[fic]
Summary: Really incredibly horrible ways to spend the day before your birthday, number sixteen. Found, unarchived. File dated Jul '05.

Petunia's Past

There was a celebration over lunch at number four, Privet Drive. Dudley Dursely had won the county under-eighteen's boxing tournament with a daring last minute technical knock-out. Harry suspected he was supposed to be impressed by his cousin's pugilistic achievement, but he was too busy desperately trying not to laugh at Dudley's shiny new medal which, proudly slung around his neck, announced to the world that Dudley was a Big Bopper.

"Brilliant," chortled Vernon, chins wobbling as he clapped Dudley on the back. "Just like Rocky, my boy. There's the old Dursely spirit!"

"I had your Smelting's stick as inspiration, Dad," said Dudley, grinning hugely and waving his giant knobbly stick around enthusiastically.

"Look at my icky Duddykins! All grown up!" Petunia pinched his cheek and Dudley pouted, batting her hand away. "I'm going to cook you a big slap up dinner as reward. Harry! Get out the frying pan and the good bacon."

"Thanks, mum," said Dudley, "but you know, now I'm an award-winning athlete I really have to watch what I eat. Carbs are the enemy. Carbs are the enemy! Carbs! Are! The enemy!"

Harry stared at Dudley in alarm. Spittle frothed disgustingly on his cousin's lips.

"That's telling her! Down with carbs!" Vernon chimed in, though Harry was pretty sure his uncle had no idea what carbs where and was probably imagining Dudley beating up dodgy looking Russians or something.

"If you're not going to eat it," said Petunia, taking the huge rashers of perfectly succulent bacon out of the fridge, "I'm sure Vernon would be happy to eat your share. You can have his vegetables."

"Oh, no," said Vernon with remarkable self-denial. "If Dudley is going to give it up then, by God, I will as well!"

"Well done, Dad," cheered Dudley, and waved his stick about some-more, narrowly missing Harry who was edging towards the bacon.

"If neither of you are having it," said Petunia, "I don't know what I'll do. It's far too much for me and it needs to be eaten today."

"Um," tried Harry.

Dudley whacked him with the stick. "Quiet! Mummy's talking!"

"I can't put it out for the birds. We've been having dreadful problems with pests lately." She screwed her face up. "Do you know, I saw a rat in the neighbour's garden the other morning. Right there, big as you please! Well, I never, I said, to Marjorie, did you see that rat? and she said, no--"

"Rat?" interrupted Harry, bacon forgotten, stomach twisting. "What rat?"

"That's what she said," said Petunia. "'What rat?' And don't interrupt me!"

"Yes," said Vernon. "Don't interrupt her. Dudley, hit him again."

Dudley did.

"Ow!" yelled Harry, rubbing his head.

"I made sure I got him with the knob," crowed Dudley. "Just like you taught me, dad."

"A real chip off the old block, son, and no mistake," said Vernon proudly, tears welling up in his eyes.

"I love you, dad," cried Dudley, flinging his arms around his father.

"I love you too, son," cried Vernon, doing the same. They sobbed loudly into each other's shoulders. Petunia smiled mistily at them at carefully wiped a tear from the corner of her eye with the tea towel.

Harry tried not to retch.

"I think I'll wrap the bacon up in a couple of Tesco carriers and put it out in the front bin," said Petunia. "Harry! Fetch me some Tesco carriers! And then wrap the bacon! And don't think I'm watching you. No trying to sneak some. I know what you people are like!"

"SOD THE BLOODY BACON," yelled Harry. "I WANT TO KNOW ABOUT THE BLOODY RAT!"

There was a sudden, weighty silence. Three pairs of beady eyes glared at him.

"Er," said Harry. "Please?"

"Dudley!" cried Petunia, white in the face and waving a trembling hand at Harry. "Strike him with your stick! Roughly!"

Not being stupid, Harry dodged out of the way.

"He's dodging, dad," yelled Dudley. "Stop him dodging!"

"You stop that dodging right now, freak boy," yelled Vernon, "and take what's coming to you! More knob, Dudley! More knob!"

Despite his best efforts, even Dudley couldn't compare to the speed of Death Eater hexes, and Harry managed to keep his distance. Unfortunately Vernon noticed Harry edging around and quickly blocked the door, leaving Harry with no escape as Petunia was between him and the back door, speculatively eyeing a frying pan.

"Remus," gasped Harry quickly. "Moody! Coming to check on me!"

"...hit him where the bruises won't show. Dudley," yelled Vernon.

"No way," Dudley yelled back. "One tail is enough for this life time! You punish him!"

"Make him clean the house!" Petunia suggested, eyes glittering.

"With his bare hands," agreed Dudley, grinning.

"Yes," said Vernon, a sneaky look on his face. "They can't complain about good honest labour, can they? And I know just the perfect task to set you to. I'm sure your sort are used to dark and grime, always living in castles and dungeons!"

"That's right," said Dudley, and Petunia added, "you tell him, Vernon."

"You're going in the darkest, grimiest place in the whole house," said Vernon, a dark smile curling his lips, cheeks wobbling alarmingly with his amusement.

"Hooray!" Dudley and Petunia cheered together.

"The loft!" roared Vernon.

"Hooray!" repeated Dudley.

"What?" said Petunia.

"Up those stairs with you!" Vernon pointed in a pudgy, dramatic way.

"Er," said Petunia. "He should clean the greenhouse! That's much ickier! All that moss!"

"You made me do that yesterday," said Harry before he could stop himself, then bit his tongue and cursed inwardly.

"Nonsense, Petunia," said Vernon, looking at her strangely. "No one's been in the loft since that incident with Maude's dogs and one of that Figg biddy's cats. It needs a jolly good cleaning, and young Harry here has kindly volunteered to do the job. Haven't you, Harry?"

Harry didn't really see the point of arguing with him. Sighing, he shuffled past Vernon and headed up the stairs.

"Wait!" cried Petunia.

Everyone looked at her.

"Um. I need Harry to, to do, um, something, vitally, vitally important. Down here. ...polish Dudley's medal! Yes! Got to keep it shiny!"

"He's not touching my medal," yelled Dudley. "No one touches my Big Bopper but me!"

Harry snorted. Dudley threw his Smelting's stick at Harry but ended up clobbering Vernon instead, who turned a rather interesting shade of purple and spluttered incoherent threats at Harry, who quickly took off up the stairs, dissolving into laughter while Petunia wrung her hands nervously.

The loft was accessed in theory by a fold-down ladder and in practice by tugging a bookcase out onto the landing and clambering up it. With a bit of wriggling, Harry managed to finally pull himself all the way, and rolled over onto his back. He'd been expecting something horror movie like, but mostly there were just small boxes, thickly encrusted with dust, and an odd, unidentifiable and rather disgusting smell. Harry let out a heavy sigh.

"Really incredibly horrible ways to spend the day before your birthday, number sixteen," he said to no-one in particular.

Something nearby went 'ting'.

"What the--" he started, and it went 'ting' again. It sounded oddly like someone trying to sound like a fork hitting a glass.

Harry got up and headed towards the sound, but it seemed to have stopped. He half-heartedly moved around some of the boxes. The thrown up dust made him cough and, the moment he did, the thing went 'ting' again.

"Ting?" said Harry.

'Ting'.

"Weird," muttered Harry and then using a chorus of "Ting!" he worked his way to the back of the loft until he was sure he'd found the box the noise was coming from, and then he pulled it back to the light coming up from the open trap. Distantly below him he heard Vernon and Dudley leave the house, but he was too distracted to pay it much heed.

Inside the dusty cardboard box was a smaller filigreed wooden box. If it hadn't been in his Uncle and Aunt's loft, staunch haters of all things related to the dreaded M word, he might have thought the wooden box had a self-cleaning charm on it. He took it out to examine the carvings, letting out an impressed whistle and grinning when the box 'ting'ed back.

The lid seemed to be locked at first but, as he prodded and poked the box it started to come loose, hinges creaking as if it hadn't been opened in a long time. With a little more effort Harry managed to pry it open, only to be confronted by a most unexpectedly familiar face: his mother.

She waved at him happily from the photograph and Harry felt his stomach twist again. There were more photos in the box and, as he flicked through them, seeing his mother and her sister (glaring and shaking tiny photograph fists at him), his mother and his father, his father and his friends, Remus and especially Sirius, a lump grew in his throat, and his eyes prickled, and he quickly took the photos out and set them aside for later.

Underneath where the photos had been were some personal effects, quills and ink just like Harry used at Hogwarts, some scraps of parchment with doodles on, and, at the bottom, a large rolled up scroll, which he took out.

"Don't look at that!" yelled Petunia from behind him, her head popping up through the trap.

Harry yelped and, startled, fumbled the scroll, which unrolled, bouncing across the floor into Petunia's reach who snatched it up but not so fast that Harry couldn't read the glittering silver letters of the Kwikspell logo.

Petunia stared at him, white-faced and trembling.

"Oh, my god," said Harry, pointing an accusing finger at her. "You're not a Muggle! You're a Squib!"

"No, I'm not," yelled Petunia. "I'm a perfectly ordinary person!"

"I saw the scroll!" said Harry. "That's a correspondence course for Squibs! Our school janitor has one exactly like it!"

Petunia wobbled and for a horrifying moment, Harry thought she was going to fall, but she caught herself on the side of the trap and then started clambering up. While she was occupied, Harry quickly grabbed up the photos and stuffed them in his pocket.

Puffing, Petunia pulled herself the rest of way up and glared at him. Half in shadow and lit from below as she was, it was a rather terrifying sight, but compared to Voldemort returning from the dead it didn't do much to perturb Harry and so, when she yelled "I am not!" he promptly yelled "Are too!" right back at her.

"It's not my fault," Petunia wailed, bursting into tears. "I never learned to Spell!"

To Harry's mounting horror she suddenly flung herself at him, not to attack, but to wrap her arms around him and sob brokenly against his shoulder. Harry awkwardly patted her back, absently wishing for something simple like a dementor attack and trying to make out the words she was babbling incoherently between sobs.

At least, he mused to himself, there was no way his birthday tomorrow could be any worse than this.



Summary: It was Snape Found, unarchived. File dated Jan '07.

The Last Chapter
It was Snape.

Harry shouldn't have been surprised by this because, one, most everybody else was either dead or shagging (and in one particularly sick instance, both) and, two, who else would greet the defeat of the greatest enemy of Wizard- (and Muggle-) kind by clapping sardonically?

"Congratulations," said Snape. "You've defeated the Dark Lord. Well done. The 'you speccy, stupid-haired moron' goes without saying, of course."

"But you just said it," Harry pointed out.

"I didn't want to task whatever bits of cheese and sawdust pass for your brain," said Snape.

"Right," said Harry, and added "you greasy, big-nosed bastard."

Snape made 'yap-yap' motions at him with one hand and idly kicked at a corpse. Harry tried to feel bad about that, but the corpse in question had Crucio'd him at least once and, anyway, he was too busy being pissed off at Snape.

"I'm going to fucking kill you," he said.

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter." Snape sniffed. "For one thing, you uncoordinated shortass, while you're technically over the age of consent you're still too young for me. For another, you're vastly mistaken about a great many things, all of which I will now reveal to you, because you are possibly the dumbest thing ever to walk on two legs, and I am a mastermind."

"Only a mastermind of evil!" Harry yelled. "And, and, you're not a mastermind you're a--"

"Unsurpassed genius intellect, yes," said Snape. "Go on, ask me why Albus trusted me implicitly even though I was being so blatantly evil even a child of three or you could tell."

"Because he was good man and you--"

"Wrong."

"I hadn't finished."

"And you were still wrong," said Snape. "The actual reason is much more obvious." He tapped his wand against the side of his head and said "Finite Incantatum" and his dark eyes paled to a bright and twinkling blue.

"Huh?" said Harry. "What? I don't get it."

"I am Albus," Snape said. "I was Albus all along."

"But I've seen you both together! You killed him on the Tower!"

"You didn't actually buy that, did you? Pathetic, Potter. This is no tower. Hogwarts? It's made of cardboard. Your fellow pupils? Short, shaven, twenty-year olds and midgets in makeup. I made it all up, including friendly, lovable Albus "Oddment" Dumbledore."

"Wow," said Harry. "This is almost worse than learning Nagini was actually Voldemort's detachable, ambulatory penis. Almost."

"I wish people would stop mentioning that," said Pettigrew, wandering over. "Hello, Harry."

"You're on my to kill list as well, ratfink," Harry said.

"You don't need to play along any more," said Pettigrew.

"He's not playing," Snape cut in. "He's really that stupid." He grabbed Pettigrew's silver hand and pulled. It came off like a glove, revealing a perfectly un-cut-off hand under it.

"Er," said Harry.

There was a small pop. Pettigrew turned back into Sirius. "Best undercover mission ever," he said, grinning at them both. "Nice one, Sev."

"Thanks, Sirry."

"Sirry?!" gasped Harry. "But you, you hate each other! I saw the pensieve!"

"No such thing," said Sirius. "You'd be amazed what you can do with flash bulbs. Of course, the hash in the brownies you'd had at lunch didn't hurt any."

"Were you not listening?" Snape said. "I made it all up. How many times do I have to say it?"

"B-but. I killed Voldemort!"

"And you took your own sweet time about it, didn't you? Kids today, no sense of responsibility. In my day, if you hadn't defeated at least a Grindlewald by your eighth birthday, they chucked you out for the wolves."

"Poor Regulus," sighed Sirius.

"Of course, Voldemort wasn't actually a Dark Lord," Snape continued. He bent over Voldemort's corpse and tugged at the snake features until they lifted off, revealing a shock of red hair.

"That's that Weasley cousin," Harry said. "The accountant. Oh god, I killed an accountant."

"Yes, he was getting a bit too close to our Galleon-laundering operation and we were making too much profit moving gold on and off the Muggle markets to let him stop us."

"It's okay," Sirius assured him. "Killing an accountant is practically legal these days. Everyone does it."

"But the Prophecy!" said Harry. "Wait, did you make that up too?"

"Oddly enough," said Snape, "no. That one was real."

"Then I still have to kill Voldemort?"

"No." Snape pointed at Neville. "The real Harry Potter already did that." Neville waved and smiled, a bit sheepishly. "Good one, Nev."

"What do you mean, the real Harry?" Harry asked.

"We swapped Harry at birth," Snape said.

"...so I'm actually Neville Longbottom."

"Er, no," said Hermione. "I'm really Neville."

"You're a guy?! But, Ron--"

"Romilda," said Ron. "Romilda Vane."

"We didn't just swap one baby," Snape said. "We swapped lots of babies!"

"But why?" asked Harry. "Why, damn you? Why?!"

Snape shrugged. "I don't know, we were all a bit drunk at the time."

"So who am I really?" Harry asked.

"Severus Snape," said Snape.

Harry stared, eyes bulging, jaw dropped.

Snape cracked up. "No, I'm just fucking with you. You're Mark Evans."

"Oh my god," said Harry. "I'm a Muggle!"

"Funny sidebar," said Petunia, "but I'm not."

"Me neither," said Dudley. He pushed at his belly which split open, revealing that he was hollow, Fred and George Weasley ("Please, call us Vincent and Gregory.") sat inside.

"This is some totally fucked up shit right here."

Hermione patted his arm. "Just be glad you don't know the truth about Ginny Weasley."

"Oh god!" Harry wailed.

"Actually, this entire thing has been a dream sequence you've had while unconscious after killing Voldemort," said Snape.

"...really?" said Harry.

"Look, there are your parents! Come back for one final tear-jerking goodbye." He pointed.

"Oh my god," said Harry, turning around, crying and smiling. "Mommy? Daddy? Is it really you?"

"Of course not," said Snape from behind him, and bashed him over the head with a big stick, "you stupid, stupid boy."

"Fucker," managed Harry, before sliding down into the darkness.


Summary: All Ron wants is Agrippa. Found, unarchived. File dated Feb '07.

Carded

Exhausted, and having no further luck, they returned to the Gryffindor common room -- thankfully sans pillows -- and collapsed in the chairs by the fire, mumbling greetings to the other Gryffindor students still up.

"One horcrux to go," Harry muttered to himself. "But where? And what? And where?"

Ron stared at him. "Could you stop that, mate? It's a bit creepy."

"Why is Harry looking for whores?" asked Dennis from where he was sat on the rug, eating chocolate frogs. "Is he going to be a pimp? Will he have a pimp cane? He could keep his wand in it! My dad keeps five ounces of prime cut cocaine in his!"

"I thought your dad was a milkman," Ron said.

"They call him that because he keeps the lads well supplied with mammaries," Dennis informed them cheerfully. "You know! Knockers! Boobies! Tits!" He made cupping motions in front of his chest. "Dirty Pillows!"

Harry and Ron simultaneously winced.

"I'm going to bed," Hermione said in a careful, icy sort of way, getting to her feet.

"Okay!" said Dennis cheerfully, biting the back leg off a frog. "Good night! Sleep tight! Stun the bedbugs!"

She swept away in an ominous swirl of robes -- a dramatic effect she only managed by surreptitiously lengthening them with a concealed flick of her wand -- and vanished up the steps to the girls dorm.

Dennis bit the leg off a chocolate frog.

"We need a better plan," Harry said. "Even with Hagrid's plant and Flitwick's confession, we haven't gotten far since we returned to Hogwarts."

"Yeah," said Ron, "and we're already past the middle of the book. I mean, year. I'm so tired I'm mixing words up."

"Have a chocolate frog!" said Dennis, offering them both some from the pile.

"Why do you have so many?" asked Harry.

"I can give them up any time I want!" Dennis said, and forcibly bit the head off a frog, eyeing Harry who just shrugged and nabbed one. "I just get them for the cards! There's nothing suspicious about it! All the kids are doing it!"

He pulled his robe back so they could see the pockets sown into it, each one bulging with Chocolate Frog cards.

"Got an Agrippa?" Ron asked. "Or a Ptolemy?"

"I've had loads!" Dennis said. "I think I get those two the most! I just chuck all the duplicates in the fire! Poof!"

Ron whimpered.

"Ugh," said Harry. "I've got Fawkes again. Stupid publicity shots."

"He-- He burned Agrippa, Harry," Ron moaned.

"Loads of times! They burn real easy! Like, whoompf! No more Agrippa! Good riddance!"

Dennis sucked out chocolate frog guts. Ron burst into tears. Harry awkwardly patted his shoulder.

"Uh. There, there," he said.

"Have another chocolate frog!" Dennis waved them at Ron. "They're really good! So sweet and tasty and wriggly in your mouth! It's like they want to be eaten, Ron! They want to be eaten!"

"Okay, now you're creeping me out," Ron said, sniffing and wiping his face on the back of his hand.

"Think about the cards," Harry reassured him. "Hey, maybe you'll get Voldemort, it'll turn out to be the last horcrux, and we'll be done with loads of chapters to go! I mean, months."

"You-Know-Who is a crusty whore?" Dennis asked. "They have an ointment for that these days! Though my dad just gets out his--"

"I'll give you five galleons right now to not finish that sentence," said Harry quickly, shaking his money-bag at Dennis.

"Wow! I can buy about a gazillion chocolate frogs with five galleons!" Dennis beamed at him. "Thanks, Harry! You're amazing! You're fantastic! You're the greatest Chosen One in the world!"

"There's a reason they call you two the creepy creepy Creevey brothers," Ron said. "And not just because of the alliteration."

"Colin only sneaked into your dorms to take pictures of you sleeping those five times!" Dennis said loyally. "Have a frog! Go on, have one! It's just one frog! It's fine! You can give up any time you want!"

"Go on." Harry nudged him.

"Fine," said Ron. He grabbed up a frog and carefully peeled away the packaging.

"Well?" said Harry. "Who did you get?"

"Is it Wee Willy Jock?" asked Dennis. "If you turn the card upside right quick, his kilt falls down, and you can see where he got his n--"

"It's Dumbledore," said Ron.

"Wow! That one's worth a bit! He's really rare! You know," said Dennis, "now that he's snuffed it! Kicked the bucket! Six feet under!"

"I don't want Dumbledore," cried Ron, flicking the card at the fire. "I. Want. AGRIPPA!"

He burst into tears again, and fled from the room.

"We probably shouldn't have given him those Weasley Waterworks Wine-gums," Harry mused to himself.

"It's okay!" Dennis said, waving the card at Harry. "It's only lightly singed at the top! In fact, it seems to be talking to me. What's that, Chocolate Frog Card Albus? Eww, that's dirty! I can't do that! You're a bad, bad man, Chocolate Frog Card Albus!"

"Er, yes," said Harry. "You, uh, you keep a hold of that one, right, Creevey. I'll just be backing away in cautious terror now."

He did, keeping an eye on Dennis -- who was munching chocolate frog after chocolate frog and staring at the Dumbledore card -- until he'd backed all the way up the stairs and the boy was out of sight. With a small sigh, Harry climbed the rest of the way to his dorm room.

"Alright, Ron?" he asked.

Ron just made a noise and rolled over in his bed, pulling his covers tighter around him, so Harry shrugged, pulled off his own robe, doused the lights, and went to bed himself. Outside the window the stars twinkled and the moon slowly rose and fell. The darkness in the room grew thick, luxurious. The dorm room door slid open, just a crack. Something whispered on the carpet. The velvet bed hangings swung, just a little, back and forth. A faint scratching stirred the youngest Weasley boy.

"Is -- is that you, Agrippa?" asked Ron, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

"No," said the Chocolate Frog Card Dumbledore and leapt.

The choking sounds made Harry stir. He fumbled for his glasses and looked around, but there was nothing to see, just dark shapes on beds, and by morning he had all but forgotten about it.

"You seem very cheerful this morning," he said to Ron as they got dressed.

"Do I? Good night's sleep, mate. Does you wonders. Where are we going to look today?"

"North Tower?" Harry suggested. "Or -- hello, what's this then?"

He reached down but Ron, though slower, had the advantage of much longer arms, and got there first.

"This'll be that Creevey's doing," he said, examining the chocolate frog card. "You should have a word, Harry. You know he likes you."

"...ewww," said Harry.

Ron grinned at him, tossing the card down on his bed, and Harry caught just the barest flash of red, a tiny gaping mouth, before it was gone.

"Come on," Ron said. "I'll race you to breakfast. It feels like I haven't eaten in months!" His smile grew even wider--

--and, just for a moment, his bright blue eyes twinkled merrily.