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Confessions

Dudley turned the light of the wand down, and pointed it under his chin to cast the healing charm that he had used on Harry in the dungeon. The help was mild considering his injuries, but thank Merlin they were inflicted by physical means and not magical. He could already feel the other parts of him begin to heal by themselves, though it did little for the overall hurt, and something moving inside his left side around his ribs put out an awful pain. He would have to see a Healer.

Even under the diminished light of the healing charm, Dudley could still make out Markus and Vernon. It was as much fighting as stepping on an ant was. Markus may have been a formidable wizard, and Dudley had the bruises to prove it, however, just like the other two wizards had shown, completely useless in a muggle arena. Vernon was a strong man; he had to be to carry his weight. Markus was not, and Dudley bet the reliance on wand waving had made him physically weak.

But Vernon's largeness also gave the muggle man a second advantage; with Markus flailing on Vernon's belly, as Vernon strangling him with his belt, Markus's feet, even as a fairly tall fellow, couldn't touch the ground, and his arms couldn't reach far enough around to challenge Vernon's attack. The struggle would have been quite a humorous sight, had the situation been anything other than what it was.

Dudley couldn't help admit that there was even something oddly humbling about watching what was essentially a 'predator' being bested by its 'prey'.

However, he also recognised the need to find out who these people were, although he had a pretty good idea (Mr Crow had mentioned assassins after all). So, unfortunately, the struggle between the muggle and the wizard would need to end so that Dudley could try and get some information.

He brought the wand round to the two men again, and opened his mouth to speak when…his eyes caught a distant figure behind the men. At first glance, it was a jumble of cotton and windbreaker, but a closer inspection brought out the face of an elderly woman, her head tilted and resting at an unnatural angle under the hood of her coat, her blank eyes and expression forever locked in fear.

"Is it a blackout?" Dudley could place the voice now, and it put a hole in his stomach. He stood up, and his eyes once again re-adjusted to meet those of Markus. The wizards' beady eyes were almost popping out because of the pressure, and his look at Dudley was silent desperation, his face still caked with Dudley's bloody spit.

Dudley stared down into his face…and turned away.

He pointed the wand down the aisle where the small man and the woman lay, and with a flick of the wand a small flame appeared at its tip. Dudley dared not step any closer for fear of the gas.

With a deep breath, he brought the flame to his lips and blew. Fire erupted in a narrow pillar, and devoured the bodies in a rain of multi-coloured flames. This spell was too simple for a weapon, as it lacked a certain emotional drive to really retain any destructive properties, in fact it had be devised as an entertainment spell for wizarding jesters in the middle-ages, but Dudley liked finding new uses for old things, and fire was fire.

When he turned back to Vernon, Markus was…no more, as his body lay in a puddle of black robes. Vernon was in a state not much better, but at least he was breathing, which was pretty good considering the rest of the shops cohort.

Dudley walked over and knelt beside the body of the dead wizard, and, setting his mind away from the idea of handling a dead human, he patted the man down, and looked for anything useful.

Markus held very little in his pockets besides the box he had seen him holding earlier, a key on a chain (presumably for his vault), a pouch full of coins and a rolled up piece of parchment. Interestingly, or perhaps oddly, he had a black onyx bracelet around his upper arm, and a box with a glass dome. He took them both, and put them in his coat pocket with the rest of the items, and went to see to Vernon.

Up closer it was clear that Vernon Dursley had endured something borderline horrific. He was still in the suit he had worn to the Grunning's Christmas party weeks ago, except the suit was now torn, frayed, and in some places scorched.

It must have taken a lot out of him for to… Dudley once again set his mind, and slowly brought the wand towards Vernon.

"I going to try and help you, Dad. Close your eyes and I'll-" Vernon reached out and grabbed Dudley's wand-less hand, and squeezed it tightly, giving him a look that caught Dudley in his throat.

"Ar-are you al-right, D-Dudley?" Vernon's voice was shallow and broken with heavy breathing, but he forced himself to speak. "D-did they hurt you?!"

"I-I-" the words couldn't form in Dudley's mouth. The thought struck him like a stick in the face. Vernon cared about him, Vernon cared for him over himself. This realisation left Dudley speechless, and in a shocking moment of clarity it dawned on him that Vernon Dursley was a better father than his own. His body sent warm prickles and cold chills over his skin at the same time.

"Yes, I'm…a little bruised, but I'll be okay, dad." The word felt different in Dudley's mouth. "I'm more worried about you. I going to use-I'm going to help. Close your eyes if you don't want to see."

Vernon did close his eyes, but not before his beetroot face smoothed itself with a look of relief, and he released Dudley's hand. Perhaps he was too tired to argue, or fight, but he allowed Dudley to use the healing spell. The effect wasn't great, but the spell itself wasn't all that powerful to begin with. At least it would relieve some of the pain that Vernon must have been feeling.

"Come on, dad." Dudley placed his arm around the man's huge shoulders and pulled him to a standing position. "We need to get out of here, take you home and to a hospital or something."

The 'or something' being St Mungos. Dudley tightened his grip on the wand, wondering what those bastards had done to him. Why had they kept him so long? But he couldn't ponder on that now. Trying propped up Vernon on his good side and sustaining the light on the tip of his wand, was too taxing to add thinking to the mix.

He laid a still panting Vernon on the ground outside the shop, and looked down at him with something akin to admiration. A Muggle killing a wizard…totally unheard of… Another look washed over Dudley's face then, as he twisted the wand in his hand ever so slightly, and headed back into the shop.

He cast the fire charm again, and this time with a blunt determination to set the shop ablaze. If someone asked, an Auror, Dumbledore or even Harry, he would lie and say it was the wizards, that one of them lost control of a fire spell. A Muggle killing a wizard, he thought again. If anyone found out, Vernon would be hunted down, or others made to pay as an example. It might not happen, but in Dudley's mind it could and would…They must never know.

The shop was burning, the bodies inside burning with it, as Dudley headed out the doors, smoke bellowing out behind him.

He glanced at Vernon, and Vernon held his gaze. Dudley opened his mouth to explain, but then something incredibly odd in the parking lot caught his eye.

"Is that a Ferrari Mondial?! Who the fuck drives a Ferrari Mondial to go shopping?"

8

The drive back to Privet Drive was a short, smooth, if not hasty one. And why not, Dudley thought, as he pressed down on the accelerator, there are dark wizards about.

"Slow down!" Vernon coughed loudly in alarm, hands digging into the leather armrests. "You're going too fas-"

"Slow down?! It's a sports car, it has two modes fast and stop!" The drive was a much welcome distraction from what had just happened. In fact, it felt a million miles away, and although Vernon was pale, it wasn't the same shade as in the shop.

"Speaking of which." Dudley slowed down, regrettably, to a screeching stop in front of number six. "We're here… Comm'on, Dad."

Dudley's hand found the handle, before he paused and then opened the door. He jogged around to Vernon's side, opened the door and helped him out of the car. The nagging pain from lifting Vernon, as well as the clunking feeling that Dudley had in his side, reminded him that something probably hadn't healed right inside him. He'd need to get that fixed.

The load on his shoulders suddenly lessened.

"What happened?! Oh dear, oh no. It was them, wasn't it! oh no, Vernon, Dudley. Quickly, into the house." Petunia, alerted from the screeching of the car, must have seen them from the driveway. She was now under the other arm of Vernon, and carrying him into the house, fear and worry bubbling in her eyes like water in an overheated kettle.

"Damn it! I forgot the bloody milk!" Dudley muttered furiously to himself, but if Petunia or Vernon found it funny, then they made no indication.

Inside the house, everything seemed to become much more real again, which was only amplified by the pain in Dudley's side. The Aurors would be there soon, though it was a surprise that they weren't there already. It was a total travesty that they weren't!

Vernon was slummed on the couch with Petunia, who was sobbing uncontrollably. She sent Dudley to his room, he ignored her and headed towards the kitchen.

He hesitated, and then swiftly he picked up the phone from the hanger on the wall. He paused again, rubbed his hand down his face as if stroking an invisible beard, and then pressed 3 on the dial. The phone rang four times, until finally…

"Figg residence." The voice was clipped, and sounded nothing like Mrs. Figg normally sounded. It was a true 1960s telephone operator type of sound, the calmness of which momentary stunning Dudley's thoughts. "Are you calling about the cats?"

"Cats…" Dudley muttered, and then he became angry. "It's Dudley Dursley, Mrs. Figg. I need you to Floo Dumbledore immediately. There's been an incident, people have died, my dad…my dad's hurt, and-and I need to talk to him, him personally, please! Bring Pomfrey, too! Please."

Three seconds went by before Mrs. Figg answered meekly. "Dumbledore?"

"Mrs. Figg, did you hear me?! People have died, get him here, now!" There was another pause.

"Okay, hold on." There was a clunk on the other end, as Mrs. Figg put the phone off the hook.

"Thank you." Dudley let out a huge sigh into the receiver, a slight stab of pain catching the top of his breath. "Thank you go-Merlin, whoever."

Dudley counted 4 full minute before Mrs. Figg picked up the phone again. "He's coming. He'll be there as fast as he can, you can be sure of it. Are you alright, Dudley?"

"No," Dudley said hesitantly, as he opened the drawer in front of him and placed the wand inside, under a dish. He winced, as he shut it. "Yeah, I guess. Dad's worse, much…they tortured him."

"Who did?"

"I don't know, but he's in a bad way." A pop echoed outside, and he put the phone down and peered out the window, as one by one, up and down the road, the street lamps turned off. "He's here, Mrs. Figg. I'll call you later. Thank you."

He didn't give her time to reply, and hung up the phone. There were four more pops outside before he could reach the door, and he opened it without checking.

Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey were standing at the door, along with three rather official looking people behind them who were looking perplexed as to why the headmaster of Hogwarts was there before them.

"Dudley-" Dumbledore started, his cheery demur clouded by a deepened tone and brow.

"In here, quickly, Professor. Madam Pomfrey, my dad's in there." Dudley pointed to the door next the kitchen. He tried to look earnest and calm as possible, trying steel himself. "Professor, could you come upstairs with me? There-there's things that we need to discuss."

He held the door open for Madam Pomfrey, who gave him a stern but sympathetic look, as she waddled in with her apron. Dumbledore's face relaxed somewhat, as he offered a polite smile as he stepped into the house. Dudley brushed past his purple robes, glaring hatefully at the other three wizards at the end of the garden.

"You're too late. Your man's dead," he snarled, as he pointed in the direction of the shop. "along with eight innocent muggles. Where the fuck were you?!" with that he slammed the door.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to follow it to its owner. Dumbledore stared down at him over his glasses, an apologetic looked tampered regret falling through his gaze like a shiny penny down a deep and dark well. Dudley felt it land somewhere in his gut.

"Harry's room," he muttered, tilting his head down, and made a B line around the old wizard, up the stairs. Dudley regarded him again from the top of the stairs. Dumbledore was a brightly coloured flower in a grey room in the Dursley house, uniquely out of place. He also noticed Dumbledore's blue eyes drink in the pictures on the staircase, as he came to the landing.

Dumbledore's eyes lingered on a picture of Harry bent over the handlebars of Dudley's bike. Harry was laughing, as Dudley squeezed him from behind. It was the best picture Dudley had of them together; it had been taken by a neighbour during Dudley's newpaper delivery days, not long after the incident at the Zoo. Convincing Petunia to put it in a frame had been a nightmare.

Dumbledore smiled fondly at the picture, until he met Dumbledore on the landing.

Dudley led the old wizard into Harry's room, as his own was stuffed with papers and books that he'd rather prefer the man not to see. He offered the headmaster a space on the lumpy but nicely made bed, closing and locking the door behind him.

As he stood in front of Dumbledore, he lifted himself to the empty top of Harry's dresser. The air in the room felt thick, he licked his lips.

"You might want to cast a silencer for this one."

"I already have," Dumbledore said, waving his hand theatrically correcting the sleeves of his robe. "Do you mind, before you begin…"

"Mrs. Figg?"

"Yes."

"Kneazles."

"Ah." He chuckled. "Mr Crow is right about you. Very attentive."

"I don't want to talk about Mr Crow," Dudley huffed and mumbled. "Professor, I believe…I know that-" He sucked the air into his lungs, painfully pushing on whatever was wrongly adjusted inside him, and let his words fly, hoping that if he said them with enough speed he wouldn't have to confront them.

"Peter Pettigrew is alive, and I think Sirius Black might be innocent."

Dumbledore's eyes widened, making the blue of his eye smaller. He reached up to take his hat off and place it gently on the pillow of the bed.

"That," he began, "is a very strong accusation, Dudley. I hope that you can provide proof for such a claim."

"It's a long story, Professor."

Dumbledore inclined his head slightly.

Dudley had been preparing for this moment for a very long time; he had imagined everything from strolling into the great hall and revealing Wormtail in front of everyone, to capturing him and taking the night bus to the ministry. He now pulled what he thought were the best bits of each fabrication, and rolled them together into a story he thought would be both believable and, more importantly, plausible.

"Okay, it all started when I found out about Harry really. This whole thing with Sirius betraying them…err, Harry's parents, and killing all those muggles, and still being alive." He looked at Dumbledore, who nodded, but his face was unreadable. "I was, well I wanted to, you know, get revenge on him, and you know I was in a lot of debt at the time and all, and just… It doesn't matter, but basically I found out Sirius was Harry's godfather, and I came up with this plan to get the Black inheritance through Harry…" Dudley blushed with embarrassment, remembering how angry Harry had been when he discovered his plans. "It was stupid."

"Ah, yes, I heard about this plan of yours. I thought it quite ingenious really, if not a little underhanded for a young Gryffindor."

"Anyway, the plan fell through, with everything else this year, but I did find out something interesting. James Potter was one of four friends, the others being Remus Lupin, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew." Dudley counted the names on his fingers.

"And you found this out, how?"

"Mr. Filch has all the old detention notes packed away. It wasn't difficult to find them." Dudley checked Dumbledore's face to see if this particular lie had landed. He knew there were documents on James Potter. At least there had been in the books..

The tightness around Dumbledore's eyes lessened, and Dudley, crossing his fingers in his mind, continued.

"Their names cropped up a few times. They were good friends I think, but Sirius and James, they seemed pretty tight, closer than the others, right? They all stayed good friends after school, and during the war?"

"Yes." A light smile touched Dumbledore's lips. "I believe they did."

"Well, I knew that was true for Sirius anyway, cause he was Harry's godfather. It got me thinking, if I was going to make someone my secret keeper…I'd make it my best friend, but then I thought, that's exactly what my enemies would think I would do. So…"

"So you would choose someone who was not a close friend, but someone you trusted just as equally" Dudley could see the cogs in Dumbledore's brain turning, "but not anyone someone would expect. That would be very risky."

"Exactly, it would seem risky, but not to a mischief-making Chaser like James Potter. Think about it; Peter is the secret keeper, but he's also the weak link. Imagine the betrayal. It would drive anyone to unthinkable rage…but only for the one other person that knew of the switch. Sirius goes on a rampage, hunts Peter down, Peter cuts off his own finger, boom, kills a couple of muggles in an explosion, disappears in the confusion, leaving his finger behind to make people believe he's dead, and lets Sirius take all the blame, for Lily and James, the muggles and his death. It all makes sense."

"You've put a lot of thought into this haven't you, Dudley. But what makes you think Peter is still alive?"

"I don't think he's alive, I know he's alive. He's Ron's rat."

"Mr Weasley?"

"Umm, yeah. Ron's rat has been in their family for almost 10 years now. That's impossibly long for a common garden rat, Professor. Plus, it's also missing a toe."

"You believe Peter Pettigrew is an unlicensed Animagus, Dudley. May I ask why?" Dudley thought it odd that Dumbledore picked that particular fact out of his 'deduction'.

"Err, Peter Pettigrew's nickname was Wormtail, and rats have tails that…look like worms…"

"I see." Dumbledore stood up. "I must see to this at once."

Dudley almost fell off the dresser. "You-you believe me?"

The old wizard peered down at him through his half-moon spectacles, with glittering wit whimsical intelligence. "From what I have come to learn about you, Dudley, is that you know half more than you should, and an awful lot more of what you ought not to. If you believe this man to be alive and guilty, then it is because you have proof undeniable to yourself."

Dudley hesitated. "Sirius is Harry's godfather, so he would want Harry to go live with him…"

The light never left Dumbledore's eyes. "Perhaps, but would he want to?"

"Yeah, of cour-" Then it struck Dudley on the nose, like stepping on a rake. Would Harry want to live with a man he had never met? Certainly he'd want to know him, but…but Sirius had offered Harry a way out of the Dursleys' house when Harry didn't think of them as family. He probably still didn't, but he cared for Dudley though, and he had listened to Petunia crying with concern.

"He would if I went with him," he answered slowly.

Dumbledore smiled brightly. "Then I see no conceivable reason why not."

"But the-" Dudley barely caught his tongue, as he was going to say the blood wards. He felt that he needn't have said it, though, as Dumbledore's face told him that he already knew what Dudley knew.

Even so, Dudley's mind jolted with the new information, as he could feel his two hemispheres processing it; he was related to Harry biologically through Petunia… he had played with the idea that that alone would be strong enough for the blood magic to work.

His studies in the Room of Requirement, however, had come up with a semi-negative. For whatever reason, magic in blood (or rather some magic involving blood) faded quickly, particularly through the generations…unless the right 'requirements' were met. However, if Dudley was right about what he thought Dumbledore was suggesting…maybe his love and his connection to Harry was an amplifier strong enough to sustain the protection. Maybe.

Dudley left the words hanging, and reached into his pocket, pulling free the onyx arm bracelet and the box with the glass dome. He held them out to the Headmaster.

"Belong to anyone you know?"

The smile and twinkle left the old man's eyes, and were replaced with the seriousness that he had held at the front door. The change brought Dudley back to why they were standing in the Dursley house in the first place.

Dumbledore took the objects and turned them in his hand. "You were attacked, Dudley. You said muggles had died?" Dumbledore's eyes flicked from the blank onyx back to him. "The wizards?"

"Three, two men and a woman…that belonged to the leader. They're dead."

"All of them?" Dumbledore frowned, his eyes staring piercely into Dudley's own.

"Yes."

"Dudley, you must tell me, did you…?"

"All three of them, sir," Dudley's voice crocked, surprising himself.

"I see." Dumbledore sat back on the corner of the bed, objects still in hand. "Tell me everything."

Dudley paused, and then sat beside the headmaster. "Of course, Professor."