Eight Years Later: Your Last Chance
Title: Eight Years Later: Your Last Chance
Author: kanedax
Spoilers: Deathly Hallows & Previous Chapters
Rating: R for language and religious themes
Characters: Dudley, Vernon, Molly
Summary: Vernon makes a decision
Notes/Disclaimer: I don’t want this chapter to be a metaphor. I don’t want it to be any sort of stance on the religious right’s attitudes towards our favorite series. So please don’t take it that way, since the groups that I’m describing are extremists, not mainstream. I’m not trying to make a point, just advancing a story.
I don’t own these characters. They belong to JK Rowling.
Home for the Holidays / Previous Chapters / München
What are you doing here? Dudley thought to himself, not for the first time. He glanced down at his wristwatch, whose face glowed back at him. It was enchanted, as any battery-powered watch quickly fried whenever Dudley brought it home.
Ten PM.
“This is stupid,” he muttered to himself as he looked around the darkened grounds of St Martha-on-the-Hill Church. “I should have never come.”
He had received the letter earlier in the week, sent via owl after being received by the Ministry of Magic’s Department of the Post, who was charged with re-routing all incoming post to wizards, as well as non-wizards living in wizard neighborhoods, from Muggles on the outside.
After reading the letter, he had spent all week debating, both to himself and to Susan, whether to even respond to this request. Even as he stepped out of the door of their flat in Diagon Alley he hesitated.
But he still means something to you, the voice inside him responded. It might not be much anymore, but it’s still something.
So after the wedding party finished their dinner tonight (which was quite a party considering that Albus, Harry and Ginny’s newest, was only a few weeks old, and Ernie and Hannah’s daughter, Kayla, wasn’t much older) Dudley left for Surrey.
And here he stood, debating turning around and going back.
Before he could take a step, the pocket of his jeans vibrated. After he moved in with Susan he had had to give up most of his Muggle technology. His mobile phone, however, was a necessity, as it was the only way he could stay connected to the outside world. Arthur had done a marvelous job in acclimating the phone to resist magical interference, and even gave it a longer battery life.
He and his mother had been uncomfortable giving their telephone numbers to Vernon’s relatives here in England. However, Dudley did give his father his number. He knew that, for all of the letters he had received from his father over the years, he knew that Vernon Dursley was enough of a cheapskate to ever pay long distance charges.
But Dudley knew that an emergency could happen. His father wasn’t getting any younger, after all.
Dudley flipped open his phone. “Yeah?”
“Look to your left,” a hoarse voice whispered came through the speaker.
Dudley did as he was asked, and found nothing but the wall of the church.
”No, damn,” the voice said. “Your right. I’m backwards.”
Dudley turned to look over his right shoulder, and saw a dark mound in the shadow of the trees.
“Come over here,” the voice whispered. “Under cover.” As it did, the mound raised a hand and motioned Dudley towards it. Dudley closed his mobile, put it back in his pocket, and walked toward the trees.
“Hello, son,” said Vernon Dursley quietly as Dudley approached.
“Hi, Dad,” Dudley replied with some trepidation.
“It’s good to see you again,” said Vernon. “You’re looking… well, you’re looking fit to fight.”
“Thanks,” said Dudley. “You’re looking good, too.”
Dudley was, of course, lying through his teeth. Vernon Dursley was looking far from good. Never the smallest man to begin with, Dudley’s father looked like he had put on at least a fifty more kilos since he and Petunia had divorced almost five years ago. He still seemed to be dressed well, in a tailored suit and tie (just like he’s always worn, thought Dudley) but the smell of sweat and stale tobacco wafted off him. At his side he held a large briefcase.
“Well, thank you, son,” said Vernon, obviously unaware of Dudley’s concern. His jowls wobbled as he smiled and patted his considerable gut. “Living like a bachelor should. Living like a man. Eat what I want, drink what I want, smoke what I want. No woman looking down her nose at my behavior, it’s a beautiful life.”
“That’s… that’s great…”
“Have a good drive?”
“I took the Floo,” Dudley replied. “There’s a public station about a half mile from here.”
“Oh,” Vernon said, his voice darkening. “Still boxing, are you? Taking the big boys down at the gym?”
“What are you doing here, Dad?” Dudley said shortly. “Make it fast, I have a lot to do tomorrow.”
“Of course you do, of course you do,” Vernon said. “You’re getting married tomorrow. That’s why I’m here.”
“How did you know?” Dudley asked. He knew for a fact that no one had sent Vernon an invitation.
“The newspaper, of course,” Vernon replied. “I’m still reading The Advertiser over the Internet at work. Have to keep up with your enemy, you know?”
“Dad…” Dudley sighed, rolling his eyes.
“Anyway, your mother posted your engagement announcement. I suppose my invitation was lost in the mail, so it was a good thing I contacted some of the old neighbors on Privet Drive, since I knew some of them would be getting theirs and would keep me in the loop.”
”Alright, fine, you’re here,” said Dudley. “So why did you make me come out to Surrey? And why are we hiding?”
“Because they’re everywhere,” Vernon said. “They’re watching us…”
“Oh, for God’s sake…”
“You still kept your name,” Vernon said, and Dudley could see that his father was growing more and more nervous. Twitchier. “That’s good. That means there’s still hope for you. They haven’t completely gotten you yet, even with that crystal around your neck.”
“Dad, would you stop it?” Dudley said, his patience quickly thinning. “Now quit with your crap and tell me what the hell you’re doing here.”
“Talking back to your elders,” Vernon muttered. “They gave you one, didn’t they? A little trinket to make you feel like you’re one of them?”
“Don’t start…”
“I’m here to get you out of here,” Vernon said in a loud whisper. “Here to try to talk you out of this madness before I lose you forever.”
“What are you talking about?” Dudley said patiently.
“This… this Bones girl,” said Vernon. “The one you’re marrying tomorrow. She’s one of them, isn’t she?”
“She’s the girl I met at Harry’s wedding. And if by them you mean what I think you mean, then yes, she’s one of them. She’s a witch, and a damn good one at that.”
“The Boy’s wedding,” Vernon grumbled. “It always comes back to The Boy.”
“Oh, will you give it a fucking rest already?”
“And I suppose he’s involved in this fiasco somehow?”
“He’s my Best Man, if you care…”
“Of course he is,” Vernon said. “He has to be there. He lived in our home for fifteen years, twisting our minds. He has to be there to finish the job. But I know better. I can put a stop to it. We can put a stop to it.”
“Oh, God,” Dudley groaned, suddenly wishing that he were back at the flat with Susan. Or at the dentist. Anywhere but here, hiding in the shadow of a church with his delusional father.
“Come with me,” said Vernon. “Come back to America with me, Dudley. You can live at my place as long as you want. And there’s work, too. I’m vice-president of the company now, and I could easily fire someone and give you a fantastic job with…”
“I’m not leaving, Dad!”
“You have to, Dudley!” Vernon pleaded. “Son, you’re making the biggest mistake you could ever make! You’re falling for their tricks, their ploys. Do you realize that, if you marry this… this Bones, that you’ll be a part of their freak show forever? That any child that you have with her will be tainted?”
“Tainted?”
“Of course, tainted,” Vernon said, his eyes bugging out of his fat face. “You’re still a Dursley, son. The last Dursley there is. You can’t turn us into… into them!”
“You’ve had your say,” Dudley said, his face etched in marble as he stared at his father. “You’ve had your say, and you’ve shown me that you… God, that you just don’t get it.”
His father stared back at him, his eyes narrowing. “So you’re not going to listen to me? Not going to listen to reason?”
“What reason?” Dudley yelled. “Dad, you’re not talking reason. You’re just fucking insane!”
“I’m not insane,” said Vernon, who looked larger, yet smaller, than Dudley had ever known him. “But if you’re not going to listen to me, then you’re driving me to do what I have to do.” He reached into his pocket.
Oh, my God, Dudley’s mind screamed as Vernon Dursley pulled something out of his coat. He has a gun!
Dudley felt a surge of pain roll through his body as he collapsed to the ground. But there was no gunshot, just a sizzling sound as he closed his eyes in agony.
“Tazer gun,” Vernon said as he set the briefcase on a nearby stump. “Military grade. Lovely things. Amazing what you can find on the Internet nowadays.”
Dudley tried to speak, but his breath had still left him.
“Your mother and I were married in this church,” said Vernon as he rummaged through the contents of the case. “Your aunt tried to give me one of those crystals that day. Like you have around your neck. I refused, of course. I wanted as little to do with their kind as possible, and I knew that it would be some kind of acceptance of their way of life.”
He bent down beside his son, and Dudley felt a slight tug as Vernon pulled the crystal from his neck, breaking the chain as it was removed. Dudley felt a slight tingle in his chest, and he realized that it was the magic of the marble-sized gem leaving him.
“For a long time I thought it was nothing,” said Vernon. “Some sort of union of tricksters and hypnotists. There might have been something genetic, like they were the offspring of some sort of government experiments. Maybe something the Nazis cooked up. Or the Romanovs. How the hell would I know?
“But I’ve been doing some reading,” he said as he set the crystal on the stump. “Been speaking to some very interesting, intelligent people since you and your mother left me. And I realized something. They’re not tricksters. They’re not freaks, or hucksters.
“They’re demons.”
The matter-of-fact tone that Vernon used when he said this sent a chill through Dudley. The man who once called the evangelist on the television in Milwaukee, the one who claimed to heal men and women who came to him on crutches, a con artist. The man who never accepted anything that wasn’t within his frame of reference, who thought that anything outside of his own sphere of reality was…
“They’re demons,” Vernon repeated calmly. “Spawns of Satan. They’ve been on this Earth for centuries, keeping themselves hidden from the world. Your grandparents were demons. So were your aunt and uncle, along with your cousin. Always controlling from behind the scenes. Ensconced so far into our governments that even they don’t know that they’re being manipulated. Just waiting for the right moment. The End Times…”
Dudley tried to pull himself to his feet, but Vernon squeezed the trigger of the taser. Dudley felt another current roll through him and he crumpled to his knees.
“Please don’t try to get up, son,” said Vernon, pulling a bottle from his suitcase. “You’ll thank me for this later, I promise you.”
“Dad…” Dudley gasped, “Don’t do this…”
“There are two types of demons. There are the evil ones, the ones who are preparing to take power. And there are the ones who are pretending to be even worse. Demons like that Voldemort, or like the so-called Death Eaters who attacked us in America and at Heathrow. They exist so that the others can battle them, can play the heroes. Make us gain their trust, so it will be even easier to convince us to follow them when they eventually reveal themselves.
“He’s convinced you, you see. The Boy. He’s convinced you and your mother that he is good and pure. Just like the Antichrist.”
Vernon held the crystal in front of his eyes.
“I am so grateful that I never accepted this when it was offered to me,” said Vernon. “It’s the Mark of the Beast, Dudley. You wear it, this trinket, and you become their slave even while believing that you’re more powerful than ever before.”
He uncorked the bottle and set the crystal on the ground.
“Now be quiet, boy,” he said, pulling a sheet of printer paper from his pocket. “A little holy water, and this crystal will be out of your life forever. Then we can get around to cleaning you.”
Vernon put the crystal in the palm of his hand and pulled the cork from the bottle. He poured it all out onto the charm, even shaking the bottle to make sure that the last drips landed. Vernon dropped the crystal to the dirt, turned back to the suitcase, and pulled out a second bottle.
“You have demon blood in you, Dudley,” said Vernon. “It might not be much, but it’s there. It came from your mother, who received it from her parents. It makes you a prime target. Makes it easier for them to turn you. If you marry them tomorrow, you’ll be one of them forever. But I can protect you. I can clean the blood in you, clean your mind, and make you one of us again.”
Before Dudley could speak, he felt the cool splash of water on his face. He shut his eyes tight as it dribbled down his cheeks.
“Begone, demon,” said Vernon in a dramatic voice. “Spoil my son no more.”
Dudley kept his eyes closed. Never in his worst nightmares did he think that he would be in this position, with his father standing over him performing some half-assed exorcism. He felt Vernon’s meaty hand close around his arm, and he was pulled to his feet.
“Are you still here, Dudley?” Vernon asked, his voice full of concern that Dudley hadn’t heard since Harry had dragged him home after the Dementor attack. “Are you okay?”
“I’m…”
“Open your eyes, son,” Vernon said, and Dudley felt his stomach churn at the sound of pride in his father’s voice. “Open your eyes, I want to see you again.”
Dudley opened his eyelids. Vernon stared back at him, and past him. His pupils were dilated, and a muscle beneath his right eye twitched. He’s gone off the deep end, Dudley thought sadly. He thinks this actually…
“Is it gone?” Vernon asked. “Is it…?”
Dudley held out his hand. “Accio,” he said quietly, and the charm flew from the ground and into the palm of his hand. As his father looked on in shocked silence, Dudley pressed the two broken ends of the chain together, which fused as if they were placed under a spot welder. The loop closed again, he put it over his head and around his neck, tucking it beneath his t-shirt.
“I’m here, Dad,” he said. “Which is more than I can say about you.”
“Dudley…” Vernon gasped. “You’re… you’re…”
“I’m not cured,” said Dudley. “I was never sick.”
“You’re one of them…”
“I’m not,” said Dudley. “I’m not a demon. Neither is mom. Harry’s not the fucking Antichrist. He’d be happy living his life at home, raising his kids. He doesn’t want to be the Minister of Magic, he doesn’t want to be the head of his department. He wouldn’t want to be assistant manager at Burger King. I doubt he’ll ever try to be the leader of the free world. He doesn’t have any drive to be in charge.
“Dad, you have to understand,” he continued, rubbing his temples with the tips of his fingers. “They’re not all evil. Most of them aren’t, just like most of us Muggles aren’t. They believe in God. They celebrate Christmas and Easter and Passover and Ramadan, just like Muggles. They love and hate and all of that crap that makes us unique. They’re not trying to take over the world. They’re just trying to live their lives.”
“Trying to live their lives,” Vernon said scathingly. “So you’ve fallen for it, too. Just like your mother. Just like the rest of the Dursleys…”
“What are you talking about?”
“My cousin was one of them,” Vernon said darkly. “Went to that coven, just like the rest of them.”
“What?” Dudley said, his mouth dropped. This was new information, something he had never…
“Of course,” said Vernon. “How do you think I met your mother? Back then that school, as they like to call it, had a ceremony for their graduates. I got dragged along. Met Petunia, the only girl in the room who seemed just as uncomfortable as I did to be in that den of horrors. Besides your Aunt Marge, that is.”
“I…” Dudley’s mind reeled. He didn’t even know where to begin. “Your cousin…?”
“He died before you were born,” said Vernon. “No one ever said why, either. Best way I figured, it was good riddance to bad rubbish. Now I know that it was just another dead monster.”
“Stop calling them that!”
“They are what they are!”
“Okay, okay,” said Dudley, not fit to argue right now. There were just too many questions… “So Aunt Marge knows about all of this?”
“She knows that all of this nonsense goes on,” Vernon admitted. “Although she never made the connection. She never even remembered that I met Petunia at the graduation, so she never knew the link between our cousin and the Potters.”
“What was his name?”
“Who?”
“Your cousin.”
“Benjy.”
“Benjy Dursley?”
“It doesn’t matter!” said Vernon. “He was one of them!”
“Dad, will you give it a rest about this fucking us versus them thing?”
“Son, it may not have worked,” said Vernon. “But if you can just fight it a little more, I know some people. They can help us; they have more powerful items. They know how to handle banishments, they can…”
“No, Dad!” Dudley yelled. “We’re done! You’re mental!”
“You can’t do this, Dudley!” Vernon yelled, all pretense of stealth now gone as father and son stood screaming at each other. “You can’t marry this woman! Think of your soul!”
“My soul is just fine!” Dudley said. “For the first time in a long time, I feel good about my soul. I love her, Dad. And I’m not going through some Satanic ritual. We’re not sacrificing goats or taking part in some bloody orgy. We’re getting married. In a church. With a priest and a cross and all of that. So you tell me: If we were evil, could we do that? Wouldn’t we be fried before the organ started playing?”
Dudley glared at his father, who seemed to whither in front of him. His face fell, his hands dropped slack beside him.
“You’re lost,” he said, and Dudley’s heart twisted as he heard nothing but sorrow in his once proud father’s voice. “You’re lost…”
“I’m not lost, Dad,” said Dudley quietly. “But I can’t come with you.”
“Leave,” Vernon whispered. “Leave now. Don’t taint me with your…”
“Goodbye, Dad,” Dudley said, unaware until that time that he was feeling tears in his throat. “I’m sorry.”
And without another word, Dudley Dursley walked away.
How do I do this? Dudley thought to himself an hour later. I’ve seen Susan do it. Seen Harry do it on our end. Hannah and Justin, too. But is it that simple?
No better time to learn than now, he thought as he dropped to the cold stone floor. Most I can lose is my head, right?
He sat on his knees in the small house. To the outsider, it looked like a ruined shack. But to the witches and wizards of England (along with the Muggles who gave birth to them, or the Muggles who are marrying them), it was just another stop on the Floo Network.
He grabbed a handful of Floo Powder from the flowerpot. Susan threw the shit in first, he thought. Then stuck her head into the fire.
He did just that. A burst of green flame erupted before him, and he dropped down onto his hands, crawling slowly toward the fire. He had done the full-body transfer before, but never this.
“The Burrow!” he yelled. His head swam, and it felt like he was being separated from the rest of his body, although he could still feel the cold stone beneath his palms.
Oh, God, this is bad, he thought. I was only joking about the beheading!
Soon enough, however, his brain seemed to find its bearings, and he was staring into kitchen of Molly and Arthur Weasley. It was dark.
“Fuck, it’s almost midnight,” he muttered to himself. He thought he could do this another time, but it was too important to put off. Better to take care of it now, and deal with the consequences later.
“Hello?” he yelled into the darkness. “Is anyone awake? Hello!”
There was no response. I shouldn’t have done this, he thought. I should have gone to Harry. Or Hermione. She’d have a decent idea about what to do.
But as he saw a dim glow of a candle on the stairs, he knew he had made a good enough choice. Harry and Hermione were his age. Arthur and Molly were the closest people Dudley knew to professionals in this world. If anyone could help, it was the Weasleys.
It was Molly who walked into the kitchen. It wasn’t a candle that was clutched in her hand, but her wand, the tip glowing. She was wearing fuzzy slippers and a tartan robe.
“Dudley?” she said warily as she got her first look at Dudley’s head floating in the hearth.
“Hello, Mrs. Weasley,” Dudley replied.
“What’s wrong, dear?” she replied, immediately on her guard. Dudley could tell that she wasn’t used to getting company at midnight unless there was an emergency.
“Nothing,” Dudley replied. “Or… or… yes, there’s something wrong.”
“Who is it?” she asked. “Is Susan hurt? Or Harry?”
“No, it’s not that,” Dudley said, not sure where to begin. “Mrs. Weasley, have you ever heard of a Benjy Dursley?”
“I… Benjy Dursley?” Molly asked. “Is he a relative of yours?”
“So you’ve heard of him?”
“No, I haven’t,” Molly replied. “I knew a Benjy Fenwick, but I’ve never heard of a Benjy Dursley.”
“Benjy Fenwick…” Dudley muttered to himself. “That might be right. How old is he?”
“Well, I don’t know how old he would be, dear,” said Molly, who seemed surprised to be having this conversation at this time of night. “I’ve lost track. He was friends with my brother, but he was the same age as your Uncle James and Aunt Lily. But Benjy died years ago.”
“How did it happen?”
“Dudley, I can’t talk about it,” Molly said quickly. “It’s too… it was too gruesome.”
“But you do know how he died?”
“He was a member of the Order,” said Molly. “The Order of the Phoenix, I’m sure Harry’s told you about them. During the first war. I wasn’t a member at that point, none of the Weasleys were. But I heard enough from Fabian to know that he probably didn’t feel any pain when he went.”
Dudley nodded in the flames. He wasn’t sure if this Benjy was the same as his father’s cousin. But the pieces sure seemed to fit.
His father may have written him off, but Dudley was glad that Benjy Fenwick was at least one of the good guys.
“Was that all you called to ask about?” Molly asked. “It’s late, dear, and you have a big day tomorrow.”
“No, that’s not all…” Dudley sighed. He hesitated, knowing that what he said next would…
Forget it, he said firmly. The options are shrinking by the minute for everyone. This is something you have to do.
“Look, can I come over?” Dudley asked. “I mean, can I come through and be all there? I need to talk to you and Arthur.
“I need help.”
Home for the Holidays / Previous Chapters / München