Book One: Dudley's Memories

Chapter Four

Harry and Dudley regarded each other in the light of the street lamp.

"So. Can I buy you a drink?" asked Dudley, "Pub down the street's not bad."

"Pub sounds good." answered Harry.

They were silent until they got to the place. Harry kept remembering different pieces from his childhood. He shivered and tried to cast off the bad memories.

"Lager for you?" asked Dudley.

Harry nodded, "Whatever you're having." he wondered whether it was wise to have anything at all for this conversation, but he didn't think he could have it entirely sober. He wasn't on call tonight and Ginny wasn't expecting him. He hardly ever used his personal days, so if he was hung over in the morning he could owl in sick.

He found a table in the corner. When Dudley brought them back their drinks, Harry took a long grateful swallow. He noticed that Dudley had brought him a pint, but had only a half himself. Dudley followed his gaze, "Oh, I'm on call tonight."

"Ah." Harry replied. He couldn't think of anything more.

Dudley sat just staring at him. Harry reckoned it was up to him to start, "I like Phillip." he said, "He's seems really nice."

"He is." Dudley smiled, "Your wife and he seemed to get along famously."

Another uncomfortable silence. Harry took another swallow of his lager. Hell, for this conversation he probably needed a pint of firewhisky. He started to cast about for a safe topic. "So, Eleanor seems pleased." he said, guardedly, "What about you?"

Dudley gave him that sad little smile he'd been directing at Harry all night, "Thought I was going to go mad like Dad did when you got all those letters?"

"I...uh...considered it a possibility." said Harry wryly.

Dudley sighed, "Do you remember the dementors?"

Harry snorted, he was never likely to forget that. "Yeah." was all he said.

"I never got over it." Dudley shook his head and shivered a little.

Harry winced, "Dudley, I'm sorry..."

"Not the dementors, the fact that you saved me. I saw all the trouble you got into, all those letters. And I'll bet you got into trouble at school, too." he said shrewdly.

"Long time ago." said Harry, eyeing the place on his hand where the scars Umbridge had given him were still visible if you looked for them.

"You know what my worst memory was, at the time?" Dudley asked, taking a sip of his own drink, "It was listening to dad try to beat the 'freakishness' out of you, and knowing that if they knew about me, they'd turn on me too."

"Sorry?" said Harry, startled, he only remembered Dudley being entertained when he was being punished.

"It wasn't long before you went off to school. Maybe it was the time with the snake, I don't remember the exact episode. I had just figured out who my dad was ranting about, when he was going on about poofs, nancy boys and fairies." Dudley sighed, "I'd also just figured out that I was one. And I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if I Dad found out I was one of those, I'd be under the stairs so fast my head would spin."

"But..." Harry was confused, "You never seemed...I mean I still had to keep the hell out of your way or..." he didn't want to finish. He rubbed the scars on back of his hand.

Dudley looked down at the table, "That's why I never got over it. You could've just run. Told your wizard friends that there was nothing you could have done. It would've been completely understandable. I heard what Old Lady Figg said. That there were supposed to be adults guarding you."