Chapter Text
Dudley was not having a good day. Again. He had had a flat tyre this morning, which had make him late for an important meeting with a large retail partner who had walked about before he could get to work, leaving a huge contract unsigned. His next meeting cancelled on him, bluntly citing the reason being that they had already decided to no longer stock their drill bits in favour of a competitors’, rending a meeting pointless, and then the vending machine in the lobby had eaten his money but not spat out the snickers bar he’d been desperately craving by that point. All in all, it was with nothing more than a pitying look from his secretary that Dudley left that day, back to his bland and empty semi-detached, where he ate a frozen lasagne for two by himself, before sleeping fitfully through a stomach ache.
Dudley’s alarm clock was, as usual at this time of year, rendered useless by his curtains being too thin. Hi blinked awake and took some deep breaths, feeling that his nose must have become blocked in the night. Stretching back on the pillows, he blinked, and made to pick a bit of gritty sleep out of his eye. He froze, and blinked some more. With what should be a hand still frozen in front of his face, he slowly sat up, never taking his eyes away, shuffling his bum backwards towards the headboard as he went, so as not to have to put…’it’ behind him to prop him up. Now sitting up, Dudley let his eyes drift to his other hand. Which also has either been replaced by a trotter or turned into a trotter. Gulping another breath, he let his attention wander to his feet. He knew he could touch them against each other and probably discern the answer to his reluctant question that way, but couldn’t bring himself to face the potential sensation. Turning his torso, he began to swing his legs out from under the duvet until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Yes. Sure enough, because he guessed it wouldn’t really make sense otherwise, because why hands but not feet, they were cloven hoofs. Pigs feet.
Dudley’s senses were beginning to behave like a badly tuned telly. His brain felt weightless, there was a dim whining in his ears and his vision was becoming fuzzy, purple and black chunks piecing away from him. Dragging in a few deeps breaths, his vision cleared a little. This was not the time to faint. Nor was this his first brush with magic, which had to be the cause of this. It felt like a guess - hell, it felt like a nightmare he was waiting to wake up from, but the panic crowding his senses felt too real and the helpless humiliation and panic he could already see hoving into view was sharply reminiscent of his first and last taste of a ton-tongue toffee. This was happening, even though, as far he knew, he hadn’t come into contact with any witches or wizards recently. Although, Harry did look kind of normal, so assumptions should not be made on that front, he supposed.
Harry. He had sent Dudley a letter probably about 5 years ago now, asking that he write back via the delivery owl with his address if he wanted Harry to have it, as he’d had to use the owl to find him this time. He also included an address he in turn could reach Harry at, with a little packet of purplish, glittery powder, with instructions that should Dudley ever need to contact him directly, he could throw the powder into a lighted fireplace, speak the address clearly, and either step through if he was comfortable doing so, or just call for Harry.
He had kept both the packet of powder and the letter, or course, but had never been quite brave enough to try to follow his cousin’s instructions in their use. For reasons which were rapidly coming back to him. He also wasn’t sure if he wanted to invite an interaction which could result in Dudley blundering through an apology for past behaviour towards Harry. He knew that he owed one. But just the thought of the awkwardness, maybe saying the wrong thing and making it worse, and Harry’s potentially pyrotechnic reaction always hobbled him. And to make the awfulness complete, it would be humiliatingly evident why Dudley was only now just contacting Harry; that it was not, in fact, motivated by an emotionally-awakened need to apologise and build a healthy relationship with a relative, but because Dudley was, probably ‘still’ in Harry’s eyes, a pig.
But now he didn’t see how messing with a little packet of powder could make this situation worse. Besides, what else could he do? He’d had the pigs tail removed years ago, but was he going to do; have his hands and feet removed? He couldn’t see a solution which didn’t necessitate magical intervention. Even through the absolute horror and the panic hovering at the edges of his vision, Dudley at least knew that he needed a reversal not a removal.
Taking another breath and, surging upwards onto his…hoofs, he immediately tottered forwards before falling on his face.
It took Dudley about twenty minutes of consistent effort to make it downstairs to the kitchen, which was impressive progress, considering he’d been awkwardly hanging off door handles, the bannister, which he rested his forearms and most of his weight on, as he slipped and stumbled down the stairs on his hind hooves. Eventually in the kitchen, he had leaned his right shoulder into the wall along with most of his weight, and with hooves on the floor, used these to generate the forward momentum needed to push himself along the wall to the draw which held what he needed.
Having spent a truly horrifying eleven minutes trying to scrabble and lever that open, Dudley was in the living room, staring between the packet of flu powder and the fire he’d lit by striking a match he had had to hold in his teeth against the matchbox held pressed together between his two front hoofs.
He had reread the letter three times, just to be as clear as possible on his cousin’s instructions. He had also decided that Harry’s words seemed at least neutral in feeling towards him, and at best, the offer of contact spoke of a potential friendliness. Maybe. Dudley was pretty sure Harry couldn’t be responsible for doing this to him. He hadn’t seen or heard from him in years. He had to hope that Harry would help him, even if he was reluctant to offer assistance or was unkind about the predicament he found himself in. He could take whatever attitude he was met with, as long as Harry could provide a solution.
Shaking the powder into the fire awkwardly, Dudley reared back with wide eyes as the flames became a livid, leaping green. “Umm,” Dudley said, somewhat doubtfully. He screwed up his conviction and shouted, “Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!”
There was a whooshing sound. He waited, kneeling on the carpet. And stared. He didn’t want to get too close, but he thought he could see a table in the fire. Which sounds crazy, of course, but the longer he stared and began to let his eyes relax, the more sure he became that he was looking at a kitchen. He could make out chairs around the table now, cupboards and a sink.
He waited some more. “Harry?” Dudley said hesitantly. There was still no answer, but the powder had clearly done something.
If Harry didn’t answer, he truly didn’t know what he would do. There was no one else to call on. Not for this. A miserable desperation welled up inside Dudley, until he cried out at the top of his lungs, “Harry!!!”
He heard what sounded like footsteps bounding down some stairs, and then a lean man in rumpled robed, stubble on his jaw and a mess of jet black hair was staring through the fire at him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open slightly.
“Dudley?” the man asked in disbelief, approaching the fire fireplace somewhat hesitantly. “Erm… Hi?” There was a pause, and Dudley guessed he didn’t look as normal as he’s hoped at first glance, because that was Harry’s next question.
Dudley wished he could meet his cousins gaze confidently and tell him that of course everything was well and that this was a social call he was making because he wanted to, and by the way, he was really sorry about the abuse Harry had suffered throughout childhood at the hands of himself and his parents.
But with the week he was having, of course this was not the case. Dudley lowered his eyes and mutely shook his head and raised what should be his hands for Harry to see.
“Dudley, what - are those hooves!?” Harry cried, peering at them, like he thought it must be April the first.
Dudley could only nob, before whispering “and my feet,” whilst keeping his eyes fixed on the grate below where Harry’s face was flickering.
When he risked a glance up, Harry was still staring at him. He blinked. “Stand back. I’m going to come through, ok?” Dudley began an awkward backwards shuffle on his knees, and then there were two booted feet before him and a light cloud of fluttering ash.
Dudley didn’t look up, instead keeping an unfocused gaze on the shins before him. After a few seconds of silence, his cousin was kneeling down in front of him though, and with an unexpected gentleness, asked “What happened?”
“I woke up and my hands…and my feet…” He looked at the front hooves he was holding uncertainly before him before looking at Harry, who was also staring at them. He reached out one hand as if to touch, but let it hover there, tilting his head instead, seemingly considering them.
“Are you in any pain?”
“No,” Dudley answered, “but walking…is hard” he finished with a grimace.
Harry hummed under his breath whilst still staring at the lack of fingers.
“Did anything happen that you can think of? That could cause this? Eaten or drank anything different or that you thought tasted a bit…off?”
Dudley was trying to think, casting his mind back over the last week, trying to remember if anything unusual had occurred, but nothing stood out in his mind and he had to shake his head, while still keeping rather desperate eye contact with Harry now.
“Made any enemies or pissed anyone off lately?” Dudley could feel himself flush but still shook his head. He knew he couldn’t blame Harry for this line of questioning. He knew his cousin must remember him as being the epitome of antagonistic, but even being honest with himself, lately, he had felt like a victim in life. Nothing had been going well and this was just the latest in a series of unfortunate events.
Harry took a breath. “Ok. Ok. I think it would be best if I just took you to St Mungo’s. It’s a hospital,” he explained quickly, “for people like me, where they can treat magical accidents with magic. Ok?”
Truthfully, Dudley didn’t know how to feel about this. He had been hoping that Harry would offer up a quick and simple solution, and a hospital with calm, detached professionals who would know how to fix his problem did sound ideal. On the other hand, the idea of letting Harry take him somewhere like this, into his world, when he didn’t know how to get there, leave or navigate any and all troublesome interactions while there was terrifying at best. There was a part of him, which sounded a lot like his dad, which insisted that no good could come of this. That he could only come back worse, if he made it back at all.
‘But,’ he argued back, ‘aren’t I already in it? If I refuse to go with Harry, is there an alternative?’
Harry was watching Dudley closely as he debated with himself. “I wouldn’t let anything…bad…happen to you there, you know. Anything else.” He gestured vaguely with one hand to the hooves with a half smile which quickly fell away.
“Ok,” Dudley said in a small voice, and Harry’s eyes lit up in pleasant surprise. He didn’t seem to want to wait for him to change his mind or take further coaxing. He immediately leaned forwards, putting his hands under Dudley’s elbows, drawing Dudley’s still not inconsiderable weight upwards off the floor with him, with a grunt of effort.
With Dudley in a standing position, he tried to lean backwards, away from Harry and to stand straight on his own, uncomfortable with so much sudden proximity to his cousin and former victim.
However, he immediately overbalanced, and although Harry tried to catch him at the forearm, his weight had already gained too much momentum and down he went. To his further humiliation, Dudley let out a pained squeal as he landed on his rump, and froze. It shouldn’t have hurt like that. It felt like he’s landed on something.
Raising his eyes in horror to meet Harry’s, he felt a horrible certainly fall into him. Lifting his arms slightly towards his cousin, Harry quickly obliged, grabbing Dudley’s forearms and countering his own weight to hoist Dudley to his feet. This time Dudley didn’t try to stand on his own, as Harry let him brace his forearms across one of his own, his other arm hovering behind Dudley’s back, just incase he went testing his hoofs again.
“The tail is back. I think,” Dudley muttered, glancing quickly at Harry’s face and looking away again.
Harry was careful to keep the smirk out of his voice. “The one Hagrid gave you?”
Dudley just shrugged awkwardly.
“Ok, well, all the more reason for us to be off, I guess. I’m going to apparate us there, ok? It isn’t the nicest sensation in the world, but it’ll be over very quickly. There just isn’t room in your fireplace for me to stand beside you, and you really do need to be able to keep straight for flu travel.” Harry seemed to realise that much of what he was saying wouldn’t mean anything to Dudley and only severed to increase his ill-ease. So, with the arm without his cousin bracing his forearms against, he reached into his back pocket and gripped his wand, holding it by his side, not necessarily hiding it but where Dudley couldn’t easily spy it.
As an auror, Harry had no trouble picturing the St Mungo’s lobby, so with a jerk somewhere in the region of his navel and a loud squeal from Dudley, they were gone.