A/N: Written for HSWW (Challenges & Assignments) (with permission of Lexi, Head of Gryffindor)
Assignment #5: Potions: Write about someone being forced to relive or remember a past trauma.
Extra Prompts: 4. 'If flowers can teach themselves to bloom after winter passes, so can you.'
Word Count: approx. 1.7k
"And those are the gardens. We can place the tables over there if you like. It's always nice next to the lake."
Dudley was trudging along, listening absently but really just watching the beautiful woman standing at his side. He didn't care for a big wedding. Sure, the mansion was beautiful as where the gardens but what caught the breath in his throat were her eyes shining and her face lighting up. It was worth the small fortune they'd spent to celebrate here.
"What about the kitchens? I've heard old buildings usually haven't that much space reserved for cold storages. We are planning a huge dessert buffet."
That wasn't entirely true. She had done all the planning assisted by his mother and even though she didn't care much for cakes she had focused on the dessert as she knew he loved it. Once again, Dudley thought that no woman could be more perfect.
"You don't have to worry. We have installed a cold storage which occupies a whole room but if you want we can have a look at it, see if it fits your needs."
Eagerness gleamed on her face and moments later they left the warmth of the late summer day behind to step into the freezing air.
"I hope this meets your expectations. We've divided it into sections, you see…"
Dudley stopped listening. The storage room was big enough that all three of them fit easily into it and when a chef came to get one ingredient or another they barely even had to step aside.
Suddenly, everything went black. Impenetrable darkness engulfed them and for the first time he noticed the cold clawing its way into his skin. He began to breath heavily, faster, panic rising inside him.
When the lights were back on he was shaking. Sweat was standing on his forehead, his eyes moved frantically from one direction to another. He jumped at a touch on his shoulder but then registered a voice. Her voice. Soothing. Calming him down ever so slowly.
"Concentrate on you breathing. In. Out. Everything is alright, honey. The waiter just put the lights out. Everything is fine. Come on, breath with me."
Dudley's eyes searched hers, fixating on them to anchor himself. His lungs still worked too fast but with her it was better, everything was better with her and it was this thought that calmed him down. If a happy thought was able to pop into his head it was alright, he was alright.
It was all he needed to remember the technique he had learned from his therapist. Dudley never imagined he would need a technique for such a basic task as breathing. He never imagined he'd need a therapist either but everything changed in the summer of 1995.
~x~
"Okay, duddykins, it's alright, isn't it. Look how nice it is here. A bit too much colour if you ask me but besides that it's nice, isn't it? How are you feeling? Do you want anything?"
His mother had always needed to fill the silence, especially when she was stressed. Dudley could see clearly how his mother would stress about being here. In a waiting room of a therapist. A yellow waiting room at that.
The Dursleys were a perfectly normal family. At least they tried to be. With his strange cousin as the black sheep it was a hard thing to accomplish but they had managed. And now their son had cracked. He was broken, an abnormality in the picture perfect life his parents had worked so hard for.
To drown the babbling of his mother out Dudley concentrated on the poster that had been framed and put up on the wall opposite him.
It was a picture of a snowdrop just breaking through a blanket of ice and snow. Written above was: 'If flowers can teach themselves to bloom after winter passes, so can you.'
He gulped. Gulped down the tight knot that was rising up his throat, the panic that was sure to follow, the despair that was now ever present just waiting around the corner of his mind.
The door opened and a middle aged man appeared his eyes red and swollen. He thanked whoever was inside, shot Dudley a small encouraging smile and left. His mum scrunched up her nose in disgust and Dudley wondered why that pitiful creature had smiled at him rather than his mother. Much later, long after he had stopped looking down on a man he deemed to be weak, Dudley saw to the truth of the man's smile. It was a reminder that he wasn't alone. It was an acknowledgement of other's pain even though his own was nearly crushing him down. A helping hand because the man knew how important such a thing was in times like these. With experience, Dudley also understood why the man had smiled at him instead of at his mother. When you know the signs it's easy to recognize one's kind. It took him a while to stay calm at the thought that his weakness could be seen so clearly and only after he had noticed that those who detected it were as broken as he was could he accept it.
As his mother and he were called in they were met by a man with a full beard and a jumper. Dudley felt his mother stiffen and knew it was because of the doctor's appearance. A doctor should wear a lab coat, a suit or in worst case a cardigan.
"Hello Dudley, I'm Mr. Molloy. Why don't you tell me why you're here?"
"My son was attacked by strangers at nightfall. Thieves, we assume."
That was the story his parents had agreed upon. They couldn't exactly tell the truth. 'A soul-sucking evil creatures attacked my son, doctor.' Dudley snorted at the thought.
"Since then he's a bit-" His mother glanced at him, clearly searching for words.
"Thank you, Mrs. Dursley. Would you mind waiting outside while I talk to your son? There's nothing to worry about. It's just the way I like to work."
Mr. Molloy was smiling kindly at Mrs. Dursley but she waited for Dudley's nod before she left the room.
In a few weeks a routine had been established. Dudley visited Mr. Molloy, they talked about his fear of the dark and the cold while his mother waited outside. Slowly, without Dudley noticing, they talked more and more about his life and less of his plain visible inabilities. About his friends and family. About school. About him.
With it they approached his real fears, the nagging thoughts that were slowly biting away every little thing off him, leaving just a broken vessel. Because his real fear wasn't the cold or the darkness. Dudley would lie if he said he wasn't afraid of the creatures but they had evoked something that was embedded much deeper in his soul, a truth he couldn't handle.
The problem was neither the cold nor the darkness. Not even the strange invisible creatures. The problem was he.
After Harry had left Dudley went into his room to search for answers. What he found wasn't something he was prepared for.
Discarded newspapers lay on the floor and it was them he read first. He found answers. He found a description of dementors, their effects and the way one could fight them. With a start, he realized his cousin had in fact told the truth and had saved his life. Dudley gripped the newspaper tighter to stop his hands from shaking.
'A dementor lets you relive the worst moments of your life.'
He read the line again and again and again. His head was spinning, his breathing quickened.
Realization dawned on him. There was no bad period in his life, no down crushing moment, no 'winter' he could pass. He had simply seen his life from an outside position. Seen him bully others, make fun of them, chase them, hit them. He had seen his friends as they were - no friends but simply persons who were afraid of him or enjoyed to throw others around. Persons that would turn on him at the first sign of weakness.
How could one 'bloom again' when there's no winter to pass? What does one do if the problem is oneself? You can't escape from it, you can't move to another town or detox. Because the problem stays with you, the fear stays with you, the black cloud stays with you. You are the problem. You are the black cloud. You are the one making the world a bad place. You are the one making yourself miserable.
Dudley grabbed another newspaper to distract himself from the panic rising in his chest. He read an article about a boy who had died. A boy named Cedric.
Who's Cedric? Your boyfriend?
He broke. Shattered into pieces. His throat constricted, he couldn't breathe. He was so disgusted with himself that he gagged and actually threw up. Shaking, he sat on the floor spilling his breakfast, trying to breathe but only spurning the panic on and on. He was falling into the awfulness of himself, falling into the black hole his soul was made of.
It had been the first breakdown of many. His parents had brought him to Mr. Molloy and Dudley fell apart in front of the doctor. He sobbed, fighting for the words to come out but there was no sense in what he said. It didn't matter.
Mr. Molloy had told him the silver lining was that there didn't exist a way down anymore. He had reached the bottom and the only way to go from there was up. It was such a hackneyed saying but for Dudley it held hope.
That was the day Dudley Dursley began to change. Small steps but nevertheless steps. On the way up he met Claire and as he was staring into her eyes now he found the staircase to not be so high anymore. Although a cold dark room could still throw him off he had found a way to cope with it. Maybe the fear of himself and the memories of his dreadful experience would never go away entirely but at least he could live with them.
Everything was better with her.