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Author: negasong Story: Harry Potter and the Pawn of the Past Rating: Mature Status: WIP Warning: Violence, adult situations Reviews: 8 Words: 43,730
The two days preceding Harry Potter's birthday were very odd, very odd at least, for Petunia Dursley. She had first noticed it the day after she heard Harry scream in the middle of the night. Luckily, Vernon was in such a deep slumber that the screams hadn't awoken him. She put on her nightgown and went to check on Harry. As it had turned out, he had had a very bad nightmare. So bad, in fact, that he wouldn't talk about it, but Petunia could see it in his eyes: fear, revulsion, disgust, and she was almost certain he had been crying. Whatever he had dreamt about, she was sure that it had to do with this maniac Voldemort, the man (if you could call him a man), who had murdered Harry's parents.
The following day, Harry locked himself in his room, coming out only to shower and use the water closet. He took his meals through the cat flap in the door that Vernon had installed years previously, and didn't say one word all day. At first, Petunia assumed that the dream had shaken him up so badly that he needed a day to process it. It was only on day two, when Harry still hadn't said a word, that Petunia started to think that something might be seriously wrong. She certainly didn't expect Harry to share anything with her after the way she'd treated him, but he was usually at least good for a few cheeky remarks a day. What was worse, apart from his silence, was the look on his face. It was a look she had only seen on the telly, when they had aired that special about death row inmates. He looked, in short, like a man who knew he was days away from going to the electric chair. Harry, however, remained stoically silent, locked in his bedroom unless Vernon had chores for him to do, which he did silently and efficiently before returning to his room. That night, in bed, Petunia decided to broach the subject with her husband. "Vernon." "Yes, dear." "Have you noticed anything odd about the boy lately?" "I've noticed that he's not giving me any cheek, if that's what you mean," he replied happily. "Why, just yesterday, he was cleaning out the garage and he tripped over a can of paint – spilled it everywhere. I told him to clean it up or he wasn't getting any supper and he did it without a word or a dirty look – quite refreshing if you ask me." "Well, don't you think that's a bit odd, though?" "Petunia, that Dunderlore bloke said that he has to stay here until his seventeenth birthday. He's probably just smart enough to realize it would be bad for him if he mucked it up." Petunia wondered whether or not she should tell her husband about Dumbledore, but quickly decided against it, not because it would upset him, but because he wouldn't care one way or the other. He had no idea what real danger they were all in, and Petunia wanted to keep it that way. "Maybe you're right; it just seems so... unlike him." The next evening was quite possibly the worst evening Petunia had ever had in her life. The day started off normally enough except that Harry still wasn't speaking. Vernon had had a fine day at work and when he came home, he was in a very chipper mood. The fact that in twenty-four hours' time he would never have to see his good-for-nothing nephew again was certainly a contributing factor. Dinner was pleasant, and with Harry once again taking his supper in his room, Vernon was as happy as a clam. Dudley went out with Piers Polkiss and his mates, and Harry stayed in his room. They watched the evening news together, which allowed Vernon to feel better about himself by criticizing everyone from the Prime Minister to the weatherman, who still had no reasonable explanation as to the foggy mist that had covered all of England for over a year. It was after she and Vernon had retired for the night that the trouble started. They were just drifting off when they heard a loud noise coming from downstairs. Vernon got out of bed enraged, assuming that Harry was making a midnight raid on the refrigerator, but when they checked his room, he was sound asleep. Vernon went back to his room and retrieved a cricket bat from when he had been on the Smeltings team out of his closet. He told Petunia to stay upstairs as he quietly (or at least quietly for a man of his size) descended the staircase. Petunia stood there a full minute listening hard for any sign as to what was happening. The silence was finally broken by Vernon – he was... he was laughing, a big, hearty gut laugh. "Petunia! Petunia come down here and look at this sight!" She flew down the stairs in a state of complete confusion as to what would be cracking up her husband in the middle of the night. When she got to the kitchen, she saw Dudley sitting at the kitchen table, completely soused, her husband laughing at the sorry state he was in. "Looks like our boy is finally a man – eh, Dudders!" Vernon said as he lightly punched his son in the shoulder. Dudley looked up at his father with the pathetic expression of a dog that had just eaten a skunk. Petunia was disgusted at Dudley's condition – he had obviously been sick and he looked miserable. "Vernon, take him upstairs and put him in the shower please." It was only then that she noticed Piers Polkiss in the front hallway, looking frightened out of his wits. As Vernon took Dudley upstairs for a shower, she could hear him talking about the first time he had gotten pissed – what kind of booze it had been and how Dudley was going to regret it in the morning, chuckling to himself the whole time. She would never understand men. She called for Piers to come into the kitchen and sit down. He did as he was told. "Would you like some tea, dear?" "Yes, Mrs. Dursley." Petunia put the kettle on the stovetop and retrieved two teacups from the cupboard. "You did the right thing by bringing Dudley home, Piers. I expected this to happen sooner or later, and I'm not angry. A little disappointed maybe, but I'm not angry, so there's nothing to be scared about." "Are you going to tell my mum and dad?" Petunia hesitated for a moment. Her first instinct was indeed to phone Mrs. Polkiss, but Piers looked genuinely frightened out of his wits and seemed to be suffering quite enough already. Hopefully he had already learned a lesson from all of this, and she thought it best at least to tell Piers, for the time being, that his secret was safe with her. "No, Piers, I'm not going to phone your parents; you proved yourself to be a loyal friend to Dudley tonight and brought him home even though you knew you might get in trouble. However, if this ever happens again, I will phone your parents immediately." "Mrs. Dursley..." Piers' voice was still shaking. Petunia set a cup of tea in front of the frightened boy. "Drink it before it gets cold, dear – you'll feel better." Why was Piers still frightened? She had told him in no uncertain terms that she wasn't angry, nor was she going to tell his parents. "Mrs. Dursley... something happened tonight." "I should say so, Piers." "No, that's not what I mean. I mean... something weird happened. We were drinking in the park and we met some girls. They wanted to drink with us, but we didn't have any more beer. We wanted them to stay, so we wanted to get more, but the local was already closed. The closest place to get more was a few kilometers away. We had only had a couple so... I'm sorry, it was my idea... I said we could take my father's car to the store. I swear we weren't drunk when we got in the car! We had only had two each, and Dudley is so big, we figured he could drive. We got to the store okay, but on the way back, we were driving and someone ran a red light. We were going to smash right into them and then something happened." Petunia did not at all like where this conversation was headed. Swallowing the dread that was building up inside her, she asked, "What exactly happened, Piers?" "The car... the one we were going to hit... it... it just disappeared! Into thin air! Every one of us saw it. It was right in front of us one second, and then the next it was just... Gone...." Petunia heard a strange noise and when she looked down, realized it was the sound of the teacup she was holding clanking against her saucer. She steadied her hands and managed to choke out, "So everyone was okay? No one got hurt?" "No, ma'am, no one got hurt. No one spoke for a while and when we put my dad's car back and went to the park, Dudley just started drinking heavily, like he was in a contest or something. He wouldn't say a word the rest of the night. Eventually the girls got creeped out by him and left. Dennis started to take the piss with Dudley, on account of the girls leaving. Dudley didn't say a word. Put down his beer, punched Dennis right in the face, picked his beer back up and kept on drinking. I begged him to stop, but he wouldn't – he eventually passed out, and I had to drag him all the way here from the park. It's not his fault – it was my idea to take my dad's car." Petunia could feel her chest constricting as the boy told his tale. "This is only the beginning," she thought to herself. "It's only going to get worse." "Piers," she said, trying desperately to sound nonchalant, "automobiles do not simply disappear into thin air. You boys were drinking and driving, and thank god, you avoided having an accident, but the car must have swerved out of the way. You can't trust your senses when under the influence. You need to calm down. There's no way a car simply vanished – it's impossible." "Unless the person driving the other car makes it vanish," she thought grimly. "Mrs. Dursley?" "Yes Piers?" "We weren't drunk." The boy seemed to be struggling with something, and Petunia thought it best to remain quiet and not push him. "The truth is, Mrs. Dursley, we've been doing this for awhile now. Drinking, I mean. I've been drunk. I know what it feels like and this wasn't it." Though Petunia could honestly admit to herself that she wasn't shocked that Dudley and his friends had been abusing alcohol for a while now, she, like all mothers, had hoped that it simply wasn't the case. With that illusion abandoned, Petunia could only hope to dissuade Piers of his notion that anything "unnatural" had happened this evening. "That may be, Piers, but even a couple of drinks can seriously affect your judgment. Even if you don't feel drunk, you may not be able to perceive things as they actually are, which is why driving after even a couple of drinks is a terrible idea. There have been times when Vernon and I have been out, and he's had a couple of drinks, not acting in any way off, mind you, but I still insisted upon driving us home myself – after tonight, I believe you can appreciate why." "You don't think the car disappeared?" Petunia's jaw clenched as she tried not to think of her poor Dudders making a car vanish into thin air. "No, Piers, I do not believe the car disappeared. I believe that it was moving very fast if it went through a red light as you said, and the driver probably swerved at the last minute. It was moving so quickly that you probably just didn't see where it had gotten to." Despite what she knew to be the truth, she added, "Cars don't just vanish." Piers studied her for a moment. She tried desperately to remain relaxed, and finally the boy's lip started to quiver. "I thought I knew my limits," he choked. "I thought I knew what I could handle. If two drinks are making me see things, I'm never doing it again!" "God," thought Petunia, "how many teenagers on the planet have said 'never again' before?" All she could hope for was that Piers had really meant what he said. "I hope you are sincere about this, Piers. You are Dudley's best friend, and if you mean what you say, I expect you to be a positive influence on him. You could have both died tonight. I have shown enough trust in your maturity not to phone your parents tonight, and for that, you owe me. If he continues this behavior I want to know about it; is that clear?" Piers seemed to struggle momentarily with the thought of having to rat Dudley out to his mum, but considering how much trouble Mrs. Dursley could have gotten him in that evening, he simply couldn't refuse her. "I promise you, Mrs. Dursley, I'll try to steer Dudley away from drinking, and if he refuses, I'll come to you straight away." "Good. It's late, Piers – you should be getting home." Petunia let out a heavy sigh. If anything at all good came out of this evening, at least Piers, and by association Dudley, wouldn't be drinking for a while, much less getting behind the wheel of an automobile. Piers got up from the kitchen table and walked to the front door of number four, Privet Drive. He stopped and turned back to the kitchen as his hand touched the doorknob. "Mrs. Dursley?" Petunia turned to the foyer to see Piers looking at her very intensely. "Yes, Piers?" "I swear I'll come to you if Dudley doesn't stop drinking. You're a really brilliant mum – thanks." And with that, Piers Polkiss let himself out and started home. Petunia, despite the churning in her stomach, allowed a tiny smile to cross her lips as her eyes misted over. It was the first time in her life that anyone had ever called her "brilliant." A loud thud brought her out of her reverie as she realized that Vernon must have momentarily lost hold of Dudley, who was no doubt wet, slippery and almost comatose. Vernon's chuckle assured her that Dudley was fine – "he's anything but fine!" she snorted to herself. She had already decided to deal with this in the morning. There was nothing she could do about it while Vernon was around anyway. She would speak with her son about what had happened when he woke up, hoping against hope that she might be able to get him to believe the story she had just sold to Piers. Deep in her heart, she knew that it was unlikely that he would believe her, but she had to at least try. As a last resort, maybe she could get Harry to speak with him, tell him that he somehow had the power to know when a family member was in danger and that it was he who had made the car vanish. But would Harry even agree to such a thing? He was leaving for good tomorrow and she knew she had no leverage over him. She only hoped that the goodwill she had shown him by giving him his mother's possessions earlier than she was supposed to would earn dividends. Petunia reluctantly went up to bed, knowing she would not be falling asleep any time this week, but she had to keep up appearances in front of Vernon. "Keep up appearances," she sighed to herself. "That's all I've managed to do with my life is keep up appearances." She wearily climbed into bed next to her husband, who was determined to give her a play by play of Dudley's drunken shower escapades before chuckling himself to sleep. She didn't hear a word of it, of course, her only thoughts revolving around the welfare of her son, whom she simultaneously wanted to hug and beat the ever-living shit out of, and the huge mess she had made of her life. Once she was sure that Vernon was dead to the world, Petunia Dursley softly cried herself to sleep. OOOOOOOOOOO This was not going to be a good day. Dudley Dursley's first thought as he regained consciousness was that someone must have hit him in the head with a wrecking ball. The sunlight streaming in through his bedroom window was like acid poured into his eyes, and every time he even slightly adjusted his mammoth frame to get slightly more comfortable, his stomach did something between a samba and a cha cha. "What the bloody hell did I do last night?" Hiding under his bedding as if the sunlight would melt the flesh from his bones, Dudley tried to navigate the haze that seemed to have invaded his brain. He vaguely remembered being in the park with Piers and Dennis. Some girls showed up. Piers began chatting them up and soon Dennis joined in, but Dudley remembered staying quiet. He didn't think they would be interested in him because of his size, and so he sat on one of the swings keeping to himself. One of the girls came and sat on the swing next to him. "Strong and silent type, yeah?" she said, smiling coyly at him. Dudley had not been expecting this and didn't quite know how to handle it. Among the boys, he was the de-facto leader, but he had never gotten attention from girls before. Before he could say anything, she giggled and said, "Yeah, I guess you are the strong and silent type." With that, she pulled a bottle of whiskey out from beneath her jacket. "I think that beer is getting awfully lonely down there in your tummy – I think he needs a friend." Dudley laughed nervously and accepted the bottle from her. Caught between his nervousness and wanting to impress her, Dudley downed the entire bottle in one go. The girl, needless to say, was not impressed. "Bloody hell! That was all we had, you fat hog!" Dudley realized he had just messed up big time. "I'm sorry," he stammered, "I didn't mean to – look I'll get you more – we'll go right now, I promise." Dudley pulled Piers away from the others and told him that the girls were looking to get drunk with them, omitting the part of the story where he had drank all of their liquor. After a few minutes of pleading, threatening and cajoling, Dudley convinced Piers to let him take his father's car to the market. "Well," Piers said reluctantly, "we've only had a couple each; I'm not even feeling anything and you're twice my size, but you have to promise that you'll be careful." Dudley promised that he would, and after Piers agreed, he walked up to the girl whom he had just insulted, and who had insulted him back tenfold. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened – let me make it up to you." "How are you gonna do that?" she replied icily. "I'm gonna buy you more than you and your friends had to begin with, that's how." "No, but how are you gonna do that – the local is closed." "Look – I'm sorry about what I said back there – I didn't mean it – I was just –" "No worries," said Dudley, "just stay right here – I'll be back in a minute." As he left the girl to return to her friends, he walked up to Piers and in little more than a whisper said, "Give me your dad's spare keys and play dumb – she thinks I'm nicking a car." It was at this point that Dudley's mind went completely blank. Try as he might, he couldn't remember anything else that had happened. Not if he had taken the car, not what happened between him and the girl; he couldn't even remember how he had gotten home. A few minutes later, there was a gentle knock on his bedroom door, which despite it's delicacy sounded like a jack hammer. "Diddy? Diddykins? Are you awake yet, sweetie?" His bedroom door opened and his mother entered, carrying a tray laden with all his favorite breakfast foods as well as an entire pitcher of water and a bottle of aspirin. With great effort, Dudley sat up, allowing his mother to put the tray on his lap. He noticed as he began to eat that his mother was looking at him very strangely. It was obvious that he was busted, that she knew he had been drinking, but she didn't look angry, as he had expected. She looked... well... terrified. "Diddykins?" "May as well get this over with." "Yes, Mum?" "How do you feel?" "Bad headache, stomach's a little dodgy." "Why was she tiptoeing around what she wanted to ask?" "Mum?" "Yes, dear?" "I don't really remember everything that happened last night." The look on his mother's face completely disarmed him. It seemed to be a combination of shock and hope. "What the hell was going on?" Petunia immediately became all business. Like a detective interrogating a crime suspect, she pressed Dudley for every piece of information he could remember from the night before. After Dudley had recounted everything he could remember, Petunia asked him, "Are you sure that's everything? There's nothing else you remember?" "That's it, Mum. What did happen? Is everything okay?" Petunia let out something in between a sob and a laugh as the tension visibly drained from her body. "Why is she acting like a nutter?" "Everything is fine, Duddums. No one got hurt last night... but you could have died – what were you thinking, driving drunk?" Her tone quickly shifted as she assumed her matriarchal role. She spent the next half hour tearing him a new one as she lectured him about the dangers of drunk driving, and that if it ever happened again Vernon would find out about it. Dudley vacillated between the guilt of knowing that he had really messed up, the pounding of his head as his mother scolded him, and the relieving thought that at least she was acting normally again. When she had finished, she kissed him on the forehead, took his tray of empty plates, and left the room with the words, "Try to get some more sleep, sweetie." Dudley pulled the covers over his head. The food had helped to quell the queasy feeling in his stomach and the massive pressure inside his skull was starting to ebb away thanks to the aspirin. Within a few minutes, he was sound asleep. When he finally awoke, he noticed it was dark outside. "God, how long was I asleep?" He looked at the alarm clock on his night table, which read 11:50 p.m. "I must have been really knackered!" He felt his stomach start to rumble and hoped that his mum had left a dinner plate for him. He trundled down the stairs and saw that his parents were both still awake. He could not ever remember his father looking happier. "Um, Daddy?" Vernon turned from the telly to look at his son. The angry expression Dudley had expected to form never did. Still beaming, his father said, "Morning, Dudders," and added a chuckle. "You're not mad? About... last night?" Vernon let out another small laugh. "All teenagers experiment, Dudley. I did when I was your age, and to tell you the truth, I'd been expecting it." Dudley knew there was no way his father would have been this flippant about the subject if he knew that his son had been driving. "Besides," his father continued, "there is nothing you could ever do that could spoil my mood today." Vernon's smile got even wider. "For in – " Vernon glanced at his watch, "seven minutes' time, that no-good freeloader will be out of our lives, never to darken our door again. You should have waited, Dudley – we could have celebrated with a drink tonight!" He finished this missive with a cackle of glee. Out of the corner of his eye, Dudley could have sworn he saw the flash of a dirty look cross his mother's face, but when he looked at her, she seemed to be smiling benignly. Dudley went to the kitchen where his mother had left a plate of food warming in the oven. He sat at the kitchen table and began to eat, silently thanking his maker that it was his cousin's birthday – he was sure it was the only reason he had dodged such a serious bullet. His thoughts were broken by the voice of his father, who was, Dudley realized, counting off the seconds to midnight as if it were New Year's Eve. "Ten!" "Nine!" "Eight!" "Seven!" "Six!" "Five!" "What the effing hell?" Dudley put his fork down and went towards the living room to see his father looking out the window. "Ruddy freaks!" Vernon shouted. "Effing freaks as far as the eye can see! Boy! Get down here!" Dudley saw that his uncle didn't need to call his cousin, as Harry was already at the top of the stairs with his wand out. His mother, meanwhile, was trying in vain to pull her husband away from the window. "Vernon! We need to get out of here!" Petunia shouted, vainly pulling on one of his beefy arms. "Dudley, help me!" Dudley ran to the window to help pull his father away. What he saw through the window made him freeze on the spot. Outside the Dursley home, he saw dozens of figures in the middle of what was quite obviously a firefight, but that wasn't what had frightened him to the point of immobility. It was those... things. The things that had attacked him two summers ago. It had been so cold. He tried to hit them, to fight them off, but his fists just bounced off of them. It was then that all of his energy had left him and he had slumped to the ground. He'd had only one thought back then as the disgusting creatures hovered above him: "Kill yourself, you fat, useless bastard... kill yourself." His mother screaming in his ear brought him back to the present. "Dudley! Help me, for god's sake!" Snapping out of it, he grabbed his father around the middle and heaved with all of his might, managing to get his father away from the window. Just then, the front door burst open. As a short man with a rather ugly, lumpy face ran across the threshold, a beam of light came from the top of the stairs and caught him square in the chest, sending him flying back out the door. His wand, however, flew to the top of the stairs where Dudley saw his cousin snatch it out of midair and pocket it. "Vernon! We need to get out of here! Dudley! Let's go! Out the back door now!" Petunia and Dudley were in the midst of trying to drag Vernon towards the kitchen when the living room wall burst open and three wizards in black robes and masks stepped through. Vernon's face turned purple with rage as he threw Dudley and his wife off of him. "Get the hell out of my house, you bloody freaks!" he raged, but the three wizards merely laughed as one of them pointed his wand at Vernon. In an instant, Dudley saw his father hanging in midair by his ankle, the wizards laughingly mocking him. The next thing Dudley saw was the blood red color of rage. His body began shaking violently with anger, and for some odd reason the whole house seemed to follow suit. Picture frames were falling off of the walls, vases were exploding, cracks were appearing in the ceiling, and everyone, including the wizards who were bullying his father, seemed to be looking at him with their mouths agape. It was if time had stopped for an instant. Everyone in the room, including Harry, was staring at Dudley, who seemed to have no idea what was going on around him. Dudley looked at the three wizards with a murderous glare and screamed, "Get off of my dad!" As he did, part of the ceiling gave way as the bathtub from upstairs plummeted downwards, landing squarely on top of the three wizards. As torrents of water cascaded into the sitting room, Vernon fell to the ground with a thud and time sped up again. Dudley and Petunia helped Vernon up and the three of them ran towards the kitchen. Two more masked wizards appeared, stepping over their comrades as Harry sprinted down the stairs. Dudley looked back to see another jet of light come from his cousin's wand and hit one of the wizards in the chest, causing his entire body to become rigid and topple over. The other wizard, a woman who Dudley thought could have been pretty except for the leer on her face, shouted something like "abra cadabra," and a green light flashed from her wand, hitting his cousin squarely in the head. Harry's body crumpled to the floor, glasses askew, and mouth hanging open, his arms and legs at odd angles. Dudley didn't need to take a pulse to know that his cousin was dead. As the woman let out a shriek of glee, she was hit in the back by a jet of light, and as she fell, another wizard entered the house, stepping over her. This wizard looked like shite, Dudley thought. His robes were threadbare and patched, his hair was turning prematurely grey, and the lines in his face made him look much older than he probably was. Upon seeing Harry in the hallway to the kitchen, the wizard broke down in tears and screamed, "No! Oh, Merlin, No! What did you do?" He ran to the lifeless corpse, knelt beside it and began weeping. "No, no, not you, not like this." The wizard began to smooth Harry's hair back, crying over him. More explosions in the street seemed to pull the wizard back to reality. He looked back through the blown-out wall of the Dursley home. Turning back, he stood up, heaving Harry's lifeless body into an upright position and spun around once before he and Harry's body disappeared right before Dudley's eyes. OOOOOOOOOOO Authors Note: I would like to thank my beta Laurabeth, who has been incredibly helpful in spotting all of the little details I have missed. She has made this story so much better than it was before. I couldn't have done this without her.
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