'Gordon Bennett' is slang for expressing annoyance/surprise/anger, used a lot in Only Fools and Horses, if people are unfamiliar with the term :)
CHAPTER THIRTY
Nightfall came and Dudley lay awake under the covers, fingers twisting and pulling his duvet cover. How could he sleep? How could he sleep knowing that the monster was waiting for him? He could fight fire with fire, fall asleep prepared and face up to the freak, but he was defenceless against the… sorcery.
'If he uses his m… stuff, I'm absolutely screwed.'
The boxing match scheduled after the New Year played on his mind. What if the freak made him throw away his title? Purposefully force him to lose, to make him end up back at square one? Dudley couldn't bare to face the possibility of losing his title. Losing meant losing respect. Big D was a name earned, a name that other heavyweight fighters feared. Potter had put his two pence in and remarked that the reason why they called him 'Big D', was because the way he won fights was by sitting on his opponents and squashing them. Potter had darted out of the living room at that moment, the dull thud of a thrown maths textbook hitting the space he had taken up mere moments earlier. The jabs niggled under his skin, but the trophies and the titles proved his worth. He was powerful and would not go down without a fight. At least, that's what he told himself moments before closing his eyes and forcing himself to relax into slumber.
The first sensation to register was the coldness that chafed against his bare arms and his chest. He blearily opened his eyes, unpeeling his eyelashes apart to allow the vision before him to become clear. Five feet in front of him was a large projector screen and as Dudley blinked slowly, a haze of confusion washing over him, the screen flickered to life. His pupils darted from side to side, wondering what the hell he was about to be shown. An image exploded onto the screen and Dudley recoiled in horror. The decomposing body of a young man was similar to a scene out of a gory film he had once watched and Dudley remembered the buzzing of the flies that hampered the sounds of disgust made by the characters upon the discovery. Dudley squirmed in his seat, casting his eyes down to see that he was in fact tied to a rickety old chair and he would be unable to break free from the thick metal chains imprisoning his upper half. He lashed out his right leg, his foot connecting with the air, only to draw his leg in tightly when a voice spoke overhead.
"He was a Muggle, as are you. He stumbled across one of our meetings one night, intoxicated from a Muggle liquor and believed himself humorous in his attempt to scare us. In hindsight, he should not have approached us. He would still have been alive today."
The truth of the picture haunted him and Dudley did not want to believe the man's fate. To end up with your head half hanging off, limbs twisted into abnormal positions and scorch marks melting off your skin… Dudley forced his eyes away from the chains and up to the ceiling, to the darkness.
"Would you like to see the next one?"
Dudley mutely shook his head. He was recalling a memory of his child-self watching late night television, having snuck out of his bedroom and downstairs whilst his parents snored away upstairs. Dudley had been channel hopping, volume so low he could barely hear any noise, when he had come across a picture that would ingrain itself onto his impressionable brain for years to come. The scene was from 'A Clockwork Orange' and as Dudley watched the man shackled into the chair, drops squeezed into his stretched eyeballs, those frightening eyes watching a large projector screen, he'd gasped, shuddered and switched the television off, dashing into the kitchen to fetch a glass of milk.
Throughout the years, he never saw any scenes from the film again, but sitting chained to the chair, Dudley awaited for his eyelids to be stretched, held in place by sellotape to look at image after image of utmost monstrosity.
"You enjoy inflicting pain on others. Are you now developing a moral compass?"
He ignored the voice, the voice that tormented and twisted his reality and dreams, in favour of closing his eyes. The sound around him intensified and he yelled in pain as the voice shrieked in his mind, his brain seemingly rattling around in his head.
"LOOK!"
Snapping open his eyes, Dudley looked at the screen, unable to stop the convulsion of bile that splattered onto the floor and stained his chin at the sight of five children all torn apart and in the middle of being burnt to a crisp.
"Muggles, even their young, are worthless. Useless to society. All they do is fear-monger and believe themselves to be better than the ones who are more powerful and more of worth."
Another image. A woman, mouth wide open in a scream of shock, bolts of electricity caught in mid-spark. Dudley blinked, his eyes drying from the lack of moisture, terrified to see the image abruptly spark to life. The electricity crackled in the air and he could hear the screams, pure screams of terror, filter into the room. The bolts of coloured lightning, MAGIC, consumed the woman and Dudley gagged at the blood that drenched the screen.
"Let me in."
The blood bubbled on the screen and Dudley worried it would turn into acid, chewing away the blackout cloth until some dripped onto the floor, working its way up to his chains and then, he would be absolutely screwed. He pushed his feet into the ground, surging upwards to his full height, hunched over from the chair strapped to his back. His fingers curled around the legs of the chair and he gritted his teeth in determination. The only way to go was backwards, because why the hell would he go towards the danger threatening to annihilate him?
He slid his foot backwards and prepared to shift his weight when the blood on the screen exploded outwards. Dudley was smacked all over, coated in blood from head to toe. He opened his eyes slowly in shock, having squeezed them shut at the violent impact. The blood was everywhere. Sticking to every strand of hair, every inch of his clothes, even staining parts of his teeth cherry red. He leant backwards, the chair thudding to the floor, collapsing onto the seat.
"Let me in." The voice whispered in his mind, soothing his frenetic thoughts. "I can help you. I will make the pain go away. I will let you return to how you were. You need to let me in."
Adrenaline coursed through his veins and he was on the verge of passing out, heart thudding in his chest, palms slick with sweat, heat creeping up his neck. He swayed with dizziness and parted his lips, the sticky squelch of blood making him want to heave.
"You're c-causing the pain. Y-You're doing t-this!"
"Silly child. Of course I am causing this pain. Your victims may see this as retribution for your acts of violence. I am merely showing you your fate if you do not obey. I need you. You crave power. You may have the strength, but not the intellect to gain and maintain that power. You listened to me before and didn't that feel good? Let me in and I will not break you."
Dudley stared at the screen, shoulders slumped, feeling revolting from the blood oozing into every pore of his skin. He sighed in relief when the voice granted him a small mercy.
"Wake up."
Yet again, he found himself bolting upright, clutching the sweat stained sheets to his chest. He panted, checking to see that the curtains were still tightly drawn around his bed. Hollowing his cheeks, Dudley concentrated on breathing slowly and deeply, hand creeping up to smooth over his face to check for any traces of blood. A quick check of his palm showed white skin. His breath returning to a normal pattern, Dudley twisted his torso and head round to switch his pillows, putting the sweaty one underneath the clean one and rested his head onto the one now on top, curling his body up in an attempt to make himself as small as possible. Despite the cold air in the dormitory, Dudley left his dirty sheets and duvet cover pooled at the bottom of the bed, not caring if he caught a chill. That nightmare had been so vivid – they all were – but the threats seemed to be getting more and more sinister and he was heading towards a complete mental breakdown, he could feel his life spiralling out of control.
Telling his parents would be admitting defeat in his mind. Showing weakness. Everyone dealt with a few nightmares at some point or another. True, he was dealing with a lot, but he could handle it. He was Big D, and as all of Little Whinging understood, he always got his own way. Besides, if Mum and Dad were to end up coming to Smeltings, they would only make a fuss and Mum would continue to baby him, and right now, he couldn't cope with all of that shit. They didn't understand that he wanted to be left alone and he couldn't even calm his nerves by indulging in a cigarette as those disgusting things were currently at the bottom of a bin and he did not fancy digging through rubbish in the middle of the night.
He would deal with this on his own. Some may say he was stupid, some may say he was brave and his father would say it was the Dursley way. You handle the problems that life deals you, because Dursleys are strong, crafty and don't stand for wastes of space.
He lay on his side, analysing the creases in the curtains and wondered:
'It kept saying 'Muggle', said I'm one. Is that someone normal? Someone not a freak… Oh shit, what if he's reading my thoughts? Not freak… someone who can do… tricks or whatever. I'm proud to be a Muggle then… don't want none of that voodoo stuff… Not that it's voodoo stuff… Don't hurt me…'
The first inkling he had that it was morning was when the curtains in front of him were yanked open, revealing Piers, who frowned down at him.
"You need to get up." His tone was soft, almost apologetic. He clearly didn't want to start anything, Dudley surprised that Piers was even speaking to him after what happened in the bathroom yesterday. "You've got geography first. It starts in twenty minutes."
Dudley, still lying on his side and having spent the last six hours staring at the closed curtains, shifted onto his back, groaning at his tense muscles. "I'm not going, I'm too tired. How do you know what lesson I've got first? You stalking me?"
"No. We're in the same geography class, remember?"
Honestly, that slice of information could not be recollected, so Dudley simply shrugged his shoulders and stared up at the ceiling. "I'm not going. Tell Sir I'm sick."
"You sure?"
"Yes! Tell him I've got a stomach bug and you'll give me any homework to do. Go away."
"D-"
"Go away."
Piers left without another word and finally, Dudley could release the breath he had been holding and attempt to get some rest. He only managed an hour of uneventful rest before being disturbed by footsteps near his bed. Dudley opened his eyes, throwing an arm to cover his forehead.
"Piers, I swear if you're gonna lecture me-"
"I will lecture you, Mr Dursley. Bit of a late lie-in, isn't it?"
Mr Fenn. Shit.
In two seconds flat, Dudley was upright and smiling sheepishly at his teacher, who stood at the foot of his bed. "I didn't sleep well, thought I'd have the morning off."
"The morning off?" Mr Fenn arched an eyebrow, arms folded over his chest in a foreboding manner. "After your behaviour this term, you of all people should be the last one to skip lessons. You have your GCSE's coming up at the end of the year and you cannot afford to miss any more classes. Up you get, Mr Dursley. I want you ready for your class after break."
Dudley groaned, knuckling his eyes with his fists. "Really?"
"Yes. Now unless you want me to go straight to Mr Kerrington's office to explain why you are not attending class and are still in bed, then that decision is up to you. What are you going to do?"
"Get my arse to class." Dudley swung his legs round off the bed and pressed his bare feet to the floor. "Sir, I need to shower. I promise I'll be at my next lesson."
"See that you are, Mr Dursley. Otherwise, I will be on your case again. Your parents have paid a fair amount of money for you to attend this Academy. Do not make them regret their decision."
Mr Fenn waited for the fifth-year pupil to stand up before leaving the dormitory, oblivious to the middle finger Dudley shot behind his back.
"Wanker." Dudley murmured once his teacher was out of earshot. He prepared himself for his shower and sighed. His education was at the bottom of his priority list at the current moment, but if he didn't go, Mr Fenn and the other staff members would be on his case, hounding him, when all he truly craved was to be left alone.
History lessons seemed to drag on and on, the hand on the clock frozen. Miss Cox droned on and on whilst Dudley slumped in his seat at the back of the classroom, turning to one of his classmates, who was scratching onto the surface of his single desk with a pencil. Dudley brought his fingers up, manipulated them into the shape of a gun and pretended to blow his head off, his classmate grinning.
The humour failing to stay for longer than a few seconds, Dudley slumped further down in his seat, crossing his arms over his broad chest and nestled his chin onto his collarbone. His straw boater tipped forwards, covering his eyes. He desperately attempted to swallow down a yawn and keep his eyes open, but he felt himself nodding off and soon enough, he was sound asleep.
Dudley stood in the kitchen, watching the microwave timer tick down. His plate of macaroni and cheese spun slowly round and round. His stomach rumbled and he moistened his lips with his tongue. After the full-on workout at the gym earlier, this was the first savoury meal of the day and Dudley intended to savour each and every bite. The microwave dinged, and he opened the door, fingers flinching back from the heat of the plate. Grabbing onto a tea towel, Dudley slid the plate out and watched the steam rise from the macaroni cheese. He picked up a fork, twisting the handle round as he waited for his food to cool.
There was a knock at the door. Then another. And another.
"Persistent buggers." His Dad shouted, as he thudded down the stairs, large hand enclosing around the handle to open the front door. The clatter of a fork was lost in the chaos that sparked as soon as the door revealed who had knocked. A horde of people, baring robes and voodoo masks, streamed into the house. Vernon hollered and brought his hands up in self-defence, begging them to not hurt his family. He was shoved onto his knees, a stick pointed in his face.
"Where is your darling wife?"
"Out." Vernon trembled, sweat pouring off of his thick brow. "S-Shopping. Please, it's just me and my s-son here. Don't hurt us."
"Where is your son?"
"Here."
Dudley stood motionless, still not registering that he had dropped the fork upon the entry of these masked freaks. Sticks were being pointed at him and his blue eyes widened with fear as a hand clawed around his wrist.
"Move."
He was pulled along to forcefully kneel beside his father and when he threw a quick glance to him, Vernon muttered:
"It's going to be okay, son. We're protected. They'll protect us. They promised."
Dudley wanted to ask who was supposed to protect them, who had made such a promise, when a scream from outside shocked him to his very core.
Mum.
"Petunia! PETUNIA! DON'T HURT MY WIFE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!"
"Be quiet, you fat fool. We will not hurt your wife. All we want to know is where is Harry Potter?"
"Where do you think he is?!" Vernon looked up to their captors. "At that blasted school!"
Dudley swallowed, breath quickening when his mother was dragged in, her perfect hair falling out of the neat bun she had placed it into only that morning, her panic-stricken expression denting his confidence in getting out of the situation alive. Petunia looked at her husband and son out of the corner of her eye and whispered:
"Are you hurt?"
Vernon shook his head. Dudley swallowed once again and went to speak, but what came out of his mouth sounded so trivial, on reflection, he would have burst out laughing upon hearing it.
"My mac and cheese is getting cold."
"Oh, sweetie. Y-You can have it when they go."
"They won't go, Petunia. They want Potter!"
"It's always Potter." Dudley spat out nastily. "Potter this and Potter that. They think he's some golden boy. Well, he's a dickhead and I'll prove it to them. Show everyone he's not so perfect."
"Is that right, little Muggle?"
Suddenly, Dudley was pulled up by one of the taller masked figures, back to their chest, arm slung tight around his neck. A stick was pointed directly at his left temple. His parents clung to each other and screamed;
Not to attack their perfect boy.
To leave them in peace.
To use their information and go after Potter because we don't want any part in this. We cut our ties years ago with that world and we're normal, we're normal!
"Normal. That is a word that frequents our little chats."
The voice. Coming from… the sky?
Dudley slowly tilted his head back, to watch the roof of his childhood home break away to reveal the bright sky, now toned black from the symbol of the snake slithering out of the mouth of a skull that christened the heavens. Around him, the walls exploded, framed pictures and possessions crumbling to dust. The electric fireplace, the one those red-heads had tried to come through, sparked and promptly blew up, scattering his parents and all of the masked figures, including the one holding him hostage, to ash.
Left alone in the home that was now nothing but ash and bricks at his feet, Dudley dazedly continued to look up at the sky. He should move, before the sky fell on top of him or some other crazy shit, but he was too mesmerised by the Dark Mark. (Although, how did he know the name of such a feared symbol?)
"Look around you, Dudley. There is nothing left. This is what will become of you if you do not let me in. I am repeating myself and I do not have the time or patience for that. I will destroy your cousin and anyone else who stands in my way. Including you, but only after my plans have come to fruition. End your hesitation, Dudley. It is time to decide. Let me in… or perish."
"SHUT UP! LEAVE ME ALONE! I WON'T LISTEN TO YOU, LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE!"
Awake. He was awake and free from that nightmare. Sighing in relief, Dudley lifted his straw boater up so his eyeline was no longer impaired and sat up straight, lifting his gaze up to the front of the classroom. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down, mouth sucked dry, heart palpitating at the sight of all of his classmates having turned round to stare at him. His teacher hovered nearby, her stare one of concern and Dudley suddenly realised why he was now the centre of attention.
He had spoken those words aloud.
Dudley, smoothing his sweaty hands onto the material of his trousers, muttered under his breath: "Gordon Bennett… they all think I'm crazy."
