Chapter Text
Dudley just lay there, curled up and crying silently in a corner of the school yard. Whenever he opened his eyes, he saw the fence, blurred by tears, and when his eyes were closed, scenes from the past weeks – or was it months? – replayed on the back of his eyelids. He had lost track of how long he lay there after hearing the school yard emptying, filling, then slowly emptying again, the end of the school day. He waited for a teacher to check on him, and then for his mom to come looking for him, but as he’d grown used to by now, nobody came. Nobody cared any more.
When his tears dried up and the rain took over, he rolled onto his back, letting the huge cold drops wash the salt off his face and soothe his swollen eyes. He lay there in the pouring rain just thinking about everything that had happened to him, and he felt a burning sensation rising in the deepest pits of his body and soul. He hated them. He hated the people who had done this to him, had taken his childhood away from him. He would never get to just be a normal 8-year-old boy because of what they’d done to him. He hated them with such a burning passion, and he started to plot his revenge.
When he finally got up off the ground, the rain had cleared, and the moon was high in the sky, almost full. His mind was hazy with revenge and cold, and he staggered to the bike shed on stiff legs. Since they lived further from his new school, and his dad couldn’t be bothered driving him, he had bullied his parents into getting him a bike. Nothing flashy, certainly not a race bike, just a plain blue bike to get him to and from school. He’d had to teach himself to ride it too, telling his parents that the scrapes and bruises were from all the fights he’d gotten into. His mom had fussed over him, and his dad had reacted as his dad did, “oh the little tyke, he’s getting ahead in the world already!”
That was probably the last time his parents had fussed or praised him, back when things were still only beginning to fall apart. And oh how things had fallen apart. All since that fateful trip to the zoo. He could still see that girl’s eyes, that look of indifferent curiosity as she seemed to look right through him as if he wasn’t even there and into the depths of his soul at the same time. But the mother, that tall elegant lady, the tiny little nod of recognition that could almost have been his imagination if he hadn’t felt it too. He knew for certain that she had recognized him for what he was, and he knew that she was like him.
When Dudley had unlocked his bike, he noticed a dark lump lying in the corner of the shed. Someone had thrown his bag there, as a joke or a kind gesture? He would probably never know, but he was thankful either way. He made his way home through the dark deserted streets. The light was off in almost all the houses, so it must be very late. When he got home and parked his bike, he could see the lights from the living room, meaning his parents would still be up. He felt the tiniest spark of hope that they might actually be worrying about him, maybe his dad was out looking for him, or mom was calling the neighbors or even the police or the school to find out where he was.
He let himself inside, quietly taking off his shoes and hanging his soaked jacket while listening for his parents, but all he heard was the murmur of some late night TV show. Tiptoeing into the living room he found his mom passed out on the couch, a wine glass on the floor adding to the stains on the formerly beige carpet. He turned off the TV, covered his mom with a blanket and took the wine glass and empty bottle into the kitchen. This was apparently going to be his new evening routine. His dad was never around in the evenings, either having gone to bed early, gone out, or working late. Come to think of it, his dad was never really around at all any more.
After grabbing some stale leftovers for dinner and running the dishwasher, Dudley went upstairs to his room. On the way, he stopped to listen at his parents’ bed room door. He could hear faint snoring, meaning that is dad was home but just didn’t care enough to stay up waiting or looking for him. He felt the anger and hatred surge through him again, and he wanted to act, to start his revenge this very instant, but he knew that good revenge was slow and thought through. Like the curse that the Spider Queen Morticia Addams had laid on him and his family.
Rage pounding in his ears, he went to his own room, and as soon as he stepped through the door, he felt something landing softly on top of his head. His anger faded as quickly as it had risen, knowing that at least someone had waited up for him. “Hi Gordon,” he whispered, smiling slightly, “wanna come take a bath?”
After a long hot bath, he sat down at his desk to do something he had only ever done once before in his life. Homework. He cleared the broken toys and trash off the desk and took out his books.
The thing about Dudley Dursley was that he was not stupid, not by a long stretch, but he had discovered that his parents rewarded brawn over brains. Don’t ask questions, don’t be clever, never ever presume to know more than Vernon Dursley. These rules didn’t only apply to Harry. The difference was that Dudley had learned to comply and weaponize. But now it was time to apply the brains in school, and this was foreign territory.
Gordon kept him company as he struggled through his math and English homework, sometimes sitting on his hand or arm, sometimes sitting on the desk, constantly observing either Dudley or his homework. Dudley was pretty sure Gordon couldn’t read, but he knew that Gordon always responded to his mood. That’s why he always tried to keep calm around him. He was still practically a baby, and someone in this house should at least get to have a good and safe childhood.
Once Dudley got around to his history homework, Gordon had retreated to his favorite corner, and before the homework was completed, the sky had started to lighten in the east. Now he went to bed for a brief two hours of dream filled sleep. He kept seeing snakes and ghosts and glowing green eyes, and in the middle of it all, the tight cold smile of the Spider Queen. As she gave her small invisible nod, the glass in every single snake tank shattered in an ear splitting crash.
Dudley sat bolt upright in his bed, heart pounding, when he realized it was just his alarm clock. He yawned, stretched, got dressed, and then he went to pack his school bag. While he was bending down, something landed on the back of his neck, and he reached round to let Gordon crawl onto his hand. “Good one little buddy! But you gotta work on that stealth, I sensed you coming seconds ago.” Gordon bristled, and Dudley smiled at him. “Wish me luck, Gordon. I’m gonna need it.” He could have sworn Gordon gave his hand a sort of hug before crawling down on the table and disappearing again.
Downstairs in the kitchen he was greeted by a bizarre parody of past family breakfasts. His mom was sitting at the table looking dazed, already holding a glass of wine in her long skinny fingers. His dad was drinking thin coffee, eating a stale slice of bread with overcooked egg and undercooked bacon while holding a newspaper, but judging from the jerky movement of his eyes, he wasn’t taking in a single word.
Dudley made his way toward the fridge to get himself some breakfast, but he had hardly entered the kitchen when his dad slammed the newspaper down, causing his mom to whimper and cower in her chair. “Where the hell were you last night!? Why didn’t you come home after school?” his dad yelled. Dudley steeled himself. He felt like it was now or never. “Whatever,” he said, hardly sparing his dad a glance, “you didn’t seem all that worried last night.” Heart pounding, hands shaking, he opened the fridge, looking for anything to eat.
Then he heard the loud clatter of a chair falling over followed by a muted scream from his mom. The fridge was slammed closed, the door almost hitting his face. His dad’s face was inches from his own. No, he decided, not his dad. Vernon’s face was an inch from his own now, and he bellowed, “how dare you talk to your own father like that!?” The vein in his temple was throbbing, the one usually reserved for Harry, and his hand was raised. “What, are you gonna hit me like you used to hit Harry?” Dudley asked, hoping that he sounded calmer than he felt. Vernon’s face turned deep purple, and impressively his voice rose another notch. “DON’T YOU DARE SPEAK THAT NAME IN MY HOUSE, YOU LITTLE FREAK!” Vernon turned slightly, and in stead of Dudley’s face, his fist crashed into the fridge door, leaving a sizeable dent and a fridge that couldn’t close properly. Deciding he’d pushed it far enough for one morning, Dudley silently left the kitchen, put on jacket and shoes, picked up his bag and left the house without breakfast and without a lunch pack.