Cold, so, so cold, unbearably cold. Everything dark, nothing light, nothing good, just an endless, endless despair-
"Over there!"
Something light, blinding, warmth passing nearby-
"They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban."-
"I heard that boy telling her."
"If you're talking about my mum and dad, why don't you just say their names?"-
"Tricked! Ha, he's all right, is he? Going to be back next year, is he? Along with more strange things to cause problems, no doubt. They can keep him! Never want him back in this house again!"
"Vernon, someone will hear you! He'll have to come back, people would talk, it would raise questions."-
Dudley Dursley jerked awake, shivering from the memory. At least tonight he hadn't screamed in his sleep. That'd brought his mother rushing in to comfort it, but had also raised unwanted questions in his mind; questions about Harry.
Dudley had thought more about his cousin in the past weeks than he'd ever thought about him before, and wasn't sure he liked it. But he was certain that Harry, who he'd always regarded as nothing important, had stayed to help him when he didn't need to, had, if Dudley were honest about it, had no reason to stay and help him.
His mother had known about the dementors, had heard someone telling her sister.
His aunt.
He hadn't thought of that, not properly. She'd always been something shadowy, a freak, not to be mentioned. But she was - had been - his aunt.
And when he'd been woken from the first nightmare by his worried mother, it had occurred to him to wonder, for the first time, what it was that Harry's nightmares had been about, the nightmares he'd teased his cousin over, taunted him for having; never had it occurred to him to go and ask if Harry was alright when he was woken by the sounds from his cousin's room, to check he wasn't ill, to assure him that he was safe, and it had just been a dream, nothing to be scared of.