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perpetual_motionTitle: Impressions
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Vernon/M
Rating: G
Summary: It’s the boy’s fault.
Dis: Not mine. Lied.
Author’s Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
writerpuppy, who is evil and requested it. She wants to see if my head will explode.
Impressions
By Perpetual Motion
It was, Vernon decided to himself with a sharp nod, all the boy’s fault. He was certainly not to be blamed for the perverse thoughts in his head. *He* did not put them there. The *boy* put them there. The boy, with his wild hair and too-loose jeans and his T-shirts that seem to fit just a bit too snugly. Vernon had been aghast when he’d gone to pick the boy up at the train station from that *school*.
“Where did you get those clothes?” He eyed the boy suspiciously, looking at the way the jeans and T-shirt fit. At the way the runners weren’t worn-down. At the way the boy’s hair was still the same mess it has always been. When the boy hadn’t answered, Vernon had puffed out his chest. “Well?” He had not appreciated the loathing stare he’d gotten in return.
“Shrinking charm.”
Vernon had not known how to respond to the reference to magic. His attention was diverted by the way the boy’s shirt rode up as he stretched his arms. “Into the car. And keep that damned owl quiet.”
And now, here he was, three weeks later, alone in his office thinking of how the boy had given him perverted thoughts of T-shirts and runners and messy black hair. It was enough to throw the boy on the street. It was a disgrace, what that boy brought home from that *school*. Vernon would bet-not that he did bet, it was a nasty, disgusting habit-that the boy had used some of that mumbo-jumbo they taught at that *school* to trick him into thinking about such unspeakable things.
Not that Vernon was one of those people that belittled others because of what they might do in their private time. Oh, no. Not even a little. He was a tolerant man, friendly and genial, and he allowed for other people’s *indiscretions* as long as he didn’t hear about them. And if he heard about them, well, it was his place as a person to be allowed to say something. He was not against those *indiscretions* happening, he was against the knowledge of those *indiscretions* getting out.
“Hello, Mr. Dursley.”
Vernon looked over at his office door. “Hello, Michael.” Michael was the mail boy. Michael habitually wore jeans and T-shirts and runners. Michael had somewhat messy dark brown hair. The *boy* had caused Vernon to think of Michael in a less-than-professional way. The *boy* was a terrible influence on everyone, Vernon decided. “Any mail, Michael?”
“Yes, Sir.” Michael reached into his pushcart and picked up a stack of envelopes held together with a rubber band. He walked across the office and handed them to Mr. Dursley. He touched the back of Mr. Dursley’s hand as he stepped away. “Anything else I can do for you?”
Vernon was not sure if Michael was looking at him with some sort of intent or not. He’d never had anyone look at him with any kind of intent. Petunia had *never* looked at him with intent. Petunia had accepted his marriage proposal because she was of that age, and he had been of that age, and she wanted to pretend she didn’t have a sister that went to such a crazy *school*. “That’s all I need for now, Michael.”
“Okay.” Michael stepped away from the desk and walked back to his cart. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Dursley.” He looked over his shoulder and smiled.
Vernon was not sure what that smile meant. He pushed it out of his mind-as he pushed many things out of his mind-and opened his mail.
*
Petunia started the wash on Friday morning by double-checking Vernon and Dudley’s pockets. She left Harry’s pockets alone. If he hadn’t learned to check his own pockets, she wouldn’t coddle him into remembering. She found four notes from girls-how cute that they still teased him with ‘leave me alone’-some change, and some notes from his math class written on very tiny pieces of paper. She paused in her pocket sorting to add notebook paper to her grocery list.
In Vernon’s pockets she found a piece of Gunnings stationary folded into a small square. She opened it.
Mr. Dursley-
It’s a *pleasure* working with you.
Michael, *your* mail boy
Petunia read the note again and smiled a little. How nice that Vernon was impressing the young men at his workplace. He should be commended for his ability to bring such devotion from his employees.
Petunia tucked the note into her apron to give to Vernon when he made it home.
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Vernon/M
Rating: G
Summary: It’s the boy’s fault.
Dis: Not mine. Lied.
Author’s Notes: For
writerpuppy, who is evil and requested it. She wants to see if my head will explode.Impressions
By Perpetual Motion
It was, Vernon decided to himself with a sharp nod, all the boy’s fault. He was certainly not to be blamed for the perverse thoughts in his head. *He* did not put them there. The *boy* put them there. The boy, with his wild hair and too-loose jeans and his T-shirts that seem to fit just a bit too snugly. Vernon had been aghast when he’d gone to pick the boy up at the train station from that *school*.
“Where did you get those clothes?” He eyed the boy suspiciously, looking at the way the jeans and T-shirt fit. At the way the runners weren’t worn-down. At the way the boy’s hair was still the same mess it has always been. When the boy hadn’t answered, Vernon had puffed out his chest. “Well?” He had not appreciated the loathing stare he’d gotten in return.
“Shrinking charm.”
Vernon had not known how to respond to the reference to magic. His attention was diverted by the way the boy’s shirt rode up as he stretched his arms. “Into the car. And keep that damned owl quiet.”
And now, here he was, three weeks later, alone in his office thinking of how the boy had given him perverted thoughts of T-shirts and runners and messy black hair. It was enough to throw the boy on the street. It was a disgrace, what that boy brought home from that *school*. Vernon would bet-not that he did bet, it was a nasty, disgusting habit-that the boy had used some of that mumbo-jumbo they taught at that *school* to trick him into thinking about such unspeakable things.
Not that Vernon was one of those people that belittled others because of what they might do in their private time. Oh, no. Not even a little. He was a tolerant man, friendly and genial, and he allowed for other people’s *indiscretions* as long as he didn’t hear about them. And if he heard about them, well, it was his place as a person to be allowed to say something. He was not against those *indiscretions* happening, he was against the knowledge of those *indiscretions* getting out.
“Hello, Mr. Dursley.”
Vernon looked over at his office door. “Hello, Michael.” Michael was the mail boy. Michael habitually wore jeans and T-shirts and runners. Michael had somewhat messy dark brown hair. The *boy* had caused Vernon to think of Michael in a less-than-professional way. The *boy* was a terrible influence on everyone, Vernon decided. “Any mail, Michael?”
“Yes, Sir.” Michael reached into his pushcart and picked up a stack of envelopes held together with a rubber band. He walked across the office and handed them to Mr. Dursley. He touched the back of Mr. Dursley’s hand as he stepped away. “Anything else I can do for you?”
Vernon was not sure if Michael was looking at him with some sort of intent or not. He’d never had anyone look at him with any kind of intent. Petunia had *never* looked at him with intent. Petunia had accepted his marriage proposal because she was of that age, and he had been of that age, and she wanted to pretend she didn’t have a sister that went to such a crazy *school*. “That’s all I need for now, Michael.”
“Okay.” Michael stepped away from the desk and walked back to his cart. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Dursley.” He looked over his shoulder and smiled.
Vernon was not sure what that smile meant. He pushed it out of his mind-as he pushed many things out of his mind-and opened his mail.
*
Petunia started the wash on Friday morning by double-checking Vernon and Dudley’s pockets. She left Harry’s pockets alone. If he hadn’t learned to check his own pockets, she wouldn’t coddle him into remembering. She found four notes from girls-how cute that they still teased him with ‘leave me alone’-some change, and some notes from his math class written on very tiny pieces of paper. She paused in her pocket sorting to add notebook paper to her grocery list.
In Vernon’s pockets she found a piece of Gunnings stationary folded into a small square. She opened it.
Mr. Dursley-
It’s a *pleasure* working with you.
Michael, *your* mail boy
Petunia read the note again and smiled a little. How nice that Vernon was impressing the young men at his workplace. He should be commended for his ability to bring such devotion from his employees.
Petunia tucked the note into her apron to give to Vernon when he made it home.
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no subject
on 2005-01-26 10:34 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2005-01-27 12:12 am (UTC)I was mildly frightened by the pairing but you wrote it well. It sounded so...Vernon Dursley-ish. Of course he would blame Harry and not take any responsibility whatsoever. Naturally. And it was kind of...endearing about how uncertain he was about Michael's intentions. Endearing. Vernon Dursley. I can't believe I just wrote that. Anyway, one of my favorite parts was this:
Vernon was not sure if Michael was looking at him with some sort of intent or not. He’d never had anyone look at him with any kind of intent. Petunia had *never* looked at him with intent. Petunia had accepted his marriage proposal because she was of that age, and he had been of that age, and she wanted to pretend she didn’t have a sister that went to such a crazy *school*.
And this was incredibly Dursley-ish:
Not that Vernon was one of those people that belittled others because of what they might do in their private time. Oh, no. Not even a little. He was a tolerant man, friendly and genial, and he allowed for other people’s *indiscretions* as long as he didn’t hear about them. And if he heard about them, well, it was his place as a person to be allowed to say something. He was not against those *indiscretions* happening, he was against the knowledge of those *indiscretions* getting out.
Also, I liked Petunia finding the note Michael left him.
no subject
on 2005-01-27 03:23 am (UTC)no subject
on 2005-01-27 04:48 am (UTC)no subject
on 2005-01-27 11:54 pm (UTC)Do I have to say "well done?"
Okay, I'm off to channel "the boy" and come up with some more perversity to inflict on you. I'm sure we can get your head properly blown up if we keep trying.
Oh, and thanks very much :-) It was really great.