Chapter One:
Secrets and Bitterness
Dudley Dursley had a secret.
In truth, he had many secrets. For instance, the fact that he had once smoked weed behind the recycling bins by the Tesco Express. Or the fact that he had a stash of cheese and onion crisps hidden beneath a loose board in the bottom of his wardrobe, even though he was supposed to be on a low carb, low fat, low sugar, low protein diet. Or that he'd never kissed a girl on the lips, but had once gotten a hand job in return for twenty pounds from a girl named Shirley Hendry who had been a year above him in school.
But this one secret was far more interesting than any of the other petty little secrets he had.
He was a fairly normal boy of 16 - a little overweight, IQ a little below average, and had a surprising number of friends based on the fact that he could easily beat any one of them up with very little effort or remorse. But this secret was about as extraordinary as things could be. It was fairly unbelievable- and in truth, not even really his secret to tell.
His cousin was a Freak.
An actual Freak. He could do, like, magic. He wasn't really sure what magic, but he knew better than to cross him. And no one knew. Well, they knew the freak bit, but that was sort of common knowledge. Most people in Little Whinging acknowledged that 'That Potter Boy' was weird. The magic bit was the secret. Even if he dared to tell anyone, though, he supposed he'd probably be locked up. Sometimes he wasn't even sure if it was for real. He'd never actually had any proof of Harry's supposed ability, apart from when he'd apparently saved him from Dementoids or something. But he'd been unconscious then. Half the time he was convinced it was all one massive joke. Then again, his parents seemed pretty convinced. And there was that one time that his aunt had inflated. He really didn't want to call Potter on it. He was psycho, that much was certain. His friends were weird, too. Frightening and weird. He'd seen them whenever he went to pick Harry up with his parents from the train station at the end of every term from PigSpots or whatever his school was called. A ginger kid and a pretty fit girl with big hair. A girl. He'd been tempted to ask Harry if he'd ever hit that, but had decided against it. For many reasons. Mainly because if Harry got pissed off, he'd be in danger of being turned into a slug or something, but also because the idea of his weird, four eyed cousin getting laid before him was just too depressing for words.
Currently, Harry was cutting the grass, after which he had to trim the flowerbeds, repaint the fence, and put up a gazebo in the back yard, before helping to prepare crudités. Really, it was like having hired help. Hired help that wasn't paid. Grunnings, the drill company that his dad worked for, were looking to promote one of their lower level managers. It meant more money- loads more- and his dad was pretty set on getting it. His parents had decided to throw a summer garden party for all the executives and their families, therefore. It was kind of a pain, but he'd been allowed to invite Pete and Larry, a couple of the guys from his boxing club, so it hopefully wouldn't be too bad. Anyway, he planned on mocking his cousin for the entire night; Harry'd most likely be forced to put on a shirt and serve drinks.
Waddling down the hall and into the kitchen, he draped himself across the breakfast bar and began snacking on biscuits that his mum had thought she'd hidden from him, all the while watching his freak cousin heft the lawnmower around effortlessly. He looked different this summer, Dudley noted a bit enviously. He'd grown loads. Filled out, too. He reckoned he must play some kind of sport or something at his school, because even from the other side of the garden, he could tell that he was no longer the skinny little shrimp he used to beat down for fun. He was bloody well built, the tosser. And in that athletic way that all men worked for and all girls went nuts over. Stupid washboard abs. He looked down and prodded his own protruding gut with contempt. He doubted he'd ever look that buff. Another reason to hate his cousin- he was good looking. Urgh. He'd seen Tabatha Green, the girl he'd been chasing unsuccessfully since the start of school, the prettiest and most popular girl in his year, eying Harry the other day as he walked to the bus stop. He'd spied on them through his bedroom window, watched as she'd gone right up to him and flirted shamelessly. Potter had ruffled his already dishevelled hair once, grinned at her bashfully, and she had all but swooned. Bastard. Sodding magic. If he hadn't been so afraid of being disfigured in some new and unexpected way, he would have flattened the taller boy. As it was, he'd had to take out his frustration on his room. However, once the fun of throwing his PlayStation against his wall lost its appeal, and he realised that he'd effectively destroyed one of his most prised possessions, he'd stomped off toward the gym that his parents had set up for him in their two door garage and beat the crap out of his punch bag.
He found himself wishing, at odd moments, that his cousin would show him some of the things he could do, let him into this world that seemed fairly awesome, despite being totally weird. He knew his mother would have a fit, however, and he'd probably get a beating from his father for the suggestion. Plus, there was also the fact that learning about magic would mean spending any sort of length of time with Potter, and that was just not acceptable.
A groan of impatience caught his attention. His cousin had dumped the lawn mower on the patio, leaning it precariously against the french doors after yanking its plug from the outside socket.
"Fucking hell." He blinked a little at his cousin's coarse language. It made him wonder just what Potter had been doing at that school of his for the past year. He walked different, looked different- he was all confident and self assured and apparently a bloody chick magnet. How in god's name had he done it?! He was about to join Harry in the garden for a bit of long-overdue ribbing, when he pulled what appeared, from a distance, to be a highly polished stick from his back pocket. He drew up short when Potter fingered it with a sort of reverence and heaved an impatient sigh. His wand then. Wand. Like he was a five year old playing dress up. His cousin pocketed it, hefted the lawn mower up again, and after he'd managed to stow it away, leant casually up against the shed which housed an array of gardening equipment. Dudley made his way outside, trying to look intimidating.
"Don't think you've finished yet, Potter. Chop-chop." Harry threw him a withering glare.
"Maybe you should do some work too, if you're so concerned." Dudley scoffed, and Harry grinned a little. "Yeah, thought not." He gave him a look. "Any reason you've decided to grace me with your presence?"
He was pretty sure Potter was insulting him. Tosser.
"Saw you touching up your wand. Bit gay, that, Potter." His cousin had the nerve to snort.
"Yeah, thanks for that. Well, this was fun..."
"I'm not done."
"No? I am. Why don't you go out and find some unsuspecting 10 year old to beat up- you know, reaffirm your masculinity."
"Was thinking about beating you up."
"Well, as honoured as I am..."
"You think you're such a big man, don't you. With that sodding wand. Shame you can't fight me like a man. Waving a stick means shit." Harry's eyes turned black in almost a second.
"You know fuck all. Fuck. All. Don't talk about things you don't understand." He was in his face, just over a head taller than his own 5" 8.
"Like you do?" Before he knew it, Harry had pushed the wand into his rounded cheek. It left a mark.
"When you've seen people die, people you care about- with just a word... Then you can tell me about fighting. Then you can tell me that a wand means nothing. You can't even... This isn't about body weight, you idiot! This is about power. " He scoffed and released him, letting him stumble. "Like I could explain it to you anyway." Dudley scoffed to cover his nervous swallow.
"Whatever. I'll tell mum if you don't do any work." His cousin shrugged him off and went back to pruning their back garden.
The power talk had more than freaked him out. It was clear his parents were housing a nutter- he was emotionally unstable. He told his cousin so, and watched as Harry smiled a strange little smile that made him a bit nervy.
"That's me. Mad Potter." He said it like it was something he had been accused of being before. Maybe even his lot thought he was a freak of nature, then. Out of nothing but spite, Dudley waddled back into the house and returned five minutes later, found a lawn chair on the far end of the patio, dragged it to within spitting distance of Potter, and sat down with a magazine, a glass of lemonade and a packet of chocolate hobnobs, smiling smugly all the while. Harry clenched his jaw, and Dudley smirked behind his motoring-come- porn magazine.
"Hot, isn't it?" He sipped his drink and crunched absently on a couple of ice cubes, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face as Harry hacked at an offending weed with malicious intent. Dudley got the distinct impression that his cousin was imagining the stubborn plant was his head.