AN: Anything familiar here isn't mine. Oh, and I've realized this is a OC-Insert more than a Self-Insert, I mean if I come off as this Dudley in real life... just, no.

Chapter Two

I did not realize the situation I was in right away. How could I, with so many different questions in my mind and in full anxiety at my current impossible situation?

I had more important matters to think about before figuring out that I had been reborn in the world of Harry Potter. For one, I had been…. dying. Why was I alive? How was I alive? Was this a result of some kind of coincidences that happened at my time of death?

I hated being able to do nothing. It was a problem I had- I could not stay still. Becoming an infant with a mind of an older being became so, extremely painful. I was reduced to doing what most babies did. I slept. I spent the better of the year, doing nothing but that. I rather thought that Petunia favored it, really, because I hardly made any fuss.

Petunia was my new mother's name. I couldn't think of her as my mother though. Vernon was Vernon as well. Not father. Not yet. Their names meant nothing to me at the time but for the realization that I wasn't exactly Asian, anymore.

They both loved to spoil me, and I, though I couldn't say that I loved them like how a child should love their parents- I could appreciate the absolute adoration. I'd never been spoiled before in my past life. I loved my parents and they had loved me- but they never showed any outward affection for me and especially not for each other. They had also believed in firm parenting and had thought gifts and affection shown outwardly to be too improper.

So the extra attention was flattering, though because it was so different, it discomforted me. That was one good thing about being a baby- I was not expected to answer to the attention. I could just sleep and gurgle and nothing would be deemed wrong or impolite.

But that view of my parents shifted, starting from the night when a baby arrived.

I might have been just one year old, but I had the intelligence from the life before, and had enough self awareness to realize that a baby had been delivered to the front porch along with milk bottles. It was Monday morning, and Petunia as usual had opened the door to collect new milk from our front porch.

A shrill shriek interrupted the daily ritual.

Petunia half threw the bundle of blankets on the table. I was sitting on a raised baby-chair, and from it, I had the perfect view of what was happening. The bundle rolled, and I saw tufts of hair peaking slightly from the blankets. …Was the color black? When the bundle, had fully turned, I was greeted with the sight of a baby, about my age, opening its eyes blearily with a yawn.

He was an adorable baby, with large, doe-like eyes in a brilliant green.

Petunia and Vernon didn't seem to share my opinion, however. In fact, I became privy to their first big row.

"Let's just put him in an orphanage, Petunia! I'll never put the likes of him near our child."

"The letter says that we can't, Vernon." Her hands were shaking. "Albus Dumbledore…"

"What do me mean, we can't?!" Vernon blustered, fat face glowing red with anger. "I will not be ordered around by some senile bat crazy enough to use something barbarous as magic at his age in this century." He spat the words with disgust.

More hateful words and slurs were thrown in, this time pointing to the little baby and it's parents.

Crazy crackpots. Not normal. Magical. Dangerous.

As their voices climbed, the little baby began to bawl.

Vernon pounded the kitchen table with his fists. "Stop that!" he shouted.

Was this the true face of my new birth parents? I felt something bitter well up inside me. I thought snidely, 'Did he even think that it was going to work?' I hadn't seen this side of Vernon before. Or I had, only just on someone over his phone and not aimed at a defenseless baby.

I hoped Petunia would reprimand her husband, but she only crossed her arms with a pinched expression.

"So different from our Diddykins," Vernon growled. "Look at him and learn, he isn't crying like you are! He's already a man!"

I almost rolled my eyes at that. The only reason I wasn't crying was because I was, in fact, not a baby. And I was most definitely not a man.

Vernon sneered. "So what is his name again?"

"Harry," said Petunia tightly. "Harry Potter."

"Nasty, common name if you ask me," remarked Vernon.

He quickly left the house after that, and Petunia left little Harry on the kitchen table, and faced me. "Oh Dudley, don't worry. I won't let this nasty boy ever make you feel like anything less." Her cooing words switched to a hiss towards the end.

There was a determined glint in her eyes that made me very, very wary.

"Never," she stressed. "You're my darling son."

Vernon and Petunia were cruel. They hated the little baby, who was just my age.

I didn't particularly like drooling babies either, never had been particularly affectionate towards the small humans called infants, but that did not mean that I mistreated them.

But Petunia would always forget to feed him (but she would feed me) and when he cried put him inside a cupboard. That baby's nappies were cleaned twice a day. I was certain he got rashes from it.

Why would they do this to a mere baby?

Why?

But really, I knew why. I was just deluding myself.

I knew I was in Harry Potter. Who could miss is with names such as Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter thrown around? And the fact Petunia and Vernon, however hatefully, had still believed magic was real... But all of this? Seeing the story revealed in front of my eyes like the plot; it was like seeing a predeterminded path scripted by fate, telling me that everything had been set, that I was just a actor on a stage...

That finality was what was hard for me to bear.

But how could I deny anything?

My mother's name was Petunia Dursley. My father was Vernon Dursley. The new baby had the most brilliant green eyes, with messy, raven colored hair. He had a lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead, still red and raw-looking, even though I knew he had had it since the day he came to live with us.

The baby's name was Harry James Potter.

...And my name, was Dudley Dursley.

Exactly how common was the name for an English child? I didn't know. But it was clear in my mind. I was in the story of bloody Harry Potter, and I was the bully of the protagonists' childhood. A pretty insignificant and weak one too, due to the fact that he was a muggle while everyone else in the story was a witch or a wizard.

Wasn't death at 16 cruel enough? What kind of crime had I committed in my past life for myself to have collected enough bad karma to be dropped into Harry Potter as Dudley Dursley?!

This was also the day I realized that my new parents would absolutely detest me if they realized exactly who I was. I was the furthest thing from a child that they would want; the farthest thing from being absolutely, perfectly normal. I was even more abnormal than the hated Harry James Potter himself. At least there existed others like Harry Potter- fellow witches and wizards, even though they were fewer in number than the non magical folks. But me?

How many people remembered their previous lives? How many people knew that their second, current life- was just from a fictional tale?

And if I told them I was actually transsexual, how would they even react?

Six years later...

"Du...Dudley? Can I come in?" whispered a timid voice at the door. I quickly leapt out of my chair and opened the door. I ushered him in. I told you just come in, I half hissed as I closed the door behind us, locking it this time. "I don't lock my room unless you are in it for this very reason."

"You did remember to close your cupboard door this time, right, Harry?" I continued, remembering one time he forgot and how I had to lie in order to keep my parents from realizing that Harry was in my room. What was worse, was that they had locked Harry inside for a week in that cupboard for leaving the house in the middle of the night.

Which was hilarious. As if they were worried about him in the first place!

But my face softened as I saw my baby cousin's downcast expression.

I sighed, then dragged him to my bed and tucked him in. I sat by the bedside, and stroked his hair. "Nightmare again?"

He nodded. "There were- green lights again, and, and-" Little Harry's eyes filled with tears. My thumb deftly whiped the tears away. "You're safe now," I murmured. Then I stood and moved over to my laptop. I was still in awe of my laptop, mind you. Who ever heard of parents who gifted their six year old son a laptop just because he said he wanted it?

"You're not sleeping?"

I could hear the pout in his voice. I rolled my eyes.

"I'm busy, unlike you, like always," I deadpanned.

"You need sleep."

I ignored him, typing the rest of the information in coded Hanguel.

"I heard that young children need lots of sleep to grow taller. You're seven! You need sleep."

"Hush Harry," I said distractedly. I had four more years until Harry went to Hogwarts. Four more.

Unfortunately, I really didn't know how to start. But that didn't mean I was going to give up. I was going to prepare him. Somehow.

I felt something touch me. Surprised, I yelped- and the laptop closed shut and my chair spun towards Harry's direction. He looked at me with wide, innocent eyes.

I had to work on reinging in my temper.

Harry had been slowly, but surely showing all sorts of accidental magic as of late, especially around me. I took that as signs of trust. He trusted me enough to show me this. But I couldn't help but feel jealous.

I'd never done anything as close to magic in my seven years of life here.

I mean, I was reincarnated into the Harry Potter world. Yes, I was Dudley Dursley, a sidecharacter and muggle, but... Surely, why would I have these memories if I wasn't magical? Surely I could perform magic?

But there had been absolutely no signs of anything. Frustrating, but then again, Neville Longbottom hadn't done accidental magic until later in life. And sure, he was a late bloomer, but he grew up to be an excellent wizard.

I still had hope. But every time Harry did this, I couldn't help but feel jealous.

Ugh. If I counted my past life, I was twenty three. Not seven. I really shouldn't feel such ugly emotions especially to the person who only had me for support.

Harry was still watching me. Except he wasn't smiling anymore.

Sighing, I got up and walked to the bed.

"Scoot," I ordered.

Harry beamed, making room. I shrugged off my shoes and went under the covers. I turned off the lamplight.

"Goodnight, Dudley!" He sounded too chipper and smug for my tastes. Ah, well.

"Night, Harry."

I woke up at five. Good. It was Sunday, but also my birthday, so despite my parents probably not waking up until at least past ten, I'd rather be on the safe side.

"Harry. Harry, wake up," I hissed, shaking him awake.

He mumbled. "It's six already?"

"No. But I'd rather be on the safe side. Aunt Marge is coming today."

Harry awakened. "Aunt Marge? She's the one who raises dogs, right?"

He looked eager.

I winced.

True, Harry had never seen Aunt Marge before. It was because I always insisted on visiting her myself. Marge adored me for that, telling me I was such a good child visiting the "lonely old woman."

Fact was, I just did not want Harry and Marge to meet.

But Marge had insisted on visiting me herself this year. After all, I was her only nephew and seven, apparently, was a very auspicious age.

"Just, be careful," I said lamely.

With Harry out, I fell back in bed. Just, I hoped today would end quickly, without any incidents, most hopefully with no accidental magic.

"She should be about here by now," said Petunia, looking at the clock.

There was a ring on the doorbell.

"There she is," delighted Vernon. I got up before he could, and opened the door.

"Welcome, Aunt Marge."

"Oh Dudley," she simpered, and squeezed the death out of me. "My cute, cute nephew. Happy birthday." She landed a noisy kiss on both my cheeks, and thrusted two large boxes to me. "Two presents for the birthday boy."

"Thank you," I smiled sweetly. I put the two boxes aside, and bent down to rub the dog between its ears. "Ripper looks more handsome than ever," I said politely. The mutt panted and rubbed his head against my hands.

Marge beamed, turning to my parents. "You should be proud to raise such a polite, handsome boy, Petunia, Vernon."

Then she turned to Harry who was watching the proceedings widely in the corner.

"And is that the…. cousin?"

I stood up, and gestured to Harry.

"Aunt Marge, this is Harry. Harry, this is Aunt Marge."

"He's like my best friend, Auntie," I said firmly.

"Is he?" she questioned, her head tilted and beady eyes watching Harry's every move. "He is a bit of a... runt, isn't he, Dudleykins?"

My smile strained.

My birthday was a disaster.

Marge's nasty comments continued, starting from Harry's looks to his intelligence. Luckily, she didn't insult his parents like he did in the book. Maybe he was too young for even Marge to do so? Of course, my comments on Harry's good traits were only mentioned to state how good I was.

It was disgusting.

Then, Marge ordered Harry to take out Ripper to the backyard. Couldn't he see that she was busy talking, and was Harry not going to pay back for all the good things the benevolent Dursley family has done for him? Why hadn't the boy taken the dog out already?

I thought it was a good chance for Harry to get away from Marge. Anything would be better than listening to this.

It was a mistake.

This was Harry's first time with a dog. The dog in question was not a cute poodle. Rather, it was a bulldog.

And dogs could smell fear.

I was such an utter idiot.

Without Harry, Marge started badmouthing her neighbors. Right, Marge didn't hate Harry, it was just a character flaw. She was a wrong design, added to the plot only as a minor antagonist to liven up Harry's otherwise boring summer vacations and to emphasize on the natural horribleness of the Dursley family.

I didn't know if that made things better or worse.

"Oh Petunia, they are horrible. Not quite normal, I assure you, there is something innately wrong-"

A small shriek warned me of what was to come.

I jerked up my seat, all thoughts brought to a halt. Three pairs of eyes landed on me in surprise.

"I apologize, may I be excused, Father?"

"Dudley, what is-"

Several consecutive barks, suspiciously like Ripper's interrupted his talk.

"Sorry, Father."

I ran.

I opened the backdoor, and saw a sight that took the air out of my lungs. Harry was frantically climbing up a tree, and Ripper was barking his head off from below.

It took a moment for myself to regain composure. Then, "Ripper!" I yelled. "Come here, boy." I ordered pointing to the ground next to me.

Ripper paused, glancing at me.

"Ripper," I said in my most firm, disappointed voice.

The dog stopped barking, and he began to trudge towards me. I sighed in relief, and looked to Harry. He was to far away for myself to make out his expression, but he was calmed, he didn't try to climb up the tree frantically anymore at any rate, rather staying still (I infered, to regain his breath).

It proved to be too soon to feel relieved.

While climbing back down, Harry slipped.

"HARRY!"

I ran towards him knowing I'd be too late.

He fell. He fell, but at the last moment wind picked him up and slowed his fall.

"Dudley?"

I crouched next to him, taking in his fallen form and touching his arms, legs, making sure that Harry was perfectly fine. And he was.

"That was scary." Then he met my eyes, and started to giggle. "You were really worried weren't you?"

He looked extrememly happy as he said that.

...I saw red.

"How.. how dare you," I hissed.

"Dudley?"

"Get away from me Harry Potter, if you think this is a joke."

"Dudley? I didn't mean... Dudley!"

I ignored his shouts and slammed the backdoor. I saw Vernon, Petunia, and Marge frozen, watching me. "I apologize for my behavior," I said stiffly. "I'm not feeling well. May I be excused?"

There was a pause from the three adults.

"...Of course, Dudley. Rest," said Petunia, finally.

I nodded curtly, and went to my room and locked it. It was my first time locking it when Harry wasn't in my room

...That night, Harry was sent to the cupboard and wasn't let out for a week. And for the first time ever, I didn't bother to sneak him out.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

I slammed down on the alarm as I awoke.

5:50 AM SAT

Red, digital letters flashed by.

Everybody else in the house was still sleeping. The sky was grey, the sun missing like most days. Still not fully awake, I dragged myself to the restroom and washed my face. In the fogged up mirror, I stared at… myself. I wiped the mist on the mirror with my hands.

Small, beady eyes, the color of watery blue stared back. Dirty blond hair was cropped short, and the face was still rounded with baby fat.

I was Dudley Dursely.

It had been 7 years, yet my face always surprised me every time I glanced at the mirror. I kept expecting long black hair and brown eyes near black, not... not this.

I dressed, in dark jeans and a button-up, collared shirt. Definitely not something a seven year old would wear voluntarily. My hands pulled on the collar.

It had been a week since my birthday. I was still ignoring Harry, and ignoring the delighted reactions of Petunia and Vernon with my indifference towards my cousin. Harry looked horrible.

Exactly why was I so mad?

Outwardly, it was because he seemed so callous towards his own safetly. While I had been near panic and completely losing my head, Harry had just laughed. Giggled. It grated me. I hated losing composure, and I lost it for him. I might have decided to protect Harry, but that didn't mean I could lose my head so easily and forget reason. Because of course magic would protect him. Harry was a wizard.

I was jealous.

Me, I was jealous of a 7 year old boy in a fictional tale. Had I ever been jealous of someone else in my past life like this?

I heard a shift near the door. I glared. Harry was there, watching his feet looking nervous.

I ignored the fact that Harry never woke early voluntarily. I strode past him. He tried to reach out for me. "Dudley-" It was so easy to brush him away. "Leave me alone, Potter." I ordered, words displaying no inner turmoil I was currently going through.

Harry froze.

I walked away.

I sat on a sturdy branch of the tree, swinging my legs slightly to the breeze.

Harry had fallen off here, at about this height.

To jump off or not to jump off?

Jump. Jump. Jump.

I had muggle parents. I was a muggle.

No.

I was special. I had to be magical.

Because how could I even be of help to Harry as a muggle? I didn't want to be emotional support, cheering for the main character in the sidelines. I wanted to be something more. I didn't want to rely on Harry, I didn't want to dismiss the wizarding world either because I couldn't be content in the muggle world knowing magic was real. I wanted magic. No. I needed it.

The events of last week flashed past my mind. Harry falling down, myself being completely helpless, thinking, save him, dammit. Not being able to do anything. No bursts of power, nothing. Thinking, was I not desperate enough? Because running and calling off Ripper had been all I could do.

In the end, Harry had helped himself.

If I had magic, it wouldn't let me die, now would it? Neville Longbottom had been thought a Squib, but he bounced when he fell from a great height. Harry's fall had been slowed. If I had magic...

My head felt empty. I closed my eyes and leaned backwards. And the hold I had on the branch loosened.

Jump. Jump. Jump.

The ground rushed in and my eyes were now wide open and it was all too close and too fast and all I could think was-

Black.

I woke up to glaring white lights and the smell sharp alcohol in the air.

"He's awake." Said an unfamiliar, female voice. "Dudley, can you hear me? Nod if you can hear me."

I opened my chapped lips. "I can hear you," I spoke instead.

"Oh, Dudley," gushed out a shrill voice as she ran to hug me.

"Be careful, Mrs. Dursley, the boy needs to be calm."

"I am very calm," I said evenly. Looking around the room that was clearly a hospital, I asked, "What happened? Never mind, how injured am I?"

The nurse raised her eyebrows, but answered promptly. "You have a fractured leg, but that is all. A miracle really, that you're not injured anywhere else save for a few bruises, and nothing is permanent. Dudley," she took me in then, and switched to calling me something more formal. "Mr. Dursely, how did you fall off that tree?"

There was something like suspicion in her eyes as she looked to me and my frantic mother, expertly ignoring my father who did not look pleased.

I licked my lips. "I slipped," I lied smoothly. "I wanted to climb, I was merely testing myself out, but I suppose I wasn't as good as I thought I was," I ended sheepishly.

Vernon roughly slapped my shoulders. Looking at the nurse, he said smugly, "What have I told you?"

"I... see," she replied. "Well then, we've treated your injuries. Don't scratch the cast and come back after a week for a check up."

"So I can leave?"

Petunia frowned. "Maybe we should stay longer, Dudleykins."

I forced a carefree grin. "I'm absolutely fine, Mother."

The nurse coughed, regaining our attention. "I'll be going out. You can check out on the front desk. Don't climb any more trees soon, Mr. Dursley. And I might recommend some therapy lessons."

"What?" I asked, surprise coloring my voice. I glanced to Petunia, but she only wore the same worried expression while Vernon frowned at the nurse. I decided to be straightforward. "I am rather attached to my life, and I assure you that the incident was nothing but an accident."

"Witnesses say otherwise."

I cursed in my head. Damn, had I been that foolish to not realize there were possible witnesses?

"They must have panicked. I assure you- I don't plan on dying from anything other than old age."

The nurse fixed me with a strange look.

Finally she replied, "Your son seems quite advanced for his age, Mrs. Dursley. One wouldn't believe him to be only seven."

Petunia puffed up proudly. "He is my little genious." I rolled my eyes.

Then, I hesitated. I licked my dry lips, then asked, "And how is Harry?"

"...What about that boy?"

Vernon and I stared at each other blankly.

I didn't notice the nurse going out.

The city landscape passed by. I stared at the window at the grey city, cloudy and slightly raining.

I was not a witch.

Like it or not, I was Dudley from cannon, from birth parents to looks to circumstances. The only thing that was different was the fact that our mindsets greatly differed. I could at least be confident in that, because there was no way in hell I would ever be described by Harry as a child whale if I was, well, me. First, I'd never overeat to be that unhealthily heavy, and second, Harry would never dare call me that even if I was that heavy if that Dudley was me.

And as for Harry...

I closed my eyes.

I didn't hate Harry, not really. And I had been mad at his attitude but I had always known that it wasn't because he didn't care, it was because he was happy I cared. And this was because I was the only one who watched out for him. And also because Harry wasn't certain of my affections because truthfully, I wasn't very affectionate, especially when we had company.

It was a horrible situation all around.

I wasn't heartless, I did sympathize with Harry. but I also had no plans to change myself. Please, we were living with Vernon and Petunia. He'd have to learn to deal... somehow.

Petunia helped me to my bed. I slipped under covers, but wasn't ready to fall asleep.

"Rest, my little Dudley. I'll cook you your favorite foods tomorrow."

I closed my eyes and buried myself deeper into the covers. Petunia thought my favorite food was seafood pasta and lemon margarine pie. Heh. It wasn't.

Has it been minutes? Seconds? After Petunia left me, a different voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Dudley?"

Harry was standing front my door with a half worried, half anxious expression.

I had made him like that.

"Come on in."

Two hesitant steps forward, then he almost ran next to my bedside.

"I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry Dudley, please give me another chance, I'll be good. I'll be better. So please," Harry begged with his vivid green eyes peering wide.

I tilted my head slightly. "What are you sorry for?"

"I..."

Green eyes began filling with tears. Before he could speak, I pulled myself up.

"I was angry. I thought you didn't care about your own health, because you laughed when you could have been hurt, for real."

I looked away.

"And I'm sorry too. I didn't tell you to close the door, always, because I was ashamed of you. It was to protect you. Petunia and Vernon hates you, you know. Their reason is simple, and it isn't because of you. It's for reasons out of your control and its unforgivable. But they are adults, and I thought it was the best way to protect you."

I didn't tell him about my jealousy, or magic. I couldn't. It would be acknowledging a side of me I didn't want to acknowledge myself.

Harry began to cry. I stiffened, and looked at him again at a loss. Exactly how was I suppose to comfort him? What did he expect me to do?

My thoughts were disrupted by two thin but firm arms wrapping around me tightly.

Snot and tears got on everywhere, but for once, I couldn't drudge up the emotions of annoyance even if I tried.

AN: I know, it's been a year since the first chapter. I'm sorry. I love you guys for reading this, and I hope you review. Thanks for staying with me!