A Force to be Reckoned With

Rated T: For Ridiculously Hilarious! No. It's actually for all the cursing. And mature content. But that's it. Honestly.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the rights to Harry Potter. I think some other people do too, but of those people

Summary: Harry Potter has particular set of skills…one of them is NOT killing the stupid people that make it their life's goal to annoy him. And they are really, REALLY stupid. The Wizarding World may regret giving him his Hogwarts letter. First Year re-do. Beware of Smart!Harry Jerkoff!Harry

~oOo~

The early dawn hours of the weekend was a time for sound sleeping and lazing about, and no people knew that adage better than the good, neighborly, normal, generous, super normal folk who lived on Privet Drive. All of the houses down this street, much like many others in Little Whinging, were still and quiet. All except for one. House number 4 of Privet Drive was quite lively at this ungodly hour. The commotion was coming from the kitchen, where a small boy was whipping up a breakfast with the ease and expertise of someone who had been practicing their craft for a long time. As the boy absentmindedly flipped bacon and scrambled eggs, he held an intense discussion on the cell phone tucked between his ear and shoulder.

"… and where exactly does it say in the mother fucking contract that there is a Cancelation Fee? No, I'll tell you where it is. In your fucking imagination, that's where it is!"

Well, perhaps "discussion" wasn't the correct term.

"I don't give two shits what Mr. Dursley said. The order was canceled a sufficient amount of time for processing, we're getting our deposit back, and that's all there is to it." The young boy pulled the phone away from his ear – emerald colored eyes raised heavenward – as the manager or associate manager or whoever the frig the previous sobbing bint had put on the line started howling about their company's cancelation policy. "No, I'm sorry, but there's nothing left to discuss," he cut in during a lull in the manager's rant."This conversation is over. And if I don't see a mother fucking check within the next two weeks with all of the money we're owed on it," he said with an earsplitting smile and honeysweet tones, "I'm going to come down there and punch you in the trachea. Kay thanks, buh bye now."

He pressed the call-end button, feeling far less satisfied with no base unit to slam it on like their landline had, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Get it together Harry," he murmured. After a deep fortifying breath, he went back to preparing the omelets the call from AstroJump had interrupted.

It was Dudley Dursley's (Harry's cousin, and the only one in this house who didn't make Harry want to tear out all of his hair and jump off a cliff every day) eleventh birthday today. This year was supposed to be simple, easy – perfectly hassle free! All his cousin wanted to do was spend the day with his friend Piers Polkiss and hang out at an amusement park or see a film at the cinema, nothing that involved months of pre-planning.

So of course Tweedle-Fat and Tweedle-Skank (otherwise known as Dudley's parents Vernon and Petunia) proceeded to book a Magician, a Bounce House, and a Lion Tamer (Vernon could not tie a bowtie, but he could track down the only Lion Tamer in England that would perform at a backyard child's birthday party. The mind fucking boggles) and just generally ignore their son's wishes in an effort to seem like good parents.

Living with the Dursley family for as long as he had, Harry knew he should have expected some kind of stress inducing shenanigans to happen anyway. Harry's parents (James and Lily Potter or Those Stupid Freaks as the Dursley's liked to affectionately call them) died when he was barely a year old, and he was taken in by his maternal relatives since then. According to the Dursley's, his parents were lazy penniless drunks, and were killed in a car accident (while drunk of course. There was much emphasis on how drunk they were) that Harry somehow survived with only a lightning shaped scar on his forehead as a memento. Knowing the Dursley's to be vindictive fuckwits, Harry was understandably skeptical of his little Privet Drive origin story.

"Sooooo you're telling me that my destitute-to-the brink-of-death parents had enough money to buy a car and booze to get themselves killed with –" Harry remembered saying when he was six years old, completely unimpressed, "no wait, lemme guess; the car was made out of empty cans of cat food and their shattered dreams…"

Clearly the Dursley's were a shitty avenue of any kind of credible information, whether it pertained to himself or just basic facts of life. For instance, if you wanted to know who the current Prime Minister was, how many wheels your average car had, or the color of the sky, you would not go to Vernon or Petunia Dursley for answers.

With no reliable source of information, Harry was forced to make his own speculations over the years, though they were no less depressing scenarios. Maybe they had died in a car accident (though not in the spectacularly irresponsible way the Dursley's told it), or maybe Harry was an accident and his parents had run off somewhere to escape their unwanted bundle of joy. Who the bloody hell knew. Perhaps the Dursley-Evans-Potter lines were just full of negligent assholes. It would certainly explain his Aunt and Uncle's super-human atrocious behavior.

Although. There was one theory Harry didn't like to consider often. See, Harry's memories that weren't insane began when he opened his eyes and saw his Auntie 'Tuna accidentally kick a stack of glass milk bottles onto his little baby form. Think that's traumatizing? Well the "crazy" first memory sounds like a bad acid trip in comparison. First, a tall thin bald guy, who looked like he had gone through a snake body-mod operation in his early twenties and was severely regretting it now, dramatically barges into his nursery while he and his mother are innocently going about their business of being a baby and a mother. Snake Bro shoots a green laser beam at his mother and kills her. He then aims what Harry now sees is a stick (a. Stick.) at his forehead, and shoots the laser beam at him. After that the drug trip gets even more psychedelic as things become a blur of colors and sounds when suddenly a giant bearded man is holding him and they both tiddily-pop away on a flying motorbike, all the way from wherever the fuck they were to Privet Drive. When they land in front of Number 4(and this is truly where his dream/hallucination takes a hard turn to crazy town) Harry's guardian lumber jack hands him off to MOTHER. FUCKING. GANDOLF. There's an old lady standing with him as well – maybe she was his sidekick or girlfriend. Who knows what hallucination!Gandolf got up to – and the three of them exchange whispery, dramatic words that Harry can't make out. This part seems pretty interesting and important, but like in all contrived plots and conflicts, Harry blacks out when things start getting good, and the somewhat normal memory of Harry's first meeting with his lovely Aunt begins.

So. His parents were either drug-addled child haters, or Jedi-Magicians who had gotten on the bad side of an evil Jedi-Magician. Harry had done some digging ("digging" meaning hacking of course) into both of his parents records, during one of his infrequent existential crisis moments, and found that his mother went off the radar when she turned eleven, and his father apparently didn't exist at all. This information disproved neither his Jedi-Magician nor druggy theory. Sigh.

By nine in the morning the birthday breakfast preparations were mostly completed. The eggs and meats were set under a heat lamp near the top of the stove while the rest of the food was arranged artfully on the table. Instead of the fruits, oatmeal and yogurt combo Harry usually prepared, there were omelets (organic of course) with a variety of veggies and cheese, whole wheat Belgium waffles with whipped cream and berries, and a mound of turkey bacon. A mother fucking culinary masterpiece. That was for Dudley. Vernon and Petunia got their weight in grease and sugary crap like they usually demanded. They were grown ass adults, and if they wanted to die of a heart attack then Harry sure as hell wasn't going to stop them.

The decorations were sparse but tasteful. Streamers were hung from the ceiling, a sign that read: Happy Birthday Dudley! was strung up above the entryway, and a few balloons were tied to the birthday boy's chair. A veritable tower of presents were stacked neatly off to the side of the room near the table. Harry's eye twitched at the reminder of so much frivolous spending on things Dudley either didn't want or would grow tired of quickly. Not to mention the war he would have to go through to wrangle all of the receipts from the Stupids. God, their budget was so fucked to hell this year. Just the thought of the numbers made Harry's teeth grind so hard he thought his gums might start bleeding again.

Sensing a stress/rage induced seizure coming on, Harry poured himself a cup of coffee in his favorite Life's A Beach mug and leaned against the counter. He took a loud slurp of the heavenly juices and closed his eyes, letting the scent of roasted coffee beans relax him like few other things could. 'Please,' Harry prayed to his Dark Lord and Savior, Caffeine – bringer of blight and torment upon all cheerful morning people, 'please let today go smoothly.'

As Harry continued to entice his coffee with sacrifices, Aunt Petunia chose that moment to come downstairs and enter the kitchen. No one would ever guess that the small ten year old sipping coffee and the tall middle aged woman were blood related. Where Harry had green doe like eyes and messy black hair with copious white streaks running through the tresses, Petunia had dark blue eyes and blond, perm induced curly hair. Harry's face was heart shaped, while Petunia's was long and thin, further emphasized by an equally long and thin neck. Both were skinny, but where Petunia's was due to genetics, Harry's was a result of Petunia's attempts at starving him and his own bad eating habits.

"Boy! What are you doing lazing about?" she barked her morning greeting. "Have you finished your chores?"

"Of course I did you idiot," Harry snapped back, sneering. "Did you remember to pick up the tickets for the zoo?"

"Of course – !" she froze. She pursed her lips, looking to the side as she mentally combed the vast cavern that was her empty skull.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, already giving up on this being an easy day. He needed a better god. "You had one job," Harry said through gritted teeth. "All you had to do was drive down during a weekday, stand in line for what? Five minutes max? And buy the God. Damn. Tickets!"

"I – I didn't have the time," she said. Re: forgot and didn't care.

"Two months, Petunia. You had two months to do this. I'm 100% sure you could have fit in getting zoo tickets for your son's birthday party in your busy schedule of doing fuck-all all day!"

"W-well…we'll…just…buy them when we get their today, that's all," she sniffed, crossing her arms as if this were the most superior idea ever.

"There will be a line, Petunia," Harry said slowly. Sometimes it was like talking to small children whenever he spoke to his relatives. Self-important children. That were made of mucus. "A line to end all lines. It will more than likely wrap around the whole park twice. And that's only if we're lucky."

"There's never a long line at the zoo, freak. Why would there be one today?"

"Because it. Is. Summer." He hissed, barely keeping from screaming at the top of his lungs. "And they have that new tiger, bear, and orangutan water show this year."

Harry could see the second she remembered the show; the little gnome that served as her brain scrambling in her head as he flipped the light switch from Off to Oh Shit I Completely Forgot. The only reason Petunia and Vernon had agreed to this outing in the first place was because the extravagance of the show appealed to them. For some reason. Harry would never pretend to understand his relatives' tastes in entertainment. Or most other children his age for that matter.

"Why didn't you get the tickets then, if you think you're so smart?" she hissed.

"Because I am 10. And I can't drive. You stupid whore."

"How dare you speak to me that way!?" she shrieked furiously, her pale cheeks turning pink. Clearly her take-insults-from-my-belligerent-nephew quota had gone over the limit. "You – you horrible brat! Go to your cupboard! No meals for a month! Double – no triple chores…!"

Harry knocked back the rest of his coffee like it was a shot of vodka. He ignored his Aunt's litany of abusive punishments and tried to think of a way to salvage the situation. If he made a few phone calls…and there was that guy in the Reptile House that owed him a favor…yes, this could work.

"…and just wait till Vernon get's up! He'll give you the thrashing you deserve –"

"Look, do you want the damn tickets, or do you want to spend the day in line!?"

Petunia quieted at this, and looked begrudgingly hopeful. "What can you do? It's already too late, isn't it?"

"I'll figure something out. Now eat your fucking breakfast before it gets cold. You know you get light headed when you do a lot of activities on an empty stomach."

His aunt grumbled some crap about him being an ungrateful wretch before sitting down and stuffing her face hole. This had the added bonus of shutting her up for a little while as well. Count your blessings Harry, count your blessings.

Uncle Vernon lumbered down as Harry was finishing up cleaning the pots and pans. He, like Petunia, shared zero resemblance to Harry. Essentially, he looked like a planet. If a planet had a bushy mustache and wore a tacky plaid suit jacket.

"Morning Pet!" Vernon greeted cheerfully, kissing his wife on the cheek. "What was all the ruckus down here? Did you do something boy?"

Harry whipped his head around and gave his uncle a brilliant smile. "Ask your wife! If I have to talk about her idiocy for one second more, I'm going to vomit up blood," he said sweetly.

Vernon puffed himself up like he usually did when he was trying to be intimidating. In reality he just looked like an Emperor Penguin, except not nearly as cute. "I'll not have you being disrespectful in this house!"

Harry put down the pot he was holding in the sink and regarded Vernon fully. His smile, which was sarcastic before, resembled a snarl now. "Oh dearest Uncle. What would ever give you the idea that I don't respect you?"

Nephew and uncle glared daggers at each other. Vernon's fist clenched, a sure tell that the large man desperately wanted to take a swing at him, but as usual he was hesitant to do so. Not because he didn't want to harm a small child. Oh no. Vernon and Petunia hated Harry's guts, and would love nothing more than to beat him to within an inch of his life every day until he was nothing more than a meek little servant. The problem for the Dursley's was Harry would not take that treatment lying down. Whenever Vernon got it into his head that he needed tobeat or whip some manners into his freak of a nephew, Harry fought back. And he fought back dirty.The last time his uncle had lost his cool and tried to take his anger out on him (neither of them remembered the reason, as always), Harry had ended up with three broken ribs, a punctured lung, and a myriad of bruising,while Vernon's left hand was crushed, his right pinkie had been torn off (the hospital was able to reattach it) and his testicles were almost permanently damaged.

They hadn't had a fight of that scale in over a year though, and seeing as this was Dudley's special day Harry would prefer that they keep up their streak of non-violent barely there civility towards one another. So instead of escalating the argument, Harry mutely grabbed Vernon's plate and started serving him his slop.

Perhaps Vernon understood that taking the high road this time was the best course of action as well (that or the oaf felt he had sufficiently "put Harry in his rightful place"), because he accepted the plate with nothing but a grunt. "Hmph. The sausage better not be overcooked this time, freak."

It wasn't long after that before the boy they were celebrating today finally made an appearance. Until the age of six Dudley Dursley had looked like a carbon copy of his father, except with lighter blond hair. Before, Dudley had been so big that just walking up a short flight of stairs could send him into a wheezing and coughing fit for hours. It wouldn't be odd to hear kids around the neighborhood whispering about "pig in a wig" Dudley, or how his parents had gone to the beach and stolen a baby whale and called it their son. All this teasing was done weeeeeeeeeell behind Dudley's back though. The young Dursley was known for being Privet Drive's biggest bully (literally and figuratively) and would beat on kids for much less reason than being made fun of.

That all changed when the Dursley's received a note from the school nurse that said their son was in danger of getting Type 2 diabetes and serious heart problems if he didn't change his life style soon. At that point Harry had put his foot down and had followed the nurse's dietary instruction to a T. Vernon and Petunia, believing their son to be perfection incarnate, were enraged by the School's and Harry's insinuation that Dudley was anything but a god in human form. This resulted in Number 4 being ground zero for World War III, all day every day for half a year.

It had not been easy, but Harry had won that battle in the end. Dudley had won as well, though he didn't see it that way until later, when his weight had dropped to "on the chubby side of healthy" from his former "morbidly obese".And maybe it was his hormones balancing out or overcoming insecurities about his weight or the fact that six year old Harry had essentially bitched Dudley's mother and father into doing what he wanted, but Dudley Dursley had slowly but surely changed his attitude in addition to his diet. He was still a whiney, mean little shit sometimes, but he didn't run (or waddle, as the case had been) around the neighborhood tormenting everyone with his douchery.

"Oh happy birthday Duddykins!" Petunia cried with cavity inducing sweetness. She enveloped her son in a hug when he sat down and gave a sloppy kiss on his flushed cheek. "Did my special little Diddums get a good night's sleep?"

"Er…yea. Thanks mum," said Dudley. He looked embarrassed over the coddling, but was resigned to it at this point.

"Happy birthday son!" Vernon boomed, bits of sausage spraying from his mouth. "Eat up Dudders, we've got a big day ahead of us."

Dudley grinned as he took in the spread in front of him and immediately turned to Harry, not even giving his mother a cursory glance, much to her chagrin. "This looks really good. Thanks Harry."

Harry allowed a small smile to form as he brought the tray of turkey bacon over and scraped some on Dudley's plate. "Happy birthday, Dud."

Petunia and Vernon scowled at Harry. If they hated him for his very existence, then they hated him one hundred times more for not only wrangling their parental authority away from them, but Dudley's genuine affection as well.

"Are you trying to starve my son, boy?" said Vernon. "Get back over there and make him some real food!"

"It's fine dad. I like what I have," Dudley mumbled, eyes on his plate of waffles.

"Nonsense! You're still a growing boy. You're gonna need more than this hippie tripe if you want to be big and strong like your father."

"Seriously dad, I don't want –"

"Here, have some of mine while the freak makes more."

"If he doesn't fucking want any more food," Harry said through gritted teeth, "then don't force it on him." His hand was squeezing the pan in an attempt to control his growing anger.

Vernon's eyes narrowed and he was turning red again. He jabbed his fork in Harry's face, barely nicking the small boy's nose. "He would want more if you hadn't used your freakishness to poison his mind against us!"

"Oh, you mean I used logic and common sense? I suppose that would be considered poisonous to a fucking moron!"

"You ungrateful little bastard!" Vernon pounded his meaty fist on the kitchen table, his rage was just that impotent. God help this imbecile if he caused the good china to fall to the floor. Harry had just ordered the set last month for a deal he would never manage to get again."I'd throw you in an orphanage if I thought they would take in such a disrespectful monster! I OUGHT TO TEACH YOU A LESSON WITH MY BELT RIGHT NOW YOU WORTHLESS FREAK!"

"I OUGHT TO SHOVE A KNIFE UP YOUR BULGING FAT RECTUM! YOU ARE AN INSULT TO WHALES EVERYWHERE –!"

"I-I want to open my gifts now!"

At Dudley's semi hysterical exclamation Harry and Vernon quieted. Harry took a huge breath and turned around. If he had to look at his uncle one second more he really was going to knife him.

"Of course you can my wonderful birthday boy!" said Petunia with her masterful forced cheerfulness. She scurried over to the gift pile and handed a large one to Dudley. "There you are sweetums. You've got quite the haul this year, did you see? Thirty-nine! That's two more than last year. This one's from your mummy and daddy, and you have to open this one next…"

Harry tuned out Vernon and Petunia's gushing and hurried with the dishes. He knew that Dudley hated it when they all argued like that. Growing up in such a contentious household, Harry worried that his poor cousin would have a treasure trove of complexes when he got older. Harry really did try to control his temper around them, at least for Dudley's sake. But if his aunt and uncle weren't saying something stupid, they were doing something stupid – usually involving total bankruptcy or endangering their son. They were the chief reason why Harry had so much white hair, that and the multiple responsibilities he had to take over due to their incompetency.

"Hey! Aren't you gonna have breakfast with us, Harry?" Dudley asked as Harry started towards the door.

"I've got to make a few calls. Don't worry, I'll have something later."

Vernon and Petunia shot him nasty glares before exclaiming what a wonderful and generous boy Dudley was and how he shouldn't concern himself over his awful cousin.

Harry rolled his eyes at their childish behavior but made no comment this time. He shut himself upstairs in the study. It was the smallest bedroom at Number 4 and used to serve as Dudley's second bedroom, where all of the toys and games Dudley got tired of went to die. A few years ago Harry managed to convince Dudley to put most of those toys up for a garage sale. He threw a tantrum for a bit – still transitioning from spoiled brat to decent human being in those days – but once he got a portion of the sales (Harry put the rest of the money into Dudley's savings) he changed his tune quick enough. Vernon and Petunia had –forever contrary assholes – kicked up a fuss about it as well. They too were appeased, however, when Harry pointed out that this was a perfect opportunity to create a man/woman cave. Of course, it was the idea of such a thing that Vernon and Petunia cared about, not the practical use of it, so Harry was the one who used the room the most. Technically, Harry's room was the cupboard under the stairs, despite the house having a guest room that only Aunt Marge slept in the few times she visited. Having a cupboard as a room didn't really bother Harry, even though he knew it should in principle. He didn't own enough things to warrant the space of a bigger room, for one. And whenever he did manage to fall asleep, he usually passed out doing paperwork in the study anyway.

Thankfully, Harry's call to his contact with the zoo went a lot smoother than the one to AstroJump. He called the bakery after that, which did not go as smooth. Of course. Of fucking course. Petunia, the bloody harpy, had changed the cake to triple chocolate fudge from the raspberry swirl Spider-Man theme it was supposed to be. Several minutes of sweet talking and pandering took care of that (unlike AstroJump, the bakery really did have a one week notice product change or cancelation policy), and got a discount deal on the delivery fee as well. A gut feeling had Harry ringing up Mrs. Polkiss next. And it was just as well that he did because Petunia had told her diddly squat. Harry rattled off the location, the time Piers needed to be there and when he would need to be picked up, and asked if he had any particular allergies or health issues they needed to watch out for. Mrs. Polkiss simpered on how adorable it was that Petunia let her little nephew make such a grown up call. Harry resisted the urge to call her a condescending whore biscuit that needed to learn how to pick up a damn phone if two weeks go by and she still doesn't know where she is dropping off her offspring!

Harry went back downstairs, more than likely sporting some more white hairs after that latest roller coaster of dumb-fuckery, and saw Petunia on the phone speaking to someone in her "super happy and polite house wife" voice, which was really just her talking in a higher pitch while she bobbed her head up and down. Dudley, Harry was pleased to see, was admiring the computer game Harry had gifted him. He had been reluctant to give it to him because well…it was basically Silence of the Lambs meets Mortal Kombat. But, in addition to being needlessly violent, it required a lot of reading and problem solving skills, and was ridiculously popular amid Dudley's age group – always a plus when trying to find ways to stimulate his cousin's rather lazy brain. 'Gotta get the kids to learn somehow, I suppose.' Harry thought, equal parts resigned and exasperated with his generation.

"Wicked!" Dudley beamed at Harry. "And you got the expansion pack too. Piers doesn't even have that yet. This is so cool! Thanks Harry!"

Harry smiled wanly at his cousin and nodded, still coming down from his previous rage high. Not even a year ago and Dudley would have whined about how it wasn't the special gold edition or some other stupid discrepancy with the present, and hurled it at the wall like a toddler. He really had come a long way since then.

"…Yes…uh huh…oh don't worry about it dear, you just rest up. Yes…Dudley sends his thanks. I hope you feel better, goodbye." Petunia hung up the phone and turned to her husband looking both worried and angry. "Bad news, Vernon. Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take It." She jerked her head in Harry's direction.

Harry paused in the midst of his tidying up to stare at his Aunt incredulously. "News?" Harry scoffed. "So when I told you yesterday that Mrs. Figg had an accident and we should do something nice for her, and you allowed me to make her some muffins because it would make you look like less of a selfish shrew – you ate them all, didn't you?"

The pause was guilty. "…how was I to know they were for her!?" Petunia said, two spots of pink appearing on her cheeks.

"Aside from the huge ass card with her name and cats on it pinned to the basket? Maybe the fact that they were bran muffins might have clued you in that this was not a Petunia treat." Harry sighed and massaged his temples. "Well, you are like forty something, you were due for colon cleansing anyway."

Petunia was as red as a tomato now. Vernon cleared his throat, muttering, "I thought you'd eaten something that didn't sit right with you last night, Pet."

"We still need someone to watch him!" Petunia forged on forcefully, sparing her husband a glare.

Harry finished up with the kitchen, munching on a few strips of bacon that would serve as his breakfast today (and maybe lunch and dinner if the way the day was progressing was any indication), and ignoring his relatives as they discussed him as if he weren't in the room. With the wrapping paper thrown away, the dishes done, and the counters wiped down, Harry turned to the two grown up dumb-dumbs who were in charge of taking care of him.

"How about Harry stays at home and finishes up the Proposal for Singular Corp. like he was going to do anyway?" Harry finally cut in.

"No, we can't have you here by yourself anymore. It was too close a call last time," said Vernon, glaring at Harry as if his irresponsibility was the boy's fault.

Harry grimaced in remembrance of the incident Vernon was referring to. The Stewart's, one of many busy-body families that lived on Privet Drive, had noticed how often three Dursley's would leave for hours if not days at a time, while one charge was left behind. So one night while the Dursley's were out visiting Aunt Marge for the weekend, the Stewart's did what any good neighbor who had minimal information about a situation and zero motivation to interfere would do; they called the cops.

It hadn't been easy talking his way out of that one. Putting on his best "I'm a normal innocent ten year old look at how cute I am and love meh" act, Harry explained to the officer that no, of course he wasn't home alone, silly law enforcement man! His loving Aunt Marge was just upstairs, recovering from a recent illness. Why of course she was well enough to take care of him, and yes she could come downstairs only…her elephant sized hemorrhoids – whatever that was – made it difficult for her to walk, and he just hated to disturb her if it wasn't entirely necessary…

Harry had rolled his eyes when the officer scurried off soon after that, perhaps in fear that Harry would ask him about the particulars of his aunt's illness. In his favor or not, that had been some shitty detective work. And isn't it lovely how they're kind and concerned neighbors are so ready to yelp for help when Harry finally had some peace and quiet, but not when he and Vernon were turning the house into Wrestle-goddamn-mania .

As much as Harry hated to admit it, Vernon was right. He seriously doubted that the rest of the Surrey Police Force were any more concerned or intelligent than that first officer, but he'd rather not take that chance.

"I suppose we could take him with us," said Petunia reluctantly, "…perhaps leave him in the car…"

"That's a new car! I won't have him ruining it…"

"Can't you just drop me off at a coffee shop or something?" said Harry. They usually had free wifi, and he could commandeer a booth to himself to finish his paperwork. Plus he could get free coffee with that thermos he bought if he went to certain cafés. Sweet, delicious, reconsider-killing your-relatives coffee…

"You should come with us, Harry," Dudley spoke. "It'll be fun."

"Oh I dunno, I still have a lot of work to finish – "

"C'mon pleeeease! It's my birthday! You can take a break for a little while for my birthday, can't you?"

"Now popkins…" said Petunia.

"I'm sure you'll have a lot more fun without him underfoot…" said Vernon.

Dudley ignored his parents, instead concentrating on giving Harry puppy dog eyes. Tantrums Harry could handle, but genuine cuteness…he sighed. "Yes. Ok. I'll go."

"Wahoo!" Dudley crowed, while Vernon and Petunia tried to make their son change his mind with bribes of more presents and sweets. Dudley wasn't having it though, and proceeded to drag Harry and babble about all his cool new toys and how his other mates would be so jealous once he showed them the game Harry bought him. Harry "Ooo-ed" and "Awe-ed" appropriately, but it was in the manner of a parent placating their excited child. Vernon and Petunia had never deigned to give Harry the normal entertainments that catered to his age group, and even if they did, he never had time to indulge in them anyway. So in essence, much like all crotchety old people who couldn't get with the times, Harry had no idea what the fuck his cousin was going on about.

Vernon and Petunia had just been offering to buy Dudley a two thousand pound play castle complete with a moat (Harry's eyes had bugged out and he was this close to roaring how exactly they were not going to be buying any such thing on threat of eyeball gouging) when the doorbell rang. The distraction of greeting Piers and his mom quite possibly saved the Dursley's lives this day.

~oOo~

To Be Continued…

A/N: Greetings viewing public! How'd you like the story so far? Did ya love it? Hate it? Love it even harder? Wanna give me a Noble Peace Prize? Express your feelings in a delicious nutritious review!