*
It's been nothing but running.
More running than Dudley ever thought possible.
He lurches through an alley, dingy-looking and dark, feeling hands heaving him, urging on. Dudley isn't sure what he's seen.
The safe-house... that Hestia Jones woman and her companion dropping dead... flashes of bright green light, and Mum shrieking, and his cousin Harry appearing from nowhere, bruised and bleeding from a deep head wound... Harry's fingers gripping Dudley's reassuringly...
"Take him...take him and go...!"
"You need to take him...!"
Dudley could do nothing, stunned still, as the ground erupted and went off like a bang.
Hot ash flew.
Everyone around Dudley hollered.
Tall, dark forms swarmed. The man Harry called 'Nott' led everyone else frightened away.
And... more bright green light came... and Harry...
"Dudley, listen to m...!"
Finally, Dudley gets shoved into an unlit, enclosed space far from the cobblestone-street alley.
Another man, with pale hair, stares with pale eyes.
"Where's the rest with you?" comes a half-accusing demand. A wand, much like Harry's, knuckles in a very pale hand. "Where's Potter?"
Nott grimly shakes his head.
He pushes past Dudley, and the man falls back, open-mouthed, against an emptied glass case. As stunned as Dudley.
*
There's a war.
On... 'Muggles' and 'Muggleborn' and 'blood-traitors to the Dark Lord', according what Dudley overhears.
A witch, 'Madam Pomfrey', offers Dudley one of her 'Chocolate Frogs' and kindly explains the conversation around them. So many frightened faces. Dudley tries to listen, munching quietly, blinking tears out. 'Dumbledore's Army' has fallen, including 'the Boy-Who-Lived'... a well-coordinated attack by 'Death Eaters' against a number of Wizarding families and allies... Dudley's parents among the victims.
They're waiting to be captured, Dudley realises. To be killed.
Helpless as his non-magic parents.
Dudley happened to get lucky. And escape.
Because of... Harry.
'Fleur Isabelle Delacour-Weasley' or so she calls herself, another witch, rubs Dudley's shoulder as his tears dry but not the shakes and shivers overwhelming. She mumbles in French, and Dudley can't understand a bit of it, but it's nice. It sounds like she's being nice. Even though she's sad. Fleur's eyes all bloodshot. Eventually, Fleur sobs out loud, hugging Dudley's muscular arm, making little hiccups of air.
Nott and — "Draco, no, this is bloody loony!" the pale man argue in hushed voices — "It hasn't gotten out Antonin Dolohov was killed by Potter! They don't know Potter died either!" — "Even if you go as him, no-one will volunteer the Polyjuice Potion as Harry Potter!"
"I want to help," Dudley interrupts, rising to his feet and slipping from Fleur.
He hunches.
The pale man — no, no, Draco — Draco sends him an uncertain look. In the candlelight, barely ridding every shadow of this abandoned 'Borgin and Burkes', Draco's very beautiful to him. Like a male model. Dudley would keep those cum-stained lad mags underneath his mattress.
"For Harry," Dudley says insistently, furrowing his brow. He reaches for a handshake like Dad taught him.
Draco's perfect and pale mouth quirks.
His hand, warmer than Harry's.
*