Half Evans

It has been five weeks of flying lessons.

Five miserable, horrible, embarrassing, humiliating flying lessons, and Dudley has barely been able to hover a foot off the ground on his broomstick.

The rest of the class has moved past hovering to flying shaky circles around the pitch, to flying several feet in the air and landing their brooms, and is now working on flying laps ten feet above.

In short, Dudley hates flying.

It’s especially a shame because Slytherin shares flying lessons with Gryffindor, where Harry is practically a flying prodigy, although he’s been on his best behavior since the first day when he’d shown off with Draco and nearly had his head ripped off by his Mum. She’d written him, promising to turn him out on the streets if he put another toe out of line.

Dudley sighs.

He’d never admit it to Harry, who loved sharing classes with Dudley, but he really wishes their houses didn’t have flying lessons together. He hates watching Harry maneuver the laid out courses with ease, hates the way the rest of Gryffindor coo and fawn over him, hates the way they’re already scouting him for next year’s quidditch team.

But mostly, he hates how he’s left behind.

He sighs and flops onto his big four poster and wrenches the curtains shut. The other boys aren’t back in the dorm yet, probably still working on homework in the common room, and Dudley is grateful for the reprieve from the constant stares and chatter. He’s tired of it. Tired of trying to keep up with conversations he doesn’t understand, tired of barely keeping his grades up, tired of being left behind by everyone, including Harry.

He’s just tired.

He doesn’t even blame Harry, if he’s being totally honest. He can’t help what he’s naturally good at it, and he can’t help if people admire him and like him, and really, Dudley wouldn’t wish the opposite on him either. He just wishes he shared in that.

But he can’t. And it’s not likely to change either. Even Madam Hooch seems a little at the end of her rope with him. She seems to think he could do it if he’d just try. But she doesn’t seem to understand that he is trying. It’s just that every time he starts to hover slightly off the ground, he can feel the broom wobbling under the weight of him, and he can feel the way he hangs off of either side of it like a big, great lump, and suddenly he can see the broom snapping between his legs like a little twig and him plummeting to the earth and –

No.

His eyes squeeze shut and he presses the palms of his hands against his head.

He will not cry over this. Not for another night.

But the tears leak anyway, and soon a great, wracking sob overtakes him, and he rolls over, burying his face under the pillow to muffle the sounds.

He doesn’t need the rest of them hearing this.

“Get up.”

Dudley opens his eyes and immediately shuts them, as a bright, white light shines directly in his face.

“Mm – wha’s goin on?” He rubs his eyes as Draco’s glare comes into focus. “Oh, shi-“

“I said get up!” Dudley sits up, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Why? What’s happening?” A black jumper hits him square in the chest.

“Put it on.” Draco snaps. Dudley swings his legs over the side of the bed and pulls the jumper over his head. “Now move.” Draco turns and Dudley becomes aware of the others behind him. Theo, Vince and Greg are all watching him with the same sombre expressions, and Dudley feels his stomach twist at the sight of them.

“Theo? Vince?”

“C’mon, mate.” Vince says softly. Dudley stands up and pulls his sneakers on and follows the four boys out of the room.

“And be quiet!” Draco hisses as they exit the dorm.

But as it turns out, it’s mostly pointless, seeing as apparently most of Slytherin house is following them. Their prefect, a stern but kind boy by the name of Gerald, leads the way, shocking Dudley as he associates most prefects with the likes of Percy Weasley, who is a stickler for the rules.

“Keep an eye out for Mrs Norris.” Gerald whispers down the line to the crowd of silent Slytherins, and they do. Dudley has had virtually no run ins with the crotchety caretaker and his weird cat, but Harry has, and he’d rather keep as far away from him as humanly possible.

The group creeps out of the dungeons and through the corridors, past the sleeping portraits and suits of armor that still set Dudley’s nerves on edge, until they are slipping out a previously hidden back door that apparently Gerald discovered his third year.

Finally outside, Dudley works up the nerve to tug on Theo’s shirt and ask where they’re going.

“It’s a surprise.” He whispers, and Dudley feels his stomach twist again.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust his housemates, but he’s acutely aware of the way he doesn’t quite fit in. Most of them, with the notable exception of Hermione, all know each other outside of Hogwarts, and everyone except for him and Hermione have at least one magical parents. He doesn’t think any of them would do anything due to his heritage, but he’s also not keeping up with the standards of Slytherin house. He’d thought Ravenclaw was the smart house, but Slytherin apparently had standards that rivalled even them.

He's about ready to turn back and head to the school when finally they turn a corner and walk straight onto the quidditch pitch.

And Dudley wants to die.

“No,” He whispers. “No, no! I can’t! Theo? Vince!” But Draco is grabbing him by the arm and yanking him forward to where Gerald is standing.

“Now listen.” Gerald says, folding his arms and glowering down at him. “I hear you’re having trouble with flying.” Dudley feels hot tears filling his eyes and he bites his lip, furious at himself for following, furious at himself for trusting, furious at –

“Hey,” Draco’s voice is uncharacteristically kind (well, as kind as Malfoy gets), and he looks up. Gerald is staring at him, and he realizes that perhaps Gerald is not glowering at him. He’s staring at him, yes, and rather intensely, but he doesn’t seem mad.

“Yes.” Dudley finally whispers, and he ducks his head, staring fixatedly at the ground. Gerald makes a sound, and there’s a shuffling of feet. Then, someone is thrusting something into his hand.

A broomstick.

He shakes his head. No. He can’t do this.

“We’re going to teach you to fly.” Draco said matter-of-factly.

“I.. I can’t fly.” He says quietly and Draco snorts.

“Please. Of course you can fly.”

“I really can’t, Draco!” He insists. “You’ve seen me in class. Greg, Vince, you guys too! I’m absolute rubbish, there’s no way!”

“The way Malfoy tells it,” Gerald cuts in. “You’re actually quite good. You’re steady on your broom, you have excellent form, mounting is secure.”

“It’s only when you get in the air that you start going off the rails.” Draco interjects.

“Isn’t that the main part of flying?” Dudley shoots back, and Gerald grins.

“Actually,” He says. “Flying is probably the easiest part of it all. Your positioning, body form and posture are the most important, all things that Malfoy here says you’ve got in spades.” Dudley looks at Draco, who’s pointedly looking away, with surprise. He’d never known Draco to be kind.

“You think so?” He asks Draco. Draco glares at him.

“We’ll you’ve taken five weeks to perfect it, so I should hope so!” He snarls, but Dudley doesn’t flinch at his harsh words.

“Right then. So let’s get started. Mount your broom, Dursley.” Dudley picks up the broom, slowly swinging one leg over and securing it between his legs. “Excellent,” Gerald comments, and he slowly circles Dudley. “Straight back, see, yes. I like the forward positioning, very natural. Grip’s a bit tight, you don’t need to choke the broom, a relaxed but firm hold will do.” He circles him slowly, shifting his arms or hands, straightening shoulders, fixing his stance until he’s in a position that feels shockingly comfortable and natural.

“Perfect!” Draco exclaims, and Gerald grins.

“Alright, let’s kick off!” And immediately, Dudley begins to sweat.

His heart pounds in his chest. His mouth goes dry.

“You can do this, Dursley!” Cheers of encouragement come from the small crowd of Slytherins watching him, but he doesn’t feel encouraged.

He doesn’t feel anything but terrified.

“Come on, Dudley!”

Dudley swallows hard.

He can do this.

He can do this.

He kicks off the ground hard, the way Madam Hooch told him and feels the broom rise up. His feet leave the ground,

And he wobbles.

The broom shakes.

Oh no.

He can practically hear the groan of the wood underneath him. Feel it cracking under his weight.

He wobbles.

The broom trembles.

And his feet find the ground.

He drops the broom and launches himself away from it, tears coming now.

“I’m sorry!” He cries. “I’m sorry, I just.. I can’t. I can’t do it, guys. I’m sorry, I’m just too fat for it and –“ He freezes as the words slip out of his mouth.

“What did you just say?” Theo’s voice cuts through the silence that has now fallen over the pitch. Dudley stares at him, wide eyed. “What did you just say?” Theo repeats.

“I.. I..”

“You think you’re too fat to fly?” Gerald sounds incredulous. Dudley does nothing to hide the tears that are now streaming down his face.

“I.. I am! It’s just a broomstick, it’s not meant for people like me! It’s meant for people like.. well, like you!” He gestures wildly at Draco.

The pitch falls silent. No one responds. No one says anything.

“Are you joking?”

It’s Draco who finally breaks the silence. Dudley looks at him. Stares at him.

“They’re magic broomsticks, Dursley.”

Dudley blinks.

“It’d hold a bloody troll if one got ahold of it. Me, Crabbe and Goyle could all get on one if we’d fit and it’d still fly us around the pitch same as if it was one.” Suddenly, Theo grabs a broom and hops on.

“Yeah, mate! Look!” He kicks off and does a quick roll midair before landing hard next to a solidly built girl named Millicent and hauls her on the back, performing the same maneuver over again with ease. “See? Promise you’ll be fine.” Dudley looks hesitantly from one to the other.

“I don’t know..”

“Oh for – Crabbe! Goyle, c’mere!” Draco taps his foot impatiently as both boys make their way over to where he’s standing. Then, he hooks his leg over the broomstick and kicks off, hovering just above their heads. “Grab on.” He commands, and each boy grabs ahold of the broomstick. “Tight!” Draco commands, and he slowly inches the broom upwards until they’re dangling about a foot off the ground. “See?” Draco calls to Dudley. “Easy as pie, and not even a split in the wood.”

“Just try, mate.” Gerald says softly, and Dudley sighs.

Right.

He can do this.

Once again, he mounts his broom. Taking a deep breath, he kicks off hard and feels his feet leave the ground. And then..

The wobble.

Dudley squeezes his eyes shut, tears pricking the corners.

“I think, I can feel it shaking! The broom is shaking!”

“It’s not shaking, Dudley, you’re doing fine!”

“It is! It’s shaking! It’s going to break, I can feel it!”

“It’s not breaking, Dudley! Just take a breath, you’re fine!”

“It’s not fine –“

“DURSLEY!”

Dudley opens his eyes.

Draco is in front of him, perched on his own broomstick.

Dudley’s lip trembles.

“The broom is not breaking.” He says sternly.

“I can feel it shaking.” Dudley whimpers.

“You’re shaking. The broom is fine. Take a breath.”

Dudley inhales.

“Relax your body. You’re too tense.”

Dudley reluctantly lets his shoulders drop and unclenches his thighs.

“Breathe.”

He inhales slowly. Exhales. In again. Out.

“The broom is not breaking.” Dudley whispers, and Draco shakes his head.

“No. It’s not.” Slowly, Dudley tilts the nose of the broom upward and rises into the air.

“Forward for speed!” Gerald calls from the ground, and he leans slightly forward.

The wind whips across his face and he finds a slow smile spreading across his lips as he ascends into the sky, flying increasingly faster circles around the pitch that is growing smaller and smaller. Below him, he notes the rest of Slytherin house mounting brooms he didn’t know they had and joining him in the sky. Gerald whips by him, slowing down only to shoot him a brilliant smile, and Theo loops over top of him, rolling his broom in a maneuver that leaves Dudley breathless.

It feels simultaneously like hours have passed, and yet only seconds, when Gerald calls them all back to the ground, directing them all back to the castle to get at least a little rest before morning. He trudges back to the castle with the rest of his yawning classmates, creeping silently through the empty corridors until they reach the common room. Kids Dudley hardly recognize clap him sleepily on the shoulder, yawning their own congratulations to him before they all separate into their own dorms. Exhaustion hits him as he climbs the stairs to his dorm and he’s barely able to keep his eyes open as he collapses into bed.

But one thing is still bothering him.

He hears the creak and groan of the beds as each boy collapses into his own, and he sits up.

“Draco,” He whispers. “Draco!” He hears a groan and the sound of a curtain being ripped aside.

“What?” Draco snaps.

“Why did you all do this?” He whispers, and Draco stares at him, his angry expression slipping away.

“Oh for – you’re a Slytherin, Dursley. We watch out for our own.” Dudley feels his cheeks flush, and he leans back on his pillow.

“Right. Well, thank you.”

“Sure.” Draco mutters as he pulls the curtain shut, and Dudley shuts his eyes.

Tonight… tonight was a good night.