Chapter Text
Dudley Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, was not particularly proud to say that he was perfectly normal. In fact, every time he asserted the perfection of his normality to Piers (and, having a cousin like Harry Potter living in the cupboard under your stairs meant that such assertions were called for quite often), it was accompanied by a little twinge somewhere deep in his stomach — not quite like the pangs of hunger (which Dudley was hardly familiar with, but feared with a mortal dread), but something else. Stickier. Twistier. Like what he’d felt when, after Piers had killed Mrs. Figg-around-the-corner’s cat, the old woman had come knocking and he’d had to say in one huge breath, eyes glued to the doorframe, that no he hadn’t seen Butterball at all lately and had she asked the Walkers over on Magnolia Crescent they had lots of cats maybe Butterball was with them thank you so sorry goodbye.
It was not a nice feeling. And since he got it every time he was around his cousin, Dudley did his very best to avoid him at all costs. Up to and including faking a teary tantrum when it was announced Harry would be coming to the zoo on his eleventh birthday.
For the first time in Dudley’s life, the tantrum did not work. Harry came. Harry talked to a snake. Piers saw Harry talk to the snake. And Dudley had to swear up and down that he was normal and not like Harry (who was a freak).
Dudley didn’t see Harry for a long time after that. Which was good, because it was easier not to think about what normal was when Harry wasn’t around. And his stomach hurt less.
***
Two weeks after the Incident, Dudley was walking to Piers’ house, when he saw something decidedly not normal. He didn’t think Harry could have anything to do with it because he was still locked in his cupboard — but, as far as Dudley knew, nothing odd had ever happened in Little Whinging that wasn’t connected to Harry Potter.
Just in case, he decided to cross the street in order to avoid the man with the twitching eye and the long robes standing at the corner looking up at the street sign. His parents could scent odd from a mile off and who knew how catching it was.
***
The second time a tantrum didn’t work was sometime in July when Harry started getting letters and Dad decided that giving him Dudley’s second bedroom would make it stop.
It didn’t and Dudley was down a bedroom. This was not normal and Dudley did not like it. But it was only the beginning.
***
When the letters had still not stopped a few days later, they went on a very not-normal holiday (for starters: Harry came, too).
It began with his father hitting him, for the first time in his life, because he was taking too long to pack.
That had been a day of firsts. The first time he hadn’t gotten to play computer games and watch telly when he wanted. The first time he’d ever felt real hunger (it had not been nice — much worse than the twisty feeling). The first time he’d had to share a room with Harry or go to bed without supper or sleep in a bed with moldy old sheets. The first time he’d ever wondered if his father was alright.
The hotel manager hadn’t seemed to think so. Neither had his mum.
The next day the hunger got so bad, Dudley couldn’t concentrate on anything else. The little hut on a rock in the sea didn’t seemed particularly normal, but what was that compared to crisps and bananas for dinner?
None of this was normal. Dudley did not like it.
Which was why it was confusing when something very like what he’d felt when Piers had gotten the Sega Mega Drive before he had sprang up in his chest when a giant showed up in the middle of the night and told Harry he was a Wizard.
***
(He was scared, too, of course. Scared and hungry and confused and —
Something else.)
***
Harry came back late the next night and Dudley’s parents decided to pretend he didn’t exist. Dudley didn’t blame them; Harry had stolen the boat, after all, and it wasn’t every day that began with no breakfast, hours spent waving at shore, and an eventual rescue from the RNLI (Dudley had never tasted anything so good as the energy bar the lifeboat captain had placed in his hand — it drowned out the twisty feeling entirely).
But Dudley wanted to ask where he’d been and what was in all the boxes and bags he was carrying and why wasn’t he getting lots of new things too and why did he have an owl and would the giant be coming back (he really hoped he wouldn’t), but that wasn’t how Dudley and Harry were and Dudley wouldn’t have known what to say even if he’d tried.
***
A few days later, the bell rang. Dudley, still busily making up for the deficit the “holiday” had caused, had his head in the fridge. But his father was even more busily engaged in loudly hoping that that good-for-nothing layabout went to school and never came back (ignoring Harry’s existence was the mode when Harry was in the house; at the moment, he was over at Mrs. Figg’s, so, naturally, he was the only topic of conversation), so Dudley went to answer the door, one hand nervously tugging at his new appendage (which everyone was also pretending didn’t exist; hushed conversations happened behind his parents’ bedroom door at night, though — his mother’s high tones uncertain, his father’s spluttering and sharp).
It was the man with the twitching eye and long robes — only this time he was wearing a purple turban, too.
“Er,” said Dudley, abruptly wishing he’d kicked up a fuss and made his father answer.
“Hello,” said the stranger in the turban. “Is this the D-Dursley residence?”
“Er,” said Dudley again.
“What is it, Dudders?”
And before he could do or say anything, his mum had appeared and was staring at the man in the robes and turban. Her eyes narrowed. She glanced over her shoulder at the kitchen, from which his father’s loud grumbling could still be heard, and, with a quick movement, pushed past and shut the front door behind her, leaving Dudley standing very confused on the mat.
“You’re here about the — tail, I expect? It’s about time.”
His mother’s voice was a sharp hiss. From what little Dudley could see through the lace curtains, the stranger looked taken aback.
“T-tail?” he asked politely.
“I thought you people had response teams for this sort of thing. It’s been days.” The last word whipped out in a guttural whisper Dudley had only ever heard his mum use on Harry.
“I t-t-take it s-something has h-happened?”
Her eyes had narrowed to slits. “If it’s not about — that — that thing, then why are you here? I won’t have your kind tramping around my house whenever it takes your fancy!”
“I’m h-here from H-Hogwarts, ma’am. To see Harry P-P-Potter. Is he in?”
“What, again? Once in one summer is more than enough. Leave, before I call the police.”
There was a high, nervous laugh.
“M-m-might I just have a w-word?”
“He isn’t in, so you can take yourself off.”
“Oh, that’s unfortunate.” His stutter had abruptly vanished. Dudley’s skin crawled. “Perhaps I might call later?”
Mum pursed her lips, looking him up and down. “No, you may not and you can pass the word on to the rest of your lot.”
“You said something about a tail? Has there been — er — a mishap?”
The tendons stood out sharply in his mum’s neck. Dudley reached around behind himself and felt the downy curl that poked up over his waistband. It wasn’t so bad, really. He hoped she didn’t say anything to this man. The last thing he needed was —
“Yes.” The syllable sounded like it pained her. “Yes. That — man — he — he —” But apparently she couldn’t bring herself to verbalize it.
“Might I…?” The stranger trailed off, evidently hoping to be invited in. Dudley scuttled sideways away from the door.
His mother’s silhouette hesitated and gave a sharp nod.
Dudley pressed his back to the hall wall. The door opened. His mum came in and held it open for the stranger, who lifted a foot to step over the threshold and froze. An odd expression came over his face. He pulled the leg back and tried again with the same result.
His mum’s lips were a hard line.
“Dear me,” he said. “There seems to have been a mix-up.”
“Is this some sort of joke?”
“No, no, never in life, ma’am. Your house merely appears to be — er — rather well-protected. All for the best, I’m sure.”
His mother’s eyebrows were approaching her hairline.
“Well, the boy won’t be showing you out there.”
“I don’t believe I can —”
“Don’t know what else I expected,” his mum spat. “Bunch of good-for-nothing freaks, the lot of you. Well, go on, get lost.”
But the stranger had caught sight of Dudley. His mouth made an odd jerky motion, like he was trying to smile, but was rather out of the habit of it.
Mum put a hand on Dudley’s shoulder and pulled him into her bony body protectively. Dudley had never been more grateful for anything in his whole life — not even the Mega Drive he’d gotten a week after Piers.
“Got yourself a tail, have you young man?”
Dudley said nothing. He felt his mum craning her long neck to look out the door — probably checking to see whether any neighbors were watching. The motion brought Dudley a step closer to the man in the turban and the robes.
“It’s time you left.”
“If I could just see —”
The man reached out a hand to grasp Dudley’s arm and several things happened at once.
His mother uttered a low shriek and tried to pull him away just as the man’s forefingers settled on his arm. Time seemed to slow down. Dudley saw the stranger’s expression change before he registered a needle-like searing pain in his own arm. His eyes had blown wide, his mouth opened in agony, and then he was howling — the sound mixing with a shocked bellow Dudley hadn’t even realized he’d released.
The contact ended. The pain faded. The stranger staggered back, clutching his arm. He looked up at them with wide, frightened eyes.
“Petunia?” came Dad’s voice from the kitchen. “What in the blazes is happening out there?”
“GO!” hissed his mother in a fiercer voice than he’d ever heard her use. “Leave. And don’t ever come back!”
And she snicked the door shut and took Dudley into her arms. He buried his head in her blouse and didn’t try to fight the tears. He had no idea what had just happened. And he really, really, really didn’t think he wanted to.
“Dudders shut his finger in the door, Vernon darling!” his mother called down the hallway, smoothing his hair with frantic, repetitive movements. “He’ll be alright. Won’t you, popkin?” she added in a softer tone, for only him to hear. “It’s alright, it’s alright. We’ll get it seen to at a normal hospital by normal people. They won’t ever come here again. It’s alright.”
Dudley nodded into her blouse and struggled to even his breathing. Normal sounded great right about now, actually.
But since when had normal included lying to his father?
***
The tail was removed at a special, private hospital in London and Harry went away to school. This was a good thing, because Dudley didn’t have to think about him and the only other person besides his parents who knew that he’d had a pig’s tail was gone.
Dudley had a new school, too, which was also a good thing because Dudley wasn’t sure he liked being around his father much anymore and no one there knew Dudley had a cousin who was a freak — at least, not until the funny way he sat and the nightmares that woke him in a sweat, patting himself all over to make sure he didn’t have a snout and trotters, prompted Piers to tell them.
The year felt very long and his stomach felt very twisty after that.