Regret: Dudley's Apology

"Ha! Got you now!" Seven year old Dudley, already morbidly obese, advanced on a tiny, scrawny Harry Potter.

"Dudley, please, no, I'll do anything, just don't put pepper in my eyes. No! Please! Please, Dudley, I swear I'll do anything! Don't hurt me!" I swear I'll do anything, I'll do your homework, I'll clean your room, I'll let you punch me, you can do anything you want to me. You can, I swear, please, just let me go, I won't bother you, I'll be good, please, Dudley, plea-"

"SHUT UP! Now come here…" Dudley advanced menacingly, pepper shaker in hand. His other hand was balled up into a meaty fist, which he waved threateningly in the direction of the smaller boy's face. He experienced a kind of revolting glee at having Harry at his control; a surge of power and self-importance at being able to invoke such fear in others.

It was intoxicating.

Dudley was brought back from his memories by the incessant whine of a vacuum cleaner. Mum had been cleaning the mansion obsessively. Her way of dealing with things though, was probably far healthier than Dad's. All he did was pace. Back and forth, from the north wall in the living room to the south. Occasionally, Mum would show up and set a plate of food on the coffee table, then hastily retreat. They both recognized the look on Dad's face.

He had worn that look when Dudley told him Harry beat him at football at school.

He had worn that look when he witnessed Harry set a snake loose on Dudley's eleventh birthday.

He had worn that look when Harry read the letter from that odd school.

He had worn that look when the funny man with red hair exploded the sitting room.

He had worn that look as the witch and wizard led them away from their home, from Harry, from life as he had known it.

That look was comprised of fear, revulsion, and disgust. It was clear why he wore the look now.

All of them were terrified out of their wits. That was the reason Dad was pacing a mile a minute in the living room, and why Mum had already scoured the enormous mansion that was their prison seven times, and why Dudley was lying flat on his back on the floor, thinking and reminiscing.

They were all repulsed and disgusted that they were forced to depend on people who had no obligations to them, who probably didn't give a damn whether they lived or died. From what Dudley understood from his eavesdropping, the only reason they were being protected was because they could give the Other Side information the Dark Lord shouldn't have.

In other words, the only reason Dudley was safe in his new room, instead of being tortured mad was because strategically, this was right.

Strategically, not morally. At least Dudley, if not his parents, knew that probably no one would rescue them, besides Harry, if their safety and silence wasn't required. At least Dudley knew that Harry was a far bigger person than any of the three Dursleys for not leaving them to die.

It was almost certainly what he, Dudley, would do.

For the first time in years, Dudley saw clearly. For sixteen years, the Dursleys-all of them, there was no use pretending now-had tortured Harry. Not only physically, but mentally and emotionally. From when they were two, and Dudley had gobbled fistfuls of chocolate while Harry was near starvation; when they were seven and Dudley stuffed Harry into tiny kitchen cabinets and dumped pepper in his eyes; when they were ten and Dudley led his gang around, beating up Harry; when they were fourteen and, even though he was scared as hell of Harry, he couldn't resist taunting him, feeding that high, reveling in the ecstasy of his own power…

And when they were fifteen, and Harry saved him from that awful creature-not because he loved Dudley, or because he valued Dudley's life, but because he had to. Because saving his life was the right thing to do.

And days after that nightmarish experience, Dudley wondered why Harry had done it. Certainly, Dudley would never have stopped to save anyone, not even one of his best friends from that sort of danger. His mind had churned on that mystery for weeks, until he came to a conclusion.

Good people didn't do things out of selfish desire. Good people didn't beat others up for no reason. Good people didn't scream at innocents, didn't torture blood relatives, didn't bully people because it was addicting.

Dudley finally knew what Harry had known all along. He wasn't a good person. He would probably never be a good person, after the way his soul had been tainted with his horrific acts of cruelty towards Harry, towards everyone he had ever known.

"No! Please! Please, Dudley, I swear I'll do anything! Don't hurt me!"

Good people didn't feed off of screams and pleads like a drug addict feeds off of heroin.

Good people didn't have monsters raging in their chests, daring them to hurt, to maim, to torture.

Dudley wiped a tear off his nose. But bad people don't regret, do they?

Dudley regretted. He regretted all of it, everything, right from the start. He regretted that his parents had never been able to reign themselves in, that they had taught him that cruelty was the best way to gain power, that they had encouraged, even applauded his bullying. He regretted that they had brushed his brutishness off as 'only a phase.' He regretted that his parents weren't strong enough to stop all of their foolishness.

But, Dudley thought, regret isn't a band-aid. Nothing can fix what we've done-what I've done.

A/N: This was in response to a challenge about the Dursley's after they left Number 4 Privet Drive. It turned out darker, and a bit different than what I originally planned, but I like it, and I hope you did as well. I have a few ideas for Petunia and Vernon, but unless sequels are requested, this is staying a one-shot. Your loyal authoress, Merry/ShutMeintheLoonyBin