"Duddykins! Good morning!"
Dudley leant against the kitchen doorframe, shooting his mother a weak smile.
"Morning," His nose wrinkled. "Is that bacon?"
Petunia nodded happily and gestured to the sizzling pan. "I thought you deserved a nice treat after your little… ordeal."
This was music to his ears. Too long he had gone without bacon. Always cramming healthy food down his throat… he missed the succulent taste of a fry-up breakfast.
He grinned as he moved over to the kitchen table. "Great! Hey, where's Dad?"
"Oh, Daddy got called into work early today. A company meeting." Petunia turned off the stove, added the bacon onto the plate and put the plate heaped full of food down in front of her son. "He'll be back normal time, don't worry."
Bacon was more important than his Dad right now, so Dudley simply nodded his head, beginning to cram the bacon into his mouth. The satisfying crunch in his mouth was like he was giving a middle finger to his boxing coach. The constant watching of his diet and how much food he was eating was suffocating him, and after experiencing the coldness that his freaky cousin had unleashed on him, Dudley saw no harm in consuming more food than allowed.
His mother ruffled his hair, Dudley frowning between a bite of a sausage. She needed to stop babying him, and quickly.
Once he had finished up his breakfast, Dudley stood up, leaving his empty plate on the table and headed towards the stairs.
"Mum! I'm going out!"
"Alright, sweetie! Have a lovely time! Tell your little friends I said 'hello'! Oh, and if they ever want to come round and have some brownies, let me know!"
"Yeah, yeah…" He grumbled under his breath. "If I had a death wish…"
Grabbing some clothes and a towel from his room, Dudley shut the bathroom door behind him. He turned on the shower, tugged off his pyjama bottoms and wifebeater and checked the temperature. It was freezing cold, making the hairs on his arm rise up, but cold showers woke him up, got his blood pumping. He stepped into the shower and tilted his head back. The cold reminded him of the Dementoids, but they couldn't get him here in the bathroom of his house so he let his head fall forward and forced himself to relax into the freezing cold water.
He stepped out of the shower ten minutes later, drying himself off and throwing on a polo shirt and pair of baggy shorts, before moving back into his bedroom. Spraying himself with cologne, Dudley checked himself out in the mirror. A gold chain glistened around his neck and he styled his gelled fingers through his hair into his distinctive short spikes, winking at himself as he pulled on a pair of socks and a pair of designer trainers.
He shoved his keys into his pocket and headed downstairs, calling out:
"I'll be back a bit later!"
Opening the door, he slammed it behind him, not bothering to stay to listen to his mother's ramblings.
Dudley walked up the path, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Everyone was afraid of him in this shitty neighbourhood, and he liked it that way. He was meant to be feared. He was Big D. He was not to be fucked with. At all.
Within his shorts, his fists clenched. Potter always laughed at him. Always deflated his ego and made him look stupid in front of his friends.
'Well, not anymore. He's going to GET IT next summer.'
He smirked at the vision of Potter with a broken arm. The freak deserved a beating, and as he ambled along the adjacent street, Dudley began to day dream about the massive pounding he was going to give Potter when he next saw him. Bruises would blossom and blood would spill, and Dudley couldn't wait to unleash pain onto Potter.
"Watch where you're going!"
"Shit!" Dudley stumbled over a loose slab of pavement, the sudden noise jolting him from his day-dream. He regained his balance and turned his head, only to find no one there.
Dudley looked down sharply and was confronted with the sight of his batty old neighbour, Mrs Figg.
"Oh, what you want?"
"You are such a rude boy!" She scowled. "And I do not appreciate the foul language you came out with just now."
"You shocked me! I was walking along and you screamed like right in my ear!" His whiny pitch faded as he sneered. "Aren't witches only meant to come out at night? So why are you here?"
Mrs Figg's scowl deepened. "You are so unpleasant. Your parents should be ashamed of you."
"Well…" Dudley chuckled darkly. "They're not actually. They're proud of the fact that I'm the best boxing champion in the South East."
"Proud of the tantrums you throw? Proud of the girls you treat badly? Vernon ought to have given you a spanking when you were a little boy. That would have smacked some sense into you."
"Shut up." He rolled his eyes, incensed that Mrs Figg was lecturing him, yet again. They were always at war. She sniped at him, and he swore back. It was constant, but luckily for him, Mrs Figg rarely told his parents about their little encounters. Not that his parents would believe her.
"What are you doing out here anyway? After the other night, when poor Harry had to drag your sorry backside home… I'm surprised the poor boy didn't crumple under all of that weight."
Dudley narrowed his eyes at her and crossed his arms over his chest. "None of your business, and calling me fat ain't funny."
"I haven't called you 'fat' today." She shook her head at his stance. "Just don't cause trouble, Dursley. One day, you're going to get arrested, and your parents will have to take notice of how devious you are."
"'Devious'? I ain't hurting anyone."
"Oh, really? Don't you always pick on that Evans boy?"
Dudley smirked and stated bluntly: "He deserves it."
Mrs Figg recoiled in disgust and shooed the large teenager away. "Go on, move along! No doubt you'll be up to some trouble tonight… Mark my words, Dursley, you'll be in a spot of bother one day and Mum and Dad won't be able to help you out!"
Barging past his neighbour, Dudley grumbled under his breath: "Not likely… I'll pound anyone who tries to fuck with me."
He strode on through the streets, glancing at a nearby clock in a shop window. It was half twelve, the sun was burning bright in the sky. So why did he feel so cold?
'This heat is making me sweat, but there's a chill going up my spine. Fuck! The Dementoids…
He whipped his head round, attempting to see if there were any Dementoids swarming towards him. Only to remember that he hadn't been able to see the Dementoids in the alleyway.
'Even if they're coming to get my… soul, I'm still screwed, cause I can't bloody see them!'
The cold was too unsettling for him though and a minute later, Dudley found himself heading home, his mind occupied with the memories that the Dementoids had brought up. He winced, crossing the street and causing a group of pre-teens to scatter in fear. They watched him cautiously, confused as to why Dudley wasn't taunting them.
Big D always insulted them, but this time, he looked like he was in… pain.
The kids shared a look, before racing to the park. At least if Big D was in pain, they would be free from his torments.
Dudley slammed the door behind him and kicked off his trainers. "Mum! What's for dinner?"
"Lamb, Duddy. With all the trimmings!"
He leant against the closed front door and smiled to himself. 'More real food. Loads better than that healthy crap.'
"Did you enjoy your walk, sweetheart?"
Dudley pushed himself away from the door and arched an eyebrow at his Mum.
"Er, how do you know I went for a walk?"
"I was hanging out the washing in the front garden and saw Mrs Figg. She said you were going for a walk." Petunia pursed her lips. "What a busybody she is. Hurried straight over to tell me. She should really concentrate on those cats of hers. They must be rabid from living in that house."
'That's a bit rich coming from you, Mum.' "Did she say anything else?" He asked uneasily.
"No, only that you'll surely be back in time for dinner. I'll let you know when it's ready, popkin."
Petunia headed into the kitchen, leaving Dudley standing in the hall-way. On the one hand, he was ecstatic that Mrs Figg hadn't mentioned any of his 'deviousness' to Mum, but on the other, the slight jibe at his weight and fondness for food riled him up.
'Won't be so gleeful when you're surrounded with a bunch of shaved cats.'
The image of Figg's shaved cats popped into his mind, and he smirked. A bit of fun for him and his gang one night. See how the old lady liked it when her precious animals were touched.
Dudley lumbered up the stairs and into his room, dropping onto his bed like a dead weight. He was exhausted, and reckoned that a power nap would help. Shutting his eyes, he rested his head on the pillow and let sleep consume him.