Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dudley woke up very early on the day after Halloween. He sat up in bed, mussed hair sticking in all directions and turned to look at the clock on his nightstand; it read exactly six o’clock. And six o’clock was a mighty early time for a boy Dudley’s age to be up at so he lied back down, intending on catching some more sleep. However, the smell of bacon coming from downstairs prevented him from doing so.

Dudley got back up and out of bed, and then stumbled down the stairs. As he entered the kitchen he saw his mother standing over the stove, gently poking at a couple pieces of bacon in a pan. The smell was amazing. When she heard Dudley step in, she looked up in surprise and said, “Dudley, what are you doing up so early for?”

Dudley blinked blearily at her and said, “I couldn’t sleep Mum.”

She smiled at him and said, “Well, I better put on some more bacon then. You can eat with your father and me, then after he goes to work I’ll take you to the park to play okay? Since you’re up so early it’ll be nearly empty and you can go on anything you want!”

Dudley grinned and nodded. He loved the park, or going outside in general. Sometimes it made his mother exasperated with the number grass and mud stains he almost always sported on his clothes. He was really happy she wanted to go out with him. He leaned on one of the chairs that were sitting at the table and watched as his mother continued to make breakfast.

Leaving the bacon to bubble in its pan, she shuffled to the side a bit and pulled the teakettle off the stove. She began cracking eggs that had been sitting on the counter into a bowl. Opening the fridge, she put away the eggs, pulled out a loaf of bread, took a couple pieces of it and popped them into the toaster. She grabbed a bin of butter, a bottle of milk, a jar of cream and a whole pint of orange juice, struggling slightly to hold everything in her arms.

In the middle of pouring a cup of the hot, black tea into a mug she jolted a little and turned to Dudley. Picking up the milk, she poured a small amount into the hot tea and said, “Can you please go see if the paperboy has come yet?” Then she added half a spoon of sugar into the mug and stirred it.

“Of course Mum,” Dudley said, nodding. He hurriedly pushed off the chair he had been casually leaning on and raced out of the kitchen. He slowed a bit when he entered the hallway as his mother called out from behind him, “And no running in the house Mister!”

Dudley grinned as he made his way to the door, still going at a rather fast pace. Not a second later, he made it to the end of the hallway. He flung open the door and suddenly found himself frozen with shock. No, the paperboy had not come yet, but something else obviously had. Instead of a neatly rolled paper on the front step, he found a basket with a strange, wiggling thing in it. Dudley stared at it for a few long minutes, barely able to comprehend what he seeing. He wasn’t quite sure if he had gone mad or if he was really staring a baby.

They were cute. That was the only word Dudley could think of to describe the baby in the basket. Their eyes sat impossibly wide and green on their face and their hair spilled out in fluffy black curls over their forehead. Cute. However, their face was marred by a sprawling red wound that splintered away from their forehead. It looked painful, but the smiling baby beneath it was still rather adorable. Not that Dudley would ever tell anyone that he thought so, because he was a boy and boys weren’t supposed to think of things as cute.

The baby made a strange gurgling sound and reached out their little hands. Their fingers opened and closed demandingly and their face scrunched up into a tiny scowl. Hesitantly, he leaned forward and touched the baby’s hand. Almost immediately, they latched on, wrapping their little fingers around Dudley’s. He had the weirdest urge to say "aww."

Suddenly, he could hear his mother calling from the kitchen, “What’s taking you so long Dudley? Has the paperboy come yet or not?”

Dudley opened his mouth to answer, but found the words stuck in the back of his throat. He stared into the basket, not moving for a couple of long seconds. The baby giggled and squeezed their fingers around his hand, which startled Dudley into finally saying, “Not yet Mum.”

“Then what’s’ taking so…” his mother trailed off as she walked out of the kitchen and caught him kneeling at the door. She came up close behind him and stared in horror down at the giggling bundle that sat in front of Dudley’s feet. Her eyes widened, a small flicker of recognition in them. She looked like she was about to faint.

“Dudley...” she began, voice shaking. Very abruptly, she reached down and grabbed Dudley’s shoulder, yanking him away from the baby. Instantly, the baby started to cry as their fingers were torn from Dudley’s. His mother ushered him away and pushed him into the kitchen as she said, “Stay here. I’m going to deal with this.” Then she walked back to the front door.

Now Dudley was never really the one who always followed the rules. He would admit that yes, he was quite a naughty child. On a very regular basis he’d sneakily not eat his vegetables and go to bed later than he was supposed to. Once he had even faked being sick to get out of going to school, which he had started for the first time last month. So with a sly little smile, he tiptoed back into the front hall a minute after his mother left. He climbed the stairs and stuck his head over the banister so he could stare down at his mother. He grinned to himself at his cunning.

His mother sat in front of the door, hands shaking as she read something from paper loosely clasped between her fingers. He heard her gasp quietly and watched as her grip tightened on the paper until it nearly ripped in half. She stared at the baby silently for a long moment before reaching forward and grasping the handle. She stood up unsteadily and began making her way back to the kitchen, basket in one hand and the paper still in the other.

Panicked, Dudley skinned down the stairs two at a time but by the time he had made it into the kitchen his mother was already standing there and the basket was already sitting on the table. In her hands she held the piece of paper, slowly ripping it up into small pieces, which she tossed into the waste bin. Her eyes were red as she asked, a little forcefully, “Where did you run off too?”

Dudley rolled himself back and forth on his feet as he lied, saying, “Sorry Mum, I had to use the loo.”

His mother gazed at him for a moment more before she turned back to the stove, where the bacon was beginning to burn in its pan. He watched in confusion as she pulled the pan off of the burner and continued cooking as if nothing had happening. He looked at her closely and saw that her arms were shaking slightly as she walked over to the refrigerator to put the cream and butter back.

“Mum?” he asked. She didn’t answer.

“Mum,” he said again, a little afraid, “Mum, what happened?”

“Nothing.” She replied sharply, “Now go and wake your father so he can eat before heading off to work.”

“But Mum…” he insisted, a bit startled when his mother slammed the pan he had been holding onto the counter with a loud crashing sound.

“Go and wake your father,” she repeated, almost hissing, “So he can eat before heading off to work.”

Dudley quickly nodded, sparing a quick glance at the table before rushing from the kitchen. After sprinting up the stairs, he entered his parent’s room and saw his father lying flat on the bed like a huge, shapeless lump of clay. Dudley shook his head at the giant man, his father had always been big and he was sure it would always stay that way.

Coming up next to the bed, he leaned over his father, patted on the chest and said, “Dad!”

When his father didn’t stir, Dudley shook his chest again and said, “Dad, wake up!”

His father blinked, shook his head and watched Dudley in a hazy silence for a few seconds. Dudley scowled and said, “Come on Dad, it’s time for breakfast.”

His father groaned and slowly sat up, yawning. He waved Dudley off with a grunt that sounded a bit like, “M’coming.”

Dudley nodded at him, turning to walk out of the room as his father stood up and started to get dressed. He ran back downstairs as fast as he could, determined to see if the baby was still there, still okay. He slipped on the last step in his haste, shoulder banging into the banister as he attempted to grab the handrail to stop himself from falling. Unfortunately, his hand slipped and he went plummeting toward the ground, face meeting the carpet at the bottom of the stairs after only half of a second.

He groaned and tried to pull himself up. He felt a strange wetness on his face and when he brought his hand up to touch his mouth, it came away red. He let out a deep, shaking breath and blinked away the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. Sniffling, he heaved himself up to stand on his unsteady legs and wobbled back into the kitchen.

When he entered he saw that the table was made up with three plates full of steaming food, two of them sitting with mugs, respectably filled with either tea or coffee and the third with a tall glass of orange juice. He glanced at his mother, who was staring blankly at the table as she laid out forks and knifes besides the plates of food. Almost as if it had been tossed and forgotten, on the floor beside her sat the basket, pressed between the wall and the end of the table. Dudley could hear small sniffles coming from it.

His mother turned to look at him with a forced smile and began to say, “Have a seat…”

Abruptly he cut herself off and rushed forward to grab Dudley’s face. Her pale hands glowed with his blood as she worriedly stroked his jaw.

“Dudley,” she said, “What on earth happened?”

“I fell,” he told her simply, “Down the stairs.”

She made a strange, strangled sound in the back of her throat as she wiped the blood away from his face with a soft napkin. Unblinking, she asked him, “How? Did you trip over your bottoms? Was there something on the stairs?”

Dudley looked down at the accused, rather baggy pajama bottoms he had on and sighed. He told her, “No,” and shook his head, “I was just being clumsy.”

His mother stared burning holes into his face and shook his shoulders slightly, “So you just fell? For no reason?”

Dudley rocked nervously back onto the heels of his feet. He didn't want to get in trouble for running in the house, so he just shrugged.

His mother nodded at him and wrung her hands against her chest. He saw her shooting a dirty look at the basket on the floor. Confused at what she was doing, he blinked at her for a moment, head tilted to the side. She ignored the stare she was receiving and ushered him to sit down at the table.

Hesitantly, Dudley sat down in his spot at the table. Looking down he saw that his food was mostly ruined. The bacon was black, the yolked eggs raw and slimy and the toast, which was sporting a rather thick layer of strawberry preserves that tried to hide the burnt bits, was a dark brown, almost black color. He bit his tongue and made himself smile at his mother.

“It looks delicious Mum,” he told her a little forcefully.

His mother stayed silent, merely sitting down in her own place at the other side of the table. She held her fork gingerly in her hand and daintily cut a piece of raw, slimy egg off. The yolk pooled on her plate and soaked the toast, tinting the dark surface a dingy yellow. She stuck the fork in her mouth, a clear little bit of slime sticking to her lip. She wiped it away with a napkin. Dudley made a face at her.

A minute later, his father came bumbling down the stairs. He wore a button up shirt with a red tie and dress pants. Dudley could see that a small, yellow stain was on his collar.

“Good morning,” he said in a monotone voice. Dudley rolled his eyes. His father really wasn’t a morning person at all. The man sat at the table and immediately began to shovel food into his mouth, not seeming to mind the unappetizing appearance. Dudley stuck his tongue out at him, feeling faintly sick. He watched his mother and his father eat for a few minutes before his mother finally looked up at him.

“Eat.” she told him blandly.

Dudley pushed his plate away and said, “I’m not very hungry Mum.”

His mother frowned at him and replied, “Eat. You’ll need your energy later Dudley.”

“But...” he began.

“Just eat.” she muttered, glaring.

Never before had his mother ever acted this way toward him. She seemed angry and distant, staring at him with deep and vacant eyes. Feeling a little frightened, Dudley nodded and tentatively picked up a piece of bacon with his fork. He struggled to take a bite, the burnt meat almost too tough for his teeth to break. His mother nodded at him, seemingly satisfied for now.

Dudley salvaged as much of his meal as he could, eating the softer pieces of bacon and dipping the middle of his toast into the yolks of the eggs. He avoided the egg whites though, they were too thick and gooey for him to even consider attempting to eat. He washed the food down with big gulps of his orange juice.

They ate in relative silence, but Dudley could still hear small whimpers and sniffles emit from the basket now and then. Every time the baby made a noise, his father would look up from his meal and then his mother would reassure the man that he was just hearing things.

“Do you hear something Petunia?” he’d ask, turning his head back and forth.

His mother would cock her head to the side, first left and then right. The she’d shake her head and say, “ No dear, I don’t. Perhaps you’re just hearing things?”

The man would shake himself, grunt and say, “Perhaps.”

After the third or fourth such occurrence, his father slammed his fist into he table angrily. Dudley’s glass rattled and sloshed the remaining juice around in the cup, almost splattering it all over his pajamas. Dudley snapped his head up to stare at his father. She man’s face was twisted in annoyance and confusion as he stared at his wife for a long moment before speaking.

“What,” he began, sighing in exasperation, “the bloody hell was that sound.”

“Vernon!” his mother gasped, “Dudley is right there!”

“ I don’t really care, “ his father said, rolling his eyes, “The boy ought to learn a few swears, toughen him up a bit.”

“Vernon!” his mother shrieked shrilly.

Just at that moment a loud, piercing wail began to ring through the air. Dudley immediately cast his eyes down to the basket, almost completely hidden under table. As he Dudley did this, his father did the exact same thing. The man’s beady eyes trained on the basket with a look of intense focus on his face.

“Petunia.” he said, oddly calm, “What is in that basket?”

His mother stumbled over herself for a few seconds before eventually choking out a strong of words so mangled that Dudley couldn’t understand any of them. Apparently, his father couldn’t understand any of them wither.

“What,” he repeated, “ Is in that basket?”

The crying became louder, almost unbearably so. The sound rang through the room so sharply that it made Dudley’s ears sting. He continued to stare at his parents silently, not uttering a word. His mother was shaking like a leaf.

“My…my…” she started, almost crumpling, “My nephew.”

“Why is he here?” his father asked, suddenly truing to control his temper. His face twisted into a glare, “And why did you feel the need to hide him from me?”

Dudley’s mother let loose a series of ragged coughs, opening and closing her mouth blankly, without speaking. His father continued to glare at her, baring his teeth like a madman.

“She…” Petunia said, her whole body shaking, “She’s dead!”

“…your sister?” he asked, sounding rather calm once again.

“And her husband!” his mother confirmed. She looked like she wanted to sob even louder than the baby.

The wailing of the baby had become even louder and Dudley wanted to shove his fingers in his ears. Cautiously, he went down onto his knees and began crawling under the table. He edged slowly toward the basket. When he reached it, he saw that the baby was kicking and screaming in the basket. He could hear his parents still talking above him; completely unaware of where he had went.

“You’re a boy then,” Dudley said with a small smile, “Mum’s nephew. So I guess that makes you my cousin?"

His cousin opened his tiny little eyes and blinked widely at Dudley. His crying abruptly ceased. Dudley reached forward and gently touched his shaking hand. His cousin immediately gripped tightly onto Dudley’s fingers, just as he had done outside. Dudley could barely contain his smile.

At the sight of Dudley’s smile, his cousin smiled too and started to giggle madly. Above them all conversation stopped. It was almost as if they hadn’t realized that his cousin had stopped crying until he had begun to laugh. Dudley began to chuckle and well, hoping with all of his heart, that they were going to keep the smiling baby.

His mother appeared at the side of the table, kneeling next to him with a wide face. Her eyes were blank as she told Dudley, quite harshly to, “Get away from the bloody, little freak!”

Dudley gawked at her in utter confusion for a few minutes, before turning his head back down to stare, once more, at the baby. The baby, his mind repeated. Who could ever be so foul sounding to a baby? And how could a baby be a freak? They couldn’t possibly do anything wrong! Babies were just that, only babies…

“Why?” he asked, still gazing into his cousin’s wide, green eyes.

His mother started, as if she was wasn’t expecting for him to say that, before replying with, “I just told you. It is a freak!”

“Why?” Dudley asked again, feeling frustrated tears pool in the corners of his eyes. “He’s just a little baby! He’s not a freak! How could you call him that?”

His mother didn’t respond, bout suddenly he felt something tug on the back of his shirt. He was yanked out from under the table by his father and was held swinging above the floor.

“Don’t you dare question your mother.” he said, locking his jaw.

“But…” Dudley began, before being cut off by his father.

“And don’t,” the man said through clenched teeth, “question me either.”

“But…” Dudley began again with more vigor, only to have his words unexpectedly cut off by a hand connecting with the side of his face.

Dudley cried out instantly, the loud sound bursting forth from his lips as he felt pain explode in his cheek. Dimly, he could hear his cousin crying as well. His father dropped him hastily and turned away, a sour look on his face.

“Vernon!” his mother all but screamed, the sound echoing through the room.

Dudley quickly crawled back under the table. He positioned himself so he was sitting protectively in front of his cousin. Above, he could hear horrid yelling coming from his mother as she savagely beat his father with a large, wooden spoon that she had grabbed off of the counter. The sound echoed in Dudley’s ears—thwack, thwack, thwack. Everything felt so loud, so deafening that he thought his ears might combust.

The sound stopped rather suddenly, and Dudley could see the spoon clatter noisily to the floor. His mother went along with it, as his father shoved her down. She let out a weak cry, but when Dudley ducked his head down to see his father, the man had no remorse on his face.

“If anything you’ve told me about them is true,” he said blandly, “I don’t want anything to do with that…that thing.”

“We have to take it.” she said, “There was a note, with its parents dead, the responsibility falls to me as next of kin. We’re all that’s left and if we don’t take it then they will come Vernon! They’ll come and muck up our family! Look what one of them have done to us already.”

His father finally seemed to realize the severity of the situation and simply said, “Okay.”

After that morning, nothing was ever the same again.

Chapter Text

All of the sudden Dudley's mother was yelling at him to go to his room and too afraid to disobey, he found himself running out of the kitchen. He stumbled up the stairs and into his room, closing the door quickly behind him. Dudley sat down on his bed and hugged his knees to his chest. He felt like his entire world was falling apart and he wasn't quite sure how to fix it.

He closed his eyes, moving his hand to gently hold his stinging cheek. It was throbbing painfully beneath his fingers. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. He couldn't believe that his father had hit him.

Dudley wasn't sure how long he waited there on his bed but he the next thing he knew, his mother was opening the door. Dudley lifted his head to stare at her and she gasped, rushing over to him. She brushed her fingers against his cheek, were a bruise had been quickly forming.

She pulled away quickly and asked Dudley, in a rather shaky voice, if he'd still like to go to the park. "Your father just left for work." she added quietly.

Dudley shook his head, "No thanks, Mum."

She looked distressed as she asked, "Are you sure?"

Dudley nodded, looking down at his knees. He wanted to ask her so many questions, but he tried to hold his tongue. He gazed up at her discreetly from beneath his eyelashes.

"Okay then," she said, "Then I'll leave you be..."

Dudley bite his lip as his mother turned to leave his room. He froze for a second before calling, a little desperately, "Mum?"

His mother looked back him, and he struggled to to keep his voice steady and he spoke, "What's wrong with my cousin? Why did you say those things about him?"

She sighed, but a certain hardness had appeared in her eyes. "You wouldn't understand sweetheart..." she began, but Dudley cut her off.

"No! I'm not a little kid anymore Mum!" Dudley insisted, scowling at her. His cheek stung with the motion.

His mother looked like she was trying very hard not to get angry as she told him, "Dudley, your cousin is very bad. There's something wrong with him. I need you to stay away from him, because I don't want him to hurt you."

"How is he going to hurt me?" Dudley cried, feeling more confused than ever, "He's just a baby!"

She drew her lips into a thin line, looking very much like she wanted to start shouting. "I told you that you wouldn't understand Dudley." she told him simply.

Dudley found himself getting angry, the feeling steadily building up in his chest. He frowned, not knowing what to say. His mother turned and left his room, closing the door with one last demand to stay away from his cousin.

Dudley stayed on his bed, unmoving, for what felt like hours. His cheek was aching and his chest was throbbing with the anger that had begun to fester there. He got out of his bed and crept towards the door as quietly as he could.

When he opened it, all he could hear was silence. Dudley tiptoed over to his parents' room, slowly opening the door so he could've peer in. He saw that his mother had lied back in bed, and was sleeping fitfully. He closed the door silently.

He went downstairs and into the kitchen, where he found his cousin still in the basket beneath the table. The baby looked like he was struggling not to start crying again so Dudley went and kneeled by the basket. The baby stared at him with tears glittering in his eyes.

Dudley offered his hand to the baby, which he took greedily. The baby started sucking on Dudley's fingers and Dudley made a face at him.

"Eww." Dudley said, sticking his tongue out at the baby. The baby giggled around the fingers, chewing on them with the few tiny teeth he had.

"I'm Dudley." he said, not entirely sure what to say. He felt silly talking to the baby, unsure if he could even understand anything he was saying.

He realized with a start that he didn't know what the baby's name was. He tried to ask, feeling even sillier when the baby just responded with a nonsensical babbling sound. Thinking hard for a moment, Dudley carefully removed his hand from the baby's mouth and started searching for the slip of paper he had seen his mother holding at the door, thinking that maybe it had some information about his cousin.

The baby pouted at him when he took his hand away making Dudley suddenly afraid that he'd start crying and wake his mother, but the baby simply snuggles down into the basket quietly. Dudley breathed a sigh of relief and started his search.

After a couple of minutes Dudley found the slip of paper in the trash bin and he carefully picked it out. He wasn't able to read very well yet, but he was able to pick out a few bits and pieces.

There was something about death and Dudley thought back to his parents' conversation earlier. His aunt, one he didn't even know he had, must have passed away. The letter went on to talk about how his family had to take care of his cousin now, but he felt amazingly lost trying to read it. There was so much about it he didn't understand or know about yet.

He frowned, but found his eyes gleaming as he came upon a word he thought might be a name. He turned to the baby and hesitantly called, "Harry?"

The baby immediately looked over to him questioningly. Dudley grinned, approaching the baby, "Is your name Harry?"

The baby gurgled and said, "Hawy!"

He lowered himself down next to the basket and sat there with Harry for a little while, but eventually the baby started making small whimpering noises. Dudley looked at him worriedly and tried to hush him, but Harry lip just wobbled and he let out a small hiccup.

"What's wrong Harry?" Dudley asked him, feeling panic well up inside of him, "What do you want?"

Dudley had no idea how to care for a baby. He was terrified that Harry would start screaming and wake his mother, but then Harry looked up at him and demanded in his little babbling voice, "Hungy!"

"You're hungry, Harry?" Dudley asked, feeling a bit of relief flood through him. He was met with another pouting "Hungy!" from Harry. At least now he knew what Harry wanted, except he had no idea how he was going to feed him.

Dudley knew that babies drank milk, but he also knew that they drank it from bottles and he didn't think there were any of those in the house. He felt a little helpless as he watched Harry get more frustrated as time went on.

"Hungy!" Harry almost shouted and Dudley swore he could hear anger in the baby's voice.

All of the sudden, Dudley's mind flashed back to a few months ago. He had been helping his mother clean out the basement, when he had come across a a box with his name written across it. His mother had squealed and opened it, showing him old baby supplies and clothes.

"Oh, you were so small, weren't you?" she had cooed, showing him a little baby onesie.

Dudley ran out of the room as quickly as he could without making too much sound. He slipped down into the basement, darkness encasing him as he went down the stairs. He found himself feeling a little afraid of the dark room, but he ignored his fears.

"I'm not a little kid anymore," Dudley whispered to himself, "I shouldn't be scared."

He reached into the air around him, trying to find the light switch. His hand brushed against a string and he grabbed it, giving it a tug. The lights went on and Dudley gazed around the room, trying to find the box that he needed. Once he caught sight of it, he stumbled over and tore it open.

Inside were bottles, some toys and old clothing. He grinned and closed the box again. It took a minute to carry the box upstairs because he found it very heavy. When he made it back into the kitchen, he could hear that Harry had gotten louder. He tossed the box down and grabbed a bottle from inside.

He rinsed it out in the sink and got the milk out of the fridge. Luckily for Dudley, there wasn't much left in the container and it wasn't very heavy. Once the bottle was full, he screwed on the nipple and handled it to Harry.

Harry immediately latched onto it, sucking at the milk with vigor. Dudley slid down next to the basket again, feeling relieved. He glanced over at Harry, who had leaned his head back to better get at the milk. Dudley laughed.

When Harry was finished with his bottle, he threw it out of the basket. He struggled to push himself up and when Dudley glanced over at him, he told him "Up!"

Nervously Dudley reached over to him, trying to figure out how exactly he was supposed to hold Harry. He froze when Harry stood and stumbled out of the basket. Harry looked up at him and giggled, holding his arms out. He toddled forward and fell against Dudley, and Dudley automatically brought his arms up.

Harry plopped himself down in Dudley's lap and started playing with his hands. Dudley watched as Harry waved his little fists, and he bit his lip. In that moment, he felt much older than six years old.

"I don't know why my parents don't like you Harry," he said hesitantly, "But I won't let my Mum or Dad hurt you."

He reached up slowly, touching his still painful cheek. He bit his lip, gazing down at the suddenly silent Harry. Dudley thought about the letter he had found with the mentions of death. He thought about his mother, shakily crying out "She's dead!"

Dudley knew, instinctively, that Harry's parents were gone. He wasn't quite old enough to completely understand but he understood that Harry's Mum and Dad weren't there to take care of him or protect him anymore. While he gazed down at Harry, Dudley made a sudden decision. Harry lost his family, so Dudley was going to fill that gap. He was going to be Harry's new family.

"You're going to be my little brother now Harry. I'll protect you, I promise."

Chapter Text

Dudley woke to the sound of his parents arguing loudly in the kitchen. He slowly pulled himself out of bed and nervously started getting dressed. They had fought last night too, after his father had gotten home from work. They seemed so angry and upset when the family tried to eat dinner together. His father seemed to be especially moody and Dudley was very careful to be on his best behavior around him, afraid of being hit again.

However, it seemed as if both of his parents were going out of their way to keep him in the dark about the problems that were happening. Whenever he saw her, his mother would always give him a strained smile, offering him food or asking if he wanted to play a game. She would make absolutely no mention of the baby. Everytime he uncomfortably brushed her off, unable to get the scathing voice that shouted hatefully about Harry out of his head.

His father had mostly ignored him, but Dudley was used to that. After a long day of work all his father usually did was eat dinner and then go to sleep. He had watched discreetly as his father ate last night, noisily chewing on his steak. He had sank down into his chair when his father complained about his steak being too well done, or about how there wasn't enough ice for his drink, or how his baked potato had too much pepper and not enough butter.

Halfway through another comment about her cooking, his mother had snapped back at his father. She was rather quiet, but Dudley could hear the anger in her voice. Immediately, his father had begun to roar at her, yelling about how she should cook better if she didn't want to be insulted. Dudley had trained his eyes on his plate, watching as a bit of extra butter on his potato melted.

Dudley just wanted them to stop fighting, but he wasn't sure if that would ever happen. He left his room and trudged down the hall, the voices getting even louder once he opened his door. He padded quietly over to the stairs.

"Where else is it going to go?"

It was his mother's voice, thin yet biting. She had gotten louder, braver than she was even yesterday at dinner.

"It can stay with you!" he heard his father snap back her. "It's a waste of money and we won't be sending it!"

"I don't want to be stuck with it all day! It's not your problem, it's mine." his mother responded, "And it's not as if we don't have enough money!"

"It's happening and there's nothing you can do about it!" his mother finished and his father seemed to growl at her before storming out of the kitchen.

Dudley saw him appear from his place on the stairs but stayed quiet. His father trudged down the hall and out the front door with an angry call of "I'm going to work!"

His mother appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking like she was grinding her teeth. When she glanced up, she caught Dudley's eye and her face immediately melted into a blank stare. The corners of her eyes crinkled.

"Come on Dudley," she said, almost tiredly. "We have some of your favorite cereal for breakfast."

Dudley mixed his frosted flakes around absentmindedly, not feeling very hungry. His mother seemed to be doing to same from across the table, taking tiny bites of her own breakfast, which was nothing but some toast with jam. After a while of them sitting there in silence, his mother pushed herself away from the table. Dudley looked up at her for a second before turning his eyes back to his soggy cereal.

"We should leave leave, I don't want you being late." She told him and then muttered under her breath, "I guess we'll be walking today."

So Dudley found himself walking to school with his mother, attempting to catch a look at Harry, who his mother carried at her side. Harry's feet kicked gently out of the basket he was in and Dudley could hear him making little noises. However, his mother seemed to be trying her best to keep the basket turned away from him. It felt like she was trying to keep Harry hidden.

His school was not very far from home and it did not take very long to get there. His mother led him into the building, pulling him into the main office with her. There was a secretary sitting behind a desk, who looked up when they walked in.

"Can I help you?" she asked in a kind tone.

"Yes." His mother said rather stiffly, "I'd like to enroll my nephew into the daycare program."

Dudley knew the program she was talking about. He had been in it himself before starting actual school last year. He wondered if at any part during the day he would be able to sneak away and visit Harry.

The secretary at the desk smiled sweetly as she said, "Of course!

She handed his mother a form, and told her to fill it out. "Name, age, that sort of thing." she said.

His mother nodded and went to sit at a chair in the corner of the room so she could begin filling out the form. Dudley, unsure of what to do, sat in a chair next to her. He had a good view of Harry from his spot and he could see the baby make a face at him from the basket. He glanced quickly at his mother to make sure he wasn't looking before playfully sticking his tongue out at Harry.

There was a tiny, barely audible giggle and Dudley smiled. After his mother filled out the form, she went and handed it back to the woman. They talked for a few minutes.

"May I see that an ID?" the secretary asked.

Dudley made a funny face, pulling down his eyes and waggling his tongue. Harry giggled again, louder this time. He had the biggest little grin on his face.

"Of course." his mother said.

Dudley made another face and wiggled his fingers at the smiling baby. Harry burst into laughter, his tiny little baby laugh filling Dudley up with joy. He smiled back, just as both of the women at the front of the room glanced back at them.

"How cute!" the secretary squealed, an adoring look in her eyes.

His mother pinched her lips together, looking distressed. A sudden flash of anger passed through her eyes before she hesitantly turned away and the secretary, "Is that all?"

The secretary nodded and they began to speak together again. His mother looked frozen, body stiff and hands clenched at her sides. Dudley uncomfortable turned away from his mother, biting his lip. He could practically feel the hatred radiating from his mother and in his mind's eye, he heard her yelling at him.

'Get away from the bloody little freak!'

He let out a harsh little breath through his nose, pressing his lips together in a wobbling frown. He remembered how his mother told him that he wouldn't understand yesterday. He realized she was right. He didn't think he would ever understand why his mother held so much seemingly unlearned hatred for an innocent baby.

However Dudley was smart and was able to understand something entirely different. Even if he didn't understand why his mother hated Harry, he still understood it was wrong. He understood that no matter what his mother or father thought or said, it was still wrong to mistreat Harry the way the had in the past day.

A tiny seed of resentment planted itself inside him. He looked blankly at his mother as she led him to his class. She gave him a quick, strained smile as she turned to leave but Dudley simply stared at her. The seed felt like it was gnawing on his insides, painfully chewing him up.

He sat at his desk and laid his head down. He could feel the teacher's worried eyes on the back of his head, but he tried to ignore her. Tears were burning in the corners of his eyes and he didn't want them to fall. There was a rumble deep in his throat, a raw feeling that seemed like it was choking him.

Dudley went through the first half of the day very mechanically. He tried to pay attention to the lesson being taught, but his mind kept wandering. The entire time the teacher kept shooting him worried glances and when she let the class out for recess, she called quietly after him before he could leave.

"Dudley?" she called, "May I speak with you for a moment?"

Dudley bit down hard on his lip and slowly made his way towards her. She gestured for him to sit down in a chair beside her. Her name was Mrs. Smith, and in the time that Dudley had come to know her, he had learned that she was very kind.

"Are you okay Dudley?" Mrs. Smith asked, a flicker of concern flashing in her eyes.

Dudley nodded slowly but he didn't think he looked very convincing. Mrs. Smith certainly didn't look very convinced.

"You know you can tell me anything, right Dudley?" she told him softly, "If there's a bully, or a problem at home..."

Dudley looked down and twisted his hands in his lap.

"You can trust me Dudley." she told him.

Dudley clasped his hands together and looked up at Mrs. Smith through the fringe of his hair.

"I have this cousin." he began shakily, "And I don't think my parents like him very much."

Mrs. Smith nodded, "Does this make you upset Dudley?"

"Yes." Dudley responded quietly.

"Why does it make you upset?" she continued.

Dudley squeezed his hands together tighter, and said, "They said really mean things about him. It made me feel bad."

"What did they say?" Mrs. Smith prodded, looking encouraging.

"They called him a freak." Dudley said. He thought the seemingly endless amount of arguments his parents had in the past day before adding, "Um...something about him not being one of our kind? I don't know what that means though. Maybe he's different?"

Mrs. Smith looked at him in confusion for a second before a look of understanding suddenly crossed her face.

"Dudley, what does your cousin look like?" she asked him. "His skin...is it closer to your color or mine?"

She reached out her hands and spread them across his own two. Her brown skin contrasted brightly against his pale shade.

"Yours." he said quietly, "A bit lighter though, I think."

Mrs. Smith looked like she was about to cry. Ten minutes later, Dudley left the room feeling like he might cry as well. She had told him his parents might be racist, and she explained the meaning of the term to him. He felt a lump appear in his throat. He knew, very suddenly and without a doubt, that his parents were racist. He had seen little instances of racism before Harry had even appeared.

There was one homeless black man in particular that came to Dudley's mind. He would sit outside the local grocery store, with a tin can for spare change and a cardboard sign. He was always there. Whenever his parents would pass him they'd hide half disguised sneers and his father would always mutter something along the lines of 'filthy blacks."

"If your cousin ever comes to visit again, be careful," Mrs. Smith said, "It's wrong to be racist but I don't want you to get hurt."

Dudley ran off to recess without managing to pull up the courage to tell her that his cousin wasn't visiting and that Harry was now a permanent fixture of his home.

Chapter Text

It was well past Dudley's bedtime when he rose as quietly as he could from his bed and crept down the stairs. He slid down to sit on the floor, crossing his legs as he rested his head gently on the small door of the cupboard behind him.

"Harry?" he whispered quietly.

It had been just about a week since Harry had appeared and Dudley didn't get to see him very often. His parents kept him inside the cupboard and forbid Dudley from going inside it. He had even heard his parents talking about buying a lock to attach to the cupboard door, which made Dudley very anxious. He didn't know what he'd do if they locked the door.

Dudley shifted uncomfortably where he sat, a sharp stinging in his bottom reminding him of how his father had caught him sneaking to see Harry yesterday after school.

His father, who had seemingly been doing his best to ignore Dudley, had lit up with rage at the sight of his son kneeling at the open cupboard to play with Harry. Dudley's face flushed red as he remembered his father angrily throwing him over his knee and yanking his pants down. His father had spanked him until he was crying, causing his mother to rush over to stop the punishment.

She had patted him softly on his reddened bottom and told him gently, "I told you not to get near the freak sweetheart."

Dudley, with tears streaming down his cheeks, had shouted at her, screaming about how unfair she and his father were being. She had pressed her lips into a thin line, pulling him closer to her. His face had been pressed into the crook of her warm neck.

"If I or your father catch you near the freak again I won't stop him from spanking you." she had told him in a hushed voice. "I'm sorry, but you need to learn that you can't interact with it."

Dudley had only nodded, his face slick with his tears. His had lead him into his room and let him lie down on his bed to rest. He had felt a small bit of resentment and anger towards Harry well up deep inside him but he squashed it down.

"It's not Harry's fault," he had whispered quietly to himself, "It's Mum's. It's Dad's."

His heart ached at the thought of his parents, the ones who had raised and loved him, turning on him so easily. He still loved them too, but that love had quickly become stained by the anger and sadness he also felt towards them. Most of all however, all of his emotions were almost always clouded by his worry for Harry. If his father was willing to hit him so easily, what would he do to Harry? What if he threatened to hurt Harry to get Dudley away from him?

Dudley swore to be more careful when sneaking to see Harry, which was why he was currently sitting outside the cupboard at eleven o'clock at night. Dudley's thoughts were swiftly interrupted by a tiny babbling sound. Harry.

Now that he knew Harry was awake, he turned and gently eased the cupboard door open. The baby's sleepy face stared up at him in confusion before breaking into a little smile.

"Duddy!" Harry squealed and Dudley hurried to shush him.

"Shhhh Harry," Dudley told him quietly, reaching into the cupboard to take the little boy's hand.

"Are you hungry Harry?" Dudley asked him softly.

The daycare program at his school provided Harry with breakfast and lunch, but didn't include dinner. It also didn't include weekends. His parents didn't seem very stressed about getting Harry fed and Dudley knew he most likely hadn't eaten at all today. He decided to take the matter of getting Harry fed into his own hands.

"Hungy!" Harry immediately confirmed, completely understanding Dudley. Sometimes Dudley was weirded out by how much Harry seemed to understand.

Hand and hand they walked into the kitchen, Harry stumbling over his little feet, not very good at walking yet. Dudley did his best to support him as he went over to slowly ease open the the door to the refrigerator.

The other day he had went to the grocery store with his mother, and when she wasn't looking he had run off to try and find the section with all the baby supplies. He had found it, and saw things like milk and little jars of mushed up food. Looking closely at the jars, he was able to make out that most of them were fruit or vegetables before his mother found him and dragged him away.

Dudley pulled a plastic container of applesauce out of the fridge, since he figured that it was close enough to the mushy baby food he had seen at the store. Harry watched him with wide interested eyes as he peeled off the lid and got the smallest spoon they had from a drawer. Harry made grabby hands at him from where he had plopped down in the floor.

Dudley sat down next to him and did his best to try to feed him, holding spoonful of applesauce to his lips. Harry excitingly reached out and put his hands on Dudley's, guiding the spoon into his mouth. Dudley grinned and scooped up some more applesauce, feeding Harry until the container was empty.

Some of the sauce ended up on both of them, rather in Harry's mouth, but the baby was smiling at him so widely that Dudley couldn't help but giggle at the mess. After throwing away the plastic container and putting the spoon the sink, he started to wipe them both clean with a napkin but Harry grumpily pushed him away.

"Hungy." Harry demanded and Dudley frowned.

"You're still hungry Harry?" he asked, twisting the napkin in his hands.

Harry just repeated his demand and pouted at him. He reached out and grabbed Dudley's sleeve, shaking it, "Duddy! Hungy!"

Dudley let out a little huff and decided to go get one of the old bottles from his room. He had hidden the box of his old baby things under his bed so his parents wouldn't find it. He quietly told Harry to stay where he was before padding over to and up the stairs.

He knelt in front of his bed and pulled the box out. He was just about to grab a bottle when he heard a sudden loud crash come from downstairs. For a second he froze, before hearing the loud thud of his parents' door slamming open. He scrambled to his feet and raced out of the room, practically falling down the steps in his haste.

Harry had somehow managed to pull out one of the drawers in a cabinet. It was full of silverware, which was now all over the floor. Harry sat in the middle of it all, looking like he was about to start sobbing. Dudley abruptly felt very stupid for leaving a baby in a room all alone with no one to watch him.

"What the hell is this?" his father boomed suddenly from the behind him and Dudley felt a sharp jolt of fear run through him.

His mother appeared in the doorway but only stood and watched silently in the background as his father shouted again.

"Well?" his father demanded.

"I'm sorry Dad!" Dudley started, "I was just..."

"Just what?" His father roared, "We told you not to get near that damn freak and now look! Look at this mess!"

Dudley felt tears burn in the corners of his eyes and he took a slow step backwards. His father narrowed his eyes.

"Both of you will be punished." he said, and he also took a step towards them, "Starting with that little freak!"

His father stormed over and yanked Harry up by his arms. The baby immediately let out a startled cry and his father sat down in a dining chair, tossing the Harry over his knees. His tiny pants were yanked down and he was smacked hard across his bottom. Harry let out a scream.

Dudley raced forward to try and stop by him but his father simply knocked him out of the way. He landed in the pile of silverware, the forks and spoons digging into his skin. He looked up at his mother, but she only turned away. He remembered her promise from yesterday, about not stopping his father. He sucked in a deep breath and struggled not to start crying.

He pushed himself up and tried to stop his father from hitting Harry again, but he kept getting swatted away. Harry was sobbing hysterically the entire time. Eventually, his father got so frustrated that he slid Harry off his lap and yanked Dudley over it. Harry stumbled face first onto the ground and Dudley caught sight of his bright red bottom.

"Stop trying to protect him!" his father said, pulling Dudley's pants down. His bottom was still a little red from his spanking yesterday.

His father smacked him hard and Dudley gasped. He hit a lot harder than he had yesterday.

"The freak doesn't deserve your protection." his father seethed, smacking him again. His father almost sounded sad.

Dudley quickly broke into the tears as his father continued to spank him. It hurt so much and he didn't know how long he would be able to stand it. His bottom was burning.

After what felt like forever, his father finally let him up with a grunt of "Go to your room."

Dudley wanted to stay, to make sure Harry was okay and that he got back into his cupboard safely but his mother came over and pulled him away when he didn't move to leave the room. He was dragged slowly back up to his room and just before his mother pushed him inside, she turned him so she could stare him in his eyes.

"I'm sorry Dudley." his mother told, "Just...please don't get near that boy again."

She reached up to cradle his face in her hands, "I don't want you to get hurt Dudley, but I'm willing to do anything it takes to protect you."

She reached down and gave him the hardest swat she could muster. His bottom, which was already bright red and very bruised stung painfully at the touch.

"I know you don't understand Dudley, but it's better this way."

She gave him a small push and he stumbled through the doorway in a slight daze. He fell onto his bed and buried his face into his pillow. He started to sob violently, the pillow beneath him muffling his cries. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt. Sad? Angry? Scared?

Dudley cried himself to sleep, curled up in a tiny ball. He didn't know what to do.

Chapter Text

Dudley woke very early on the day after the incident with his father. When he glanced over at the clock, he saw that it was still only half past five. He lied in bed for a while, not wanting to move. He was lost in his thoughts, feeling absolutely miserable.

For a brief moment, Dudley contemplated giving up on his mission to protect Harry. He just wanted his parents to love him again and for everything to go back to normal, but he shook his head. He felt selfish for even thinking about that. No one else would protect the defenseless little baby and he couldn't just leave him to fend for himself.

Dudley didn't know how he was supposed to protect Harry though, as he was barely able to protect himself. There wasn't much a six year old could do to fight against the two fully grown adults that were his parents. He was amazingly lost.

Slowly, an idea came to Dudley's mind. If he wasn't able to protect Harry he would have to get help. He thought about telling his teacher, Mrs. Smith, that something was wrong at home. He rolled over, turning onto his side and pulling his knees up to his chest. He suddenly felt very guilty. He loved his parents and he didn't want them to get in trouble.

He wondered if they would go to prison. He knew that what they were doing was wrong but he didn't know if it was illegal. He closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around his knees. He didn't want to think about it, but everything his parents were doing probably did break some kind of law.

Dudley saw his father, slapping him across his face. He saw his father beating Harry's bottom until the baby screamed.

"It's legal to spank your kids, right?" Dudley whispered to himself, but he wasn't sure.

What his father had done to Harry seemed a lot worse than a simple spanking. Dudley had been spanked before, though not very often. His father had never hit him as hard as he had last night and it seemed like he had hit Harry even harder than that.

However, it was undeniable that refusing to feed your children was illegal. Dudley wondered what would happen during school breaks, such as over Christmas. Without the food from the school, Dudley wasn't sure how Harry would survive.

"They'd feed him then, right?" Dudley whispered to himself, but he felt his something crumble inside him.

He doubted that his parents would feed Harry over the break and if they did, they probably wouldn't give him nearly enough food. He didn't want Harry to starve. Dudley felt the urge to start crying again well up inside but he pushed it away. He needed to be strong for Harry.

Dudley decided that he needed to tell his teacher, Mrs. Smith about Harry living with him and how his parents treated him. He hoped that she would be able to rescue Harry and take him somewhere safer. He wanted to go too, but even then, he couldn't let go of the love he held for his parents. He felt distressed. He didn't want to leave his parents but he also didn't want to abandon Harry.

There was a lump in his throat as Dudley thought about telling his teacher. He didn't even know if she would believe him, but it was the best option he had. He drifted fitfully back to sleep, waking just an hour later after suffering through a terrifying dream involving his father's angry red face and Harry's tearstained face.

Chapter Text

It wasn't until the end of November that Dudley managed to work up the courage to follow through with his plan. He felt weak for waiting so long, but everytime he attempted to say something he always found the words dying in his throat.

He had thought he was handling everything fairly well so far, but he was proved wrong yesterday. Dudley had been a lot more careful when sneaking to see Harry ever since the incident with his father three weeks ago, but he was a still a child and children make mistakes.

He had taken to sneaking food into the cupboard when Harry wasn't inside, such as directly after school when he ran ahead of his mother and got to the house first. His parents had followed through in buying a lock for the cupboard, so he could never access it when the baby actually locked away but he was able to stash food away for later. Usually it was a bottle of juice or milk hidden beneath Harry's baby blanket.

When Dudley retrieved the bottle the following mornings after his mother would remove Harry from the cupboard, it was aways empty. Dudley took this as a good sign and continued hiding food in Harry's cupboard.

This backfired when his father, having gotten home from work early one day, caught him trying to sneak Harry's bottle into the cupboard. Just as Dudley was about to close the door, his father had appeared ominously behind him.

"Dudley." he heard, the word spoken softly.

Dudley froze, and his fingers gripped the cupboard door tightly. He was afraid to turn around and catch sight of his father's surely reddening face.

"Dudley." his father repeated, as the sound of his mother opening the door echoed behind him, "Dudley, look at me."

Dudley moved slowly to face his father, his whole body shaking. He dared a quick look up into his father's eyes and saw the pure anger there.

"You had been so good Dudley," his father said, sounding oddly calm, "You were avoiding it like we told you. Why have you stopped?"

Dudley opened his mouth but no sound came out. He clutched the cupboard door desperately, staring blankly as his father.

His father shifted, suddenly gritting his teeth, and said "Did it make you? Does it have some sort of spell over you?"

Dudley shook his head wildly, not quite sure what his father was talking about.

His father abruptly spun around to face his mother, who was watching with trepidation as she held the basket with Harry inside. He reached forward and grabbed the basket knocking it to the floor. Harry let out a wail.

"What have you done to my son?" his father shouted at the baby, "What curse do you have him under?"

Dudley pressed his head back into the wall behind him, swallowing. For a moment, he thought his father might be insane.

Harry wiggled free from where he fell under the basket and tried to stand on his shaky legs.

"Don't move!" His father screamed desperately.

Dudley felt so confused at why his father father was acting so fearfully. He sounded scared. Harry successfully pulled himself up and he took a hesitant, wobbling step forward.

"I said don't move!" his father roared, and suddenly the man was yanking his belt off as Dudley watched in horror.

"Release my son." his father demanded as Harry gazed up at him in confusion and fear.

Dudley saw his father's grip tighten on the belt as he raised it above his head and the next thing he knew, he was running. He flung himself forward to cover Harry with his body, throwing his hands out in an attempt to stop his father. He braced himself and closed his eyes tightly.

Blood was rushing through his ears with a strange roaring noise. He felt a thrumming deep in his chest, and he found his entire body trembling. The thrumming traveled up his arms, all the way to his hands. They heated up and a tingling sensation spread through his fingertips. Tension built up inside up and he felt like he was about to burst.

Dudley heard the crack of the belt and suddenly, he was exploding. The thrumming feeling inside him rushed desperately up through his palms. The belt never struck. Dudley hesitantly opened his eyes and a caught sight of an amazing glowing bubble surrounding him and Harry. It shone with bright golden light.

Through the clear bubble he saw his father, belt in hand, stumbling back with a look of pure terror on his face. His lips were moving but Dudley couldn't hear him. The blood was still rushing in his ears. Dudley suddenly felt amazingly weak, as if all of his life force was being sucked out of him. He fell back, landing with an awkward thump next to Harry, who looked up at him with glistening green eyes.

The baby reached forward and grabbed Dudley's leg, clinging to it desperately and Dudley wrapped his shaking arms around him. The golden bubble surrounding them disappeared with a popping sound and a flash of blinding white light. His parents were staring at the two of them in fear.

All of the sudden, his mother began to wail, "He's been infected! He must be one of them now!"

His father, with panic in his eyes, took a hesitant step forward. He grabbed Dudley by the back of his shirt and dragged him through the house to shove him into the backyard. Dudley leaned against the side of the house, tightly hugging Harry as he watched his parents argue through the glass back door. Their words were muffled but he could still vaguely make them out.

"What are we going to do Petunia!" his father said, pressing his hands to the sides of his still red face.

"I don't know!" his mother hissed.

His father had a crazed look in his eyes and he glanced out of the door to stare at the two boys. His lips were pressed together in a thin line and he looked almost sad.

"We'll have to force it out of him." he said ruefully, shaking his head, "Maybe we'll be luckily enough to squash it out of the both of them."

Dudley pressed his head against the wall and craned his neck to stare up at the darkening sky. He had no idea where the golden light that had protected him and Harry had come from but he thought maybe someone was looking after them. He wondered if it was God or a Saint, or perhaps even one of his dead ancestors. He closed his eyes and imagined that it had been Harry's parents, protecting him and their son from his own parents. He tightened his arms around Harry and bit his lip. He opened his eyes.

He sat there for hours as he watched the sun lower itself in the sky, which slowly darkened. The sky turned orange, sparkling with the sunset. The orange faded and left Dudley with a deep blue that got darker and darker the longer he stared. Eventually, everything was black.

Dudley spent that night outside, Harry pressed against his chest. They cuddled with each other to keep warm as the temperature dropped but they couldn't do much to escape the evasive cold that curled freezing fingers around them.

When Dudley woke the next morning it was to an ache in his back and a deep cold trembling within his bones. The sky before him was once again orange and it shone brightly as the sun rose above his head. He squinted his eyes, not quite believing that he had spent the entire night outside.

Harry shifted in his arms and Dudley looked down at him with a frown. The baby's eyes fluttered open and he let out a loud sneeze. Dudley's mouth twisted into a fearful frown and he clung tightly to Harry. He breathed out deeply and the air in front of him turned a pale white. He felt sick to his stomach. Harry looked up at him with bleary, tired eyes and Dudley felt a lump form in his throat.

Dudley was terrified. While he had been unsure about whether or his father hitting the him and Harry would be enough to get his parents in trouble he was sure that leaving two children locked outside overnight would be. Things had gone too far. He drew his hands up to rest gently in Harry's curly hair. He sucked in a deep, ragged breath. He gave the curious baby a strained smile.

"It'll be okay Harry," he said, holding his breath, "I'll tell Mrs. Smith today, and then everything will be okay."

Harry merely cocked his head, green eyes shimmering in the early morning light. The red wound that had sat upon his forehead was now starting to lighten into a scar and it gleamed when the sun hit it. The baby gave him a tiny smile and Dudley was filled with courage.

Chapter Text

Dudley sat hunched over in his desk, hands folded in front of him. He had drifted nervously through the first half of the day, unable to truly pay attention. He gazed blankly at his teacher, who was speaking at the front of the room. Her lips were moving but the words crept silently past his eyes. He was in a daze, feeling as if he wasn't inside his body.

He blinked and suddenly the classmates that had sat around him were gone. He belatedly realized that they must have been dismissed to lunch. Mrs. Smith was sitting at the front of the room, head bent down as she stood rustled through one of the drawers at her desk. She hadn't yet noticed that Dudley was still sitting there.

He slowly pushed himself up from the his desk, trembling with each movement. Mrs. Smith glanced up at the sound of his chair scraping against the floor. She looked startled and stared at him in confusion.

"Why are you still here Dudley?" she asked, "Is everything alright?"

Dudley padded slowly to the front of the room, hands twisted together in front of him. He felt like his legs might give out at any moment and he was afraid that he was going to topple over. Mrs. Smith gazed at him with concerned eyes as he stopped in front of her desk. There was an uncomfortable pressure inside his chest.

He bit his lip and opened his mouth, only for no words to come out. He closed it again, pressing his lips together tightly. He sucked in a deep ragged breath and thought of the little smile Harry had given him early that morning.

"No." he croaked, voice shaking.

It was the only thing he could manage to say and the moment he said it, he felt the pressure begin to slowly ease off his chest. He could hear the sound of his own unsteady breathing, trembling in his ears.

"No," he repeated, stronger this time, "Nothing is okay and everything is broken and I don't know how to fix it!"

He spoke in a rush, voice growing louder as he desperately gasped out the words. Mrs. Smith stood up and made her way to the other side of the desk. She gently placed her hand on Dudley's shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

"What's wrong Dudley?" she asked him softly.

"Do you remember how I told you about Harry? And how my parents didn't like him?" Dudley said quietly and she nodded in understanding.

"He lives with my family." he whispered to her, "His parents died and now he has to live with us."

Mrs. Smith looked at him in surprise, eyes widening. She blinked at him and her hand tightening around his shoulder.

"They treat him really badly." Dudley said, still in a whisper, "I'm afraid he's really going to get hurt."

Mrs. Smith led him to the nearest chair and had him sit down, then perched on another chair beside him. She seemed hesitant to let go of him, as if when she did he would suddenly disappear.

"How have they treated him Dudley," she asked him gently, "Do they still call him names?"

Dudley nodded and then said, "They don't like me going near him either. I get in trouble if I do."

"Do they do anything other than call him names Dudley?" she asked.

Dudley couldn't open his mouth and his throat felt dry. He breathed in deeply through his nose.

"It's okay Dudley, I promise you can trust me." Mrs. Smith said, "You have to tell me in order for me to help you."

Dudley was afraid. He used to trust his parents, but that had not gotten him anywhere. He swallowed several times before trying to open his mouth again.

"They hit him." he said in a small, broken voice, "And they don't feed him."

Mrs. Smith squeezed his shoulder and asked, "How long as he been living with you?"

"About a month." he said, "Ever since I first told you about him."

"Has he been eating at all?" Mrs. Smith asked, a look of silent horror crossing her face.

"Yeah," Dudley said, "He gets breakfast and lunch from daycare. Not dinner though."

Dudley reached down to grab tightly to one of the legs of the chair, steadying himself as he said, "I try to sneak him dinner, but my parents don't like when I do that. I have to be really careful they don't catch me or they'll get really mad."

"What happens when they get mad Dudley?" she asked.

He squeezed the chair leg tighter, his knuckles turning white and he said, "My Dad hits us."

"He hits you too Dudley?" she asks, eyes dark.

"Yes." Dudley croaked.

"Do they do anything else Dudley?" she asked him gently, causing Dudley to bit his lip.

"Yes." he croaked again, "Last night, he um..."

"What did he do Dudley?" she asked calmly.

"He locked us outside." he said, voice trembling, "After he caught me sneaking a bottle to Harry."

Mrs. Smith drew up her eyes with stark realization and her skin became flushed as she asked, "Dudley, how old is Harry?"

"I'm not sure," Dudley replied, "One? I think."

Mrs. Smith looked like she had trouble containing herself and asked "How long were you two locked outside Dudley?" even though it looked like she already knew.

"All night." Dudley said, "It was really cold and I tried my best to keep Harry warm but I think he might be sick!"

"It's not your fault if Harry is sick." she told him, "It's your parents' fault."

Dudley looked down, staring blankly at his knees. He could fear tears burning in his eyes but he tried not to let them fall.

"Dudley, you understand that I have to call the police, right?" Mrs. Smith said.

Dudley nodded mutely. He had suspected this would happen and wasn't very surprised, but the words still caused a strange feeling to build up in his throat.

"I can call them now." Mrs. Smith said, gently releasing Dudley's shoulder.

She slowly rose, taking a few steps towards her desk. She was reaching for the telephone sitting there when she suddenly froze. Her arm was stretched out before her, still as death, and her fingers curled up coldly at the ends. Her eyes were blank white and her face expressionless. Her skin seemed to glitter and glow.

"Mrs. Smith?" Dudley called, terrified.

Mrs. Smith suddenly snapped her head towards him and then her body loosened, becoming less stiff. She gazed at him in confusion, pulling her hand away from the telephone.

"Dudley?" she asked dazedly and she shook her head, "What did you need?"

Dudley looked at her in shock before mumbling out a half hearted, "Harry."

Life sprung to the woman's eyes and she made a sound of realization before reaching once again for the telephone. Once again, however, she froze and Dudley began shaking.

"Mrs. Smith?" he called again.

Dudley managed to get her to reach for the telephone to call the police eight times. Every time she turned frozen, unable to move unless Dudley called for her. After the eighth time, she turned to him looking dizzy. She took a step forward and swayed, looking as if she were about to fall.

Dudley felt tears fill his eyes, confusion chewing away inside of him. Dudley stood up and cautiously approached his teacher placing his hand on her arm. As Dudley looked closer, he noticed her glittering, glowing arm was tinged a light golden color. The golden sheen on the woman's arm reminded him eerily of the strange golden shield he had produced late last night.

At the sight of the golden glow, Dudley felt an a strange, aching sickness build in his throat. There was an acidic taste on his tongue and he felt as is he was going to vomit. He pulled away from the teacher with a growing feeling of horror and fear deep in his chest. Whatever strange magic that had protected him and Harry also seemed to be at work here, though he had no idea what it was or where it came from.

His eyes were burning, tears tingling in the corners of them. He sniffled, trying to stop the tears from falling down his cheeks. His wet eyelashes fluttered, his vision blurred and dark. He stumbled away from his teacher and she gazed at him with dazed, vacant eyes. He nearly fell, tripping over the legs of one of the desks.

The teacher's eyes never left him, staring at him with that lost expression as he turned and slowly fled the room. He pushed the door to the classroom open and clambered out into the hallway. He twisted and fell, head banging loudly against the door and he slammed into the ground.The tears that were burning in his eyes found themselves dribbling over the tops of his cheeks. He sniffed hard, trying to stop them but it was fruitless, the tears slowly making their way down his chin. His breath was heavy, chest shaking with each stuttering gasp.

Something, this strange golden light, this magic, was preventing him from getting help for Harry. He wondered why this magic light would help and Harry but also hurt them, trying to stop him from getting help for Harry. He thought about calling the police himself but was sure that they would freeze too, before they were able to do anything.

Dudley stayed sitting there for a few minutes before he managed to calm himself down. He pushed himself to his shaky feet, knowing that he couldn't stay there because if he did, a teacher would certainly find him. He made his way shakily over the the restroom across the hall, and fell gently against the door. The room was empty and amazingly silent.

Dudley stayed there for the rest of day, ignoring the bell that signified it was time to go back to class. He stared blankly at the door of the stall in front of him, unsure what to do next. He felt incredibly small and incredibly lost. Harry's small face floated his head, mixed with swirling bits of that glowing golden light. He needed a new plan, but he wasn't quite sure where to start. He was on his own now.

Chapter Text

Dudley spent the entire day locked inside a bathroom stall, feeling sick and hopeless. Eventually, he heard the bell that signified that it was the end of the day, that he should leave to go meet his mother outside the school, but he did not feel much like moving. He didn’t want her to ask about his tear-stained cheeks, or his eyes, reddened from crying. He felt unsure if he would be able to explain himself if he would be able to come up with a lie that wouldn’t make his mother angry at him.

He moved eventually, standing up onto legs that felt just a little too wobbly. When he pushed the stall door open, he caught a sudden glimpse of himself in the mirror and quickly averted his eyes. He looked even sicker than he felt. He stumbled out of the bathroom and quickly made his way to the front of the school, where his mother would be waiting for him. The movement made his head begin to ache.

Thankfully, his mother didn’t react too much to the way he looked, apart from a suddenly worried glance, and her bringing her hand up to his forehead. She had said, “I think you're getting ill, you have a fever.”

Dudley had looked down at his shoes, wanting to shout at her. Wanting to shout that of course, he had a fever, he had just spent all night sleeping outside! But he didn’t say that. He felt like a lot of his courage had escaped him, and he wasn’t sure why.

When they got home, his mother tried to usher him inside, but Dudley pushed her away and said “I wanna play outside.”

His mother sighed, “Dudley, you have a fever, you really shouldn’t be playing outside…”

“Please? Only for a little, I promise! I want to go look for bugs!” He begged, pouting. Bug hunting was an activity he did often, though his mother didn’t quite like it when he tried to bring the little friends he found inside

She huffed, looking down at the pleading boy in front of her with a sad face. She looked vaguely guilty, her eyebrows furrowed. Maybe she felt bad for what had happened last night. She took a step into the house and said, “Half an hour. And when you come in, I’ll have a big bowl of soup waiting for you.”

Dudley smiled shakily as she went to close the door, disappearing inside with Harry. He bit the inside of his cheek, dragging his eyes over to the window that led to the living room. The curtains were drawn back, and he was able to see his mother hastily shoving Harry into the cupboard under the stairs before she scurried off to the kitchen, presumably to start making that soup she had promised him.

Dudley released the skin between his teeth, realizing that he had bitten down on his cheek just a little too hard. It wasn’t bleeding, but it stung harshly. His eyes shot from side to side, seemingly crazed. He felt as if he was being watched. He turned his head, stumbling backward from the door. His movements were slow and trembling before suddenly, he felt some courage return to him and he spun on his heel, turning towards the street.

Even though Dudley felt strangely certain that calling the police would do nothing to help him, he wanted to try anyway. He shuffled away from his house quietly, not wanting to make any loud, suspicious noises. He had barely been walking for half a minute before he began to pick up speed. He bounced, almost stumbling over his own feet as he ran.

There was a payphone outside the little shop down the road. He had never actually used it before. He had never even been to the shop alone before. He had always gone with his mother, standing protected at her side. He suddenly felt very small as he slowed to a stop in front of the shop.

An old woman holding some shopping bags pushed out of the front doors, and she smiled at him. It was a friendly old lady's smile, all gentle and sweet. Dudley felt frozen at the sight of another person but he realized as she passed by him. His eyes were trained on the payphone, and while he had just confidently run down the road to get there, the idea of calling the police himself seemed incredibly terrifying.

He forced himself to stumble over to the phone, and he picked it up. He held it way too tightly, his hand shaking. His other hand shook too as his finger reached out to press the buttons to call the police. Nine. Nine. Nine. He swallowed.

There was a dial tone for just a second before anyone answered. His ears were ringing and he brought the phone up to his ear. His face felt hot and he swayed in his place. He suddenly realized just how sick staying outside last night had made him. His stomach ached, and he longed for the soup that his mother was making. He felt nauseous, and it took him way too long to realize that someone on the other end of the phone was talking.

“Excuse me?” they asked, over and over again, and he realized that he had not yet responded.

“Hi.” Dudley said shakily, “I need some help please.”

The person on the other end of the phone said hello back, and kept asking him to explain what was wrong. Dudley did his best to explain his situation to the operator, who remained so strangely calm but also seemed to grow more and more horrified. He told them everything that he had told his teacher. The more he said, the faster he seemed to talk, rambling on and on and on.

The operator asked where he was and told him to wait by the payphone for the police to arrive in twenty minutes. Dudley swallowed, glancing down at the little watch around his wrist. His parents had gotten him it for his last birthday and Dudley had pouted.

“I can’t play with this!” he had said gloomily, “It’s not a real toy.”

“Cheer up Dudley,” his father had said from the couch, where the man had sat slumped, “It makes you look distinguished. A proper young man, I’d say!”

Dudley felt a sudden rush of gratefulness for this watch that he had not felt when he had first gotten it. It had already been more than twenty minutes since he and his mother had gotten home. It did not feel like that long, but he was terrified of what would happen if he never came back home when his mother had told him.

What would happen to Harry? It would only be ten minutes that Harry was alone with his parents, but again, it felt like the incident last night hadn’t even taken half that. What if they tried to hurt Harry again? Dudley tried to explain this to the operator, trying to tell them that he had to go home, but they kept insisting that he should wait where he was, that it was not safe.

Dudley knew that it wasn’t safe, but he told the operator, “I live at 4 Privet Drive.”

“It’s just down the road from the shop,” he told them, “I’ll be safe for now, I promise.”

The operator kept trying to convince him to stay outside the shop, but also seemed to realize that Dudley simply was not going to listen to them. They told him, “The police will be there in fifteen minutes.”

The click of the phone as Dudley hung it up echoed loudly in his ears. Fifteen minutes. He only had about five minutes to get home, and he felt panic well up inside him. He hoped so very hard that his mother had not looked outside. He hoped so very hard that his soup had not gotten done early. He hoped that he, as well as Harry, would be safe.

The run back to his house felt so much slower than the run to the shop, even though he felt for certain that he was actually running faster now. The wind rushed in his ears. A lone car passed him on the street, the hum of its engine absolutely deafening.

It felt as if it was by some miracle, or some stroke of magic, that Dudley skidded to a halt onto his front doorstep just as his mother opened the door. She chuckled at him.

“Right on time, huh?” she said, “Well, your soup is all already.”

Dudley followed his mother into the house, the front door closing behind him. The soft sound it made when it clicked shut made him shake. He felt so oddly trapped, but he sat down at the table and began to eat his soup. It had chicken, and noodles, and little bits of vegetables. He wondered if Harry would have liked some. He wondered if Harry was even old enough to have some at all.

Five minutes passed. He noisily slurped the soup from the spoon. Ten. He found himself asking his mother for some bread from the kitchen. Bread with butter for him to dip into the soup. She happily got it for him. Fifteen.

Fifteen. The operator had said fifteen, hadn’t they? Maybe the traffic was bad today. He put his bread into the soup so it could soak up all the broth. Twenty. Dudley realized belatedly that he had never taken his bread out of the bowl to eat. It was mushy and soft, and he poked at it with his spoon, his mouth pulled back a little.

Twenty-five. Dudley was done with his soup, but he did not feel better at all. His face felt warm, his cheeks were flushed red, his head was aching. It had been an extra ten minutes. Where were the police? Where were they? His mother noticed him looking more ill, and she took his hand.
“You should go lie down,” she told him, pulling him off to his room.

He did, and that did not help either. He curled up into a small ball on top of his blankets, feeling much too warm to actually get under them. His eyes were trained on his watch.

Thirty. Initially, as the time kept ticking by he felt panic, but he couldn’t take his mind away from his teacher. His teacher, upon trying to call the police, had frozen and become ill and shaking. Did that happen to the operator that he had been talking with?

Forty. The panic that Dudley had felt seemed to churn away, once again turning into hopelessness. He felt like he might throw up.

An hour passed, and then two, and then three. Dudley didn’t move. He stayed lying on his bed, curled up, shaking. He wondered why all the adults didn’t seem like they were able to help. He wanted that help so badly. What was he to do without it? Was he going to run away?

Dudley blinked. The idea felt stupid. How could he possibly run away? He was just six! And Harry, Harry was still a baby, he wouldn’t be able to care for a baby all by himself. Nonetheless, the idea of running away felt oh-so tantalizing to Dudley. He wouldn’t have to worry about his parents hurting him, or Harry. He wouldn’t have to worry…

Dudley fell asleep almost accidentally and dreamt of him and Harry living in a park together. Harry had climbed to the top of the playset and declared himself king of it. “Duddy! Duddy!” the baby exclaimed, “Look! Look!”

He buried his sleeping face into his pillow. He would feel guilty tomorrow about not getting a bottle to Harry but...so tired. He was just...so, so tired.