Saving Dudley Dursley
OR
When Plot Bunnies Attack
Kyra

Chapter one: Baptism through fire

Dudley Dursley woke in the middle of the night on his cousin's seventeenth birthday and wondered what in hell he was doing with his life. Sure, beating up ten-year-olds was fun. Smoking stolen cigarettes and sneaking sips from his father's hidden (or so he thought) stash of whiskey was fun too. But, when all was said and done, it was a lousy choice of careers. Most of the time, he didn't think about that last, but on the 31st of July 1997, he found that it bothered him intensely. His stomach was making insistent demands to be fed, and he slipped out of bed and into the hallway. Diet or no, he wanted food, and he was going to get it.

To his surprise, the kitchen light was on. He slowed, frowning. His father slept like the dead, and his mother, no matter how many times she woke up, refused to leave her bed until seven thirty in the morning. So why was one of them in the kitchen at midnight? It didn't make any sense. Still, they were unlikely to do anything to him once he'd burst in on them, and he walked into the kitchen.
His cousin was sitting at the table, casually eating his way though a plate of scones. Dudley stopped again, his mouth hanging open. "Where'd you get those?" he demanded.

Harry looked up, scowling. "Get lost," he said shortly. "You're not getting any."

Dudley didn't move. "I said, where'd you get them?"

"It's my birthday," Harry reminded him. "Just because some people could care less doesn't mean that everyone does. For you information, my best friend Ron's mum made these, and you're still not getting any."

Dudley blinked, trying to wrap his mind around the concept. "Your friends don't bake," he objected.

Harry rolled his eyes in disgust. "Of course they do! Unlike you, though, they know how to do it in moderation. There's bread in the fridge."

Dudley grunted and moved towards the fridge. Sure enough, there was a half-eaten loaf of bread displayed prominently in the front. He grabbed it, asking, "How did you know that?"

"I do the shopping here, remember?" Harry asked, in that patronizing tone that Dudley hated. Dudley glowered at him, but Harry only took the next-to-last scone and popped half of it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, obviously savoring the taste. With a scowl, Dudley turned back to his measly half-loaf of bread. It was getting stale. He stuck his head back into the fridge, hoping against hope that there was some kind of jam. He was out of luck, and he snagged the butter as compensation. He sat down heavily across from his cousin, trying not to look at Harry's goodies.

They ate in silence for a while. Harry neatly finished off the final scone and stretched back, not showing any signs on leaving. Dudley, whose mouth was full, didn't try to make him.

As the clock struck the half hour, Harry straightened with a small groan. He looked straight at Dudley, and, for the first time, looked almost afraid. Dudley was confused at that. Harry hadn't been afraid of him since he went off to his school six years before.

"Listen, Dudley," he said urgently. "And this is very important, so pay attention."

Dudley nodded, wondering just what Harry had to say.

"You don't know anything about what goes on at my school, which is just as well. But, basically, there's a terrorist out to get me. He's the one who killed my parents."

Dudley frowned. "Your parents were killed in a car crash," he reminded Harry.

A look of disgust crossed Harry's face. "No, they didn't. That's just a lie your parents told me to keep me from learning the truth."

"That they were murdered?" Dudley asked skeptically.

Harry nodded. "Just listen to me. When I was a baby, this terrorist – he calls himself Lord Voldemort, by the way – came into my house and killed my parents. He tried to kill me, but he couldn't. That's how I got this." He touched his scar. "When I first got to school, everyone thought that he was gone. But he isn't. He's back, and he wants to kill me."

"Why?" Dudley asked. Who in God's name would want to kill his cousin?

"Never mind," Harry said shortly. "You wouldn't understand."

Dudley frowned. He resented the slight to his intelligence, and he told Harry so.

"It's magic stuff," Harry said.

Dudley shuddered at the forbidden word, but didn't say anything. He wanted to know why Harry was telling him all of this now.

"Anyway, just accept that he wants me dead. Before she died, my mother ensured that, so long as I lived here, he couldn't get into this house. Unfortunately, that protection ends when I turn seventeen. That was today." He paused, glancing at his watch. "I think we still have a few minutes until it's official: I was born at one in the morning. After that, he can get in."

Understanding was slowly dawning in Dudley. "And he'll come after you?"

Harry nodded. "Exactly. When he does, it would be best if you and your parents weren't here."

"Why?"

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Because Voldemort isn't particularly picky about who he kills while he's trying to get to his main target. You and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would just be in the way."

"But we're not… I mean, he's a…" Dudley couldn't say it, couldn't utter that one word.

Harry snorted. "Yes, he's a wizard." Dudley winced. "But you think he cares that you're not? To him, you're just a waste of space anyway. Trust me, he would have no qualms whatsoever about killing you."

"But why?" Dudley asked. He was well aware that he sounded like a broken record, but he couldn't get past that one essential question.

"Because he's insane," Harry said flatly. "Insane and evil. Do you need any more reasons than that?"

Dudley didn't answer. Instead, he glanced at the clock on the wall. 12:59. If what Harry said was true – and for some reason, Dudley was not inclined to doubt his cousin's words in the slightest – then the protection, whatever it was, would end in one minute.

Harry saw it too. "You should wake your parents," he said. "I suspect that Voldemort will be here soon."

Dudley didn't protest, only stood and walked out of the kitchen. He started lumbering up the stairs just as the clock struck one. An instant later, he heard three distinct pops, like gunshots. He started and looked wildly around, but he didn't see anything out of the ordinary. And then his mother screamed.

Dudley tore up the remaining stairs, distantly hearing Harry running up after him. He burst into his parents' room, only to find two figures bent over the bed. They both held sticks and they were somehow causing both of his parents excruciating pain. His mother was shrieking, and his dad's bullhorn roar could probably be heard through the entire street. Suddenly, his father went still as a jet of green light erupted from one of the sticks and hit him straight in the chest. Dudley knew without being told that his father was dead. He screamed and threw himself at the man, but the attacker only laughed coldly. He aimed his stick at Dudley and said, almost lazily, "Crucio."

A jet of red light shot towards Dudley. A split second before it hit him, Harry shoved him aside. The light hit him instead, and Harry screamed in agony. Dudley watched in horror as his cousin collapsed, convulsing with the pain. The man turned back to Dudley, and he knew that he was going to die. Apparently all of his earlier thoughts about making something of his life were about to become useless. He wouldn't have a life anymore.

Suddenly, the two figures stiffened. As one, they vanished with almost deafening cracks. Dudley stood there for a long moment after they'd left, petrified with fear. Only his mother's moans woke him, and he rushed over to her. Harry, who had apparently gotten over the pain, walked stiffly to join him. Tenderly, Dudley took his mother's hand, shuddering as her blood ran through his fingers. She was still alive, but only barely. He could see that her breathing was labored and that her heart struggled to beat. He looked desperately at Harry. "Do something!" he pleaded.

Harry shook his head. "I can't," he whispered. He appeared to be mesmerized by the sight of his aunt. As though in a dream, he reached out and helped her lie down as comfortably as possible. Dudley was amazed to see that there were tears running down his face. Dudley's own eyes were dry.

His mother looked up at Harry, her green eyes open and desperate. "Harry," she gasped. "Take care… of him." She paused, gasping for her last morsels of air.

"I will," Harry promised.

"I loved… her. Always… loved…" She fell back, her heart grinding to a halt and her breath stopping abruptly.

"Mum!" Dudley shouted. "Mum!" He clung to her hand, willing her to wake up again. She couldn't be gone! It wasn't possible! He turned furiously to Harry. "It's all your fault!" he screamed hysterically. "It's your fing fault that she's dead! If it wasn't for you none of this would be happening!"

Harry didn't deny it. He only stood there, his hands raised slightly above his aunt's freshly deceased body. Dudley could see him struggling to regain his composure, and he hated him even more for that. A woman was dead, both of his parents were dead, and he was trying to stay calm!

"What's wrong with you!" he shouted, dropping his mother's hand and diving at Harry. "She's dead!"

Harry nodded, easily sidestepping Dudley's clumsy attempts to kill him. "She is," he agreed. "And I wish to dear God that she weren't. But I can't afford to lose control. There were three of them, remember?"

"Oh, there were far more than three of us," a silky voice drawled from the doorway. Both boys spun. Dudley gaped at what he saw. A man was standing on the threshold, wearing a black cloak and a hood. His hands were covered with leather gloves, and he was holding one of those sticks. But his face… his face was covered in a mask made of a shining, dead-white skull. Behind him was a row of people dressed in the same fashion, all holding sticks.

Harry looked from them to Dudley and back again. Suddenly, he seemed to make a decision. "Dudley, hold on to me!" he shouted.

"Oh, I don't think so," the figure said smoothly, moving to intercept Dudley as he started towards his cousin. "You're not going anywhere, Potter."

"Go to Hell, Malfoy," Harry spat, ducking under his arm. "That's where you belong anyway." He grabbed Dudley's arm and closed his eyes. And then, Dudley's world went completely white.