theocracy (theocracy) wrote in regulation, @ 2008-04-14 02:32:00 |
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Current music: | "Evil"- Interpol |
Entry tags: | dudley dursley, harry potter |
Who: Harry potter, Dudley Dursley
What: Dudley and Harry have a chat, but something seems off to Dudley, who flees Grimmauld Place. That's odd!
When: pre-Mathwall
Where: Grimmauld Place
The moaning had been going all night, and by now had become quite
bothersome. Harry sat on the stairwell, listening vaguely and eating a
mushroom that looked like it had been plucked out of the basement.
"It would be regular to have food in the house," he told the
portraits, who squinted at him but gave no reply. The descendents of
the house of Black were not, apparently, impressed with his stay
there. The largest potrait never bothered to open her curtain, but
sometimes in the night there was the sound of her weeping and
keening- the moaning he'd heard, though, was not from Mrs. Black. It
was five in the afternoon. Harry would have brought movies home with
him from the shop, but there was no player in the Grimmauld House,
nor were there any lines for electricity. He was considering,
presently, buying a portable generator and a lot of extension cords,
but soon that would not be necessary. "No, better not to expend the
funds," he told the empty hall.
Someone was supposed to be coming today, or else he would've been
sitting in the attic. A knock, then a rattle interrupted Harry's
train of thought.
Dudley was never patient, nor had he been
particularly prone to understanding the concept of a lock. In
retaliation for the action, he was now shaking the door as hard as he
could, fist banging into it. "Harry- oi- you in there- ouch!" The
sentence was broken by a sharp yelp as the knocker tried to take a
finger.
"Careful, there," Harry called out, and the portraits turned
to face the front door. There were a number of locks on the door,
some of them magical and unused, but after a brief struggle, Harry
had the door open in the end. "Hello, there. Mushroom?"
"Uh, Harry-" Dudley said. "That's like a vegetable or summat. I don't do rabbit
food." He scrunched his nose up, sniffing. "You ever clean this place
and what's all that moaning about? Sounds like a bloody pornshow." He
stepped inside, half hoping it was. That'd be rich to write the other Dursleys about. Serve everyone right who said HE'D go to the bad. Another sniff and he
coughed, thick clouds of dust coating the inside of his nostrils.
Dudley hated the old wizarding houses with a passion and this one was
no different. Worse, actually, because it belonged to him.
"You sure that mushroom e'en't one of the funny ones? Because I don't
see why you'd want to hang round a place like this."
"If you wanted a pornshow, you should've met me at work," Harry commented dryly.
"I'm sure it's good, I found it in the basement. Anyway, suit
yourself." He finished the rest of it promptly. He turned and let
Dudley follow him down the corridor, beneath the elf heads, if he so
desired. The way down to the kitchen was much cleaner than the rest
of the house, and the appliances looked like they'd been recently
tampered with, but there were no pots and pans to indicate that
they'd been used successfully. Instead, there was a pot of stew in a kettle
over a fire in the stone fireplace.
"I can make coffee or tea, but you'll have to wait a bit while I take the beef soup off. Unless you'd like some of that. It has mushrooms in it," he added. As he
spoke, a chill wind rushed down the fireplace, which honked like a
trumpet. The soup was nearly upset, but the fire went out and they
were shrouded in darkness. "Damn it," Harry cursed mildly. A hollow
cackle filled the room, echoing down the hollow shoot.
"Does that... er, happen a lot?" Dudley glanced over his shoulder towards
the chute. He wasn't sure how he felt about even being here and the
constant shuddering sounds were distressing, to say the least. With a
shudder of his own, he sat on one of the chairs, shifting slightly as
it creaked under his weight. He'd bet that didn't happen to Harry -
his cousin looked as gaunt as ever, something that surprised him.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a chocolate bar and slid it across the table.
He always carried them - not because of his overeating, as everyone
assumed, but because the dementors still terrified him, still haunted
his waking dreams. "Eat that. You're too bloody thin, Harry." Not for
the first time, Dudley wished he'd said that to him when they were
younger instead of shoving food into his own mouth. Too late now.
Harry blinked at the chocolate bar, but accepted it. "Haven't I been
always?" Harry asked curiously. He lit a match, and spent a moment
rekindling the fireplace. It took a surprisingly short time. "I
found something in one of the upper rooms that works sort of like
gunpowder, which makes this terrifically easy." He filled a bowl
with the soup and the howling commenced again, though in another
part of the house. When he placed the bowl on the table, he said,
"Thanks, Dud." Then with a grin, he added, "Or do you prefer chuck?
And as for that..."
Something was rattling the pipes upstairs, and a forgotten
chandelier above the table shook dust all over the table as
something in the house thumped. "I think I have a poltergeist, or
spirit, or something." "Aye..." He let his voice drift off. He
didn't really want to think about that. "Chuck? Bugger, have you
been listening to Sewage?" Dudley curled up slightly, his stomach
pressed against his arms as he leaned forward, chair whining again
under the weight. The sound was frightening him and his eyes showed
it, glinting faintly in the darkness. "Harry... you sure you want to
stay here?"
"That Susan's name now?" Harry asked with a grin. "No, I just read the
discourse the two of you were having in the journals." His long body stretched
out, his legs
straddling one of the benches at the table. The expression on his face
betrayed
nothing, but he suddenly was enjoying himself immensely. "It's only a
poltergeist...
or a ghost, or something similar, chuck. This will be my home- why
shouldn't I stay
here?"
"It's... cold." Dudley said, staring at Harry. He remembered the
night then, that they had seen the dementors, his fingers fumbling for
a piece of chocolate and chewing slowly. There was something about
this place that not even sugar could chase away - he felt it and he
couldn't speak for a moment, riddled by his fear. "Oi, let's go to
mine. I've got telly and... and crisps. I could order a pizza or
summat. I bet you can't bloody order a pizza here."
Bribery with food. It was something his mother would have done,
though not to Harry.
"I've never tried, but I'm sure you could-" Harry was interrupted by
a swooping sound outside the hall, followed by a lengthy cackle.
It had a feminine tone to it in a screeching, cold-as-death way.
"Well, you showed up without any trouble, didn't you?" Harry pointed
out. "I'm sure a delivery boy wouldn't have any trouble. Where is your
place anyway?" Harry unwrapped his chocolate bar and bit into it, then
examined it critically with one eyebrow raised.
"Not far from Scamander Park," Dudley said. He shivered, then said,
"You're the bloody wizard, Harry, not me. Places like this are
terrifying - it's like being in a horrorshow." He glanced at him,
then said, grudgingly, "Did you ever hear any of those movies I used
to play on the telly? Like that."
Harry smiled and looked away, like someone shying from a lover's
compliment. Running his tongue slowly across his teeth, he said,
"That isn't the horrorshow."
When the other man opened his mouth like that, Dudley noticed how
sharp his canines were. How pointed. Then he blinked and the
illusion was gone, fostered only by his own fierce imaginings - the
desire to make Harry the monster he wasn't, if only to justify the
horrorshow that he himself had been a part of.
"I need... to go." He said. He didn't want to think about it, didn't
want to dwell on the sickening feeling in his stomach, guilt and fear
all tangled up in a neat, hard knot.
When next Harry looked at him, it was with triumph of withholding
information, an unfathomable razorblade smile. "Thank's for the
chocolate, chuck." And when Harry stood, standing well over Dudley,
the expression on his face fluttered, the blackness therein
cold and vacuous. If any man had ever drawn close to the Veil, they
would mark it in Harry's visage.
And he couldn't even say goodbye. With a strangled noise deep in his
throat, Dudley waved, then stepped out the door.
And ran.