CHAPTER FOURTEEN

He played video games until his eyes strained and his fingers ached. They began to feel numb from the constant button mashing, and Dudley tore his fingers away from the keyboard, shaking his hands to relieve the numbness. After shaking his hands, he flexed his fingers, mouth stretching open to yawn. Dudley rubbed his eyes, glancing back at his bare mattress. It was dry, so he could sleep on it, but now that it was half six, he didn't know if there was any point in trying to get back to sleep.

He stood up from his computer chair and frowned in thought.

'What if I go back to sleep and have a nightmare again? Why do all my nightmares seem to be about Evans? I haven't been sleeping right since that Dementoid Attack… Has Potter put a curse on me? What the fuck is going on?!'

He ran his hands through his hair, his jumbled thoughts stressing him out. What he needed was more sleep… and maybe something to eat. It was bad of him to go rummaging through the fridge to find some snacks, as it was a 'negative habit' according to the school nurse and could see his weight creep up when he next stepped onto the scales. Dudley didn't want to fall back into his old pattern, but the nightmare had shaken him so much that he needed a bit of light relief.

'Like some chocolate… Yeah, could do with some of that right now. Hope Dad didn't eat all of the Dairy Milk.'

Dudley slowly pulled open his bedroom door and crept down the steps, wincing at the creak on the bottom step. The creak must be new, he'd have to avoid that step in future when sneaking out during the night. He shuffled through the darkness, the lay-out of the lower floor of the house mapped out in his head. He knew the way to the fridge and what seat he would take at the table to scoff his chocolate. Take him back a year and a half, weight topping twenty one stone and every night, Dudley found himself going down to the kitchen. He always took the same seat after rifling through the fridge and proceeded to gorge on as much food as he could stomach. The next morning, a seldom feeling of guilt would plague him, but his parents never said a word and though it meant more shopping for his mother, she was only happy to comply.

He opened the fridge, scanning the shelves with beady eyes, spotting the Dairy Milk at the back of the fridge. He pulled the wrapper out, eyes widening in dismay when all he pulled out was an empty wrapper, any proof of chocolate long gone.

"For god's sake, Dad." He grumbled under his breath. "I really wanted that."

He chucked the wrapper in the bin and shut the fridge door. His appetite had vanished now and fatigue was catching up with him. Turning away from the fridge, Dudley trudged back into the hall-way and up the stairs, passing all of the framed pictures of himself through various stages of his life.

Dudley paused at the top of the stairs upon hearing someone stir within his parent's bedroom. He bit his lip, not wanting to have to deal with questions about why he was up early in the morning and the lecture for not getting any sleep. Luckily, the door to the main bedroom remained closed and Dudley entered his bedroom and fell into his bed gratefully, managing to drift off into a peaceful rest.

He awoke at noon. Dudley yawned, stretching his arms up until he heard a satisfying click, then dropped them back down onto the bed. He sat up, stomach growling for food. He could happily eat to his heart's content at that very moment, but he needed to go to the gym and gym meant salad.

Dudley climbed out of bed and made his way downstairs, greeting his mother with a lopsided smile.

"Alright, Mum? Can I have a salad? I'm going gym soon, but I'm starving."

"Of course, Diddums." She cooed, busying herself with preparing the salad. As she cut up a few pieces of chicken, she attempted to make conversation on a topic that she was not at all familiar with.

"So, what equipment will you be using at the gym? The dumbars?"

Dudley looked confused for a moment, before figuring out what she was referring too. "Oh, the dumbbells. Yeah, using them. Punchbag, need to work on my jabs if I'm gonna keep my Champion title. Do some cardio, maybe use some TRX straps."

Petunia nodded, plastering a smile on to show that she understood even though that was furthest from the truth. Dudley knew that his mother barely understood any of the terms he'd described and held back a laugh. He didn't want to make his Mum look stupid.

"I'm gonna get in the shower, shout when the salad's done. Ta." He went back up the stairs and into the bathroom, stripping off and turning on the water. After he'd finished his shower, Dudley dried off and pulled on a pair of running shorts and a sports shirt, slipping his socked feet into his expensive running shoes. He slung a towel round his neck and packed his gym bag, before carrying it downstairs to the kitchen.

On the dining table was his small portion of chicken salad. It looked pathetic and Dudley didn't want to eat it, but he vowed to go to the gym today and he needed food that was quick and easy to digest. He thudded into his usual chair, dropping his bag on the floor and spearing a piece of chicken with his fork. Dudley quickly demolished his salad, leaving his plate and fork on the table for his mother to clean up. He hauled his bag over his shoulder and headed to the front door.

"See ya later, Mum."

"Bye Duddy! Have a lovely time at the gym! Don't get too sweaty, mind you-"

The door banged shut before Petunia could finish her goodbye. She blinked twice, before smiling happily, glad that her little boy was becoming so independent.

"Sixty seven…. Sixty Eight…. Sixty Nine….. Seventy…."

Dudley collapsed into a pool of sweat, panting heavily. His shirt was sweat-stained, the muscles in his arms and legs burning. He had just finished a two hour intense workout, with only a five minute break to stretch out and take a huge gulp of water from his bottle. His heart raced and he felt bile in the back of his throat, but it was all worth it.

The harder he worked, the more prepared he was for the upcoming boxing matches that would bombard him when he returned to school. Thinking of school got Dudley thinking about his GCSE's. He'd have to really crack down and study hard this year.

He snorted with laughter, as he adjusted his blaring headphones. 'Yeah right. GCSE's are pointless anyway. I'll go to Grunnings for a bit when I leave school, then I'll move on from there.'

Dudley stood up, grabbed his towel and drink and walked over to the full-length mirror that was hung up on one of the walls. Around him, machines whirred down to silence as people filtered out, their sessions finished and aiming to get out of the stifling gym and into the fresh air. As Dudley flexed his muscles in the mirror, the last person left, leaving him in the room by himself. He stopped flexing and bent down to pick up his drink, taking a swig before capping it and putting it down.

Dudley straightened up and looked in the mirror once again, his eyes immediately flying over to the corner of the mirror. There, standing several feet behind him, was Mark Evans.

Bruised, battered, cold smile. Mark Evans.

Dudley's eyes went wide and he snapped his neck round so fast that he was at risk of giving himself whiplash. He scanned the area, certain that his vision was deceiving him.

There was no one there.

Above him, the light flickered, Dudley slowly sliding his headphones down to his neck as he craned his head up. He licked his dry lips, the heavy beats of the rap track pounding out of his headphones and into the silent gym. Dudley stared up at the light as it stopped flickering and thought:

'Those Dementoids have driven me crazy. I'm gonna be chucked in the looney bin.' These thoughts became malicious. 'Potter is SO DEAD when it gets home. His freakishness is causing all of this shit, I'm gonna beat him into the ground!'

Not wanting to experience any more strange happenings, Dudley picked up his towel and drink and jogged out of the gym back to the changing rooms.

"How was the gym, Dudders?"

Face shiny and hair and clothes dripping with sweat, Dudley sidled past his mother and rambled on:

"Good, yeah. I did two hours, like intense workout. So I did twenty minutes on the treadmill, thirty on the punching bag and I used my gloves cause of course the ones at that gym suck, then I did…"

Petunia listened intently to each word, so proud of how much hard work her son put into maintaining peak fitness levels. Something else to brag about to her bridge club.

When Dudley had finished, she wrinkled her nose. "You worked very hard, sweetheart. I think you may need another shower."

The hint was strong and Dudley took it. He planned to go out in the evening and if he ran into any girls, well he couldn't charm them if he was all sweaty and out of breath.

'Besides, I'd get out of breath later on if they let me get it on with them.'

Excited by this prospect, Dudley put the incident at the gym behind him as he took the stairs two at a time and barged into the bathroom, peeling off his dirty clothing.

After a long cold shower, Dudley stepped out, dried and put on a shirt emblazoned with the words 'NEW YORK', before putting on his red Adidas tracksuit, white stripes adorning the sides of the jacket and trousers. He shoved his feet into his cleanest pair of white Nike trainers, sprayed half a bottle of cologne over his body and using his fingers, styled his damp hair into mini spikes. He selected one gold chain out of the box that was crammed with gold and silver accessories, settling it around his neck.

Dudley shoved his door keys into his pocket, then sat down on the banister and slid down it, whistling.

The television blared in the front room and Dudley hollered out a goodbye to his parents, knowing that they would be getting worked up about the Evening News. Hopefully his father wouldn't give himself a heart attack over the newest piece of political news.

He pulled the door shut behind him and headed off towards the park, wondering if his gang were around. They usually were by the graffitied alleyway where he and Potter had encountered the Dementoids, but this evening, it seemed he was by himself. Dudley didn't feel inclined to go to their homes and ask them out, particularly when he spotted Mark Evans walking past the park, carrying a covered tray.

What happened at the gym jumped to the front of his mind and his fury swelled. If Evans was at the gym, then he needed to find out why he was following him.

Storming out of the alleyway, Dudley approached Evans from behind, reaching out a large hand which he clamped down onto the boy's right should, swinging Evans round to face him.

The ten year old stared up at his tormentor with fear-filled eyes, legs trembling, hands gripping tightly onto the tray. Dudley glowered at him, teeth gritted.

"Answer me one question, Evans. Were you at the gym earlier? Cause I saw you watching me. You looked like you were all battered up and shit, but you were definitely there. Were you?"

Mark Evans had no idea what Dudley was going on about, but he would tell him the truth. Slowly, he shook his head.

"N-No. I d-d-don't go to the g-g-gym. Maybe you s-saw someone else?"

Big mistake. "I know who I saw!" Dudley growled, before looking down at the foil covered tray. "What's that?"

Mark trembled. "C-Cupcakes. I b-b-baked them at h-home and I'm g-going to give them o-out to the n-neighbours."

Dudley snorted, ignoring his stomach's growls at the word 'cake''. "You're an arse licker, you know that?" He tugged the tray out of Evans's hands and tossed it over his shoulder, smirking when Evans cried out.

"Oh well, bet they were shit anyway."

Letting go of Evans, Dudley moved over to the tray and stomped on the foil covered cakes, snarling: "This is what I think of you. I don't appreciate little wankers lying to my face!"

Attempting to desperately dismiss the name-calling, Mark backed away, hands up in a placating gesture.

"I'm not l-lying, I weren't there!"

Dudley raised his gaze up from the remains of the cupcakes and levelled it onto Evans. His glare was so intense that Mark flinched back, backing up even more as Dudley stormed towards him. The fist flew out and struck him on the cheek, Mark crumpling to the ground. He brought his hands up to protect himself, tucking his legs into his chest to shield his stomach. Dudley hovered over him, raining down punches, his fury swelling like his Dad's face when he was angry at Potter.

'Beat him, Dudley. Punch him until he is unconscious. I can feel how angry you are. Beat him, he deserves it.'

The soothing voice in his head sounded exactly like the weird version of Evans that he had dreamt about, and Dudley reeled backwards, staggering away from the cowering boy on the ground. Where had that voice come from in his head? Was it another side effect from the Dementoids?

Bewildered, Dudley avoided tripping over the smashed mess of cupcakes and fled home, leaving Mark Evans to whimper in pain.