CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

Standing at his full height, Dudley had a good few inches over Piers, beneficial for intimidation when Piers overstepped the mark. Those times were rare, but when they happened, their friendship was tested to the utmost limit. Examples of this rushed through both boys' minds.

When they were six and Piers wouldn't allow Dudley a turn on his new Atari console, no matter how much the younger boy begged, pleaded and threatened him.

When they were eight and Dudley humiliated Piers by telling the rest of the boys in their friendship group that Piers still had a bed-wetting issue, making everyone laugh at him. This was made ten times worse when Dudley staged a situation where after a sleepover round the Dursley household, Piers awoke in a wet bed (courtesy of Dudley pouring freezing cold water over his legs seconds before he woke up in a state of panic) and Dudley was ready with his disposable camera to take the perfect picture. The developed picture had then been passed through many hands and Piers found himself the most mocked child in the school, aside from Harry of course.

When they were twelve and arguing aggressively over a local girl who had batted her eyelashes at both of them. In the end, despite Piers trying to impress her with flowers and buying her little gifts and Dudley attempting to kiss her full on the lips with no hesitation (or warning), the girl had chosen another boy to date, one who was possibly even more of a loser than Harry Potter!

Reflecting on those memories, Dudley stared up at the boy he had known since early childhood. The boy who had stuck by them through thick and thin. The boy who had just witnessed him puking his guts up and was already jumping to conclusions. Whatever the case, Piers soon filled the tense silence with his voice so Dudley couldn't even try and talk his way out of the situation.

"Dud… you haven't got anorexia, have you? Cause you hear about this stuff, on the news. How professionals in sports strive to be the best, so… t-they start making themselves sick and starving themselves. Eating proper healthy stuff a-and… looking ill all the time… and they say they're fine, but really they're being sick in the toilet after eating…"

Piers appeared shaken, so shaken that Dudley noticed a slight tremble in the other boy. The cynical side of him scoffed at Piers for wearing his emotions on his sleeve. 'Just like a pansy would.' He thought, biting down hard on the dry skin on his bottom lip, the lingering taste of bile coating his gums.

"I've been w-worried, you know. I knew s-something was wrong… Ever since that day, where Potter chatted shit to you at the park and then it got all dark and the wind picked up… Me and the boys ran off, but you and Potter, you two stayed together, right? And we didn't see you till like a week later, so what happened? Cause you just disappeared…"

Dudley didn't respond, simply continuing to stare up at the older boy. How could he explain anything to do with his cousin when he didn't understand half of it himself?

"After that, you started acting all weird. You didn't come out of your house for days on end, we had to drag you out! Since the summer, you've looked tired, all washed-out, and not even beating up Evans? What the hell is that all about? And don't say anything about 'feeling sorry for him', because how many times have you told me how much you hate that little git? We all do! But now… it's like you're scared of him… Did Potter do something to you? At the park that day? You do share the same house… maybe he's poisoning you and you don't even know it!"

Dudley wanted to tell Piers he was too much of a conspiracy theorist, but his vocal cords would not form together words.

"Potter's a crazy freak, always has been! Big D, I need to ask you something… why did you throw up your food? You sick? Don't lie to me, D. I've seen your portion sizes, there's nothing on your plate! All I've seen you eat is salad! You hate salad! I want straight answers. I know you were really fat before, but now you've lost the weight, you shouldn't go to the extreme of making yourself sick. That'll fuck you up."

Piers lapsed into silence after his rant, not breaking eye contact with the younger boy. Dudley, still on his knees, absorbed the rant in one big hit. Emotions washed over him. Rage, sadness, irritation, desperation, paranoia.

He didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or do both.

Piers was concerned, he could see that, but Dudley reckoned his 'friend' had a funny way of showing his concern. Berating him for not being his usual self and banging on at him to sort himself out? Dudley wouldn't stand for the personal attack. No-one got the winning edge over Big D. No one.

Piers calling him 'fat' though. That really got under Dudley's skin. Piers had never referenced his weight before, and he was the one person in his life to never make a comment or allude to his weight at all. Yet here he was now, Mr Big Bollocks, believing that he was top dog and having enough bravado to call a six foot one Junior Heavyweight Boxing Champion… fat.

Clenching his fists, Dudley's facial features were a picture of calmness, but inside, his blood boiled. How dare that fucking rat treat him like this?!

After the years of friendship, where Dudley allowed him to be in his own home and play with his things, only for Piers to go and stab him in the back. In Dudley's opinion, Piers should have saved the speech and hauled him off to Kerrington's office, where Dudley would be bundled up into a straightjacket and driven off to the nearest mental asylum.

After all, maybe he deserved to be locked up in a mental asylum.

'They're all ganging up on me…'

The thought danced around in his mind and mocked him. Piers had never questioned his state of health before… so maybe he did care?

"If he was truly concerned, he would not have turned his back on you in recent times… Open your eyes, boy. He wants to get rid of you, to become the leader of your little gang. He wants you to suffer."

To help the situation, the dreaded voice was back, but instead of batting it away with snarled insults, Dudley allowed himself to listen. Perhaps the voice had a point. After his melt-down with the gang over the chicken fingers incident, Piers had not been there for him. Despite what he claimed, perhaps Piers had never been his friend at all. Simply a right-hand man, awaiting the day where Dudley fell from the self-proclaimed throne of Little Whinging, only for Piers to take his place. Building up years of friendship simply to beat him was absurd, but what was the truth anymore?

Piers Polkiss had seen him in a vulnerable position, seen him down on his knees, gasping in fright from being so violently sick. Dudley knew that if they were living in medieval times and Piers had a sword, he would have swung that bad boy down and chopped his head clean off. Dudley gritted his teeth and threw out internal insults to Piers. How could that jumped-up rat disrespect him like that?! He's nothing!

"Only now are you seeing the situation clearly. Don't you see, boy? He craves your reputation. He wants to manipulate you. To ruin you. Use your weaknesses against you. Do not allow him to do this. You must fight back against him, boy. Otherwise, he will strike you down until you have no strength left to fight back. Let me in and I can help you. Let me in and I will vanquish your enemies, Dudley."

The voice was back, soft tones wrapping around his mind, similar to tendrils of silk. He recognised the voice, the one belonging to the no-nosed monster. The tones were soft, still eager to convince him to open up his mind. This freak who had a mission to drive him round the bend. This freak who haunted him in every moment of slumber and every waking moment. This freak who was his own personal Freddy Krueger.

The voice continued to coax him, as if he were a baby soothing themselves to a gentle lullaby, and he continued to listen.

"Show him how worthless he is. Intimidate him. Beat him. Torture him."

The suggestions were beginning to sound more and more appealing to him.

"Destroy him."

Those words dropped into his mind and Dudley stiffened. The bathroom light flickered above him. This turned out to be the perfect distraction. Piers craned his head up to check out the flickering light and Dudley seemed to shake back to life, boosting himself up to his feet. He wiped the back of his hand lazily across his mouth and tilted his head slightly, lips cracking apart to reveal a sly grin. In the end, the voice had won this battle and Dudley, behind that grin, felt as if he were having an out of body experience. He was aware and awake, but his limbs refused to move and his tongue seemed to suddenly be too big for his mouth. It flashed him back to the time where he ate the toffee those freaks had dropped onto his living room floor, when his tongue slithered out of his mouth like a monstrous snake. He bit down onto his tongue, gasping internally at the pain. His words came out slurred slightly because the voice that came out of his mouth was his, but… tainted.

"Finished your little speech, have you? I don't believe that you should be treating me with such disrespect, considering I can easily smash your face in right now and walk away, to leave you bleeding out on the floor. You know nothing, Polkiss. Saying I have an eating disorder, just because you've seen me be sick one time? You really are clueless. Get onto your knees now."

Piers looked up at Dudley as if he had grown two heads, astonished at the sudden change in position. The way the younger boy moved and spoke, it was unnerving. So eerie that shivers worked their way down his spine. Piers thought on Dudley's demand, before shaking his head.

"No way. I ain't your bitch."

Dudley scoffed, the sound rumbling in his chest. "I'm not expecting you to blow me off. Pansy." He tensed up his fists, preparing to deal a blow to Polkiss. "On your knees, now!"

The head continued to shake, and Dudley was quickly losing his temper.

"Why won't you obey me?! On your knees, Muggle!"

The confusion on Piers' face at hearing a word spoken aloud he had never come across before was shattered by the heavy fist that sank into his nose. No snap accosted his ears, (which he was grateful for), but pain exploded across his vision and Piers dropped to his knees, cradling his nose with both of his hands and trying to stem the blood that slowly trailed out of his left nostril. He forced his gaze upwards slightly, enough to see Dudley. More so, to see the fucked up version.

Dudley stood over him, right fist held up to his chest, knuckles dusted with blood. His stance was powerful and the triumphant grin on his face added to the impression. But it was further up the face that caused Piers to tremble in fear.

The eyes. Hooded from lack of sleep, the colour an intoxicating shade of… red.

His best friend's eyes were fucking red!

Before he could attempt to form words, Dudley was speaking again.

"Finally, you obey me. Remember, I am in control and don't forget it."

The rush of power flowing through his veins was a natural high and Dudley stepped away from Piers and spat at his feet. "Trust, you remember that."

He turned around and ambled out of the bathroom, as if everything was cushty and his mind had not been temporarily influenced. Dudley paused in the common room and sank into one of the sofas, pushing his hair away from his face. His heartbeat returned to a normal rhythm and no longer did his blood boil, but Dudley felt a now familiar sense of fear creep back into his head.

The power he'd possessed when intimidating Piers… that wasn't him.

The bathroom light flickering and the way he spoke… that wasn't him.

The word 'Muggle' spoken in his voice… that wasn't him.

In the bathroom, Piers gathered his wits together, vowing to himself that he would uncover everything as Dudley located the nearest mirror and stared deeply at his reflection. Blue eyes filled with worry and desperation looked back at him. All Dudley could think of though was:

'What does 'Muggle' mean?'

The boxing gym was near enough full when Dudley rocked up there twenty minutes later. He'd changed into a plain black t-shirt and gym shorts, his oldest pair of trainers swallowing up his size ten feet. He headed over to the weights section and gripped the heaviest set, beginning off a set of shoulder presses, gripping the dumbbells with sweaty palms. Five presses down the line, Dudley felt the muscles in his arms spasming and he had to let his arms drop down, careful to not smash his face in with the weights on the way down. He placed the dumbbells onto the floor and quickly glanced around.

People were looking at him. Although no sounds of laughter could be heard, Dudley was sure they were laughing at him.

Snickering and joking about how the Heavyweight Champion could barely do more than five shoulder presses without collapsing to the floor.

'They're all ganging up on me.'

Hairs on the back of his neck spiked up and Dudley forced himself out of the area and towards the bathroom. He sat down heavily on the lid of a toilet seat and locked the cubicle door shut. Bending his head forward to his knees, Dudley raked his fingers through his hair.

"Needs a cut, it's getting long… Great, now I'm talking to myself. God sake, Dudley, sort your life out."

He took his fingers away from his hair, sat up and closed his eyes. His life was falling apart around him and he could only watch in horror. The easy method would be to give into the freak, let him into his mind and do whatever the hell he fancied.

But Dudley had dignity and there was no chance he was allowing his mind to be taken so easily, despite the freak most likely possessing enough power to overtake his mind without his consent anyway. His father's bloodline consisted of generations of power and strength, individuals who were not weak. He couldn't be weak. Dursley men were strong. He had to be strong.

He opened his eyes and flexed his chest. Sitting in the cubicle, he didn't feel so strong or big. From the outside, he resembled a little boy, lost and alone, haunted by those who wish to wreak havoc on the world. A little boy who could only seem to stomach salads and not sleep through an entire night.

After his phase of moral judgement had passed, Dudley left the bathroom and went back to the boxing gym, climbing into a ring and pulling on a spare pair of gloves. The inside of the gloves were patched with sweat, and usually he would have complained to Coach Graves about allowing "tramps with BO to practice", but right now, he didn't have the energy. His own boxing gloves were in his dorm room, so he put his head down and set to work on a round of sparring with another fifth year student.

Dudley was preparing to jab at the other boy's ribs when Coach Graves looped his arm around the ropes and called out:

"Dursley! Got some good news for you!"

Letting his fist swoop downwards before the glove could brush skin, Dudley loped over to his Coach and muttered:

"Yeah? What is it?"

"Have a bit of enthusiasm, lad."

"It's hard when I've had a crap day."

"Well, this'll cheer you up." Coach Graves smiled. "There's an upcoming heavyweight match, sometime around January. The dates aren't set yet and neither is your opponent, but I've put you forwards for it and I have every faith you can retain your title."

Usually, Dudley would be elated, bragging about how no-one would be able to defeat him and betting that he could knock the prick out in two rounds flat. However, to the surprise of his Coach, he simply shrugged his shoulders.

"Alright. Let me know dates."

"Is that it?... You must have had a bad day, Dursley."

"What? Do you want me to run round, shouting and punching the air like I've won the ruddy National Lottery?"

"No, but I expected you to be… happier."

Dudley snorted. "Trust, Coach, this is what happiness looks like… Anyway, I need a break, get some fresh air."

He climbed out of the ring, ignoring the look his Coach sent him and shucked off his gloves. Dudley left the gym and headed to his dormitory, bypassing fellow pupils in silence. When he entered the dorm room, he found everyone who resided there expect for Piers. The thought of Polkiss running from the bathroom to Kerrington's office hadn't crossed his mind, but nerves were kicking up slightly in the pit of his stomach. His stomach that growled for food.

He ignored the rumblings and snatched up his lighter and packet of cigarettes, not caring if he blacked out again. He needed a bit of relief and round the back of the school, Dudley rested the sole of his right trainer onto the brick wall, sliding out a cigarette from the pack with his fingers. Pinching the end of the cigarette between his teeth, Dudley brought the lighter up to his mouth and cupped his hands round the end, flicking the sparkwheel to ignite a flame.

"Shit!"

The flame scorched his left index finger and caused him to jump forwards, no longer leaning against the wall. Cursing at the burn, Dudley cupped his hands again and attempted to light the cigarette. Two fingers got caught this time and his fingers soon shook from the effort of lighting the damn fag.

"I warned you about smoking. Give it up. It is a terrible habit. Do not smoke anymore."

He didn't need any more convincing. Dudley pulled the cigarette out from between his lips and looked at it with disgust, before walking over to the nearest bin and tossing the damp cigarette, his open packet and the lighter all into the rubbish. Nodding to himself, Dudley shuddered from the wind chill, then moved quickly back towards the school doors, wanting to get back to boxing.