When Dudley Dursley awoke, he felt he had just gone for 100 rounds with Mike Tyson without a second's break. The moment his eyes went open, he felt a surging discomfort in his stomach and keeled over. A large garbage can appeared just before him as he opened his mouth and let out his dinner, lunch, breakfast and just about anything else that was left in his stomach.

"DIDDY! Diddy, what's the matter with you? Vernon? VERNON!" Dudley heard a high-pitched feminine shriek in his working ear. He looked up to see the blurry figure of his mum, barrelling towards him.

'I don't feel so good.' Dudley tried to say, but all that came out was a funny sounding groan followed by his weight collapsing forward. Fortunately, his dad swung right around the corner at that moment, being just in place to support his weight as he did.

"He's ill, Vernon!" His mum cried out, stroking his hair like she did when he was a boy.

Ill? Dudley had definitely been ill before, but this was far, far worse. He wracked his brains, trying to remember what had happened. It came back to him slowly; the alley, arguing with Harry, the wand, the darkness…

Dudley felt chills just remembering the frigid sensation that followed. He began to tremble uncontrollably, much to the terror of his parents.

"What is it, son?" His dad asked gruffly, his fury barely restrained. "What's happened? Did Mrs. Polkiss give you something foreign for tea?"

"Why are you all covered in dirt, darling? Have you been lying on the ground?"

"Hang on — you haven't been mugged, have you, son?"

Mum screamed at this. "Phone the police, Vernon! Phone the police! Diddy, darling, speak to Mummy! What did they do to you?"

Dudley took in a deep breath. It had to be Harry, right? He had been angry, pissed off that Dudley had been chatting about his boyfriend, then all that darkness had come. A vague memory of a floating, robed figure flashed through Dudley's mind, but he shook his head vigorously, knowing it had to be Harry.

"H-harry." Dudley rasped out, finally having the strength to speak.

Then, a loud bang sounded out followed by a low cussing. Dudley's parents went silent for a moment, giving him a much-needed moment of respite as they wheeled around to look for the source of the sound. It was Harry, who had kicked the garbage can as he tried sneaking away up the stairs.

"BOY!" Dad roared as loud as a cannon shot, leaping at Harry with incredible speed for a man his size. The scrawny boy was like a deer caught in headlights, wand-handed with a sour expression. "YOU'RE GOING TO BRING YOUR BEHIND RIGHT HERE AND EXPLAIN WHAT'S HAPPENED TO MY SON!"

Dad then grabbed Harry by his arm and yanked him over into the living room, all but throwing him down onto the worst seat in the room.

"I didn't do anything to your son!" Harry cried out in outrage. "I swear."

"Lying bastard! You've attacked my son and I want to know what you've done!" Vernon growled. A meaty thud followed.

Dudley's eyes went wide. He'd never seen his dad actually hit Harry before. Grounding, starving and yelling were one thing, but hitting left marks and marks meant there'd be questions from the neighbours. In a strange way, Dudley could feel his father's affection in that punch.

Unfortunately, Harry didn't seem to agree and had yanked out that thing again, pointing it right into Dad's face. Dudley felt himself clamming up as he was afraid that Harry was going to curse his dad like he did him, but nothing happened.

"Back off and let me finish my bloody explanation!" Harry hissed. "Dudley was attacked…"—"AHA!"—"by dementors." He said, ignoring Dad's interruption.

Dementors? Dudley felt a familiar chill going through him just hearing those words. He was about to ask what they were when a loud crashing rung through the living room. It was his mum, who'd dropped her tea set upon hearing the word 'dementor'.

"Dementors? W-what were those things doing here…" Mum sputtered, shaking as she stared at Harry. "Th-they're s-supposed to be in Azkaban, the wizard's prison… that's what that awful boy said to her. They would never be here."

"If you're talking about my parents, you can just use their names!" Harry barked angrily. "And they are supposed to be in Azkaban… I dunno what they're doing here."

"Hang on! What the bloody hell are these Dementoids? What did they do to my son?" Dad roared.

"They're monsters." Mum explained, eyes still wide with shock. "They suck out your soul and happiness. Only freaks can see them, but he said they could attack muggles too."

Hearing this made Dudley frown. Soul-suckers? But he was still alive… right? And what did she mean only freaks could see them? He had clearly seen something. What was going on here?

But before Harry could explain himself, an owl came flying in through the window, dropping a letter on the coffee table.

Both Dad and Harry stared at the letter for a moment, which was placed right in front of them. Then, as if choreographed, they leapt at it at once. Harry got his hands on it faster, but Dad was much bigger than him, bowling him out of the way. By the time Harry was back on his feet, Dad had torn it open and begun loudly reading.

"Dear Mr. Potter," Dad scoffed at the polite address. "We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm at twenty-three minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a Muggle—AHA!—as well as Summoning Charm at your residence of number 4, Privet Drive."

"Hang on!" Harry interjected, but Dad stared him down, shutting him up before he continued reading.

"The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—Oh so there's to be punishing! —Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand.

"As you have already received an official warning for a previous offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 a.m. on August 12th.

"Hoping you are well, Yours sincerely, Mafalda Hopkirk, improper use of magic office Ministry of Magic!"

There was a long silence after this letter was read with a smile growing on Dad's face. For a while, he was so giddy he couldn't let out any words, just shaking the letter with a triumphant grin.

Harry on the other hand looked as though someone had just punched him in the gut as he slumped back in his chair, staring at his wand with a conflicted expression.

Dudley felt conflicted. There was so much about this that didn't make any sense. First off, what was a Dementor? Or a Patronus? Or a Summoning Charm? Why did Harry have no problem with the first two, but was confused by the third? What the hell was going on?

Finally, Dad seemed to find his voice again.

"So that's that, isn't it?" Dad said with a vicious grin. "No more freakishness in this house." He then outstretched a meaty hand towards Harry. "I'll be taking that until your freak Government arrives!"

"No." Harry said defensively, point his wand straight at Dad. "I'm leaving, right now!"

"Going on the run, are you?" Dad asked playfully. "Fleeing from your freak government, eh? I don't blame you, I suppose those Dementoids are no cup of tea for you without that stick of yours? Well bugger off then! Maybe your freak government'll kill you for us when you're on the run!"

Both Harry and Dudley shivered at the mention of the creatures. Harry hopped up to his feet, running for the door.

"Harry?" Dudley let out a soft whisper. "Those Dementors… do they look like black, cloaked thingies? And fly around?"

Harry froze right in the doorway.

"What did you say?"

At that moment, another owl came flying through the window, this time dropping a letter right into Harry's hands. He read it in an instant before looking back up at Dudley.

"Did you see it?"

Dudley was at a loss for words, unsure what to say.

"What're you talking about! Only freaks can see those things! Are you saying that my boy is a freak like you!" Dad's anger returned in an instant.

Though his words were addressed at Harry, Dudley can't help but feel a pit in his stomach as he heard them. Was he… like that?

Dudley had overheard his mum and his dad talking about his 'freakish aunt Lily' a few times over the years, and he knew that she was born from two, ordinary people just like he was. If she could be a freak, why couldn't he?

He recalled what had happened when he entered the house. He'd wanted a garbage can to throw up in and it had just appeared in front of him. At first, he thought his parents had moved it there for some reason, but now he had a vague memory of the garbage can zooming over to him when he wanted it.

"Err, Harry?" Dudley whispered to his cousin once more, this time having his undivided attention. "This summoning-whatsit they mentioned in your letter… can it bring things… things like a garbage can, and bring 'em right in front of you when you want to hurl?"

Harry's eyes went wide as he turned to look at the garbage can, then back at Dudley. Harry then cautiously walked towards Dudley; his gaze uncertain. Dad moved to intercept but, Dudley raised his hand, telling him it was alright. He had a feeling he knew what was coming next.

Then, Harry took his wand by the tip, flipping it around and handing it to Dudley.

"Wave that once." Harry said, his voice shaking.

Dudley took the stick cautiously, afraid that it would burst into flame. Then, he waved it.

Bang! A big ugly vase on the mantle that Dudley had always hated had exploded like a bomb, sending dirt and flowers flying through the air. His parents both looked at Harry with accusatory glances, but Dudley knew, in his heart of hearts, that it wasn't Harry that did that. It was him.

Harry looked up at him with a strange expression.

"You're a wizard Dudley."

Dudley Dursley barrelled through the streets of Little Winging, a fleet of dark robed figures wafting behind. His chest rose and fell like a crashing tide and his heart hammered in his chest, as if it wanted to free itself from his body and run ahead of him.

As he ran past house after house, Dudley would bang frantically at the door, begging to be let in, only to receive devious glares from the children inside the houses. They were all children he recognized. Lucas Waters, Phillip Johnson… all the kids he'd bullied over the summer, laughing as he ran from the Dementor army.

"Bugger off!" Little Mark Evans screamed from the window, throwing a burning wooden cup at him as he laughed.

"What's wrong diddy?" A ghostly voice called out. "Don't you want to be reunited with Mummy and Daddy?"

Dudley sent a darting glance over his shoulder only to find that the two nearest dementors had taken off their hoods revealing their faces. They were his mum and dad, only their faces were pale as sheets and infested with maggots.

After them, there were more dementors unmasking themselves, revealing various other faces… only Dudley didn't know who they were. A straw-blonde, middle-aged man; a rigid, elderly moustached man; a grubby-looking man with a pointed nose; a wild-looking man with mis-matched eyes and blonde hair; and more, all coming to devour him.

One last dementor in the back was about to remove its mask and Dudley felt a sensation of abject terror seizing his guts.

"No, no, no!" He cried out, making a sharp turn and rushing down Magnolia crescent.

But a dementor had been waiting, just around the corner and it swooped down as he saw it, grabbing him by the throat and left wrist, slamming him against a nearby wall. Dudley saw its vacuous mouth moving towards him, sucking the life away from him in a deadly snog.

Several yards away from him, he saw his cousin Harry locked in a similar embrace, though the dementor's ugly mouth looked to be swallowing the top of his head.

"Expecto Patronum!" Dudley heard Harry roar, sending a glistening silver stag charging at the dementor.

By some coincidence, the demonic creature was slammed in his direction and decided to join its fellow soul-sucker and have a Dudley buffet. Up close, this dementor looked viler and nastier than the first as it moved to take a bite out of Dudley's soul.

"H-harry." Dudley rasped out weakly, seeing his cousin standing only inches away with his silver stag at the ready. "H-help me…"

Harry paused for a moment, looking at Dudley amusedly. The dementors paused, fearing that he would assault them with his silver stag. Then he let out a cold laughter that seemed even more soulless and depraved than the dementors.

"Why would I do that?" He asked playfully. "This is what you deserve."

The scrawny boy then wheeled around, walking away with his hands in his pocket as he walked away disappearing in the distance.

This served as all the permission the dementors needed to return to their sumptuous meal, mouths moving towards his face as they prepared their final, deadly Kiss.

"NOOOOOO!"

Dudley went bolt upright in his king-sized bed, throwing a blind punch in front of him. This punch slammed into his pet turtle, Bacon, who'd been crawling innocently on his blanket. The poor creature was launched across the room by this, tucking into its shell as it slammed into a wall.

Sweat trickled down Dudley's forehead as he looked around him, half expecting a dementor to jump out of his closet. After a few seconds, he finally confirmed that he was in his own room, it had all just been a dream. Again.

Holding his left wrist in pain, he groaned out, still feeling the phantom aches from when the Dementor had grabbed him. Dudley peeled his sweat-soaked pajama shirt off his upper body, exposing his muscled arms and chest. Taking a moment to flex in the mirror, he grinned dumbly at his ripped blonde reflection only to sigh out in regret.

He'd wasted three bloody years into sculpting his body into a perfect boxer, only to realize that it didn't mean a damn thing. A dementor didn't care if you were Mike Tyson or an invalid old man, it would suck your soul out just the same.

It had been four days since his wretched near-death experience with the dementors in Magnolia Crescent and instead of getting better, his mood only grew worse.

While a chocolate bar after the attack had fixed all of Dudley's physical problems, it was his mental ones that needed fixing now. The morning after he'd exposed his magical activities, his dad had left a letter explaining that he was going on a business trip to the Grunnings main office in London for a week and not to expect him at home. His mum had similarly made herself scarce, preparing his meals for the next few days before going off to visit her high school friend Sue in Wales.

Both of them swore up and down that his newfound magic had nothing to do with their activities, but Dudley knew better than that. They were afraid of him, and worse than that, they were ashamed of him.

Never in his 15-year life had Dudley experienced this feeling of letting his parents down. Even when he was pulling in failing grades, his dad would pat him on the back fondly and tell him to 'get back up on his horse', but now there was nothing but coldness. They still called to make sure he was okay, but it wasn't the same.

As for the fourth member of the house, Dudley hadn't seen head nor tail of Harry since he'd given him the advice about chocolate four days ago. The scrawny wizard had locked himself up in his room and wasn't allowing anyone in, himself included.

Dudley figured that Harry'd at least have some sympathy for him, being a new wizard 'n all, but his cousin was a frigid bastard. Not that he really blamed him, Dudley had done far worse things than just ignoring Harry.

And it wasn't true to say that Harry hadn't given him any help at all.

Turning to his desk, Dudley looked at the stack of old books atop it. These books had been the object of his constant attention for the past few days. Harry had thrown them out of his room on the day of the incident and Dudley had scooped them all up. They were all Harry's books from his first three years of frea-wizard school.

If any of Dudley's friends had come to visit him in those days, they would have found—much to their great surprise—his nose stuck in a book, rifling through it. While Dudley had gone through most of his Smeltings life without so much as looking at a textbook, it was different now. With things like dementors out there, he needed to learn magic and he needed to do it fast.

Much to his surprise, Dudley tore through the content with easy. He wasn't sure if it was his newfound magic or his motivation to strengthen himself, but his mind had grown much clearer in the past few days. His memory was sharper than it had ever been, and he'd already read through more than half the books already, having nothing else to do. He was too terrified to even set a foot outside for fear of being attacked again and a burst of 'accidental magic' after his first nightmare had blasted his TV to smithereens.

Honestly, the one thing that Dudley learned from what he read was that wizards were absolute idiots. Just the spells from the First and Second-year curriculums could be used to create hegemonic business empires in the muggle world, yet they cowered away like rats. A barely competent 'Reparo' user could replace auto shops, wall-fixers, plumbers and all number or repair-oriented careers; a decent 'Scourgify' master could dominate the cleaning industry; 'Wingardium Leviosa' would obliterate the need for cranes, forklift and most heavy construction machinery; and there was so much more.

Dudley felt himself salivating at the prospect of learning all these spells and more. He'd be able to do whatever he wanted.

Unfortunately, Dudley was missing one crucial ingredient to casting spells. A wand.

Try as he would to recite incantations, Dudley was unable to summon so much as a gust of wind without the oh-so-important magical tool. He'd snapped a stick off the tree out his window and tried to use it as a replacement, but aside from a single successful 'Lumos'—which he was only half-certain he hadn't imagined—he had accomplished diddly-squat.

Still, Dudley took strides to learn as many incantations as he could and mastered all the hand movements with his stick, so that when he got his hand on a real wand, it would be like second nature.

A lot of the content seemed to come naturally too, almost as if he'd learned this already. Dudley figured it was because he'd taken Latin classes at Smeltings—though he'd failed most of them—and most of the spells were based on Latin words. That was convenient, at least those stupid classes could be used for something.

Looking at the opened copy of 'Standard Book of Spells: Grade 3', Dudley resolved to take a quick shower first, then get right back into learning. He was already four years behind on his magical learning and he couldn't afford any more delays.

Stroking Bacon's shell as he left the room, Dudley ran down to the master bathroom with a baseball bat on one shoulder and a sack of clothes on the other. While he knew in his mind that a baseball bat wouldn't be able to protect him against even the weakest magical creatures, he had taken to bringing it around wherever he went.

A quick shower really worked wonders for both Dudley's mind and body. With his parents gone, he got to use his dad's fancy soaps and old-fashioned razor, and he didn't have to care about using up all the hot water.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, Dudley walked out of the bathroom, planning to get a snack from when a loud bang sounded out from the kitchen, followed by the sound of several plates shattering.

Dudley lowered his baseball bat, his eyes narrowing to pinpoints.

"Harry?" Dudley called out softly, moving toward the kitchen. There was no response.

Then, another crash sounded as well as a loud grunt of pain.

"Bloody hell! Do these people wax their floors everyday!" Dudley heard a feminine voice call out. That definitely wasn't Harry.

Poking his head just around the corner, Dudley peered into the moonlit kitchen, finding a young woman with… was that purple hair? She was sitting on the floor facing away from him, rubbing the back of her head in pain, surrounded by a dozen fragmented plates. With her long, green robe and the short stick in her hand, there was no question that this woman was a witch, but what was she doing here?

Tip toeing over to her with his baseball bat over his shoulder, Dudley got ready to knock her out when she suddenly wheeled around.

"Wotcher Ha-ha-harry?" The young witch was dazed as she looked at Dudley's half-naked body covered only in a towel.

Seizing the moment, Dudley brought down his bat, flexing his muscles to the limit as it crashed towards the young woman. Her eyes widened in shock, as she flicked her wand at the bat when it was only inches from her face.

In an instant, the hard wooden bat shifted into a soft foam one, like the noodles that were kept at pools. The foam bat bounced harmlessly off of the young witch's head, leaving Dudley dumbfounded at the sudden change of circumstances.

"You don't look at all like what Remus told us." The young woman said, shaking off the tenseness and walking a circle around Dudley evaluating him. "You're much cuter than I expected."

Cute? He'd just tried to knock her out with a baseball bat, and she was calling him cute? Dudley pinched his arm tightly, wondering if he was still dreaming.

"Nymphadora! Why are you making so much noise" A hissing voice called out as another figure entered a kitchen, this time a middle-aged man who looked as scraggly and ragged as a homeless man.

"Don't call me Nymphadora, Remus." The young witch said with a shudder. "It's Tonks."

However, the middle-aged man wasn't looking at her, instead focusing his gaze on Dudley. He looked him up and down with scrutiny, sending chills down his spine.

"I don't swing that way so whatever you're thinking, you can just bugger off." Dudley said, poking his bat at the man, only to remember it had been turned to foam.

"You must be Dudley then!" The man finally declared. "I would've thought you'd have left with either your mum or your dad."

"No." Dudley said, locking his jaw with discomfort at what this strange man knew about him. "Now I'd appreciate if you tell me who you are, why you're here and what the hell makes you think you can just barge into my house in the middle of the night?"

"Well, we've come to pick up Harry." The man explained, as if that answered everything.

"Why didn't you knock? Or use the doorbell? Or wait until a bloody normal time of day!" Dudley cried out, wondering if wizards had any common sense.

The man was seemingly stumped by these questions, staring down at his wand, then back at Dudley, as if he wanted to just magic him out of the way. Dudley clenched his foam bat tightly, feeling a mounting dread in this standoff.

"Dudley… you must be Harry's cousin! Nice to meet you!" 'Tonks' said, extending her hand with no regard for the tension of the situation. Was she being serious?

"For Chrissake, just take Harry and bugger off!" Dudley finally said, flicking his tongue in fatigue. He rubbed his temple softly, feeling a migraine coming on.

He flicked on the lights and continued to get his snack, acting as if the two wizards weren't even there. Grabbing half of a chicken sandwich that he'd stuck in there before, Dudley took a bite of it, sucking in a breath as he looked out the window. How the hell had he wound up here?

As he ate his sandwich, Dudley listened to a whisper-conversation between the two wizards behind him.

"Should we obliviate him?" The man asked.

"I dunno, it seems like we should. I mean, he's a muggle, and he's seen wizards, but he's Harry's cousin, isn't he? Plus, it's not like we've done any magic." Tonks noted.

"But Mad-Eye said not to leave any evidence behind. I'm pretty sure he counts as evidence." The man added.

"But he's kind of cute."

Finishing off his sandwich, Dudley wheeled around to face the whispering wizards.

"Alright, I don't care if you wanna obliviate me or whatever, but can you hurry up and just do it? I gotta go upstairs and study."

The duo looked like a pair of children caught arm-deep in the cookie jar. Both seemed hopelessly lost when it came to the matter of what to do next. Then, a loud clunking came from the living room that snapped them out of their trances.

"Remus! Tonks! Bloody hell you two! I ask you to be cautious and you go around flicking the lights on and making yourself at home here!" A gruff voice called out as a third wizard entered the kitchen. "And who in Merlin's saggy beard are you?"

Dudley froze as he looked up at the man. He'd seen him before… in the depths of his nightmares.

"I asked you a question boy, now who are you!" The wizened blonde man barked, poking his walking stick right into Dudley's chest.

Dudley felt sick to his stomach, and he didn't think that it had anything to do with magic. How could he have possibly seen this man in his dreams? Before today, he'd never even met a wizard, not counting the redheaded army who picked up Harry last year.

But still, there was no mistaking that face, those mismatched eyes, the scarred cheek, the scraggly blonde hair. He had definitely been one of the many dementors in his nightmare.

"I don't like asking questions twice," The man growled, "and I rarely bother waiting for a third time! Now WHO ARE YOU!"

Only Dudley was too shocked to come up with a coherent answer. Fortunately, someone else wasn't.

"Dudley? What're you doing up?"

It was Harry, with a large trunk over his shoulder and a bird cage in his hand. Somehow, seeing his cousin grounded Dudley back into reality, allowing him to regain his voice.

"I was just taking a shower when your freak friends decided to schedule a little break-in!" He jeered, flicking his tongue as he pushed aside the walking stick on his chest. "I don't care if you want to run away, but can your goons at least have some respect for our China? It's been in the family for decades!"

The young witch scratched the back of her head, looking down self-consciously as more and more strangely dressed men and women filed into the kitchen. Once everyone had arrived, the rather spacious kitchen had grown considerably cramped.

"Dudley, eh? The cousin?" The gruff man asked, his eye whizzing around his head. Every word out of his mouth sent chills down Dudley's spine as he avoided meeting his eye. "He's the one who was attacked by the dementors, then? He's lucky to be alive. Muggles almost never live through dementor attacks."

The moment the man said this, the other witches and wizards examined Dudley like he was an exotic animal, which made him feel subconscious as he still hadn't put a shirt on. A few even took out their wands, looking like they wanted to dissect him and figure out what made him tick.

"Well, doesn't matter anyway." The gruff man continued. "You're a muggle and you've seen us, so you'll need to be obliviated. Shacklebolt, you handle this."

The gruff man turned to leave while a tall, well-built black man walked up to Dudley his wand raised. The kitchen light began to flicker as the man waved his wand, but before he could cast a spell, Harry spoke up again.

"He's not a muggle. At least, not anymore."

Everyone in the room froze.

"What's that Harry?" The homeless-looking man, Remus, asked in disbelief.

"He's a wizard."