House: Slytherin

Category: Short Story

Prompt: Dementors [Creature]

Word Count (excluding A/N): 1584

Summary: Dudley's greatest fear is disappointing his mother.

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"Come on, Big D." Piers Polkiss handed him a small Ziploc bag filled with something green and shriveled.

Dudley slowly opened the Ziploc, thinking of Aunt Petunia's hysterical tears when Smeltings suspended him for drug abuse. "This weed?" he grunted.

"Whaddaya think?" Piers snapped, his eyes flashing. "It was hella hard to get, too, so be grateful ya got any."

"Don't be such a fuckin' arse," Dudley told the shorter teen. "I jus' gotta make sure everything's good."

Piers fell silent, and after Dudley spent a few moments inspecting the weed, he blurted out, "You ready to smoke joint?"

"Yeah. Mum's been on my damn case about it, though." She'd been inconsolable for days on end and only him swearing on his dead mother's grave — because if he used drugs again she'd kill herself — not to even touch drugs again had cheered her up. "She doesn't like this."

Piers shrugged. "Eh, forget 'er. Ya got matches?"

"We gotta do it at your house." Pier's mum wouldn't care if they were getting high in the basement, and there was no chance of nosy, gossiping neighbors catching sight of them stoned and reporting to his own mum. The thought sent shivers down his spine. "We'd be outta our minds to smoke here. Let's go."

"Can't," Piers answered shortly. "We gotta do it here— cause— well— my mam says it stinks up the house like something awful."

Dudley grunted. "We're getting high in a fucking dump."

"Yeah," Piers mumbled, slouching and shoving his hands into his pockets. "But don't talk so loud. That old vulture over there might hear."

Dudley glanced over at the faraway park bench where Arabella Figg normally sat. "She's already gone."

"Huh. Then ya gonna try some?"

"Nah, I'm good." Dudley tried to pass the Ziploc bag to Piers. "It's getting cold. We should go in."

But Piers, narrowing his eyes at Dudley, refused to take the Ziploc. "You too chicken?"

"No—" Dudley frowned, not wanting to explain his creeping unease which insisted they leave the park immediately. It was too open, too exposed. "I just don't want to."

"An' I thoughtcha were Big D," Piers scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "But yer afraid of some leaves. Me and the boys're gonna have to start calling ya Little D."

"Fine." Dudley ripped open the bag, dumped some weed into the palm of his hand, and eyed it warily. "You first."

"Yer a bloody coward," Piers laughed. Then he froze mid-laugh, his eyes widening as he began to shiver violently.

Dudley knew he ought to have bristled at the insult or asked Piers what the matter was, but the cold was suddenly intensifying and his knees were knocking together as his entire body shook. "P-P-Piers," he stammered. "Y-y-y-you f-feel that-t?"

Eyes wide, Piers nodded in reply, seemingly too terrified to speak a word, and then his freakish cousin Harry came sprinting towards them, shouting, "Run! Dudley, Piers, run!"

Piers turned tail and raced away, but Dudley was rooted to the spot, torn between his desire to prove that he wasn't a coward, the overwhelming, irrational fear that wouldn't let his legs move, and his brain's orders to get the hell away from whatever freakishness was happening. His breath began to cloud before him in a thick, white fog, the cold invaded his body, sinking deep into his bones, and Dudley found himself sinking into hopelessness and despair.

Then, he heard his mum's scream of horror. "Dudley Vernon Dursley! Why aren't you at Smeltings?"

"I'm sorry, mum," he whispered. "I let you down."

"I got a letter from the school and— and— I didn't believe it and— oh, my ickle Diddykins— how could you do this to me?"

Dudley stood there, awash in fear and shame and guilt, unable to answer.

"Dudders, you c-could have d-d-d-died," his mother choked out. "Drugs are d-d-dangerous. And what would I do without my little angel? W-w-why did you—"

"I didn't think," he whispered, hanging his head in shame. But an icy cold hand placed itself underneath his chin and began lifting his head; the air around him seemed to whisper, But it's still your fault, that means nothing.

Something lifted him from the ground, and as he dangled there in its grasp, his legs brushed against ragged cloth. Death had come to claim him; his mother deserved to live, but he, her worthless, lying, doping boy, did not.

Cold, clammy air ghosted over his face, and Dudley was only faintly aware of his head being forced upwards and his lips puckered, too caught up in his guilt and shame and regret.

He'd betrayed his mother. The woman who'd been there for him since birth, selflessly putting her child ahead of herself. He'd failed her.

Death would certainly have something to say about it.

Soft, squishy, rotting flesh pressed against his lips, and something deep within him shrieked. Yet for all his terror, as he hung there in the creature's embrace, the world seemed to mute: the sounds came as if he were underwater, the colours bleached to a dull grey, and even the feel of dead lips against his own faded to the light fluttering of butterfly's wings.

. . . . . . . .

His cousin was hanging limp in the Dementor's grasp, and for some second Harry believed he'd come too late, that Dudley had already been Kissed.

But either way, he'd try his best to save his cousin. He charged closer, bellowing, Expecto Patronum!

A silver stag burst from his wand and bowled into the Dementor, forcing it to relinquish Dudley. The dementor's partner swooped in to Kiss Dudley, but the stag wheeled about and placed itself between the teenager and the foul creature.

While the stag held off the Dementors, Harry ran forward to snap Dudley from his shock and help his cousin to his feet. "Come on," he grunted as he slung Dudley's arm over his shoulder and supported his cousin's weight. "We need to get out of here. My Patronus won't last long."

Dudley blinked, shuffling a few more steps before saying, "Your— your what?"

"My Patronus. It keeps Dementors away."

Dudley shuddered, violent spasms which almost knocked Harry off his feet. "D-Dementor?"

"Yes," Harry replied solemnly. "They guard the Wizarding prison."

"Th-then w-why do I feel so ho-horrid?"

"Because they drain your happiness and make you relive your worst fears." As he said that, Harry glanced back. "Hurry, please, Dudley. We have to get back to the house. We'll be safe there."

"Okay." During the walk home, Dudley focused on not spewing over Harry and putting one foot in front of another. However, his mother's hysterical sobs kept forcing themselves to the forefront of his mind and her wails of, "Oh, Dudders, my little Diddykins, what did I do wrong?"

When they reached the house, Dudley saw Aunt Petunia standing in the yard, her worried expression so similar to the one he came home to after his suspension from Smeltings, and he couldn't take it any longer. With a sob he fell onto his mother, the guilt and shame of having disappointed her rising within him and forcing their way out of his throat, along with his lunch.

Hs retched on the sidewalk, then embraced his mother. "I— I'm sorry," he choked out. "So— so— so sorry, m-m-mum."

"Nonsense, Dudders," she murmured, running her fingers through his hair as she held him tight against her. "It's not your fault." Her tone took on a harsher tone. "It's that freak's."

Over his mum's shoulder, Dudley saw his father advancing on Harry, who defiantly stood his ground. "I saved his soul," Harry stated, eyes flashing. "Are you really going to punish me for that?"

"Don't tempt me, boy," his father growled, advancing on Harry, fists clenching as if he wished to punch the boy then and there. He towered over Harry and he spat, "Now what did you do to Dudley."

"I didn't do anything!"

"Stop lying!" Vernon roared, the veins in his neck bulging.

"D—Dad, he's t-t-telling the truth," Dudley stammered. Then, with more authority, "Leave him alone. Ju-just go back into the house. Please."

"Fine." His father stalked indoors and, once he'd left, Harry collapsed to the sidewalk.

"Thanks, Big D."

"Don't call me that anymore," he snapped, only realising after his harsh he'd sounded. "Sorry, Harry. Just— could you go inside?"

Harry laughed humorlessly. "If I did, I might not come out. I'll sit in the backyard if you need time."

"Thanks." Dudley watched his cousin shut the gate behind him, then turned to his mother. "Mum, I want to say sorry."

"For what, dear? It's not your fault. It's that freak's." His mother grimaced.

"No, it's my fault." Dudley cast his eyes down. "I shouldn'ta been in the park in the first place. I was with Piers—"

"Piers?" she interrupted. "I told you to stop seeing him!"

"Yes, mum, I know. But I wanted some— I wanted— well, I wanted some weed."

"Ah." His mother stood up and dusted herself off. "I see."

Dudley staggered to his feet as well and caught her hand "Mum! Please! I can't lie to you. Those creatures that attacked me? Well— they were—" He glanced around the empty street, then lowered his voice. "They're bloody terrifying and make you relive your greatest fear. And mine was disappointing you."

He paused, made sure his mother was watching, then added, "And that's why I'm never going to do drugs again. Don't worry about me anymore, mom."

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