Ten: The Duchess

The following Thursday, Dudley was zoning out on the couch watching some sort of TV drama. It was too hot to understand it. The week had been good—it was sad to say it, but having Sarah gone made things less complicated, even if he wouldn't have minded getting sucked off or having sex with her. Sarah's tongue ring had proved itself more than worthy.

Instead, Dudley had spent time with his mates, throwing rocks at cars, beating kids up and drinking as much liquor as they possibly could. The only weird thing was Piers. He hadn't been at the park for days, and he'd never replied to Dudley's last email. Plus, Mel was now dating Malcom. Dudley figured Piers just needed time to cool off.

"DUDLEY! IT'S FOR YOU," Vernon shouted as though on a battleground, holding the phone over his head like a throwing star. "MIND YOUR TRAINERS!"

Dudley looked up from the television screen and realized that the kitchen sink was flooding. Dad was standing in the midst of it, in one hand the phone, and in the other a wrench, looking quite dangerous. Dudley kicked off his shoes and sloshed into the kitchen, where the water was gathering around the island counter.

"BLEEDING CONTRAPTION! BLOODY SINK—" screamed Vernon while whacking the sink with the wrench, and Dudley snatched the phone from him and padded out into the hallway, his socks soaking wet.

"'lo?" he asked, peeling his drenched socks off each foot. They made a squelching noise.

"What the fuck is the matter with your Dad?" Dennis declared with a laugh.

"I don't know, something's up with the pipes," Dudley replied casually, shaking water off one foot.

"Last time I called your tea cozy was on fire. Does shit like that always happen at your house?"

"To Dad, yeah. Not to Mum."

Dennis cracked up. "Right on. Anyway, we're having a party tonight at my place. Hardcore shit, okay?"

"Sure," Dudley nodded.

Dennis paused. "Piers isn't invited. I think it's better without him," he said, but the tone of his voice hinted that he was waiting for Dudley to protest.

"Fine," Dudley said carelessly. "Whatever, doesn't matter."

Piers would probably have a fine time at home, dusting off his mother's dolls.

Dudley shook his head as he hung up. That was a cruel thought. Piers wasn't all that terrible, but he wasn't too phased that the boy wasn't going to come. Dudley needed to have a break from him.

--

Dennis, as opposed to Piers, through the greatest parties on Privet Drive. As soon as Dudley walked through the door, he was greeted by the fumes of cigarettes and pot. Good-looking girls were knocking back shots for a bet on the front porch, and Damien was dealing marijuana on the staircase. Loud rap music pulsed throughout the house.

"Yo, D!" Malcom greeted, his arm around Melanie. "Check this out! Check this out!" Melanie rolled her eyes.

Dudley grinned; it was obvious Malcom was hammered all ready.

"I'm gonna get some!" he announced, and almost stumbled to the floor.

"If you act like that you won't!" she said shrilly, and smacked him on the forehead.

Dudley walked past them and paused. Two long-haired girls with big tits were making out in the kitchen. One was grabbing the other's ass. He watched intently for a few minutes, ignoring the raging boner he was getting. Dennis was taping them with his brother's video camera.

"Hey Dudley, what's up? Oi, Emily, get Big D that bottle over there—" Dennis said with a grin, turning away from the hot lesbians for a split second. Emily, the brunette from the party at Piers' house looked miffed but did as she was told.

"Nice, Dennis," said Dudley in approval when Emily handed him a quart of whiskey.

"Lifted it for you," the boy responded with a thumbs up. He went back to filming. "Okay, that's good, girls, wait—could you touch her boob again?"

"What are you doing?" Dudley asked, taking a drink.

"We're gonna sell this to sods at Stonewall, seeing as they're too poor to buy expensive porn."

Dudley snorted. "Whatever," he muttered, but settled against the refrigerator as the two girls continued to fondle each other.

Emily stood beside him, leaning on the marble countertop. She kept sighing and groaning disapprovingly to herself. It was very disconcerting to Dudley.

Instead of getting horny staring at the filming, he decided it would be less awkward to look away since Emily wasn't going anywhere. He turned toward her. "So, I'm guessing he chose you over Susan," he grunted deeply.

"Of course he did," the brunette snapped," she's not even half as pretty as me."

Dudley took a deep drink from the whiskey and gave her a pained expression. He lumbered out of the room before he could say anything that might offend her.

--

Dudley had to piss pretty badly, but all three of the bathrooms were occupied by people throwing up, so he had to stand and wait. There had all ready been a fist fight between Damien and Darian Rathrum, something about Veronica going between the two of them. 'So much for Indian girls,' Dudley thought to himself amusedly,' every girl's a slut now.'

Also, Piers had called and asked why he wasn't invited, which was just depressing. Dennis had screamed into the phone and hung up on him.

Finally, the girl in the bathroom cleared out—she had sick all over her top; Dudley almost retched at the sight of her. But he pinched his nose to block out the smell and urinated, into the toilet this time.

As soon as Dudley emerged, his eyes fell upon Malcom and Melanie.

"Hey D," Malcom said," Sarah's here for you."

"She's back?" Dudley asked with a playful roll of the eyes.

But Malcom and Mel looked grave. "Dude, she seems really crazy, like she's on something," Malcom warned him. "She keeps yelling that she wants to see you—"

"I don't know what's wrong with her," Melanie offered. "She was weird all last week but I didn't know why, I couldn't get it out of her. She's in the living room—"

"Shit," Dudley said. "I must be in trouble." He smiled darkly, and trudged down the stairs. As soon as he turned the corner, he saw her and immediately, he knew what they were talking about.

Sarah looked cute, but tousled, and wasn't as done up as usual. When she spotted him, her eyes went wild. "DUDLEY!" she said in a shrill voice.

"Hey, Sarah," he responded, eyebrows cocked. "How was--? What's wrong?" At that moment, he realized that this wasn't something to joke about.

"Look, we need to talk," she burst out, hurrying forward. People were staring. "WE NEED TO TALK RIGHT NOW! RIGHT NOW!" she screamed.

"Whoa, shut up," he declared. "You don't need to yell—"

"DUDLEY, I'M GOING TO—" she paused and tottered—" TALK HOW EVER THE FUCK I WANT."

"Are you wasted?" he grinned. "Come on, we'll talk, just calm down." He held out his hand toward her.

She slapped it away. "I'm not DRUNK! I'M NOT DRUNK! YOU'RE DRUNK!" She pointed at the bottle he was still grasping.

"No I'm not," he argued. "Hardly."

"WE NEED TO TALK IN PRIVATE!" she screeched.

Everyone was staring and laughing at her. The two "lesbians" emerged from the kitchen, simpering as if Sarah were mad, one with her cleavage jutting forward.

"Sure thing," he said, trying to play off what she was saying. She had to be high, if she wasn't wasted. "Where?"

"Just come on!" she yelled, and snatched his hand.

"Sarah, calm the FUCK down!" he shouted back, angrily trying to match her tone. He didn't like the way she was talking to him. Whatever had her upset wasn't worth making him look like some weak asshole getting bossed by his girlfriend.

He stopped when they were in the back yard, but there was a group of people a foot away from them, and she dragged him forward.

"How private do you need it?" he asked loudly.

"DON'T ACT LIKE I'M A COW!" she said intently, her eyes aflame. "I'M NOT JUST SOME STUPID—"

"Whoa," he said again, "Sarah, what in the fucking hell is wrong?"

She drew in a shuddering breath and walked back and forth like she was pacing, wobbling in her heels.

"Wrong?" she asked spitefully. "YOU TELL ME. YOU'RE THE EXPERT."

Dudley stared at her stupidly. "Expert of what?" he snapped.

She gave a bitter, choking laugh, a sardonic, horrible guffaw. "Honestly, you act so dumb."

"I—Sarah, just honestly tell me what the deal is here, I don't like the way you're talking and I—"

"You what? Come on, hit me! Maybe then our problems will be solved if you slug me hard enough," she said indignantly. "Or y'know, ask your Mum how she did it—"

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" Dudley shouted. His stomach was slowly becoming a twisted knot.

"I haven't had my period," she responded frantically.

"You haven't what?"

Sarah snorted meanly. "Oh my God, honest to fuck—"

"WHAT?'

"I HAVEN'T HAD MY PERIOD!" she shrieked. "I HAVEN'T HAD IT IN TWO WEEKS, I WAS SUPPOSED TO BUT IT NEVER CAME!"

Dudley blinked. "So what…?"

"Are you bloody kidding me?" she snapped.

"What? I— I don't know anything about that—"

Sarah stamped her foot on the ground. "Are you kidding me?" she said again. "You said," she breathed," you said it would take five times!"

"Five times…?" he trailed off.

"FIVE TIMES HAVING SEX IN A ROW TO GET SOMEONE PREGNANT!" she hollered.

Dudley stared down at her. His mouth dropped open. "No," he said quickly. "No, you can't—"

"You said that, Dudley Dursley, but I haven't had my period and that's—that's a way you tell," she sputtered, "I was sick on holiday—I thought it would come but it didn't and I was throwing up—"

"No," Dudley said again. It couldn't be true. "But we—we never had sex a lot of times in one day!" he exclaimed.

"MY MUM SAYS THAT'S A LIE! IT ONLY TAKES ONE TIME!" Sarah screamed at what could have been considered the top of her lungs.

"Your Mum's the liar," Dudley declared, but now he wasn't so sure. But he had been so certain. After all, what did anything she just said have to do with being pregnant?

Sarah bristled—everything that had previously been cute about her was now scary; she was no longer a little slip of a girl, she was a force to be reckoned with. "You are the liar. You TOLD me—you PROMISED me and I LET you! She says that's a lie, she's not onto me but I asked her and she says it only takes one time--"Sarah spat, pointing at him accusingly. "You lied to me—"

"I didn't—I swear—I—that's what I heard, I heard that, I wasn't promising anything—" he said desperately. Everything seemed to be spinning.

"YOU PROMISED!" she screamed, tears starting to roll down her face.

"I didn't promise anything," he stated again, waving his hands around as though that was going to help. "I don't—I wouldn't have ever—if—"

"Oh don't be STUPID!" she snarled.

Dudley's eyes narrowed. Now this he had a definite comeback for. Hadn't Harry always told him so? Hadn't his grades, his enemies at school? The kids he taunted?

"MAYBE I AM STUPID!" he yelled back at her.

But Sarah gave him a surprising retort. "Don't try that shit—" she barked, never blinking. "You're not stupid, you're smart when you want something, really smart when you were trying to fuck me or get some weed out of me, my God, I can't believe it, I can't believe it—I LOVED YOU AND YOU DID THIS TO ME!" Her black mascara was gathering, drippy as ink, beneath her accusing eyes.

"THAT ISN'T FAIR! YOU NEVER TOLD ME TO STOP!" Dudley shot back.

"Oh, so this is all my fault?"

"You crazy bitch!" he said, regaining his ground. "You bitch, how dare you try to pin this on me!"

Her mouth fell open. "What?"

"Standing there like you didn't do a bloody thing, with your fucking slaggy skirts and your snogging me in the park and—it was your idea in the first place!"

"AT LEAST I HAD CONDOMS!" Sarah screamed. "But no, you had to convince me—bet you thought you were being so nice, licking me OUT so I'd let you fuck me WITHOUT ONE!"

Dudley had no idea what to say. She couldn't really be pregnant. She can't! It's impossible. He was filling with all sorts of things—rage, horror, cluelessness. He looked at her, wordlessly. What she had just said was undeniably true.

"Well?" she exclaimed.

He noticed there were a ton of people in the windows staring out at them. A crowd was gathering.

"WELL?" she shrieked.

"Get away from me," he told her passively.

"DON'T YOU DARE—" Sarah yelled, coming forward, all five feet and three inches of her, her hair swaying. "DON'T YOU DARE ACT LIKE THIS IS NOTHING—"

"I said get away," Dudley snapped, and shoved her in the shoulder. She tumbled to the side, but kept her feet firm.

"Yeah? Is that all you've got tonight?" she fired at him.

"Sarah, stop it," he pleaded, and kept walking, right past her.

"DON'T WALK AWAY! YOU TELL ME—"

He continued toward the gate, she was running behind him madly.

"DUDLEY—YOU HAVE TO BE WITH ME WHEN I TAKE THE TEST—"

"I don't want to see you. Ever," he told her sharply. "Stay away from me." He opened the gate and kept walking down the street, dropping the bottle. His whole body was shaking violently. 'Test?' he thought bitterly. 'What test, the right slut test? Think you passed THAT on your own.'

"DON'T WALK AWAY—"

"Fuck you," he told her, and continued on.

Halfway down the avenue, she stopped and stood in the street. She was still screaming, but he couldn't make out her words. He just kept walking, his head pounding, his heart thumping, his mouth dry.

'She can't be, that's rubbish, that's bloody rubbish, it took Mum and Dad forever, but she said her Mum said that was a lie, I don't know, in health they didn't say much but I swore I heard—fuck, I don't know what I heard, am I just totally stupid? She said I'm not stupid… when I want something, is that true? Do I—maybe I do the same thing to Mum. Dad? She can't be pregnant, what's that rubbish about her period, what the hell does that mean, why would she talk about it—she can't be pregnant, we only had it without a condom once in a while—I didn't only eat her out so she'd let me do her for real, well, sort of at first, but not the rest of the times, I didn't just want that, it wasn't be being smart? I'm NOT smart, I'm stupid, I'm not smart when I want something-- she CAN'T BE PREGNANT.'

By the time Dudley reached Number Four, his shoulders were trembling; he was shuddering from head to toe. A glance told him Mum and Dad were out, for the car was gone. (However, as wound up as he was, he did not notice that the kitchen light was on in the house.)

He staggered up the front steps—Sarah's screams were still stinging his ears—he tried to breathe, but it was altogether too hard. As soon as he stepped inside the house, every emotion came rushing into him.

"She can't," he said at first, telling himself it was dumb to lose his head, if he got upset he was being an idiot. Screaming and shrieking and carrying on, well that was Sarah's way, and he wasn't some wussy wimp, he was Dudley Dursley, he was Big D.

But it was too much. He slammed the door shut behind him so violently that five photographs fell off the opposite wall and shattered.

Dudley breathed in and out and shouted as loud as he could: "THAT BITCH! THAT CUNT!"

Perhaps at any other time, that would have made him feel better. He could have pummeled his punching bag, and cooled down, and might have been able to clearly think about what had happened. However, at that moment, it was very inopportune.

"Dudley?" asked his mother's sharp voice, as she turned the corner from where she'd been cleaning the kitchen. "Dudley, what on earth, who—what's wrong—where did you learn—" She stared at him in shock, finally she saw, she was terrified, upset, her pink apron so childlike.

Dudley's stomach dropped. He thought he was alone in the house. He thought they were out—his eyes widened, he was ready to defend himself, how he didn't know, but he was armed with all sorts of lies, he hadn't gotten out of worse than this but he'd sure gotten out of a lot, and if he could only lie—

He exhaled, trying to think of something to say. Mum was still staring at him, shocked.

And instead, for the first time in years, Dudley Dursley began to cry.

He started to sniffle and he felt his cheeks growing pink. He was more than humiliated, more than terrified, but this only made him cry harder. He pounded his fist back onto the door and gripped the door handle, leaning backward, his hat to the side, his blonde disheveled bangs hanging over his eye. With each trembling sob, his face grew pinker and it was times like this that he wished he was very small.

"Honey, what on earth?" Petunia whispered. "Duddy, what's wrong?" She walked forward, but with a caution she'd never used before and put her hands on his shoulders. "What—"

"Mum," he whimpered croakily, tears pouring down his face and wetting his t-shirt. "Mum, I—" he swallowed hard, and burst into another bought of sobs.

Wordlessly, Petunia marched like a soldier and got him a glass of water. He tried to drink it but couldn't. She soothingly stroked his bangs, but then got to close to his face than he would have liked.

"Dudley Dursley," she said suddenly, "have you been drinking?"

"Only a little," he balled.

"What?" she demanded. "With who? Where?"

"At—" he took a deep breath—" everywhere."

"What?"

"Tonight Dennis had a party—I only had a little this time, I swear—"

"THIS TIME?" Petunia demanded, confused.

"Mum, please, please, Mum, don't be mad," he begged.

"Dudley, I don't understand—"

"Mum—" he choked.

She handed him the water again and he managed to drink some down.

"Mum—" he began again. His voice was very small. "I've been doing really bad things," he said, and then gave a choking sob.

"Dudley, I don't understand," she said plainly," what do you mean, bad things? How much did you drink? What sort of party? Were there girls?"

Dudley wiped his eyes and tried to become calm. His cover was blown. He'd never disappointed her before.

He stared into Mum's face, how concerned she looked, how confused, and he broke down again.

"God, Mum," he said through tears," don't you even know anything? Don't you notice anything?"

"What!?"

"Of course there were," he declared," of course there were girls… What would be the---" he gave a bursting gasp of breath—"point?"

"Honey, you need to sit down, I think you need to sit, you aren't making sense—" Petunia said shrilly, every feature she had twisted in worry.

He allowed her to lead him to the parlour, where she sat him in Dad's armchair. She hurried and got him some tissues and he blew his nose. He kept drawing in long, shuddering breaths.

"Now…" Petunia crossed her legs and cleared her throat, as though she had no clue as to where she should begin. "Tell me…tell me…" She bit down on her lip and hugged her arms around herself. "What—what is going on?" she stammered.

Dudley tried hard to pull himself together. 'Just tell her you made it up—no… too late? Yeah, it's too late for that. Don't say anything about Sarah—make something up—' He took another drink of water and stared at the floor.

"Dudley?" Mum asked despairingly. "What's the matter?"

"Mum, you don't—" he paused to take another sip of water. "I do—I've been doing—I've always—" he stopped stuttering and inhaled. "I've always been like this," he managed to say, and gave a silent sob. He couldn't even bear to look his mother in the eye.

"What?" she exclaimed. "No you haven't! I mean—what--? Dudley, I don't understand—and who—what were you speaking about before when you…—"

"My girlfriend pissed me off," he said abruptly.

"Your—your girlfriend? Since when do you have a girlfriend?" Petunia seemed to be on the verge of tears now.

"I don't know," he said forcibly. "Like two months."

"You didn't tell me," Mum stated, looking as though he had slapped her across the face. "What's her name?"

"Sarah."

"Her last name?"

"I dunno."

"What do you mean?"

Dudley wasn't about to tell Mum her last name. He knew the wheels were turning in Mum's head; she was trying to remember if she'd ever heard gossip about a Sarah before. "I guess—I just didn't find out!"

"Well, what is she like?"

"I DON'T KNOW, MUM!" Dudley yelled, pounding the water glass on the armrest. Some water sloshed over the top.

Petunia winced. "Well, then—" she paused. "Did you call her… call her that word?"

Dudley wiped his nose. "What one?"

Petunia sighed into her hands, unable to say it. "The—the--…"

"Oh," Dudley said, eyes widening. "Yeah."

"Who taught you that word?"

"Dunno. School, friends, movies," he shrugged.

"You drink?" she pressed.

"Sometimes," he said warily," Mum, you can't be mad—"

"I'm just confused," Petunia said, but it was clear she was becoming more and more upset. "You have a girlfriend," she repeated. It was as though she couldn't put the puzzle pieces together quite right. "Tell me about it," she said, trying to be inviting. "Just—tell me what happened."

"Mum, there's nothing—"

"Well, what do you drink?" Petunia asked, suddenly snappish again, snappish and appalled.

"I don't know—" he said quietly. "Whiskey, sometimes other—"

Petunia began to cry silently into her hands. "Are you drunk now?" she wanted to know, so innocently, so quietly.

"Just a little," Dudley whispered. "Not much."

Petunia kept crying, and finally had to cover her face.

"Mum," Dudley said sadly. "Mum, stop—"

"Maybe," she sniffled," you should go to bed right now? We can talk in the morning—your father can—" she cried harder.

"Mum—" he whimpered.

"Go to bed now," she hissed.

Dudley was shocked. Petunia hadn't ever spoken to him in this fashion—the last time he'd gotten reprimanded like this was by either teachers (who hadn't yet known the wrath of his parents) and neighbors like old Mrs. Figg, the crazy woman who used to tend Harry. But his Mum?

However, he was unable to move. He stared at his lap and kept sobbing chokingly, while Mum sat on the sofa, crying without tears.

Now he'd told her the basic idea of things, and for what? He had definitely screwed himself over, that he knew, because now that Petunia was onto the partying, she'd work the whole story together. It wouldn't be too hard—all she'd have to do was wait for the rumors to start—Dudley was certain tomorrow's news was going to be all about he and Sarah. She could just call Piers and ask about it, too—now that Piers had been dissed by the group Dudley wouldn't blame him if he ratted them all out. 'But would he!?' And what of the other boys? What if Petunia told all their parents?

"I still don't quite understand," she said clearly, sitting up straighter. "Dudley, you're such a good boy, a nice boy! Are you unhappy?"

"What?" Dudley muttered, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

Petunia was shaking her head back and forth, back and forth. "I feel like a failure—"

"Mum—"

"Using foul language?" she asked sadly. "A party with girls—drinking!!?"

"Mum!"

Petunia stared at him intently. "Who are you?"

At this, Dudley stood up, the chair creaking as his bulk lifted off of it. Keeping a firm grip on his water glass, he tried very hard to keep his cool. "Where have you been all this time, Mum?"

"I don't---" Petunia sputtered. "I don't know what you mean! Dudley, I've been here for you forever—"

"NO MUM!" he shouted. "YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT IT!"

"Dudley! Don't be angry with me! We can sort it out! Just tell me why you're so upset—I'll understand!"

'That I might've knocked some slag UP?' Dudley thought. 'Yeah, I BET you'd understand!'

"Dudley! Dudley, answer me!" Petunia begged, jumping up as well, and clutching his arm piteously.

"Mum, you won't get it—just leave me alone!" Dudley snapped.

She backed off, but confusedly. "Dudley—Dudley Dursley, you---you're—"

Dudley shook his head. "Honestly, can't even give me a proper ORDER!" With that, he pounded up the stairs and into his room. Petunia was at his heels, still asking questions, but he beat her and locked his door.

He sat at the edge of his bed until finally, she gave up and went away. After he was sure she'd gone, he sat in the cool dark, spread across his bed with his head underneath the pillow.

'If she was a normal Mum I'd be in a shit load of trouble,' he thought, 'wonder if she'll tell Dad. If he hears I was crying I'll be fixed for sure. Crying is for fucking wusses and girls.' He turned to his side and ran his hand through his bangs, throwing his hat on the floor. 'I wonder if Sarah went home. She better not fucking tell her Mum. Or anyone, but good luck with THAT. I bet she called Melanie. If someone tells Mum I will KILL THEM. God damn it, what am I supposed to DO? Maybe it's not for real, but does that happen even? If she has a baby—oh shit, a BABY—what am I supposed to do? I don't want to marry her! I'm fifteen! How could she do this to me?'

He could hear his mother pacing in her heels downstairs.

"Dudley!" she kept calling every once in a while. "Dudley!"

He ignored her.

Then, she said something else: "Yes hello?"

Dudley went still—she was on the phone. He crawled over the edge of his bed and dangled over the side to become closer to the heating grate in the floor. If one listened hard enough, one could hear all sorts of conversations that went on downstairs. Dudley had figured this out at an early age, and had used it to his advantage ever since.

He listened:

"Hello, yes, I'm sorry it's late, Piers, this is Mrs. Dursley."

Dudley's body went slack, as a twinge of fear moved through his system. It was what he'd been afraid of. 'But Piers won't know about Sarah and tonight!' he thought. However, it was hardly a constellation prize that Piers knew about weed, drinking, and the fact that Dudley had had sex.

"Yes, Piers, I'm fine, how are you? Yes, I'm sure everything is—" Petunia sighed deeply and sounded on the verge of tears again. "No, everything really isn't all right, is your mother there, Piers?" There was a pause. "In London? Oh, yes, of course, I understand," she said tersely.

Petunia was always very bitter about the fact that Mrs. Polkiss had divorced Piers' father and taken up a career.

Another long pause. "Yes, Piers, he's here—no, it's not all right, yes, he's here—he's fine—well… Piers?" Petunia asked desperately.

'Here it comes.'

Petunia sighed. "Whenever you're in trouble, what does your mother do to you as punishment?"

Dudley raised his head up. 'Huh?'

"I mean, does she discipline you?" Petunia continued. "How?"

'She's asking Piers how to punish me!?'

Petunia sighed again. "It doesn't matter what he's done—oh? It depends on the severity, you say? Well, it's rather severe—I don't—" she gave a little wail. "Yes, everything is fine! She… takes away privileges? Well, what sort? No going out, no television, no phone?" she repeated, as though this were very difficult for her. "I suppose I'll have to do that, then."

'I'm being grounded?' Dudley thought wildly. It was something he'd only heard about. The closest he'd been to being grounded was the summer before his first year at Smeltings, when the family had to drive around to random hotels because Harry was being followed by letters and birds. Dudley hadn't been able to watch television for almost a week, and they hadn't even had anything good to eat.

"No, Piers," Petunia was saying," you can't speak to Dudley—not when I'm supposed to be banning him from the phone! Goodnight!"

Any other time, that would have been slightly amusing. But at the moment, Dudley could do nothing but lie there, dragging his palm across his bedroom floor. He heard Mum coming up the stairs again and she paused in front of his door.

"Dudley," she said almost inaudibly. "Your father won't be back from the office until later, and so this might be temporary." She cleared her throat. "I don't understand why you're doing—what you did, but for now, you are not allowed to go to the park, watch television or make any phone calls."

He said nothing.

"Dudley?"

"I heard you," he snapped. "Good, fine, I don't really care."

"It's temporary!" she responded painfully. "I don't want to do it— If you could just—"

"Go away, Mum," he commanded darkly.

--

He couldn't sleep at all. Every thought he had went back to Sarah. He tried to look at a magazine. He tried to listen to music. But every single thing reminded him of her, of her being pregnant. He didn't want it to be his fault, but he was the one who suggested that they lose the condom. But he wasn't trying to trick her or anything, he just felt better that way. And what about Mary-Anne Johns? When she'd had sex with him, she hadn't gotten pregnant!

'Yeah, but you only fucked her once,' he recalled and then paused. 'But… Sarah said it only takes one time. I swear that's a lie. She's lying because she loves me.'

If only it were as easy as that.

Around ten PM, Dad came home, and Petunia must have been waiting for him because Dudley could hear them whispering through the grate. However, he couldn't make out many words.

But Dad kept saying "What?" and "Dudders?"

Dudley was afraid to go to sleep, because when he woke up, he knew there would be a scheduled Dursley Family Meeting.

'At least I'm banned from the phone so I won't have to talk to Sarah,' he thought exhaustedly. He was terrified of checking his email. If Sarah called, would she tell Petunia?

Dudley would pretend she was mental, that was all.

And if his mates called, he'd ignore them, too. After all, what had they ever done for him?

He decided that being a recluse was a very good aspiration. Maybe if he pretended he didn't exist, Sarah would drop the matter. Forget about him.

Because he surely wanted to forget about her.