AN: Ah. This chapter was gut-wrenching for me to write. It was the most challenging and the most fun for me so far. The lyrics in one of the memories belong to TLC, "Das Da Way We Like 'Em"… 1992, represent.
Uh. I listened to a lot of music and had insomnia while I wrote this.
Please, please review. I want to know what you feel about it.
"I'm just having
thoughts of
Marianne."
-TORI AMOS
-
"What if I had a thing on the side
Made you cry
Would the rules change up or
would they still apply
if I played you liked a toy?
Sometimes I wish I could act like a boy."
-CIARA
-
"Testosterone boys and harlequin girls
Won't you dance to this beat and hold a lover close?
Let's get these teen hearts beating faster."
-PANIC!AT THE DISCO
-
Chapter Twenty-One: Don't Follow Me Down, Dinah
He darted into the house and locked the front door, panting.
All three adults peered into the foyer.
"DUDDY?" screamed Mum, running at him. "You're pale as death—where did you go—what happened?"
"I'll make a pot of tea," nodded Yvonne, who looked as though she'd been at the wine.
Vernon made a face. "What's all this?" he demanded. "First Piers snoring on the couch like he lives here—what is it, Petunia? What's wrong with the boy?!"
"Gah," protested Dudley, patting Petunia, who was stroking his hair wildly like he was on his deathbed. "It's cold outside, Mum, 'sall." He shoved her aside, albeit gently.
"Where were you, Diddydums?" she questioned.
"I was walking Clarice home," he said nonchalantly.
Petunia's eyes seemed to mist over. "You were? You were! Yvonne, did you hear that? My boy walked Clarice home-- what a perfect little gentleman!"
"But of course!" Vernon said gruffly. "The boy's been raised well!"
Dudley felt like he'd just gotten off a very fierce expedition. He sighed. "Yes, well, everything's okay," and pulled off his boots with a dramatic flourish. He felt proud that he'd known about the Dementoids, and he'd saved Clarice, though she didn't know about them.
He looked into the living room, where Piers was still zonked out, one arm over the edge of the couch with his mouth open. Dudley grinned—it could have been ten years ago—and went upstairs to change to pajamas.
"Come on, Dudley, I made a pot of tea," called Yvonne.
Reluctantly, he trudged back downstairs. He rather liked Yvonne, if only because she was Petunia's only constant. Even then, Petunia judged her harshly behind her back. But still, she'd stuck with Mum since high school. "Hey," he greeted in a low voice as she poured the tea.
"I think you made your Mum cry, Dudders, she's so proud of you," Yvonne said unsteadily. Sure enough, there were empty wine glasses on the drainboard. "We all are."
"Yeah," Dudley said," thanks." He added his cream and sugar and snatched a chocolate biscuit, remembering what Harry had said about the Dementors last time.
"So proud," she smiled. "You've turned out nicely."
Dudley nodded boredly, and made to leave when she went on:
"I was worried for a while."
He instantly turned around. "Why?" he asked at once.
"You were cute at first, surely," she said," But then you got a little hardened. Yes, but feisty, a real bossy boots like Petunia!" She laughed and leaned against the counter, her engagement ring glittering.
Dudley was shocked. Not once had anyone told him he was like his mother. He used to be told he was like Vernon constantly, but now, he felt like neither of them. He'd never even considered himself like his mother—she was organized, clean, doting, a perfectionist. Dudley felt he was opposite her in every way.
"Why?" he prodded.
But it seemed Yvonne was on her own tangent. "Spoiled, too, but what child isn't? More tea, Dudders?"
Dudley shook his head rapidly. "I'm like Mum?"
"You're a good boy," she said with a smile," don't forget that."
--
'What was that thing called that you saved us from?' Clarice asked breathlessly, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. It was snowing hard and below freezing. She was in a white tank top for some reason, though, and hardly anything else. Her nipples hardened underneath her shirt.
'Oh, you know. A Dementoid,' said Dudley, flexing his muscles.
Dudley stopped to think. That still didn't sound right. 'Oh well.'
'It sucks the happiness out of you. Whatever. It's gone now. And I didn't even use magic.'
'Well, that's because you're strong.'
…Wait. Clarice wouldn't say that. 'Oh well.'
'Thank you, Dudley,' she said sweetly, coming up to put her arms around his neck again. He could smell her hair. He looked down at her to kiss her.
But instead, it was Sarah. She pushed her hips against his groin and ground into him. 'Can I feel your muscles?' she asked. 'I like strong boys,' she said.
Dudley turned over. 'Fuck.'
'You aren't mean,' Clarice said, then kissed him on the couch.
'You didn't really mean that,' Sarah said, nestled in his lap. Then, she was wearing a miniskirt and no panties, lying on the bed at Damien's. 'Come on, Big D. We don't have to use a condom…'
Dudley groaned, and shifted again, his sheets tenting above his spread legs. 'Way to ruin my moment, you bitch,' he thought, but the sensation of the imagined Sarah was so beautiful and violent that he couldn't shake the feeling.
Sarah reminded him of the part of himself he'd built. He didn't hate old Dudley, but he was different now—or, as Clarice had said, he was being more like himself. He squirmed to think what Clarice would think if she knew he'd beaten Sarah down into the park gravel. He had been drunk, but his capabilities scared him a bit. He hoped he'd never do that again—that wasn't the kind of bloke he wanted to be. He'd spent too much time fronting, trying to prove himself to his friends, and he hadn't even realized he was wasting his life.
He stared at the ceiling which hung white above him. Clarice completely believed he wasn't a truly bad person. But did he? He couldn't say. He never had thought he was too terrible until those Dementoids had shown up, and then the deal with Sarah had occurred, and Piers, and his gang, and his weight— Dudley sighed into his pillow. 'Surprised I didn't off myself last year,' he thought, half-amusedly, half-worriedly, but the thought had never crossed his mind. Dudley seemed to plod through events without rationalizing them and he wasn't sure if that was a positive or negative thing.
Having a small encounter with the Dementors again that night made Dudley think back again to all of his memories of years passed. 'Who was I?' he kept thinking. He'd gotten a little bit of help tonight, though he hardly saw himself in Mum.
'What was the first bad thing I remember me doing?' Dudley asked himself. He tried to recount his earliest thoughts, his earliest deeds. The first was not necessarily something he'd done to be bad. He could remember being at least two and falling down half a flight of stairs. He remembered screaming for hours and Petunia hugging him for just as long. He remembered her calling Daddy at work and crying, as though she'd done something wrong. As though it had been her fault.
He turned over. That thought made him very sad for some reason. The next he could remember was when Harry showed up one morning. He actually had heard more about this day than he could recall, but still, he knew he had been fascinated with the thought of another person who was about his size. At first, Harry had been a source of amusement, something like a toy to be prodded and poked. But when Harry didn't leave, and Mum had to pay attention to Harry, too, Dudley knew it was serious business. That was when he began to loathe Harry. Because Petunia and Uncle Vernon said 'no' so much to Harry, Dudley began to scream "No!" whenever he saw his cousin, whenever Harry would try to play with him, "No!". As soon as the boys were about four or five, Mum and Dad began to hand out food in rations.
Dudley remembered wanting to prove to Harry that he was the favourite, and to show him, he would eat double, triple the food Harry could just because he was allowed to. Even when he wasn't hungry. With a pang, Dudley wondered if that was where his "health issues" had begun.
Then, a memory came from a few years later. Dudley all ready recoiled at the thought of it, but it was too late. It was as though he were watching a movie—he knew this one so well.
…
"No," Dudley was saying, "I hate the teacher anyway." Harry made a face as he watched Dudley gobble down a second helping of pancakes and eggs; Dudley distinctly remembered not being hungry that day. He'd only stuffed himself out of habit, since Harry could only have one serving.
"I'll call and tell her she's just piling on the homework too thick," Petunia said over her coffee, "you're only eight, Duddy, it's not like you should be expected to do so much every day."
"It's stupid," Dudley put in, his mouth full, as he grabbed a sausage with his hand. He ate it savagely, and licked his fingers. His stomach growled achingly. He ignored the feeling and drank his milk.
Still looking disgusted, Harry turned to Mum. "Aunt Petunia, I think the teacher's doing an okay job—"
"Well, no one asked you. Besides, you have nothing better to do than do your homework," said Petunia sharply.
Dudley laughed at Harry and Harry glared at him.
"I'd actually like more homework," said Harry in a bright tone. "I really like what we're learning."
"Preposterous," Petunia said," how strange—no child in his right mind would ask for more homework—"
"But I'm bored, Aunt Petunia, and I—"
"How dare you," Petunia snapped shortly.
Dudley's stomach was beginning to really hurt but he couldn't stop eating. It was as though the sound of his own chewing could drown out both Mum and Harry's voices. He stuffed his mouth full of pancakes and swallowed hard. He was felt like he bursting so he finished his milk in a hard gulp. He paused and gave a belch, then winced and massaged his chubby stomach. Still, he grabbed another sausage.
"What a good little eater," Petunia smiled.
By this time, Dad had joined in on the argument, but Dad had a different approach. "QUIT YOUR MISHMASH, BOY!" he shouted from the doorway.
"All I asked for was more homework," Harry shrugged, looking at the two adults as though they were insane.
"You heard Mummy," Dudley said finally," no one likes homework." He certainly didn't anywayHe didn't like anything that interfered with his playtime, or anything he didn't understand. He had no use for school. He used to like it okay, but not now. He'd always been bigger than the other kids, but this was the year when he started getting ridiculed for being overweight. He hated the other kids at school besides his gang, and the only fun thing to do was beating people up. He took another bite of pancake and bit his lip as he felt his stomach feeling too full, and not in a nourishing way. After finishing what was his third helping of breakfast, he finally set his fork down. "I don't feel good," he announced.
"You'd better shape up!" Vernon yelled at Harry, getting that crazy look in his eye. Everyone in the family knew to look away when he did that. "And comb your hair; it looks awful! No one will take you seriously! How do you think I got into such an esteemed profession? Not by having loony hair, I tell you!"
Feeling nauseous, Dudley held his stomach, rubbing it. "I don't feel good," he repeated, louder this time. He gave a little moan.
Petunia patted his arm, apparently seeing his actions as a need for more breakfast. "Are you still hungry, Diddydums? You're a growing boy, you know—" she smiled and served him more eggs, though her eyes were all the time fixed on Harry, as though daring him to make some other ludicrous comment about liking homework.
Dudley pouted. "No Mummy, I can't-- I really don't feel good, it hurts—"
"Oh dear— Vernon, look at Dudders, he looks ill," Petunia whispered in a shocked voice, finally taking into account Dudley's expression. "That's it—you're staying home from school today—"
"May I be excused?" asked Harry tersely.
"Probably for the best, Petunia," Vernon nodded, straightening his tie. "I've got to be off but call me at dinner and let me know how he's doing." He patted Dudley's head as he walked out of the kitchen.
Harry must have excused himself, because he had gone.
"My poor baby," said Petunia sweetly, standing up, "we should get you up to beddy and you can rest—"
"I—I want to watch tele!" Dudley managed to whine; a day in bed didn't sound very fun.
"Well, we'll just set the extra television up in your room—we've been meaning to do so forever—"
Dudley's stomach rumbled and he let out another burp. He could feel all the food he'd eaten rising up to his throat. He whimpered and tried to stand up, knowing he had to get to the bathroom, and soon. "Mummy, I think—"
"You can just get straight back into your pajamas and—"
"MUMMY!" Dudley said urgently. "I think I'm going—" At that, he threw up everything, right there at the table.
…
Sixteen-year old Dudley winced. He wished it hadn't really been like that—he could remember feeling disgusted and teeming—and looking back, he realized he must have looked disgusting, too. Gross. Vying for attention, making sure he had everything Harry didn't, making himself sick in the process. He could think of at least ten other memories that played out exactly like that one: two when he was seven, more at age nine, one when he was twelve—the only difference was, his capacity for food increased as he aged and got larger, and he stopped throwing up—at least as much.
The first time he'd felt physically ill since being little had been last summer actually, with Mum's steak and kidney pie. Mum and Dad had not only allowed the ravenous eating, it had been encouraged. When Dudley went off to Smeltings, Mum especially let him pig out. She didn't like the fact that Smeltings wouldn't allow him to eat as much as he "needed to."
Primary school. Dudley sighed at the mere thought.
…
He and Piers, Malcom, Gordon and Dennis were sitting at the base of the monkey bars at recess, passing around a bag of crisps, licking their fingers and laughing at the kids playing. They used to sit at the top of the playtoy but now it took Dudley too much effort to climb to the top. He was easily the tallest and largest, but Dennis was tall too, and Malcom and Gordon were stout and only a bit smaller in width than Dudley.
It was the same year as the previous memory.
"Dudley Dursley can barely walk through the door," said a boy a few years older than Dudley, whose name was Thomas.
The younger boys looked at each other—usually they beat people up who made such comments (and not many people dared to) but there was no way they were going to have a go at a ten year old.
"What are you gonna do about it, Dursley? Hit me? Like you did my little brother? He's six! Wicked cool, Dursley!"
By this time a small crowd had gathered. The gang was dismayed to see that this group consisted of mostly victims from their year. Harry stood to the side, looking amused.
"Fat pig, that's all you are!" said Thomas. "All of you! Stupid and fat!" He glared at all of them in turn and then paused. "Well, Polkiss, you're just stupid."
They tried to look tough. The other kids laughed, probably thrilled someone else was picking on Dudley's gang for a change. Dudley could see Harry giggling, too.
"Gonna hit me, Dursley? Come on, get off your fat ass and hit me!"
"Shut up," Piers said suddenly in a shrill voice, "you're dumb—"
'"Shh!" Malcom mouthed, punching him.
"All a bunch of stupid sods," Thomas laughed meanly and walked off.
The little gaggle of on-lookers laughed, too, until they realized there was nothing between them and Dudley now. As soon as Thomas was out of sight, Dudley frowned menacingly.
"Think that's funny?" he asked, looking right at Harry.
"Yeah! What's so funny?" Dennis shouted, his eyes insane. "What's so funny, huh?" One by one, the gang stood up and the kids walked backward.
"Laugh again and I'll kill you," Dudley threatened darkly, his blue eyes locked into Harry's green ones.
After school, the students poured out of the building and Piers and Dudley walked to the cement statue as usual, where they met Harry to walk home. But he wasn't there. Uncaring, Piers and Dudley began to walk home when they realized Harry was just a few paces ahead of them—he must have wanted to get an early start.
"Potter?" shouted Piers with that trademark cackle that set fear into the hearts of the neighborhood children.
Harry turned around.
Dudley pointed his chubby finger at Harry. "Get him, Piers," he commanded.
Piers grinned, Harry's eyes widened, and they both sped off. Piers always was the one to catch the victims because Dudley couldn't run fast at all. Harry was quick, but Piers was lucky that day, and came back dragging Harry by his collar. "Here you go, Dudley," he said, shoving Harry into Dudley's arms.
"Thought it was funny?" Dudley asked, pulling Harry's arms behind his back and pulling him, struggling, to the sidewalk.
"No!" Harry responded breathlessly.
Piers seized Harry's hands and kept them against the cement as Dudley began to thrash Harry in the nose. Those stupid glasses fell to the pavement.
"You want to say something?" Dudley barked, slamming his fist into Harry's face.
"No," Harry repeated, too calm for Dudley's liking. "No, Dudley—"
Dudley slammed his small cousin down against the pavement and wiped his brow. "Okay, Piers, let's go." Piers released Harry in a shove and they walked off down the street, Dudley bright pink and Piers throwing glances back at Harry, who was still lying on the sidewalk.
"Bye, Dudley," Piers waved, when he'd reached his house and Dudley kept walking, still furious.
Once he got inside, Mum had cookies waiting for him on the table. After getting a kiss on the cheek, Dudley sighed. "Am I fat?" he asked her.
Petunia's eyes darkened. "No! Where did you get that idea?"
"Nowhere," said Dudley. He wouldn't tell her Thomas' name—he didn't want the kid to torment him any further.
"You're a growing boy, Diddy, you aren't fat," she told him. "You can eat anything you like and you can eat as much as you want. You know that." She ruffled his hair.
Dudley shrugged, feeling slightly better. He took the plate of cookies into the living room and ate the whole dozen while mindlessly watching television.
Harry came home ten minutes later than Dudley and got a harsh talking-to.
…
"FREAK! FREAK! YOU'RE A FREAK!" chanted Dennis, pointing at Harry, who was cowering against the wall.
Other kids on the playground began to join in. "FREAK! FREAK! YOU'RE A FREAK!"
Dudley charged forward, his fists up. Piers was at his side, a grin plastered over his thin face.
Harry didn't waste any time—he sprinted off toward the garbage cans at the end of the building.
"Get him," Dudley huffed, as he and Piers tried to keep up. Dennis, Malcom and Gordon joined in the chase, too.
"Hey, what in the world?" Piers exclaimed, pointing up at the top of the school.
"Huh?" Dudley looked up, too. Harry was up on the roof! How he'd done it was not important. It was perfectly obvious that no one was supposed to be up there!
The gang stood there, dumbfounded. Kids swarmed around them, pointing and laughing.
Dudley was not at all excited by Harry's antics. Harry was always doing strange things like that. He simply folded his arms and yelled up at Harry: "You're going to be in so much trouble! Just wait 'till I've told Mum and Dad."
…
"Actually," said Colin Bard, on the first day of English class ever at Smeltings," it's pronounced 'mussel', not 'mus-kul.'"
Smeltings was all ready annoying, due to its many staircases. Dudley was having trouble walking up them. He could also see that being away from home during a school year would make getting out of homework a lot more difficult. The school food was disgusting. All in all, Dudley was wishing he'd just stayed home, but he would never mention that to Dad.
At Colin's prim announcement, Dudley went red but said nothing. After class, he marched after Colin, shoved him into the wall and punched him in the face. Piers and Malcom kept watch.
"Do that again, and I'll snitch, you whale!" Colin squeaked.
Dudley laughed. "Tell anyone and I'll really let you have it."
"I'm not afraid," Colin barked.
Dudley stared. He had a feeling this boy wasn't lying.
…
"She's a right slag," Dennis said. "Who needs to run laps anyway?"
"Yeah," agreed Piers. "Your mum was right, Dudley. Mrs. Hull doesn't know what she's saying, you get enough exercise as it is."
Dudley said nothing as he was too busy eating a box of snack cakes. They were walking through Privet Drive, scouting out kids to beat up. They were all about twelve years old, in the summer before their second year at Smeltings.
It was no fun to pick on Harry anymore. Mum and Dad had told him over and over again about how dangerous magic was, how horrible, how vile Harry was. Harry had even threatened to set a bush on fire in Dudley's presence— Dudley was past beating Harry up because Harry might do something. So instead, he told his gang that Harry wasn't worth it, and they began to target other victims.
He always felt hungry now, no matter what, and he could eat for longer periods of time without his stomach hurting or without getting sick. He'd grown a few inches but had put on much more weight. His prior chubbiness had graduated into a portly vastness. Petunia had resorted to buying pairs of tremendous trousers that he wore with a belt, since he was growing so much. He was always pulling those stupid things up. However, no one in the neighborhood dared to call Dudley fat now, since he had surpassed the size of every kid on Privet Drive. At Smeltings even, people kept their gobs shut for the most part.
"I want to go back to my house," he said off-handedly, through a full mouth. He swallowed hugely. "Mum's making shepherd's pie." Dudley tossed the empty box on the sidewalk and belched.
"Nice one, Dudley," said Dennis. They all laughed.
"Ewww!" said a voice.
The boys turned to their left to see a group of girls standing there. Carly, Malcom's older sister was holding her nose. "My stupid brother and his stupid friends!" she declared. Clarice was watching them, little red ribbons woven through her hair.
"Ew yourselves," Dennis snarled. "Bunch of slags." He'd just learned that word, and used it whenever he could. Malcom snorted at his sister's disdain. Dudley watched them all dully.
"Wash your mouth out!" Carly declared.
"What did he call us? What are slags?" Clarice asked but Carly ignored her.
Dudley wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Hi Clarice," he greeted.
"Hi Dudley Dursley," Clarice said, looking at the ground, embarrassed.
"Ew! Clarice! Don't talk to him!"
"Aw, shut up," Dennis spat.
"Let's go," Dudley said, scowling at Carly. They trudged past the girls.
…
Age thirteen. All he wanted to do was watch television and cram his mouth with food. He was tired of everyone at school, and he was sick of everyone in the family. He thought it was odd that Aunt Marge floated away, but he hated her. Then Harry left. He couldn't have asked for a better deal. He moved from the kitchen to the couch to his bed. When he absolutely had to go outside, he and his gang would beat up on the usual scrawny kids around the neighborhood, but Dudley would much rather be at home eating.
He dared anyone to make eye contact with him.
…
It was the summer between their third and fourth year at Smelting's. In May, Dudley and his parents had been called in for a meeting about his weight. It had been retarded and pointless in his opinion. He was completely angered by everyone, but was currently being slightly cheered up by his mates near the park.
"So if you watch the tape really slow, her skirt goes up and she ain't wearin' pants, so you see some of her pussy," Dennis was explaining. "You lot can borrow it—"
"Brilliant," Dudley said. "Me first."
"Yeah, wicked, I'm second," grinned Gordon. Malcom nodded enthusiastically.
"Hullo. Can we sit with you?" asked Susan Escot, playing with her red hair.
Dudley and the guys looked up and gaped. She was standing with Melanie and Veronica and smiling. 'Girls. Girls. Girls.' thought Dudley.
"Yeah, come on," Dennis grinned eagerly, patting the grass beside him.
Malcom's eyes widened and Gordon immediately quit smiling. Piers looked at Dudley who was standing against the fence in a stupor, staring at Veronica's boobs. He had absolutely nothing to say.
All of a sudden, Dudley's gang was now known as the Cool Bad Boys, it seemed. The girls kept giggling and squealing. Even when Dudley spat in the grass, they shrieked with enthralled laughter. When Gordon cussed, they cussed too. All the things that used to piss them off and sicken them about Dudley and his gang now made them giggle as though it were cute. It was very odd. Girls were very odd. Dudley was caught between annoyance and fascination. He wanted to screw all of them.
"Which one was the best looking?" Piers asked Dudley afterward, as they were walking home.
"Veronica. She got better looking since last time I seen her," Dudley said.
"Yeah," Piers nodded. "She was my favourite, too."
…
Weird. The next week, Dudley was closer to shagging than he'd ever dreamed up.
"You sure you done this before?" asked Mary-Anne, smiling. Her eyes were lined in dark, dark makeup.
Dudley swallowed. "Yes," he lied, nodding.
She unzipped his trousers and pulled them down his corpulent legs, revealing his plaid navy boxers.
It was the very first time a girl had even touched him. He instantly got an erection and turned bright red, feeling in danger of not being able to breathe. She laughed and he got a weird feeling, but all too soon she was taking his boxers off, too. He watched her hesitantly, not knowing where to put his hands, or what he was even supposed to do. All the girls who gave him disgusted looks, all the bastards at school, they didn't matter. Mary-Anne lifted up her skirt, pulled down her pants, and smelling like fags and perfume, she pressed her hips up against Dudley, pressing her hands into his sweaty shoulders, adjusting up, almost so that he was inside of her, just brushing him. She laughed when he came, just standing there mortified, blinking those precious blue eyes, not doing a damned thing.
"No, you haven't," she said, pulling away.
…
"Here, try this. I got it from a Stonewall kid," said Damien, lighting a blunt and holding it out to Dudley. He'd just had his fourteenth birthday party the day before. They were off Magnolia Crescent, behind a few of the trees.
"Mary-Anne all ready gave me one of those," Dudley said, grabbing it. "I've all ready done this, you know."
"Mary-Anne!? Mary-Anne Johns?"
"Yeah, Dud shagged her last week," Dennis grinned.
"You're fucking kidding, Dursley! She's hot!"
"Yeah," Dudley said dully, taking a hit. He was still confused about that—he hadn't known sex was like that, and besides, she'd told him he did it wrong.
He didn't even know if he had had sex. The whole ordeal rather confused him. But, she was only trying to spite her boyfriend anyway, that's what she'd said.
Except Dudley wasn't going to mention any of that. "Here," he said, passing the blunt to Piers who was looking dejected for some reason.
"Thanks, Dudley," he said, brightening a bit.
Clarice and Carly walked past, chattering.
"Oi, look who it is," Dennis announced, peering around the tree.
"Yuck," said Carly, taking Clarice by the arm. "Don't look."
"Hey, Clarice," said Dudley unsteadily with a grin. His mates broke up laughing, misinterpreting his simple greeting for being snide.
Clarice seemed to think so, too. Her face became stony and she looked more humiliated than Dudley had ever seen. His stupid grin faded. "Don't you talk to me, Dudley Dursley," she said, frowning. "Don't you talk to me ever again!"
Dudley's all ready pink cheeks got redder but he laughed along with Piers.
"Ooh, ever again," he said.
"Yeah, whatever will he do?" Piers exclaimed, cackling.
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" Clarice shouted, stamping her foot.
"Watch out, Claire. He'll sit on you!" Carly declared hatefully, her hands on her hips.
Dudley's eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't talk if I was you. Look at your ass, you cow."
She looked surprised at first, then horrified, and then to Dudley's bemusement, she burst into tears. "I'm not fat!" she sobbed, backing up. "I'm not! I'M NOT—look at you—"
The guys broke into hysterical laughter as tears streamed down her face.
"Doesn't make your ass any smaller," Dennis put in, and Dudley high-fived him. Clarice put her arm around Carly, but the taller girl shoved her away and ran down the road, wailing.
"You're wicked!" Clarice yelled at Dudley, going after her.
"Sluts!" Dennis yelled back, and made like he was going to start chasing them.
Clarice hurried off down the walk. "I'll tell your mothers!" Carly called out behind her.
"Do it, you bitch," Damien said.
She never did.
…
Everyone was talking. Harry, Mum, Dad, some weirdo redhead people… Dudley was terrified someone was going to give him a pigtail again, so he cowered behind Mum and Dad. These times always seemed like nightmare sequences—blurry and undefined. There'd all ready been enough excitement, for the people had appeared, or tried to appear, in the fireplace! And on top of that, they'd caused all sorts of damage to the house.
However, one of the red-haired blokes dropped wrapped sweets all over the carpet. Dudley watched in interest. He'd missed sitting at the television and eating crisps, cookies and yes, candy. Every teacher at school had spoken to him about their "concern" for his weight. Petunia had had to ship him all new clothes. These days, he was only permitted to have celery and cottage cheese as a "treat" ( Dudley had another word for it). He stared at the floor as the boys collected the candies one by one and stuffed them back in their bag. However, Dudley noticed with a very mischievous plan in mind, they'd forgotten one right by his foot. Making sure Mum and Dad were preoccupied (which was easy; they were arguing with the red-haired man), with effort, Dudley bent down and picked up the sweet. He unwrapped it quickly and stuck it into his mouth, it was delicious toffee. He crunched it up and searched the floor for more, but paused.
Puzzled, he felt the nerves in his tongue panging. And then, before he knew it, with a dreadful bit of sharp pain, his tongue started growing. Sputtering, his tongue dropped out of his mouth, pulling and tearing, and it rolled past his chin. He fell to the floor in fear, gagging and choking. Mum started to scream, and to Dudley's horror, she began to pull his tongue, as though she could rip it out. He tried to protest, but couldn't very well speak, so he just tried to push her away instead.
In all the terror, Dudley happened to look up from the floor and saw Harry laughing. What did he think this was, some sort of joke? Did he ALWAYS think Dudley was just someone to be laughed at? Dudley wanted to force one of those candies down his throat. He wouldn't think it was so amusing then.
Dudley wanted to scream a million things: 'I had sex, I smoked a blunt, a girl shagged ME, I'm not just funny, not just funny,' but all he could manage was a gag.
Despite his hollering, the red-haired man insisted on pointing that wand at Dudley's mouth, and got his tongue back to normal, but it hurt so badly that Dudley could do nothing but whine.
"Thanks for nothing!" Petunia screamed at the man.
Dudley spent the next three days licking ice cubes gingerly and sighing.
…
"Bad attitude, Dursley," remarked Kenneth Kraus. It was Year Ten, and Dudley had just stormed out of the boxing ring. He was leaning up against a row of lockers, breathing deeply, a huge glare on his face.
"I fucking BEAT him!" Dudley yelled, pounding his fist into the metal of the locker, making a huge racket. He'd spent hours a day training. He'd bulked up his fat into muscle. He could fit into his Smeltings uniform again. He'd worked SO hard, and for what? To be told he'd fouled?
"Hey, little Big D, I know you did," Kenneth went on calmly. The rest of their teammates were watching skeptically from the side, not wanting to get too close. "You can't just hit blokes, though, D, you have to follow the rules—"
"FUCK the rules," Dudley choked, kicking the locker.
"Shut the hell up!" Kenneth declared, grabbing Dudley by the shoulder. "That's how it is and you gotta get used to it. We're not going to win the championship with you being a brat—"
"I'm not being a brat," Dudley protested. "I just wanted to beat him."
"You did," Kenneth grinned. "Just not in the way you were supposed to. Come on, come and hang out with us, Big D. We're going to celebrate a little—"
"Yeah?" Dudley asked, trying not to sound excited. The older guys had never asked him to hang out with them before.
A half an hour later, he was up in Kenneth's dorm in the south wing. Victor was tossing a bottle at everyone in turn and they were taking swigs from it. "You want some, Big D?"
Dudley tried to act like he knew what it was. He could surmise that it was alcohol. He'd never tried alcohol before, though he was accustomed to seeing Aunt Marge getting rather drunk at family gatherings on Dad's brandy.
"He's fourteen, Vic," Kenneth declared.
"No, it's cool," Dudley said.
"Yeah, don't get all annoying, Kenneth," Victor responded. He tossed the bottle at Dudley, who immediately took a drink. The liquid burned his throat.
"How do you like it?"
Dudley shrugged like it was no big deal. "It's good. I've had it before, you know." With that, he took another swallow. In another half an hour, he was drunk for the first time in his life.
…
Sarah was dancing in the park, waving her arms in front of all the blokes. They were blasting some chick rap from Gordon's stereo. "Das da way we like 'em," went the radio. "Das da way we like 'em."
Sarah pulled on her skirt and did a dip, rolling her thighs.
"Yow!" called Dennis. 'Did she just smile at him?' worried Dudley.
"Understanding the depths of the cool women, that's me, 'cuz dat's the way T-Boz is livin'."
He charged into the middle of the gravel.
"Hey baby," Sarah cooed. Dudley glared at everyone.
"But on a serious tip, he's gotta come wit' respect."
She smirked. "Come on, you love this kinda shit, dance, Dudley—"
"I don't dance," Dudley growled—he never had, never would, standing in place and nodding to the beat was as far as Dudley went. Instead, he grabbed her around the back and kissed her hungrily as though to prove to everyone that she was his property. She broke out of the kiss and began to dance up on him slowly. Still rather disgusted with the whole situation, Dudley shoved her off of him and lumbered off, cursing under his breath.
"Das da way we like 'em."
…
Stoned out of his mind, Dudley snorted at the movie Piers had put into the VCR. He was annoyed, though, that Piers and Dennis kept laughing. He wanted to kick them, he had a very strong urge to just get up and kick them, but he didn't have the energy.
"Shut up," he kept saying to no one in particular, maybe to everyone. "Shut up."
…
Dudley was cowering on the asphalt; he was hearing all sorts of noises, but there was light—bright light.
Someone had carried him home.
It had been Harry.
Someone had saved him from the Dementor.
Had that been Harry, too?
Was Harry telling the truth?
…
Like a jolt, Dudley Dursley, sixteen, came back to reality.
'Oh my god,' he thought painfully, forcing himself out of the memories and tightening the blankets around his shoulders. He felt silly to use Clarice's term but it seemed rather appropriate: 'I am a gross boy.' He wondered why it had taken him so long to remember all of these things— or… had he ever forgotten them? Perhaps he'd never thought about viewing them like a movie reel, like the Dementors had presented the memories to him two summers ago. It was sickening to him again, but even worse because he'd retraced these steps on his own— it was all sordid and unbelievable.
All of the details Dudley had forced to the back of his mind were slowly coming clearer.
Mary-Anne Johns hadn't really shagged him like he'd said… or like he'd led himself to believe all these years… He'd switched it around so much back then that he'd believed he was some big man, some big stud, fucking an older girl in the park, when actually… Dudley blushed. It hadn't really been like that at all. He'd been a scared, fat thirteen year old who was showing off for his mates, trying to score and getting used in the process. No wonder Mary-Anne had laughed whenever she'd seen him, called him "adorable"—she thought he was a kid. A complete idiot, probably! Sure, she'd been nice to him afterward, but she'd been… condescending. "The chubby one," she'd called him. He was lucky she'd even looked at him.
'Lucky anyone even looked at me,' he thought, bitter. Carly Conner was as much of a fat ass as he was anorexic. Harry had put up with a lot of shit. Sarah might have played with his mind, but… maybe it was like Clarice and Harry said—maybe he deserved it.
He sat up in bed, forced to look around his room and see more memories, it was dark, yes, but he knew it all by heart—schoolbooks he'd hardly touched, broken toys he'd shattered when he didn't get his way, the dirty magazines he kept under his mattress, boxing gloves… He'd never wanted to be seen as only the fat boy, but was the bad Dudley any better? 'I was never happy,' he thought suddenly. It was glum, but true, like when he and Piers had talked and Piers had told him he was gay. There wasn't anything Dudley could say he loved about his childhood. It all seemed pretty bad. He still hated Harry for how he'd acted, and how he'd shown up and how he seemed to think Dudley was something comical. But rationally, Dudley could see why Harry was so mean to him now. He could also sort of understand why Clarice had been wary to even be seen with him and Piers.
'We had nothing to drink about,' Dudley thought, remembering Harry's comment to him two summers ago. Although Gordon's mum had died and Dennis was living with his brother, they were all pretty privileged: going to Smeltings, buying designer watches and trainers. 'No wonder no one likes me…' he thought begrudgingly.
But as he'd figured at the beginning of the year, he'd all ready changed a lot in his life around. It had all ready been obvious that Mum and Dad didn't think he had any problems. After all, Mum had been the one to tell him he could eat whatever he wanted, and how much he wanted.
He didn't want to transform himself, though. That wasn't even worth thinking about. He did, however, want to keep up his new attitude and keep with his diet—he'd been feeling much better about himself. He also wanted to make some sort of amends with Harry, however stupid that seemed. After all, the last memory had made him feel sort of sad. Harry had repeated over and over again to anyone who would listen that he hadn't set the Dementor at Dudley—and Dudley, being petulant, selfish, and rather nauseous, as he recalled, had just turned it around and blamed everything on him.
Yes, Dudley needed to tell Harry these things. But that was going to be a right challenge. 'I'll just have to say how… how I was. And how I am,' thought Dudley. 'He won't get it but at least then…' He sighed. 'At least then I'll have told him.' Dudley needed to ask him things, too, he needed to ask about holding hands in nursery school, and about the sandbox, and did Harry used to play with them? He wanted to know everything, but at the same time, he didn't want to get close to his cousin at all. It was a strange feeling to have. But most of all, Dudley wanted to let Harry know he appreciated being saved, if only to even things out a bit.
The hardest part would be his relationships. Staying away from girls like Sarah was important still, because she wanted a mean, big bloke to protect her—at least that was what both Clarice and Harry had insinuated. Dudley definitely didn't mind being protective— on the contrary, it turned him on. He wanted to be able to hold girls the way he'd held Clarice tonight, make them feel safe. He often imagined beating off a host of rowdy guys and impressing a pretty, petite girl. But he didn't want protection to be his sole purpose in life. Being tough hadn't done much for him, as he was realizing.
Before, Dudley had always had his gang to help him. Mum and Dad had stood by him, no matter what, which was turning out to be not such a good thing. Clarice and Piers had been helpful, yes, but there was so much Dudley was mulling over that he couldn't even begin to explain to them. The whole deal with Harry as a wizard had always been a disconnection between Dudley and his friends, because he wasn't allowed to talk about it. But beyond that, the things Dudley needed to change were not things he could depend on anyone else for.
'I'm on my own,' Dudley decided, and it wasn't a bad thought. It was almost comforting.
AN: Read it? Review it.