"I don't think you're a waste of space."
Dudley placed the cup of tea in front of Harry's door as quietly and subtly as his girth allowed him. He was running out of ways to get through to his cousin, and out of time as well: Harry only emerged from his room for the occasional meal and the daily argument with Dudley's dad, leaving little opportunity for Dudley to approach him, and they would be leaving today. Dudley had sworn to himself that he would resolve their past to the best of his abilities before they went into hiding, if only to make things less awkward between them for the duration of their stay at whatever hidey-hole they ended up in.
If nothing else, the tea would certainly boost Harry's morale. There was nothing more heart-warming than a good cup of tea.
It was cold, so cold. And dark. Why was it so dark?
Dudley felt like he couldn't breathe. Felt like cold fingers were crawling up his neck to caress his face. Felt fear and despair that he had never known existed.
Screams came flashing back to him, images.
No, stop, you're hurting me!
Shut up, loser.
Please, I didn't mean it!
I said shut up!
Get him!
Kick him in the face, break those stupid glasses!
Yeah, Dudders, right in the stomach!
Please!
And then the images were gone, and the fingers were gone, and Dudley was bathed in light. But he still felt scared, horrified.
The images were engraved in his brain. Potter on the ground, a bulging boy beating him, other boys cheering on the carnage. Dudley was that boy. He was beating his cousin senselessly, ruthlessly, enjoying it. Why was he enjoying it?
Someone pulled him to his feet, spoke to him, but he was too horrified to know who. Too sick at himself.
He was still cold, oh so very cold.
Harry wasn't going with them.
His father's explanation hadn't been satisfactory, but Harry's hadn't been better.
Vernon seemed not to care. Harry seemed to be surprised.
If there was a war going on, if the man who had killed Harry's parents was trying to take things over, Harry of all people should have been going into hiding. If he was such a big target that the family he hated was in danger, why wasn't he running away?
Didn't he care if he died?
Sirius…no, Sirius! SIRIUS!
He couldn't sleep. Not through this.
Merlin, no, don't—NO!
What had happened to this Sirius bloke to make Potter scream like that? It was infinitely worse than last year.
I'll kill her! I'LL KILL HER!
Dudley's eyes snapped open at this last cry, all pretense of sleep gone. His stupid, weak, pathetic cousin was threatening to kill someone, and a girl at that? In all the years of taunting, baiting, humiliating, Dudley had never once received a death threat from Potter. He'd threatened it himself more than once, mind, but never had the words been turned back on him.
It was strange. Last summer, his cousin had been walking around like a ghost, and his appearance seemed to match his nightly terrors, yet he didn't act any different from before. This year was the opposite. He hardly spoke, hardly did anything, but he looked exactly the same as always, but as soon as he fell asleep he was a madman.
Dudley wasn't sure he wanted to know exactly what had destroyed Harry's psyche.
His mum wrapped her arms around him like he was some kind of hero, but Dudley knew that the real hero was standing right in front of him. He had finally figured it out.
His cousin, the loser, the freak, he wasn't going to run from this fight like he had fled from Dudley so many times.
He hadn't saved his godfather, he hadn't saved his friend. He probably had barely saved himself.
And now he was going to try and save the entire world.
Dudley's dad didn't even react to his son's words. His mother didn't understand why he said them.
He could only hope Harry got his message.