I do appreciate the reviews, followers and favourites I am receiving :) Dudley is starting to really lose it and he will only continue to spiral down. My opinion on counselling is I believe it helps, but Dudley is full of pride and doesn't want to admit weakness. I hope everyone is doing alright in the world. My first week off of work and hopefully, I can write up several more chapters in the upcoming weeks.


CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

"Are you okay, Dudley?"

Struggling to not let the fear be displayed on his pinkened face, he nodded quickly.

"F-Fine, Miss."

"Are you certain? You shouted very loudly… and you sounded… scared."

A few snickers disrupted the heavy silence in the classroom and Dudley narrowed his eyes, a perfect copy of his mother, and aimed a glare round at his fellow classmates, daring any of them to continue their laughter.

"Mr Dursley? Do you need to see the Nurse?"

Nurse Hayes. He liked her, but she would take one good look at him and cart him straight off to Kerrington's office. He couldn't trust her. She aided him with his physical health, true, but she would dope him up on happy pills if she knew what his mental state was currently like. Shaking his head subconsciously, Dudley tightened his fists underneath the desk. Everyone needed to lay off him. So what if he'd fallen asleep in the middle of class and screamed himself awake? It was no big deal.

People needed to stop staring at him.

The skin surrounding his eyes tightened in annoyance. "No, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? I-"

The desk nearly went flying from the momentum of Dudley bolting to his feet. Some of his mouthier classmates, (if not filled with fear of getting decked) would have shouted out how he represented a raging bull in that very moment. Eyes alight with fury, fists coiled in aggression. If possible, steam would have whistled out of his nose, he was so angry.

"You don't know nothing, Miss." He snarled, storming past all the other desks and over to the door. He wrenched open the door, hard enough for it to bounce against the wall and stomped off down the corridor, satisfied to hear the door slam upon his departure. Dudley headed straight for his dormitory, launching himself onto his bed, groaning softly as the top of his head skimmed the headboard. He rubbed his scalp as he sat up, tempted to close the curtains around him. The rage slowly subsided, but his embarrassment steadily replaced the anger. They were going to think he was a freak!

Sure, Dudley had fallen asleep in class before after staying up all night with Piers to sneak out of the school to smoke on the grounds, creeping back to bed at five in the morning, breathless from the nicotine and absolutely exhausted. Out of everyone in the entire school, he was the most prolific for receiving detentions, whether it be for; not turning in his homework, back-chatting to the teacher, threatening other pupils whilst in the class… The list was endless, but to have people laugh at him and think he was mental… Dudley gritted his teeth and swung his legs off of the bed.

It was time to hit the gym.


He avoided the corridors in the main school building, knowing it was too risky to try and evade any patrolling teachers. They caught him, he would be hauled straight back to Miss Cox and be forced to apologise to her in front of the others. Apologise for her refusal to back off. He couldn't exactly hide from them, he was too tall and broad to try and squeeze in a small hiding space, so Dudley decided to jog through the school grounds, approaching the separate gymnasium and quickly darting into the building. He took in the Coach's raised eyebrows as the man turned away from setting up the weight section and encountered the sight of his breathless student.

Dudley gestured to the huge ring stationed in the middle of the room. "Mind if I w-work on my blocking? I won't say nothing, promise."

Coach Graves seemed to be contemplating the consequences he could be faced with for allowing a pupil to train whilst they should technically be sitting in an academic lesson, but Dudley was his star champion. He was the one they relied on when their team were spectacularly losing in the lower weight rounds, and they saved the best till last because when Dudley came out into the ring, Smeltings had the win in their sight. Coach Graves did let Dudley's behaviour slide more than the rest of the boxers, on the account that he was the best in the heavyweight league. Favouritism it may be, but would anyone have expected the twenty-two stone laziest boy at Smeltings to whip himself into shape and be at the top of his game in less than two years? The transformation had been a miracle, so the Coach dismissed the fact that Dudley was meant to be in class and nodded.

"Go on then." He barked in his gruff Northern accent, (Dudley wasn't sure where the man exactly hailed from.) "But if you get caught, I can't help you."

"Whatever." Dudley headed towards the changing room, muttering under his breath: "It's not like anyone cares that I'm not there. Miss Cox is probably relieved. Stupid bitch."

The key inserted into his locker was twisted and he flung the door open, perusing the contents. A spare t-shirt and branded shorts were shoved at the back, but he failed to find any shoes and his school shoes would not be suitable for boxing. Pulling a face, Dudley surveyed the other lockers. If he were to try and break one open… He stopped in his contemplations. Coach would wring his neck for prying open other people's lockers, so with a grunt of frustration, Dudley flung his straw boater to the floor and shrugged off his blazer.

Once he had changed, pushing his long white socks down and folding them until they hung round his ankles, Dudley padded out of the changing room in his socks and yelled:

"Mr Graves! You got any spare trainers? Left mine in my room."

Calloused hands grabbed a box stored under the bleachers and pulled off the lid, revealing a horde of shoes inside.

"Take your pick, Dursley. Won't be all the new and trendy ones, mind you, so don't complain."

Dudley, hopeful they didn't smell as bad as his room could get before his mother came in to deep clean, gingerly rummaged through them. He found a pair of black plimsolls that seemed big enough to cram his feet into, hauling them out of the box and holding them at arm's length.

"You sure none of these shoes belong to anyone with minging feet? Cause if I end up with rabies, I'm not gonna be happy."

Coach Graves scoffed. "Dogs give you rabies, not old shoes. Put them on, Dursley. Or do you want to go back to where you're supposed to be?"

Choosing not to respond, Dudley sat down on the nearest bench and crammed his feet into the plimsolls. He gagged, his crushed toes wiggling in need of relief.

"Sir, these are minging. Why'd you give me these rank shoes? They don't even look decent."

"You chose them, Dudley." Coach Graves chuckled in amusement, then cleared his throat. "Got a surprise for you."

"Oh, yeah?" Dudley's ears pricked up in response. He enjoyed receiving gifts, it showed how much everyone cared about him. He smiled smugly to himself, thinking:

'Well duh, I am the best.'

"It ain't nothing bad, is it, Sir? Cause if you give me something dirty, I can't promise to keep it safe."

"Get your mind out the gutter, lad!" Mr Graves directed a stern look at Dudley for his choice of words and the insinuation, but it only lasted a few moments before he couldn't pretend to be annoyed anymore. Any other teacher would have been reaching for the ruler to smack the palms of his hands, but Mr Graves let the behaviour of his boxers slide. They were boys growing into men, and in his mind, there was nothing wrong with a bit of harmless fun.

"No, what I've got, is something special." As the Coach moved across the gymnasium, Dudley tried desperate to get his mind out of the gutter. He wanted to make a witty comment, but decided against it, because Coach Graves could really lose his rag and he would be sent back to class. Back to Miss Cox and the judgemental eyes of his classmates.

Coach Graves stepped up and presented a small jewellery box to him. "Open it. It's for all your hard effort this last year."

Dudley snorted and snatched the box out of the man's hands. "You proposing, Sir?"

"You might think I'm going all soft, but believe me, I expect you to work even harder now you've got this. This is what past champions at Smeltings have worn and this gift has been stored within the Academy on and off for the past century. Now, you Dudley Dursley, have ownership of it. It's all yours."

Another witty remark about his Coach's age came into his mind, but he batted it away, fingers prying open the box. He let out a low whistle. Inside, was a ring. It was simple, no fancy designs, but it gleamed and as Dudley slowly pulled it free, he scrunched up his eyes, examining the inscription on the inside of the ring.

Smeltings Champion

Although his name engraved would have been more pleasing, Dudley managed to wrench his eyes away from the ring and placed his gaze onto Coach Graves.

"Pure gold?"

"Sure is." Coach Graves grinned. "Pure twenty-four carat gold. Best of the best."

"Sweet." Dudley, adjusting his grip on the ring, handed the box back over to his teacher before levelling the ring millimetres away from his chosen finger. He pushed the ring onto his fourth finger on his right hand, still revelling in the fact he no longer had to push past all of the clogged up flabby skin on his finger to get the damn thing on. He encountered a slight hitch that was overcome by another push and soon enough, the ring settled onto the base of his finger. He clenched his fist, admiring the shine when Coach Graves spoke up.

"Good that you like it. Now, the upcoming boxing tournament, the officials have been in touch with me. It'll be late January, possibly the last weekend of the month. I hope with this gift, you'll be reminded of your responsibility."

The small smile on his face abruptly dropped at his Coach's words. "What do you mean, 'responsibility'?"

"You might be the Champion, Dudley-"

"The Junior Heavyweight Champion of the South East, yes. Coach, I know what I'm doing. I can beat this bloke. Who is it? Who am I fighting?"

"Henry. Henry Jupes." Mr Graves sighed. "Dudley, I'm giving you advice-"

"Never heard of him." Dudley scoffed. "Bet I can punch the little git out in seconds-"

"Dursley! Stay quiet for two seconds! Right, you're fighting Jupes, end of January and trust me, lad, I've heard rumours. The guy fights as if his life depends on it. I believe you'll give your all, like you always do, but I have to remind you that you have a responsibility for this team and especially with what I've just given you, you need to be in top form. Skipping classes has got to stop now. I gave you a break today, because you looked stressed and your face was all red when you came in. I have spoken to Mr Kerrington and I'm aware of the incidents…"

"What 'incidents'? Coach Graves, if you're talking about when I left school that one time, it was sleepwalking! I swear, I'm fine-"

"Your word against the Headmaster's, I'm afraid. Now, I don't want to ban you or have to throw you off the team, because boxing is good for you, Dudley. You won the championship title, fair and square, and we were all proud of what you've achieved. But you need to knuckle down. I don't want any more trouble, just concentrate on your school work and boxing. Yeah?"

"Yeah." Dudley said absent-mindly, once again lost in the shine of the ring. He blinked when calloused hands clapped his shoulders. "Gloves on."

Nodding, he used his thumb to rotate the ring around his finger, pleasure coiling within him at how much credit the gift would give him around school. He had been chosen to wear the ring, because he was the best, and no voice in his head was going to take this moment away from him. He envisioned himself bragging to his mates about how Graves had chosen him to wear the ring, albeit his perception of joy shattered upon realising that he didn't really have any friends left. His schoolmates were technically friends, but not on the same level as Piers and the boys in Little Whinging. Dudley pulled the boxing gloves on, not minding for once that they weren't his, (his currently were hanging up by his bed), shoving away those thoughts. Concentration flooded his mind for the upcoming task.


Cigarette smoke wafted around him and Dudley inhaled the pleasant scent of tobacco. His first instinct when the packets were opened and cigarettes were handed out, alighting from small sparks of flame, was to refuse one. His claim was he needed to keep his lungs clear for his intense boxing training, as he "don't want to be coughing my guts up in the ring like some fucking crackhead." The claim fell out of his mouth at the five refusals, but the real reason would remain hidden. Smoking was a disgusting habit and no matter how much peer pressure, he would not lower himself to the depravities of the other Muggles surrounding him.

The six other boys, all fifth years, inhaled then exhaled that lovely tobacco scent and Dudley's brain buzzed. The craving for nicotine was becoming overwhelming and he scratched at his arm, teeth grinding together.

"D, what's that on your hand? You got new bling?"

'New bling? What idiot talks like this?'

Grateful for the distraction and not registering the sudden thought in his mind, Dudley stopped scratching his arm and puffed up his chest, flexing his hand out for the group to see.

"Coach Graves gave me this. He only gives it to the best boxers in the league, you know? For the past hundred years, only Smeltings Champions have worn this, so he gave it to me, cause I am the Champion and I'm gonna knock the fucker out in January next year. Jupes, what kind of fucking name is that? And yeah, before you ask, that is twenty-four carat gold. So, if anyone gives me shit for wearing jewellery… I'll give them a nice little indent."

He flashed the ring and sputtered out weak laughter, feeling supported by the people around them. Their laughter was not directed at him, but to the poor unfortunate soul who would be his next punching bag. Dudley snorted. They wouldn't be unfortunate. None of them ever were as they always ended up pissing him off in one way or another.

"Dudley."

The temperature seemed to plummet and he retracted his hand to fold his arms over his chest. He settled his frustrated gaze onto Piers, who stood a few metres away from the group, kicking his school shoes into the grass.

"Wanker. What do you want?"

The laughter stopped, the tension thick in the air. The other boys were waiting for a kick-off and all bets were on Dudley taking the win.

"Miss Cox's class today. What was that all about?"

He blinked, suspicion rising in his mind. How the hell did Piers know about this morning? Was he spying on him? "We're not in the same class. How did you…?"

"The whole school's talking about it, Dud. Someone falling asleep and screaming themselves awake is not going to stay quiet." Piers's tone softened, and that boiled the blood underneath Dudley's skin. "Do you need to see the counsellor? Dud, I'll come with you if you want. I won't judge. I won't say a word."

Counselling. The one word attached to mental issues. To craziness. To asylums for nutcases. He couldn't get twisted up in that. It would be the end of his current independent life choices, not to mention the end of his sanity.

Fury radiated through him, and hell hath no fury like a Dursley, because Dudley's skin darkened to a shade of purple matching his father when his fuse blew, pupils zeroing in on the pathetic figure of Piers Polkiss. His arms uncrossed and his hands came up, moving forwards in two large strides to reach Piers, and he shoved him away with all of his strength.

Watching Piers desperately try to maintain his balance was only slightly amusing and as the older boy struggled to not topple over, Dudley trailed his fingers through his hair, mind working in overdrive.

'I should go to see the counsellor, so they can diagnose what the hell is wrong with me and get all this sorted. I'm too far gone… God, I am so fucked. I need help, but I can't say anything. I can't, I can't, I can't…'

Humiliation was the bane of his life and as Piers regained his balance and stepped back into his previous position, not deterred by a shove, Dudley growled again and threw a punch. The sharp crack whistled through the silence and Piers crumpled to the ground, blood staining his lips and teeth. Dudley loomed over the unconscious figure and he held his fist up to his face, examining the blood dusting his knuckles. And all he could think was:

'That bastard got my ring dirty.'

The other boys behind him were clearing off, he could hear them running towards the school building, probably to go and get the Nurse. Dudley exhaled through his mouth before panic fully hit him. He was more or less dead. Kerrington was going to have his arse for this. He'd had numerous warnings and a strict reminder he was on his last chance to prove he could be someone better than a troublesome truant who was digging the teachers into their own graves. It was too late for redemption now.

"All you do is hit. That is all you are good for, Dudley. Hitting and hurting."

The words scorched into his mind and he yelled, clutching at his head in despair. If he was caught near Piers, he would be expelled and hauled off campus.

Bye bye, Smeltings.

Bye bye, Boxing Title.

Bye bye, pure twenty-four carat gold ring.

Eyes alight in planning for the next step, Dudley launched himself into a sprint, heading off of school grounds and as far away as he could get. As far away as he could possibly get before a mob of furious teachers, led by Saint Kerrington, could be unleashed on their mission to drag his sorry arse back to Smeltings Academy.