Credit to Storyseeker for the suggestion of the snake and the plot point involving the Muggle Liasion Office talking to Vernon and Petunia. I've implemented them into my fic. This was a lot of fun to write.
CHAPTER FIFTY THREE
Unaware of their only child's predicament, the enormity of the past nineteen hours weighing heavily on their shoulders, Vernon and Petunia began their drive home in silence. Their car roared down the motorway, leaving fellow vehicles in their wake. A smooth sailing journey was swiftly cut short, as they joined the tail-end of a huge traffic jam. Lanes upon lanes, gridlocked, wrapped up figures hunched within their vehicles, drivers angrily beeping their horn in failure to budge the heaving stream forward.
Instead of jumping on the bandwagon, Vernon sighed and reached out a hand to fiddle with the radio.
"Don't mind me putting some music on, do you, Pet?"
The one in question shook her head absentmindedly in response, memories of her son spiralling into overdrive. She recalled when her little boy took his first few steps - she had been on the verge of happy tears – he toddled on the carpet, spurred on by Mummy's big broad smile and loving encouragement. Completing his brave journey, falling into her arms, a wet kiss and gushing words of praise collapsed Dudley into a fit of giggles. She had held him so tight… and upon encountering the sight of her Duddy confined to a medical bed, slotted within a bay, the possibility of laying on his deathbed, frightened her immensely. Shuddering breathlessly, Petunia was reduced to sinking her nerves into a damaging childhood habit. Her manicured nails chipped and bitten, the moisture of a swiped lone tear soaking into a sore nailbed, irritation reared up at her husband's demeanour. Country music quietly drawled out of the car radio, (a favoured genre only she was allowed to be aware of), Vernon settling back comfortably in his seat, fingers drumming the sides of the steering wheel, a tuneless whistle expressing his contentment.
Their respective love for each other, strengthened by an eighteen year rock-solid marriage, could not prevent Petunia from pursing her own lips in disapproval. Her husband's apparent relaxation was perhaps a ploy for him to conceal his true emotions regarding the shattering news that they were still struggling to register. After all, why shouldn't her husband express his relief by sitting comfortably in his beloved car, listening to music that reminded him of his own childhood? Their son had been discharged with an all-clear, double checked scans, ensuring that Dudley was fit and healthy. Vernon's love for Dudley could not be questioned - the day of his birth marked one of the rare moments her husband had shed tears - however to be jovial, whether pretence or not, didn't sit right with her. Imitating the relaxed nature of her partner was difficult, and she sat in the passenger seat, shoulders knotted tight with tension. Her stoic expression buried the swelling emotions.
Whistle warbling in the background, Petunia wondered if she had made the correct decision. Allowing Dudley to stay at Smeltings, as per her darling's wishes, opened up a bitter case of regret. Her reluctance to leave him there, alone, had been overpowered by his strong sense of obligation to the Academy. To celebrate his victory, bask in his triumph.
"He's becoming a man, Pet. Dudders is a strong boy. He'd let us know if he's not feeling right." Vernon's words, repeated twice for her reassurance, flooded back to her. Yet those very words had fallen on deaf ears, and she continued to feel like she had… failed him.
'A Mother's duty is to care for her child… and what kind of Mother does that make me, allowing my only child to return to the location where he suffered a life-threatening seizure? I've allowed him to return to the scene of the crime!'
"H-He should have come h-home with us…" Petunia uttered her fears out-loud, hoping that her husband would continue to be supportive. Disagreeing with Dudley's opinion unsettled her. Their mother-son bond was so strong and to question his decision… would he ever forgive her?
"H-He should have come home with u-us, right? Vernon… d-did we make the right choice?" The tears were back again.
The traffic was still the epitome of a nightmare, meaning they currently had all the time in the world to partake in an involved discussion. The whistling cut out, a low grunt the result of an upheaval battle to sit upright and turn off the music.
"Come on, Petunia," Vernon shifted round in his seat to face her, a reassuring smile propping up his bushy moustache. "Dudley's a Dursley and us Dursleys, don't back down easily. I remember being his age, the stress of teenage hood. He'll be fine, our boy's made of strong stock." He let loose a snicker. "Besides at Smeltings, if a boy went crying down the telephone to their Mother, then they became the laughing stock of the entire Academy. Children nowadays are far too soft anyway," He stopped snickering and lay a hand softly on top of her bony knuckles. "Our boy isn't soft. Trust me, my love, he'll be okay."
Struggling to maintain her composure, Petunia nodded, grateful for the physical contact. "Okay, I trust you… Dear?" She stared at him, awaiting his reaction. "When we get home… do you fancy opening the bottle of Sherry, Marge gifted us last year?" Beady eyes widened momentarily. "I know it's early and day drinking is only socially acceptable on certain days…"
"I think that's a brilliant idea, Pet." Vernon bore a smug smirk. "We can raise a toast to our Dudders on his win. Oh, that reminds me, when we next see him, I'll ask about the recording of the match. Remember, they promised me they were going to film it specially for us."
"Yes," She mumbled, dread rising at the prospect of witnessing the seizure on film. Their hands separated and both turned to face the windscreen once more. Aggressive beeping and rattling engines resumed their source of background noise. "I need a damn drink."
A little over two hours later, they were turning into their suburban cul-de-sac, the sign displaying the name of the road streaked with rain droplets. When they had set off from Privet Drive yesterday afternoon, the emotions stirring within them were a mixture of excitement and pride… and perhaps a slight touch of one-sided fear. That constant fear, latching onto her at every one of Dudley's matches, would now be too much to handle. Witnessing the blood of her child splattering against his sweat shined skin could not compete with the fear of another severe injury. The sprained wrist over Christmas worried her enough, but a full-blown seizure, he had suffered so much, and she had left him there.
Her heart clenched in guilt. 'I should have stopped him boxing, no matter how much he loves it… the sport is too dangerous.'
"Petunia?" The clear concern snapped her out of her self-pitying trance. "Let's get inside, dear, it's going to start raining."
At this remark, a distant memory wormed to the front of her mind, and she smiled bitterly.
"Remember that foolish freak trying to convince us that they could make cats and dogs rain out of the sky?"
Vernon blinked, startled beyond belief. His wife rarely ever mentioned her sister and brother-in-law. Ever since they had died, all the way up until that giant freak had come crashing down on the door of their rented hut, frightening them half to death, any mention of the freaks was considered strictly taboo on his part, for fear of upsetting and angering his other half.
Snorting his startlement away, Vernon muttered: "Should have done himself a favour and wished for money instead. At least, that way, he would have had a plausible reason for not working."
Smothering her cutting bark of laughter as they climbed out of the car, Petunia flashed a beaming smile at a passing neighbour, who was shielding under a large zebra printed umbrella. They were Number Twelve – Jane Hopper, widowed, garden overrun with six feral grandchildren. A smile was returned to her, before Petunia's own lips dropped, facial features expressing her judgement towards her neighbour's departing form.
The loud click of the car sounded, Vernon jangling his keys from his fat fingers. Gesturing with his head to his beloved car, he spoke in a mock-whisper. "You never know with vandals these days." In terms of priorities within his life, Vernon valued his car on the same level as both his family and his position of Director at Grunnings. Only last week, had one of his faithful clients' car windows been smashed in, the police still failing to catch the responsible scum.
Rolling his eyes at the uselessness of the local police, Vernon unlocked the front door, allowing his wife to enter first, before shutting the door behind him. Coats hung up and shoes slipped off, Petunia smoothed down her blouse. "I'm going to run a bath, dear." Her expression softened. "Pour me a glass, will you? I-I'm still a bit shaken up."
"Of course." Brushing past her, hand laying gently on her shoulder briefly, he smiled. "I'll bring it up."
The stress of the past twenty two hours would not be sated by a hot bubble bath and two glasses of sherry, for at that moment, the doorbell chimed, followed up by three sturdy knocks. To hostess was her vision of an idealistic afternoon, but the current circumstances were far from perfect and the thought of inviting an unexpected visitor in, left her feeling sick.
Pausing on the bottom step of the staircase, she mouthed: "Don't open the door."
Her husband hesitated, a second series of knocks pounding on the door. "They're going to ruin my paintwork." He muttered furiously, Petunia abandoning her sudden scheme of running up the stairs to avoid being potentially seen by a familiar face, clad in yesterday's dirty clothes, to mouth back: "Keep your voice down."
A third trio of knocks were administered, and the irritation imploded. Striding forwards, powerful grip swinging down the door handle, Vernon and Petunia pressed together by the front door, staring out at their unwelcome visitor.
"Ah, Mr and Mrs Dursley. Hello, pleased to meet you." A hand was stuck out. "My name is Hazel Castano and I am from the Muggle Liaison Office. May I come in?"
Terror paled the pair, their fury itching to be released. Vernon's face purpled, fists clenching tight, teeth gritting to swallow back the stream of profanity he wanted to let loose. Taking Potter in was hardship enough, but they had welcomed him into their home, out of the good of their hearts, when they had been expecting to only raise one child, their child and because of Potter, they were never left alone! Petunia trembled, her anger bubbling. These freaks were constantly bombarding onto their doorstep, popping up in their home and even exploding through their electric fireplace!
"What do you think you're doing?!" Petunia hissed, watchful eyes darting around to survey the quiet street.
"I assure you, our conversation will be entirely private. No other Muggles can neither hear nor see me." The hand was retracted, unshaken.
"So-" Vernon sputtered. "So, it looks as if we're talking to ourselves? You're making us look barking!" He spat viciously.
Calm composure maintained, Hazel smiled. "No, to the Muggles, your door remains closed, giving off the impression that you have no visitors."
"Stop calling us 'that'."
"Identification." Petunia snapped waspishly, gripping the handle of the front door, her husband's warm touch lingering. "They trick people." She murmured to Vernon. "They could be… one of them."
"Here." Presenting her identification badge, she waited for the couple to be reluctantly satisfied, before continuing: "I assure you, I am from the Ministry Of Magic. Please, may I come in? I have some important things to discuss with both of you."
"Surprised you lot even have identification." Vernon mumbled under his breath, as Petunia hissed: "Get in. Quickly."
Moving back rapidly, practically flattening themselves against the staircase, Vernon addressed his wife; "Why are you inviting her into my house for?"
Petunia's anger flashed through the blinding sheer terror, and she burned her frustration into his murky irises. "Our house."
They stilled as the woman, who was unperturbed by the lack of respect, bustled through the hallway, the long brown flowing robes and pointed dark blue wide-brimmed hat, putting them both on edge. The woman's olive skin reminded Petunia of one of Lily's many school friends, the one who had visited their home in Cokeworth for three summers running. To invite a freak into their normal, perfect world pained her, and she expressed her decision by muttering: "Unfortunately, I have plenty of experience dealing with these lot." She pulled her gaze away from Vernon. "And I've found out, that they don't give up easily."
A cold gust of wind blew into the hallway and upon realising that the front door was still wide open, Vernon slammed it shut and followed his wife into the living room, sinking his bulk down into his designated armchair. A sullen atmosphere descended on the room.
Awaiting to be directed to a chair, combat boots imprinting onto the soft carpet, Hazel glanced to Petunia, who came to a halt by her husband, arms folded sharply over her chest. The apparent enjoyment Muggles seemed to get out of directing their guests was not displayed here, and Hazel decided to press on.
"I should sit here?" Sticking out her arm, oblivious to the flinches that occurred, she pointed to the floral settee.
"Very well." Petunia bristled, gaze critical. "Don't mess up my covers! They're brand new!"
Confronted with a freak, they may be, however she could still express pride in her furnishings.
The settee dipped in the middle, cushions slumping askew from their resting place. Nostrils flaring at the blatant disregard to her living room, Petunia snarled: "Well? What do you want? Barging into our home with no forewarning?" She lowered her pitch slightly. "If any of you lot are ever coming, then you usually warn us…" She scoffed. "Did Dumbledore put you up to this?"
"No," Hazel shook her head. "At the Ministry, I work in relation with Muggles, so if there are issues occurring within a Muggleborn family, or for instance, if a Muggle has witnessed an act of magic, then we may need to implement memory modifications."
Horrified, Petunia wrinkled her nose. Lily had bleated on about the 'benefits' of magic, yet these freaks were happy enough to play about with people's minds and memories.
"What is she jabbering on about?" Vernon whispered up to his wife.
"Nothing important." She hissed back, before directing her full attention back onto the gatecrasher. "If this is about Harry, then I'm afraid you've wasted your time. He's at his… school. He hasn't been back since Christmas and…" She paused. "If this is about those… Dementors," The word was whispered. "Then that has been dealt with. We got one of those letters, after our son was… attacked."
"Justice." Vernon murmured excitedly, remembering the crestfallen expression on his wife's nephew's pathetic face.
"This visit does not concern Harry Potter nor the incident that occurred on 2nd August 1995. No, I am here to talk about your son…" She rifled through the thick paperwork glued to her lap. "Drew."
"DREW?!"
"Who names their child bloody 'Drew'?"
"Dudley!" Petunia shrilled, flabbergasted by the lack of basic knowledge regarding their family. "Our son is called Dudley!..." Suspicion befell her. "Why are you here to talk about my Duddykins?" Suddenly, she shrieked in terror, hands flying up to her mouth, seeking out reassurance from her husband. "Vernon, I need to call him! What if he's suffered another seizure?!... W-What if he's…" Nausea kicked up in her throat and her legs were preparing to buckle. A strong arm slid around her waist, propping her up, whilst the Ministry Official allowed bemusement to be expressed on her face.
"Who is 'Duddykins'?"
"DUDLEY!" Her voice was so shrill that Vernon winced. "Our son!"
"Oh, right." The bemusement vanished from her face, and she turned to appraise the framed photographs on the wall. They ranged from baby and toddler photos, to ones of a chubby young boy, an overweight teenager to, she presumed his current physical state, a tall muscular young man. A photo nearby caught her eye. Moody expression, buzzcut blond hair, narrowed blue eyes. Hands shoved into the pockets of a tracksuit jacket, baggy jeans spilling over the top of his squeaky clean white trainers.
Following the woman's gaze, Petunia's expression hardened once more. Instead of expressing her pride and love for her little boy, she grinded her teeth. Why the hell was this FREAK here?
"I wanted to discuss with you an incident that occurred on Saturday 27th January-"
"That was yesterday." Vernon continued to prop his faint wife up, narrowing his own eyes in suspicion. "What are you getting at, woman?"
"The incident in question, occurred on a road near the Muggle hospital." Hazel flicked through her papers. "Stoke Mandeville Hospital."
"That's where Dudders was taken too." Vernon exchanged a nervous glance with his wife. "That hospital is full of normal people though, for normal people."
Arching an eyebrow slightly at the man's choice of words, Hazel said: "The incident concerns your son. You see, we had an… alert of unprecedented magic. Now, we may be wrong and the magic may have stemmed from a known magic user or a child, who cannot control their abilities, but we have concurred that within the ambulance transporting your son to the hospital… magic did occur."
"Paramedics?!" Vernon snapped. "Were they 'your lot'?"
"We have spoken to the emergency services allocated to your son. Our extensive investigation concludes that they are both Muggles… Due to the individual involved, coming from such a high-profile wizarding family-"
"Ridiculous." Petunia hissed, prepared to fight in defence of her precious angel.
"We have had to wipe the minds of the paramedics." Hazel continued calmly. "All they will remember is loading Dudley onto the ambulance, a smooth journey there, before handing him over to the medical staff based there. One of the paramedics were injured, they sought medical treatment after handing your son over to the doctors. He will believe that his back injury was related to another call-out and has been put onto sickness leave, with full pay."
"Bloody paramedics. Think they're untouchable. Welcome to the real world." Vernon muttered cynically as Petunia, regaining her balance, nausea passing, steadied her hand onto Vernon's forearm.
"So, you've tricked them then?" She held her head aloft, looking down her nose at the freak who dared to lecture them.
"Not tricked, helped." She sighed. "You see, we can detect where the magic was cast and we know the magic occurred within the ambulance, but the source of the magic… the paramedics have been examined, which leaves us with-"
"Examined?" Petunia bared her teeth. "Like pieces of meat?"
"This leaves us with the theory," Hazel stared solemnly at the couple. "That perhaps, and it may be possible, with his relations and his blood, that Dudley may have been the source of the magic-"
"No." Petunia spat, her voice quiet. "My Duddy is not a… not one of you! He is normal, perfectly normal!"
"Preposterous!" Vernon roared.
"I can understand-"
"No, you don't and frankly, you can't." Waves of rage lapped over Petunia, and she released her hold on her husband, shuffling away from his comfort. Striding towards the seated woman, she curled her toes into the carpet and loomed over the freak, hissing venomously:
"How dare you accuse my son of being a freak?! They promised me, promised me, that he would be normal! Despite the possibility of tainted blood, of the fact my sister and her spawn are freaks, they promised me he would be normal! My Dudley is a perfectly normal boy and you won't pour your poison any longer! This investigation is obviously a shambles and you're picked out your intended scapegoat already! Our little boy has suffered enough these past twenty four hours and I will NOT have you interfering with his life!"
Petunia sneered. "Besides, where were you the other times? The Attack last summer and when Vernon's sister was attacked by Potter-"
"No justice for Marge! None whatsoever!" Exclaimed Vernon.
"Then you came. Told him clearly that he was expelled from his horrid school and that he was being dragged in front of a court! But did he get punished for it? NO! He was allowed back in, and we still have to put him up each and every summer! He has made our lives a living hell! And Marge?" She scoffed. "You modified her memory, tricked her into thinking that she drank too much!" Jabbing a finger behind her in the direction of her husband, she spat out a breathless laugh. "Because of what happened, we've been too ashamed to invite her back into our home!" The finger rotated to jab in the direction of the Ministry Official.
"I accepted Dumbledore's wishes, to take Harry in and provide for him. We allow him to come home for the summer, even though he's caused us enough trouble to last us a lifetime! And EVERY SINGLE TIME, Dudley is the one who has to suffer! Where were you, hmm?"
The disgust was evident on her face. "Where were you when Dudley had to witness his teacher's hair suddenly turn blue, thanks to that boy?! He was only seven, for goodness sake! And Harry broke his own glasses multiple times, yet somehow, they were always fixed the next morning! Where were you then?!" She shook her head, thrusting her finger forwards every couple of seconds. "At the Zoo, for our Duddy's eleventh birthday, he ended up in the snake enclosure, because of Harry, and was nearly bitten! My poor baby was soaked to the skin! You didn't come then! The pig's tail-" Her blue eyes darkened in hate. "That giant freak tortured our son with a pig's tail, we had to get it removed surgically at a top London hospital, shell out extra money for them to not voice their burning questions! He still has the scar!"
"And when the Masons came round, dear, remember?" Vernon added his fuel to the fire.
"Yes, we had important guests round and he dumped a cake on top of Mrs Mason! Only a written warning, it's not good enough! And do not get me started on the fireplace incident."
"Fireplace incident?"
"Bloody exploded, it did-"
"No, Vernon, it's too painful." Petunia bit her bottom lip. "My Duddykins has been terrorised by Harry Potter and don't give me any crap about 'uncontrollable', I don't care if he was young! He knew what he was doing!" She scraped her bottom lip with her teeth, letting her finger drop. "He was threatening our son with his freakishness! And after all that, you're saying that Dudley caused that in the ambulance. Well… you've got it wrong. Plain and simple. My little boy is normal." Glowering, she spoke bitterly: "This is the end of the conversation. You've had your fun, now leave!"
"You heard my wife." Vernon lurched to his feet. "Get out of our house. You're upsetting both myself and my wife with your lies. You should be speaking to Potter, not us."
"In all honesty, Mr Dursley, we should be speaking to your son-"
"Oh, no," Vernon stomped over to the woman on the settee. "You don't go anywhere near our boy. You stay the hell away from him!"
"How has he been?" Hazel noted down onto the paper with a quill produced out of the sleeve of her robe. "Any odd behaviour? Flares of anger?"
"Get out!" Petunia snarled. "P-Please." Her tone wavered slightly, for fear of the stick appearing.
"Mr and Mrs Dursley, this is a sensitive subject, I understand-"
"These accusations are slanderous! Out!" Vernon pointed in the direction of the hallway, waiting for the witch to sigh and stand up, paperwork held tightly to her chest, quill tucked away. The Dursleys were hot on the freak's heels, forced to stumble to a stop when she halted in front of the closed front door. Pivoting round, she murmured:
"If this occurs again, we will have to speak to Dudley himself. The Ministry will log this incident, but no further action will be taken. Seeing as how both yourself and your son are related to wizards and witches-"
Petunia winced, scolding Hazel. "Don't remind me."
A sharp nod was directed to the pair. "Thank you for your time."
She opened the front door and stepped out, Vernon immediately shutting the door behind her. He peered out through the keyhole, fumbling with the lock. Noticing the stick waving around, he shuddered, tearing his gaze away at her sudden disappearance.
"The freak's gone. At last." He was met with silence. "Pet?"
Crumpling against the wall, Petunia burst into exhausted tears and pointed to the front door. "I need to clean that. She touched it!"
"It's okay, darling, we'll sort it-"
"H-How could they a-accuse Duddy of s-s-such freakishness!"
"Come on, let's sit you down." He guided her back into the living room, settling her onto his armchair. The floral settee was currently contaminated. Patting her shoulders from behind, Vernon pressed a quick kiss into her hairline. Petunia slumped back, staring at the prized framed photograph hung up proudly on the wall; Dudley's first birthday party. The frame was crooked, exactly like her cushions, exactly like the freakish world she longed to escape from.
Forcing out a hysterical laugh, she mumbled: "I'm definitely going to need that Sherry now… In fact, bring me the whole bottle. Let's split this."
"Firstly though," The pats progressed to gentle rubs. "We ring Dudley."
When the knock on the dormitory door sounded, any life left was practically frightened out of him. Uncurling from his cramped position, stretching his limbs with a frustrated sigh, Dudley rolled off the bed. He staggered to his feet and slipped through the closed curtains. Another knock, this one with more force, was applied and he grinded his teeth.
"W-Wait! I'm coming."
"It's the phone for you, B-Big D," A voice squeaked. "Your Mum. She wants to talk."
"Oh, god," He had only been back for a few hours and already, the Muggles were checking in on him. "I can't keep doing this," He muttered under his breath. "I can't keep pretending everything is fine… It's not. What are they going to do?... My Lord, what shall I do?"
"Big D, your Mum said it was u-urgent-"
Frustration won out. Lumbering over to the door, energy pulled out of thin air, Dudley yanked open the door and stared down his nose at the source of the irritating noise.
"Oh, it's you." The boy from yesterday, the one who 'idolised' him, the one who he had ordered to take his hospital remnants to the common room. Suspicion narrowed his eyes. "Did you bring my bag up with my stuff?"
"Y-yes, left it in the c-common room, like you said."
"Good… What was it you wanted?"
"Your M-Mum-"
"Oh, yes." Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dudley leant against the doorframe. "Why does she constantly have to check up on me? I'm not a child." Skin unclamped, fingers skating through his hair, he growled: "And what did I tell you? Stop calling me that. Look, you've given me the message, and now, you can leave."
"But-"
"GO AWAY!" Spit flew from his mouth, his hands forming into fists, stance intimidating. "I mean it, shove off."
The second year fled, and Dudley exhaled through his nostrils, posture melting into one of hunched shoulders, hands slipping into pockets. Sighing, he headed towards the reception. Once there, he picked up the dangling phone and mumbled into the receiver: "Mum."
"Oh, Duddy! Are you okay?!" The shrillness of her voice seemed more… shrilly.
"Yeah, fine." The suspicion was back. "Why? What's happened?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing. Well, I-"
"Don't tell him, dear. He doesn't need to know."
Dad's voice. He was stopping her from passing on vital information. His heart spasmed within his chest. Did they know?
"Nothing, darling. Just something to do with him."
Ah, Potter.
"Okay… Any reason why you're ringing?"
"Just to check up on you, sweetheart. How do you feel? Any chest pain, nausea, migraines?"
"No, Mum. I'm all good, I promise."
"Are you sure?" She was bleating on now. "Because we miss you when you're away and if you want-"
"I told you, I'm fine." He stated bluntly. "In fact, I've got some good news." His mind seemed to stutter at that very moment, and he soon found that the words that rolled off his tongue… were not his own. "I'm going away at some point during the week. Coach Graves said we're going to visit several pro boxing clubs, starting with Peacock Gym in Canning Town. Me and the other boxers on the team are going to meet the top pro boxers, for them to view our talent… well, it's more my talent. It's a celebration for me winning…"
"Oh, that's wonderful!" The slight slip of fear did not go unnoticed amidst the tones of excitement within her voice.
"That's brilliant, Dudders." He could picture both of them, bunched up together, to share their pride and joy over the telephone. "Show those pro boxers what you're made of. Remember, you're the Junior Heavyweight Inter-School Boxing Champion of the Southeast! Don't let anyone take away what is rightfully yours."
"Oh, I won't." Eyes gleaming, he caressed the ring on his finger. "I'll call you soon."
"We love you! Good luck!"
"Goodbye."
Slotting the phone back onto the hook, the crimson blood draining from his irises, Dudley began to tremble uncontrollably, testing his tongue by sticking it to the roof of his mouth.
'What boxing trip?... I didn't know about that… Am I going away somewhere? This week?... I need to talk to Kerrington.'
The solution was only temporary, as he suddenly remembered that Kerrington would still be on the prowl, after his near-fight with Piers Polkiss three hours ago. Moving away from reception, Dudley considered his options. To have his ear chewed out about 'bringing violence into the grounds of the Academy' seemed only unnecessary.
'No,' He thought firmly. 'I'll wait for him to calm down. First… I'll have a shower… Let's hope I get there this time.'
Refreshed from the constant blast of freezing cold water, Dudley slathered on body lotion, his dry flaking skin soothed by the cream. Running a hand over his smooth jaw, Dudley whipped on a pair of clean underwear, a black muscle t-shirt and a pair of black baggy shorts, imprinted with red stripes down the sides and displaying the Adidas logo. Freezing cold the January nights may be, but Dudley felt too suffocated by his winter pyjamas and besides, the chances of him getting any sleep was relatively low. Sighing, he parted one curtain and lay down on his bed, resting his heavy head against the pillow.
The dormitory was empty and even after three more hours, the scene remained the same. Dinner was over and it was Sunday, tomorrow was a normal school day, so where was everyone?
Slowly sitting up, Dudley swung his legs round, pulling on a pair of socks and his nearest pair of black trainers. Sitting in a deserted dormitory only prolonged his curiosity of his dormmates' whereabouts, so he rose to his feet and went to step forwards when the voice, tucked within the confinement of his head, whispered:
"Dudley… It is time."
The voice called out to him, soothing, coaxing him out of the dormitory, through the common room and into the corridor. No signs of life were apparent, and he slowly walked along in a trance, his blue irises sheened. Out of the building, into the local field, the Academy growing smaller behind him.
He trudged along until a sudden hiss caused his right foot to hover in mid-air, glassy gaze staring down. A snake, a Boa Constrictor, gleamed its red eyes up at him and hissed again. The words were, at first, unclear, but soon enough, understanding the words was an easy task, similar to when mastering a new language.
"Follow."
One last hiss and off the snake went, slithering in the muddy grass. Vision keenly observing the snake, the soles of Dudley's trainers sunk into the thick mud, the stars and three-quarter filled moon blanketed by the darkness. Losing sight of the snake, surrounded by thick mud and wild blades upon blades of grass, Dudley blinked, snapping out of his confusion. Clear blue eyes stared round, and he gaped, shocked at his own actions.
"Why am I out here? Oh, ruddy hell," He clamped his hands under his armpits, thick arms cradled to his chest. "It's freezing out here. Damn it, should have stayed-"
He stopped himself talking at the sight of a familiar figure approaching him. A figure that he had to admit to himself, for once, he was glad to see.
"Coach Graves!" The relief cracked in his voice. "I-I don't know what I'm doing out here. I-I went for a walk, got lost…" The confusion wrinkled his face. "I-I need to ask you something. Are w-we going away? Because you said F-Friday, we're going for a m-meal, so I need to k-know-"
Misted grey eyes stared calmly at him, the head of his Coach tilted to the side. "All will be revealed."
"W-What's that supposed to mean?" Teeth chattering from the onslaught of late winter, Dudley whipped his head round, shoulders sagging at the distance he had travelled from the Academy. To eliminate the risk of catching a severe chill, or even pneumonia, he'd have to sprint back to school!
"Coach Graves, I-" Snapping his head back round, Dudley clapped his eyes on… nothing. "C-Coach? Sir?" Another dashing of his head confirmed the sickening evidence. Graves had gone. Upped and left him with a mysterious riddle.
"Great, thanks for leaving me. All by myself." He tossed another sorrowful glance back to the Academy. "Stupid Graves, I'll give him a piece of my-"
This time, he turned back and there was a figure. One clad in black robes, one baring a cruel smile, one with no nose…
Dudley gasped in shock, his arms flying down to his sides, fists clenching and unclenching. He stumbled backwards, eyes bulging at the sight before him. Could it be? His… Master?
Come to collect him, for his destiny? His purpose… He was chosen.
"NO! NO!" Screams tore out of his throat, and like last summer, when confronted with a very real threat, he turned on his heels and sprinted for his life.
The Dementors had been invisible and he'd only the untrustworthy guidance of his pathetic cousin to rely on… and now? He had walked into a trap! Served himself up on a silver platter to his deadly fate. Panic willed his legs to pump hard and fast, arms swinging up and down. Tears blurred his vision and he panted, desperation tearing him through the field. He had to escape, to get away!
Not daring to look behind, a rooky mistake for characters in horror films, Dudley charged through the field. This wasn't some crappy horror film, this was his life, and pretty soon, his short fifteen years on Earth would be swiftly coming to an end.
Soles of his trainers sunk into an uneven patch of mud, the squelching an audible death sentence. He attempted to lift his foot, hopping forwards, but now, the other shoe was sinking and he was tilting forwards, hands scrabbling on the ground, nails clogging up with dirt.
Suddenly, a tight pressure was applied to his right leg and as he screamed in panic, his leg was yanked backwards, hauling him fully to the ground. His chin and tip of his nose scraped the mud, skin on his hands blistering from his struggles to free himself. His leg felt like it was being torn out of the socket and he pleaded for the pressure to be released:
"PLEASE! STOP! LET GO! GET AWAY!"
To check behind, was it Aunt Lily there?, was a terrifying prospect, so instead, he continued to try and free himself, both legs lifted slowly into the air. Lashing out with his mud-thickened shoes, Dudley choked as the pressure released, front of his body slamming back down into the ground. Retching from the pain that lanced up his lower back, knees throbbing, Dudley attempted to push himself up onto his hands and knees. He sobbed, clawing his way forwards, grooving his dirtied nails into the mud.
'PLEASE, PLEASE GET ME OUT OF HERE! ALIVE! I'LL CONFESS TO MUM AND DAD, TELL THEM EVERYTHING! I'LL TELL PIERS, HE WAS RIGHT TO BE CONCERNED! I'LL TELL POTTER AND HIS FRIENDS! I'LL GET HELP, I WILL, I WILL!'
The feeling of an ice-cold hand wrapping around his bare shin rocketed shivers up his spine, and he screamed in anguish.
He had left everything far too late. Why, oh why, hadn't he told anyone what was happening to him?
The hand pulled and pulled, and Dudley felt himself be dragged back through his self-made tracks. Tossing his head back and forth, he sobbed as his chances of escaping quickly vanished, leaving him to the mercy of the monster.
It was too late, and Dudley Dursley was dragged back, kicking and screaming, into the darkness.