Chapter Text
Dudley Dursley doesn't quite remember when he realized he had a past life but he thinks it's something that had always been there, lingering in the back of his mind and slowly creeping up on him till— one day— he blinks and wonders to himself if his little bratty cousin who likes to stir up trouble unprompted really was Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, and all that.
He watches as Harry, small limbed as all 6 year olds were, tumble on thin air as he tries to chase a littler boy he had been bullying—
"I was only teasing him, Lee. Teasing!" Harry insists later on that day as Dudley dabs anti-bacterial on the wound festering on the boy's knee.
"That's what all bullies say, Harry," Dudley tells him, trying to keep the boy's leg still as he tries to wince away in pain.
Harry barely holds a hiss.
"Aren't you done yet?" He whines, a pout on his lips as Dudley looks up from where he was trying to disinfect the wound.
"Nothing's getting done with the way you're moving."
Harry grumbles and Dudley sighs.
Honestly,' Dudley thinks, resuming his work, 'was Harry Potter supposed to be this much of a brat?'
☆ ☆ ☆
Perhaps the change started with him or perhaps it had always been that way— either way, before Dudley Dursley even fully realized his past life, Harry Potter and he had grown closer than they should've much to the dismay of Petunia and Vernon Dursley.
His parents try their darned best at separating them but Harry stuck onto Dudley like a limpet and Dudley had always wanted a littler brother to take care of.
It was just something he knew he should be doing. Taking care of his brother. And whilst Petunia and Vernon will go and shove the poor boy away and lock him under that staircase— Dudley just knew he should get him out of there. Teach him all these things. Tell him to keep his head high. To speak up a bit more. Shout and cry for what he wants. Laugh as loudly as he'd like.
Dudley is wiser. He's lived an entire life before this one. This, he feels, is his responsibility.
Take care of your little brother, he tells himself as he sees his father shove Harry to the ground, ust as you always have.'
Dudley rushes to Harry's side before he can fall to the floor.
☆ ☆ ☆
"Harry," something warm, warmwarmsowarm, says right next to his ear and despite the fright that had just soared through him, Harry turns to the voice and leans into the warmth of it.
There, he sees a smile that makes him want to lift up the corners of his own mouth.
"Wanna play?" Lee asks him, and he's so close that tuffs of his brown hair tickle Harry's cheeks and he feels a warmth flood his blood, washing away the fear that seemed to consume the air.
Lee's hands are gently wrapped around his arm. The heat of his skin spreads to Harry's brain and he feels fuzzy. He still feels out of balance but it's fine now.
"Dad," Lee tilts his head up at Uncle Vernon, still beaming a smile that seems to shake Uncle Vernon out of his rage. His furrowed brows settle and his mouth hangs open in agape as he stares at Lee.
"Can I go play with Harry?"
"Uh-" Uncle Vernon stutters out in stupor. He shakes his head, brows furrowing again as he pinches his forehead.
Lee leaves Harry's side to hurry towards Uncle Vernon's. Smaller arms wrap around Vernon's much larger one and Harry thinks the man might've melted from touch alone.
"You got me that new train set, right?" Lee continues as he clutches his father's arm with a smile.
Uncle Vernon dumbly nods.
"I really like it, you know! And I'm almost done assembling it, but I've been having so much trouble with all the train's accessories. There's too much to keep track of!" Lee then laughs, light and free as it echoes through the air.
"I was wondering if Harry can help me, well—" Lee tilts his head like a curious owl— "if it's not bothering you, of cour—"
"Of course!" Vernon hurriedly replies, nodding his head along as he smiles back down at his son.
"Whatever you want, Dudley. Harry—" Vernon only momentarily glances back to Harry— "help Dudley out with his train set."
Then he goes back to smiling down at his son.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry answers politely with a smile just as polite as he waits for Lee to unlatch from Vernon.
"Thank you so much!" Lee beams, gradually letting his grasp slip.
"Come on, Harry," he calls out, as he holds Harry's hand with his own, and they run up the stairs towards Lee's room.
☆ ☆ ☆
Lee Dursley stares out the window of his own room as ten-year old Harry Potter's words run off his mouth in a series of huffs and eye rolling. It had been something about something insignificant, Lee was sure, so his little words went one ear and out the other.
The boy was oddly chatty or, rather, Harry Potter just like to run off his mouth sometimes. Usually when he's somewhat uncomfortable or awkward. Lee's eyes turn to the other boy, watching as he angrily puts toy train tracks together on the floor.
"And Uncle Vernon's always doing that, you know? It's getting really—"
Harry is little. Very little. Compared to the toy train set he's assembling, compared to the mounds of books piled on the floor, the towering shelves of Lee's room, the big window to the side, and the grand toys Lee has amassed over the years— Harry is small. Lee lays on his bed, eyes half open, wondering if this very room makes the boy uncomfortable. If it's the vastness of the room itself or—
Harry's eyes flicker to him. Him and his bed that sits in the corner, oddly grand and messy compared to the rest of the orderly room as piles of mismatched blankets and pillows and countless stuffed toys sit around him. Lee must look oddly small compared to the mass of thick blankets and the looming walls of his own room.
Or, Lee thinks, rising from his spot, if it's me.
"I can hear you worrying from here, Harry," Lee sighs, a tired but fond smile on his face, "I already told you I'm fine. You can stay in my room for however long you'd like."
Harry's lips curl down and his brows furrow together.
"I—" Harry starts. "But Aunt Petunia says you should stop playing with me or else you'll get sick again."
Lee rolls his eyes.
"I'm not gonna get sick by playing with you, silly Harry."
"But—!" Harry almost raises his voice, his wide eyes looking at Lee with some sort of desperation to them. "You are sick. Ever since we hung out too long in the playground the other day you—"
"I've just been sleepy," Lee says, cutting him off with a tut.
"Still," Harry mumbles, head down as his hands fidget with the toy train's doors. The sight of him tucked into himself with all the shame a ten year-old shouldn't have makes Lee huff a breath.
With a fond shake of his head, Lee reaches out a hand to ruffle Harry's already messy hair into even more of a mess. Harry squawks and Lee only laughs.
"Didn't I tell you to ask your Science teacher first before you believe a word Mom and Dad say?"