1 October 1997

Dudley woke up to the smell of bacon and his mother's voice.

"Dudders, wake UP! We need to get back go work, Diddums." She jostled his shoulder.

Why was the smell of bacon so strong?

Dudley peeked through one eye. Petunia had brought a whole plate upstairs, piled high. He was surprisingly hungry, considering how early it was.

No.

It wasn't early.

His watch said it was 10:32 A.M.

Why had he overslept? He never overslept.

Munching the bacon, Dudley got up and stumbled over to his clothes.

"Excellent, darling. Your father and I let you sleep in, as we thought we may as well get our reading done before getting you started on your work." Petunia reached up and kissed Dudley's cheek. "SO PROUD of all the work you did last night, popkin. Everyone's noticed all your efforts."

Dudley didn't remember doing any work, but he wasn't about to argue. He ate another slice of bacon. Good, she'd brought up some tea as well.

"Well, I'll let you get dressed, then," his mother said on her way out.

Dudley stared at his clothing. Why was his favorite workout shirt crumpled on the floor, and why did it stink?

Why did his arms and shoulders feel so tired?

He smacked his dry mouth and drank a little tea. He missed his mouth and sloshed his chin. Trying again, Dudley managed to drink the rest of what was in the cup.

He was still thirsty.

Not liking the smell and strange, sweaty feel of his favorite shirt, he dressed in his second favorite workout clothes. He'd slept until mid-morning, well past his normal workout-and-shower time. Still, if he got in a quick workout now, and a quick shower, he'd probably be done by the time anyone complained.

As he tied his trainers, Dudley reflected on his mother's words. He had work. Why did he have work? He didn't have a job. Or, did he? Was he supposed to be wearing a tie?

Dudley rummaged through his dresser and found his dress shirts scrunched in the back of the bottom drawer. Why hadn't his mother ironed one for him, if she wanted him to do work? And he couldn't even find the trousers, just loads of athletic gear, as if that's all he'd been living in.

Then again, did she mean him to do work around the house?

But that was Harry's job.

Dudley stared at the second bed. Harry didn't live with them anymore. They lived with Hestia and Dedalus. And Remus and Tonks. So… he had to do things?

It was raining outside. Not even Harry had to do gardening in the rain. It was bad for the plants. They could get diseases.

His mouth still felt so dry. He wanted some water. But if he went downstairs, he'd get roped into doing whatever "work" there was. He ran a hand over his chin. It was scratchy.

The side of the bed left a sharp pain in his calf when he stumbled on the way to his nightstand. There was a hand mirror in the drawer, probably left from Hestia's aunt. But what Dudley saw on the nightstand distracted him from checking whether he'd grown a beard.

A ten-pack of AA Batteries. A double-pack of men's antiperspirant.

They were the wrong brands.

Yet he held them both in wonder.

Why was he so happy?

Panting heavily, Dudley pulled his chin over the pull-up bar. He'd finished only one set, and that had been difficult. Why was he so weak today?

A few moments later, he shook himself and stared at the ends of the skipping rope he held in his hands. He flicked it over his head. The middle of the rope landed on the floor in front of him. He stared at it.

No. He knew how to do this. He held the rope up to his face, closed his eyes, and inhaled the smell of plastic.

How did I manage to get this drunk? Dudley wondered. He hadn't had alcohol for ages.

This is weird, Dudley thought, as he balanced on one leg, eyes closed, holding the skipping rope in one hand. I feel drunk and sober at the same time.

He was wasting precious workout time. Taking a deep breath, Dudley flicked the rope again, and jumped up on his toes as the rope came down. He did it. Was it stupid to feel proud of himself? Maybe. His coach would have screamed himself hoarse by now, but Dudley beamed as he switched from jumping to running, from running to a basic side-to-side drill.

Sober Dudley was winning out.

Panting heavily, Dudley rested. He felt fantastic.

The bench beckoned him.

Yeah.

He'd pump some iron, then finish his workout with some time on the bag.

Dudley struggled under the bar, wrists shaking.

Sweat trickled down his cheeks, tickling his ears. He grunted and heaved, but his arms just couldn't manage the weight. He knew he could lift this much. Why wasn't his body working right?

As his forearms trembled, he inhaled and could feel his ribcage just brush the bar. Exhaling, he strained and lifted the bar imperceptibly.

He was losing control.

He closed his eyes, and inhaled again, trying for a deeper breath. The bar was closer now, pressing against him, and he couldn't quite fill his lungs.

This might be his last chance.

EERRRGGHHH

He was failing.

He had always been too stupid to live, and now he was going to die.

He gasped in, barely enough breath to work with, and tried one last time.

POP!

Someone swore, and the weight lessened. It flew up from his grasp and clattered onto the supports.

Dudley continued to gasp, eyes closed, shaking and gulping the air.

Someone helped him sit up. He felt a glass of water at his lips and swallowed. Still shaking, he opened his eyes and stared into Tonks' heart-shaped face.

She was still swearing, under her breath.

"Dudley, look, I'm sorry" she said, "I should have remembered. You can't lift anything heavy for a bit."

He leaned forward, trying not to vomit. He'd vomited, right on the mat, after the Dementors had chased him and Harry. He swallowed and tried to clear his head.

There was a way to slow his heart rate. There was a way to breathe that would bring it down.

Cool down.

It's cool down, not sit down! Coach bellowed. On your feet, Dursley!

"Yes, Coach," he said, and stood up.

He walked back and forth in the tiny room, weaving around the beds and workout equipment to reach the window. The sun was out.

"Dudley?" Tonks sounded worried. "I'm not your coach, Dudley."

"Yeah, I know. I was just thinking about him, is all." He turned and walked back to the nightstand, turned and walked again to the window.

"Do you know where you are, Dudley?"

"Meadowsweet Cottage." He winced at saying the name, which was as far from cool as you could get.

"And do you know what day it is?"

This was tricky, as all days blurred together without television to distinguish them. Dudley looked at his watch. "It's Wednesday. First of October."

Tonks made an unhappy sound and scrunched her face. Dudley did another lap. He was still panting, and his heart was still racing. This cool down was not working well.

"Why do you keep pacing like that?"

"Coach says to cool down."

"Is… is Coach here with us?"

Dudley stopped, disgusted. "Nooo. He's at Smeltings." Where Dudley ought to be. He continued to pace and tried to remember Coach's breath trick. In for seven, hold for five? No, out for eight, looking great. He inhaled through his nose until his lungs felt like bursting, puffed out his cheeks, and took another lap. How long was he supposed to hold? It was scary, holding his breath. Too much like what had almost happened. He let out his breath with a whoosh, through his mouth, trying to make it to eight seconds. Then he snorted in some more air.

"Why are you breathing like that?" Tonks was on her feet now, coming toward him. "Dudley?!"

He completed another breath sequence, such as it was. His heart was racing. Was he warming up, or cooling down?

Something something bench press.

He lay down on the bench and reached up for the bar.

"NO no, no you don't," Tonks said, pulling him up to his feet. "You already worked out, Dudley. Twice. Look, I got the batteries you wanted. And some deodorant. Why don't you go take a shower, and then put some of this on, maybe a lot of it, rather, and then you can show me how the batteries work."

Dudley smiled, then vomited all over the floor. Dizzy.

He thought he'd eaten bacon, but the bits looked more like nuts.

He vomited again.

"Evanesco," said Tonks, between dry heaves. She flicked her wand at window, and misty, damp air smelling of soggy meadow and rain gusted inside.

"Shower, Dudley," she said. She pushed the deodorant pack into his hand and turned him around by the shoulders so he faced the bedroom door.

He stumbled against the door frame as he left.

Post-shower, Dudley wrapped a strangely soggy towel around his waist. He stared down at a 2-pack of Old Spice, which everyone knew was for old men. He normally used Sure. It would be a few years before Dudley would briefly switch to Axe Body Spray. Confused, he opened up the plastic and threw it in the wastebin. Surely this was meant for his father? Yet, as in a dreamlike trance, he found himself expelling the plastic inner cap and applying the stuff.

"DUDLEY!" his father called.

"In a minute!" he yelled back out of habit.

"Well, hurry up, son! It's not even your shower time!" Vernon dropped his voice to a mutter. "Not that we're complaining."

Dudley stepped out, leaving his workout clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor. He looked down at his father, still confused.

"Your mother and I have found a few more books for you to write up for us, Dudders," Vernon continued. "So, get dressed and hurry downstairs, and you'll be able to finish before luncheon."

Wordless, Dudley returned to the bedroom he shared with Dedalus Diggle. Where was Dedalus? From the still-open window, Dudley heard murmured conversation. Hestia and Dedalus were outside together, watching the hens scratch about in the yard.

"But what was she thinking?" Dedalus asked. "We've all been getting along so well, too."

"You know how tense things have been between the two of them," Hestia said. "I can understand not wanting the Dursleys upsetting the delicate balance."

If they turned around, they'd see him at the window. Dudley sat down on the floor, out of sight. He leaned against the wall, indifferent to the damp patch he left on the wallpaper.

Dedalus sighed. "Well, he ought to be feeling better by now, after the extra sleep. If not, I'll know the reason why. Meanwhile, hadn't Remus ought to be finishing up with his Fidelius?"

"Mmmf. All depends on the size of his place. Been very cagy about all that. I can't exactly blame him for striking out on his own this morning, but all the same – I'd have preferred if he'd stuck to the plan and let me help. You've known him longer than I, Dedalus – was he always this secretive?"

"More so. He's an open book compared to how he was in the First War. Easy mark for Pettigrew, I suppose. When their missions started failing, he was the obvious one to blame."

"Sure you weren't just prejudiced against him?"

"Nooo. Well. Hard to say, I suppose. One does make suppositions without meaning. Just, he tended to avoid any real conversation. Let James and Sirius do all the talking, back then. You never got to meet Sirius before Azkaban, you know. He was quite changed. Still clever, still the biting wit, still brave as anything, but … well… Anyway. You met him. Yes, well, in the First War, their missions started to fail, you see. Put a lot of us at risk, too. And it was clear enough there was someone leaking information to the other side. We were getting killed, on missions that were supposed to be safe. Easy enough for Pettigrew to frame Lupin. Even after the war, there was enough doubt that…"

"That why he didn't get a job with any of you lot? The old Order, I mean?"

"Not that most of us were in a position to do any hiring. I was a one-man operation, always have been. He's unhirable at the Ministry, of course. And, Sirius went to Azkaban, he dropped out of sight. Only Dumbledore managed to track him down, you know. He'd changed, too. He used to laugh more. Why do you ask, anyway? Worried about him, are you?"

"No! No, just… it has been a difference, hasn't it? Since Sirius died? And all that mess with Greyback last year. He's been rather a leader, or he was, but then…"

"Back he goes to life on his own. And, if you ask me – well, I should probably not say anything. Obviously, Molly and Arthur know far more about marriage than I, and they've always supported this match. Egged it on, some might say. But…"

"It's not our business," Hestia said crisply.

"But it is, you see. If the problems in their marriage are going to –"

"That's quite enough. We all had an agreement to keep certain things secret, and – while I don't condone Tonks' action – I can't say I'm not relieved they don't know."

"They don't know, but they'll know something's up if Dudley isn't back to his old self soon. Muggles though they be, they aren't blind."

Dudley continued to listen, as blurred memories from summers past washing over him. Harry muttering in his sleep at night. Broken phrases that only now started to make sense. Sirius. Lupin. Let me go. Let me save him.

"Dudley'll be alright," Hestia insisted. "Tonks has locked his weights away, so we don't have to worry about accidents. And it's not like he ever volunteers to cook, so there's no fire risk. Look, it's nearly my turn at the Wireless again, and I fancy a bit of a walk first. Care to join me?"

The voices died away. Dudley stared at his hands, half expecting to see them altered. They looked normal enough. What had Tonks done? What was the big secret? What was wrong with him, Dudley, and how would he tell when he was back to normal? And where were his weights? He fancied a bit of a workout.

Vernon pounded on the bedroom door. "Dudders! Get dressed and join us downstairs!"

"Coming, Dad!" Dudley shouted. He'd put on his sweats and found them uncomfortably tight. His ankles and wrists stuck out, and the fabric was tight across his back and chest. Digging through his clothing, Dudley found a hideous, loose garment. Robes. Striped. He closed his eyes and tried to remember Dedalus' stories. The Caerphilly Cannons.

He'd look rather an idiot, and they were the opposite of cool. Dudley cared about being cool more than anything.

But there was no one to see him. Just his parents and some old people.

Dudley switched into the robes and breathed a sigh of relief. Comfortable at last, and even with room to grow. Whoever'd worn these had been massive.

There were batteries on his bed. Batteries could make electronics work.

He ripped into the package too roughly, and several AA's spilled onto the floor. He scrambled to round up the precious cylinders. He switched out the batteries in his CD player, then started flipping the pages in one of his CD binders. All the jewel cases were at his home, of course.

Why did he feel a pang of sorrow and fear, thinking of the stacks of jewel cases?

Why did he imagine flames melting them into indistinguishable globs of plastic?

Dudley had never gone so long deprived of music. Real music, not himself practicing scales and beginner exercises on the celestina.

It was hard to decide what to choose on this momentous occasion.

Let fate pick for him, he thought.

Closing his eyes, he flung the carrying case into the air and let it fall back in his lap. He jabbed blindly at it, then opened his eyes.

Dookie by Green Day.

Who was Dudley to argue with destiny?

As his father pounded on the door and yelled for him to come down the stairs and get to work, Dudley slid the shimmering disc into the portable player. It closed with a satisfying, unmagical click and whirred into action.

"Do you have the time," he sang as he flung the door open. Vernon glared from behind the wild beard that had grown over the weeks with no fresh razor. "To listen to me whine?"

Dudley was ready to work.

"Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me. It all keeps adding up. I think I'm cracking up!" he hummed under his breath as he cracked open another mouldy tome.

"Dudley! These notes can't be right," Remus told him.

Hadn't Remus gone off somewhere? Dudley wondered. When had he got back?

"I don't think Snape wrote anything like this. It looks like some sort of obscene poem, but …" Remus wrinkled his scarred forehead as he squinted at Dudley's notebook.

Dudley looked over his shoulder. "Oh. That's a song I was listening to."

"How are you listening to – isn't that your CD player you wanted us to fix?"

"Not fix – just get batteries. Tonks got them for me."

"When did she go out? We're not supposed to… never mind. Kindly cross out anything that's a song lyric, and for the next batch, please leave off listening to music whilst working."

"Music helps me work, though. And I haven't had it for ages!"

"Well, haven't you got anything without lyrics?"

Dudley, of course, had several instrumental albums, but he didn't think it was up to Remus what he should play.

"What are you lecturing our Dudders about, there?" Petunia asked. "I'm sure he does his best – better than any of you. We were up all night trying to help."

Remus smiled, tense. "It doesn't do any good to pull all-nighters and then have to do the work over again. Look, there's even a page torn from the notebook. Where's that got to?"

"Where did you get batteries, Dudders? You smell rather pleasant," Petunia went on.

"Tonks got them for me. And some deodorant."

"How thoughtful of her. There's quite a few things I need for the house, I wonder did she get anything else?"

"Dunno." Dudley turned the volume up on his CD player and reached to take the notebook back from Remus.

From the corner of his eye, he could see his mother and Remus arguing. He shifted in his seat until he could see them no longer.

"The sun's come out," Dedalus said. "We thought the three of you hadn't got much family time lately, and perhaps you'd enjoy a picnic." He held out a hamper on top of which he'd set a folded blanket. "You'll find this blocks the damp most effectively."

"No, thank you," Petunia said. "Lovely idea, Dedalus, but I'm not feeling up to a walk."

"I say we all take a working lunch," Vernon said. "If we push on at this pace, we'll be able to triple our quota before dinner." He rubbed his hands together and eyed the bookshelves as if they were some wayward mid-level salesmen who need a dressing down.

"Nothing like some fresh air, though! Re-energize yourselves, do."

"Why don't you send the lovebirds out for a picnic?" Vernon grumped. "They're the ones who need to reconnect. We Dursleys are a well-oiled machine."

Dedalus swayed back and forth, anxious and miserable. The wizards obviously wanted the place to themselves for a bit and needed the Dursleys out of the way. "I think," he said, "perhaps Dudley could use the fresh air. He looks a bit peaky, to me."

Petunia placed a clammy hand on Dudley's brow and scrutinized his face. "You do look a bit under the weather, darling. Maybe…"

Dudley was none too sure about tramping through a boggy meadow and briary forest in the billowing Catapults robes. "I dunno, Deadliest."

"You wouldn't have to go far! There's a sort of hillock, up behind the house, with a few large boulders. Perfect spot for a picnic, I should think."

"Thirty minutes, no more." Vernon tapped his watch. "Then straight back to the books."

"Brilliant! And you'll find the hamper's easy to carry, as I've put a Feather-light Charm on it."

"What on earth is the matter with your galoshes there, Dudders?" Petunia asked.

"Just can't seem to get the things over my shoes," he complained.

"Having trouble there, Deadly?" Dedalus asked. "Troublesome things, galoshes. So floppy. Please allow me…" Dudley didn't see the wand motion, but the galoshes sprang onto his shoes of their own accord.

As the door closed behind them, Dudley settled his headphones back over his ears and headed off to the boulders.

He felt a tug on his sleeve. His father pulled the headphones aside. "Not that way, son! Off to the south, remember? Here, I'll take the basket."

Vernon tramped ahead of his wife and son with a set jaw. Dudley twisted his neck to stared back at the owl tower, where a few owls were visible in the arched openings. His father gestured at him to follow. Dudley turned the CD player off as they walked. He didn't want the disk to skip and get scratched. It was supposed to be fully portable, but these things were never as good as they promised on the packaging. He kept the headphones on, though, to avoid having to talk. He still felt dizzy at times.

At the picnic site, Petunia lay the blanket down on the flattest of the mossy boulders, and Vernon dug through the hamper to set out the salad and cold pork pie Dedalus had packed for them. "No bread, no mustard, no silverware. Are we meant to claw at it with our hands?" Vernon complained. "The man has no sense, none whatsoever."

"I ought to have checked the hamper before we set out," Petunia said. "Shall I run back to the house and fetch a few things?"

"They clearly want to have some sort of pow-wow. Probably locked the place up after us."

"Still… they can't be angry at us for asking for forks and knives."

Dudley's stomach growled. Dizzy though he was, he was hungry.

"Oh, you two go ahead and split the pie, at least. Truth be told, I don't feel terribly well."

Splitting up the pie was a messy business, but Dudley didn't care. He wondered if it had also been walnuts, or if somewhere there was a magical pig farm.

Vernon checked his watch. "We've been gone only fifteen minutes. Think they'll have finished their whatever-it-is?"

"They're having a row, I know it. He went off to his cabin without anyone else, with never a word of warning, and she went about the shops in disguise. And there's something else going on, something that's made Diggle cross at her, but I haven't figured out what. Hestia's cross at the both of them, and no wonder." Petunia set the untouched salad bowl back in the hamper. They all stood, and she folded the blanket. "She must find their behaviour unbecoming and embarrassing."

"Well, who wouldn't?"

Dudley felt as if he'd forgotten something. Had he skipped his workout today? His shoulders felt weary, and his chest was sore. He'd noticed a bruise across his chest when he'd changed into the robes. He rubbed at it absentmindedly.

"Since we're out here, though, by ourselves," Vernon said, "there's something we need to discuss. Dudley, take those things off." He gestured at his ears, imitating removing the headphones.

Dudley slid the headphones to rest on his neck.

"That's it, son. Please understand, I mean this as no rebuke. But, well. Look at you."

Looking down, Dudley saw the wide, hideous stripes in green and scarlet. The uniform of the Caerphilly Catapults had to have been designed by their rivals, he thought, because they were the ugliest things in existence.

"You're wearing their clothes now. That's a bad sign, very bad. This is all affecting you, too much."

"We said he should be the Good Cop," Petunia protested.

"Even so. Even so, you ought to keep on wearing your own clothing. Dressing properly." Vernon had persisted in wearing a suit and tie on weekdays. "Keeps the morale up."

"Most of my clothes don't fit," Dudley said. "They're too small."

"I think you've had another growth spurt, Dudders," Petunia beamed. "We'd normally have bought you all new things in August, before the start of school, but…"

"Yeah." August had been spent at Meadowsweet Cottage.

"Well. It seems Tonks enjoys a spot of shopping," Vernon said. "Perhaps she ought to visit a clothing store next. Take your measurements, that sort of thing."

"We'll all need warmer clothing, for winter. It's not like they gave us much room for bringing luggage." Petunia's mouth was a thin line. "And they might have, you know. They really might have done. There's a … a way they have, to make spaces bigger on the inside. We could have brought along everything in the house, if they'd have set it up right." She inhaled a deep breath and rubbed at her temples.

Vernon checked his watch again. "Nearly time to get back to work. We ought to make a list, write up all the things we need, for the next time she takes it in her head to visit the shops. D'you think she stole the stuff, or does she have proper money?"

His head felt stuffed with wool, but a memory of handing over a few pounds bubbled up in Dudley's mind. "I gave her some money to buy the batteries."

"I feared as much," Vernon said. "THEY brought us here, quite unprepared, through no fault of our own. THEY should purchase what we need out of THEIR accounts."

On their walk back to the house, they had to duck through a stand of trees. A cloud passed over the sun, and in the shadows of the heavy trunks and branches, the light dimmed.

Dudley started back. A man, clad in a white coat, with a mirror strapped to his head, stepped into the murky clearing.

"Dudley Dursley!" he chirped. "You're late for your cleaning. Have you kept up with your flossing?" Not waiting to hear Dudley's reply, he said, "Well, we'll find out soon enough, won't we?"

"Dr. Ferris," Dudley gasped and stepped back in shock. How could his dentist be here? He swallowed. He had not been flossing. Or brushing. He'd run out of toothpaste, and he didn't like the way his toothbrush tasted without it.

"Too much sugar, not enough floss, keeps me in business!" Dr. Ferris taunted. A chair and table of dental instruments appeared beside the dentist. He reached for a drill and set it to whirring. The high-pitched, horrible sound made Dudley wince. Instinctively, his hand came up to his mouth.

Behind him, Dudley heard his parents catch up and gasp in shock.

"And there's mum and dad!" the dentist sang. "Been spoiling little Dudley here, have you? His X-rays show he needs lots of fillings. Sad to say, I'm fresh out of Novocaine."

His arm, suddenly, impossibly long, like an octopus tentacle, reached for Dudley. The drill in the hand increased in size and whirred even faster.

Dudley screamed.

The dentist shuffled forward through the broken ferns and brambles.

"Ferris! What are you doing out here?" Vernon demanded, shoving forward past his terrified son. "You have to help us!"

"Oh, I'll help you, alright!" The dentist pulled open his coat, revealing a bomb strapped to his chest. No, the bomb wasn't strapped to his chest. His entire chest was a bomb. A nuclear missile, in fact. Dudley recognized the black and yellow symbol. The missile-dentist, still whirring his drill, stepped forward. "Help you to the afterlife!"

All three Dursleys screamed.

In the center of the nuclear warhead, a digital clock showed the time as "00:00:05." It dropped to "00:00:04."

The Dursleys screamed again and turned to run. Dudley slammed his head into an overhanging branch and stumbled backward, knocking into his father. Petunia caught her foot in a cluster of brambles and tried to pull it free, as the clock dropped to, "00:00:01."

"It's not even keeping time right!" Dudley gasped, as the counter hit, "00:00:00" and the dentist exploded. "It's… it's not fair!"

The burning white cloud spiraled up, shining brighter than the sun, and unfurled into a towering mushroom.

The Dursleys screamed again.

As Dudley's scream continued, drowning out those of his parents, he wondered why his skin wasn't melting away, why he wasn't turning to ash, why the explosion hadn't knocked him even a little bit backward. Perhaps time stood still at the ground zero of nuclear war. Perhaps Dudley was already dead, and this final memory was seared into the last shreds of consciousness.

He shouldn't be able to run away.

Tripping over the Catapults robes, he grabbed his parents' hands and pulled them back away from the nuclear explosion. They all continued to scream as he dragged them back in the direction of the boulders. He dropped to the ground after just a few steps, too shaky to continue.

The Dursleys lay in the wet bracken, covering their heads as Vernon and Petunia had been taught long ago, and continued to scream. The brightness of the explosion was so intense that Dudley couldn't bear to do more than clamp his elbows next to his face and shut his eyes as tightly as he could.

He shouldn't be able to scream. The heat should have seared his lungs and throat away.

But he could, and because he could, he kept screaming, as the mushroom cloud taunted him, in the reedy voice of Dr. Ferris. "You really oughtn't to eat all those sweets, you know!"

And that's how Lupin found them.