Just Walk In & The Job Is Yours [HP Fanfiction. George Weasley/Dudley Dursley]

Just Walk In & The Job Is Yours--Part 2

My Diddykins,

You will always be Mummy's little boy, even if you are an abomination. Come home at any time and Mummy will fix this. Enclosed is some money.

Love,

Mummy

Dudley Dursley loved and hated his mother. He'd truly never given much thought to morality growing up. He'd lived in a room, and Harry lived in the cupboard, and that's just how it was. Everything was Harry's fault. When he used to tell people at school about it, he would get a variety of reactions. From, awesome, he must be close to the biscuits, to, are you that poor?

But Harry had saved his life, and it was then when he began to give it some thought. He used to prowl around the neighborhood looking for kids who reminded him of something he couldn't place, at least, not at the time. And all the while he was tormenting those kids, his mother seemed none the wiser.

"You're such a sweet boy; mummy's boy," she'd say.

As if completely oblivious, while his father, on the other hand, was proud. Like finally, son, you've done something normal. When honestly, the most normal one seemed to be Harry himself. Dudley had wondered why that was. Was it because he lived in a cupboard? Because he had magic and monsters tried to kill him all the time? Because he never seemed to lie about who he was? Dudley had hated Harry Potter so much, but then the bastard had saved his life.

When he'd finally realized why he'd hated Harry so much, why he hated those kids, he realized that he, himself, was highest on the list of those people. So he'd tried to make up for it, though he didn't know how.

He'd ordered Harry to make tea so many times throughout the years, sometimes just to watch him do it. So that's what he tried first. He made him some tea, only he couldn't face him so he'd left it on the floor. When he'd eventually spit out part of what he wanted to, a weight both fell and rested heavier on his shoulders. He felt a bit better knowing Harry knew he was sorry, but that was hardly all there was to say, was it? He certainly hadn't apologized to those other kids and everyone else he'd treated like shit. It was enough to make him want to make quite a few cups of tea. More than he thought was physically possible, certainly more than 4 Privet Drive contained.

When the war was won—whatever kind of war involved people waving around sticks—Dudley had made up his mind: he was leaving and never coming back. Dudley knew that he would be tempted to come back if he was a failure. So, he ensured that he wouldn't be welcomed home.

On the day he'd left, he'd sat in his room for hours trying to steel himself to do it. When all his bags were packed, he knew he couldn't waste anymore time. It was coming up on supper, and his mother would be calling. (Mummy didn't cook as well as Harry did, Dudley always thought privately.) He'd packed everything that would fit into his bags. And then he rose to leave, surveying his childhood bedroom for the last time. All those things he wanted just to brag that he really did have them.

He closed the door, then turned around.

His father was right there, right in front of him. Vernon Dursley in the flesh. Dudley had a lifetime of practice at lying to his father, lying to his mother, to himself, at lying in general, in fact, but he didn't want to lie then. He was trying to be different. Dudley would be the first to admit he hadn't done very much thinking in his life; he'd just coasted by. He'd tried to get what he could, and then he tried to survive.

So he really had no idea what to say to his father for the longest time. Until he did. But he hadn't planned on doing it in the house. He'd thought he'd send a nice letter like, Hello. Your son is actually as gay as the day in summertime.

Or something along those lines.Whatever his plan was, he didn't think his father would demand,

"Where do you think you're going?!"

Dudley certainly was not prepared for that. "Dad, I'm an arse bandit."

His father did not seem very prepared for this to happen today, either. For a long moment, there were only the quiet noises of the house. Of his mother, of Petunia, making dinner downstairs. The barking of the neighbors' little dogs, the mowing of lawns, the other little noises he would've normally never noticed. The blood was rushing through Dudley's veins, loud in his ears as a jackhammer. And Vernon's face became quite red, like a tea kettle expelling steam from the ears.

"I don't think I know what you're talking about, but you better not be talking about what I think you are!" Dudley's father's voice boomed across the quiet room, it startled him, even though he'd expected it.

"I-I think you know what I mean." He swallowed and took a breath. "A fairy, a poofter, Dad, a flaming homo!" Dudley had yelled that last part out.

And there it was. The facts of the situation, the reason why Dudley couldn't stay, not anymore. He couldn't live like that anymore. He could not squeeze the facts of himself through the hallways, duck beneath the all-too-close ceiling because he'd outgrown them. Just lock them away like they did with Harry. And there was his mum, at the bottom of the steps. Hand over her mouth and eyes wide like a stick insect. No intervention at all.

"I'll not have it under my roof!" His hands were fisted tight. But he did not step forward.

"That's good, because I'm leaving." Dudley picked up his bags and headed down the stairs. His father reached for his shoulder to stop him, but Dudley was already on the stairway.

"You aren't my son anymore! Don't try to come back!"

His mother was still on the bottom step. Dudley stopped for a moment and looked into her eyes. She opened her mouth, "My Diddykins..." she said. Then she stopped.

Dudley knew she couldn't have been building up to say anything good. He'd known her all his life. And he could not take anymore that day. That was the hardest thing he'd ever done. He stepped down, closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her for the last time. "Goodbye, mum."

Dudley stepped past her and left the house.

TO BE CONTINUED...