Fic. Prompt 12. What Would Mrs Weasley Do?. Part 2.
Title: Just Another Nancy Boy? (2/2)
Author/Artist: wwmrsweasleydo
Prompt: 12
Pairing, or gen: Slash pairings - Highlight to read *Dudley/Charlie, Dudley/OMCs, Dudley/Justin*
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Homophobia (including situations which may be triggers around rejection), violent sport, swearing, reference to pornography.
Word count/medium: 12,000
Summary/Excerpt: A lot of people seem to be determined to find Dudley a boyfriend, without asking about his taste in men.
Author's or Artist's notes: Thanks to emansil_08 for the beta.
Many thanks to asnowyowl for the prompt, for starting this fest off and for being a wonderful writer. Fandom is poorer without her.
The title is taken from Placebo's Nancy Boy .
This was meant to be a short PWP, but Dudley had other ideas. It even ended up smut-free. Maybe there will be an explicit sequel some time.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated characters and settings remain the intellectual property of JK Rowling and her associates. We are very grateful for permission to play with them.
Read Part 1 first.
JUST ANOTHER NANCY BOY (PART 2)
He was expecting it, but his heart still sank when he smelled Adrian's cologne as he walked into the Polkiss' house. Thank goodness he had work tonight. Tomorrow night he wasn't working, though. If Mrs Polkiss found that out, she would expect him to go out with Adrian. Probably to somewhere dreadful like a musical or some kind of drag cabaret, or hand-bag shopping or something.
He needed to get away, but where could he go? He sat next to Adrian on the sofa and let him paw at his thigh - to Mrs Polkiss' obvious delight. In order to block out the inane witterings, he sketched out a plan.
He thought through his options: Piers was in Oxford, which was too far away from the gym. Malcolm was in London. Closer, but still too far for a comfortable daily commute. Malcolm's room in the Halls of Residence was tiny; Dudley wouldn't fit for long.
Who else could help him? Desmond might do, but he would want to know why Dudley wasn't living at home anymore and Dudley didn't want him to know that. Aunt Marge could have been warned of Dudley's deviancy by now and set the dogs on him if he showed up there. The only family he really had left, therefore, was Harry. But he didn't know how to get in touch with Harry. He didn't even know anybody who might know how to get in touch with - Yes he did!
The strength of his revelation forced him to his feet; he sent Adrian and a plate of scones flying. He did know somebody who might know how to find Harry: Mrs Figg.
He apologised and mumbled something about having remembered something about having to go somewhere. Adrian pouted. "I'll, erm, have to hear all about the figurines some other time," Dudley added, for politeness' sake.
"Perhaps over a cosy, candle-lit dinner?" Mrs Polkiss twittered.
Adrian brushed crumbs off himself with a sulky expression, though, and said acidly, "They were statuettes."
As a child, Dudley had thought that Mrs Figg was a mad old bat. He had - in his thoroughly nasty way - laughed at Harry for having to spend time in her cat-filled, dusty house. Then he had grown up and he had seen her as even more eccentric. He had enjoyed intimidating her with his gang as they hung around the streets looking menacing.
And then she had saved his life, or his soul, or whatever - or at least she had helped Harry to save him. Something like that; it was all a bit fogged and vague in his mind. After that, he decided that she wasn't mad, she was just part of that other world, of Harry's freakish world. Now that it was a world that had touched him, he began to question his parents' views about it.
Mrs Figg was the only one who could link him to his cousin. He sat in her dusty, cat-filled sitting room and refused a piece of stale cake as he explained why he needed her to save him again. When she knelt down in front of the fireplace and shoved her face into the flames Dudley realised that he'd been right in the first place - she was simply insane.
In fact, she was so mad that she was a danger to herself and possibly others and if he had had a social conscience then Dudley would have started finding out how to get her sectioned. Instead he stood up quietly and backed out of the room.
She turned and caught him before he had managed to escape, though.
"You can sit down," she said. He marvelled that she didn't seem to be in any pain. Too far gone.
He was too scared to do anything other than obey her, so he got closer to her. As he did so, he realised that she wasn't burnt.
She registered his surprise and said, calmly, "I just got included. Didn't used to let squibs into the network, and, of course, it was all very tight round the castle. They need all hands on deck now, though, to help with the rebuilding."
The fire thing might have been magical, but Dudley was still certain that she was off her head.
"Castle?" he asked.
"After the battle," she explained.
This was all sounding a bit like one of those Saturday afternoon movies on the telly. Something with knights in it. And dragons. But that was absurd. Dragons didn't exist. Nobody could scorch their face in a fire without getting burnt either, of course.
"Look, I don't mean to be rude," Dudley said, "but do you actually know where Harry is or not?"
Mrs Figg stood up, looking puzzled. "That's what I just said. He's at Hogwarts, of course. Where else would he be? He's the figurehead, the pivot, the most important wizard in the world."
No, he was Dudley's skinny wimp of a weirdo cousin. That couldn't be right. "What about that one with the long white beard and the half-glasses?" He had accused Dudley's parents of being cruel to him; Dudley hadn't understood it at the time but it might have been a prophecy.
"Dumbledore's dead," said Mrs Figg.
"Or that bad one who was attacking everyone?"
"He Who Must Not Be Named? He's dead, too."
"Harry's godfather, the ex-con?"
"Sirius Black? He's dead."
That seemed to explain it then. Harry was the only one who was still alive, that was why he was suddenly important. Dudley was very pleased that he was alive. He hadn't appreciated how close a call that had been.
"So where is this castle?"
"Scotland."
Dudley's heart sank. That was that, then. Scotland was a lot further away than Oxford. Harry couldn't help him either.
"Would you like to see him?" Mrs Figg asked. "Now?"
"I thought you said he was in Scotland!" She was mad; he should just go.
"Yes and he's far too valuable to leave the regeneration program, but you could go through and see him." She pointed to the fire, and when he looked at her disbelievingly, said, "I told you, it's specially rigged up for squibs, so a Muggle would be able to use it, too."
Mad, completely bonkers. Then she picked up some green powder and threw it into the flames, said, "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry" and pushed him towards the fire. She was clearly certifiable; and he was even less sane than her, because he was letting her do it.
He braced himself for the pain of burning which he hoped would knock him out of this trance where he allowed strange old women to push him into lit grates. It never came, though. Instead he stumbled forward, choking on ash and landing, hard, on his knees.
He rubbed his eyes and cleared his lungs, gradually becoming aware of a smell of charcoal and cordite, and of a hard, cold texture against his lower legs.
"Did you want something particular, Dudley? It's not a great time."
The sound of Harry's tired voice filled Dudley with an automatic warmth, which was quickly doused as Dudley remembered that Harry had no reason to reciprocate it. He tried to answer, but only managed a choking fit.
He sat back on his heels and looked around him. Harry looked thinner than ever and his hair wasn't just its usual level of messy, it now had builder's dust and something sticky in it. He also looked like he was wearing a dress. They were in a large, bare room with a stone floor, soot-stains and a hole in the ceiling. Harry was leaning against what was left of the door frame, looking impatient and exhausted.
Dudley's head sang with questions, but instead of asking any of them, he stretched out his hand and said, "Hi, Harry, how are you doing?"
Wearily, Harry moved towards him. Probably warily, too. Dudley decided not to stand up, to let his cousin look down on him for once. Harry took hold of his hand briefly.
"Been a long time."
"Yeah," Harry said. "I'm very busy."
"Right. This is the castle, then?"
"Dudley, what do you want?"
"It's a bit of a mess."
"You should have seen it six months ago! But, yes, we're trying to get it patched up enough so that the next intake can actually come here in September. That's why I don't have time for this."
"What happened?" Dudley asked. He started to stand; Harry edged back from him.
"There was a battle. A big fight."
"Can't you just use magic to sort it out?"
Harry sighed. "Well, we're not using toothbrushes. It was caused by magic, so the counter spells have to be - it doesn't matter. Why did you need to see me so urgently?"
Dudley didn't know what to say. Obviously staying with Harry was going to be out of the question. He didn't think he was being offered much in the way of support and sympathy either. He decided to go with something else.
"I've got a big match coming up at the end of the month. If I win then I'll go professional. I wondered if you'd like to watch. I can get you tickets."
Harry rolled his eyes. "I've seen you thumping people before Dudley. I've been on the receiving end of it. It's not my idea of entertainment."
"I'd really like you to be there."
"I'm busy."
"I know, but you look like an evening off might do you good."
Harry shook his head. "Look, Dudley, I'm not going to sit next to your parents --"
"They're not coming. That's the thing. I just wanted some family there. They kicked me out."
Harry actually laughed out loud - the smug little bastard!
"Really?" he asked, amused. "Perfect wonderful little Duddikins? I don't believe it. What the fuck did you manage to do to make that happen?"
Dudley shrugged and clamped his jaw shut to stop all the retorts and angry words that bubbled up in him; this was not funny.
Harry looked serious for a moment. "You weren't defending me were you? Did you fall out because of - you know - me not being a waste of space?"
Dudley hesitated. At one time he would have lied, told Harry what he wanted to hear, got his own way. Harry would certainly feel like he owed Dudley if Dudley had been made homeless through sticking up for him. It was tempting.
Dudley sighed. "No," he said. "I kind of kept all that to myself. I mean, we just never talked about you." He paused. "Should I have done? Told them, I mean, like, how they were wrong with the way they treated you growing up, told them you were, you know, all right? I never saw the point."
"No point at all." Harry shook his head. Then he smiled. "I would have liked to have seen their faces. Vernon's would have gone purple. But, no." He shook his head again. "No point, not like they were ever going to change their minds."
Dudley coughed. Was he really going to do that whole 'coming out' thing again? He'd had mixed results so far. "Not about you being a freak. That's a given." He tried a cheeky grin. To his contained delight, Harry returned it. "It's about ..." his voice gave out. He coughed. He tried again: "It's about me being a freak. A weirdo, actually. That's what he called me."
"Did he go purple?" Harry's expression was caught somewhere between sympathy and amusement.
Dudley nodded. He couldn't find it the least bit funny, not yet.
"What's so weird about you then? I thought you were Mr Perfectly Conventional."
Dudley shook his head. "I'm disgusting apparently."
"Never bothered them before."
"Depraved and immoral and unnatural - and I just realised that I have no idea where you stand on sexuality. I don't want to risk getting zapped with some kind of bollock-removing spell or --"
"Sexuality?" Harry stared at him open-mouthed. "Tell me you're into terrapins or corpses or something, 'cos --"
"Ew! I know I've not been a model citizen, but that's seriously fucked --"
"But you're the most macho bloke I've ever known. You are all that is wrong with masculinity. You can't be --"
"I'm what?"
"You're aggressive and bullying --"
"I'm not - not any more. Well, I hope not. I'm trying. Harry, look, I'm not great with words ..." I wish Darren was here to do this for me "... but, you know, sorry. I should have started with that. I really am. There's stuff I could have, should have done, said - loads of stuff I never should have done and said, I mean ..." but strangely, he couldn't speak any more. He couldn't see either. His eyes were all blurry and wet. "Sorry," he choked out.
The shape which was Harry moved towards him. He felt an awkward pat on his arm. "It's ok, Dud. You just went along with what your parents told you. You weren't to know."
There was a deep silence for a while. Dudley sniffed. Harry scuffed a boot against the floor.
"What time is it?" Dudley asked. "I have to work tonight."
"What are you doing now?"
"Nightclub bouncer. How do I get back through the fireplace?"
"Give it a minute. When you're up to it, I'll Side-along you." He twisted his lips at Dudley's confusion. "It's like that beaming up thing on Star Trek."
"Cool."
"You'll feel sick."
"Not cool."
"Look, Dudley, you could help us out, actually. If you're up for it."
"I don't know any wand stuff or anything. There can't be anything I can do that you can't."
Harry stepped back and folded his arms. "D'you wanna help? Get the school fixed up?"
Dudley shrugged. "Why not?"
"Most Wizarding businesses, you see, they're small-scale family-run things. And there are materials we need in bulk. Only to buy from Muggle businesses, we need a Muggle bank account, phone number, that sort of thing. We could pay you."
"Muggle?"
"Non-magical."
"Sounds like an insult." I'm a Muggle Faggot.
"There's other stuff, too. Like, Dean started smoking when he was in hiding and he can't always get out to buy cigarettes. Hermione wants a calculator. That sort of thing." Harry asked, "You up for it?"
"Sure. I mean, I'd do it as a favour, only I really do need money. I've been living in my car. Found a place to stay, but it's only short-term." He paused. "So, like, I'd be your sort of agent in the normal world?"
"That sort of thing. You ready to split into a million atoms and fly through space?"
"Dunno. Does it hurt?"
"Little bit." He held out one arm. "So, Dudley, you really into boys or did I get that wrong?"
Dudley shrugged. "Prefer men."
Harry chuckled. "Wish I'd seen Vernon's face. Where are we headed?"
The wizards needed a Muggle address to operate through. They paid for a bedsit and Dudley moved into it. It all took a couple of weeks, and by the time his agency was up and running, it was nearly time for the big fight.
To begin with, Dudley only did business with Harry, but then Harry started bringing other magic people with him, and soon all sorts were appearing without warning in Dudley's home at all times of day and night. His parents would have been horrified if they had known. Dudley was fairly unnerved by it all himself.
Harry turned up one Sunday lunchtime as Dudley was doing sit-ups - building up a sweat, red-faced and panting. He wasn't at the gym because Ed Stafford didn't work Sundays. He was wearing an old pair of sweatpants he'd bought in a charity shop. He knew he should just muster the courage to face Privet Drive and collect some of his belongings. Instead he was buying second-hand clothes.
The crack of Apparition warned him that he wasn't alone any more. Harry had another lad with him: a slim blond with curly hair which he was attempting to hide his face behind.
"We're taking the afternoon off," Harry announced. "Going to the pub. You coming?"
"Huh?" Dudley replied.
"Well, you've been really helpful. You're part of the team now. You should meet the rest of us, hang out with us!"
"No offence, Harry, but this would be a Magic pub, right? Full of weird wizarding types?" Dudley shook his head. "I don't know."
"What if I promise you won't get hexed?"
"It's not that. I'm just not comfortable. I'd rather not."
Harry looked sly. "You might find it's worth your while." He looked sideways at his mate. "This is Justin."
Dudley's heart sank; he was being set up again. With another pretty boy. "Pleased to meet you, Justin," he mumbled politely.
"And you, Dudley," Justin replied. He looked out shyly from under his fringe and wiped his hands nervously down his sides. "Everyone else is Flooing or Apparating there, but we thought you might prefer Public Transport. So we'll take you."
Dudley's concern must have shown clearly on his face because Harry laughed. "It's ok. Justin's Muggle-born, too. He won't embarrass you. Grab your railcard. Let's go!"
Dudley sighed, admitting defeat. "I might get changed."
"Ok. I could ..." Harry pulled out his wand.
"You could put that bloody thing away and wait on the landing!" Dudley growled.
All the way in to London on the train, Harry kept finding reasons to leave Dudley and Justin alone together. Justin was alright - dreadfully posh but alright. Dudley was used to posh, he'd been at a fee paying school himself; he'd never met anyone of Justin's calibre of posh before, though. He was a wizard, too, of course, and Dudley didn't trust wizards. This had nothing to do with prejudice anymore and everything to do with a swollen tongue and a pig's tail.
They were on the Underground train before Justin started properly flirting.
"You were quite a sight this morning."
"Sorry. I would have cleaned up if I'd known I was getting guests."
"I'm not complaining. Quite the opposite." Justin lowered his lashes. "You're chest is impressively muscular."
"I'm a boxer. I work on upper body strength."
"I think muscles are really sexy."
So do I.
"So do I," Dudley said out loud. "I like big, beefy, sweaty, hairy men."
"Oh!" Justin looked down at his own body. "I see."
"Sorry."
Justin licked his lips and cleared his throat. He took a moment to collect himself and Dudley let him, looking over at the map of the Underground above the empty seat opposite.
"Nothing to be sorry for. My mistake."
Dudley looked at him. "Not my interfering cousin's mistake?"
Justin laughed. "It's all this being a saviour, I think. It's gone to his head. He's decided he can sort out everybody's lives. He wants to pair us all off."
Dudley grinned. "Don't suppose you could lend me some porn? I left all my DVDs at home when I moved out." He paused for a moment - thoughtful. "I wonder whether Mum's found them yet."
Justin snorted. "Sure, I'll lend you some. But I think you should retrieve your own."
"Nah. Serve her right."
"Perhaps ... I don't know ... we could watch them together?"
Dudley nodded, picturing it: the two of them laying back on his bed, watching hot blokes shagging each other and tugging themselves off at the same time. He'd need to get a telly and a DVD player first. He really should go home and collect his stuff. Home? Was he really still calling it that?
Harry walked back down the aisle towards them.
"Next stop," he said. Then he wandered off again.
"He's really a big deal, then? A saviour?" Dudley asked.
"Good gracious, yes! Do you not know?"
"Bits and pieces. Not really," Dudley admitted.
Justin spent the rest of the journey filling Dudley in on Harry's exploits. Dudley looked over at the familiar shape of his runt cousin and tried hard to believe it all.
The two wizards stopped walking outside a dingy-looking pub. Dudley didn't like the look of it at all. He'd always been a big bloke and he was quite confident that he could handle himself in some pretty rough dives, but this was beyond even his comfort zone.
"Really?" he asked. For a wizard pub, it hardly sparkled with fairy dust.
He eyed a gap-toothed, filthy old man dressed in rags who left through the paint-chipped front door.
"Absolutely!" Harry replied, adding, "Afternoon 'Dung."
"Mr Potter, sir," the tramp mumbled.
Inside it wasn't exactly Dudley's kind of place either. The wood beams were actually real wood, not nice, clean decorative additions. There was smoke from open fires and pipes. No music. No juke box. No carpet, even.
The people were friendly enough, though. Dudley had to keep reminding himself that they were magical and he'd needed to keep his wits about him. He was just getting a round in (with some weird coins Harry had given him) when Ron's bird dashed over.
Ron was actually ok, Dudley had decided. At first he'd been wary, because he looked a bit like those two who had magicked that toffee. Also, he was defensive about Harry. That was probably a good thing; Harry seemed to spend all his time looking after others and he needed a mate who looked out for him. It meant that Ron had some issues with Dudley, of course, about him having bullied Harry when they were younger.
He didn't know the girlfriend that well. She seemed to be clever - which he found intimidating - and a bit bossy. She flew across the pub to him. (Not literally, though maybe she could do that.) Ron was several people behind her. When he noticed what she was doing, he broke away from the man he had been talking to and followed her as quickly as he could.
Dudley's gaze didn't follow him, though. It was stuck on the man Ron had been talking to. He was a redhead, but Dudley quite liked that these days. At one time he had found it peculiar almost to the point of nauseating. His father had always sneered at 'gingers'. Freaks of nature, Vernon had called them. Just like Harry. Dudley didn't think Wizards were freaks any more. Just like queers. There was nothing wrong with red hair, Dudley had concluded, any more than there was anything wrong with him. In fact, he was drawn to it now. Anything the Dursleys hated, Dudley wanted to love.
The hair wasn't the most noticeable thing about the man, at least not to Dudley. That would be his arms: thick with knotted muscles and covered in beautiful tattoos. Didn't even know I had a tat kink. Dudley wanted those arms to encircle him and squeeze - making everything feel safe. He wanted to lay his head against that broad chest. And then he wanted to ...
"Dudley!" the bushy-haired witch screeched.
He managed to greet her back, without making it too obvious that he had forgotten her name.
"So good to see you again. Actually, I've been wanting to talk to you about something."
Just then Ron caught up with her and started gabbling something about, "Not interfering in people's lives, Hermione."
Dudley wasn't listening, he was taking in the expanse of a strong back as the man turned away from them, letting his eyes slide down to assess a sweetly square arse.
"Just trying to cheer Dennis up," said a squeaky voice. "Can't see what's so wrong with that."
"Just leave the poor guys in peace."
"You don't mind, do you Dudley?"
"Hmm?" He pulled his sight-line to her face. He felt dizzy.
"You don't mind meeting Dennis, do you?"
"Dennis?"
"He's absolutely lovely and he's lost his brother --"
"Colin died! He didn't wander off like a pet cat --"
"It's quite clear what I mean, Ron. So he's been a bit down, but I think you two would be perfect together --"
"Dudley doesn't want to meet anyone, do you, Dudley?"
"Well, yes, I do --" He wanted to meet that bear of a man who had been absorbed by the crowd.
"See!" Hermione said triumphantly. "Dennis is just over here. You are just his type."
Ron shook his head in exasperation and Dudley realised that he'd just agreed to something from which Ron had been trying to protect him.
How bad could it be? In fact it might even be good. That angel with the arms might even be Dennis.
Dudley allowed himself to be dragged off to a table on the other side of the pub. A black witch and a blonde one had their backs to him and he couldn't see round them until he was pretty close. Then the blonde (who seemed to be wearing jewellery made out of vegetables) stood up and Dudley's heart sank.
The only man on the table was a short, skinny lad of about fifteen or sixteen years old.
"Dennis!" Hermione called out and he turned to show them his very pale, miserable face.
He looked absolutely devastated and Dudley finally absorbed what Ron had said about him. His brother had just been killed. A lot of people had been, from what Justin and Mrs Figg had been saying. Dudley suddenly felt very small for feeling so sorry for himself. He had lost his home, but nobody had died. Mummy and Daddy don't love me any more, he thought. He tried to make that feel like less than bereavement, but he couldn't.
He certainly couldn't face raising the expectations of this poor, unhappy twink only to let him down again. He backed away like the coward he had always been and pushed his way out of the pub.
Wednesday night was the big match. Like it mattered. There was evil in world, and there were heroes and folk had died. There was nothing Dudley could do which would change any of that, so he spent his Sunday afternoon with a punch bag in the gym until they kicked him out to lock up. Then he stood on the door of a meaningless nightclub and spent his time avoiding vomit and trouble.
After a poor night's sleep, Dudley turned up at the gym with all his motivation sucked out of him. Luckily, Stafford mistook his languor for nerves.
"Three days," he said. "Three days' intensive training and you'll walk it."
Dudley shrugged.
"I thought you were going to lose it for a while, after your parents kicked you out. You've impressed me, though, Dursley. You're going to do this in spite of them. In fact, you're stronger without their support."
Mummy and Daddy don't love me.
"You don't need them."
They don't need me.
"We'll show them, on Wednesday, we'll show them what a fucking man you really are."
Not that it matters much.
"They tried to molly-coddle and manipulate you, but you didn't let them, did you? You're a champion, Dudley, with or without them. Your parents will be expecting you to have fallen apart, but you haven't because you are a winner."
And won't they hate that?
Dudley straightened his back. His Mum had always done everything for him, she thought he couldn't look after himself but he didn't need her. Nothing would be a sweeter revenge than his success without their help.
He might not be able to defeat a Dark Wizard, or bring anybody's brother back to life, or rebuild a school, or stop half the Wizarding community from Apparating into his bedsit - but the one thing he could do was piss his parents off.
He trained like a mad thing, ate exactly what he was told to, slept whenever possible and - to make their annoyance total - told Harry to bring as many Magical Types as he could to watch the big match.
His opponent was almost as tall as him, a couple of years older and a few inches wider, with scarred olive skin, and distractingly thick arms. He had a swirling tattoo of abstract black shapes decorating one shoulder. Dudley tried not to think about the redhead in the Wizard pub. He tried not to think about sex at all. He focussed on victory.
The sports hall was as full as it could be. Ed Stafford had told him that there were management companies there, looking to take the winner into the Professional game. Darren was there, too, he said, and Darren had never watched a boxing match before. Ed seemed to think that was significant, and Dudley didn't have the heart to tell him that it didn't mean what he thought it did.
When the referee sent them to their corners before starting the fight, Dudley took a moment to sweep his eyes over the crowd. There was a large section of the oddly dressed and enthusiastic shouting his name. Harry was central, surrounded by gingers, including the one that he had dreamed of seeing without believing he would.
Pulling his mind back to the business in hand, he started to hop from one foot to the other, listening to Ed, his heartbeat accelerating as the important moment became imminent. He saw the Polkisses then, Adrian on one side of them, Piers on the other. Adrian gave a fey little wave, which Dudley couldn't have returned had he wanted to. Luckily. He looked down at his feet.
The bell rang; he sprang forward, fists raised over his chest the way he had been taught. He pulled his shoulder back and then he saw them: Vernon and Petunia Dursley. He swung forwards and smashed his fist into his opponent's jaw.
The fight itself disappeared into a well-trained blur. He didn't feel the knocks he took nor the ones he gave out. He could have been fighting inside a dark, empty cave for all the notice he took of the crowd. The opposition stopped being a body and became a series of target areas instead. He didn't even tally up his points, or check the clock. He just did what he knew how to do. And did it well.
All of a sudden, the referee was holding up his arm and the roar of the crowd washed over him like daylight or fresh air. He was the winner! Euphoria made him high, made him oblivious to the sweat and blood soaking him and to the aches and bruises. He saw the crowd go wild though. It was like a drug - like love and acceptance and friendship.
The Magical people danced about: an indistinguishable mass of noise and movement. It looked like one of them had let off some kind of firework. Dudley turned round to see Ed Stafford, and when he did, the delight on his trainer's face made Dudley bound over and lift him into the air. As they left the hall together, Dudley caught a glimpse of a bewildered-looking Piers, with a swooning Adrian in his arms. Dudley gave his best mate a wave and Piers grinned back.
The changing room was deafeningly quiet. Dudley realised how thirsty he was. He and Stafford looked at each other.
"You did it. Congratulations."
"We did it," Dudley replied. "You made me the boxer I am." It was only when he spoke that he realised his lip was split.
Stafford handed him a damp square of cotton wool. He checked over his torso and face, doing a bit of preliminary patching up. There was a knock on the door.
"You ok?" Stafford asked. "I should go out and talk to those scouts. Next step - Professional."
Dudley nodded.
As he left, Stafford let in a group of Dudley's supporters. Magic and Muggle mixed happily. Dudley noticed Justin and Darren glancing at each other with interest. One by one they approached him and congratulated him. Hermione gave him a kiss on the cheek and he let her. Just this once.
Through the throng, Dudley thought he spotted the man from the pub, then he lost him again.
"Good match, Big D!"
"Piers! You're s'posed to be in Oxford."
"Wouldn't miss this." Piers clapped him on the shoulder.
Dudley winced. Bruised shoulder as well, then. "How's studying?"
Piers whispered, "Wouldn't know mate, too busy getting stoned and laid. How's being gay?"
Dudley examined Piers' face. "Ok," he replied, carefully.
"Mum told me. Bit of a shock." Piers shrugged. "You should have said."
"I didn't know how --"
"How I'd react? Fair enough. I'm not really bothered. Actually, there's this boy in our Halls you might like."
"Is he pretty?"
"I s'pose so. Slim, longish hair. Likes ballet."
"Not my type," Dudley said firmly.
"Fair enough," Piers said with another shrug. "He's a twat actually. But come and visit anyway."
"Yeah," Dudley said as Ron stepped forwards. The ginger guy with the arms was just behind him. Dudley didn't hear what Ron said because he was lost in the blue eyes which looked straight into his own, until "... don't think you've met my brother, Charlie."
Charlie stepped forward, a little smile playing round his mouth. "We meet at last, Dudley," he said.
Dudley's mouth flapped about and he croaked.
"Get the man a drink, Ron," Charlie said, in a voice full of calm authority which made Dudley feel warm and protected.
"What?" Ron asked.
"The champ here doesn't have a drink. He's the man of the moment. You should sort that out." As Ron moved away, Charlie got closer. "So that's boxing?" he asked.
Dudley nodded, his nostrils full of the man's musk.
Charlie nodded. "I liked it. It was ..." he licked his lips. "Hot."
Dudley had never worried that his boxing shorts were too tight before.
Charlie looked straight at Dudley's lips; Dudley braced himself. Crowded room or not, snogging this guy would be a fitting way to come out to his fellow boxers. It would be worth getting beaten up for.
"Looks sore," Charlie commented, dashing Dudley's hopes. He slid a wand out of his sleeve and whispered something.
Dudley felt a tingle like pins and needles on his lip, then it was healed. He ran his tongue across it.
"Th - th - thanks," he spluttered.
Charlie leaned over so that his mouth was over Dudley's ear. "Purely self-interested, I assure you."
The moment was shattered by a scream and then Petunia shrieked, "You get away from him!" She bustled over and Charlie moved back. "I don't want your sort going anywhere near my Dudley!"
"That's actually homophobic, Mrs Dursley," Piers said. "That's illegal, that is."
Petunia looked shocked to see him there and fluttered her hands nervously over her hair. Behind her, Vernon was puffing his way into the room.
Harry called out clearly from the other side of the room, "Dudley can choose his own friends, Petunia."
"That's Aunt Petunia to you!" she snapped. "What are you even doing here?" She asked Dudley, "What are these people doing here?"
"I invited them," Dudley replied. "I never invited you."
"Good match, son, well fought." Vernon clasped his hand, which still had the protective bandage wrapped round it.
"Thanks," Dudley muttered.
His dad gave him a reassuring wink. "Come home, Dud. We miss you. We - you tell him, Petunia."
"We love you, Duddikins!" She started messing with his hair.
"I don't know." Dudley's eyes got damp. I'm not crying here, not in front of everyone. Not in front of him.
"It doesn't matter about your little problem. We don't have to mention it. We love you," his mother cooed.
Anger welled up in him. "You love me?" he asked.
"Yes, of course we do."
"Do you love me now?" he asked. The fury gave him a courage which he would not have found otherwise and he grasped Charlie's stubbled chin and brought their mouths together.
There were shocked gasps, titters and supportive cheers in the room, but the only reaction Dudley took any notice of was Charlie's. He made a little surprised noise, followed by an appreciative "Mmmm." Then he kissed Dudley back and hugged him tight. Dudley felt safe, home and horny as hell.
After a few seconds, Dudley pulled back to see his Mum's horrified expression. She was looking round to judge everyone else's reaction.
"Still love me, Mum?" Dudley asked. "I'm not the one with the problem, you are. And I don't think that I can just move back to your house and ignore it."
"Disgusting, ungrateful boy!" Vernon spluttered, going purple again, Petunia was the only one who cared.
"Shall we take this somewhere a little less public?" Charlie asked into Dudley's ear.
Dudley, naturally, agreed.
Author/Artist: wwmrsweasleydo
Prompt: 12
Pairing, or gen: Slash pairings - Highlight to read *Dudley/Charlie, Dudley/OMCs, Dudley/Justin*
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Homophobia (including situations which may be triggers around rejection), violent sport, swearing, reference to pornography.
Word count/medium: 12,000
Summary/Excerpt: A lot of people seem to be determined to find Dudley a boyfriend, without asking about his taste in men.
Author's or Artist's notes: Thanks to emansil_08 for the beta.
Many thanks to asnowyowl for the prompt, for starting this fest off and for being a wonderful writer. Fandom is poorer without her.
The title is taken from Placebo's Nancy Boy .
This was meant to be a short PWP, but Dudley had other ideas. It even ended up smut-free. Maybe there will be an explicit sequel some time.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated characters and settings remain the intellectual property of JK Rowling and her associates. We are very grateful for permission to play with them.
Read Part 1 first.
JUST ANOTHER NANCY BOY (PART 2)
He was expecting it, but his heart still sank when he smelled Adrian's cologne as he walked into the Polkiss' house. Thank goodness he had work tonight. Tomorrow night he wasn't working, though. If Mrs Polkiss found that out, she would expect him to go out with Adrian. Probably to somewhere dreadful like a musical or some kind of drag cabaret, or hand-bag shopping or something.
He needed to get away, but where could he go? He sat next to Adrian on the sofa and let him paw at his thigh - to Mrs Polkiss' obvious delight. In order to block out the inane witterings, he sketched out a plan.
He thought through his options: Piers was in Oxford, which was too far away from the gym. Malcolm was in London. Closer, but still too far for a comfortable daily commute. Malcolm's room in the Halls of Residence was tiny; Dudley wouldn't fit for long.
Who else could help him? Desmond might do, but he would want to know why Dudley wasn't living at home anymore and Dudley didn't want him to know that. Aunt Marge could have been warned of Dudley's deviancy by now and set the dogs on him if he showed up there. The only family he really had left, therefore, was Harry. But he didn't know how to get in touch with Harry. He didn't even know anybody who might know how to get in touch with - Yes he did!
The strength of his revelation forced him to his feet; he sent Adrian and a plate of scones flying. He did know somebody who might know how to find Harry: Mrs Figg.
He apologised and mumbled something about having remembered something about having to go somewhere. Adrian pouted. "I'll, erm, have to hear all about the figurines some other time," Dudley added, for politeness' sake.
"Perhaps over a cosy, candle-lit dinner?" Mrs Polkiss twittered.
Adrian brushed crumbs off himself with a sulky expression, though, and said acidly, "They were statuettes."
As a child, Dudley had thought that Mrs Figg was a mad old bat. He had - in his thoroughly nasty way - laughed at Harry for having to spend time in her cat-filled, dusty house. Then he had grown up and he had seen her as even more eccentric. He had enjoyed intimidating her with his gang as they hung around the streets looking menacing.
And then she had saved his life, or his soul, or whatever - or at least she had helped Harry to save him. Something like that; it was all a bit fogged and vague in his mind. After that, he decided that she wasn't mad, she was just part of that other world, of Harry's freakish world. Now that it was a world that had touched him, he began to question his parents' views about it.
Mrs Figg was the only one who could link him to his cousin. He sat in her dusty, cat-filled sitting room and refused a piece of stale cake as he explained why he needed her to save him again. When she knelt down in front of the fireplace and shoved her face into the flames Dudley realised that he'd been right in the first place - she was simply insane.
In fact, she was so mad that she was a danger to herself and possibly others and if he had had a social conscience then Dudley would have started finding out how to get her sectioned. Instead he stood up quietly and backed out of the room.
She turned and caught him before he had managed to escape, though.
"You can sit down," she said. He marvelled that she didn't seem to be in any pain. Too far gone.
He was too scared to do anything other than obey her, so he got closer to her. As he did so, he realised that she wasn't burnt.
She registered his surprise and said, calmly, "I just got included. Didn't used to let squibs into the network, and, of course, it was all very tight round the castle. They need all hands on deck now, though, to help with the rebuilding."
The fire thing might have been magical, but Dudley was still certain that she was off her head.
"Castle?" he asked.
"After the battle," she explained.
This was all sounding a bit like one of those Saturday afternoon movies on the telly. Something with knights in it. And dragons. But that was absurd. Dragons didn't exist. Nobody could scorch their face in a fire without getting burnt either, of course.
"Look, I don't mean to be rude," Dudley said, "but do you actually know where Harry is or not?"
Mrs Figg stood up, looking puzzled. "That's what I just said. He's at Hogwarts, of course. Where else would he be? He's the figurehead, the pivot, the most important wizard in the world."
No, he was Dudley's skinny wimp of a weirdo cousin. That couldn't be right. "What about that one with the long white beard and the half-glasses?" He had accused Dudley's parents of being cruel to him; Dudley hadn't understood it at the time but it might have been a prophecy.
"Dumbledore's dead," said Mrs Figg.
"Or that bad one who was attacking everyone?"
"He Who Must Not Be Named? He's dead, too."
"Harry's godfather, the ex-con?"
"Sirius Black? He's dead."
That seemed to explain it then. Harry was the only one who was still alive, that was why he was suddenly important. Dudley was very pleased that he was alive. He hadn't appreciated how close a call that had been.
"So where is this castle?"
"Scotland."
Dudley's heart sank. That was that, then. Scotland was a lot further away than Oxford. Harry couldn't help him either.
"Would you like to see him?" Mrs Figg asked. "Now?"
"I thought you said he was in Scotland!" She was mad; he should just go.
"Yes and he's far too valuable to leave the regeneration program, but you could go through and see him." She pointed to the fire, and when he looked at her disbelievingly, said, "I told you, it's specially rigged up for squibs, so a Muggle would be able to use it, too."
Mad, completely bonkers. Then she picked up some green powder and threw it into the flames, said, "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry" and pushed him towards the fire. She was clearly certifiable; and he was even less sane than her, because he was letting her do it.
He braced himself for the pain of burning which he hoped would knock him out of this trance where he allowed strange old women to push him into lit grates. It never came, though. Instead he stumbled forward, choking on ash and landing, hard, on his knees.
He rubbed his eyes and cleared his lungs, gradually becoming aware of a smell of charcoal and cordite, and of a hard, cold texture against his lower legs.
"Did you want something particular, Dudley? It's not a great time."
The sound of Harry's tired voice filled Dudley with an automatic warmth, which was quickly doused as Dudley remembered that Harry had no reason to reciprocate it. He tried to answer, but only managed a choking fit.
He sat back on his heels and looked around him. Harry looked thinner than ever and his hair wasn't just its usual level of messy, it now had builder's dust and something sticky in it. He also looked like he was wearing a dress. They were in a large, bare room with a stone floor, soot-stains and a hole in the ceiling. Harry was leaning against what was left of the door frame, looking impatient and exhausted.
Dudley's head sang with questions, but instead of asking any of them, he stretched out his hand and said, "Hi, Harry, how are you doing?"
Wearily, Harry moved towards him. Probably warily, too. Dudley decided not to stand up, to let his cousin look down on him for once. Harry took hold of his hand briefly.
"Been a long time."
"Yeah," Harry said. "I'm very busy."
"Right. This is the castle, then?"
"Dudley, what do you want?"
"It's a bit of a mess."
"You should have seen it six months ago! But, yes, we're trying to get it patched up enough so that the next intake can actually come here in September. That's why I don't have time for this."
"What happened?" Dudley asked. He started to stand; Harry edged back from him.
"There was a battle. A big fight."
"Can't you just use magic to sort it out?"
Harry sighed. "Well, we're not using toothbrushes. It was caused by magic, so the counter spells have to be - it doesn't matter. Why did you need to see me so urgently?"
Dudley didn't know what to say. Obviously staying with Harry was going to be out of the question. He didn't think he was being offered much in the way of support and sympathy either. He decided to go with something else.
"I've got a big match coming up at the end of the month. If I win then I'll go professional. I wondered if you'd like to watch. I can get you tickets."
Harry rolled his eyes. "I've seen you thumping people before Dudley. I've been on the receiving end of it. It's not my idea of entertainment."
"I'd really like you to be there."
"I'm busy."
"I know, but you look like an evening off might do you good."
Harry shook his head. "Look, Dudley, I'm not going to sit next to your parents --"
"They're not coming. That's the thing. I just wanted some family there. They kicked me out."
Harry actually laughed out loud - the smug little bastard!
"Really?" he asked, amused. "Perfect wonderful little Duddikins? I don't believe it. What the fuck did you manage to do to make that happen?"
Dudley shrugged and clamped his jaw shut to stop all the retorts and angry words that bubbled up in him; this was not funny.
Harry looked serious for a moment. "You weren't defending me were you? Did you fall out because of - you know - me not being a waste of space?"
Dudley hesitated. At one time he would have lied, told Harry what he wanted to hear, got his own way. Harry would certainly feel like he owed Dudley if Dudley had been made homeless through sticking up for him. It was tempting.
Dudley sighed. "No," he said. "I kind of kept all that to myself. I mean, we just never talked about you." He paused. "Should I have done? Told them, I mean, like, how they were wrong with the way they treated you growing up, told them you were, you know, all right? I never saw the point."
"No point at all." Harry shook his head. Then he smiled. "I would have liked to have seen their faces. Vernon's would have gone purple. But, no." He shook his head again. "No point, not like they were ever going to change their minds."
Dudley coughed. Was he really going to do that whole 'coming out' thing again? He'd had mixed results so far. "Not about you being a freak. That's a given." He tried a cheeky grin. To his contained delight, Harry returned it. "It's about ..." his voice gave out. He coughed. He tried again: "It's about me being a freak. A weirdo, actually. That's what he called me."
"Did he go purple?" Harry's expression was caught somewhere between sympathy and amusement.
Dudley nodded. He couldn't find it the least bit funny, not yet.
"What's so weird about you then? I thought you were Mr Perfectly Conventional."
Dudley shook his head. "I'm disgusting apparently."
"Never bothered them before."
"Depraved and immoral and unnatural - and I just realised that I have no idea where you stand on sexuality. I don't want to risk getting zapped with some kind of bollock-removing spell or --"
"Sexuality?" Harry stared at him open-mouthed. "Tell me you're into terrapins or corpses or something, 'cos --"
"Ew! I know I've not been a model citizen, but that's seriously fucked --"
"But you're the most macho bloke I've ever known. You are all that is wrong with masculinity. You can't be --"
"I'm what?"
"You're aggressive and bullying --"
"I'm not - not any more. Well, I hope not. I'm trying. Harry, look, I'm not great with words ..." I wish Darren was here to do this for me "... but, you know, sorry. I should have started with that. I really am. There's stuff I could have, should have done, said - loads of stuff I never should have done and said, I mean ..." but strangely, he couldn't speak any more. He couldn't see either. His eyes were all blurry and wet. "Sorry," he choked out.
The shape which was Harry moved towards him. He felt an awkward pat on his arm. "It's ok, Dud. You just went along with what your parents told you. You weren't to know."
There was a deep silence for a while. Dudley sniffed. Harry scuffed a boot against the floor.
"What time is it?" Dudley asked. "I have to work tonight."
"What are you doing now?"
"Nightclub bouncer. How do I get back through the fireplace?"
"Give it a minute. When you're up to it, I'll Side-along you." He twisted his lips at Dudley's confusion. "It's like that beaming up thing on Star Trek."
"Cool."
"You'll feel sick."
"Not cool."
"Look, Dudley, you could help us out, actually. If you're up for it."
"I don't know any wand stuff or anything. There can't be anything I can do that you can't."
Harry stepped back and folded his arms. "D'you wanna help? Get the school fixed up?"
Dudley shrugged. "Why not?"
"Most Wizarding businesses, you see, they're small-scale family-run things. And there are materials we need in bulk. Only to buy from Muggle businesses, we need a Muggle bank account, phone number, that sort of thing. We could pay you."
"Muggle?"
"Non-magical."
"Sounds like an insult." I'm a Muggle Faggot.
"There's other stuff, too. Like, Dean started smoking when he was in hiding and he can't always get out to buy cigarettes. Hermione wants a calculator. That sort of thing." Harry asked, "You up for it?"
"Sure. I mean, I'd do it as a favour, only I really do need money. I've been living in my car. Found a place to stay, but it's only short-term." He paused. "So, like, I'd be your sort of agent in the normal world?"
"That sort of thing. You ready to split into a million atoms and fly through space?"
"Dunno. Does it hurt?"
"Little bit." He held out one arm. "So, Dudley, you really into boys or did I get that wrong?"
Dudley shrugged. "Prefer men."
Harry chuckled. "Wish I'd seen Vernon's face. Where are we headed?"
The wizards needed a Muggle address to operate through. They paid for a bedsit and Dudley moved into it. It all took a couple of weeks, and by the time his agency was up and running, it was nearly time for the big fight.
To begin with, Dudley only did business with Harry, but then Harry started bringing other magic people with him, and soon all sorts were appearing without warning in Dudley's home at all times of day and night. His parents would have been horrified if they had known. Dudley was fairly unnerved by it all himself.
Harry turned up one Sunday lunchtime as Dudley was doing sit-ups - building up a sweat, red-faced and panting. He wasn't at the gym because Ed Stafford didn't work Sundays. He was wearing an old pair of sweatpants he'd bought in a charity shop. He knew he should just muster the courage to face Privet Drive and collect some of his belongings. Instead he was buying second-hand clothes.
The crack of Apparition warned him that he wasn't alone any more. Harry had another lad with him: a slim blond with curly hair which he was attempting to hide his face behind.
"We're taking the afternoon off," Harry announced. "Going to the pub. You coming?"
"Huh?" Dudley replied.
"Well, you've been really helpful. You're part of the team now. You should meet the rest of us, hang out with us!"
"No offence, Harry, but this would be a Magic pub, right? Full of weird wizarding types?" Dudley shook his head. "I don't know."
"What if I promise you won't get hexed?"
"It's not that. I'm just not comfortable. I'd rather not."
Harry looked sly. "You might find it's worth your while." He looked sideways at his mate. "This is Justin."
Dudley's heart sank; he was being set up again. With another pretty boy. "Pleased to meet you, Justin," he mumbled politely.
"And you, Dudley," Justin replied. He looked out shyly from under his fringe and wiped his hands nervously down his sides. "Everyone else is Flooing or Apparating there, but we thought you might prefer Public Transport. So we'll take you."
Dudley's concern must have shown clearly on his face because Harry laughed. "It's ok. Justin's Muggle-born, too. He won't embarrass you. Grab your railcard. Let's go!"
Dudley sighed, admitting defeat. "I might get changed."
"Ok. I could ..." Harry pulled out his wand.
"You could put that bloody thing away and wait on the landing!" Dudley growled.
All the way in to London on the train, Harry kept finding reasons to leave Dudley and Justin alone together. Justin was alright - dreadfully posh but alright. Dudley was used to posh, he'd been at a fee paying school himself; he'd never met anyone of Justin's calibre of posh before, though. He was a wizard, too, of course, and Dudley didn't trust wizards. This had nothing to do with prejudice anymore and everything to do with a swollen tongue and a pig's tail.
They were on the Underground train before Justin started properly flirting.
"You were quite a sight this morning."
"Sorry. I would have cleaned up if I'd known I was getting guests."
"I'm not complaining. Quite the opposite." Justin lowered his lashes. "You're chest is impressively muscular."
"I'm a boxer. I work on upper body strength."
"I think muscles are really sexy."
So do I.
"So do I," Dudley said out loud. "I like big, beefy, sweaty, hairy men."
"Oh!" Justin looked down at his own body. "I see."
"Sorry."
Justin licked his lips and cleared his throat. He took a moment to collect himself and Dudley let him, looking over at the map of the Underground above the empty seat opposite.
"Nothing to be sorry for. My mistake."
Dudley looked at him. "Not my interfering cousin's mistake?"
Justin laughed. "It's all this being a saviour, I think. It's gone to his head. He's decided he can sort out everybody's lives. He wants to pair us all off."
Dudley grinned. "Don't suppose you could lend me some porn? I left all my DVDs at home when I moved out." He paused for a moment - thoughtful. "I wonder whether Mum's found them yet."
Justin snorted. "Sure, I'll lend you some. But I think you should retrieve your own."
"Nah. Serve her right."
"Perhaps ... I don't know ... we could watch them together?"
Dudley nodded, picturing it: the two of them laying back on his bed, watching hot blokes shagging each other and tugging themselves off at the same time. He'd need to get a telly and a DVD player first. He really should go home and collect his stuff. Home? Was he really still calling it that?
Harry walked back down the aisle towards them.
"Next stop," he said. Then he wandered off again.
"He's really a big deal, then? A saviour?" Dudley asked.
"Good gracious, yes! Do you not know?"
"Bits and pieces. Not really," Dudley admitted.
Justin spent the rest of the journey filling Dudley in on Harry's exploits. Dudley looked over at the familiar shape of his runt cousin and tried hard to believe it all.
The two wizards stopped walking outside a dingy-looking pub. Dudley didn't like the look of it at all. He'd always been a big bloke and he was quite confident that he could handle himself in some pretty rough dives, but this was beyond even his comfort zone.
"Really?" he asked. For a wizard pub, it hardly sparkled with fairy dust.
He eyed a gap-toothed, filthy old man dressed in rags who left through the paint-chipped front door.
"Absolutely!" Harry replied, adding, "Afternoon 'Dung."
"Mr Potter, sir," the tramp mumbled.
Inside it wasn't exactly Dudley's kind of place either. The wood beams were actually real wood, not nice, clean decorative additions. There was smoke from open fires and pipes. No music. No juke box. No carpet, even.
The people were friendly enough, though. Dudley had to keep reminding himself that they were magical and he'd needed to keep his wits about him. He was just getting a round in (with some weird coins Harry had given him) when Ron's bird dashed over.
Ron was actually ok, Dudley had decided. At first he'd been wary, because he looked a bit like those two who had magicked that toffee. Also, he was defensive about Harry. That was probably a good thing; Harry seemed to spend all his time looking after others and he needed a mate who looked out for him. It meant that Ron had some issues with Dudley, of course, about him having bullied Harry when they were younger.
He didn't know the girlfriend that well. She seemed to be clever - which he found intimidating - and a bit bossy. She flew across the pub to him. (Not literally, though maybe she could do that.) Ron was several people behind her. When he noticed what she was doing, he broke away from the man he had been talking to and followed her as quickly as he could.
Dudley's gaze didn't follow him, though. It was stuck on the man Ron had been talking to. He was a redhead, but Dudley quite liked that these days. At one time he had found it peculiar almost to the point of nauseating. His father had always sneered at 'gingers'. Freaks of nature, Vernon had called them. Just like Harry. Dudley didn't think Wizards were freaks any more. Just like queers. There was nothing wrong with red hair, Dudley had concluded, any more than there was anything wrong with him. In fact, he was drawn to it now. Anything the Dursleys hated, Dudley wanted to love.
The hair wasn't the most noticeable thing about the man, at least not to Dudley. That would be his arms: thick with knotted muscles and covered in beautiful tattoos. Didn't even know I had a tat kink. Dudley wanted those arms to encircle him and squeeze - making everything feel safe. He wanted to lay his head against that broad chest. And then he wanted to ...
"Dudley!" the bushy-haired witch screeched.
He managed to greet her back, without making it too obvious that he had forgotten her name.
"So good to see you again. Actually, I've been wanting to talk to you about something."
Just then Ron caught up with her and started gabbling something about, "Not interfering in people's lives, Hermione."
Dudley wasn't listening, he was taking in the expanse of a strong back as the man turned away from them, letting his eyes slide down to assess a sweetly square arse.
"Just trying to cheer Dennis up," said a squeaky voice. "Can't see what's so wrong with that."
"Just leave the poor guys in peace."
"You don't mind, do you Dudley?"
"Hmm?" He pulled his sight-line to her face. He felt dizzy.
"You don't mind meeting Dennis, do you?"
"Dennis?"
"He's absolutely lovely and he's lost his brother --"
"Colin died! He didn't wander off like a pet cat --"
"It's quite clear what I mean, Ron. So he's been a bit down, but I think you two would be perfect together --"
"Dudley doesn't want to meet anyone, do you, Dudley?"
"Well, yes, I do --" He wanted to meet that bear of a man who had been absorbed by the crowd.
"See!" Hermione said triumphantly. "Dennis is just over here. You are just his type."
Ron shook his head in exasperation and Dudley realised that he'd just agreed to something from which Ron had been trying to protect him.
How bad could it be? In fact it might even be good. That angel with the arms might even be Dennis.
Dudley allowed himself to be dragged off to a table on the other side of the pub. A black witch and a blonde one had their backs to him and he couldn't see round them until he was pretty close. Then the blonde (who seemed to be wearing jewellery made out of vegetables) stood up and Dudley's heart sank.
The only man on the table was a short, skinny lad of about fifteen or sixteen years old.
"Dennis!" Hermione called out and he turned to show them his very pale, miserable face.
He looked absolutely devastated and Dudley finally absorbed what Ron had said about him. His brother had just been killed. A lot of people had been, from what Justin and Mrs Figg had been saying. Dudley suddenly felt very small for feeling so sorry for himself. He had lost his home, but nobody had died. Mummy and Daddy don't love me any more, he thought. He tried to make that feel like less than bereavement, but he couldn't.
He certainly couldn't face raising the expectations of this poor, unhappy twink only to let him down again. He backed away like the coward he had always been and pushed his way out of the pub.
Wednesday night was the big match. Like it mattered. There was evil in world, and there were heroes and folk had died. There was nothing Dudley could do which would change any of that, so he spent his Sunday afternoon with a punch bag in the gym until they kicked him out to lock up. Then he stood on the door of a meaningless nightclub and spent his time avoiding vomit and trouble.
After a poor night's sleep, Dudley turned up at the gym with all his motivation sucked out of him. Luckily, Stafford mistook his languor for nerves.
"Three days," he said. "Three days' intensive training and you'll walk it."
Dudley shrugged.
"I thought you were going to lose it for a while, after your parents kicked you out. You've impressed me, though, Dursley. You're going to do this in spite of them. In fact, you're stronger without their support."
Mummy and Daddy don't love me.
"You don't need them."
They don't need me.
"We'll show them, on Wednesday, we'll show them what a fucking man you really are."
Not that it matters much.
"They tried to molly-coddle and manipulate you, but you didn't let them, did you? You're a champion, Dudley, with or without them. Your parents will be expecting you to have fallen apart, but you haven't because you are a winner."
And won't they hate that?
Dudley straightened his back. His Mum had always done everything for him, she thought he couldn't look after himself but he didn't need her. Nothing would be a sweeter revenge than his success without their help.
He might not be able to defeat a Dark Wizard, or bring anybody's brother back to life, or rebuild a school, or stop half the Wizarding community from Apparating into his bedsit - but the one thing he could do was piss his parents off.
He trained like a mad thing, ate exactly what he was told to, slept whenever possible and - to make their annoyance total - told Harry to bring as many Magical Types as he could to watch the big match.
His opponent was almost as tall as him, a couple of years older and a few inches wider, with scarred olive skin, and distractingly thick arms. He had a swirling tattoo of abstract black shapes decorating one shoulder. Dudley tried not to think about the redhead in the Wizard pub. He tried not to think about sex at all. He focussed on victory.
The sports hall was as full as it could be. Ed Stafford had told him that there were management companies there, looking to take the winner into the Professional game. Darren was there, too, he said, and Darren had never watched a boxing match before. Ed seemed to think that was significant, and Dudley didn't have the heart to tell him that it didn't mean what he thought it did.
When the referee sent them to their corners before starting the fight, Dudley took a moment to sweep his eyes over the crowd. There was a large section of the oddly dressed and enthusiastic shouting his name. Harry was central, surrounded by gingers, including the one that he had dreamed of seeing without believing he would.
Pulling his mind back to the business in hand, he started to hop from one foot to the other, listening to Ed, his heartbeat accelerating as the important moment became imminent. He saw the Polkisses then, Adrian on one side of them, Piers on the other. Adrian gave a fey little wave, which Dudley couldn't have returned had he wanted to. Luckily. He looked down at his feet.
The bell rang; he sprang forward, fists raised over his chest the way he had been taught. He pulled his shoulder back and then he saw them: Vernon and Petunia Dursley. He swung forwards and smashed his fist into his opponent's jaw.
The fight itself disappeared into a well-trained blur. He didn't feel the knocks he took nor the ones he gave out. He could have been fighting inside a dark, empty cave for all the notice he took of the crowd. The opposition stopped being a body and became a series of target areas instead. He didn't even tally up his points, or check the clock. He just did what he knew how to do. And did it well.
All of a sudden, the referee was holding up his arm and the roar of the crowd washed over him like daylight or fresh air. He was the winner! Euphoria made him high, made him oblivious to the sweat and blood soaking him and to the aches and bruises. He saw the crowd go wild though. It was like a drug - like love and acceptance and friendship.
The Magical people danced about: an indistinguishable mass of noise and movement. It looked like one of them had let off some kind of firework. Dudley turned round to see Ed Stafford, and when he did, the delight on his trainer's face made Dudley bound over and lift him into the air. As they left the hall together, Dudley caught a glimpse of a bewildered-looking Piers, with a swooning Adrian in his arms. Dudley gave his best mate a wave and Piers grinned back.
The changing room was deafeningly quiet. Dudley realised how thirsty he was. He and Stafford looked at each other.
"You did it. Congratulations."
"We did it," Dudley replied. "You made me the boxer I am." It was only when he spoke that he realised his lip was split.
Stafford handed him a damp square of cotton wool. He checked over his torso and face, doing a bit of preliminary patching up. There was a knock on the door.
"You ok?" Stafford asked. "I should go out and talk to those scouts. Next step - Professional."
Dudley nodded.
As he left, Stafford let in a group of Dudley's supporters. Magic and Muggle mixed happily. Dudley noticed Justin and Darren glancing at each other with interest. One by one they approached him and congratulated him. Hermione gave him a kiss on the cheek and he let her. Just this once.
Through the throng, Dudley thought he spotted the man from the pub, then he lost him again.
"Good match, Big D!"
"Piers! You're s'posed to be in Oxford."
"Wouldn't miss this." Piers clapped him on the shoulder.
Dudley winced. Bruised shoulder as well, then. "How's studying?"
Piers whispered, "Wouldn't know mate, too busy getting stoned and laid. How's being gay?"
Dudley examined Piers' face. "Ok," he replied, carefully.
"Mum told me. Bit of a shock." Piers shrugged. "You should have said."
"I didn't know how --"
"How I'd react? Fair enough. I'm not really bothered. Actually, there's this boy in our Halls you might like."
"Is he pretty?"
"I s'pose so. Slim, longish hair. Likes ballet."
"Not my type," Dudley said firmly.
"Fair enough," Piers said with another shrug. "He's a twat actually. But come and visit anyway."
"Yeah," Dudley said as Ron stepped forwards. The ginger guy with the arms was just behind him. Dudley didn't hear what Ron said because he was lost in the blue eyes which looked straight into his own, until "... don't think you've met my brother, Charlie."
Charlie stepped forward, a little smile playing round his mouth. "We meet at last, Dudley," he said.
Dudley's mouth flapped about and he croaked.
"Get the man a drink, Ron," Charlie said, in a voice full of calm authority which made Dudley feel warm and protected.
"What?" Ron asked.
"The champ here doesn't have a drink. He's the man of the moment. You should sort that out." As Ron moved away, Charlie got closer. "So that's boxing?" he asked.
Dudley nodded, his nostrils full of the man's musk.
Charlie nodded. "I liked it. It was ..." he licked his lips. "Hot."
Dudley had never worried that his boxing shorts were too tight before.
Charlie looked straight at Dudley's lips; Dudley braced himself. Crowded room or not, snogging this guy would be a fitting way to come out to his fellow boxers. It would be worth getting beaten up for.
"Looks sore," Charlie commented, dashing Dudley's hopes. He slid a wand out of his sleeve and whispered something.
Dudley felt a tingle like pins and needles on his lip, then it was healed. He ran his tongue across it.
"Th - th - thanks," he spluttered.
Charlie leaned over so that his mouth was over Dudley's ear. "Purely self-interested, I assure you."
The moment was shattered by a scream and then Petunia shrieked, "You get away from him!" She bustled over and Charlie moved back. "I don't want your sort going anywhere near my Dudley!"
"That's actually homophobic, Mrs Dursley," Piers said. "That's illegal, that is."
Petunia looked shocked to see him there and fluttered her hands nervously over her hair. Behind her, Vernon was puffing his way into the room.
Harry called out clearly from the other side of the room, "Dudley can choose his own friends, Petunia."
"That's Aunt Petunia to you!" she snapped. "What are you even doing here?" She asked Dudley, "What are these people doing here?"
"I invited them," Dudley replied. "I never invited you."
"Good match, son, well fought." Vernon clasped his hand, which still had the protective bandage wrapped round it.
"Thanks," Dudley muttered.
His dad gave him a reassuring wink. "Come home, Dud. We miss you. We - you tell him, Petunia."
"We love you, Duddikins!" She started messing with his hair.
"I don't know." Dudley's eyes got damp. I'm not crying here, not in front of everyone. Not in front of him.
"It doesn't matter about your little problem. We don't have to mention it. We love you," his mother cooed.
Anger welled up in him. "You love me?" he asked.
"Yes, of course we do."
"Do you love me now?" he asked. The fury gave him a courage which he would not have found otherwise and he grasped Charlie's stubbled chin and brought their mouths together.
There were shocked gasps, titters and supportive cheers in the room, but the only reaction Dudley took any notice of was Charlie's. He made a little surprised noise, followed by an appreciative "Mmmm." Then he kissed Dudley back and hugged him tight. Dudley felt safe, home and horny as hell.
After a few seconds, Dudley pulled back to see his Mum's horrified expression. She was looking round to judge everyone else's reaction.
"Still love me, Mum?" Dudley asked. "I'm not the one with the problem, you are. And I don't think that I can just move back to your house and ignore it."
"Disgusting, ungrateful boy!" Vernon spluttered, going purple again, Petunia was the only one who cared.
"Shall we take this somewhere a little less public?" Charlie asked into Dudley's ear.
Dudley, naturally, agreed.