Hi guys and gals, sorry this chapter is so short I was in an accident and have been drugged up to the eyeballs for the last week and a half. Thanks Storyseeker for betaing this one. And thank you beautful people for reviewing :)

A Twisted Kind Of Truth

Dudley told Dumbledore everything as if explaining a play to a courtroom of doctors, with no nonsense and only facts. He didn't embellish or even lie. In fact, it was possibly the first time he'd ever spoken to Dumbledore without prejudice since he had met him, and he was almost regretful as he reached the end of his tale.

"He held me against the wall, I grabbed his wand hand, and the wand just…" Dudley paused dramatically, gesturing with his hand an explosive motion. "He was set alight, and he tried pulling off his robes to throw them somewhere, but by then I'd recovered enough that I had pulled off my belt and…strangled him with it."

Dumbledore's expression was unusually calm, but his eyes…perhaps it was Dudley's imagination, but in the flicker of a glance there was a type of horror that seemed to ebb in their crystal-blue depths. It was, Dudley thought, as if Dumbledore was listening to a horror story.

If not for himself, for the people in the shop (for some reason, he couldn't shake that old woman's stare), which had seared its self on the back of his eyelids, and the old woman's frightful little voice echoing in his ears. It was…disturbing. He decided he was in shock.

At least I didn't die this time.

His lip wobbled, and for a spilt second he thought he was about to cry, but instead a roar of hysterical laughter burst forth. I'm cracked, Dudley thought in a muddled panic, his body rocking and retching with manic crackled laughter, unbelievable pain stabbing into his damaged side with every uncontrollable contortion.

Dumbledore placed a heavy hand over his shoulder, the understanding look on the old man's face making him laugh even more. It was if his mind had left his body, like throwing up after drinking too much, it just kept coming no matter how much he pleaded for it to stop. And then it did, leaving sharp pain and insurmountable embarrassment in its wake. He would rather have sung Vanilla Ice's whole album in front of the great hall, filled with everyone he'd ever met, a thousand times, if only not to live though…that, in front of Albus Dumbledore.

"I-I'm so sorry, Pro-"

"No-no, that's quite alright." He patted Dudley on his shoulder and removed his hand. "I'm afraid that happens to even the very best of us. You have suffered much, Dudley. I do believe you've earned a little madness." Dumbledore smiled gravely, and in such a way that Dudley wanted to believe him.

"What happens now?" Dudley changed the conversation, cheeks red and his ribs aching.

Dumbledore waved his hand over the band and strange dome, which rested neatly on his lap beneath his purple robe. "I will have to speak to the Aurors, as it is paramount that you and your family are first made safe. I have complete trust that Madam Pomfrey is providing the very best care for your father, Dudley, but I fear a trip may be in order-"

"To St Mungo's?"

"Yes." Dumbledore picked up the band and the glass dome, and placed them into his robes. "I will make sure that you are protected in this whole affair."

"Will I be able to go back to Hogwarts? After…" He didn't want to say killing, as it didn't feel like what he thought killing would be. It was more like survival, like a reflex.

Dumbledore hesitated for a time that seemed unnatural… for him. "I very much wish I could say yes, Dudley. However, there is much before then and now, which must be fought for first."

"Will you fight for me?"

Dumbledore took in an air of consideration, and then almost joyfully gave his answer. "I believe that our fates may be entwined further still, Mr. Evans."

Dudley dropped his eyes to the floor exhaustedly. "Yes, Professor."

Dumbledore smiled, and with a wave of his wand unlocked the door, and held it open.

8

Downstairs was mayhem, as there were two Aurors in the house (that Dudley could see) and a few more he could see from a dense dust cloud emerging from the lounge. The Aurors, from what Dudley could tell, were not the ones that had arrived earlier in the street. There was something much more severe and official about them.

A tall black man stood facing the cloud of plaster dust, and was talking calmly into it. "Madam, that very well may be, but as of now this house is under Minst-"

The other man, who was very much lion-like in appearance, was surveying the room with his wand hand resting on his holster.

"Aha, Rufus. I suspected this case would arouse your interest."

"Dumbledore?" the lion-like man frowned deeply, his eyebrows knitting together at sight of the headmaster. "Miller wasn't seeing things then. What are you doing here? This is Auror business. An Auror is dead, and 11 others, three of which we suspect are wizards."

That was quick, Dudley thought.

"I am aware, Rufus. Mr. Evans has kindly relayed for me the whole story. I will personally be aiding his case, and shall rely his statement as he receives treatment for his injuries. I am sure you must have a statement from his father."

Rufus almost snarled. "His father was out cold before we even arrived, thanks to your witch. The boy will have to give his statement again."

The headmaster held out his palms, and gave a friendly smile. "And he will, I assure you, but right now he needs care and bed rest."

"This is highly irregular, Dumbledore, and you are swimming dangerously close to the end of my patience."

"Nothing about this is regular," Dudley muttered, if only to remind himself that he was still there. Rufus flicked his eyes down at him, and Dudley looked up into his eyes, trying his best to sound small.

"Can I see my dad now?"

"The boy has been through a lot, a few more hours won't hurt your investigation. Trust me, there are…other issues, which need discussing. Shacklebolt, would you mind following me to what I believe to be the kitchen?"

The man talking to Petunia turned around. "Ah, yes, Dumbledore. I-"

"Shacklebolt!" Dudley exclaimed before he could hold it back. All eyes spun to him, as he mentally punched himself.

"Yes. You have heard of me?"

"No, I mean yes. Your, you're a- " What, he's a what? Dudley, knowing he would need to say something, let his tongue jump. "You're a legend!"

"Ha!" Rufus snorted, while Shacklebolt grinned with bright white teeth that cheerfully contrasted to his dark skin.

"You are something of a legend yourself, Mr. Evans." And then, remembering why he was there, turned down his smile, although it sat there as he followed Dumbledore who had moved to the kitchen door (also smiling).

Rufus stepped after them deliberately, his eye glancing back to Dudley as he passed, and once more before he walked into the kitchen. An Auror, one Dudley had not seen, with a cauliflower ear, stared down at Dudley as he walked towards Petunia and the lounge, into the dust.

The dust cloud filled the room, and the wall where the fireplace had once been, which Vernon had had built after the letters had blown in, was gone, in its place the ashes of a small green and blue fire nuzzled peacefully in the embers. All of this had happened while he had been talking with Dumbledore.

As the dust settled Dudley noticed Vernon was not there. The Auror followed Dudley, waving way the particles of dry flaky brick dust and plaster with a pink light that hung on the end of his wand in a teardrop. Too petrified to speak Petunia took a steel grip of Dudley's arm the second she saw him. She was on a level of trauma beyond anything he'd seen from her, nothing more than a loud noise away from being pushed over the edge and taking on the dreaded 1000 yard stare.

"It's alright, mum. They're here to help."

"They burned him," she whispered franticly.

"What, oh no!" Dudley peeled off her hands, and dropped to a whisper. "It's how they travel. We have to go, too."

"No."

"Dad needs us, now more than ever. You won't let him down, will you?"

Petunia stared at him, rage held back by fear evident in the dull blueness of her bloodshot eyes. She squeezed his hands, and Dudley, not knowing what to say, squeezed back.

8

There was no excitement at St. Mungos. It was busy and old, and largely anything that caught his attention he felt rude looking at. In many ways, the wizards' hospital was not all that different from a muggle one, larger perhaps, but things like waiting times and a lack of staff shone through in a familiar, though, bizarre way. It was this familiarity that seemed to calm Petunia, as the curtains pulled around the large bed where Vernon lay asleep. The sounds from the rest of ward sounded very much like the background chatter in any other normal hospital. The only thing noticeably out of place was the Healer, in a sort of 'stylish 1950s nurse' robe, running her wand over Vernon's huge bruised figure.

Dudley was escorted by an old witch to an empty bed as petunia helped peal of Vernon's clothes.

"They tell me you heal fast?" she said, pulling out her wand and polishing it with the apron of her robe.

Dudley realised it was actually a question, and fumbled out an answer. "I…yes. It to do wit-"

"I's knows what it's to do with," she said, cracking her ancient knuckles in a style that Dudley had seen the older men in the boxing club do before a match. "I've seens it before lot'o times before, laddie."

"Have you?" Dudley looked at her spuriously. "When?

She looked at him through her stringy grey hair. "Used to be quites o'lot of yous types running around, causing us mischief before the wars. Poor souls, thinking theys immortal, always we be fix'em up."

The old woman gave a sad sigh, and before Dudley could draw breath for another question, she drove her wand into his side and twisted it upwards to his armpit and then down towards his hip. The feeling was white hot and excruciating, but his voice was paralysed with the overload of pain. He couldn't even draw his breath to yelp as his ribs cracked and moved back into position.

"Da've sealed with each other d'ay have, had tos break'em free. Sorry about the pain. Here's you goes, that's it."

Dudley snatched a neon yellow vial from her hands and swallowed it all in one gulp. The effect was instant, and the pain washed away in the feeling of a cold can of coke being rubbed against his skin on a hot day.

"Ahhhh," he moaned, biting into the arm of his dusty shirt, which was embedded with a smoky acrylic smell. A wave of dizziness took him, and the tiredness he'd been fighting finally wore him out. The old healer laid her hand on his bicep, and gently lay him down to bed.

"Shit" Dudley muttered to himself, as his head touched the pillow.

"-me" and in a blink he fell into fast and heavy asleep.