A/N: This fic contains STRONG LANGUAGE, but it was to keep in character and I'm pretty sure this would still be a PG 13 movie, so I didn't give it an M.
As I Am
It was a warm summer's day, and I was in my element. Powerful. Strong. Popular. No one could deny it. People loved to judge me. They could call me whatever they wanted when I wasn't around, but they'd never say it to my face. Ever. They were too afraid of the consequences.
Mark Evans, that stupid little runt, may not have known any better, but he does now. And after what I did to his face, no one would ever dare address me with a name less than worthy. You don't just become the Junior Heavyweight Interschool Boxing Champion. You have to earn it.
That night, after my friends and I had split to go home, I ran into him. Stupid Harry Potter, my cousin, the freak. Unlike me, he didn't really have to work hard, did he? Lazy, good for nothing was a wizard. He went to school to learn how to do magic.
Now, I'm not going to lie, I'm not afraid of him. I, after all, am stronger, can puncher harder, and have always been able to beat the shit out of him. When I could catch him that is, the little fucker was kind of fast.
But now, he has a wand. He doesn't need to be able to attack, or even defend himself like a man; he can just wave his little magic stick and be done with it. When he first found out that he was a wizard, that big bloke who told him gave me a pig's tail. Who needs fists when you can do that?
I know, I know if I just knock the wand out of his hand, I'd have an advantage, although he's made some pretty weird shit happen before he had a wand. Like, there was this time when my mom shaved his head bald, except for his bangs; she wanted to hide his scar. God, he looked ridiculous. I don't think I've ever had such a good laugh. The next morning, it had all grown back.
Ok, fine, you could say it was just hormones or something sciency; I don't much like science, and I don't much care to hear about it, I've got another story and there's no way in hell you can say it wasn't magic.
On my birthday one year, we went to the zoo. We were in the reptile house, you know, where they keep snakes and stuff? There was this snake so boring it must have been asleep. But than Harry looked at the snake, and I think they started talking. Freak.
Then, the snake started moving. I thought it would be awesome, and moved up front, making sure to knock Harry down on my way.
No joke, the glass disappeared and the snake came out! He started to attack me, I swear. I had to fight it. I must have scared it pretty bad cause it left right after that.
Well, anyway, back to that night and the freak. We started making our way home. We were arguing. He was taunting me with magic, but I know better. He can't use it outside of that school for freaks.
This time, I had a weapon of my own. No, not a harder punch, he'd probably dodge it anyway. I meant what I hear him say (yell, really) at night. Ever since he's come home this summer, he's been asking someone not to kill some Cedric, and then asks his dead father to save him. Right, like that's going to happen.
I bring it up for laughs when he points it at me. That's right, the little cocksucker pointed his wand at me. He wanted me to promise him something, but not when that thing's pointed at me, I said to get it away.
Then it happened. The summer air went cold, like ice. It was cold, so freaking cold.
I told him to stop it, but he kept telling me to shut up. As if I was going to just take it lying down when he made me blind and made me feel so cold.
But it was good that he was talking. I could hear him. I can find him and punch him by following his voice. I'm not as stupid as people think I am.
I threatened him. He didn't stop whatever he was doing, so I punched him hard. I definitely made contact with his head. He called me a moron, I think, but I didn't care what he called, I found him and hit him with out being able to see him, didn't I?
I didn't know what he was doing, but instead of fading, it was only getting stronger. Now I wasn't just cold, I felt miserable. I felt as if I'd never see sunlight or feel happiness again.
That wasn't all. I could see myself. For the first time in my life ever, I could see myself clearly. I think I was seeing myself as other people saw me, I think, and I couldn't stand myself at all.
I was fat. Huge. Obese, even. Worse, I was more wide than I was tall, wasn't I? It was disgusting. How big am I? How do I fit into clothes? Good God, why had no one ever told me.
Well, I guess that school nurse who forced me on that awful diet had said something, right? But what about my so-called friends?
Oh, God, my friends. Thinking about friends had brought on an almost twinge of happiness. But then, I was forced to see my friends for what they were. Phonies, fakes. They weren't really my friends. They just liked me because hanging out with me kept them from being turned into a target.
How could I not have seen it? How could I not have known? I talked myself into it. I needed them. I had to be popular. But it was pathetic, really, the way that I let them use me as their cover.
Even more pathetic? They were my shields. I used them, too. Deep down inside, they were the reason why I could beat up ten year olds, and not feel remorse.
It was a whole pathetic cycle. I beat up someone defenseless, they keep me feeling better about myself for it, and in return, stick closer to me, afraid of what would happen to them if they turned on me which gives me the power to go after more nothings, who deserve it, but are defenseless all the same.
I was a bully. A big, mean bully who wouldn't have any friends were it not for the bunch of pathetic, frightened losers who wanted to be protected by association more so than actually hang out. That's why we beat up kids; my "friends" get power by association.
And how can I not have seen it before? Those losers I hang out with don't actually like me very much, do they. I can see the fear in their eyes when asked a question they don't know my answer to. That can only mean one thing.
I'm not popular. Just the idea of admitting it was making me ill. I don't really have friends. I just have power.
But I'm not powerful in the way I used to think. Am I strong? Physically, I can kick anyone's ass. But I don't think I can deal with all of this…. stuff. I can't. And the only power I have is fear.
Don't get me wrong; fear is a great weapon. I feel it right now eating me alive. I am fearful. Afraid of what I am, of what I've become, of how I appear to everyone else.
This emotion that I feel, it's what I make other people feel everyday. Not just other people, other children. Oh God, I feel sick, I don't think I can take it; I don't think I can live with myself.
How can my parents live with me? They're just as, maybe more pathetic for that. How can my mother have let me feel so good about myself?
And how could they have let me think I was living. What kind of a life depends on beating other people up? It's not really a challenge, I'm not even sure it's living at all.
How could I never done anything remotely interesting? Ever?
I can't explain it, the overwhelming desire to change, the need to change. I can't stay like this. This sadness is killing me.
Then, it happened. I'm not quite sure what it was and the fear is still there, but it's warm again.
The warmth makes me feel safe, and protected, but only just. I'm still shaking, I feel as if I'm going to vomit or pass out. I can't take it anymore.
I could feel my body shaking, and couldn't stop it. I knew the air was warm now, but all the things I had just realized when was freezing kept me feeling cold.
I felt someone struggling to lift me up. I didn't want to be lifted up. I deserved to be put down. Leave me here to die, because I don't know how I'm going to live with myself after this.
I hear two voices talking. They sound incredibly far away, but I don't care about them. Someone is moving me forward, but my mind is still reeling with what I've just learned about myself.
My mind is slowly processing where we are. Home. That person carrying me must have been Him. How he could have possibly lifted me, I don't know. He was always rather scrawny. Tonight, I realized just how fat I was. Even in my mind I can't figure out how someone so small had managed to get me home.
I feel sick. I can't take it anymore. I can't believe what I am, what I've let myself become. I feel really sick. I'm going to vomit, I do.
My mother's asking me what's wrong. My dad wants to know. Who did this? Who did what? Made me realize what a poser I truly am?
I can't bring myself to say his name. The name of the person whose life I've made hell for as long as I can remember. I've never given him a break and made sure other kids stayed away from him, too.
"Him," I say. It doesn't matter. I shouldn't have, he'll be in trouble now. And once again, it's because of me.
They call him down. Yell at him. I think he's been expelled. Then there's a loud letter. It's for mom. Weird. But I can't think about that right now.
I'm thinking about the past. I've never been one to think before, but now I can't stop. It sucks. I'd hate to be smart.
In my mind, I can see it. How could I not have before? I don't know if I can live like this anymore. I need to change, I need to run away, I need to be different.
Because if I stay as I am, I won't really be living at all.
A/N: This was inspired by J.K. saying that she thinks Dudley saw himself for what he really was during the dementor attack during Order of the Phoenix. She says that that is why he transformed and changed. Remember how he actually seems concerned later? So, I decide to run through some of the thoughts he may have had when seeing himself as the rest of the world probably does and how that may influence his change.
If it seems as though he wants to commit suicide… I'm sure upon feeling all that and like he'd never be happy again, he probably did. But he won't, the dementors leave when Harry gets them, and Dudley starts to change into someone somebody may actually want to spend time with.