1 October 1997.
Remus conjured blankets that whisked themselves around each Dursley's shoulders. Cups of tea bobbed through the air, secure in their saucers, not a drop spilling. Remus whistled between his teeth as he stirred ungodly amounts of sugar into his own cup.
The Dursleys' teacups settled politely on the table rather than bashing them about the head.
Dudley shivered in his blanket. He was covered in mud and leaves, as were his parents. He felt very confused. They weren't dead. The forest was fine.
"What was that thing, again?" Vernon asked.
"A Boggart," Remus said. "Shape-shifter. It feeds off our fears." He nibbled at a biscuit. He, like the Dursleys, was covered in remnants of forest. Burs, twigs, leaves, and patches of mud clung to his woolen robes. "Normally," he continued, "it helps to approach in numbers, as fears vary so from one person to the next. You'd have all heard about nuclear bombs when you were young, though, so the Boggart must have tried to match a fear you all three hold in common."
"Yes, well. It was our dentist, at first," Petunia said. "Dudley was afraid of the dentist, when he was small."
"Hm. One of my mother's cousins was a dentist. I never got to meet him myself, but I hear he was rather a gentle soul. Sorry, getting distracted. I've been up for a while. This Boggart was a clever one – plucked out a fear the three of you share. They've been showing themselves as Voldemort, all over the country. Loads of false reports into the Ministry, all year. People get a glimpse, scream, set off one or two curses, and Disapparate away." He reached for another biscuit. "Then the Boggart tries it on the next poor blighter to come along."
"Oh, hullo there, Remus. All clear?" Hestia didn't bother greeting the Dursleys or commenting on anyone's bedraggled state. She spelled away owl droppings and stray pellets before she took a seat.
"Mmm, hello, Hestia. Yes, I've taken care of the Boggart, but the three of you should probably avoid that little thicket, if you can. Any place that shadowy tends to attract the things."
"Impressive, I must say," she said. "Didn't know they could get that big. Or bright."
"Well, you just got a first-hand demonstration of why all the Muggle Heads of State of the richer countries have been assigned magical protection – can't have them running into a Boggart and ringing up the nuclear codes!"
"I'll pretend that made sense," Hestia said with a smile. "Though why Muggles are terrified of a massive, shiny cloud, I can't imagine."
Vernon cleared his throat. "General Jones. I apologize for my… failure in the line of duty." Under the thick beard that had grown in the absence of fresh razors, he blushed.
"Don't mention it, Vernon. Anyone might get upset, coming on a Boggart like that. Without even magic to protect you. You're not to blame."
"Still…"
"I hope," she continued, "that you'll take this as a reminder. You've all got very… well… eager to help with the War effort. Which is lovely, if overdue. And we've all been getting used to you, in our turn. But, it's good to have a reminder – for all of us - that you do need our protection. There are worse dangers out there than Boggarts. We'd all do well to remember that." She combed her fingers through her chin-length black hair, tucking it behind her ears.
"Constant vigilance," Remus smiled.
Dudley let the conversation wash over him. He felt good. True, the dried mud on his face itched, and there was a bur in his hair, and he couldn't think why it might be there. He looked at the back of his hand. It was muddy, too. He had big hands, he thought.
"Hey, Dad!" he asked. "My hands've got t'be bigger than yours. Look!"
Vernon smiled weakly. "That's right, son. You've been bigger than your old man since you were fifteen." He ruffled Dudley's hair and winced when he hit the bur.
"Mum! Look! I'm taller than you!" Dudley laughed. "I'm bigger'n all of you!"
"Er… Dudley? Did you hit your head out there?" Remus passed his wand over the air around Dudley's skull. "Vernon, Petunia … did he hit a rock when he dove onto the ground?"
They hadn't noticed.
"I'm bigger than you," Dudley told Remus, looking past the wizard's wand into his craggy face. "Much bigger. I could probably win, in a fight. I could probably… probably pick you up by the head and throw you into the wall."
He laughed again. He hadn't felt like this since early July, when Piers and Malcolm had found some stuff to make his goodbye party a little more fun. He looked at his watch. The numbers shifted slowly from second to second. Holding the watch to his ear, he asked, "Why doesn't it tick? Mum? Why isn't it ticking?"
"It's a digital watch, darling," she said, worried.
"BUT I WANT IT TO TICK!" he yelled. "WATCHES ARE SUPPOSED TO TICK! WHY DOESN'T IT TICK?"
Remus, who had ignored Dudley's outburst, stowed his wand in his sleeve and stepped back.
"That's right. You better run," Dudley said. He laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair. The chair slipped, and he righted himself before he fell over.
"Where's Tonks?" Remus asked. "She's the best of us at the Healing spells."
Hestia had finished cleaning up the owl mess all over her clothes. "Search me. I just got in from the Owlery. Dedalus has been on Wireless duty since after luncheon." She addressed the Dursleys. "Look, I know you prefer using water to clean up, but I'd be happy to Vanish some of that mess."
"No thank you," Petunia. "We'd best all get cleaned up our usual way. Dudders? Could you pop upstairs and have a nice shower?" She cast a nervous glance at Remus.
Dudley was confused. Hadn't he already showered today. "I already showered today," he said.
"I know, popkin, but we got muddy in the nasty wood, and …"
Dudley remembered he didn't mind showering. "Yeah, yeah," he said, politely. "I got it." He got up and tapped the chandelier. A fuzzy belt was looped and knotted around one of its arms, with the other end tied to one of the chairs. "Why's the chandelier got tied up?" he asked. "It's stupid."
As Dudley walked away, he heard his parents explaining to Remus and Hestia that he'd been acting strange before they'd run into the Boggart. A wall suddenly got in Dudley's way, and he got lost trying to find the stairs, but eventually, made his way to the shower. His towel wasn't there.
He found the towel in the bedroom, hung on the back of the desk chair. It was soggy.
The Dursleys had only had so much room in their luggage, and they'd only brought one big towel each.
"I'm not drying off with that thing," Dudley said to the empty room. He didn't fancy using anyone else's towel, though.
He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate past the pleasant haze.
The attic.
Loads of stuff up in the attic.
Frankie rolled into Dudley's legs and knocked him into a bureau. Dudley retaliated by picking Frankie up around the waist and tossing him into the stack of owl cages.
A few minutes of this later, and Dudley could no longer remember why he'd come to the attic. His eyes lit on the celestina.
"Practice time, eh, Frankie?"
He sat down and played through his latest lesson, "Dungbombs and Billiwigs." Noticing the keys had got suddenly dusty, he paused to wipe them off with his sleeve. "How'd I get so dirty?" He noticed his hands. "How did my hands get so dirty?"
He shrugged and found a clean patch on his shirt to wipe them on. He'd paused too long, and now the celestina's keys were blinking red. Dudley played the chord the instrument demanded and continued playing until his fingers were tired. "Enough of that," he declared, shutting the lid of the keyboard with a thump.
"I'm filthy," he said, noticing the mud crusted on his jeans. "I'd best take a shower." A vague memory of a damp towel nudged at his mind.
"Frankie? Do you have any towels up here?"
"Towels?" Dudley mimicked drying off as Frankie stared at him. "You know, towel? Big rectangle of cloth?"
Frankie led him to a chest of blankets.
Dudley yawned. He felt tired, sore, cold, and irritated. The blankets smelled like a sheep pasture and were scratchy, but …
He didn't want to curl up just yet, with all the mud flaking off onto the floor. Plus, last time he'd fallen asleep, Frankie had hauled him through the roof and left him there. As a prank.
He shook himself until he felt more lively.
Trunk after trunk, drawer after drawer, Dudley searched for a decent towel.
His irritation and fatigue increased every time he bent down only to find some handkerchiefs, jars of beetles, or Chocolate Frog cards.
Dudley aimed a kick at the lid of a small trunk, about the size of a computer monitor. It flicked open and revealed ... balls. The dim light of the attic made it difficult to recognize colors, but there was one the size of a football, plus two that were smaller and held down by criss-crossed leather straps. Behind him, Frankie hooted in excitement.
"What're these, Frankie?" He jabbed a finger against one of the balls. It was cold, rough, scratched and pitted with little spatters of rust. Some kind of metal, he thought. It dropped back into the chest, then surged forward to smash into the leather straps. The trunk jostled with the force.
"Looks like it wants out," Dudley commented. "What do you think, Frankie? Fun to have a flying ball to play with? Are these your toys?"
He fiddled with the straps, trying to figure out how to release them. "Can't find a buckle. Wait – think there's a catch somewhere, but I can't quite – "
Dudley kicked at the trunk again. "Come off it, you stupid thing." He wrenched at the strap, then jerked his hand back before the ball could smash his fingers. "Watch it, you," he told the ball. "I'm just trying to help."
A glint of light caught his eye. Something bright had rolled to the corner of the trunk while he was grappling with the straps around the metal ball. He picked it up.
The ball, about the size of a walnut, looked to be made of gold or brass. It unfurled small wings and whirred them, fighting Dudley's grip.
He tossed it into the air, and it zoomed out of sight. "Come back here, you!" Dudley growled, swinging his hand to catch at it long after it had escaped. Another glint of light beckoned from the corner of the attic roof, but there were far too many trunks, baskets, wardrobes, and cauldrons in the way for Dudley to be tempted to chase it.
"Well, Frankie, you can go after it if you want," he said. "Mental wizards, making flying balls that go way too fast. How's anyone supposed to play with that thing?"
Ignoring the golden ball flitting in the rafters, Dudley turned his attention back to the straps holding back the metal balls. "Thought I could feel the catch. Press – no, press, then TWIST, and –" the straps fell away, and the metal ball floated up out of the trunk.
"Right. Now let's see about the other one." Dudley bent over to release the second set of straps.
SMASH!
The ball flew over his back and broke open an old rabbit hutch.
CLANG!
The second ball flew straight at Frankie, who dodged, leaving it to smash into one of the stacks of cauldrons. It rattled around, bouncing from one cauldron to the other, until it was free of the toppled stack.
Dudley ducked and tried to catch it as it flew at his face, then bent over double, clutching his stubbed fingers. "Nice toys you got, Frankie!"
He dodged behind a wardrobe, which both balls promptly smashed through.
Frankie was nowhere to be seen, he realized.
He whacked at one of the balls with an old chair and was able to redirect it into an old mirror. The other ball managed to clip him on the shoulder, and he reeled with pain. "AAAUGH!" he yelled.
There were three sources of light in the attic – the two slatted vents on either end of the attic, and the hatch that opened to the hall below. The Dursleys had tested this earlier, and found that even when the hatch was open, no sound from the attic could be heard anywhere in the house.
Forgetting this entirely, Dudley yelled for help as he stumbled toward the hatch. He ducked and swerved as the two metal balls relentlessly dove at him.
Each time they missed, they smashed another set of Hestia's family heirlooms.
A tinkling CRASH made Dudley look round. "NO!" he yelled.
One of the balls had gone and smashed through the celestina.
The other caught him in the ribs. He heard a crack and felt fire spreading through his chest. Wheezing, he scrabbled on all fours, like a crab, toward the only hope of escape. It was only a few feet away.
"Dudders?" his mother stuck her head through the attic. "I didn't hear the water running yet. What're you up to in here?"
"LOOK OUT, MUM!" he bellowed. Drawing his feet under him, he gulped at the air and leaped forward, bracing himself against a desk to power his jump toward the hatch. "GET DOWN!"
Petunia yelped as she caught sight of her son, who rolled out of the way of two missiles. She dropped out of sight, and Dudley took another leap to dive, headfirst, through the attic hatch.
He coughed and hacked up blood, moaning in pain with the ache in his ribs. The edges of his vision blurred, and he pulled his body upright using the ladder. He wanted to close the hatch.
"Forget the hatch, Dudley!" Petunia screamed, pulling at his arm. He blindly followed her down the corridor. "Just get away from those things! Help! HELP!"
Dudley found he was sinking, sinking into something black and cold. He heard noises, far off - splintering wood, the CRACK noise that announced a teleporter, and more screams. They were all so quiet, though. He felt his mother's hands shaking his shoulder, tugging him, but he could no longer rise to follow her. He coughed again. Coughing hurt.
Why did his side hurt?
Why did his shoulder hurt?
Why did his mouth taste of metal?
As Dudley's consciousness slipped away, he smelt sweat, and dirt, and leaves, and blood.
Dudley was confused.
It was warm, and cozy, and Dudley didn't want to open his eyes. He heard voices, low and exasperated.
"You oughtn't to have done it, Nymphadora! Not without checking, anyway."
Dudley smiled under his blanket. It was nice to hear Hestia scolding someone else, for a change.
"How was I to know he'd already learnt Remus' secret so long ago? Be honest, you'd never have thought the Dursleys would be discreet about something like that. If he'd have just learned it that night, the Confundus never would've affected him so badly."
"Are you sure about that? I mean … Dudley's not exactly …" Hestia's voice trailed off.
Dudley's smile vanished. Was Hestia calling him stupid?
"I know how to do a Confundus, Hestia! Had extensive training in the Auror Academy, and I'd never have used it if I knew his memory was older than a few hours." Tonks sounded stressed. "He'll be alright. He will. I've got his ribs and shoulder healed, and he'll barely even feel a bruise. Give him a few days of quiet activity, and he'll be back to his old self."
Hestia sighed. "You can't know when the Confundus will wear off, though, can you? We can't take our eyes off him for a moment, in his state. Nearly got himself killed, up there. Muggles can't survive a Bludger to the head, you know!"
"I KNOW that!" Tonks hissed. "I know that. My question is, what's a trunk full of Bludgers doing up in your attic? I thought you and Dedalus cleared the place of anything dangerous."
Hestia clicked her teeth. "We checked for Dark creatures. Cursed objects. Not that my aunt would have tolerate that sort of thing for a moment. Never even thought the old family Quidditch set would cause a problem."
"I just –" Tonks now sounded more sad than angry. "I just wanted to look out for my husband. You know how touchy he can be, and I couldn't take the thought of them 'avin' a go."
"Well, now we've more work than ever, haven't we?" Hestia said. "All those books to search, the Wireless to monitor, and we have to keep Dudley from injuring himself or burning the place down."
Tonks snorted. "I say we go ahead and stick the Dursleys with Umbridge Duty. See which of 'em cracks first."
"Mmm, tempting. Though she might end up persuading Vernon to try and turn himself in!"
The two witches chortled, a bit hysterically, in Dudley's opinion.
"Never a dull moment on guard duty, is there?" Hestia mused after a while. "Do you know what that weird thing Dudley was wearing around his neck was? The thing he smashed up in the forest when the Boggart showed up?"
"CD player," Tonks said. "It plays music."
Dudley held his breath. His CD player was broken? He couldn't remember a Boggart, and he didn't know what a Bludger was, or why he'd needed to have his ribs fixed, or why he'd been out in the forest. But his CD player – that was important.
"Hm, too bad it's ruined," Hestia said. "Dedalus tried to use Reparo on it, and it caught fire. Tricky things, Muggle gadgets."
Dudley sat up straight in bed. "WHAT?"
"Oh, hullo, Dudley. Nice to see you awake." Hestia beamed and tossed him his CD player.
He snatched it up and squinted at it in the dim light. Running a hand over the buttons, he noticed no cracks or dings. It was spotlessly clean. He pressed the release button and it opened with a satisfying whirr. His Green Day CD was still there, unscratched. Dudley gasped in relief, ignoring Hestia's soft snicker. He clicked it shut, and hit Play, holding the headphones up to his ear, not bothering to slide them over his head.
Is she ultra-violent?
He glared at the two witches. Hestia grinned and patted his hand.
Is she disturbed?
Yeah, they all were, weren't they?
I better tell her that I love her.
Not bloody likely, he thought.
"Dudley," Tonks cleared her throat, speaking above the tinny sound from his headphones. "I'm sorry. You're going to need to take it easy the next few days, yeah? It'll make more sense in a bit. I – it'll make more sense if I just tell you. What I made you – never mind. Just listen, aright? Remus – my husband – he's a werewolf."
Dudley paused the music. "Oh."
He thought for a moment. "Is that why you went for him?"
Tonks looked confused. "Er – no."
He looked at Hestia. "Are you a werewolf?"
She rolled her eyes. "How could I be a werewolf, Dudley? I've spent more than one full moon here."
"Oh."
Dudley was confused. Why were the witches looking at him so expectantly, as if he were in a play at school and had forgotten his lines.
"Can I be a werewolf too?" he asked. He didn't necessarily want to be a werewolf, but it seemed the thing to say on such an occasion.
"NO!" they said in unison.
"Dudley… please don't ever say that again." Tonks rubbed her face with her hands.
"Is that why his face is so messed up?"
"It's not messed up!" Tonks snapped. "It's – it's distinguished."
"Yes, Dudley, that's why." Remus leaned into the doorway. "I thought I heard voices. I'm glad to see you awake, Dudley."
"Were your family werewolves? Have you killed lots of vampires? Do you have super-strength? Do you have super-smell? Do you have super-hearing? Do you have –"
Dudley stopped. He smacked his lips. Why was he so thirsty? "I'm thirsty."
"No, no, no, and no. And here." Remus conjured a cup and filled it with water. He floated the cup of water to the air toward Dudley, who snatched it and chugged it so quickly it dribbled down his chin on both sides of the cup.
"Thanks," he said, gasping for air. No superpowers? What was the point of being a werewolf without cool powers?
"I turn into a wolf at the full moon," Remus said. "A murderous one. Unless, that is, I drink a particular potion. My wife is … quite talented at brewing potions," he went on. He gave her a little smile. "And I get tired near the full moon. And ... rather overactive at the new moon. Lycanthropy works on me all the time, but it never works to my favor, you see."
"Yeah. About that Potion," Tonks said to Dudley. "So, you found some notes from Snape that could help me brew the potion Remus needs," Tonks said. "So, thanks."
"Cool." Dudley rubbed his head. Snatches of memory floated past his mind, faster than he could catch them. Why would his dentist be in the forest? Why would there be a ball that could fly?
"Do you have a pack, or what?" he asked.
"That's enough, Dudley!" Tonks said.
"It's alright, Dora," Remus told her. He pulled a chair up to Dudley's bed. "Go ahead and ask, Dudley. It's good for you to talk."
"So, do you have a pack?" Dudley asked.
"No," Remus said.
"Yeah, you do," Tonks said.
Hestia shrugged and smiled at Remus. "We may not be the pack you started with, Remus. But, here we are."
Dudley was confused and annoyed at the way the witches and wizard all smiled tentatively at each other. "I thought you said you weren't a werewolf," he told Hestia. "None of you lot ever make any sense."
He fell back on his pillow and put his headphones back on.
For now, I'll lie around
Hell, that's all I can really do