CHAPTER FORTY NINE

Sitting at his desk, attempting to gleam information from the open book before him, Dudley cushioned his chin with his palms. Books upon books stacked on his desk, the prospect of his exams low-ranking on his current agenda.

To put it bluntly, he had far bigger issues. The macabre thoughts swirled round and round in his mind - they never stopped - he was on edge throughout each waking moment… He needed a way out.

The mis-sighting of the Dark Lord combined with the continuous urge to massacre his entire family was overwhelming him- Sharp inhale. 'Wait… I don't want to kill my parents! Just Potter! Cause if I kill him, Mum and Dad, then only Aunt Marge would remain… And how I will relish her demise.'

A disturbing smile cracked his lips, the light emanating from his desk lamp flickering, his spine uncoiling to pull up to his full height. Knuckles clenching, free fingers grooving into the wooden surface of the desk, Dudley's lower face collapsed into a saddened frown. His desire to block out the depressing thoughts was overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught of echoes;

'Those Muggles are foolish creatures, who shall soon be extinguished. I need you. You can help your family.'

Dudley shuddered, shaking his head in denial, gaze lolling back onto the textbook before him. As his stability once again wavered, his eyes rolled over the same sentence for the fifth time, the information refusing to be absorbed. He gritted his teeth and vocalised his frustration. "Stupid Lenin, why should I care about this bloke? He's dead."

The mere sight of the textbook, filled to the brim with facts regarding Muggles, suddenly sickened him and with a sweep of his good arm, the textbook was sent flying off the desk, to crash land onto the carpet. Compared to the major threat peeling apart his life, GCSE's seemed so trivial. Swivelling round in his black padded chair, Dudley eyed the slightly grimy corded phone sitting atop his bedside cabinet. Before, any phone calls concerning appointments, he left up to his Mum to book, choosing to use the phone only for personal calls – talking to his former friends or mumbling begrudgingly every few minutes to his 'favourite' Aunt. A mental scroll through his current contacts produced only one name, one person who he could bear to speak too.

Wheeling over to the phone, Dudley unhooked the receiver, only to pause half-way to his ear in trepidation. Pushing the numbers, impending catatonic fear looming down heavy upon him, the shrill ringing in his ear…

"Hello?"

What the hell was he supposed to say? Simply breathe down the line like some villain from a horror film? Attempt to spiel out struggles with his homework, when in reality, he would become tongue-tied – tongue shrivelling up akin to a wilting rose – throat closing up. Best to say nothing.

He pulled away from the phone, before slamming the receiver back down, muttering: "Waste of time," rubbing his left cheek onto his hoodie to relieve the dry flakes ingrained within the skin. Despite his decision to not call Piers, his hand remained on the phone, stuck as if super-glued.

Loneliness seeped through his poorly constructed defences. All he wished to do was share his burden and to reveal the true extent of his living nightmare. Yet, the threat hung heavily over him and he feared he would simply be laughed off of the phone.

Shaking his head at the madness, Dudley gently pulled his hand away and moved his chair back by pushing his feet down for momentum.

"No one can help me now."

Bribery was a common theme throughout his childhood, and the morning of January 2nd was no exception. As a young child; rage induced screams, anguished wailing and foot stamping was a regular occurrence in a tantrum. Embarrassingly, the habit of stamping his foot was only broken two years ago. However, upon hearing that his parents wanted him to accompany them to King's Cross, for the purpose of dropping Potter off, pushed him too far.

"I don't want to go!" He stomped his foot down hard enough for the framed pictures in the living room to rattle on the wall.

"Dudders," Vernon zipped up his seam-splitting dark brown jacket. "I know it's not ideal, but we don't want you to be home all by yourself. We're going shopping once the boy is out of our hair. We haven't seen you much these past few weeks and you'll be going back to Smeltings. Nothing wrong with wanting to spend time with my boy, is there?" A smile fixated on the obese walrus's face.

'Everything is WRONG, Dad. EVERYTHING… but you don't care to open up your eyes to the truth.'

"Yeah?" His nonchalant answer concealed the fury he wanted to unleash onto his father, who was concealing his own fears behind a façade of 'family bonding'.

'The truth is, is because you have no friends anymore and you don't leave the house. We want to make sure you're okay, Son… cause if you're not, then our excellent 'perfect' image will be tarnished and if you top yourself, then it will be ruined… we will have failed as parents and oh, if that were to happen, our only child gone, won't we weep?'

Lips pulling into a sneer, one that resembled a certain Potions Professor, Dudley shook his head. "You're gonna have to do better than that. I don't care about him," He gestured vaguely to the half-blood in the background. "Why should I come?"

"Duddy!" Mum's shrill voice, once again, almost popped his eardrum. "We'll buy you the latest Playstation games, the ones that you didn't get for Christmas! Please come with us, we're going to have a lovely, wonderful day, just the three of us!" Harry did not bother expressing a visible reaction, he was used to being excluded from the immediate family. "You can buy whatever you want! Please, baby," Her eyes glistened with fresh tears. "I know you're a big boy now," Dudley rolled his eyes, she wouldn't stop banging on, an action that his parents both seemingly chose to ignore. "It's j-just… I haven't seen you m-much and as Daddy said, you'll be l-leaving in a matter of d-days and I-" She choked up and flickers of amusement danced across her son's facial features, which were also conveniently ignored. Petunia plastered on a gushing smile, despite the fat tears slowly rolling down her pinched cheeks, clasping her manicured hands together. "We can buy a new suit for your Leaver's Ball. I bet all your classmates will be jealous!"

Blue eyes narrowing in distaste, Dudley's expression remained impassive, whereas internally, his short fuse of a temper was burning.

'Stupid 'Leaver's Ball', what a waste of time. Dancing about like I'm a puppet on strings… No thanks. I'd rather eat another of those toffees that messed up my tongue.'

Shaking his head viciously, hair whipping the back of his neck, Dudley snorted. "I'm not gay, Mum. Why would the blokes at school be jealous of a suit? I'm not going to the stupid 'Leaver's Ball', it's gonna be terrible. Anyway, I've got better stuff to be doing."

As his Mum's expression became crestfallen, her heart appearing to splinter, Potter decided to pipe up in his infinite wisdom: "Such as?"

"What?"

"Well, you just said you have 'better stuff' to be doing, so what do you mean? Care to explain?"

Gritting his teeth in annoyance, Dudley shot back: "It doesn't concern you, Potter. Why don't you go back to your stupid school and stop bothering us?!"

"Er, Dudley…" Potter drew out his syllables. "Have you not been listening to the conversation? That's where I'm going today."

He wanted to smash his fist into that smug grin. "Shut it. I'm not deaf."

As Potter crossed his arms over his chest in apparent triumph, Dudley was verbally accosted again by his mother. "Duddy, please! We'll do whatever you want, I promise you! We don't want you home alone-"

"Okay, okay!" His hands flew up to flap at her. "I'll come, whatever. Just stop banging on about it…" Hands dropping to slide into the pockets of his dressing gown, he murmured: "When are we going?"

"In half an hour." His Dad marched towards the front door. "I'm just going to de-ice the car."

As the front door blew shut from a gust of wind, his Dad letting loose a swearword from outside at the sudden startle, Dudley climbed up the stairs to the bathroom. Padding onto the landing, he rolled his eyes to the back of his head. A headache was forming in his frontal lobe. His parents were desperate in their insistence on playing happy families, and all it achieved was him yearning to reach for a power drill, to drill deep down into his brain.

The drive to King's Cross Station was awkward. His parents chattered in the front whilst he blasted his music through his headphones, rendering the chatter to nothing more than background murmurs. The tight fabric restricting his right hand was slowly soaking up the continuous particles of sweat, whereas the left one, free of restrictions, cradled against his grey hoodie. The fabric underneath his armpits darkened, his goal for his music to help him block out the entire world. The empty middle seat served a slight distance between them, yet Potter was still near him and although Dudley kept his gaze facing the window, watching the motorway pass by, the back of his head still felt scorched, a pair of burning eyes, awaiting his inevitable umpteenth breakdown.

Upon arriving at King's Cross Station, Dudley hung back to pause his music, recalling the last visit and his little run-in with Evans. The platforms Nine and Ten were bustling with Muggles, hurrying to and from trains in the post-Christmas rush, however the small group of frea- wizards and witches huddled together, stuck out like a girl in an all-boys school. Odd glances were thrown their way, and Dudley didn't blame the Muggles. Trollies supporting massive trunks, owls hooting in their cages, different coloured robes… An odd spectacle indeed, and within the centre of the group, stood the Boy Who Lived… famous to those privy to magic and the magical world.

Potter cleared his throat, nodding slightly at his relatives. "Well… see you in the summer, I guess."

Vernon, bristling at the boy's attitude, scowled, before turning to his wife. "Come Petunia, we've wasted enough time here."

Mr and Mrs Weasley exchanged frowns, as the Dursleys shuddered in horror at the amount of children they seemed to have under their wing. Petunia in particular, could not help but recoil in horror. Breeding akin to rats… No, her Duddykins was all she needed.

Harry, smiling at Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred and George, caught a glimpse of his cousin out the corner of his eye and promptly lost his smile when he noticed his cousin's strange behaviour, for Dudley was staring at them.

Instead of scurrying over to his parents like the Mummy's Boy he was, his detested cousin seemed to be rooted to the spot and Harry was soon not the only one of the group to notice.

"Why is he staring at us?" Ron scoffed. "He's a prat. Maybe," He grinned. "He wants to come to Hogwarts with us. Might be fun, we could introduce him to Peeves."

Ginny grinned as the Twins cackled in amusement, their younger brother's suggestion envisioning a side-splitting mental image. Ron shrugged his shoulders when Hermione swatted him in the ribs, as Harry snorted, imagining his supposed 'tough' older cousin fleeing in fear from Peeves, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"He's probably stoned, wouldn't be the first time." Harry rolled his eyes, for once, at ease discussing one of his living relatives, only to revel in his cousin's misery after years of childhood bullying. "Apparently, he and his little 'gang' have had an argument. He's really torn up about it, just stays in the house all day… Honestly, I didn't realise Dudley was capable of such emotions, like sadness."

Laughter bubbled up, as Hermione shook her head, preparing to admonish her friend.

"Harry, I know you don't like him and yes, he's not the best choice of relative, but he's your cousin." She lowered her voice. "Your only cousin."

"Hermione," Harry shook his own head. "Trust me, if you had spent your early childhood stuck in the same household as Dudley Dursley, then you'd be aware of how much of a cruel arsehole he is."

The atmosphere darkened momentarily, before Fred managed to lighten the mood. "Look George, Dudders has followed our hair trend."

Standing several feet away, Dudley shifted uncomfortably. They were gossiping about him and before, before he wouldn't care. Now, his ears burned as if doused in fire. To confront them would be illogical and his deep-seated fear of magic gripped him. He jostled his sling and forced his gaze away from the group. His panic in looking away caused his sight to be taken in by a pair of piercing grey eyes. Sunk into a pale clean-shaven face, framed by long groomed blond hair – Dudley reckoned the bloke resembled one of those Barbie dolls the girls at primary school had obsessed over – a cape covering well-dressed clothes. A vampire then. Blue eyes flickered down to the elegant cane gripped between pale hands, the cane sporting a decorative silver snake-head. The figure was lurking down the platform and as Dudley snapped his gaze up, the lips were quirking up in triumph, and he didn't know why.

Unable to glare due to the overwhelming fear, Dudley spun on the spot and marched after his departing parents, cheeks burning with embarrassment and wishing desperately for the platform to open up and swallow him whole.

Oxford Street resembled King's Cross Station – bustling with Muggles. He was head and shoulders taller than half the crowd and he was forced to grit his teeth together in frustration to contain his swelling rage, as another tourist tread down painfully on his foot. Two minutes later, toes throbbing within his trainer, his Dad was kicking off as a family of tourists halted abruptly in their tracks, right in front of them, to stare at a hand-held map.

"Oh, for God's Sake! Move out of the way! Bloody tourists, people are trying to walk here!" The tourists glanced back, and upon encountering the sight of a very fat pissed-off British man, hurried off with their map bunched between their hands.

Vernon gloated at 'besting those damn tourists', but Dudley tuned out his father's ranting, stopping dead in his own tracks. His line of sight seemed to narrow in as, up ahead, on the other side of a zebra crossing, stood the Dark Lord.

Breath catching in his throat, Dudley nodded, stunned, when his Mum wondered: "Do you want some lunch now, Duddikins? A salad?"

"Mmh, c-chicken." He dare not blink, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. The prospect of his Master standing in the middle of a packed Muggle attraction was ludicrous, however at this point, Dudley didn't rule anything out as his view of the world had drastically changed and now, he shouldn't even bat an eyelid at the absurdity of the situation.

Muggles filtered around him, streaming past and he continued to stare at the Dark Lord, feeling the darkness creeping into his head. His ears buzzed and a slick liquid dripped down both sides of his jaw. Fingers on his left hand swiped the liquid off his skin and held the fingers aloft.

Blood.

He was bleeding from his ears.

His eyes bulged and he was attempting to clamp down his scream when a pot of salad was thrust in his face. "Here you go, Dudders, I got the salad. They didn't have any yoghurts, so I got you a lovely vegan brownie."

Vernon gagged and pretended to retch. "Why in the hell would you eat vegan food? Pet, Dudders doesn't need vegan food. He needs proper food."

Smile fixing onto her face, Petunia sidled up to her husband and whispered out the corner of her mouth; "He wants to maintain a healthy diet for his boxing training."

"Our son is not going vegan! I won't have a vegan member of the household!"

The pot of salad was still in his face and his eyes, dry from lack of moisture, blinked. Boom, the blood had vanished from his fingers and as his fingers dropped and gaze lifted, boom, the Dark Lord had vanished from sight.

Lump welling up in his throat, his hands wrapping around the salad, Dudley whispered: "I'm hungry."

Shopping spree over with, feet aching beyond belief, Dudley actually welcomed the sight of Number Four Privet Drive. All he wanted to do was throw himself onto his bed, lie down and absorb his constant ticking brain into several hours of mindless television. Alas, his plans were dashed as soon as they entered the property.

"Duddy, I'll help you pack your bags for school. Oh, we will miss you so much, sweetheart."

Once alone, he sagged against the closed door. By 'help', what his Mum meant was: '"I'll pack all your bags, whilst you sit on the bed and tell me what you want me to pack. You won't have to lift a finger.'"

Under 'ordinary' circumstances, he would have relished handing over the responsibility, but now… 'I want to pack my own suitcase, she'll just infect my stuff. Filthy Muggle blood-"

Catching himself, he twisted to face the mirror and found himself prodding his face, twinging in pain at the movement of his strapped-up arm. "Bit hypocritical, mmh? I'm Muggle…" Lips contorting into a wide grin, his eyes flashed red. "Well, not for much longer."

He stumbled back, blinking rapidly to flush out the crimson colour, stretching open his mouth wide to confirm that no blockages were in his windpipe. The strain of his bandaged arm distracted his thoughts;

'Oh god, the boxing tournament… I haven't practiced at all! Coach Graves is going to kill me… What do I do? I don't want to fight… I need to take this sling off, GET IT OFF!'

Snapping his mouth shut, Dudley wrestled with his sling, managing to free his arm a couple of minutes later. He stretched out his freed hand, skin marked from the restrictive fabric, palm soaked in sweat. His wrist was slightly swollen and balling his fist sent a jolt of pain shooting down towards his forearm. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed the pain to disappear, flexing his hand and keeping his arm straightened in front of him.

Dudley cracked open his eyes, quick check – BLUE, steering himself into the kitchen to dose himself up with strong painkillers, before getting down to serious business.

Once his bags were packed, assisting from the comfort of his bed, Dudley easily persuaded his Dad to help with boxing practice. Vernon was all too happy to support his champion's development in training, only hoping when Dudley hit the pads he was wearing, that he wasn't sent flying onto his back. They set up in the garden shed, Vernon's DIY projects in differing states of completion. There was enough space for Vernon to stand near his workbench, pads held up high enough for his son to hit. Meanwhile, Dudley dressed in boxing shorts and wifebeater, despite the freezing winter weather, pulled on his boxing gloves. His right wrist twinged, but he passed off the pain by exhaling sharply, turning to face his Dad.

"I'm ready. You?"

"Give me your best right hook, Dudders."

Face set into pure determination, Dudley thrust his right glove forwards, slamming his Dad's padded hand back.

"That's it!" More hits were rained down on the boxing pads, until Dudley was panting for sweet oxygen, sweat staining his shirt. His Dad smiled proudly at him and clapped him on the shoulder with his own sweaty hands, the pads tossed aside onto the workbench. "You're a natural, Dudley. I'm proud of you, you're going to win this tournament hands down!"

Mustering a weak smile, Dudley waited for an exhausted Vernon to wobble out of the shed, before collapsing the smile and hunching in on himself, his wrist pulsating painfully.

A restless night occurred, and then he was eating his last meal with his parents before heading back to Smeltings the following morning. 'Although, it does actually feel like my last meal…' His heart clenched. 'I don't want to die…'

"We're coming to your little boxing tournament, darling," Petunia nibbled the fish off her fork and swallowed before continuing. "Ring us when you know the exact time and date. We'll be in the front row, cheering you on!"

Her pride in her child's achievements was dampened slightly by the constant fear of Dudley getting hurt, with horrific visions of her son bleeding all over the boxing ring and him succumbing to his injuries- She shook her head. Natural worries regarding her child were normal. He would win the tournament, he won at everything in life!

"Duddy," She frowned slightly at the sight of him poking his food. "Honey, if the tournament is stressing you out, we can have a nice pampering day."

"Petunia, he's a man. Men don't go to spas."

"You don't, but others do. Number Ten does, that Jeff, he's always going to spa retreats with that new girlfriend of his." Her nose wrinkled, before relaxing. "Dudders, we can go to the barbers if you'd like. Fix your hair, so you look all ready for your little fight."

"It's not a little fight." Vernon stated, whilst Dudley shook his head quickly. "No, the hair stays."

"But Dud-"

"You got a problem?" He burned his gaze into her own concerned one. "I ain't a doll, Mum. You can't just dress me up whenever you feel like it. I'm not ten anymore, I'll do whatever I like."

"I know, sweetheart-"

"You know, so leave it. Bet you wanted a girl, huh? One to dress up and name after a flower and parade around."

"Duddy," Hand fluttering to her chest, she bit her lip. "I wanted a boy… I…" She stopped herself. It was true. Growing up, she had imagined herself as a mother of two or three children, but when she was a teenager, she had decided on only the one. And amongst the excitement of falling pregnant, was the hope for a boy. To have a girl… would be too painful, to reminisce of the past. To provide a sibling for her first-born, for her Duddy… was too painful.

"Mmh," Grunting to express his boredom of the conversation, Dudley couldn't help but remember his ill-fated visit to the barbers. Sick spraying everywhere, all over the walls and sofa, and what if… the scissors nicking the veins and arteries in his neck, the razor carving deep into his skull…

"No," He stated firmly, scraping his mash together with a knife. "No barber visits."

The drive back to Smeltings consisted of a continuous stream of traffic, delaying them up to an hour and a half. The stop-start motion of the vehicle should have interrupted any individual's nap, however Dudley, exhausted from a night of little sleep, dozed off in the backseat, ear resting on the fabric of the seatbelt, arms crossed and knees tucked up.

Glancing at the rear-view mirror, Petunia smiled warmly at the picture of innocence her son presented, unaware of the true extent of his torturous nightmare.

He was running for his life. Running from Coach Graves, who was on the hunt. He had reported for his weigh-in and having piled on three stone, hurtled from the office, his Coach roaring in rage. Panic exploded across his chest and he struggled to maintain his sprinting speed. If Graves caught him…

Smeltings Academy was an expansive building, however he could not run for ever. Hiding options were limited. Graves was hot on his heels… His cold breath seemed to lift up the hairs on the back of his neck…

"CRUCIO!"

Dudley clattered to the floor like a sack of bricks. Excruciating pain filled his body and he twitched on the corridor floor, foam seeping out of his mouth.

This was it. His death, mercifully sweet and short… He hoped.

Jerking awake two miles away from Smeltings, Dudley shoved down the bile and gratefully accepted the tube of fruit pastilles Mum offered him.

"Need something, I'm starving."

"We're nearly there, sweetie. Most of the traffic has cleared. Did you have a nice nap?"

"Hhm? Oh, yeah… Needed that and all."

A sweet smile was offered to him this time and as Mum turned away, he unwrapped the paper and popped the yellow coloured pastille onto his tongue, the lemon flavour exploding in his mouth.

As soon as their car had stopped before the Academy steps, Dudley opened the door, unbuckled his seatbelt and swung his legs round. He shook them, then stood up and went round to the boot. Bags safely on the ground, he slammed the boot shut and reluctantly turned towards his parents.

His Mother pulled him into a crushing hug, kissing his cheek fiercely. "Ooh, Duddikins! It never gets easier saying goodbye! We love you so much, we'll see you soon!" She broke away, hands reaching up to cradle his flushed cheeks. "Any problems, don't hesitate to call me."

"I know." His Father stepped forwards to clap a hand onto his back. "Well, see you soon, Son. Keep up your practice, and when you win, we'll go out as a family to celebrate!"

'If I win… and guess, Potter won't be on the guest list…'

"Alright," The driveway was empty, however fellow students could be staring out the windows, ribbing each other and talking smack about him. He shuddered and nodded awkwardly. "Bye then." Turning towards the steps, he lugged his bags up to the main doors, ignoring his parents until the heavy doors sealed shut behind him, allowing the huge breath buried on his chest to be released.

The dormitory was well-lit, a welcome haven for the returning students. Dumping his bags onto his bed, Dudley ignored the others in the dorm, believing that no-one wanted to be associated with him. What he didn't know was that the others wanted to talk with him, however his hardened scowl meant one confirmation. Dursley was pissed off.

At that moment, Piers sloped in and sat down on his bed, half-smiling at his 'former' friend – truthfully, the state of their relationship was so far up in the air, Piers was unsure if they would ever sort out where they stood. Hoping not to have his head bitten off, he wondered:

"Alright, D? How was your Christmas?"

Surprise flashed over Dudley's face, before he masked the shock to respond: "Alright. You?"

He didn't care about the answer, but to act nonchalant was his usual attitude. Keep up the façade and not alert Piers any further how far he had slipped.

"Good."

"Where were you?" The question slipped out of his mouth before his brain had the chance to try and form words. He shrugged his shoulders, in an attempt to act unbothered. "Just didn't see you around, s'all."

"Oh, I was in France."

"Holiday?"

"Nah, visiting my Nan and Grandad."

"Huh?" Dudley screwed up his face in confusion. "But your Nan and Grandad live in North London."

"Yeah, that's my Dad's parents. My Mum's live in France."

"When did they move there?"

"They live there."

"Yeah, but did they go like last year? When?"

"Nah, they're French. Always lived in Marseille."

"Oh, didn't know you were half frog."

Piers cracked a smile. "Shut it." His tone was jovial. "My Mum's a frog as well."

"I didn't know," Dudley smirked. "Froggy."

"You never asked." Piers pointed out.

"But you don't sound French."

"Well, yeah, I was born here. I only visit every couple of years, so don't see them a lot… You see your Aunt?"

"Huh? Nah," Aunt Marge was never stepping foot over the threshold of Number Four again. "You don't look French."

Piers laughed. "D, we don't all carry round baguettes and onions."

The smirk was lost. "Actually, I'd rather have gone France. Potter came back for Christmas."

"Oh, that's shit. Why?"

"I dunno… He'd better not be coming back for summer…" 'I'll make sure he never comes back.'

"Hopefully St Brutus's will give your parents a break and keep him there. You want to grab some dinner?"

"Alright, but I need to be quick," Despite his nightmare, he couldn't avoid Coach Graves forever and the sooner he encountered him, the quicker the dreaded reunion would be off his shoulders.

Once he had consumed a light dinner, Dudley headed towards the gym and briefly hesitated outside of the open office door, before knocking on the wooden frame and sticking his head round the door.

"Coach?... Alright?"

Cold eyes stared directly at him, and Dudley stepped further into the office, shifting uncomfortably as Graves analysed him from head to toe.

"I-I've stuck to my diet," He winced at the stutter. "I've stuck to my t-training." Bare-faced Lie.

"Step onto the scales, Dursley." The tone was hardened, and Dudley suddenly lost his small dose of courage, wishing that he had actively avoided running into Coach Graves on his first night back.

"O-Okay." He pried off his trainers and stepped slowly onto the scales, staring straight ahead at the freshly painted wall. Behind him, Graves neared the scale, but what Dudley didn't realise was that Graves was easing his foot onto the scales and pressing down, adding extra weight. As the weight clocked in, a bellow erupted.

"I BLOODY KNEW IT!"

Dudley jumped and snapped his gaze down, seeing only his two feet stood on the scale, but before he could properly read the number, he was yanked off the scale. "YOU PIGGED OUT, DIDN'T YOU, DURSLEY?!" Spittle flew in his face and Dudley reared back from the sheer volume of the shout. "I KNEW IT! YOU FAT WHALE! YOU'RE A DISGRACE!"

His temper blew, and swiftly, Dudley was balling his fists, cheeks and tips of his ears reddening, teeth bared, voice matching the volume of the older man.

"I'M NOT! YOU'RE MESSING WITH ME! YOU'RE DOING THIS ON PURPOSE!"

"DON'T LIE TO ME, DURSLEY! YOUR PARENTS HAVE BEEN FATTENING YOU UP AGAIN! LIAR!"

"SHUT YOUR FILTHY MOUTH, MUGGLE!"

The power cut out and before Coach Graves could spit out another tirade, Dudley fled from the office, back to the dormitory. Banging down the corridors, he struggled to catch his breath, panic fluttering in his chest like a horde of butterflies desperate to escape.