Show of Power

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...

"Thank you!" said a soft voice – but of course it wasn't Tom; Harry was waking up.

As usual it took him a few moments to remember where he was. December 23rd, 1988, he told himself, Number 4 Privet Drive.

This was the day he was to implement Tom's plan. It wasn't much of a plan, to be fair. Tom said Harry needed to learn to think on his feet, so he had only given Harry an idea, a premise to work off of.

Tom's idea was simple; Harry would scare the Dursleys a bit, then demand Dudley's second bedroom – that's it. But Harry was rather uneasy about the whole thing; he really didn't want to scare anyone...he'd had enough of people being scared for a lifetime, but Tom had been very insistent about it.

"Cupboards are for brooms and boxes and dust, Harry. Even the naughtiest of children shouldn't be kept in a cupboard. It's demeaning, and it's a health hazard."

Tom left no room for argument. And as uneasy as Harry was about the whole thing, he wouldn't have been able to argue even if Tom hadn't been so firm. He hadn't ever known anything besides his cupboard, but if all the children at Tom's dreary orphanage could all be afforded a bed, why couldn't Harry? And why the bloody hell did Dudley need two?

Yes, Tom didn't have to try very hard to convince Harry that he was in the right in this...otherwise he would never be able muster the courage to do what he was about to do.

He focused on his breathing, as he slipped out of his cupboard, light-footed as usual, and quietly made his way into the kitchen. As he did every morning, he went straight for the coffee maker.

The next few minutes passed slowly, as he watched the little brown droplets create ripples in the coffee pot, and soon Aunt Petunia came marching down the stairs, Uncle Vernon bumbling behind her. He didn't look at them, as they sat down at the table, and just like every other day, was completely silent as he made their coffee, crossed the kitchen, and set their mugs on the table.

Today, though, he didn't scurry off to make breakfast; today, he stood up straight in front of them, waiting to be acknowledged. He was, after a very awkward minute.

"What is it, boy?" Vernon snapped.

Harry took a deep breath. "I have a request, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia."

Vernon's face reddened, but only slightly. "A...request?"

Harry nodded. "I want Dudley's second bedroom."

"You what?"

Aunt Petunia's eyes had widened at least three eighths of a centimetre.

Harry steeled himself. "I'm a a boy, not a broom. I shouldn't be kept in a cupboard."

"Now see here boy, we took you in out of the goodness of our hearts, and you have no right to ungratefully demand -"

"What do you think the neighbours would think if they knew you kept your nephew in a cupboard?" Harry interrupted.

Vernon's face rapidly darkened from rosy red to an ugly shade of purple, while Petunia instantly paled. "You wouldn't," the fat man sputtered, "No one would believe you!"

Well, so much for that. Harry had really hoped that he'd be able to convince them with words alone. It would have been better that way, easier for everyone.

On to plan B. "I know, which is why I've never said anything." He took another deep breath. "But no one would believe you if you told them your eight year old nephew threatened you into getting his own bedroom. Not to mention, if you told anyone, you'd be incriminating yourself too."

"Threatened?" Vernon spat, while Aunt Petunia continued to pale to an unhealthy shade of yellow. "What get are you getting at boy?"

Harry glared at him. "Boy? Aren't you going to call me freak? Because that's what I am, right?" He took a deep breath. "I'm a freak! And do you know what happens when freaks get angry?" The dishes on the table began to rattle ominously, and Harry had to keep himself from smiling gleefully. It had taken whole week of practice to get that part right. It turns out it's very hard to make things shake without breaking them.

"What is that? Stop that, boy! Stop that this instant!"

Harry closed his eyes. He was angry, he told himself, very angry. They hurt him, when he hadn't done anything to them. They treated him like a slave, like an animal – they treated him like vermin. They deserve this, he told himself. They deserve this. They deserve this.

"I'll have none of that freakishness here, boy! I don't know what you think you're playing at, but-"

Harry's eyes snapped open, and at that very instant, the two coffee mugs burst into pieces, scalding hot coffee attacking his Aunt and Uncle in the face. He'd done it. He'd actually done it! Tom was going to be so proud.

He was so thrilled with his success that he didn't even register Petunia's screeching or Vernon's roaring – he was lost, reveling in his victory until Vernon's pudgy hand grabbed him like a vice on his shoulder.

"You nasty, nasty little-"

"Let go!" Harry shouted, startled, and to his utter shock, the massive man listened. Thank goodness, because he didn't know if he could deal with a physical manifestation of Vernon's rage right now.

The adrenaline was dying down, and he had to keep himself from shaking. He needed to leave. If he showed any weakness in front of them, this would have all been for nothing.

He turned his back to them.

"Now, I'm going to the playground for an hour. When I get back, I want my toys and clothes moved up to Dudley's second bedroom, and his things moved out...or else."

"Or else what, boy?" Vernon snarled, lunging forward before he was stopped by a ghostly white Aunt Petunia.

Harry took a deep breath and glanced over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes and doing his very best to imitate Tom. "Or else I'll break a lot more than just your coffee mugs."

Seeing their frantic nods, he knew his mission had been a success. Now he just had to wait.

.....

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