-- Chapter 3- -

The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind of melodrama.

Everyone was broken and fractured by their anger and Dudley amusement was cruel as he watched.

He hated these people, hated them for being pretty, for their pretty, perfect lives and their relationships with his pretty, perfect cousin. Now everyone had been brought down to his level of ugly emotions and he was choking with laughter at their pain. He understood this, understood jealousy and hatred and pain and he drew comfort from it.

No one's pain was as good as Harry's.

Harry wasn't ugly though. Harry would never, ever, be ugly. Instead his pain made him big eyed and porcelain skinned and weak and Dudley always had liked him best that way. It isolated him.

The boy was sat hunched; tiny and breakable and ready for Dudley, curled up into the small alcove at the top of the stairs in his thin jumper and his torn up jeans that flashed the tantalising white length of his thighs when he shifted. He had his head buried into the protective circle of his arms and his pain was ice- hot in the air as Dudley stood before him. One little word and Harry would be staring, shinning, pretty in his hatred up at him and just that easy, Dudley was in power again, Dudley owned Harry once more. There was no Ginny or Draco; there was just Dudley and his pretty, fragile, little cousin. The simplicity was thin but beautiful.

Harry stared up at him warily, big green eyes as always, shinning with innocence and Dudley laughed at the thought of Harry ever being with someone like Draco.

"What, Dudley?" the dark haired boy said, his voice raspy and soft and he looked so very weary, smudges faded to purple bruises beneath his eyes and his shoulders rolled forwards in a thin useless barrier between them. Dudley was dizzy on his own power, on his relief and greed and need; his fingers itched to touch the little figure before him, to claim him and hurt him and break him.

His obsession wasn't a tender one, it wasn't love or sex. It was power with a mile wide streak of lust, which was really just another way to possess and own another person. Lust was easier to understand in some ways and Dudley was, at the end of everything, a simple creature.

Harry was still watching him, tense and cautious and shifting uncomfortably beneath his feverish eyes. His thin, little hands rubbing together in his lap and Dudley could almost feel bones breaking and shattering beneath paper skin. He gave a twisted, ugly smirk and sank down next to Harry, pushing the smaller boy further up against the wall of the alcove to accommodate his girth.

Harry stared at him, his eyes a thousand tiny pieces of fractured jade and he was already so broken that for a moment Dudley was lost, confused by his own intentions. He was confused by Harry, by the shinny, pretty picture he'd painted of them both; that shimmered as thin and empty as mist when faced with the reality of his broken eyed cousin. Harry drew away from his large cousin and the shadows hid his wary face.

Someone shrieked below them and Harry twisted to stare in the direction of the sound, tense and quivering with suppressed movement. He was pale and beautiful and his eyes narrowed until Dudley could only see a slither of green, framed by twin lines of ink lashes that lay heavy and thick against the curve of his cheek. Dudley wanted to touch him so badly it hurt.

"I'd have done her" he said finally, crude and ugly as usual and his cousin's pretty features pulled in disgust and righteous anger.

"Don't talk about her like that"

Dudley smirked and Harry's mouth twisted in hatred, his loathing actually directed at Dudley this time and it was almost enough. His cousin tried to stand, but the sloped ceiling was too low above him and Dudley was a thick, unmoving wall before him. He gave Harry a push and the boy stumbled back downwards, sprawled out awkwardly next to him once more. He was staring at Dudley with renewed uncertainty, the cautious, hesitant look a backlash from their childhood. Feeling reared like a caged horse in Dudley's chest and he moved closer, nudging Harry sharply with his fist in a series of urgent rapid punches.

"Do you remember when we were little?"

Harry didn't reply, his face was carefully guarded, his lips pressed together until they were bloodless and Dudley could still pretend for a while that there was still fear present in his cousin's expression. Memories of their shared childhood helped him preserve his veil-thin fantasy.

"I hated you, everyone loved you, even when we were kids and I hated you for that. It didn't matter what we did; what my parents did," he explained with a dismissive wave of his hand, as if the abuse Harry had endured could ever be so easily forgotten, "They still loved you"

Harry sighed and Dudley hushed him with a vicious pinch, his fingers squeezing pale flesh till it glowed aggravated-red beneath his cruel fingers. "Shut up." He hissed, delighting in the flinch his cousin awarded him, "You were so little and useless and pretty and I was so angry at you, hated you, jealous of you" he frowned thoughtfully, slightly unsettled by his own words "well no, not really jealous. Not with you being beat up all the time by my dad and everything"

"Dudley..."

Dudley turned to look at him, frowning. His cousin's face was slightly turned away, his eyes glowing and downcast; he was still as fragile as ever but there was a layer of emotion that coated his words, emotion that wasn't anger or hate or even fear but something that was less pleasing and made Dudley scowl at the thin, small framed boy.

He reached out and grabbed at Harry, his fingers curling around that pale little chin and twisted the other boy until he was staring right at him. His cousin's familiar face was as beautiful as always, tired and a little uncertain, and the edges of power that shouldn't have existed, were the hard lines in his eyes and the straight slope of his cheeks. He was still Harry, still his angel faced little cousin. But the boy before him different, unfamiliar; there was now strength in his fragility. Unstated intelligence brightened by self confidence lit up his expression and he was staring at Dudley as if he understood, as if he could see and recognise the odd painful bits of emotions that Dudley himself didn't.

"I don't get you" he hissed down at his cousin's big neon green eyes. "How do you do it?"

Dudley's grip tightened and his cousin winced a little but there wasn't any real anger or hate in his expression and he allowed Dudley's almost frantic examination with a strange passive tolerance; Dudley hated him for that and the finger shaped bruises he would leave on his cousin's face were a testament to his disgust and his desire.

His cousin's lips were familiar red and pouting between his fingertips, and he hated and loved and wanted so badly and Dudley was so alone; he been so very isolated since he'd come here. His parents were faded shadows and ghosts that fluttered about upstairs, obsessed with their self pity. The witches and wizards were slender and beautiful in their distaste of him; the fat, ugly, stupid muggle. All he had was Harry and his little cousin, pliant and pouting in his hands with his unfamiliar eyes and his red mouth, didn't seem enough suddenly. He squeezed harder and Harry lips were forced slightly open until he saw the shiny whiteness of his teeth, ivory even in the dim light. Dudley wondered how anyone who'd never been allowed to go to the dentist could have such perfect teeth.

Harry suddenly twisted away and Dudley who hadn't finished, grabbed angrily at his shoulders and his other arm came twisting around the boy's thin back and landed heavily on the golden column of Harry's neck. The skin was smooth and delicate against his and he wanted to stroke it and rip into it all in the same breath. His fingers pressed white circles into Harry's neck and his grip on his jaw was still vice like as he forced the boy's compliance.

"Dudley"

Harry's voice was slightly shrill and his hand was pressing, fire-hot with the beginnings of his magic against his shoulder as Dudley moved his face forcefully. Harry's bottom lip was glossy and damp as he was dragged forward into the light.

Later, he would sometimes wonder what could have happened in that strange moment at the top of the stairs, most of the time he tried to pretend he hadn't wanted something to happen and the rest of the time he told himself he would have broken his cousin's skull.

There was a small spot on Harry's chin; irritatingly imperfect.

His hand slipped from Harry's face and he was being dragged backwards suddenly, his cousin was frozen; wide eyed and shocked before him, still pressed against the wall. Angry cold hands were on his shoulders and sending him to the floor awkwardly and Draco's pale, white iced face was staring down at him, molten in his rage.

He mouthed something and Dudley didn't even try to move, his cheeks were starting to burn with shame and Harry was barely in the edges of his peripherals, his hand still raised and his fingernails looked as if they were burning red, sparking with magic; defensive as if Dudley had been going to hurt him.

"Being bullied by a girl and now a muggle, how are you ever going to defeat the dark lord?" Draco was sneering down at Harry and his cousin sent a glare right back at him that was still bright in shock and soft in thanks. Draco stuck out a pale hand abruptly.

"Well, come on then, let's go drink ourselves to oblivion. Maybe if you get sick enough everyone will stop shouting at each other and start to realise what's actually important"

Harry didn't hesitate as he took Draco's offered palm.

They were gold and silver and bright contrasts in that dingy hallway and Dudley was still lying down, slumped like a slug on a dusty carpet, trying to stop the burning of his cheeks. "Wait" he whispered.

The two youths had yet to move and his voice was a loud noise in their silent, little world. Draco glared at him, his hand still holding Harry's and his cousin was still clutching at Draco, twinning their fingers together almost tenderly as he glanced down at Dudley's flaming face. Even Dudley couldn't pretend not to see the pity in those green eyes anymore.

The dark headed boy was painfully pretty, glitter gold trailed across pale skin and hair that was a testament to his lack of vanity and his eyes so brilliantly green behind those ridiculous bug glasses. It was almost like he hadn't aged a day since their first morning at kindergarten. He was still too thin, still hunched slightly defensively with bruises stretching highways of colour across his jaw like before, but he wasn't four anymore. Harry tilted his head to the side slowly, his eyes were fractured glass and for a single second he was diamonds and mist as he watched Dudley, so distant in his superiority. He wasn't a child and he wasn't just Dudley's little abused cousin anymore and Dudley was powerless because of it.

Dudley hated him so much in that moment, maybe more than he had ever hated Draco and it was difficult to know why exactly. He stumbled to his feet, glad to be head and shoulders above both of them and glared down, his pride a looming shadow behind him. Harry was going to say something, his bruised face and red lips were moving and Dudley didn't want to hear either of the possibilities, so he fled.

He spun around the corner and pressed his heaving ugly bulk against the thin wall, still hearing their murmured conversation; Draco's hissing disgust and Harry's soft spoken denial echoing in barely heard whispers as they shuffled away together, their comfort with each other so much louder than anything they could have said. Dudley felt sick, his eyes were hot and raw as he ambled away, angry and hating and still forever, obsessed.

He didn't know what to do, his emotions were ripping apart his insides and he wanted to cry and break things. In some ways Dudley was still very young and the young always seek comfort in their parents.

His parents were housed at the very top of the house, in a couple of small rooms that had creaked with age and neglect last time he'd been there. He hadn't wanted to see them before, preferring to stay as a half cast between the muggles and the wizards, trying to stop life for a few months before it all went back to normal. So he could pretend that screaming portraits and red lighting that danced across peoples' hands were all just strange vodka induced dreams. By seeing his family he was accepting things were different, but the parallels of their old and new lives were being shoved in his face and with Harry and his strangely cold, distant eyes walking further away from him every day, he needed something he knew.

The staircase up to their room creaked and groaned under his weight and the door loomed too narrow and askew ahead of him. He could hear the faint murmurs of his parents from behind the thin walls and was surprised at how comforting the familiar sounds were; it only made his eyes burn harder and he pushed almost angrily into an odd place of light and shinning polished surfaces and he blinked against the brightly lit room in surprise. Their living room stretched out before him, complete with pictures filled with their beaming round faces and the smell of tea and old biscuits. It was as if someone had taken a picture of number 4 privet drive and projected it around the old creaking attic room.

"Mum?"

His mother was a washed out grey statue, sat stiff like a mannequin on the couch, her eyes sunken into desperate little black beads that shone with suppressed tears. Dudley didn't remember her ever looking so empty and dead and he stumbled forward towards her with new found desperation.

He slumped and slid against the forever too thin form of his mother, till his head was in her lap and his tears were trailing along the small lump of his nose and dripping down in ugly little blotches that stained her skirt.

"Oh sweetheart" her voice was almost nonexistent, faded and breaking and he thought that she was probably crying too. Her hands were frail and old against his skin and he leant into her as she stroked his hair with shaking fingers, the silence was so heavy around them it felt like he couldn't breathe. His old house was a painted mockery before them, stretching out into extended rooms of cooked food and humming washing machines. The curtains were all closed though and he guessed they had to be, this wasn't real and the real world was a long way from the bitter tasting fantasy he had stepped into.

"Harry made it" Petunia whispered, her fingers drawing gentle lines across his scalp, lifting his fine hair soothingly as she went; a throwback to his early childhood before he had stopped being hurt by other people's words. "Vernon was going mental and so Harry made us this,"

Dudley didn't know whether she was pleased or not and he didn't think she knew either, his mother couldn't ever be pleased at something his cousin had done, it just went against some old, scarred up part of her being, but he had no doubt that Harry had done it to be nice. He hadn't realised his cousin had been up to see his parents, but then he supposed it seemed like something Harry would do.

He hated so much how everything always came back to his stupid, angel faced cousin.

His head was suddenly damp and he glanced up to see his mother's sunken eyes gleaming with overflowing tears that stroked the edges of her cheeks and dripped down onto him. Dudley had seen his mother cry a handful of times, but these tears were different, it was if they were full of years of pain and anger and resignation, and her next words were probably more potent that he fully understood.

"He thinks this is enough,"

Dudley sat up and patted awkwardly at his mother's shoulder, "He's not like us" he tried to help her but the pain only flickered harder across her face and her eyes were so very far away that for a second he didn't think he'd ever be able to find her again.

"They are different; they forget us in the end. Leave for something better, more beautiful and we have to stay locked up in a room of smoke and mirrors, wishing we were able to follow them" her face was hardened by old pain and her thin lips were curling with revulsion until they disappeared into the lines of her teeth. It was her sister, a freak just like his cousin, a beautiful, smiling, skinny little thing that shone in pictures and had disappeared into an untouchable world that left people like his mother hard eyed and staring into space wanting so bad that she sometimes forgot that anything else could be worthwhile.

Dudley thought he had lost his mum again, but she shook herself back from whatever reality she had disappeared into and tilted to look at him. Petunia pushed at the yellow curls that lay flat and damp across his forehead, her eyes softening to gentle tenderness and she cupped his chin with probably more love than he would ever receive anywhere else. He had forgotten how much his mother had loved him for a little while and shame burnt hot in-between the spaces of his obsession.

"It's better to hate than to want" she whispered and Dudley wondered if she was talking about Harry or her sister. He supposed it didn't really matter either way, but looking at her sunken eyes and grey ghost like form he couldn't help but think she was wrong. He just didn't know the right answer.

The smell of crumbling bourbons and custard creams assaulted him once again and he glanced up into his mother's old face and couldn't bear to stay in her presence of hate and envy and fantasies anymore. He stumbled away with a bunch of murmured excuses, falling through doors and sighing as the dusty, gloomy stairway came into view.

His mother was different than Dudley, she had wanted what her sister had had; needed to be a part of the attractive, exciting world in which the wizarding folk lived. Petunia had wanted their acceptance, but he didn't. Dudley wanted to own and posses, to be better and stronger. He didn't want equality, he wanted power and Harry was rapidly spiralling away from any power he had ever held over him.

Petunia had wanted to follow her sister and Dudley wanted Harry to stop leaving. It was the difference between them and he wasn't sure which would end up the most destructive. He knew that neither would end well though, at least for a little while.

--

Dudley sloped off back to his room, wishing he hadn't gone to see his mother and the prison of mist and shadows she had locked herself in, because that's all it was. Maybe that's what all fantasies were, or maybe it was all obsessions were.

He was slightly scared by his thoughts and the sight of Harry and Draco sprawled out across the floor of his bedroom did nothing to improve his mood. He froze, watching as Harry's hand slipped across the floor, the stain from the whiskey he and Draco had shared faded and absent of all meaning beneath his cousin's slender fingers and he longed so much his breath got all caught up in chest and he found himself unable to move as he watched them. He watched them and wanted to gauge out his eyes, hating them a little more with every second and wishing Draco would juat disappear.

If they saw him they pretended not to and he kind of hoped that was the case, because otherwise it meant that were too focused on each other to notice Dudley at all.

"Harry..." Draco's words were slightly slurred and his gaze oddly blue and open as if the mask he had been wearing had fallen away with the whiskey. He hadn't looked like that when he'd been drinking with Dudley, but there again Dudley wasn't Harry. His cousin hummed his acknowledgement and gazed with lazy, relaxed half mast eyes at the thin blade form that had slumped up next to him.

"You talk a lot of crap" Draco finished, smirking with a grin that was almost soft but not really and he had to wonder what had caused it the alcohol or Harry's shinning sincere expression. His cousin snorted in amusement stretched out a little, his arms reached limply above his head and Dudley couldn't help but trace the long, lean lines of his body hungrily. Draco misted gaze mirrored his own and jealousy burnt up once more like bile in his throat as he watched the two youths.

"So do you, but I've known that since the first time I met you" Harry's words were laced with heavy satire but the quirk of his lips expressed an amusement that Dudley rarely saw him express. Draco's brow wrinkled in irritation momentarily and he shoved Harry hard enough to send the boy fumbling and wobbling against the bed they were both leant against.

"Here" Draco said, offering the nearly empty bottle and silence stretched between them as Harry tentatively slurped at the alcohol, his face bright with disgust as he choked on the strong smelling liquid. His cousin paused drunkenly and was suddenly still and staring at Draco's pale sharp features.

The pale youth's eyes were closed, his eyelashes almost white against his cheeks and his cousin's pretty little face were soft and bright and his face a little flushed as he examined the other boy. Dread dropped like a lead bullet into Dudley's gut and he wondered if Harry even knew what he was doing.

"I know I'm stunning but really; control your staring, Potter" Draco chimed lazily and there was a smugness in his words that Dudley knew all too well and for a moment he was glad Draco hadn't seen him, unable to face his mockery straight on.

Harry fumbled awkwardly suddenly, the bottle of alcohol hold in white hands and confusion livid on his face. "I'm not... I mean..." he stared down into the sloshing amber liquid and he could almost see him drawing away, pulling away from Draco hungry, demanding emotions.

"I'm in with love Ginny" Harry whispered, part apologetic, part confusion and so heavy in denial it was all Dudley could do not to laugh. He had never seen anyone go from relaxed to hurtfully angry as quick as Draco managed it in those few moments. His back was ram rod straight and his was all blade like collarbones and starved cheekbones, angry and sharp and untouchable in his pain. Pain looked good on Draco as well.

"You talk a load of shit" Draco repeated and his words were no longer soft and full of carefully controlled emotion; they were razorblades and crushed glass and he looked like he was going to hit Harry at any moment. Harry's gaze was cold and wavering in equal measure and he was clutching the bottle defensively before him like a cross.

"Draco..." Harry was a lot for words; his expression so lost it was as if he was a child being left alone outside watching Dudley and his mother all over again, unable to understand what was going on. His cousin was worse with feelings and emotions despite his empathy, his upbringing had numbed him in some ways, and Harry had made himself numb in others.

"What Potter?" Draco hissed, still as stiff as a plank and his hands twisting angrily in his lap. "You want me tell you it's going to all be okay and then everything will work out?" the boy scoffed and he seemed to deflate, sinking limply against the bed and floor, his expression cruel and mocking and pained.

"You're not in love with her, you'd like to think you are because that would easy but you're not. You love her, but you love everyone don't you. You're so desperate for acceptance and kindness that you can't help yourself can you? That's why you're stupid, abusive relatives are here and you allowed yourself to be used as a figurehead in a war that you're too naive to understand. You're not in love with her, you're just selfish."

Draco face was twisted and pained and deadly; his feelings for Harry were different than Dudley's; harsh, more inconsistent, more real and acceptable and yet Dudley couldn't help but think that in some ways the pale faced boy could end up getting hurt so much more than he could. Draco's next words were quiet, swallowed up by emotion he was unable to understand. "Fuck off Harry, I hate you sometimes"

Harry almost reached to him, but he was isolated in his uncertainty and confusion and denial and he shuddered and ran away, stumbling past Dudley with an expression that he couldn't quite understand.

Dudley didn't go after him, he might have been alone again, but he knew who Harry's thoughts would be consumed by this time, even if his cousin didn't.

His knowledge didn't make him feel any better this time.

I've finished my A levels and despite being absent for most of the second year; I got all As and am off to university in september. London here I come. Wish me luck.

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Chapter notes

Petunia: J.K Rowling never garnered as much of my respect as when she revisited the Dursleys in the final book. The idea of Petunia begging to be let into Hogwarts is heart wrenching. I loved the scene I wrote with her and Dudley. Sometimes, because the real story is about Draco and Harry I forgot about Dudley's other feelings and I really enjoyed writing the little mother/son moment in this. I also like parallels, in case you can't guess, and Petunia/Lily and Dudley/Harry parallels satisfied my own compulsive need for pattern and repetition.

Obsession and Love: There's a difference, which a lot of fanfictions seem unable to distinguish and it annoys me greatly because it reduces a good fanfic to a juvenile one almost instantly. You can love someone obsessively but you can't obsess about someone enough to love: that's just stalking. Love is a lot more complicated and dependant on another, obsession is, in this context, a solitary pursuit and will not lead to love. Dudley confuses the two especially when watching others love his cousin.

Bourbans and Custard creams are a brand of biscuits by the way. i've never seen any in America so I figured it wouldn't hurt to mention it and when I say biscuits I mean like cookies not like those biscuits you eat as a side dish. (Which incedently are scones without the raisins: i get a lot of weird of looks when I start putting jam and cream on them.) Speaking of America, the drinking age is high... =( I've never wanted a drink more than when I was told I couldn't have one.

Reviews- please. Makes me write faster. honest.