Chapter Two
The doorbell rang ominously through the house, the last baleful note almost sounding like the loud howl of a bulldog as it sat alone under the night sky. Dudley prided himself on the comparison as he lumbered down the narrow staircase dressed smartly in a suit and tie. To his pleasure the pants hung looser on him then they had the year previous, it finally seemed like his diet was sticking after two years. However, putting himself in a good mood seemed pointless when he opened the door and a wave of sadness and depression flooded over him, drowning out all the cheerful thoughts that seconds ago danced through his mind.
Aunt Marge stood on the threshold looking worn out. The sight of her bloodshot eyes and puffy face redefined Dudley's perception of the once formidable woman; she seemed small and weak, her clothes hanging unhealthily from her frame.
"Hello, Aunt Marge," Dudley greeted grimly; taking her bags from her, he stepped aside to let her past.
"Good afternoon, Dudley. Is my brother home yet?" Even the husky bark of her voice sounded more like the mournful crooning of the lark. She floated into the foyer, barely touching the door, which slowly swung towards the frame. Pushing it shut, Dudley ascended the stairs sandwiched between two heavy suitcases. Looking down in the hallway he watched Marge shuffle into the sitting room, stopping for a second to tell Ripper to follow. Voice dying in her throat, Marge quickly turned her face forward again, sighing deeply.
In his mind, Dudley said a small prayer for Ripper the bulldog, his lips tugging into a small smile as he remembered Harry sitting up in a tree begging to be let down as Ripper circled the trunk growling viciously. That whole evening Dudley sat up in his room staring out the window, which was level with his cousin, who was holding tightly onto the sturdy trunk. Whenever Harry would look over Dudley took a large bite out of a candy bar, giving his cousin a chocolately grin.
Dudley almost preferred those days when Harry was just a freak, his parents were happy to lock him away in the cupboard when he did something weird and Dudley was never at a loss for something to punch. Then Harry got his letter from that school and everything changed inside number Four.
At first no one explained to Dudley what was going on, all he knew was that more than anything else he needed to know what was so secret about all those letters his father destroyed. When they started to shoot out of the fireplace it hadn't even crossed his mind that there was anything funny about the whole thing, he was just confused as to who would be so desperate to get in touch with his skinny, geeky cousin.
After that all he could remember was being afraid as they moved from spot to spot, his father continuously growing crazier as the days went on. Inside the cabin in the middle of the storm, Dudley finally thought things were going to settle down. He recalled throwing a few tantrums about not getting to watch his programs, but which ones they were Dudley couldn't remember.
Then the giant showed up. The next thing he knew Harry was being told he was a wizard and Dudley felt a pang of jealousy, why couldn't he be one. He was about to beg his parents to let him be a wizard too when his father blew up and started going on about how it was all bullshit and even Petunia voiced her opinion, calling her own sister a freak.
That shut Dudley up but didn't take away his desire to do magic. The giant man took care of that, Dudley was sure he had died and gone to hell when he felt his backside and touched a curly pig's tail unwinding from his bottom. Petunia had cried over him as they all huddled in a corner upstairs, his father breathlessly telling him that magic was bad and Dudley didn't argue with him. He was still pissed that no one had told him, he was sure if he knew beforehand the tail never would have grown.
From that point on the family dynamic never returned to the way it was. Harry became less and less a part of the everyday functions of the household and its inhabitants were left no choice but to start looking at themselves for problems without Harry there to be a scapegoat. They no longer had a release for all their anger and frustration and that first Christmas after Harry started school Dudley realized that his life wasn't as perfect as he once thought.
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Dudley rapped his father smartly on the heels with his Smelting's stick, his bowler sitting like a crown atop cropped blonde hair. He had returned for Christmas holiday the night before and already he was wishing he was back at school; at least there he had smaller peers to beat up on, without Harry Potter Privet Drive didn't seem as fun. Usually his father would chuckle and pat Dudley on the back when his son hit him with the stick but today Vernon didn't seem as keen.
"Knock that off, son," he grunted, opening the front door to collect the morning paper. Sure that his father hadn't felt it properly Dudley smacked his father hard in the calf. Vernon rounded on the boy, shaking the rolled up paper threateningly in his face. "I told you to stop that, Dudley. Now go take off that hat and put your stick away. Your grandmother should be getting here soon and I don't want her to see her only grandson acting like a hooligan."
Dudley stood there stunned, the Smelting's stick falling to the ground and rolling across the floor where it stopped at Vernon's slippered feet. He stepped on it, looking at his son. "I really hoped that school would straighten you out a bit more, maybe I should have a talk with the Headmaster. Remind him who saved his neck on more than one occasion."
Bending over to retrieve the stick, Dudley retreated upstairs, holding onto the stick tightly so that it didn't accidentally bump into the wall. It was the first time he had been reprimanded so harshly by his father and he wasn't sure how to take it. He was used to hearing Potter receive the same treatment on a regular basis and more often than not revelled in the abuse.
His mother sauntered out of her bedroom in her dressing gown, pulling a rogue curler from her blonde locks. She smiled at her son, pride twinkling in her eyes.
"How is my little, Diddy Dumpkins?" she asked, her saccharine voice assuaging the near tantrum mood of her son.
"Daddy is being mean, he yelled at me." Dudley wasn't afraid to amplify the situation; his father would never stand up to Petunia.
"I'm sure he didn't mean it, Diddykins. He is under a lot of holiday stress right now, love. Just give him some space. No matter what, he still loves you."
Dudley's mouth dropped open in shock. Where was the righteous indignation of a protective mother? Where were the comforting hug and a promise of a steaming mug of hot cocoa? Of course it was all Harry's fault. If he had been there Vernon would have an outlet for all the stress he was dealing with and Dudley could go about his holiday as he always did. As it was, he was sure there was going to be more of this odd behaviour from his parents.
&
Throwing Marge's luggage on her bed, Dudley could hear her loud sobs from downstairs and he could swear the walls were shaking. It was most likely due to a build up of tears, Dudley hypothesised, he was sure that the woman never cried for a single second in her life before this moment. This was probably why no girl ever wanted to stay with him, he was always making light of emotional moments and girls were just so serious sometimes. No matter what though, he stood behind the argument that what the world needed more of right now was humour, judging by the state of things.
No one else agreed though, it was a facet of the state of things that everyone enjoyed to wallow in their misery and even when Dudley worked up the wit to crack a joke no one smiled. His mother would fake one, but it came and went, like it never even existed.
That made it harder to keep a sane attitude, it was easier to be happy when there was someone to laugh with but more often than not Dudley felt himself growing more depressed at the sight of all the bloodshot eyes and grim frowns surrounding him.
Staring at the fog through the guest bedroom window Dudley tried to imagine what the dementoids looked like. When he closed his eyes he saw a caricature of one of his teachers telling him that he was a big, stupid bully. Cloying hands covered in cheap jewellery, the woman had the look of someone who had never been laid in their life. Thinking about a group of creatures bearing her resemblance floating around the countryside depressing everyone both terrified and amused Dudley.
When Harry got home Dudley planned to ask his cousin about the appearance of the dementoids because he was sure his teacher theory wasn't correct. He figured it was out of character to outwardly display interest in the world Harry inhabited but there seemed to be a crack somewhere. Dudley didn't doubt that all the mist and depression was all due to dementoids floating about all over, it all seemed to fit. While the idea of a merging of the two worlds scared the shit out of Dudley he wasn't one to march into anything unprepared. If it came down to it he was ready to give all those dark nasties the ol' one-two.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Dudley stopped at the bottom step as Vernon walked in the door, throwing his wool coat across the back of the chair.
"Hello, father," he greeted.
"What?" Vernon looked up, just noticing his son standing there. "Oh! Hello, Dudley. Where's your aunt?"
"She's in the sitting room with mum. Can I go out tonight?" Dudley didn't have anywhere in particular that he wanted to visit, it just seemed that wandering down to the park would be a lot more fun than listening to Marge recount the deaths of her poor animals.
"Don't be absurd, Marge is our guest tonight and I expect you to give her a big hug and tell her how sorry you are. Those dogs meant a lot to her and while the rest of us may never understand it all we know is she is upset." This would be one of the moments where having Harry around would be beneficial. Dudley figured that after a few verbal jabs at Harry she would be back to her normal, gruff self and he could go out and have a smoke.
It had been a while since he properly smoked, nevertheless every once in awhile he got the hankering for a good smoke and right now was one of those times.
"Going to the bathroom," Dudley answered shortly, turning back up the stairs.
"Make sure you come back down. Marge likes you," Vernon called after, disappearing from view as Dudley turned at the landing and continued his ascent.
Before going to the bathroom Dudley stopped at his bedroom to retrieve a pack of cigarettes shoved in the back of an old teddy bear. His lighter was lodged in the head tucked behind dead flies and bits of fluff. The poor thing had been torn apart after Dudley threw a particularly nasty tantrum when his mother yelled at him for wetting his bed. He was still convinced that Harry was behind it, Dudley wasn't baby enough to do something so embarrassing.
Shoving the contraband deep in his pockets Dudley walked across the hall and pulled a large wool blanket from the linen closet, throwing it over his broad shoulders. In the bathroom he rolled it up and used it to seal up the crack under the door, which was locked. Throwing open the window he tossed the pack of cigs and the lighter onto the counter next to the hair gels, deodorants, and colognes Dudley used regularly, meticulously organised by Petunia.
Before his diet Dudley had found moving about the bathroom a chore. It still wasn't easy because most of his fat had turned to muscle, but at least he felt better about himself when he saw his reflection. Rolling up his sleeve he flexed in the mirror appreciating the muscles that rippled beneath his skin. Who needed magic when with this one arm Dudley could knock another man out cold?
Continuing to work his muscles Dudley imagined a pretty little blonde girl, her arms wrapped around his bicep as he lifted her tiny body off the ground. "You are so strong, Big D," she would whisper in his ear. In bed she would lay tight against his body letting him protect her from whatever harm befell them in the middle of the night.
Grinning stupidly, Dudley rolled his sleeve back down over the bulky flesh, taking a seat on the toilet. Positioning a cigarette in his fingers his large fingers awkwardly played with the lighter until a flame sprouted from it, the light glittering off the freshly scrubbed tiles.
Inhaling deeply, Dudley held the smoke in his lungs, letting it warm up his body as the nicotine rushed through his system. Right before he began to choke he let it out, watching the smoke twirl sensually out the window, disappearing against the grey sky. He was aware of the hypocrisy of it all as he took another hit, throwing away his mother's while he had his own secret stash. Dudley didn't feel the need to be the perfect son, or the perfect person even. All he wanted was to make sure his mother was healthy and safe.
Tapping the ashes out into the pristine sink, Dudley turned his head sharply when someone knocked on the door. Standing up quickly, he lifted up the seat, flushing the half-used cigarette. Pretending like he was washing his hands he rinsed the ashes down the sink and then sprayed air freshener all over the tiny room.
"Open up, boy," bellowed Marge's deep voice from the other side of the door. Pushing the blanket to the side he followed his Aunt's orders, hoping that he the smile of his face was appropriately apologetic and grim. She came into view as the door swung inwards, hiding the blanket from sight. "Wipe that look off your face, I'm not dying."
Shoving past him she grabbed his pack of cigarettes and shoved one in her mouth, holding the lighter up to her mouth. She looked over at him like he was stupid. "Well, are you going to shut the door? The last thing we need is your mother getting a whiff of this," she said, lighting her cigarette.
Stunned into silence, Dudley let the door close behind him, kicking the blanket back into place. Marge's relaxation was audible, letting out a huge sigh as smoke slipped from her thick lips; her large body sank against the bathroom counter.
"Your mother means well, I'm sure," Marge continued, sucking hard on the cigarette. "But it's obvious she doesn't give a shit about my dogs. As far as I can tell the whole lot of you could care less. Not that it matters, you were never animal people."
Not wanting to sit there like a rock Dudley grasped for something to say. His memory of Ripper came to mind and he relayed it to Marge, whose frown turned into a large grin as she chuckled loudly, exhaling clouds of smoke.
"That is more comforting than any apologetic nonsense your mother spews so well."
"So, what exactly happened?" Dudley asked, hoping his aunt was up for one more retelling.
"There isn't much to say. I went out into town for the evening to have a few drinks with Colonel Fubster and when I got home the door was shattered and all my babies were..." She took a puff off her cigarette, which was more telling than any gruesome details she could spin together. "Vernon says it was my fault for living out in the middle of nowhere, away from people, but I don't think he's right. You see, I don't think it was wild animals at all. I mean, the door was torn to pieces. It was solid wood; I don't think any animal could have done that."
That's when Dudley noticed the glazed look in her eyes and was sure that his father had added whiskey to her tea, though in reality it was probably more like adding tea to her whiskey. Which explained why she was talking freely without all the waterworks he heard earlier.
"Not an animal?" Dudley prodded, interested in his aunt's theories.
"You see, they were torn apart and the cops indentified bite marks and everything, but they said the jaws were bigger than anything they had seen. One of them joked that it was the full moon and it could be a werewolf, which I thought was really insensitive of them, laughing like that as my puppies lay there mutilated. Of course I told them off but they had already written me off as a crazy lady who lived by herself. I'm sure if some rich bitch's darling poodle had suffered the same fate the bloody royal guard would get involved."
Having reached the end of the cigarette, Marge flushed the butt and sprayed the air with the scent of spring tulips.
"Honestly, I don't know what it could be, but I'm not the only one. There have been a few farmers around me that lost livestock in the last few months, something whole cows will go missing. Now tell me, what kind of creature could do that?"
Out in the hall, Dudley looked over at Marge as she brushed a few stray ashes off her jacket. Right now she didn't hurt as much because she was drunk but he didn't envy where she was going to be when she sobered up.
"You're a good kid, Dudley. Despite having absolutely clueless parents," she breathed, smacking him proudly on the back. "I told them I was going to take a nap so I might as well lie down until supper is ready. Make sure your mother goes to the market to get some real food, I don't want any of that rabbit food."
With that she disappeared into the guest room, leaving Dudley standing in the hall thoroughly confused as to what happened. Marge was right, of course. His parents were clueless as to what was really going on, but he didn't hate them for it. They were exact in the reality they created and Dudley supposed they deserved it, even if it wasn't for him; he had his own illusions to hide behind.
Ambling down the stairs for what seemed like the millionth time that day Dudley considered what Marge had told him. It did seem unlikely that a regular animal could just tear down a solid wood door. He remembered what the cop had said and wondered if werewolves really did exist. There were dementoids and Dark Lords, so how couldn't there be werewolves?
He put that on his list of things to ask Harry, even though out of them the idea of werewolves scared him the most. If there really was a whole magical community that Harry was a part of, Dudley wondered how the all could handle such nightmarish creatures all the time, the idea of it seemed exhausting.
Downstairs the phone rang.