A small boy of about nine was running. Fast. His hand-me-down sneakers were slipping on the loose gravel on the side of the road, his shaggy black hair whipping away from his face, where there was a thin scar on his forehead and where a pair of broken glasses, scotch-taped together, rested crookedly on his nose.

A large, beefy boy of about the same age, though he looked several years older because the younger boy was so thin and short, was chasing him and laughing. His gang was running behind. "Get him!" he shouted, laughing.

The smaller boy's sneakers were so worn out that they finally gave way so he slipped and fell. The gang tackled him, a boy named Piers twisting his arms behind his back, and the little boy shouting, "Ow! Let me go!" and the older one socking him in the nose so that his glasses snapped again. The gang laughed.

The boy tried to stand, saying, "Why are you so mean to me, Dudley? I haven't done anything to you!"
Dudley said, "Oh, is little Harry going to cry?" And shoved him back down again. The gang fled, Dudley kicking him as Harry looked for the shards of his broken glasses, tears welling in his eyes.

Dudley Dursley woke up gasping. Oh, God, not another dream. The collar of his T-shirt was soaked in sweat, his heart thudding uneasily under his shirt. He breathed deeply, feeling tense, and then sat up in bed and wiped his brow with the back of him arm. He had been having these dreams ever since the attack.

The attack.

He ran his hand over his hair, where sweat was prickling his scalp. He had tried hard to forget that horrible night, but the memory was still vivid in his mind.

He remembered the cold, scary feeling that had swept over him, his heart-hammering fear that sent a chill up his spine. The feeling that he would never be happy again, as if all the good memories were sucked out of him, and then something-something invisible-had grabbed him so forcefully he nearly fell over his feet, and pinned him against the cold, hard brick floor where he had slipped and fallen-and then suddenly-he couldn't breathe, he couldn't see, he could feel only cold, empty darkness, and the worst memories of his life had come flooding back, every happy memory he had ever had was gone. It seemed to go on like that for several hours, even though it had been just been maybe five minutes. And then-Dudley stopped right then and there. Something had dawned on him.

It was not Harry who had caused that; It was Harry who had saved him. The minute Harry had pointed his wand at him and shouting something he could not remember, whatever mysterious, strangling grip that had held him disappeared, and he was lying on the cold, hard ground, a chill still hanging in the air.

He was confused and dazed and in a pool of cold sweat, and then he passed out. Not long after, he felt Harry's arm tight around his neck, trying to get him home. His legs and arms felt paralyzed and his mouth and teeth and tongue were locked up tight, as if he could not get a word out if he tried. His face was white as a sheet and drenched in sweat, and rush a dizziness in his head. He could feel his heart thudding violently under his shirt, and the blood pounding in his ears. His body throbbed and shook. Harry was dragging him along, and he felt as if he were in a dream-like state. The last thing he remembered was vomiting on the porch of Number Four Privet Drive, and then passing out again.

And then he woke up the next day, in bed. All that day he felt groggy and angry, in and out of sleep. (His mother later informed him that after taking him to the doctor, the doctor had prescribed something to make him sleep, because he was so shook up and confused no one could make sense of him.)

The next day was normal. Sort of.

And then the dreams began.

But unlike all the dreams-or rather, nightmares-Dudley had had in his fifteen years of life, these were real. They were memories of his past, but seen differently, as if he were watching himself from afar, trying to make them stop, trying to take back what he had said, but the dreams just sped ahead. The dreams that made him see, for the first time in his life, what a terrible person he was.

…...

To Be Continued