Pain. Indescribable Pain. Pain beyond anything Dudley had ever known. Every nerve in his body exploded in extreme torture. He was being incinerated with no heat, frozen at room temperature, and slashed into impossibly small pieces, all while remaining whole. Dudley had no idea what he was doing, what he was screaming, what his flailing limbs were hitting. All that existed was the pain. The curse lasted no longer than a few seconds, but it was an eternity for Dudley. After a few mere moments, Dudley felt completely disconnected from his body, as if he was slipping away from it, going completely insane. He knew that the curse could not kill him, but even lunacy was a good option before this impossible pain. It was Sarah who saved him, or rather, the thought of her. Before he could slip off entirely, he felt the slight desire that Sarah wouldn't suffer the same torture as him.

Of course, as he realized that Sarah still existed in the physical world, and that he was more than a tormented spirit, and that he still had to rescue his daughter, insanity was no longer a choice. Gritting his teeth, he screamed through the slowly receding pain.

After the agony, he survived. He didn't even have the strength to open his eyes, but he was alive, and sane, and that was enough for him. An added bonus was that he could hear. At the moment, he heard two voices. The first sounded slightly familiar. Perhaps it was Agnes, but it sounded a little different, like the owner of the voice was halfway between being Agnes and being someone else. The second was entirely unknown. It was harsh, low and cruel, though definitely a woman's.

The first, Agnes-like voice whispered, "Cruc-" but she stopped. Mustering all of his strength, Dudley forced open his eyelids to see the outline of two women, one of whom was holding the other one's wand.

"No," she said. "We don't want to attract attention." Dudley recognized her as the second voice, though his eyesight was still too blurry to pick out any definite shapes. "If you want you can stupefy her, but don't let her scream,"

The one that sounded like Agnes moaned, though she lowered her wand. "But…you got to play with him!" She made a gesture at Dudley.

"Girl's voices are higher and travel further," informed the second witch cruelly, and, at the same time, mercifully. Dudley heard Sarah whimpering near the door, which was now shut, and glowing with faint red energy. Even if he could get up, and somehow get past these two horrible women, Dudley knew that he would never be able to pass that door.

"Daddy…" she sobbed, "Help me…please…get up Daddy!" Dudley tried with all of his might to tell her,

"It's going to be okay," or "Harry is coming to save us," or "Don't worry, we'll be fine," but all he could push past his tortured lips was a mere moan, though he tried to contain as much hope in that moan as he could. It didn't seem to work very well.

"Fine," sighed the woman that sounded like Agnes. "Stupefy," She knocked out Dudley's beloved daughter with a tone of such causality and indifference that he nearly ignored all the warnings from his body, he nearly jumped to his feet to strangle her, but as he tried to push himself up, the second woman laughed.

"Look at this one," she snickered evilly. "He's not even worth wasting a curse on. With a simple motion, she swung one foot back, and brought it forward quickly. Something exploded into Dudley's line of vision, knocking him back to the ground. Dudley didn't feel it until a moment later, when a small, boot shaped area on his head began to throb.

Dudley's mind obviously wasn't working very well at that time, under extreme stress, as he would later reflect, because as the lights began to dim around him, and the world grew faint, all he could think was.

"I appear to be losing conscious…That's interesting." He slumped to the ground.

***
When he awoke, for a few moments, he had the feeling he was falling, and although he soon came to his senses, he still could not figure out exactly what was happening. His illusion of falling was justified, at least.

He was floating in the air, and the wall in front of him was slowly shifting upwards. He tried to move, but something was keeping him tightly bound in place. Additionally, he seemed to be moving backwards as well as downwards. It was a confusing few moments before he took a closer look and realized what was actually happening.

He was bound in some kind of magical stretcher, hovering down a very long set of stairs, with his face looking upwards. The wall in front of him was actually the ceiling, several feet above, and as he moved horizontally, it appeared as if the ceiling was moving instead. He was not traveling backwards either, but downwards, as he descended the stairs. Straining the limits of his eyes and peripheral vision, which seemed to be the only part of the body he could move, he tried to further assess his surroundings.

The two women were walking behind him, though now neither of them looked like Agnes, and they were both wearing rough black robes. They both held wands. Dudley idly wondered if they had the real Agnes tied up somewhere and one of them was using her with Polyjuice Potion to change form. One of the witches had Sarah slung over her shoulder. There was no visible end to the passage behind them, though they were now only perhaps a hundred feet from a large wooden door at the bottom of the stairs.

Dudley might have lapsed into unconsciousness again, but he wasn't thinking very clearly in either case, so he couldn't tell how long it should have taken for them to reach the door. The door opened without a touch from any of them, and their eerie procession drifted into the chamber. With a flick of her wand one of the witches released Dudley from his bonds, and he crashed painfully to the ground, unable to catch himself in time. The breath was driven from his lungs. He coughed, just once, but there was a dry, unpleasant feeling in his lungs.

The condition was aggravated when he felt a boot drive itself into his ribs. He yelped and rolled to his side. To his surprise, he was more able than he previously thought he would be, and it seemed like all traces of the former pain he had suffered had nearly vanished. His vision, formerly blurry, was clearing, and he pushed himself up to his feet, and took stock of his surroundings.

The two witches were standing in front of him, both in filthy threadbare robes. The first was the one who formerly looked like Agnes, if Dudley's rapidly formulated theory was correct. His conclusion was reinforced by the fact that the first witch, despite her rough, uncouth black hair, had quickly vanishing patches of silvery blond, the same color as Agnes' hair. Polyjuice potion seemed the only conclusion. The woman who had been disguised as Agnes stood further forward, her wand pointed aggressively at Dudley. She had a strong jawbone with a broad nose that made her even more threatening. There was also a bit more than a touch of pure, reckless insanity in her eyes. Her skin was morbidly pale, and her body was unhealthily thin. Dudley was very careful not to make any sudden moves, as she did not look like the kind of woman who would hesitate to blow him to pieces.

The second witch stood a good distance back, though there was a shifty look in her deep, black eyes. She had a single hand resting tentatively on her side, where her wand lay, still unused. Her hair was pale, almost silver, but she was young, certainly younger than the other woman, and possibly as old as Dudley and Kate. Her face was smooth, well-mannered, and fairly pretty, but it was with the beauty of a flower housing a snake underneath.

"Get to the pole!" hissed the witch who had been disguised as Agnes. The one of them had apparently already set Sarah with her back to a stone pillar in the other corner of the room while Dudley wasn't paying attention. She sat there, clutching her legs to her chest, barely keeping herself from whimpering. There was another shape tied to the pole, but before Dudley could recognize it, the witch interrupted him. "Spiclotum!" she whispered threateningly, jabbing her wand at him. A thin jet of red light erupted from her wand and honed in on Dudley's leg. He tried to dodge, but it was like trying to catch a bullet in his teeth.

Surprisingly though, it wasn't as extremely painful as he had expected. It was as if he had accidentally touched his leg to a radiator, except he couldn't move away. The pain was severe enough to inspire him to move, but not enough to disable him. He limp-hopped over to the pole, trying carefully not to put too much weight on his burning leg. The witch with her wand out waved it contemptuously, and Dudley's pain was suddenly assuaged, but not eradicated. It was now only an unpleasant sting, like a large rope burn. Dudley looked at the pole that Sarah was sitting against, and was unpleasantly surprised.

Sarah was not the only one on the pole. Kate sat with her back to him, arms and torso chained tightly to the pole. Her skin was both grey and yet xanthous, perfectly smooth, as a dark contrast verses her normally bright complexion, and her normally combed, straight hair lay in a tangled mat around the pole, completely motionless. Her eyes were not completely closed, but her eyelids hung in a restless, unstable state just millimeters away from closing. For a few dreadful moments, Dudley thought she was dead, until he noticed tiny wisps of breath tickling her dark lips. She was unconscious or asleep, though probably the former, based on the fact that she hadn't woken, despite the loud noises Dudley made as he had hobbled over.

"The Aurors will be here soon," said the second witch, in a low, but remarkably calm and collected voice, as if it was only part of her plan. "You can deal with them. I'll watch the door. Whatever you do, DON'T come up. It would be wise to watch out for anyone with Evans' blood, despite how diluted and filthy it might be." She turned on her heel, and strode out, while reminding the other one, without turning around, "But we need them alive to be any leverage on Potter. And preferably sane, in case you were getting any ideas. Don't get carried away." The door opened without any motion or words from her, like one of the Muggles automatic sliding doors, and shut with a surprisingly loud clang behind her, especially considering it was made of wood. Dudley turned his attention to the second, probably less mentally stable witch.

She jerked her wand down, indicating for him to sit. Careful not to make any provoking gestures, Dudley lowered his aching body to the ground, feeling like he was dealing with a coiled snake, ready to strike. The concrete pole was wrapped around entirely with bulky brutal chains, as thick as Dudley's arms. He pushed his back up to them as she gestured. The metal was surprisingly cold, and bit into his skin. With an elaborate movement, the witch twisted her wand and a translucent jet of magic slithered forth into the chain. The large chains began to unwind around the pole, becoming longer and looser, though Dudley could not find neither a beginning nor an end to the chain. It was as if the chain was simply a large circle, infinitely bound up in itself. Before he knew it or could even think of avoiding it, coils of chain slid over his head and up from under his feet, wrapping him tighter and tighter in their grasp.

Remembering something he had once read in a book, Dudley sucked up as much air as he could, hoping to make himself bigger, so that once the chains were done moving and the witch wasn't paying attention, he could suck in his chest and squirm out. His plan was as hopeless as their situation, as the chains squeezed tighter and tighter around all of them, like an anaconda's deadly embrace.

And suddenly it ended. The chains continued to try to pull their way closer to the pole, constricting Dudley and the rest of the Dursleys, but there was no more movement. They had reached their limit, and despite his unfathomable discomfort, Dudley was glad that at least they could go no further. He felt like a spool of yarn, except that the yarn was cold, metallic, unforgiving, and tighter than anything that a spool of yarn endures.

"Hmm!" snorted the witch. "Stand up," she ordered. Dudley nearly scoffed. He could no more stand up than he could fly. "Well," she purred, "What are you waiting for?"

"I…I can't stand up with all of these chains," proffered Dudley, attempting to sound meek.

The witch sighed in mock frustration. "Do I have to do everything for you worthless Muggles and you foul breed? Must we wizards carry you on our generous backs any longer?" She looked at him, as if expecting an answer. Dudley simply stared back at her determinedly. That was one thing that Harry had imbued him with, a belief that blood did not determine character, or worth. Her face suddenly falling from its mask of false exasperation, it became completely serious. "Fine," she spat.

And with that she jerked her wand up maliciously. The chains rapidly skated up the coarse, harsh concrete pole, pulling Dudley and his family with them, and grinding their backs against the pillar like sandpaper. Dudley wanted to scream, but he kept himself in check, and let nothing more from his throat than a grunt as rough as the pole he was tied to. His lip quivered, twice, though he kept it at that. Wriggling his shoulders just a little, he winced, and discovered that nearly all of his shirt and a considerable amount of the skin on his back had been left at the bottom of the pole.

There were a few moments of silence, as the second witch stared into Dudley's slightly watery eyes. Her face was the picture of sadistic glee, but her eyes were cold, and entirely unsatisfied.

Then, like a fish wrenched out of water, Sarah let out a few shocked, desperate coughs and gasps, attempting to keep her lungs calm and prepared for the inevitable torrent of tears that came. It was then that for the first time in years that Dudley experienced true, unbridled hatred of the person who had done this to his daughter. He felt almost as if he could burst out of the chains as he was, and snap the witch's wand in two, and then see how she liked to deal with him.

He began to struggle against his bonds, but the more he tried the tighter they became. At first that didn't matter to him, for the numbing chains beginning to bite through his skin caused him no pain compared to the pain he intended to inflict on the woman in front of him, but then he heard a hacking cough to his right. Sarah's crying was ceasing, despite the intense pain from her back. It was being replaced by desperate gasping and retching as the chains pressed forced the air out of her lungs.

Dudley quickly turned his head to his right. "Sarah?" he asked, the chains squeezing his lungs uncomfortably. "Are you okay? Try to breathe, Sarah, try to calm down, Sarah, listen to me! It's going to be okay!" Still, she would not calm down. It sounded as if she had the whooping cough and a bad stomach virus at the same time. Dudley quickly turned his head back to the witch, to beg, plead her to stop, to loosen the chains, to remind her that the other witch wanted them alive. Still before he could even look at the witch again, his head was forced back into its earlier position by an extremely forceful slap. Dudley was sure that even now there were four fingernail marks beginning to trickle blood down his face. A feeling of warm liquid on his cheek confirmed his suspicion.

Never having been one to take offence easily, Dudley slowly turned his head towards the witch; his eyes giving her a Medusan glare. Even she was taken aback by the ferocity of his stare for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure. She scoffed.

"So," she laughed, "We have finally got you. We have finally acquired what we've been looking for ten years now." Her face was playful, almost admiring them, but it was only in mockery, which quickly ended. "I must say I'm disappointed. A cute little family of Muggles. Slime. Scum. Worse than the dirt under my feet. An existence without magic is less valuable than an existence without life. You might as well be statues, so that you could at least be attempting to beautify your surroundings. Still," she shoved her face within inches of Dudley's. He thought for a moment that he might be able to headbutt her, but quickly realized that even if he could, it would do him no good, except to enrage her, which he would not have feared had his wife and daughter not been there, at her mercy. "I don't think you'd make good statues. You're all rather…ugly, put bluntly." Dudley did his best not to look sarcastic. She was far uglier than any of them, but Dudley held his tongue.

Sarah was still coughing, though her coughs were receding, and no longer sounded like she was trying to expel her lungs from her mouth. Shaking sobs were beginning to issue forth. The witch sighed. "Does she ever shut up? Silencio!" No longer able to cough or cry, all Sarah could do was to make half-sobs, strangled by magic on their way through her throat. The witch continued her mad rant. "You muggles are all the same! You breed like cockroaches, and act like them too. How long must you depend on us wizards to keep you safe? How long must we bear your burdens? How long, Muggle?" Dudley had absolutely no idea what the frenzied witch was talking about. Neither Muggles nor wizards depended on the other for anything at all. Almost caressingly, the witch took Dudley chin in her hands, stroking it with her long sharp nails, slightly painted with blood from Dudley's face. "How long?"

There were a few moments of silence as Dudley's mind whirred furiously with a solution that would end without torture. The witch's eyes narrowed dangerously, and she began to dig her fingernails into his skin. "I…I…don't…know!" stuttered Dudley, careful not to enrage her. The witch sighed and let go of his face, though not before digging her nails in just a little. She turned her back to him and strode away for a few moments. Dudley squirmed, attempting to become a little more comfortable, to move a little pressure of his near skinless back. He gave up after a few seconds, as he feared that any more pressure from the icy chains would crack a rib, if not on him, then certainly on Sarah or Kate, and that was one more complication he didn't need.

The witch turned around. "You don't know, do you? You don't even know what we protect you from, do you?" Dudley was loathe to respond, but the witch continued anyway. "We protect you from dragons. We protect you from vampires. We protect you from werewolves, giants, grindylows, demons, pixies, and all sorts of magical beasts you've never even heard of. We protect you from wizarding wars, from Deathly Hallow, wands, WE PROTECT YOU FROM MAGIC!" she roared, bringing her face close to Dudley's again. Spittle flew onto his face, but he could not wipe it away. She withdrew, rubbing her sleeve across her mouth. "No…no…" she murmured to herself. "No…you have no idea. And then…what do you do to thank us?" she laughed. You…you breed with us. You mix your filthy blood with our magical perfection. You dilute the nature of wizarding until it's barely even there. You…you and your kind…you destroy us…" She sounded calm, controlled, but she was shaking with rage. "I…I…should…remove this problem….I…I should KILL YOU! I SHOULD KILL YOU ALL!"

She was no longer facing them, her roars no longer directed at Dudley, but instead at the ceiling, at the world, and especially, at Muggles. "But that's what I'm doing," she laughed turning around. "If we want to destroy Muggles and their foul kind, first, first we must pull them out from our own race. We must extirpate this problem from its roots; we must kill all…Mudbloods…and Half-blood…even purebloods…anyone…anyone not worthy to wage war on Muggles and your filthy blood. And we must start…we must start with their champion." She was murmuring almost to herself now, as if justifying a plan that was already in action. "We must start with the champion of muggles, half-bloods, mudbloods, filthy magical creatures everywhere…Yes, yes…we will start with Harry Potter."

"NO!" roared Dudley, writhing in his chains, all pain and control gone as he desperately tried to escape his bonds and strangle the woman in front of him. "YOU CAN'T! YOU'LL NEVER KILL HIM!"

The witch pulled herself to her full height, and energy crackled from the end of her wand, the room darkening as she did it. "I AM BRISTA FANG!" she said, her voice magically enhanced to far below any normal range, especially for a female, and magnified to volumes that Dudley could do nothing but cower against the pole. "It is too late to stop us. We will root out the impurities of nonmagic from its root, and Harry Potter will be our first victim."

"You…you'll…never…get him…" quavered Dudley, but before Brista could respond, she snapped her head to the right, looking up in the direction of the stairs, as if she had sensed some kind of magical trigger, or alarm. With a sadistic grin on her face, she turned back to Dudley.

"Oh, I think we already have, my dear." And with a crack she was gone, leaving them alone. There was a moment of silence, when suddenly Dudley heard a horribly familiar voice radiating through the walls of the house.

"WE KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE! COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP AND WANDS AWAY! LEAVE ALL HOSTAGES UNTOUCHED! THERE WILL BE REPERCUSSIONS OTHERWISE! THE AUROR SQUAD IS PREPARED TO ADVANCE!"

"Harry," choked Dudley.