Dudley Demented?
Dear Harry,
At present I am travelling abroad and as such am unlikely to be in contact. However please be assured that any request you make to see or speak with me will be honoured with my immediate return.
I expect that upon the commencement of the new school year you and I will spend a good deal more time with one another as we work towards our common goals. In particular we are sure to more thoroughly discuss the subject of our most recent conversation.
Until then, I leave you in the capable hands of Sirius and the Weasley family, and wish you a delightful summer in your respective homes with them.
I am, yours most sincerely
Albus Dumbledore
P.s. I kindly thank you for the offer of providing your family home in Godric's Hollow for the use of the Order.
The letter from Professor Dumbledore had been pored over numerous times, Harry desperate for any tidbit of information he could ascertain. In many ways the enormity of what happened the night of Voldemort's appearance at the Ministry had been glossed over, particularly the poignant conversation he and Dumbledore had after it - their most recent conversation. Since then they had not truly seen one another alone circumstances dictated it, but this letter was a much needed reminder to Harry that Dumbledore had not forgotten him.
But this morning he had other things on his mind. Things other than Dumbledore's letter and what he might mean by spending time together, things other than the other two letters he couldn't bear to open, or newspaper updates on what chaos and torment Voldemort and his Death Eaters were inflicting next.
This morning he was desperately late.
Frantically brushing his teeth Harry was tearing around his bedroom, one hand on his toothbrush and the other clumsily pulling on a pair of jeans. His eyes darted around looking for a shirt - anything vaguely resembling respectable clothing would do, it didn't even have to be clean. Now hopping around he yanked on his trainers, pulling the laces taught but leaving the ends loose, taking the risk.
Having tempted fate he immediately slipped, his foot catching on the glossy pages of the very first Weasley Wizards Wheezes catalogue that lay abandoned on his messy floor. The dresser gave a loud crash and he fell against it, his shoulder smarting and ankle aching, but he ignored them.
He hurtled out of his bedroom and into the bathroom, finishing his teeth. Brush, rinse, spit - go! Halfway down the stairs he forced himself to stop and tie his laces - it wasn't worth the risk - and then he was running, hurtling down the stairs and out the front door as fast as his legs could carry him. But he had barely reached the street before he wildly skidded to a stop.
'Shit!'
His noisy return gave his aunt the chance to shout at him, but he ignored her. Back in his bedroom he dove at his desk and frantically snatched up stray sheets of parchment, noticing a sheet on the floor with a tell tale shoe print. Annoyed, Hedwig hooted and ruffled her feathers, admonishing him for disturbing her sleep. Too hurried to worry about any of it he stuffed the sheets of parchment into the leather binder, zipped it up and bolted again.
'Hey,' Dudley said, appearing in the threshold of his bedroom. 'Do you wa-'
'Not now, Dud,' he said loudly, slipping past him in the upstairs landing.
For a second time he was gone from the house in a flash, ignoring both Aunt Petunia and Dudley who were calling after him. With the leather binder under one arm he sprinted down Privet Drive as fast as he possibly could, telling himself over and over again that he would make it. He had already missed the first bus, the one that would have gotten him to Richmond in time. The next bus would get him there late, but not exceedingly.
The sleepy Saturday morning streets were a blessing, allowing him to sprint across the road without care. He practically flew down the alleyway where he and Dudley were attacked by Umbridge's dementors last year, but he spared it no more than a mere passing thought. From the other end of the alley he burst out and crossed the road, the bus stop just around the corner. He would make it - surely he would make it. The bus was never on time.
He rounded the corner and saw the bus stop ahead, but -
'No!'
The bus had come and gone, and he watched it shrinking into the distance, too far ahead for him to catch it no matter how fast he ran. A muggle who had just gotten off gave him a sympathetic shrug.
'Just missed it, I'm afraid.'
Trying to catch his breath around the searing stitch in his side Harry bent over double, dropping the binder to the ground. If he hadn't forgotten the damn thing he would have made it - that momentary lapse had cost him dearly.
As his breath caught up with him and his mind settled he looked around aimlessly, trying to think of what to do next. He could summon the Knight Bus, but he'd rather not bring it here to Little Whinging, not when it meant being gawked at. And these days there was no way he'd pass himself off as Neville Longbottom.
The Order would help him. Any one on duty would happily apparate him, they'd made a point of telling him that when he started taking the bus around. They were adamant they'd take him anywhere he wanted to go within Surrey. But to this day he hated the sensation of apparation, almost as much as he hated relying on someone else to do the things he wanted to do.
Inexplicably he felt his chest beginning to tighten, and his frustration with himself peaked. Knowing what was happening he sank down onto the bus bench and leant forward, breathing out slowly as he waited for it to pass. His thoughts began to race, his heart beating so hard in his chest that he felt nauseated.
Nothing's wrong. Nothing's wrong. Nothing's wrong.
This was the third time this summer, the incidents Ginny had called panic attacks, and Godric he was sick of them. What stupid thing had set him off this time? Why did his body keep freaking out when his mind knew there was no reason for it? More recently it had been the slamming of his Uncle's car door, and the time before that the sound of the television downstairs. Stupid things that made no sense.
Adrenaline, he told himself, the only thing that did make sense. The adrenaline of running for the bus. That's all this was...
'Oi!'
Harry looked up. Slowing to a stop right in front of him was Dudley in his new car, leaning over to unwind the passenger window.
'Want a lift somewhere?'
Harry just blinked at him, not quite comprehending. Strange as it was the two of them were getting along remarkably well at the moment. The effort was coming from Dudley that was for sure. Gone were the snide remarks and bullish comments, the intentional bumping into him in the hall. Even Piers seemed to be holding his tongue whenever they were unfortunate enough to cross paths.
But this...offering him a lift? This was surely an indication that Dudley was demented.
Harry remained skeptical, but against his better judgement he found himself getting up and approaching the car, still trying to get his breathing under control. Dudley got his driver's licence a few weeks ago, along with a brand new car that had pride of place on the driveway. Since then he'd been gone from the house pretty much from the moment he woke to when he eventually came home looking for dinner, and whenever he did grace them with his presence he was always quite obliging to pop around to the shops to pick up a bottle of milk, or drop his mother off at the local bowls club - any excuse to drive his car.
'Get in, I'll give you lift,' Dudley offered.
'So you can dump me on the side of the motorway?'
'You're only off to Richmond, right? Don't need the motorway for that.'
Harry just looked at him, dubious. In childhood had learned the hard way not to trust Dudley. 'What's the catch?'
'No catch. Just trying to be nice is all.'
Well if that wasn't ringing alarm bells...
Harry looked at his watch. If he didn't want to be late then this was his best option. That or asking the Order to apparate him. Which was the lesser of two evils? He couldn't avoid apparation forever, it was so commonplace and generally the safest way for the Order to get him from Point A to Point B...but then his heart was racing again, his chest still tight. And he heard the echo of Lucius Malfoy's voice telling him to be still. Gripping him tightly and the pressure all over -
Picking up the binder he opened the passenger door and started to get in, but the smile on Dudley's face was another alarm bell. He hesitated again.
'Seriously, Dud. I can't leave Surrey, at all.'
'I promise,' he stressed, holding Harry's eye as he continued to hesitate. 'You won't regret this.'
'I already do,' he muttered as he got in and closed the door.
'Starting now. Where you going?'
'Main Street in Richmond. Near the Tesco.'
Without warning Dudley took off, and he tried not to look as though he was hanging on for dear life while he hastened to put his seatbelt on. He couldn't help but remember a particularly eventful trip in Mr Weasley's Ford Anglia, and with the confidence that this couldn't possibly be as bad as that he settled in, the binder balanced on his lap. The drive would take twenty minutes at most. Ten if Dudley drove like a maniac the whole way.
In just a few minutes they found themselves on the main road between suburbs, Dudley careening down the road at what turned out to be the speed limit but felt quite a lot faster - though perhaps it was the tense way he was sitting in the passenger seat. Trying to relax he slowly breathed out, glancing sidelong at his cousin who seemed positively delighted to be giving him a lift.
'You're not expecting petrol money are you?' he asked suddenly, still waiting for the catch.
Dudley laughed. 'What's the point? You're the one who flogged twenty quid off me last summer. Been waiting for you to do it again.'
'A small dent in the money you nicked from me over the years.'
'That's fair,' Dudley conceded.
Silence resumed, but it felt distinctly uncomfortable now that conversation had been attempted, as poor as it had been. Feeling like bit of an arse Harry sought after something to say, but how did one make polite conversation with Dudley Dursley? Nevertheless they were cousins, and he was doing him a favour...he ought to say something.
'Nice car.'
Dudley's face lit up. 'Thanks,' he said in delight, glancing at Harry before readjusting his hands on the steering wheel. 'I really wanted a Polo, but Dad wasn't having it with any foreign cars. But it's got great features, it's the new model of Corsa,' he said brightly. 'It's only the 1.4 litre engine, but it's got 16 valves so it's more powerful than the 1.6 even though it's not as big. And it's got air conditioning,' he added, reaching for the dials and turning the blowers all the way up.
'Ahhh, right,' Harry murmured, repeating that phrase a few times as Dudley launched into an in depth appraisal of the car, none of which he had any comprehension of.
As the information and Dudley's enthusiasm just washed over him he suddenly got insight into how Hermione must feel when they talked about Quidditch and broomsticks. But the subject made for decent enough conversation that filled the space, Harry needing only to ask a few questions and then make the occasional ahhh, right.
His time at Privet Drive had so far been short, but there was something about coming back to this awful place that immediately put him on edge. The stress and uncertainty of his last summer had lain dormant in the back of his mind, resurfacing as his return drew nearer and then in full force the moment they turned into the driveway.
And so every letter was pounced upon, every edition of the Daily Prophet read front to back, his subscription renewed now that he could actually bear to look at it. Unlike last this summer so far had kept him busy. There was always a letter or newspaper to read, and he had come to find plenty to occupy himself with, but nevertheless he was counting the days and hours until the agreed date that Sirius would pick him up and deliver him to the Burrow.
Three and a half days...that's all he had left.
Still, this summer had brought about mostly positive change when compared to last summer.
As if attempting to make up for all the damage they had caused last year the Daily Prophet seemed determined to ignore their prior coverage in favour of a much more positive angle. Articles about Harry in magazines and the Daily Prophet remained a daily occurrence, but at the least it all seemed positive, though a couple of the more speculative articles did make his stomach clench. Several articles had taken to calling the Chosen One (a fact Ginny quite enjoyed teasing him about), people having made the connection between Harry and the kerfuffle at the Ministry which just so happened to take place in the Prophecy Hall. For once they were genuinely on to something, though they were not to know how right they were.
Other articles went to great lengths to assess and critique his life, everything he'd been through and the miracle of him surviving the duel with Voldemort, how he nearly saved himself only to be captured at the very last second. How tragic it was that so few had believed his story, that he had endured such slander and rumours throughout the past year. Naturally that the Daily Prophet was responsible for much of that slander seemed to have been forgotten.
Thankfully the media seemed equally adoring of Sirius now that his name had been cleared and everyone knew of his wrongful imprisonment. The scrutiny on him was as intense as Harry's, the only relief being that it was largely positive and admiring, particularly where it concerned being Godfather to Harry Potter.
Sirius's name came up on numerous radio segments and talk shows, and photographs of him out in London or passing through the Ministry were abundant, and Harry couldn't help but gorge himself on the coverage, still not quite accustomed to the idea that Sirius was a free man who could simply stroll about the streets.
Harry wasn't the only one paying attention to the coverage of Sirius, for sitting on his desk was a scribbled note from Ron that read 'Makes you want to rip your eyes out'. Beneath the note was a page from the the Lonely Hearts column, where several letters were addressed to Sirius, each stranger and more uncomfortable to read than the next.
By now he had been at the Dursley's for three weeks, and as promised Sirius had made frequent visits, stopping by every couple of days and taking him out for a couple of hours. Where and what they did mattered little to Harry, though they had stopped by Godric's Hollow to look at the work the Muggle builders had started on repairing the roof, and once to a Muggle pub for an awkward lunch conversation Harry would rather forget.
'So, we need to talk,' Sirius had begun, returning to their booth table in the far corner of the pub with a drink for them each.
'About what?'
'You're wanting a couple of days at the Weasleys, and Arthur's tasked me with a conversation that you might recall?'
At first Harry was confused, but realisation was a cold slap to the face. 'Wha - no!'
'Yes.'
'Right here?'
'Right here with me, or at the Burrow with Arthur. It's your choice.'
Harry had flustered, not liking either of those options. 'Now is clearly not the time.'
'You managed to avoid this the last time we were together at Grimmauld Place, you're not avoiding it again.'
'Well that was hardly the time either.'
'And now I've got you cornered,' Sirius said heavily, pushing his drink towards him. 'If we do this properly we only have to do it once.'
Harry sighed, not even enamoured by the fact Sirius had brought him an actual beer. 'How long have you been practicing for this?'
'Since the night Phineas Nigellus told us you two were carrying on together. Arthur gave me a look I'd rather not receive from him again.'
'I don't have to look you in the eye, do I?'
'I'd prefer you didn't.' Sirius cleared his throat, taking a big sip of his beer. 'Do you, uh...know how it all works?'
'Yes,' he said very quickly.
'Are you sure? Because not everything you hear in the dormitory room is going to-'
'I don't need you to tell me how shagging works.'
Sirius pulled an odd sort of expression, and when he collected his thoughts and began speaking his voice was a fraction higher than normal. 'Well, I have to teach you a charm. And when you do this charm don't get distracted by - well, you know. Just concentrate with it, otherwise you'll end up with...' he trailed off, awkwardly gesturing at him.
Harry looked up. 'Is this your tactful way of telling me I was an accident?'
'Your mum called you a happy surprise, and unless you like being surprised you'll concentrate with this charm.'
'Alright, I get it. Concentrate.'
'Concentrate twice,' he emphasised. 'You both need it. When you do your own charm do hers too. Be a gentleman.'
Later when their food arrived the staff gave them an odd look, likely picking up on their mutual discomfort. And though Harry wasn't particularly hungry the food's arrival was a blessing, breaking the ice after that conversation that had gone on longer than he would have liked. But he had learned far more than he had braced himself for and was torn between crushing embarrassment and genuine interest.
'That could have been worse,' Sirius said lightly. 'It could have been you and Arthur in the shed with diagrams.'
'Diagrams?'
'Bill said there were diagrams.'
'Merlin…'
'You may get to a point where diagram would come in useful, so-'
'No, that's it. That's enough,' he stressed, picking up his knife and fork. 'I don't want to know anymore.'
'Well…now you know. Pass the salt and I'll tell you how your mum got a lifetime ban from this pub.'
The rest of his three weeks had passed in a similar fashion, Sirius's visits breaking the monotony of Harry's usual routine of traipsing the streets until his reluctant return to Privet Drive after night fall.
Unlike last summer and Easter he was more diligent with keeping up with letters to his friends, relieved to find that this time he actually had something to say, that his head didn't feel so empty and numb the way it had before. He was bored and restlessly killing time, but the sense of detachment he felt was no more.
Fred and George were keeping him in good supply of Weasley Wizard Wheezes products, sending him samples and even updates of the new shop that was constantly out of stock due to massive interest. Naturally Hermione was the most diligent with her correspondence, and the occasional note from Ron who kept him in good supply of loaned comics and delicious treats sent on by Mrs Weasley.
...you won't hear from me for a few days, Ginny had recently written to him. For Ron's safety mum is sending me off to Demelza's place, I think she's genuinely worried we're going to really hurt each another. When you get here we need to speak about your first date with the Ghoul - you may have missed your shot with Moaning Myrtle, but you're still in with a chance with Gary. He's not much of a talker so I'm sure the two of you will get along fabulously.
Letters from Ron and Ginny usually contained updates about their antics at trying to listen in on conversations to gain valuable information. Much of it seemed to be complaints about the other, with a vague mention about Ginny taking a face full of dragon dung they both seemed reluctant to explain, while Ron had been grounded twice this summer already.
Between them they had not a single pair of Extendable Ears left, and they no longer had Fred and George on their side (who had seemingly matured into responsible adults now they had officially joined the Order). In their most recent letter they had begged Harry to give them his very last set, which he had sent on blind faith with the knowledge that he was unlikely to get them back.
'Hey, I've been meaning to ask you about...' Dudley began, glancing over at Harry. 'About that person you told me about. Cedric.'
Harry's heart stuttered, feeling a surge of adrenaline. That had come out of nowhere - they'd been talking about cars. The mere mention of Cedric had his guard up, ready to defend himself or deflect the conversation to anything but Cedric...
'I never told you about him.'
'Well, no,' Dudley admitted, though tactfully he didn't say any more.
He'd had a nightmare the other week, one that had woken his Aunt and made her come knocking at the door, but he didn't think he'd shouted Cedric's name. Dudley must have remembered from last summer.
'What about him?' he said, trying to hide the bite of impatience he felt inside him.
'Who was he?'
'Someone I knew from school. He was murdered last year.'
'Oh,' Dudley murmured. There was a short pause, the silence between them feeling distinctly uncomfortable, though it didn't improve much when he continued. 'Who murdered him?'
For a moment he considered not answering. Hell, they were back in town now, he could get out when they stopped at the next junction. He might very well throw himself out into traffic. But despite his hesitation he answered, keeping it simple.
'The same one who murdered my parents.'
'You were there, weren't you?'
Harry nodded.
'That's too bad.'
'I couldn't do anything,' he added quickly, immediately defensive. 'To stop it, I mean.'
'Right,' Dudley agreed just as quickly, nodding. He cleared his throat, making a strange sort of expression before speaking again. 'I feel bad,' he said, his voice sounding light and nonchalant. 'About last summer...you know, for giving you a hard time. Mum and Dad didn't really tell me that you'd had a bad time of it back then. She didn't tell me 'till after you were gone.'
It wasn't an apology. Dudley might keel over if that ever passed his lips, but still. It seemed like he was trying.
'You should feel bad. You were a right arsehole.'
Dudley nodded. 'Yeah, I was.'
Harry studied him, still skeptical. 'So who put the fear of God into you?'
'Huh?'
'Why are you being so nice? Offering me a lift, half apologising - was it Sirius?'
'Your Godfather? He came around last month, had a few words with Mum and Dad, but not me. I was upstairs.'
'So this is just you being nice, huh? What's the catch?'
'Told you, no catch. Just being nice.'
'Dragon dung,' he cursed, enjoying the way Dudley's eyes bulged at the word dragon. He continued studying his cousin, determined to figure out what was going on, and then realisation hit him - and it was so obvious. 'This is about the Dementors, isn't it? The things that attacked us last summer.'
Judging by the way Dudley's hands tightened around the steering wheel Harry was on to something. But now he felt a twinge of guilt, though admittedly only a small one. After he had left Little Whinging last year he honestly couldn't say he had spared the Dursleys more than a passing thought, which was only ever to do with dreading the prospect of his return. But in the days following the Dementor attack he had been locked in his room, and there'd been no opportunity to see if Dudley was alright in the aftermath...and he hadn't bothered in the year that had followed.
'They won't be back,' he said reassuringly. 'There's people who will watch out for them, make sure you lot are fine.' This was a bald faced lie, for he knew the Order didn't have the resources to do that, but it seemed to be the right thing to say.
'Okay.'
'I did wonder what you saw that night,' Harry probed, wondering if Dudley would divulge. 'They make you relive your worst memories.'
Dudley just shrugged, and then he was making a conscious effort to release the tension in his hands and arms. 'Nothing in particular,' he said lightly. He cleared his throat as he changed the engine's gears, slowing down for a red traffic light. 'Just, you know...'
'You don't have to tell me,' Harry waved him off, now feeling bad for the inquiry. Didn't he hate it when people prodded him to tell them things he didn't want to talk about?
'It's alright,' Dudley flustered, though he was clearly uncomfortable. 'I just...well. Saw things differently, that's all.'
'Right,' Harry nodded as if that made any sense at all. But still his curiosity lingered. What of Dudley's pampered life could have been so terrible to see?
'Look, anyway,' Dudley continued, his voice louder than before. 'I was an arse last summer, and...well...'
Harry was right - an actual apology seemed to be too much, but he found he didn't mind. 'I get it, Dud. You were an arse and you feel bad.'
'Yeah,' he agreed shortly, taking a deep breath when the traffic light changed to green and they took off again. 'I feel bad.'
As they drew nearer his drop off the bottom dropped out of his stomach. Having fallen asleep at his desk he was quite unprepared for this meeting. Providing there were no Muggles close by he had hoped to look through the binder on the bus, and if he hadn't been up all night trying to figure this damn thing out he'd have made it on time. The temptation to open it now was difficult to resist, but he erred against piquing Dudley's interest. It wasn't so much the forbidden interest in anything magical but rather the preference Dudley keep his eyes on the road.
They were in Richmond now, and in a stroke of luck they found themselves behind the first bus Harry had missed that morning, the one that would have gotten him here on time. He had made it after all. For a short while they followed the bus to the main interchange, but Dudley carried on a little further down the road until they reached the Tesco Harry had mentioned, and he pulled into the car park and stopped.
'Thanks for the lift,' Harry said, meaning it. He opened the door and got out. 'And sorry for thinking the worst.'
Dudley laughed, actually smiling now. 'Were you expecting to wake up in a tub full of ice with a kidney missing?'
'What?' Harry whirled around, clutching the leather binder. 'What about my kidney?'
'It's an urban legend,' Dudley explained. 'I was joking. It's a joke!'
'Right, fine,' Harry muttered, closing the car door. 'Me and kidneys are going now.'
'It was a joke,' Dudley appealed, leaning over to look through the passenger door. 'Want me to pick you up after?'
At this suggestion Harry took pause. Catching the bus suited him perfectly fine, and it meant he could stay out as long as he liked. 'I won't be back until tonight.'
'That's fine, I can pick you up whenever.'
'I'm not squeezing in the back with all your mates.'
'I won't bring them.'
Again Harry hesitated, having hoped Dudley's friends would be a way to politely decline. But in the spirit of letting him be nice he accepted. 'Alright. Pick me up here at seven. Thanks Big D.' The last bus left at seven forty five, so if Dudley bailed on him he wouldn't be completely stranded.
'Hey, one last thing!' Dudley called out. 'Hey!'
Having already walked away Harry reluctantly came back, leaning down and looking through the open window. 'What?'
'Ermmm...dragons aren't real. Right?'
Harry couldn't help himself. He grinned. 'Right,' he said slyly. 'Not real.'
'Jesus,' Dudley murmured, his face falling. 'Where are they?'
'Europe, mostly. See yah Big D.'
Still grinning Harry headed off, the leather binder under one arm and his cousin's existential crisis far behind him. He had Dudley drop him off a few blocks away from where he was going, though it wasn't that he mistrusted him or anything. As he walked he checked his watch, exceptionally relieved that not only had he made it there on time but that he had survived Dudley's driving.
A bell gave a friendly chime as he entered the quaint cafe, and he made his way through the seating areas towards the staircase at the back, heading to the same table where he knew his companion would be waiting for him. Just like it was the last two times the loft area was completely free of patrons other than the one he was meeting.
They had seen him coming, and rose to their feet at his arrival. 'Ahh Harry,' they said pleasantly, extending their hand. 'You're a little early today.'
'I was nearly late,' he said lightly, taking a moment before forcing himself to say the name that still felt a little unusual. 'Good to see you Rufus.'