"There's something you should know." His mum had that look on her face, stern, frightened and concerned all at the same time. The look of someone who's opened what they think is a jar of honey but it contains pickled gherkins instead. Dudley dug into his cereal. He ate muesli these days; his father called it chicken feed. Nothing he did could please his dad. "It's for the boxing," his mum said, and Dudley resented the fact that she stood up for him and that he didn't stand up for himself. Just sullenly shoveled rolled oats into his mouth.
"I didn't want to tell you when you were little," said his mother, and a grey dread crept up through Dudley's veins. His coccyx smarted. He didn't like this.
"But your aunt and uncle, Harry's parents," his mother took a deep breath, "they didn't die in a car crash, you know."
He'd suspected as much.
She turned big glassy eyes on him. "They were murdered!"
"Murdered?" This was new. A chill squirmed up his spine from his fiery coccyx.
"Yes." His mother seemed disinclined to say more, just stared at him.
Dudley swallowed the gob of muesli in his mouth. "Murdered?"
His mother nodded.
"Did they ever catch the murderer?"
His mother's chin shook. She leant in closer and looked around as if there were cameras hidden in the corner of the kitchen. "No," she whispered. "They never did. He's still out there."
Dudley couldn't swallow. His head was under a hood of fear. This was familiar. So this is what he'd been frightened of all his childhood. It was real. Not that mumbo jumbo nonsense they'd tried to fob him off with. It was this: a killer on the loose. He remembered a zillion movie scenarios.
"But," he faltered, "did you go to the police? What do the police say? He's not, he's not coming after us, is he?"
"Oh, we can't go to the police," his mother said, decidedly. "That wouldn't do any good. Might put all our lives in danger. We don't want to draw attention."
"O my god," said Dudley. He stared at his mother. She was in deadly earnest. This was real. He could feel it in his bones that this was real. This was real fear. This was a real reason.
"Do they know who did it?" he said in a barely audible voice.
"Yes, they do," said his mother. She took a deep breath. "It was that evil wizard who's plotting to take over the world. His name's--"
"What," Dudley said. His spoon clattered into the muesli milk.
"He killed them with a magic curse," his mother continued, "only Harry survived. His scar, it's from the curse."
Dudley stood up. His insides were in turmoil. He wanted to cry and be sick at the same time. He couldn't believe it. "Mum," he said, "what is this? Why are you doing this?"
"I know," she cried. She wrung her hands. "I'm sorry we didn't tell you before. It was necessary, to keep you safe. But now that you're going to leave and go out into the world, and you're old enough now, you need to know--"
"I cannot believe this," Dudley said, and then louder, "I really cannot believe you."
"Diddlekins…"
"Shut up!" he shouted, "just shut up! I'm almost 18! I do *not* want to be fobbed off with fairy stories."
"But Diddles…"
"All my life," he yelled, almost sobbing now, "all my life you've fed me this crap. Why, who knows. Maybe you were trying to protect me from this, what, this other harsh reality, this murder? I don't know. But it is shite. I don't want to hear any more of it. And I don't believe in your murder theory either. How do I know that's not a lie just like everything else?"
"But Dud…"
"Just like everything else! Just like my whole life! My whole fucking life in this house, in this so-called family!"
His mother flinched at the swear word, and that upset Dudley even more, that with all the crap, the real serious crap that was going on, she should zero in on the word 'fuck'. He felt terribly betrayed.
"Grow up," he said and left the kitchen.
(Snippet from my soon-to-be-posted chaptered longfic) :-)
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2014-02-13 10:35 pm (UTC)"There's something you should know." His mum had that look on her face, stern, frightened and concerned all at the same time. The look of someone who's opened what they think is a jar of honey but it contains pickled gherkins instead. Dudley dug into his cereal. He ate muesli these days; his father called it chicken feed. Nothing he did could please his dad. "It's for the boxing," his mum said, and Dudley resented the fact that she stood up for him and that he didn't stand up for himself. Just sullenly shoveled rolled oats into his mouth.
"I didn't want to tell you when you were little," said his mother, and a grey dread crept up through Dudley's veins. His coccyx smarted. He didn't like this.
"But your aunt and uncle, Harry's parents," his mother took a deep breath, "they didn't die in a car crash, you know."
He'd suspected as much.
She turned big glassy eyes on him. "They were murdered!"
"Murdered?" This was new. A chill squirmed up his spine from his fiery coccyx.
"Yes." His mother seemed disinclined to say more, just stared at him.
Dudley swallowed the gob of muesli in his mouth. "Murdered?"
His mother nodded.
"Did they ever catch the murderer?"
His mother's chin shook. She leant in closer and looked around as if there were cameras hidden in the corner of the kitchen. "No," she whispered. "They never did. He's still out there."
Dudley couldn't swallow. His head was under a hood of fear. This was familiar. So this is what he'd been frightened of all his childhood. It was real. Not that mumbo jumbo nonsense they'd tried to fob him off with. It was this: a killer on the loose. He remembered a zillion movie scenarios.
"But," he faltered, "did you go to the police? What do the police say? He's not, he's not coming after us, is he?"
"Oh, we can't go to the police," his mother said, decidedly. "That wouldn't do any good. Might put all our lives in danger. We don't want to draw attention."
"O my god," said Dudley. He stared at his mother. She was in deadly earnest. This was real. He could feel it in his bones that this was real. This was real fear. This was a real reason.
"Do they know who did it?" he said in a barely audible voice.
"Yes, they do," said his mother. She took a deep breath. "It was that evil wizard who's plotting to take over the world. His name's--"
"What," Dudley said. His spoon clattered into the muesli milk.
"He killed them with a magic curse," his mother continued, "only Harry survived. His scar, it's from the curse."
Dudley stood up. His insides were in turmoil. He wanted to cry and be sick at the same time. He couldn't believe it. "Mum," he said, "what is this? Why are you doing this?"
"I know," she cried. She wrung her hands. "I'm sorry we didn't tell you before. It was necessary, to keep you safe. But now that you're going to leave and go out into the world, and you're old enough now, you need to know--"
"I cannot believe this," Dudley said, and then louder, "I really cannot believe you."
"Diddlekins…"
"Shut up!" he shouted, "just shut up! I'm almost 18! I do *not* want to be fobbed off with fairy stories."
"But Diddles…"
"All my life," he yelled, almost sobbing now, "all my life you've fed me this crap. Why, who knows. Maybe you were trying to protect me from this, what, this other harsh reality, this murder? I don't know. But it is shite. I don't want to hear any more of it. And I don't believe in your murder theory either. How do I know that's not a lie just like everything else?"
"But Dud…"
"Just like everything else! Just like my whole life! My whole fucking life in this house, in this so-called family!"
His mother flinched at the swear word, and that upset Dudley even more, that with all the crap, the real serious crap that was going on, she should zero in on the word 'fuck'. He felt terribly betrayed.
"Grow up," he said and left the kitchen.
(Snippet from my soon-to-be-posted chaptered longfic) :-)