Author's Note: In re-reading PoA, I was intrigued by Ginny's reaction to the Dementor entering the train compartment. She reacted the second worst to Harry. So I challenged myself to write a quick little piece about Ginny and Dudley discussing the matter.

Not particularly compliant with Cursed Child. Takes place after the series but before the Epilogue.

Inspiration:

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban - Chapter Five: The Dementor

Ginny, who was huddled in her corner looking nearly as bad as Harry felt, gave a small sob; Hermione went over and put a comforting arm around her.

"But didn't any of you — fall off your seats?" said Harry awkwardly.

"No," said Ron, looking anxiously at Harry again. "Ginny was shaking like mad, though..."

oOo

The cafe was practically empty, save for a large man in a light gray suit, whose cup of tea had grown cold as the evening ticked by.

He sighed and glanced at his watch again. It wasn't like his cousin to keep him waiting when they had a standing arrangement. Though...if he really thought about it...Harry would have been perfectly within his rights to do so in revenge for how Dudley had treated him when they were children. Hell, he had been mean, cruel, hateful, damaging...of course Harry would want revenge...

Bugger.

His thoughts were turning dark and destructive again for some unknown, strange reason, and Dudley did not do well with depression. He had a damn good job, a wife, two small children, a comfortable home, and two new cars. His cousin did not hate him and Dudley knew logically that Harry would never stand him up just to get even for their childhood when they had moved beyond their past. But over the past two days, his thoughts had seemingly taken a turn they hadn't taken in years and he had no idea why. It reminded him of the time when he'd been sixteen and that horrible thing had forced him to see himself for what he really was: a cruel, cowardly bully. It had been wretched, examining himself, while at the same time, petrified of death and smelling that awful, rotting smell but unable to see the actual creature that was tormenting him. And he had seen not only what he was like but what his parents were like, and he'd had to wrestle with his own personality —

Dudley wrenched himself out of the thought as the door opened again. He looked up, hoping it was Harry, but to his surprise, it wasn't.

It was Ginerva.

"You're the only person who calls me that," she'd told him once. "Except my mother, when she's in a foul mood."

"Would you rather I call you Ginny?" he'd asked politely.

She'd merely smiled. "Oddly, no. It seems appropriate when you call me by my formal name. I don't mind if you do it." Then she'd laughed. "You're the only person allowed the privilege besides mum!"

Dudley had only ever been around her if she came with Harry on one of his and Harry's regular catch-ups; he'd never just been with her, without Harry. He knew his cousin's wife was fiercely devoted to her husband, but in reality, he often felt he knew very little about either of them. Despite being on speaking terms, sending Christmas cards to each other, and their occasional visits, he didn't know much about their day-to-day lives, their likes and dislikes, or how they felt about various things. Her walking in alone, without Harry, made Dudley feel out of place and awkward. This woman was a witch — the only thing he knew was that she had played a sport in the wizard world which bizarrely involved broomsticks, and that made him a bit nervous because old ingrained prejudices died hard.

She smiled wanly as she made her way towards him through the empty tables and sat opposite him, while unwinding her scarf. The waitress reappeared before Dudley could speak, and Harry's wife ordered a cup of tea as she unbuttoned her coat.

Once the waitress had bustled off, Ginerva said apologetically, "I didn't mean to keep you waiting. Harry only alerted me twenty minutes ago that he was supposed to meet you tonight and that he couldn't make it. He asked if I would come to explain."

"It's fine," Dudley assured her. "It must be something serious for him to cancel."

She started to say yes, but the waitress returned with her tea at that moment. The woman asked if they needed anything else, and when they told her no, she seemed to linger as though curious why this slight, red-headed, freckled woman would be meeting a bulky, blond man so late in the evening. When she finally walked off, Ginerva watched her until she disappeared into the kitchen area behind the counter. Only then did Harry's wife reply, "It was something serious, I'm afraid. I'm sure you've noticed the ridiculous fog the past two days? And the cold?"

Dudley shivered involuntarily. "I had, yes."

Ginerva dropped a lump of sugar in her tea and began to stir; at the same time, Dudley thought he heard her whisper something under her breath, as though she had cast some sort of spell around them. He knew from past experience that Harry could cast a spell to prevent people from overhearing their conversations. He supposed Ginerva had done the same. It wouldn't do for the waitress (or anyone else) to hear them talking about a world that most people didn't know existed.

In a low voice, Ginny murmured, "Some of the dementors escaped from exile. Harry and the other Aurors are trying to round them up again."

The chill he had felt moments before returned instantly, and more forcefully. Dudley swallowed and clenched his hands. "I thought they were banished for good," he said, grasping desperately for this one hope. Harry had told him that the dementors had been banished at the end of the war!

"They were supposed to be, but keeping them banished is a bit challenging. In light of the recent escape, a number of Ministry staff were pulled from their regular duties to help with the situation before things get worse. Of course, Harry was everyone's first choice to lead the main task force, as he almost always is, because he's so good at repelling dementors." She sighed and stirred some cream into her tea. "But it means he's away for a bit, trying to help get the problem under control."

After taking a sip of tea, she added bracingly, "Don't worry. Harry wanted me to tell you that he has a guard detail near your house to make sure no dementors come near you or your family. He was very insistent about it, actually. He hand-picked those guards himself."

Dudley took a slow, deep breath and pulled himself out of the horrible memory. "That's very thoughtful of him. I'm much obliged."

Ginerva eyed him curiously over her cup. "Are you okay? You look really pale and clammy. I know magic makes you a bit uncomfortable —"

He shook his head quickly. "No, no. It isn't that. It's..."

He hesitated, but Ginerva was a witch, so maybe she would understand. It wasn't as if he could talk about this with a therapist or his wife or anyone else except his cousin. No one else would believe him and he wasn't supposed to reveal the magical world to non-magical people, anyways.

After a long pause, he said quietly, "It's the dementors, actually. They terrify me. I hate them. I never expected they would appear again. It scares me, and I hate being scared. The past couple of days, I've been trying to figure out why I've felt so...down. It doesn't feel normal and it was reminding me of the time that one nearly killed me…the whole thing has been messing with my head and I hate it. Now I know why."

He took a gulp of cold tea and looked out of the window. He could feel Ginerva's eyes on him; it was unnerving. He was just starting to wish he hadn't told her what was actually bothering him or that he was scared, because he hated anyone to think he was weak and cowardly, when she spoke.

"I know what you mean," she said softly. "I hate them, too. I first encountered a dementor when I was only twelve years old, and I've hated them ever since."

Startled, Dudley's eyes jerked back to her. She was watching him thoughtfully, almost sadly.

"Twelve?" he blurted. Meeting a dementor at sixteen had been terrifying enough; he couldn't imagine meeting one at the age of twelve.

She took another sip of tea. "We were on the train going to school that year, and Sirius Black had escaped from prison."

"Sirius? Harry's godfather?" he said slowly, thinking back.

"Yes. Sirius was innocent, but we didn't know that at the time. The dementors thought Sirius might attempt to sneak into Hogwarts on the train, so they insisted searching it just as we were almost at Hogsmeade Station. The train came to an abrupt halt, but no one knew why. I went to find my brother Ron, and Harry and Hermione, to see what was going on. I was in their compartment when a dementor opened the door."

"Did it...hurt anyone?" he asked, his voice slightly higher than he wished.

"No. We were very fortunate. Professor Lupin was in the same compartment, traveling to school, and he was able to repel the dementor. But it made Harry black out — whenever Harry gets too close to one and isn't prepared to cast the charm that repels them, he hears his parents' deaths. That's the power of the dementor, you see. They make you relive the worst moment of your life."

He looked at her, feeling an awful sense of foreboding. "So... what did you remember?" he asked tentatively.

She gave him a grim, twisted smile. "The year before, I was tricked by Lord Voldemort into doing something really, really horrible. He tricked me into pouring my soul into an object he had linked with his soul, so he could gain strength. He tricked me into harming fellow students at Hogwarts. So when that dementor came to our compartment on the train, all I could remember was what Voldemort had done to me the year before. How manipulative he had been. How evil. How he used me, almost killed me, just to gain power again. How I was powerless to stop him. I had only been an eleven year old girl, and I meant so little to him that he was more than happy to sacrifice me if it meant gaining his power back. I remembered how worthless I had felt when he tormented me, how scared I was."

Dudley honestly knew very little about the man who had terrorized the wizarding community for so long; the man who was responsible for Harry living with the Dursleys in the first place. He knew what Harry told him after the war: that Lord Voldemort — also known as Tom Riddle — tried to make himself immortal via acts of murder; that this evil man didn't care about anyone or anything except himself and power, and that he pushed the laws of nature too far. He had killed and tortured people, and he had enjoyed it. It had reminded Dudley a lot of Hitler in many ways, but since he hadn't been alive during that time, it was hard to form a frame of reference.

Refocusing, he asked, "How did you survive?"

"I almost didn't. He controlled me through the magical object, possessing me and making do his bidding. For a long time, I had no idea what was happening. I couldn't remember, you see. That was part of the magic: There were these awful blank periods in my memory when he was using me to try and kill other students. Fortunately, he — and by extension, I — didn't succeed. Several students were petrified, but not killed, and they were eventually restored to their normal selves at the end of the school year through a potion. But as the school year went by and Tom Riddle continued to be unsuccessful, he began to get angry that I wasn't doing the job properly. He finally ordered me to die, because he was tired of waiting. I was terrified. By that point, I knew something was dreadfully wrong but I was too scared to tell anyone." She laughed, a mirthless laugh that made Dudley shiver. She went on, "Harry saved me when Voldemort tried to kill me. I was nearly dead when Harry found me. He managed to destroy the object, and with it, a small bit of Voldemort's soul. He was only thirteen at the time. He was incredibly brave. There were full-grown wizards and witches who wouldn't have been able to do what Harry did that night to save me."

It was very difficult to grasp. Even simple magic made him shudder, so trying to grasp the nuances of complex magic was almost impossible. He gave up trying and looped back to the real reason they were having this discussion. "So...when a person is near a Dementor...?"

"Well, they make you remember the worst memory you have. So when I was twelve, I remembered that situation when I was eleven, because that was the worst thing I had experienced to that point. But the thing is, life isn't static — it's always moving forward, isn't it? So, if I were to encounter a dementor now, it would be different. I would remember that incident when I was eleven, but I would also remember other terrible things too. Things that happened afterwards." She paused, then went on, "Like... the day my brother Fred died. Seeing his body after the first half of that final battle against Voldemort. I couldn't comprehend he was gone. It was surreal. And then, just an hour later, I was led to believe that Harry died." She snorted bitterly. "That was almost worse. Don't get me wrong, I loved Fred dearly, but he was my brother. Harry...he and I had been lovers. It was entirely different to think Harry was dead. Not more or less than Fred, just very, very different."

Abruptly, she straightened and met his eyes. "But now that you know what I experience when I'm near a dementor...I have to ask — what do you experience? I'm curious if it's different for a muggle. You can't see the dementors, but you can feel them. So you must experience something, and you said you've been rather depressed the past two days."

He nodded and shivered. "Yes. When I was sixteen and one of them tried to attack me, I didn't realize what was happening. I thought Harry was doing magic, trying to hurt me. Afterwards, he explained what really happened, but I didn't believe him at first. My parents had always told me not to believe Harry. It was weeks before I truly understood that Harry hadn't actually done anything at all, that he was trying to save my life that night." He hesitated before plunging on, "You're right. Even though I can't see those awful things, I can feel them. I feel the cold, the despair. Like...I'll never be happy again. It's so horrible. And back then, when I was sixteen...what I saw in my head when that thing had me and I couldn't move or fight back or escape..."

He hesitated again. What if he told her this and her opinion of him shifted? They had a pretty good acquaintanceship — decent, cordial. He didn't want to lose that with Harry or Ginerva, even if he didn't see them often. This could damage his relationship with them completely.

She waited patiently, her head tilted slightly.

Dudley took another deep breath. "I saw myself."

Her eyebrows contracted a bit in confusion.

Unwillingly, he elaborated. "I saw how I bullied others. How I'd bullied Harry when we were younger. I saw that I was really a coward. I was terrified of that dementor, but also terrified of people knowing that I was a mean, horrible person. I thought other people liked me, you know. At school, I thought I was the popular bloke — the guy everyone wanted to be mates with, the one everyone looked up to and admired. And the dementor made me realize: I wasn't. Everyone hated me. Everyone thought I was a cruel bully, a coward who was willing to torture and hurt others to look impressive." His shoulders dropped. "I'm just as bad as that Lord Voldemort bloke."

Ginerva's look of sympathy changed to a fierce scowl. "You are nothing like Lord Voldemort," she said sharply. "Even when you were a bully, you were not like Lord Voldemort. You didn't kill people —"

"But I hurt others. It's no different. And being around all this fog, all the cold...it reminds me of that night when I first encountered one of those things, and I hate it," he barreled on, suddenly unable to stop the emotion or the pain. He had to tell someone and Ginerva was his only option. "It makes me feel like I'll never be happy again and I don't know how to fight it!"

To his surprise, she reached across the table and gripped his hand, lying loosely by his cold mug of tea. "Dud," she said softly. "You aren't a monster. You were a kid —"

"Don't justify it." Even he was startled by the coldness of his voice.

"I'm not. What you did was wrong, but you aren't that person anymore and you haven't been that person for years. The dementor was awful, sure, but it showed you what you were like and you changed, Dudley. You realized you were mean and you decided you didn't want to be that way anymore! Harry told me you tried to be nice to him the next couple of years when he was back at your parents' house during the summers."

He nodded miserably. "Yes. But I don't know that it made a difference."

"Of course it made a difference. You and Harry are friends now. If it hadn't made a difference, Harry wouldn't stay in touch with you. Trust me." She smiled warmly at him.

"Maybe you're right."

"I know I'm right. Remember: the Dementors' power is to make you feel your worst, to hate yourself and everything around you and sink into despair."

"And I have no way to combat that because I'm not a wizard."

"No, but that's why Harry put a protection detail around your house. He knows you can't fight them, so he's trying to help. Listen, I'm going to accompany you home, and once we pass the barrier, you'll feel better. Come on." She stood up and began buttoning her coat again.

Dudley followed her lead, gathering his own coat and briefcase. He tossed some money on the table and followed her out of the cafe, then led her to his car and held the door for her. Once he was inside, he turned the heat on and, to his surprise, Ginny laughed.

"What?" he asked, feeling wary.

"Do you ever think something, and realize the voice in your head sounds just like one of your parents?"

"Sometimes," he said, though he hated to admit it.

"My dad's voice was just in my head," she explained. "The warm air coming out of the vents. It seems just like magic, but I know it's not. My dad is fascinated by stuff like that. He'll stay stuff like the things Muggles can do without magic! And I thought, oh my God, I'm turning into my dad."

Dudley forced a laugh, though it didn't make much sense to him. He didn't share what thoughts usually went through his head that reminded him of his own parents; she might truly dislike him if he did, and he had already shared more than he should with her about the Dementors.

They rode in silence back to his house, but as soon as he pulled in the drive, he almost instantly felt better. The depression weighing on his brain lifted and his head cleared immediately; with a start of surprise, he exited the vehicle and looked around in confusion.

Ginerva got out on the other side without waiting for him to open her door. "Feel better?" she asked coyly, smirking over the top of the car as she shut the door.

"Yes," he admitted. "But I don't understand —"

"Spells," a third voice interrupted.

Dudley turned and was surprised to see a young man approaching them. His eyes were narrow and his mouth turned down slightly; and he wore a pair of dark slacks and a long trench, though no hat on his dark hair. His hands were buried in his deep pockets. He nodded once to Ginerva. "Mrs. Potter," he acknowledged — the tone was professional, but also curt and a little tense, which took Dudley by surprise and made him somewhat wary.

"Mr. Baddock," Ginerva responded politely. She turned back to Dudley and made the introduction. "This is Malcolm Baddock, one of the Aurors at the Ministry of Magic. He attended Hogwarts just two years below me." Then, smiling a bit mischievously, she added, "You two have more in common than you think, Baddock. Dudley would have very likely been in your house if he'd attended Hogwarts."

"Oh?" The man's expression shifted subtly and he looked briefly interested. "There aren't many Muggle-born in Slytherin."

"No," Ginerva agreed. "But it's not unheard of, either." Then, to Dudley she explained, "Mr. Baddock is one of the two Aurors assigned to protect you and your family from the Dementors. Their Patronus Charms have been keeping Dementors away from this place the past day. The charms are hidden right now to make sure Muggles don't see them, but they are nearby. What is your Patronus, Baddock?" she asked curiously. "I forgot to ask Harry."

The young man's expression became sly and he smirked, but in a way that didn't really put Dudley at ease. "A wasp," he said. "That was why Mr. Potter assigned me this detail, because my Patronus is so small that it would not be noticeable by Muggles. Small animals are sometimes the most powerful, after all — as you can see." He gestured around them, and out of nowhere, a tiny bright light zoomed from a nearby hedge and hovered in front of Malcolm Baddock — Dudley realized it was a tiny wasp, but transparent and bluish-white, exactly like the weird spell he saw Harry cast years ago in the dark alley. Malcolm added, "Mr. Potter was intrigued when he learned what my Patronus was. Everyone knows he's the expert on them, and that he loves studying everyone's individual variation."

Ginerva laughed. "Yes, he is something of an expert on the Patronus Charm. He finds them quite interesting. I have to admit, I've never seen one that small before."

"Your husband was also surprised I could cast one." Malcolm looked momentarily annoyed.

Ginerva sobered. "Many Slytherins of our age cannot. It's a bit... unusual, yes."

"I made myself learn after I graduated from Hogwarts."

"What is Orla's Patronus?"

"A bumblebee. Which is also why Mr. Potter selected her for this detail."

Ginerva nodded. "Makes sense. Can't have a bloody stag running around the neighborhood." She chuckled at the idea.

"That would certainly break the International Statute of Secrecy," Malcolm deadpanned.

"Well." Ginerva turned to Dudley again. "If you need anything, just step out and let Mr. Baddock know, yes? And Harry will touch base with you as soon as this mess is under control."

Dudley nodded. "Please thank him for me," he said nervously. The idea of this Baddock wizard hanging around his house with a little wasp made of light scared him just slightly, but he knew Harry meant well.

"I'll leave from the side yard," Ginerva added. "So I don't draw attention. See you, Dudley."

"Goodbye."

Malcolm inclined his head to her and she strode up the driveway, behind the tall wooden fence that blocked the side yard. Dudley heard a faint pop and he shivered. He was much better about magic now than he was as a child, but it required a conscious, constant effort.

"Thank you," he said politely, turning to Malcolm.

The young man nodded. "If you need me, let me know."

Dudley knew there is no more conversation to be had, so he turned and went into his house — to a wife who had no idea magic existed or that wizards and witches were protecting their home from truly horrible creatures they couldn't see, and to children who laughed when they watch magic shows on television but had no idea it was just a farce compared to the real thing. Maybe in a couple of weeks he could catch up with Harry and thank his cousin for looking out for him.

For remembering how much Dementors terrify him.

Harry really is a good egg, no matter what his parents tried to tell him years ago.