Dudley was taken three years ago, but I was left here. I don't think that group even noticed me, so I was left here. I didn't have records, still don't, didn't have any proof that I actually live, besides the array of locks and the cramped room full of glass and plastic that probably stole my blood. I'm still here. After he left, Dudley I mean, after he left it seemed that there was a grace week where I was invisible to them, to the world really. Until the morning I slept in late. But I didn't really think eight on a Saturday was late, it wasn't as if they were going to go to work, and they never woke before eight anyway. I guess it was my fault, I should have known. Like some stupid mind reader or something. Like the guy that took Dudley.

Not that Dudley and me are friends or anything. Actually, we haven't talked since three years ago. But he left me a faux journal, left it in his room and the first page was addressed to me. Like he was talking to me. It held a year and a half of information he wanted to tell me, but couldn't say it to my face. It was mostly dated in the summer months when I was available to him, but sometimes it was during the school year, his worries over what was happening at home, and then when he got home he found it different than when I was there. Or something stupid like that. I ripped out the mobile number he left and burned the book. What I didn't know until I read his writing, though, was that they were mutants that came for him and Vernon and Petunia were unaware of his freakishness. (For a time anyway.) He was afraid that they would beat him too. I hated him for a little while.

When the funk was gone and Vernon and Petunia could see again, they started to really lay it in and I realized that they wouldn't hold back like when Dudley was here. So I guess he was kind of a savior, the beatings weren't rare, but few, but after he left I found out how they really felt. Which actually wasn't much different than before, just more physical. At the random times when my body gets numb and I can't really focus and my ears bleed from their yells and my mouth is sewn and my body curled, I wonder if the way Dudley grew up scarred him psychologically. And I hope that the school he was taken to did good for him. Is doing good would be better, but he's probably graduated by now. I should call him. But I forgot when his birthday was, or is it is? That would be terribly rude to call on his birthday or something, or close to it and not even mention. Vernon and Petunia don't put it up on their calender anymore. It might be in their room though; the kitchen calender is from last year. I remember Dudley used to black out my birthday card -the only one I got, it was from my teacher- with meaningless words and tear them to pieces after I read his work, Vernon and Petunia would smile at him and go on drinking their strange teas over the breakfast I usually cooked.

Petunia cooked on Sundays, only Sundays, and I am usually locked in the cupboard. (It really isn't as small as it sounds.)

Today's Sunday. And I'm tied to the U hook in the wall. By only one wrist, but it was too tightly knotted for me to figure out. They left a few days ago and if any of the neighbors see me not with them, I'm supposed to say that I'm old enough, which I am, and that someone broke in, tied me up, and left me here. I highly doubt anything like that would happen, but oh well. It's not like anyone will notice anyway. The order doesn't watch me anymore and the street residents don't give any sort of damn and the police don't know I live here and there really isn't anyone keeping tabs on the house nor Vernon and Petunia. They're just two normal adults that had their kid taken away and left their nephew in the cupboard under the stairs.

I was expecting something like this to happen, or something worse actually, but it doesn't matter. I know they aren't going to come back for a while, that they aren't going to see Dudley -for he's a freak like me now- and that those noises were the suitcases zipping up everything they held dear. But, what was I to complain. I left my ten dollar mobile with ten minutes and Dudley's phone number under the floor board bellow me.

Now it was just gaining the courage to call him.

"Hello?" He sounds different. More mature, his voice deeper, less whiny. (He sounds American too.) I wonder if he looks different. He sounds big, not like he was before, but strong and tall and everything that I can never be.

"Dudley?"

There is silence. I think he hung up. But he hasn't, because I hear a shuttering breath. "Harry?"

"Yeah."

"What are- How- Good Lord, how are you? We haven't talked since..." He doesn't finish his sentence but I know what he means.

"yeah, it's been um- I'm alright. How have you been? America and all that?"

"Oh! It's been great! I've been great!" I hear him leave where ever he was, there were probably people there. A door shuts. "So um- What's up?"

"I just," I don't really remember why I called in the first place, "I just wanted to see how you are- or hear anyway." I wonder if I sound as nervous to him as I think I do.

"I'm good...How have you been by the way? How's the, you know, war and stuff?"

"It ended actually. I'm glad you have the same number though."

"Yeah, I was worried about that after I broke that phone, but I got to keep the number." I can hear a laugh in his throat and I think of the ways he could have destroyed his phone. I wonder if it's an embarrassed laugh at the way he used to be, or if this is just too awkward for him. I don't really feel much about it.

"That's good."

"Yeah, yeah. Oh, I uh- I graduated a few weeks ago!" I start to hear his accent again.

"That's great, Dudley. Really, really great." I tried to be enthusiastic, I did!

"You're graduating this year, yeah?"

I can't speak until the lump in my throat goes away. "I um- I don't go there anymore."

I don't think he can speak either. "Why?"

"Side effect of the war, you can say." I laugh lightly, but it sounds weak. I probably sound like I'm going to cry. I'm probably still a little baby to him.

"Harry?" I nod for no reason but nodding, "How long?" He's gotten smarter. All I can think about is how the sickening lump is tighter and I feel like I'll throw up. "How long, Harry?"

A minute passes, or maybe it's only a few seconds. "Two years, Dudley."

"Two Years?" He shouts and I'm pretty sure I just flinched, "Shit, Harry!" I knew he'd be mad at me calling. I hear him sit heavily on a couch or his bed or a chair- "Where are you?" He sighs and slumps, but I can still hear his anger.

"Dudley-"

"Where. Are. You." I don't know if I'm scared of him knowing or just saying anything when he's mad.

"In the cupboard, Dudley."

He takes a moment to respond, but the phone is thrown across the room and he punches a wall loud enough for me to hear. I'm surprised the phone is still working. It might be one of those new, unbreakable type phones that Hermione had mentioned her mother having, I wonder if they even have those in America. They probably do, they're probably more advanced and stuff -I hear people enter the room on the other side of the phone. Most likely worried about Dudley. That's good, he needs someone to worry about him, his parents did a shit job of that. All they did was stuff him up with material shit and food; I wonder if that's another form of what they were doing to me. What if they knew Dudley was a freak all along and- "How long have you been in there." His words are forced through his teeth.

I stutter a while.

"Bloody hell, Harry! Tell me!"

"a week." it is a whisper, but he hears it "I don't know. I can't remember anymore." He starts to rant about useless loathsome bottom feeders that have no right raising a kid -I tell him I'm not a kid, but he doesn't hear it- or having a kid withing ten feet of them. I wanted to laugh a little, but I think Dudley would hang up or something; the lump in my throat is growing larger anyway, I don't think I would be able to laugh.

I slouch down the wall further, forgetting that my arm is already at an awkward and somewhat hurting angle and now it feels akin to the time Pettigrew sliced at me. Albeit this feels deeper and all over my arm. I wince and make some sort of sound that shuts Dudley up and quickly return to the previous placement I held. "Harry? You alright?"

"Am I alright? Are you alright?"

"I'll be fine as soon as I get you out of there. Where are my," he pauses and the next word sounds strained, "parents at."

"Somewhere on vacation. I don't know. I'm sorry." I rush and hope he caught it.

"It's fine Harry." He sighs, I knew he'd tire of me. He'll probably end this with a pleasant goodbye and we'll talk in another five years or maybe never again. I don't think I would care much, I don't know why I called anyway. For pleasantries? For a reminder of how weak I am? The lump in my throat throbs. "Still at number four?"

Yes, this conversation is ending, I can tell by his voice. "Yes."

We don't speak for a few moments; I can hear him moving around, shuffling things, opening and closing things. My minutes are going to end soon. "Why'd you call, Harry?"

I choke. "I don't- I don't know." The lump is even tighter and it's making me dizzy and my voice creek, "I'm sorry."

"No, it's alright, Harry. Please don't think anything stupid..."

"But- I just- I know I shouldn't have bothered you. I'm sorry." I choke again and inhale quickly and shakily, "I'm sorry-" He's saying things, but I can't even hear them. I continue talking. Or choking, I doubt he can understand what I'm saying -I surely can not. I pause to cough out the lump, but it's still there, still all consuming, and I realize I'm crying for some reason. I'm still talking nonsense into the phone when I hear it beep and the call disconnects.

"-I just can't do this anymore- I'm sorry- and it's too late for anything- for me to do anything- they left me here because I lost my magic- I don't have magic anymore Dudley! And your parents still hate me! What did I do wrong? Please? I can't take it- what should I do- I mean, I know I'm even more worthless now, but they could have not locked me to this hook thing and not have locked the cupboard and have given my something to drink- oh god, it hurts so much- I'm sorry- I was wondering if you feel messed up at all? That's a stupid question, I'm sorry -I can't stay here- I think I might hurt someone -I don't feel so good, Dudley- Please- I'm sorry for wasting your time- shouldn't have even called- I shouldn't bother you now that you're finally away from this- I'm sorry, I really am-"

The call disconnected. Dudley doesn't notice at first, he's frozen. The shrill repetitive sound on the line jolted him into action and he finished jamming clothes into his pack. At least he now had something to do with all the money he collected.

Angst
I don't know when the next chapter will be up, but I like this. Most likely no pairing, however.