursday, November 2 from 10 to 7.

"Why, that's tomorrow. Dudley, make a note! Tomorrow, I need to look my best. For life is but a stage, dear cousin. And so, my friend, I will walk a real stage to gain inspiration for my horribly macabre life. Also, could you call in the bony-bellied strumpet? I need a diaper change, and I don't trust Fat-Man to do it. He might find my ray gun."

"Duddy want way-gun," Dudley whined.

"Listen, Duddy Douchebag, you'll touch nothing of mine and hope I can find in my heart to kill you swiftly and painlessly!" Harry screamed at his cousin.

Dudley, being denied something he wanted for quite possibly the first time in his life, began to cry loudly. If this doesn't let up, the lard-loving walrus and the bony-bellied bimbo would rush in to comfort their precious son. He didn't want Dudley's parents coddling him. Harry figured that, as a baby, Dudley deserved at least a shot at not growing up to be as moronic as his parents.

"Hey, Dudley! Catch!" He threw Dudley one of his homemade thermal detonators, telling himself that he was only doing so to make the brat stop crying. "Keep it, I have thousands. If you ever want to blow something up, hit this button here, and throw."

Dudley's eyes shone in excitement as he regarded his new toy. He hit the button and threw it into the dining room. Thirty seconds later, the immaculate dining room looked as though World War III hit it.

At that moment, Petunia, who had just finished cleaning the backyard back up to her high standards, came inside, shedding her gloves and gas mask. Then, she got a look at the dining room. Harry and Dudley grinned at each other as they heard Petunia shriek "VERNON DURSLEY! YOUR ASS IS GRASS!"

The Next Morning

"Places, everyone!" Vernon squealed in what he considered his "theatrical" voice, and what the rest of the world considered his "flamboyantly gay" voice.

"What on earth is going on here, Vernon?" Petunia asked, attempting to hold her son and her nephew, one in each arm, as Vernon stood in the middle of a stage-like platform, waving his arms excitedly. She stood, a little lopsided, due to Dudley's extra poundage, staring at the stage that had appeared overnight in their backyard, along with a troupe of male and female dancers, top hats, tutus, and all.

"Well, Pet, while I don't care one way or another for that Harry guy, but he does make up one quarter of the proud Dursley clan, and may turn out to be a valuable member of a universally adored, brand-spanking new, number-one sitcom! From the day (yesterday) that this family became whole, I have felt in my bones that Harry's addition would be the thing that skyrockets this little family to fame and fortune. Ladies and gentlemen please put your hands together for your soon-to-be favorite sitcom: From Method to MADNESS!"

The assembled dancers clapped and cheered. "All right, let's do this thing!" Vernon boomed.

"What exactly are we doing, Vernon?" Petunia asked.

"Oh it'll come to you," Vernon reassured his wife, grinning mysteriously.

"No, Vernon," the blonde woman said sternly. "I am not psychic. I will not suddenly gain a complete understanding of whatever harebrained scheme you came up with if you do not tell me. Even if you do explain it fully, chances are I will never comprehend the insanity you put us through daily. I will also never understand how you balance all of your eccentricities with a full-time job at Grunnings, plus overtime (My busy widdle beaver!), plus your slight alcoholism, and- to cap it all- your occasional bouts of spontaneous song and dance!"

"Whee! I knew you'd guess it, Pet! We are going to spontaneously sing a peppy little theme song to get us all warmed up for our daily adventures!"

"Wait a minute… you expect this entire family to randomly come up with a catchy tune and sing it at the top of our voices?"

"And dance, too!" Vernon reminded her, "But you got the general idea," He added diplomatically.

"What will the neighbors think?" Petunia moaned, horrified.

"Hopefully, they'll be impressed. Why, we'd be a family out of a Broadway musical! Say, if Harrykins ends up getting his letter from that freaky school (which is looking pretty likely, since we'll probably be too busy with our 'insanity,' as you call it, to keep the boy properly downtrodden and passive- why, he's developing a dominant personality that will probably end up stealing the show unless we regulate him to his own separate plot, that, while humorous, has almost nothing to do with the main message and overall plot of the episode…), we could always hide out on a Broadway set! We'll be perfectly camouflaged, singing and dancing along with the actors, delighting young and old! Oh, what a perfect future story idea that would be! As I always say, the best place to hide is in plain sight!"

"Vernon, you do not always say that. In fact, this is the very first time that I have ever heard you say that," snapped Petunia. "Anyway, seemingly spontaneous singing and dancing takes hours of training and practice. Even if I wanted to, which I certainly don't, I can't simply…"

Petunia's speech was interrupted by loud and cheerful starting music coming from the orchestra that had taken up residence in her vegetable garden. Vernon put a beefy arm around his wife's tiny waist and steered her onto the stage. Harry and Dudley suddenly jumped out of her arms with acrobatic grace. Dudley's blue eyes were wide with shock. Harry's green eyes were in the process of being rolled as he contemplated the stupidity of the world and, more specifically, his relatives. Of course, Dudley was kind of all right, but he seemed to have no more personality than one of his toy blocks. Maybe this sitcom thing would change that. Harry's murder plans would have to be taken up a notch if Dudley became the universally revered celebrity. There was no way he was going to go unnoticed in favor of that tub of lard. That was why, in spite of its inherent stupidity, he was going to give this theme song thing everything he had. He should beat Dudley in that; the blonde boy couldn't even talk properly yet. But wait a minute… what if Dudley's infantile deficiencies ruined Harry's big break? What if people were too busy laughing at big, dumb Dudley that they neglected to give the infinitely superior Harry James Potter the respect that he so richly deserved? Well, Harry wouldn't be able to stand for that.

Without another thought, he stared fixedly at his cousin and raised his hands above his head. In a flash of white light, which went completely unnoticed by Vernon and Petunia due partly to the glare of the early morning sunlight and partly to the fact that they were now concentrating on their first dance steps, Dudley suddenly stood up and mirrored his parents' dance moves. Harry soon joined them, and to the utter shock of the entire family, most especially Petunia Evans-Dursley, Aunt Petunia began to sing:

"It seems today,

That all you see,

Is suicidal Harry,

And abusive Dursleys!"

Which was ridiculous, of course. Why would Harry be suicidal? And the Dursleys- abusive? Please. Vernon may be humorously neglectful at times, but the family wasn't evil. Whoever's seeing this kind of stuff is obviously schizophrenic, and schizophrenic people did not meet the Dursley family's definition of normal. When something did not qualify as "Normal," the proper Dursley reaction was to pretend it did not exist, but this silly tune that had wormed its way into her brain and out of her mouth seemed dedicated to, even supportive of, crazy people and their abnormality. She was really beginning to hate this whole sitcom idea. Fortunately, Vernon took up her pause by asking:

"But where's the method in the madness?

Makes me wanna cry!"

At this point, Stewie the snake poked its head out of Harry's shirt pocket to see what on earth was going on. When he saw Petunia moving gracefully to the music, his face lit up with joy as much as a snake's face possibly could, which was- surprisingly- a lot. He felt like singing along with the Harry and Dudley when they sang:

Lucky there's a crazy guy," gesturing towards Vernon who beamed as he basked in the attention.

"Lucky there's a man who,

Positively can do,

All the things which make us…"

This was Harry's big break. He took a deep breath when he suddenly felt himself being scooped up into the arms of the Bony-Bellied Strumpet. Was she going to throw him off the stage to prevent him from competing with her dimwitted husband and son? No, it appeared that in a completely unexpected show of affection, she was scooping him up in her arms as if to show him off to the populace. Good Lord, what is it with random musical numbers that made these people act so out of character? What on Earth was Petunia doing, thinking she could show him off to an adoring populace? It's like she was turning into that baboon thing from The Lion King or something. And Harry remembered how that guy was when the cameras were off. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he was sore just thinking about it! Too traumatized to even summon a Family Guy- style flashback, he shook his head to clear away the unpleasant memories and continued with the song. He took a deep breath and sang out in a pleasant, tenor, English-accented voice,

"Laugh and cry!"

After all, even though the theme song seemed to glorify that wannabe walrus Vernon P. Dursley, Harry could still give it his all.

"He's one fucked up guy!" Harry, Dudley, and Petunia sang along with the chorus. After all, who could really argue with that?

And Now, the Storyline You've all Been Waiting For…

It was a perfectly normal morning on a perfectly normal English suburb. The sun peeked over tidy garden gates as perfectly normal housewives peeked out of their perfectly normal houses to pick up their perfectly normal, right-wing-slanted newspapers and disappear inside to prepare a perfectly normal greasy breakfast for their perfectly normal business manager husbands. Petunia loved normalcy. She enjoyed the sound of the word "Normal." She liked the way it seemed to roll off her tongue when she said it. "Normal, normal, normal." She was proud of the way everything about her said "Normal," from her heels to her housedress to her exquisitely manicured nails and her perfectly styled blonde hair.

Petunia had wanted to name her son "Normal," so she could have the pleasure of saying that wonderful word in everyday conversation. "Normal learned a new word, today," Petunia would picture herself telling her husband while she was still pregnant with Dudley. "Normal took his first steps… Normal threw his first tantrum." But, alas, Vernon did not care for the name. He had wanted a strong, manly name for his first-born son. He wanted a name like Penis. Now there was a fine name. Old Penis Dursley, Varsity footballer, champion rugby player, world-acclaimed boxer. Vernon's eyes filled with tears of pride as he imagined his son, his Penis, accepting thousands upon thousands of trophies at every end-of-the-year awards ceremony, until all that could be seen was a huge Penis-shaped pile of trophies. It was safe to say that Vernon loved the word "Penis" as much as Petunia loved the word "Normal." Each was certain that they had the perfect name for their sure-to-be-perfect son.

But, the way things worked out, they had compromised by naming the child "Dudley" after a random person who happened to be named "Dudley."

"Hey, wassup?" Dudley's namesake, a completely random person Petunia could not remember having met before in her life, said to no-one in particular as he walked past Mrs. Dursley that morning towards an unknown destination. He huffed and stuck his nose in the air when he realized that he wasn't going to get a reply from Petunia, as Petunia Dursley did not talk to strangers. Miss Norma Normalcy, the queen of all that is normal, regarded this as a huge no-no.

Miss Norma had written several large volumes, detailing exactly what a normal person should do with their normal lives. Petunia had purchased every single book and regarded it as her own personal Bible- or Bibles, as they took up the entire living room bookshelf. Yes, even if a person never actually got around to reading them, they would be a handsome addition to any perfectly normal living room, or perhaps as a perfectly normal, but rather large and bulky and on the whole quite interesting, conversation piece. Mrs. Dursley's frown turned upside down and a ray of the pure morning sunlight seemed to add a certain twinkle to her blue eyes so that they resembled those of a certain strange old man who had stood on this very front porch the night before last. She sighed contentedly as she thought of her small library containing everything ever written by Miss Norma Normalcy. Perhaps she could have a perfectly normal, peaceful morning spent doing some light reading before her perfectly normal, beloved son and the freakish, abnormal, completely un-Dursley-ish nephew awoke.

Too late. Petunia heard the two boys yelling incoherently, a small explosion, and what Mrs. Dursley would describe as a walrus yodeling if the perfectly normal Petunia had ever had the opportunity to witness such a thing firsthand. Petunia didn't have to wonder what the yodeling was as Vernon was going through what he referred to as his "Goatherd Stage," which apparently meant that he had to yodel his way through the day. Vernon had never seen "The Sound of Music," and he tended to get impatient with musicals in general, but he did understand the basic idea of singing out your thoughts and emotions for everyone to hear as you went about your daily adventures. The other noises, though… She sighed. The calamity could be a myriad of things, all of them abnormal to the very core. What would the neighbors think? She sighed again. As much as she loved her son, she wished for a daughter. A perfectly normal, graceful, obedient little girl. They could name her Norma. Norma Cervix Dursley.

"Yodel-lay, yodel-lay, yodel-lay eee-ooh," Vernon warbled as he marched down the hall from the bathroom, wearing only a super-sized towel around his equatorial waist. He was looking for fun, for adventure, for only when he found that could he find something else to sing. Unless he found something soon, this yodeling and musical theater thing would turn out to be a total washout, and he would have to think of an entirely new plot device for his memoirs.

When the pungent smell assaulted his nostrils, his face lit up and he beamed in anticipation for the fun that was heading his way on this glorious day. He bounced his way into the nursery, which Harry and Dudley shared, at least for now. Petunia had tried to put their bad-boy nephew in the cupboard under the stairs, but she hadn't quite succeeded.

Flashback:

Petunia is incredibly photogenic, Vernon thought as the setting of the story magi- er, I mean suddenly- changed to yesterday evening, the Dursleys' living room. So blonde, slender, and delicate. But she really should flesh out her character for this sitcom thing. I mean, people look at her and see a tight-ass (In more ways than one, he chuckled to himself). Seriously, people need to see that there's more to Petunia than what she shows. She should be more emotionally open, like me, Vernon mused as Petunia tried to open the cupboard door with one hand and throw their nephew in with the other. When an army of snakes crawled out of the cupboard, slipping around Petunia's ankles, she screamed a non-ladylike expletive and gave up.

Author's Note

As you can see, I edited my original chapter two and added another chunk of story. Kind of a weird place to cut off I know, but I just didn't feel like writing enough new material to make a new chapter, and I wanted to give you guys something. I also had some major issues lately which I guess prevented me from getting into my goofball mode. Hopefully, now that they're taken care of, and with Christmas break, I could update this and my new story (which you should totally read) more regularly.