Another short one

[my_tara_tory]

It's sort of Snarry....



Warning! Significant Fluff. I am currently interested in seeing glimpses of Harry's relationship with Severus from obscure points of view, and hence this. Also, it was born in the dark and mysterious AU realm of places where books 5 and 6 never happened, which, as you all know, is where my head lives.

All the usual disclaimers. Not my characters, just exploring the established dynamics in a not-for-profit way.

Dudley Dursley's Disastrous Day by Tara Tory

Dudley Dursley was angry. His lip was thrust out and his frown was deep. These freaks were dragging him down the walk. Digging in his heels wasn't doing any good, and in fact his feet were taking a beating because he hadn't even been wearing shoes when he'd gotten up answer the door bell.

That's all he had done, just open the door. He'd come out because the tall man had said he had won an automobile in a contest. The man had pointed to car at the curb, which had been a wickedly beautiful red sports car. Once he stepped onto the street, everything had changed, and that was when he realized he was at the mercy of some of Them. First, the car had vanished somehow. Next, the two men had grabbed him, one on each side, and one had out a wand and said some sort of spell, and then his arms were bound tight to his sides. There was a jerk and a thump and they were somewhere else. This was a dark, nasty forest, where it was raining, and colder than Little Whinging, and then he was being pulled and prodded into manky, stinky tunnel.

Dudley hardly noticed as they hurried him along the dark tunnel, which was lit only by the wands the two men held. The way was narrow for three people, ant it caused them to jostle him at almost every step. He hardly noticed what was outside of himself, because inside, something was really wrong. He felt damn strange, lightheaded, and on top of that, his body was on fire. Most of the pain was in his arms, thighs and abdomen, although his face and neck hurt too, and also, strangely, his toes. He was staggering as he was dragged along, his balance all wrong. His bare feet weren't helping. With all the pain and confusion, it took a minute to figure out exactly was so wrong with him. His skin prickled as he came to the realization that a part of him had been left behind. He looked down and confirmed it. He'd lost at least three stone, and perhaps more. He had been wearing the bottom of his track suit which had been just a little too small for him, and now it was threatening to fall off his hips.

He was caught between horror and a sort of twisty gratitude. He'd been trying to lose weight for years, and had sometimes lost a few pounds. He'd wanted to be down to fighting trim, lose his gut, but have never succeeded in sticking to a diet for more than a few days. Now, he felt a bit of triumph that with the weight gone he could begin training harder. He could.... He stumbled again, and his hands automatically went out to catch himself and he became aware that his invisible bindings were correspondingly loose. He might be able to escape! He thought frantically. Now the floor of the tunnel had begun to slant upwards and he could barely make the pace his captors set. He began to gasp. His lungs were starting to feel like they'd been seared, and he really wanted to throw up.

So he did. All over the robes of the shorter dark man on his right side. Dudley had just finished a meal before they had taken him, and so the resulting mess was impressively large. The men stopped in their tracks, shouting and berating him, The victim of his assault dropped his arm and brought up his wand. At first, Dudley scared that the wizard was going to use it against him, but as the man turned the wand towards himself, Dudley decided that he was trying to make the vomit go away.

There wasn't going to be a better time.

With a grunt, Dudley jerked his elbow into the wizard on his left and kicked out at the one on his right. Using every black trick he had ever picked up in his boxing training and his bullying life, he set to. It was a pleasure to let himself go for once, to use every ounce of his strength in battering these ugly gits who had dared to trick him, to treat him so abominably. He kneed, gouged and punched, all the while calling them the most vile names he could think up.

He was lucky, in some ways. He broke the arm of the one on his left almost at once, making him drop his wand, and then when the man reached down to scoop it up Dudley stomped on his hand. Then he turned his attention to the other man, driving a solid blow to the jaw. The idiot's eyes rolled up and he dropped like a stone. Whirling, Dudley managed to serve the second man a similar hard jab, but the rat must have had a head like a rock, because he kept fighting until a hard shove put his head against the stone wall of the tunnel and then he joined his friend on the floor.

Dudley spent five minutes slumped against the wall, trying to deal with the incredible pain that was now everywhere. His knuckles were bleeding and so was a scrape on his jaw. He finally forced himself to straighten up, and he looked back the way they had come. Could he get out? They had made lots of turns and twists, and passed the openings to other tunnels.

Disguise himself. That's what he'd do. He stripped the robe from the man who was not wearing his vomit, and pulled it on. He also took the man's shoes, which were odd old-fashioned ones but became exactly his size once they were on. He tore up the man's shirt and used the strips to tie the two men up. Rifling the pockets, he took everything he found, the odd money, the scraps of paper, the map. Why not, he was owed something for this insult and the indignity. Last of all he scooped up the wands, thrusting them deep in the pocket of the robes.

Now. How to get the hell out of here. That way, he decided, and set off entirely in the wrong direction. He discovered that he was still going up an incline, so he turned around and went back. One of the men was groaning. Hadn't he better gag them, too? He did it quickly and then set off again. It was not easy, walking in these shoes. They were built up, he realized, making him taller, and that extra two inches altered his perception, and didn't help his occasional dizziness at all.

He kept marching along, refusing to believe he was lost. Only he didn't find a way out. Instead, he almost ran into a tall blond man with a cane and scowl.

"You there! Young Crabbe! Or is it Goyle? Not that it matters. Come with me!" The bossy man turned with a whirl of his black cape and started away, never doubting that he would be followed.

The man was frightening, and Dudley didn't think he could defy him at the moment, as the man was brandishing that snake-headed cane as if he knew how to use it, and Dudley didn't want to turn his back on the bastard to run. Maybe he could follow along, maneuver behind the fellow and get him from behind? So he muttered, "Yes, sir," and followed.

Only the man walked so fast, and Dudley wasn't in any shape to hurry. It made the pain worse. Every step was made in increasing agony. He wondered if his very nerves were rubbing against each other now that some of his fat had vanished. His muscles had worked fine in the fight and didn't hurt more than expected, so he decided he was probably right. These freaks were going to pay for that.

"Did you see Blokhin or March?" the man snarled over his shoulder. "They were to bring Potter's Muggle cousin."

"Why?" Dudley blurted out, but then said quickly, "Sorry, sir, no, haven't seen them."

"Why? Bait! Bait, of course, to lure the little brat here at last!" the man chortled happily. "This day will see the end of Potter, and not soon enough for me! I just hope I'll be allowed to add a few of my own blows before he dies. He will feel my wrath, if the Dark Lord is kind!"

He was talking about Harry. About killing Harry. Dudley gulped. He hated the little git, but killing? Killing. Harry. Who'd be blamed? Would they try to pin it on him? Hating Potter was one thing, and thrashing was only what he deserved, but dead? They were mad if they'd thought Harry would come to rescue him. Harry hated him just as much as Dudley hated him back. Best if he got out of here as soon as he could manage it.

But everything went from bad to worse. Two hooded characters in white masks came up behind them, cutting off retreat for Dudley, and forcing him to follow the blond man into a cellar and then up four sets of stairs to a big room in a very large and posh house. A half dozen men in the robes and white masks stood about, all of them facing the end of the room, where a beautiful carpet was spread out. In the center of the carpet was a chair of carved wood with a high back and four legs in the shape of snakes. Sitting on the chair was a monster.

It was shaped like a person, tall and pale, but with narrow eyes that had red pupils. Something about the shape of the mouth hinted at teeth that were not normal. No hair. Skeletal hands came out of the sleeves of the robe. The robe was heavy black velvet lined with purple silk. The thing didn't look happy. In fact, his stare was menacing, and when the group came in, it was plain that they were not the expected arrivals.

Dudley followed the actions of the others, bowing low to the monster and staying down. He tried not to tremble. He didn't want to look, but the monster was the sort you needed to keep an eye on.

"Where isss he?" the monster hissed, the intensity of the glare increasing.

"Perhaps an answer would be forthcoming if you made it clear which you are asking about. Potter or the Muggle cousin?" asked a rich voice from behind the mask of a man standing not far from the monster. "Potter, of course, makes a habit of being late."

The monster gave a casual flick of his hand, the message to shut up perfectly clear. The other did not speak again. Another gesture, and the wizards on their knees stood up, with Dudley scrambling to follow. They backed away a little, to one side. That seemed smart, Dudley thought. Being directly in view of the monster seemed like a bad idea. He inched back a little more.

Now the monster was slouched casually in his chair, one finger tapping on his wand, his other hand supporting his cheek. His impatience was increasing and his thin lips were frowning.

The door opened again and a slight figure in robes stepped into the room. Dudley's stomach clenched, which caused the pain to flare up again. It was Harry! Harry had his wand out and a determined look on his face. His messy hair was a little longer than usual and flopped over his ears. His looks hadn't improved in the months since Dudley had seen him last. The thin ratty face looked older and he was an inch taller, but that still only brought him up to Dudley's shoulder.

The monster straightened up and said with feigned good cheer, "Harry Potter! How good of you to join us," The smile was not a pretty thing to see. The teeth looked almost...pointed? In one smooth movement the monster stood up, wand in hand. He was tall and imposing, and obviously in a snit. Without further conversation he spat out some Latin and thrust out with his wand. Purple and black lightening sprang from the tip of the wand, and a bit of green smoke curled up off the it, too. Harry shouted something back and their spells met with a hiss and a crackle. Immediately each of them shouted something else, and then something else. Each spell struck the counterpoint with a corresponding crash of sound and light.

The monster was moving forward with every spell, shouting one per every step, towards Potter. The masked men were gathering around, shouting, anxious, vicious, gleeful, but none of them joined in the fight. Probably didn't want to annoy the monster by taking away his kill, Dudley decided. While their attention was on Potter, Dursley crept sideways. He had figured out that just behind the monster was not a good place to be, either, since Harry's aim was surprisingly good. The way to the door was blocked, but he might be able to ease around to that side. Might be best to try to leave now, while everyone was busy.

Then, one of the spells blew up against the wall, sending shards of wood and glass in all directions, and a sliver of wood sliced across Dudley's forehead, nicking his ear on the way by and causing him to bellow and grab at his head. His hand came away red with blood. Dudley's temper, never totally in his control anyway, broke loose. Enough of this shit! He whirled, grabbed up the chair the monster had been using like a throne, as if it thought it was the king or something. He slung the chair at the monster, and it sailed through the air and smashed against the thing's back. Harry ducked and rolled, while the monster shouted and turned towards him, murder in his red eyes.

Turning his ugly back on Harry Potter was a piss-poor idea. A spell flared against the monster's back, almost at the place the chair had struck, and there was the smell of burning flesh. The thing threw a curse in Dudley's direction, snarled and turned back towards Harry, moving so fast his cloak was a blur. Some of the masked men started towards Dudley, shouting that he had attacked the Dark Lord and would die.

Dudley had no weapons, no way of defending himself. All he had were the two wands he had taken away from the wizards who had kidnapped him. He thrust one between his teeth as if it were a pirate's knife, and took the other in his big, meaty hand, reversed his grip, and stabbed down at the nearest man as if he was murdering Caesar. He set about, thrust, kick, thump, stab, screaming and telling them exactly what he thought of the murdering freaks.

It was...great. Pounding people was what he did best, and here he was getting to do it twice in one day. In his younger years he had known that even his indulgent parents would not have condoned actual murder. He'd never, before today, got to let himself go full out.

Now, he let his animal fury come to the fore, let himself feel the rage and act on it. He went absolutely berserker and each successful blow or vicious kick fed the feeling. The spells mostly missed him. He could move fast for his size, thanks to the footwork lessons at the boxing club. Some of the hexes which hit him were deflected by the robes he wore, and he figured they must have magical protections. Only a few spells hit him directly. It was because someone else was blocking the curse, but Dudley couldn't see who. At this point, he didn't care about anything except revenge for the absolutely shitty day he was having.

Dudley stabbed with the wand until it broke, and then he threw away the parts and grabbed the second one from his teeth. He kicked crotches, gouged eyes and jerked hair. He screamed and shouted the worst obscenities he knew, and made up a few more for the occasion. Blood was running into his eyes and blisters were forming on his body from a hex which had hit. He just got madder.

It was an accident he happened to be looking towards Harry when it happened. Harry, Dudley had to grudgingly admit, was holding his own pretty well against the monster and was now close enough to touch him, but it seemed pretty insane to do that. So of course Harry did. He took hold of the monster by one arm and dashed some liquid on him from a beaker or a vial, Dud didn't see exactly what, but he heard the smash of the glass as it hit the floor. Harry shouted some more Latin and waved his wand around. The results were gross. Blood spurted out from the eyes and mouth and skin of the monster and flew through the air to slam into Harry. Talk about gore. Didn't stop the git, though, and Harry jumped into the fight again, shouting more magic words to counter the ones being shouted at him.

Then, surprisingly, one of the masked figures stepped up to join in with Harry, sending waves of magic from his wand to hit the monster from the side. It brought the ugly bastard right up, rigid, holding him in place to be a target for Harry, who screamed one last word and blasted the thing into a pile of smoking ash.

Everything stopped, for just a fraction of a second. You could practically hear the dismay in the silence, the fear that swept through the room. Half the masked men stampeded for the entrance. Others seemed to try to do something. They looked like Dorothy trying to wish herself to Kansas as they closed their eyes and balled their fists, but that failed, so they, too, belatedly were looking for exits. Only none of them made it to the doors because a thundering herd of wizards and witches were suddenly pouring in through the double doors, wands out, shouting directions though bullhorns that Dudley could not see.

There was hand to hand fighting, if you could call it that with wands. The newcomers numbered two to one to the masked maniacs, but the fights were close and intense.

Dudley decided he never should have slowed down. It all caught up with him at once. His body realized once more that it was in pain and he went down on one knee, breathing like a horse, and sweating like one too. His knees objected and he slowly toppled to the floor.

Harry was down on the floor, too, clutched in the arms of an ugly man who seemed to be trying to revive him instead of kill him, even though he was one of the masked wizards who had been inside. His mask was pushed around to the side of his head and it made him look like he had two faces. Maybe he was the one who had joined in Harry's attack on the monster. He was shouting at Harry, telling him to wake up and stop being a lazy idiot.

Dudley tried to stand up to head in Harry's direction, as he had a few things he wanted to say to him, too. He couldn't stand. Ow. Ow, ow ow.

A wizard without a mask strode up and confronted him. "Identify yourself!" he barked.

"Dursley. Dudley Dursley. Get out of my way!" He shoved at the man, who couldn't be shoved. Magic. Dudley frowned, and turned to stomp off. Just as he passed a slumped, blood-covered body on the floor, it rose up, wand in hand and aimed at Harry. There was a gasp of horror but Dudley saw that it was the arrogant blond man with the cane. Stupid bastard. Dudley was in just the right spot to kick the idiot in the head. Only he missed and kicked the wand out of the man's hand. It went flying end over end, hit the floor and slid across to come up against Harry's foot.

The flash that went off at the same moment was hardly noticed. The wizard who had demanded Dudley's name jumped the blond man, knocking him out, others not close aimed their wands in their direction. Someone yelled, "That's Dursley! The kidnap victim. Don't hurt him. He's Potter's cousin!"

Dudley didn't much like being referred to as a victim, but it was a relief to see the wands fall. He hated having those things pointed at him.

"Are you hurt?" asked the man who had been questioning him, as others bound up the blond wizard and hauled him away. Dudley didn't know if he should say yes or no. He just glared. He had blood all over him, it was still dripping down his face, and the idiot asked if he were hurt.

"Let me see him," demanded a small man as he pushed close. He was clearly a doctor, just as the other man had all the earmarks of a policeman. The doctor was waving his wand around. "Some sort of splinching with internal injuries," he announced. "Spell damage to his left side. Abrasions on his hands, minor cuts on his head. I believe this young man needs to be taken to St. Mungo's immediately."

When wizards say immediately, they apparently mean it. Once again, they made Dudley disappear, but before he did he saw, over the shoulder of the doctor, the most unsettling thing he was to see that day. The ugly man clutching Potter was now kissing him. Hard. On the mouth. Dursley moaned, and wished he was someplace else. His wish came true instantly. He was grateful.

Less than a minute later they were easing him down onto a white bed. Wands were waving right and left, but Dudley was at the stage where it was easy to ignore them. He was so glad to be horizontal, to be resting his sore body at last. He would not have believed it possible, but he fell asleep only seconds later.

When he woke up it was to a most unpleasant sight. Harry Potter was sitting beside his bed. "Oh, you're awake, are you?" Harry said. The kid always was a little dim. Of course he was awake. Harry was offering him a glass of water with a bent straw, though, and Dudley found himself craving it madly, so he didn't say the words which sprang to mind, but sucked as much of the water into his parched throat. "Careful," Harry said, pulling it back after it was half gone. But at least after he waited a bit, he let Dudley have it back. Dudley finished it and lay back on the pillows with a sigh.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked.

On quick reflection, Dudley decided he didn't feel too bad. "What day is it?" he asked instead of answering.

"Monday."

"So everything happened yesterday?"

Harry nodded. "The splinching crew found your toenail and put it back on. Did you know you'd lost one? But the weight is gone for good. By the time they tracked it down, it was...uh, ruined. But if you want it back, they'll give you some artificial, until you grow your own."

"Potter, that's disgusting. And, no, I don't want it back unless I'm going to die without it."

"No. I guess it's pretty rare for anybody to lose an integrated part of yourself that way. Usually it's like, a whole leg or ribs or something."

"And I repeat, disgusting."

"But I've never seen you look better. Here," Potter said, and held up a mirror. It was a large round one with a handle. Dudley focused, and then grabbed the handle from Potter.

"Bloody hell!"

"Told you. You look a little like this wizard I knew once, called Lockheart. It's the wavy yellow hair and the...forehead." It was plain he had been intending to say something else. Dudley scowled at him on general principles and looked in the mirror again. His face didn't even look like his. It was almost handsome, although his eyes and mouth were still a little small.

"There's a scar on my cheek."

"Sorry about that. A fragment of wand, they tell me, which hit you while it was still delivering a curse. Later you can have a special scar potion which might make most of it go away. Only it will be magic and I know how you feel about magic, so perhaps a plastic surgeon can do something about it."

Or not, Dudley thought. It looked rather dashing.

"We told your parents what happened. Some of it. They wouldn't come here, to a magic hospital, so we said we'd get you home as soon as we could."

"Right," Dudley said, still staring into the mirror.

"Uh...want to see the paper? You're in it."

Dudley looked up. "What?"

"Front page," Harry said, holding up a rag called The Daily Prophet.

Dudley was indeed on the cover and above the fold, too. There was a picture of him, bloody wand in one hand, foot out, and as he watched the foot hit the wand of that bloody blond bastard. He got to watch as the man collapsed, holding his hand and howling, watch as the wand skittered out of the picture frame. The banner headline said, "Boy Who Lived Triumphs Again!" and the smaller heading said, "Harry Potter's Muggle Cousin Takes Out Malfoy in Last Minute Heroic Action!"

"Heroic Action," Dudley marveled, watching the cycle again. And again. "Can I keep this? Will it keep doing that?"

"Yeah. Sure. You might have to hide it from your parents, though."

"It says I'm a hero." Of course, it said Harry was a hero, too, but that was easy to ignore. Harry killed the Dark Lord, who was trying to enslave the Muggle world, it said. The other article said it was poetic justice that a Muggle helped defeat He Who Must Not Be Named. There was a stupid name. Was it the same as the Dark Lord, or somebody different? Was it the blond man?

"Why did he want to kill you?" Dudley asked suddenly.

"Voldemort?" Harry asked. Dudley frowned. How many names did this arse have, anyway?

"The one you turned to ash," Dudley said. He realized, looking back, that he had decided at just that moment to leave off doing things to Harry. It seemed to be generally a good idea not to tease, harass or abuse anyone capable of incinerating somebody quite that thoroughly.

"Oh, him. Voldemort. He's the one who killed my parents. He's had it in for me for all my life. That's why I had to live with Aunt Petunia, you know. In her house, anyway."

"You burned him up," Dudley pointed out, gulping at the memory.

"I didn't intend to. I threw a potion on him that let me call my blood back to me. He'd stolen some of it to help make a new body, three or four years ago. So. Urm. The next spell I cast at him caused him to burn up. It should have just killed him, you see. I didn't mean to incinerate him."

Dudley looked at him, and Harry went on, "He deserved it. Killed hundreds of people. Children, even." Just talking about that made Harry look a little green.

"What about this one?" Dudley asked, pointing to the picture where he, once again, kicked the wand out of the blond man's hand.

"Lucius Malfoy. A very bad, dark wizard. Somebody killed him, or he killed himself, just after that picture was taken. Look, don't brag about your part in taking him down. He...well, his friends or relatives might want revenge."

Dudley nodded, wondering for the first time if he'd just traded one set of problems for another.

Harry went on, "Although his son probably won't. He didn't like his dad much, there at the end."

"Can I get something to eat?" Dudley asked. As if by magic, as it obviously was, a dish appeared on the tray beside the bed. It was something like a knickerbocker glory, only poured out on its side in a bowl. Dudley grabbed up the spoon. Ummm.

"Severus says Draco has promised not to take it any further. Which is good."

"Severus. He's the one you were plastered all over, last I saw?" Dudley made kissing motions with his lips and watched with pleasure as the red crept up Harry's cheeks. "Hell, Harry, wasn't it bad enough to be one of these?" he gestured at the hospital, or maybe the entire wizarding world. "Without having to be one of those, too?" Harry turned redder, this time from anger.

"Don't." Harry Potter said.

One word, but the look on his face was similar to one he had worn as he pointed his wand at the monster. Dudley decided it was good advice. He shrugged and said, "Your business. You never did have much sense."

Harry shrugged back. "More than you know. Never did anything I didn't have a good reason for. Even if the reason was based on something that wasn't true, and it just made things worse."

Dudley made a sound around his mouthful of ice cream.

Harry took advantage of it. "Uh...things I have to warn you about. We're going to make your house unplottable for a few months, so you won't be bothered by reporters and...other witches and wizards."

"Reporters I can understand. Why would the rest of them bother?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps just the idle and the curious, coming to see one of the people who were in the Ballroom Battle. That's what they're calling it." Harry took a deep breath. "Uh. Severus knows more about the wizarding world than I do, and he says I need to warn you about the girls."

Dudley took the spoon out of his mouth. "Girls?"

"Right. See...there are these people called squibs. It's sons and daughters of wizards and witches, who somehow get born without magic. It happens once and awhile. It turns out, that squib girls and women might want to marry you, just because you're my cousin, and a little famous, now. They think that even if they don't get magic children out of it, they'll be part of my extended family and can get...you know."

"No," Dudley admitted, going for another bite of fruit and custard. "I don't know." He lifted an inquiring eyebrow.

"Fame, I guess. Or favors. I don't know. Severus just says it happens at times, and you should be careful, because I know you don't want to have any magical children."

"Pretty girls?" Dudley asked. Truthfully, girls was one area he had a little bit of trouble with. Sure, one or two had been attracted to him when he was boxing, but they had an annoying habit of disappearing when the next boxer came along, if not sooner. Girls were very hard to understand.

"Maybe. But I'm saying they'll just try to take advantage of you. And you don't WANT to get a girl with magic relatives pregnant, or get her mad at you. Trust me on that."

Potter was making sense for once. But...girls. He looked down at his thinner body, and remembered the face he had seen in the mirror. He looked better. For the first time, he had a chance at romance. But...with a magic girl? Even one with no magic? The idea left him torn and confused. So he fished about in the bowl for some fruit and then licked the spoon to get the last bit of custard.

"Also, Severus says to remind you not to sign anything without having one of us read it, and don't give anyone any of your blood, skin, hair, clothing, or.... Ah. Semen," he added with a cough.

Dudley inhaled, tried to calm himself, and then muttered, "Right."

"And I know this is about impossible, but try not to let Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon do things like that, too. You don't want them talking to reporters, either."

"I don't?"

"Papers lie, sometimes. Or can be bought. They print lies about me all the time."

"You're in the paper all the time?" Dudley scoffed.

"Unfortunately," Potter said. "I suppose it will happen all the more now." He looked depressed about it, but then seemed to recall himself to his task. "Uh. If you get any red envelopes, try to avoid them, because they open up and scream at you, and everybody around knows your business. Don't take anything from Fred and George. Or Weasley Wizard Wheezes."

Dudley was suspicious of the guilty or worried look that kept flashing across Harry's face as he said this, but the other went on quickly, and Dudley didn't have time to puzzle it out.

"Run like the wind from a reporter called Rita Skeeter. Here, she looks like this," Harry said, flipping though the paper and then folding it so that a portrait of a woman with glasses and a quill could be seen. The headline over her column said, "Boy Who Lived to Romp With Professor. How Long Has That Been Going On?"

"Did you really do the nasty with one of your teachers?" Dudley asked. "God, you're disgusting."

"Not when he was my teacher! I grabbed him three whole days after leaving school. Had to track him down and convince him." Dudley stared. Now the berk had a satisfied, cat-got-the-canary look on his face, like he was really proud of that. It was too much information. Dudley gagged and looked away. His eyes fell on an article titled, 'Malfoy Lawyers to Sue for Assault.' He swallowed hard and pointed at it with an unsteady finger.

"Oh, I didn't read that one. Let me see," Harry pulled the paper back and sat hunched over, reading it. He lifted his head when he had finished and said, "I wouldn't worry about it. It actually says that if-- big if -- they prove that Malfoy was a victim of circumstance and innocent of involvement they'll sue. It doesn't even say who. But there were too many eyewitnesses he can't get to." He set aside the paper and said, with deep satisfaction, "Back to Azkaban for him."

Dudley was still hungry, but he wanted to keep his new shape, so he said, "How do I get out of here. When."

Harry explained, "You have one more round of potions to take, so it won't be until tomorrow morning. You have to have them here, because it's against policy to send potions home with Muggle patients. Then you can go home."

Home. Crisps, telly, his computer, and his mother hovering over him for days. Dudley sighed at the mixed blessings. "What is there to do around here?"

"I could teach you to play Exploding Snap," Harry volunteered.

"A kid's game? Don't you have anything better to do?" Dudley growled, suspicious of Harry volunteering to help him with anything."

"This kind is more exciting than you think. Besides, you're stuck with me. It's better to have the paper's say that I'm at the side of my injured cousin than in some love nest with Severus. I don't even HAVE a love nest," Potter grumbled as he pulled a well worn set of cards from an inner pocket in his robe. But then he looked more cheerful and said, "But I might soon. Someone actually gave me a house this morning! For saving the world, you know. Only Severus says that actually there is an infestation of Infectious Firefleas in the attic and that it wasn't much of a gift. But he's the greatest potions brewer in the world, probably, and he says he knows what to brew to get rid of them, so joke's on them."

"What kind of house is it? Big?" Dudley asked, envy tugging at his heart. "If someone gives you a better one you can give this one to me," he suggested cunningly. If whatshisname got rid of the fleas, of course.

Harry didn't seem to hear that part. "First, you shuffle the deck," he was saying. Dudley decided a game was better than just sitting there, and pulled himself up into a more comfortable position. Not a bad way to while away some time, playing a card game with his famous cousin and seeing what he could get out of him. And since he had been kidnapped because of Potter, Potter could pay any stray charges from the hospital or the doctors that might crop up. For new clothes, too, perhaps. In fact, this kidnap thing might be almost lucrative.

All he had to do is put up with those endless, "Severus says," sentences, and remember not to say insulting things or hit him. How hard could that be?

"I'd like a steak," he said aloud, and a moment later, it was sitting before him. The meat was all cut up and had a roast potato with it. He took a bite and then leaned forward a bit to listen to Harry's rather meandering instructions. You couldn't cheat unless you knew what the rules were. He flexed his feet and then rolled his shoulders, to try to get rid of the ache. "So how'd you end up a poof?" he interrupted, as the idea occurred to him. Harry stopped talking and his face turned bright red. Dudley threw down his first card. It occurred to him, for the first time, that he didn't need physical violence to make Harry's life miserable. He forked another bite of excellent steak into his mouth. This was going to be fun!