Ugly

The day he saw them, naked limbs twisted together and his little dark haired cousin writhing beneath the blond boy was the day Dudley realised that some pretty things could be ugly. Draco/Harry, (onesided Dudley/Harry and little Harry/Ginny)


Dudley Dursley was ugly.

He had always been ugly. Maybe not as a baby or a toddler; youth and size had saved him back then but neither had lasted long.

He didn't care all that much anymore; aesthetics were something he valued in others instead and made little effort to better his appearance; Dudley was ugly and he knew it. He had known it when the kindergarten teacher refused to touch him, unable to make herself hold him like she did with his skinny little runt of a cousin. He had known it when the other children laughed because he was fat and yelled vicious, childish insults across freezing playgrounds, far away from adult intervention.

He had cried many bitter tears as small boy over his appearance and it didn't matter how many times his father slapped his on his back and told him what a strapping young man he was or how long his mother would beam at him and coo about his good looks, their opinions just weren't the ones that mattered. And Harry, his pale faced, little cousin had always been there in the distance, his face marred by a look of simple incredulity that stabbed the point home with brutal innocence.

Dudley had stopped really crying early on. He was ugly on the outside by nature and made ugly on the inside by nurture. He hated and loathed and resented and made sure everyone knew it. His teachers didn't have to focus on his fat wobbling body anymore; he broke things and screamed tantrums on the floors, he bullied the other children and used his every growing girth to force them into submission. The children, suddenly weren't focused on his appearance anymore and he was surrounded by a group of equally ugly and previously lonely boys who were happy to belong, even if it meant that they had to rip apart Carl's new comic, or steal Lucy's gel pens or break Harry's wrist.

His parents were glass statues of frozen smiles and ignored the hissing disgust of teachers and parents alike with calm disregard; their son wasn't the victim anymore and they would rather he be the culprit than crying into his pillow at night. Dudley, in all his resentful, unhealthy glory blossomed with vicious self confidence and by the time he was nine was so firmly established in his role as an all out bully he had forgotten he had ever been any different. He was showered with suffocating love and affection at home while violence and anger was the only way he found attention anywhere else. He revelled in the disgusted fascination he received from people; the pretty people who otherwise wouldn't have looked at him. He hated them and loved them, wanting so much to be one of them even while he tried to tear them apart.

Harry, in contrast, had always been one of the pretty people.

He shouldn't have been with those ridiculous bug glasses and his hair that looked like he had torn at with a pair of scissors, but he did. Dudley knew it as a little kid and so did parents and even though he couldn't have explained anything when he was younger when he looked back on it, he saw that Harry's abuse was somehow, in a twisted, contorted way, somewhat linked to him. His parents looked at him and looked at Harry and hated Harry for being different...better.

He suspected his mother was seeing her own childhood mirrored in theirs; her pretty, clever, special sister reflected in Harry's big green gem eyes. She was cruel in her retribution and Harry; his little dark haired cousin was a silent, hunched waif that watched them with condemning eyes. He shouldn't have been pretty in Dudley's old clothes, too short and so skinny his arms and legs looked like twigs and his cheekbones made butter knife sharp beneath his skin, but he did. Harry always did carry the waif look well.

He went to kindergarten looking like a kicked puppy and they ate him up. Dudley hadn't really hated his cousin till then. Till he was shunted and pushed aside and Harry was babied and adored by those whom looked at him with distaste, and Harry, Harry just glanced at him and there wasn't even any emotion in his canvass of a face. For once Harry was better than him, cleverer, kinder, better and he knew it and so did Harry. Dudley was stupid, he struggled with his work and wasn't redeemed by childish cuteness to earn any help, he was abandoned for more intelligent, prettier children and it was a new and painful experience.

Dudley wanted attention from the pretty people and he wanted it most from Harry. His cousin had belonged to him when they were little and he had expected him to belong to him when they'd gone to school. But school had become a sanctuary for Harry and a torture for Dudley, it was all wrong. The only way he got attention from anyone there, was violence and so he saved his worse for Harry. His cousin looked at him with hate from then on, no matter where they were and that was enough for Dudley. They grew older and Dudley loved to invent ways to hurt Harry, because by hurting his pretty, angel faced cousin he was hurting all those other pretty, angel faced people who rejected him and hated him for being different.

His parents did nothing to help Harry, they tolerated and even encouraged Dudley's abuse of the boy. His mother had her cruel and unchanging hatred for his cousin but it was his father, with his clumsy, brutal disgust that taught Dudley most. Harry was a poster child for abuse when they were little; he was a rainbow of bruises and cuts and those big green eyes were burning with unspoken emotion. He never answered back to Dudley at home within reach of his parents' retribution, he didn't in school either but there was always someone who spoke up in his place.

Dudley didn't understand it back then. Harry seemed to attract people like flies; it wasn't just the teachers, through he always a favourite, it was the other children as well. Harry was kind and open and honest and it spoke to people even back then. Dudley was jealous, of Harry or of his friends he didn't know but he was sick with it all the same. In his clumsy, violent manner he made it clear that Harry was his and only his and soon the others their age were avoiding his tiny battered cousin shamefully, in the end more concerned with their own well being than of the boy who would have done anything for them. Harry stared up at him, skinny and weary, every fragile line of his body tense in attentive abhorrence.

He was obsessed. He had been allowed a power over another human being that shouldn't have been allowed, he held Harry completely at his mercy and those big green eyes were welling up with hate just for him, focused utterly on Dudley and that was all Dudley really wanted.

Harry hated and hated and Dudley obsessed and obsessed.

It should have stayed the same, secondary school stretched out before them and even though they wouldn't be going to the same place; Harry would still be waiting, hating, in his second hand clothes and bug glasses for Dudley at home. Ready to give him all his attention, in his angry, powerless way. Dudley thought it was brilliant and his cousin who seemed smaller and thinner every week was horrified as his life stretched endless and painful before him.

Then it had all changed and Harry was gone, whisked away like magic. By magic. His name became taboo around the house and Dudley was the single child of an ordinary family, left with his familiar resentment and his band of savage, vicious followers who were all as angry and lonely as he was. Dudley didn't even care that much and that was the truth of the matter, he was too engulfed by his own life; where he found himself fighting for position of top dog.

He was fat and tall for his age and acuminated a band of loyal, ugly boys, who wanted to hate the pretty people as much as Dudley did. But they were barely in double figures and there were prowling youths who were built like houses and could legally drink, watching them with a barely controlled dark humour that made Dudley feel very small and childish. His resentment had almost faded away in his strange rush of fear at the hint of the real world. But then summer came and he was returned to his frozen world of no rules and pats on the back and Harry was there.

He was less emaciated than he had been in years and looked at them all with a strange wide eyed knowledge that his father had taken as superiority and beaten him for, and his mother had taken as arrogance and starved him for. Dudley probably knew best; Harry had seen the beginnings of the 'true' world too; it had just altered him in more obvious ways. The ropes that bound them were renewed and Dudley was almost panting for his attention by the end of summer because Harry knew and he wasn't afraid.

It was probably Dudley's first glimpse at Harry; the ever brave and utterly stupid and forever beautiful Harry. He could see why those people had been so eager to take him as their saviour.

The next year came and went in much the same fashion, except now they weren't the smallest anymore and Dudley terrorised the new firstes with almost sadistic glee. He was expelled for two weeks near Christmas and came back a legend; no one remembered what he had done and it didn't matter, he was already known. The next year was one smooth ride away and he flew with immeasurable ease into it, the summer unaccountable and Harry, reassuringly, the same as ever. Dudley liked consistency.

Third year was mostly the same despite the fact that now they were all 'teenagers'. It seemed like a big deal but it wasn't because the lonely, ugly boys were still caught up in their hate and anger and didn't realise till near the end of the year that there were more interesting and worse ways in which to rebel. Dudley got drunk for the first time when he was thirteen; him and his mates sipped at cider and fell about a kiddies playground, swinging dizzy on roundabouts and falling off swings. They staggered home and broke the glass window of a bus shelter. His parents didn't say anything when he was sick during the night and didn't leave his bed the next day, but his mother's eyes were red and swollen. Dudley thought it was brilliant, even better than hurting Harry.

Smeltings' was an all boys school but there were enough girls around his estate that it didn't matter and they would come out at night with him and Piers and sit on the frosty seats of the playground, gulping out of those big 2 litre bottles of coke that weren't filled with coke anymore. He kissed a girl when he fourteen, she was a horse-faced tart, who swore too much and spat at a homeless person as they went home. He pulled her to him with an awkward fumble and their lips met in a sloppy drunken kiss, Dudley still considered it the worse kiss he ever had.

By the time summer came he was expectant as he waited for his cousin, ready to see the gleam of lusty knowledge in his face but Harry, for the first time, disappointed him. His innocence was a big, shinning jewel in his eyes and Dudley was a little disgusted by both of them. He beat on him so hard that summer he was surprised Harry looked almost normal when those people came for him.

They crowded in their living room, all red hair and long limbs and freckles and they were the pretty people once again giving him looks of utter revulsion as they petted and adored his little scrawny cousin. Harry looked doll like next to them, small and bird boned and even the girl, who was hanging off his arm glowing with prettiness, looked less fragile than he did. Dudley hated them and hated Harry most of all.

The next two years in his education were meant to be important, they were GCSEs and the teachers spent the first month stressing how important and how much depended on getting good results. Some people panicked, most laughed and ignored the teachers and continued on in childish fashion because they were little more than children and really didn't give a shit about their future. Dudley was the ringleader. He got expelled for two months that year and this time no one thought it was brilliant, they simply expected it and that made him so angry he could feel his blood boil, even if he didn't know exactly why.

He was fatter and uglier than ever and all he could think about was his small thin cousin and the horse faced girl who'd spat at a tramp. He didn't keep any notes and lost all his text books and his parents fretted something awful, half focused on him and half ready for his sorry excuse of a relative to return home in all his pretty, clever, brilliant glory.

Dudley lost his virginity the night before Harry came home, it was shit. The girl was fat as well and they moved like slugs against each other, he came too quickly and she was blank faced and bored. They barely said two words to each other before and never said anything afterwards. Dudley walked home with a sort of swagger that disappeared when he saw his dad beating his cousin against the linoleum of the kitchen floor. He glanced at the rag doll body and his father's tomato red face and went to bed, angry and resentful because no one had seen him and his parents who should have and always had before were altogether too focused on his useless, innocent brat of a relative.

He didn't get Harry's attention till the next day, he was slumped outside, every tiny movement so obviously laced with pain it should have been agony to watch, he spun around with those wary, pretty, green gem eyes. He didn't look so innocent now but Dudley still thought he'd kept the innocence that he himself had lost, the kind you chose to lose.

"What Dudley?" he'd asked; shovel raised almost defensively between them.

Dudley had sneered angrily and looked him over contemptuously. Except Harry wasn't just a little bit pretty anymore, he was a lot pretty, his features a paradoxical mixture of starved edges and smooth curves. His eyes were brilliantly green beneath his dark mane of hair; he was longer, leaner and still fragile like spun glass; ready to shatter into a thousand pieces beneath Dudley's hands. His face was white against the blue bruise that stood proudly across the slope of his cheek and Dudley wanted to trace the edges of it, pet the outer yellow and dig his fingers into the central purple.

He looked at Harry with a twin mixture of disgust and disturbance and walked away once more, while Harry watched him with bewildered confusion and returned to his work.

Obsession with Harry wasn't new but this kind of obsession wasn't familiar at all. Dudley watched him greedily, angrily. He hated him and hit him and wanted so badly to touch the softness of his lips all at the same time. Harry sickened him and he sickened himself. He was almost relieved when summer was over and he went back to safeness of Smeltings.

He looked at the other boys in his year and they weren't Harry. Dudley had never been more relieved than he was at that revelation. He didn't want boys, he wanted Harry, he wanted a pretty person and Harry had been the only one he had ever even partially owned. He pushed any thoughts of his cousin out of his head, only unwilling indulgencing in his dreams and he found himself sticky and uncomfortable the next morning. Horse faced girl had disappeared into the past, along with the fat slug girl and a few others followed. They were ugly girls too, who swore too much and drank till they couldn't move and threw up into street grids, he had his cock sucked in toilets and fucked one girl over the cool metal bars of a playground roundabout.

He hated and loved every minute of it. Piers was his constant sneering companion though it all and they shared their first joint together; a hastily rolled pieced of shit that was limp and wet between his fat fingers. Weed knocked him out almost instantly and ecstasy gave him a pill dick so he went back to alcohol. He scraped a few GCSEs and they felt as insignificant as they had when they'd first began; he was allowed to stay for his A levels, because in the end money mattered. He frowned when his mum cried and promised he'd re-sit his English and maths.

Summer came too soon and Harry was back; beautiful and untouchable, green gem eyes a little broken and all the more tempting. He was bird bones and paper skin beneath Dudley's fists. So weak and useless it made him want to cry; or at least he thought so, there were some things Harry was strong against.

He called them dementors but Dudley didn't really care. He sat and shivered and felt pathetic and utterly wretched. Harry watched him with a guileless concern that was laughable because he really shouldn't have felt anything other than vindication, but that was Harry all over. He could always muster up concern for anyone who was hurt, anyone who wasn't. Dudley realised then, that Harry was one of those few people who was pretty on the inside as well as the outside and if anything his obsession grew. His cousin was marvellous really and he kind of knew it.

He found out with a start that this would be the last summer they had together and that Harry wouldn't have to come back to them next year. He didn't blame him, he was a patch work of bruises and abrasions after the dementor incident; his father blamed the black haired youth even though he'd obviously saved Dudley's life. Dudley didn't hit him again though, he just watched, trying to burn the image of his thin, angel faced cousin into his mind. Panic at the thought of losing him clawed at his chest and once when Harry had fallen asleep; exhausted by too much physical labour and too little food, he pressed his lips against that soft coloured mouth. Harry's lips were red hot and Dudley felt physically sick as he stared down into his scarred face.

He went out and drank and smoked and fucked a girl with a gap between her two front teeth until the memory was blurred into hazy vagueness. Harry was gone a week later and Dudley was glad, he was tired with his obsession.

A levels were just like GCSEs, he hated them and wasn't any good at them either. He never did re-sit English or maths and struggled vainly through a harder syllabus with a strange dogged determination. Piers had fled the education system as soon as he could and Dudley was left with only a handful of empty friendships that left a bitter taste in his mouth. His oldest friend was working in a chippy near his estate and they still hung out some; the other boy was as disillusioned as he was and they spent evenings smoking together in silence, cold air and smoke and self pity palpable in between them.

"Shit. It's all fucking, empty shit" Pier's was rat faced and black eyed in the darkness of the night and Dudley was inclined to agree with him. He passed the spliff back to him, the edges already discoloured sickly brown.

His days didn't stay empty, he wished they had but everything changed again and at first Dudley thought it was the best thing that could have happened. Harry came back; he stood in their kitchen out of place with dirt scuffed clothes and his beautiful, serious face.

"You need to come with me"

His father choked and roared and choked some more and Dudley tried to keep his eyes on Harry's face as he'd asked why.

"There are people, bad people. They want to kill me, hurt me and they're going to come after you, because of me." He looked ill with guilt at that and once again Dudley was reminded of Harry's truly pretty insides. They hated him, his parents/ himself, they had hurt and bullied and starved and beaten him for years and here he was, stood all tense lines of overwhelming guilt trying to save them.

His Mum cried a bit and his Walrus-Father took a swipe at Harry's head; hard enough to send him staggering against the kitchen sink. Dudley held out a hand and yanked Harry upright; his small wrist painfully thin and his pulse fluttering beneath his fat sausage fingers. "Ok" he'd said and they'd packed their bags.

They took a portkey and every single one of them fell in crumpled awkwardness to the tarmacked road. Even Harry, who was sprawled out, limbs stretched and bent in a way that accented the length of his legs and the soft lines of torso. Dudley felt sick and remembered that night when he'd pressed a kiss to his sleeping cousin's lip with a mixture of want and disgust. They followed Harry into the safe-house, which looked like it was about to fall apart any minute. A portrait screamed at them and his mother sobbed into the crook of Father's arms. Vernon was ash white and looked torn between beating Harry and crying himself.

"Sorry" Harry mumbled and waved his wand at the screeching woman; curtains slammed shut across her leaving the narrow corridor unbearable silent. "I'm back" he called finally, slinging a nervous glance over his shoulder at them, Dudley thought it was painfully funny in a way that wasn't really funny at all and was all the more painful for it.

There was a stamped of people and Harry was washed away by the other pretty people, the red-haired girl that Dudley remembered gave them a truly hateful glance and pressed herself against his cousin. Pretty people all together and facing the fat, ugly, cruel Dursleys; Harry's bright gem eyes were distant as he was dragged away and Dudley had never longed for his cousin as he did in that moment; at the mercy of too many pairs of accusing and abhorring stares.

They knew. Knew that they had hated and abused Harry, they knew the scars that had been left on him, one of their pretty people, and they would seek retribution like Petunia had done all those years before. His mother thought so as well and sobbed harder, her face blotchy and her eyes red and swollen almost completely shut.

"Come on then Durselys" their surname was hissed like a curse "we'll show you your room"

There was an unspoken agreement between him and his father and they sandwiched his crying mother in between them, clutching at one of her bony hands each.

They were still family after all.

The house was a nightmare, musty and dust filled. The lights were dim and flickered and everything was black and unloved; creaking with old age and neglect. It was a contrast to the redheaded family who inhabited it; forever loud and loving, except of course to the Durselys. The three of them were placed at the top of the house, away from everyone else; his parents shared a moth bitten bed and Dudley was forced to sleep on a too small, too narrow cot that one of the freckled twins had transformed from a curtain for him. His parents rarely left that damp, dark room but he couldn't stand it. He went in search of Harry.

Harry most definitely didn't have time for him now, it was a fist around his heart every time he realised and he would scowl hatefully at the flirtatious redheaded girl or the older soft eyed man who held Harry's narrow shoulder tenderly like a father. Harry barely said two words to him but their shared history was heavy and nasty between them and that, at least made it certain he would always be acknowledged willing or not by Harry.

He watched his little cousin, smiling, laughing and loved, sketching out a picture of the life he had led away from them, away from him. His friends Hermione and Ron always either side of him, framing his china doll cousin and the wolf man who was even nice to the Dursleys, the Weasleys who loved Harry as a son and Ginny who loved Harry with every single fibre of her being. They were all Harry's, belonged to him as surely as he had once belonged to Dudley. Except they had chosen to belong to his scrawny cousin and Harry with his bright gem eyes knew it. He watched them sometimes, strength in every tendon of his being; he was the embodiment of fearless determination and selfless sacrifice. Dudley wished he could mimic that, but he didn't think mimicry would be enough.

Harry was breathtaking and Dudley was sucked full force back into his obsession and Harry with his left over unease and remembered hate paid just enough attention to sate his hunger.

Then he came.

Dudley had never known real hate before he came. A white-haired, paled-skinned devil; he was cut from marble and burning with emotion all at the same time. He had stepped through a fireplace of all things, right into the centre of the living room, his bone white face titled up in arrogance.

"Malfoy" Harry had all but leapt at him and Dudley was sure he could see crystal tears heavy on his lashes as he did so. The white haired youth had lost all pretence of superiority and had grappled with his skinny little cousin; he was a good few inches taller than Harry but was the first to fall to floor and Harry was on his like a savage animal; his grief so tangible Dudley's tongue felt heavy in his mouth. He clawed and punched and scratched and his face was streaked with lines of tears.

Dudley grabbed at his waist, ripping the twisting body away from the pointy faced youth and pressing Harry against him with greedy possession. The small, thin body was perfect for one brilliant moment and Harry leant wearily against him, his small, pretty face pressed into Dudley's fat, ugly shoulder. Harry's narrow back shook and his hands were fisted in the loose material of his shirt and Dudley wanted to press his lips against Harry mouth once again and almost didn't care anymore how weird or sick that made him. It was Harry and his angry made him flush and shake against him.

"Harry!" Hermione's screech broke the perfect moment.

"It's not what you think, he's good" she cried and Harry was snagged from the possessive circle of his arms, the girl throwing a hateful glare at him as she held the green eyed boy close.

His cousin was being led out of the dusty, moth eaten living room like a puppy; his thin arms limp at his sides and his eyes darting one final, utterly loathsome look at the pale youth who was staggering to his feet, a half sneering grin on his face. "Dumbledore..." Harry muttered and the rest of the conversation was swallowed by the house as they left the room. Dudley was captured by a cruel metal stare.

The blonde boy had blood dripping from his nose and mouth and with a knowing smirk, he smeared it across his face, painting his bottom lip crimson. "Potter eh? I'd like to say you can do better but I be lying. Hell, a rat could do better than you"

This boy, he had realised was another pretty person, bitter and twisted but still one of them and that gave him a connection to Harry, even if they didn't know it yet. Dudley had made to leap at him but there was a wand pressed against the flabby skin of his neck, digging with barely there pressure into his flesh. His muscles froze and he stared wide eyed at the youth, he was shorter than Dudley, slender and sharp edged and lack of sleep had left faint smudges beneath metallic eyes. He was vicious and lonely and resentful and Dudley was afraid of him.

"Potter, eh?" he sneered again, his features twisting before he sniggered, cackled and snorted in Dudley's face and left the room; cruel laughter echoing through the halls. Dudley had hated him with unreserved passion from then on.

He was never sure what the youth had done but Harry hated him, truly hated him and even when his cousin was trying to be civil his eyes were bright with abhorrence just like they had used to be for him. Harry, who could forgive anyone for anything as long as it was a crime against him struggled with his feelings for this boy and Dudley found them rolling about on the floor; bloody and bruised hundreds of times in those first couple of weeks.

His cousin's attention was solely focused on the boy, he had none left for anyone else and Dudley who was less than the rest of them was completely ignored. He loathed the boy for that, the boy who he quickly found was called Draco Malfoy and was about as rich as they came. He had a razor blade tongue and tore everyone to pieces without even moving, except Harry, because Harry was special, even to him to and he threw himself with equal vigour into their crude wrestling matches. Dudley watched those pale hands gripping and bruising his cousin's paper skin with sick jealousy and what was worse was that Draco would throw him a single dagger filled smirk because he knew exactly what Dudley was thinking.

To make it worse, somehow, Draco ended up lodging in a room with him, apparently no one else could bear to live with him and Dudley and Draco found themselves staring with hatred and cruel bemused respectively at each other as they pushed their way through into the room. Their bedroom was box like and damp with age and he perched on the edge of the bed trying not to touch anything.

"I wish I'd gone to Azkaban it might have actually been nicer there" Draco hissed and glared at the grey coloured bed as if it were to blame for the world's faults. That silvery gaze that Dudley was beginning to dread slid across to him, looking at him with his fat body and ugly face. "At least I wouldn't have to share a cell with an obese mudman."

He didn't actually understand a lot of what Draco said, the boy seemed to speak in code but he understood well enough that it was an insult and launched himself across the room at the pale boy. Draco wasn't that much bigger than his cousin really and it was almost like beating up Harry, except Harry had never bit him or tried to knee him in the balls; he was vicious in ways Harry would never be. But Dudley had the benefit of size and weight and had snagged that pale neck into a punishing head lock; hissing into his ear angrily.

The boy went limp in his grasp and started to laugh. Laugh until he was shaking with perverse amusement, his hands clawed at the thread bare carpet beneath them, his eyes were watering and that was how Harry found them.

He might have been about Draco's size but always managed to look waifish and breakable in a way that the pale youth never did. He was painfully thin as always and his neck despite it creaminess was covered in gold as if someone had smeared glitter along the lines of his throat. Dudley's grip on Draco tightened and those silver eyes glanced from one to the other, smirking.

"Dudley, stop, you're going to hurt him!" Harry's fingers were poker hot as he tore open the vice of his arms and dragged Draco, with a strange rough concern, to his feet. Draco's hand lingered on Harry's arms, pale fingers stroking the overly large red jumper he wore. Dudley scowled and stumbled heavily upright. "He started it; he called me a mud man and said I was a rat"

Harry's face was a canvass of distaste and concern as he looked between the two of them and he wasn't sure which was meant for him and which was meant for Draco. His cousin was tiny between them and their eyes met over his wild mane of hair with acknowledged dislike.

"You'll never guess what your jelly mudman thinks of you, Potter." The boy's mouth was flushed with blood and Dudley aimed a punch at it, fully intending to make him bleed. Harry jumped into action and was wedged into between their warring figures, black haired next to their shades of blond and so different than their equally selfish, jealous personalities.

"Malfoy, don't call my cousin that" Harry's voice had them both snapping to listen to him "and Dudley please don't fight with people. Everyone else here can do magic and you'll get hurt."

His back was a tense line he left the room and Draco was staring at Dudley with something akin to disbelief. "Cousin? He's your bloody cousin?" He folded himself with lazy elegance onto that grey, moth eaten bed looking like ice and diamonds and started to laugh again "You're bloody sick, mate. You're lusting after your cousin. Harry bloody Potter got's a whale hard for him."

"I'm not lusting after him," Dudley snarled.

Draco laughed harder and threw himself backwards, pale hair haloing his twisting features. "It's ridiculous. You're ridiculous. Sodding, bastard Potter."

Dudley was feeling sicker with every word out of that pale thin mouth and he stood and left, Draco's laughter still ringing around him.

The problem was; Draco and Dudley were entirely too alike. They had been pampered by their parents and despised by everyone else. Dudley had made himself a bully with his firsts, eating and eating until he was so physically imposing that no one dared challenge him. But Draco had gone a step better. The pale boy would never be as tall or as strong as Dudley and instead had made his words his weapons, he saw people; saw the truth of people and used that with shameless military precision to rip them to shreds. That was probably why Dudley was so uncomfortable around him, he had seen so easily what everyone else was oblivious too and it hung over them like a blade. He didn't know why Draco didn't tell Harry in those early days, they fought enough and when Draco and Harry's battle faded, Draco and Dudley's rose with doubled cruelty and viciousness in its place. Harry was their buffer, throwing himself between them without an ounce of self preservation when it went too far. He was the only one they listened to; small, dark haired and so pure it hurt to look at him.

Dudley suspected Draco saw Harry too; the pale boy would look at his cousin sometimes, troubled by the unfamiliarity of someone that good, that pretty on the inside as well as the outside. Dudley was silently vindicated, he had known Harry first, before Draco, before the lot of them and some part of the pretty faced boy would always be his and his alone. He held a part of Harry they couldn't touch.

At least for a while.


This was meant to be a one shot, but it got really long, I'm was already on the 18 page mark and it didn't look like it was going to end any time soon. So I give you the first 10 pages and hold the next lot hostage.

Reviews are food for my inner Dudley, even if they only say hello.