TONGUE TWISTER

"It's Dudley, isn't it?"

My name – 'a traditional English classic', Dad making me sound like a fucking breakfast special – was only ever uttered with either love or hate. Well, Mum only calls me those nasty nicknames that make me want to puke and cringe, both at the same time. I can put up with it when we're indoors, but out in public, where anyone can hear her call me; 'Diddykins' is literally my worst nightmare.

That, and the stupid fucking diet I was forced to go on. All year. It was torture! If I ever see another piece of grapefruit, I'm gonna ram it down the throat of the next little shit who cheeks me. Mum is so obsessed with me healthy eating that she made me a birthday cake out of grapefruit. When I got home last week from school, that was what I was greeted with.

She's lucky I didn't chuck it out the window.

Got to admit though… the diet, destroying as it was, has made more girls give me more attention. I've overheard them, whispering way too loudly, that I'm 'fit'. And if I'm 'fit', then… maybe that could work to my advantage…

I puff out my chest, flexing my muscles. Mum and Dad were well shocked when I came home for Christmas. I'd lost weight - taking up boxing and early morning runs will do that to you – and shot up in height, again, meaning I looked, and still do, like a motherfucking beast. No one messed with me before, and they definitely won't NOW.

I exude confidence, I'm a Dursley after all! But even I knew it wasn't just 'baby fat'; I was fat, (heavy, I preferred) and not ashamed of it. Who ever heard of the smaller, weaker kid winning the fight?!

So, I was very fat, according to the stupid school nurse. Blabbing on about heart disease and 'heading to an early grave', she made me feel like I was on Death's fucking door at that very moment. The fact that the school uniform didn't fit me right didn't really bother me, Smeltings uniform is bad. Trying to chat up girls from the local girls' school in that get-up was god-awful, those girls who cackled at me, be glad they were girls, cause I don't hit girls… Well, I never have done.

So, I went on the diet and it was hell, because all my favourite foods were restricted, taken away in plastic shopping bags by my tearful Mum, promising I could have it all back when the nurse was satisfied. I'd screamed, stomped my feet like a little kid, cause yeah, the old tactics worked a charm. I always got what I wanted, Mum and Dad falling over themselves to appease me, to give their little darling everything. Well, this time, Mum had stuck to her guns, tearfully, shocking me into silence. I'd been pissed. The only benefit was that Dad had to join me in the painful experience, and I could momentarily relish in his shared misery.

The diet was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life, I literally couldn't imagine not eating crisps, chocolate, and warm greasy delicious fast food again.

Until, the incident.

"Dudley? Dudley… Dursley, yes?"

I blink, unsure of who and why someone random was speaking to me. Shifting my gaze down, my eyes narrowed upon landing on the face of a short dumpy woman. She was about a foot shorter than me, wide brown eyes, an explosion of freckles over her nose and cheeks, and she had bright red hair… bright red-

I gasped. Literally gasped in panic and stepped backwards. She blinked up at me, seemingly in shock before holding her hands out to me, palms up.

"It's okay. I'm Molly, Molly Weasley. My son, Ron, is friends with Harry-"

She was their mum. I can see them, there's a big group of red-headed people; the old balding man, Potter's 'friend', a girl and them. They're staring at me, smiling.

Gritting my teeth, I strain a smile.

'Those two fucking freaks who served that freaky sweet up to me on a silver platter. I was so bloody hungry, I was desperate. I should have never picked that sweet up. I bet Potter had told them about my diet, and they knew my weakness… Fucking bitch and her stupid family of inbred rats…'

The strained smile vanished and I couldn't help the fear I currently felt shift onto my face. She was a freak, with one of those stick things…

'What if she can read my thoughts?... Oh god, go away….'

I step back again, eyes wandering nervously to the pockets of her coat. If she whipped out her stick, I could be prepared. Run or…

"Dudley?... It is Dudley, right?"

"Y-Yeah." I sputtered out, annoyance slightly outweighing the fear. Why was she so obsessed with talking to me?!

"I'm sorry…" She hesitated, dropping her hands down to her sides. "I'm not going to hurt you… I wanted to apologise-" She shot a quick glare over to the group of redheaded people, and it was hard to miss the reaction of the freakish twins. They winced, and then the woman was wheeling that expression back onto me, but it didn't last. Concern softened her eyes and her lips turned down into a sad frown.

"I want to apologise on the behalf of my children. I understand that the way in which we travelled to your home distressed yourself and your parents, and I know," She put a hand to her heart. "That what happened to you was very distressing and traumatic. I want you to know that I spoke to my sons when they returned home, and I still intend to punish them for what they put you through."

The hand fell away from her chest and reached out towards me. I stepped back again, facial features twisting into mistrust.

"I hope you weren't too hurt by the effects of the sweet. Arthur, my husband, informed me of the details," She looked embarrassed. "I have no idea why they created such a cruel and nasty product. I'm ensuring they don't intend to sell it to the general public. Are you okay? I hope you will… I hope…"

She trailed off, seemingly out of words, her hand once again dropping, and I just stared at her. All the words I wanted to throw at her, yell, scream, swear, were reserved for my own head. The fear twisted my tongue, and I shuddered.

Four foot long tongue lolling about on the carpet, Dad bellowing and throwing our fine china at that old redheaded freak, Mum trying to wrench the monstrosity out, nearly CHOKING me, the stick waving round, colourful lights dancing about the living room, Potter standing there, the freaks vanished into our broken electric fireplace, laughing their heads off…

"I-I'm fine."

'No, I'm not. All you lot just want to cause me pain and torment me. What kind of SICK FREAK gives someone a toffee that makes their tongue grow like that? And sells it! I COULD HAVE DIED. DIED! Yeah, your husband helped me, but he could have been quicker! And you've had nearly a WHOLE YEAR to punish them! What's the delay?! Stupid bitch, I don't want your apology or your forgiveness! GET BENT!'

"Duddy? Are you okay, sweetums?"

Relief flooded through me. Mum and Dad were now beside me, Potter in tow. Now I was no longer alone and cornered by the wicked woman, I felt my confidence begin to return. Dismissing her, I turned to Mum, my frightened furious Mum.

"Can we go now? I'm bored, and I need to practice."

I expected a 'witty' remark to come from Potter, however he weirdly remained silent. He looked downcast, and I snorted.

'I swear every time he comes back from that freak school, he's more depressed. Good. Maybe he'll get the fuck out of my face this summer.'

We started to walk away from the freaks, Potter trailing behind me and my parents, and as we walked out of King's Cross station and headed towards Dad's car, I smirked. An idea, one that was impossible, yet satisfying came to mind;

'If those freaks continue selling that sweet, maybe I could give Potter a dose of his own medicine. Stop him being such a smart-arse… by giving him his own sweet treat.'