An Unexpected Orphan

This is my first ever fanfic so sorry if horrendous, hope you enjoy though.

An Unexpected Orphan

Part 1

The muggle shop was packed: it was hot day, and the ice-cream freezer in the right-hand corner of the shop seemed to be attracting people from at least a fifty mile radius.

This was the shop Harry had spent most of his eighteen year life opposite- the little co-op, owned by Mr.Phelps. The bearded shopkeeper, at this moment, was shouting wildly at some young “thieves”, who happened to be about three years old. Harry very much doubted that they were actually stealing anything; Mr.Phelps had always been known by Harry and Dudley as the Devil in disguise (which was one of the few things they actually agreed on). Uncle Vernon had shouted at Harry with much intensity for his rudeness – in fact the amount of times his cheeks wobbled, during that particular scalding, must have been a record. However, his uncle congratulated Dudley on being “witty”. Unfair, yes, but Harry’s perception of unfair had drastically changed in the last seven years.

It was surreal, being here: the prices were measured in pounds; the shopping dropped was picked up by hand; no-one was glancing at his forehead. Harry hadn’t been in a muggle shop for seven years – he had shut himself up in his room most summers. He could barely remember the bustle of screaming children, laden arms, and complaints about the price of certain items. However, the biggest difference was the lack of fear in the muggle world. The breath on every part of his body, from all the people squashed together between the jammed aisles of the estate’s shop, felt strange: no-one was weary of each other; no-one was keeping a distance from one another; no-one was scared. The fear, the subtle whispers of worry, the deepening frowns of sorrow, had gone. The wizarding world was scarred but the muggle world wasn’t – well it wasn’t aware that it was. They thought that the unusual amount of deaths was from a new type of flu which was spreading. In the muggle world the reign of terror that had just ended had left no stain. It had affected them, yes, but they didn’t know that. However, one muggle in particular did know the affects.

Harry, on his way to the Leaky Cauldron with Hermione and Ron a couple of weeks ago, happened to pass a newspaper stand. It was Hermione’s curiosity (“I wonder if the muggles have noticed…oh, come on! It is interesting Ronald”) that had caused Harry to notice it. She had dragged them both to the till, and purchased a paper. Half an hour later, the three were sitting in a corner of the Leaky Cauldron, their backs to the rest of wizards and witches who were still drunkenly celebrating the defeat of Voldemort.

Ron, bleary eyed, had sat in silence. Hermione had kept casting him worried looks, shaking her head and returning to analysing the newspaper. Harry had watched his two best friends, calculating them, but most of all thinking of all that had happened, and thankful that the wizards behind him couldn’t recognise him – after all, they could barely walk.

It was then, in a moment of mayhem, that Harry noticed a small article entitled “Double Murder”. There was a picture of a man and a woman, dated a couple of years ago. The man had his arm round the woman, and they were outside a house that Harry knew very well.

Hermione had hugged him; Ron, bitter from his own loss, had muttered “good riddance”. Harry, oblivious to both of them, stared, mouth open, into nothing. The first feeling he could conjure was one of shock: the worst from his world had collided with two virtually harmless muggles…two muggles who weren’t evil; two muggles who weren’t trying to fight Voldemort; two muggles who had a son to whom they cared for very much…two muggles that had now gone, along with all the other victims of Voldemort, forever.

The second emotion was one he was very familiar with, a chasm of loss. The petty problem he faced every summer that he always came back to, that he fought with, that he lived with, that he did, he really did, though maybe buried deep down, care for. The care was hot inside him, burning through its bitter burial and to the surface.

The three, after a bit of persuasion from Harry are now here, inside a muggle shop, trying to find an orphan.

Part 2

Hermione and Ron had waited outside, leaving Harry to amble into the store, hopes low. The three had already visited the park, where they did find a couple of beer cans and graffiti which depicted a figure called “the D” (he had apparently moved on from “Big D”) beating up another, much more weedy, figure. Besides the graffiti were empty beer cans, and abandoned cigarette butts. Sensing, for some reason, that the person they were looking for was close, they walked across the green and into the village shop.

The likeliness that the D was in here was slim; however, the three looked all the same. Ron tried to follow Harry in, but Hermione pulled him back, hissing in his ear. Harry rolled his eyes, and entered the shop, thankful that Hermione had missed his little gesture. After ducking behind some toilet paper to avoid recognition from Mr.Phelps who, after all, would still think he was a hooligan, he continued to the back of the shop. There, staring at some expensive wine was a figure that looked scarily similar to the scrawled graffiti in the park. Harry edged closer, and pretending to stare at the wine, waited...

A throaty voice whispered his name: “Harry?”

The voice’s breath was hot in his ear. He turned, slowly, and his green eyes interlocked with Diddy’s, Big D’s, the D’s, Dud’s, Dudder’s…

“Dudley?” he said in false surprise.

A beefy face stared at him. The cheeks were fatter than before and his eyes looked smaller. A few awkward moments, which felt like minutes, passed.

“What the Hell are you doing?” said Dudley blunty. Apparently the pause hadn't helped come up with a more polite phrase.

"I'm..I'm talking to you," explained Harry.

"Oh," said Dudley, alarmed. "What wouldya want to talk to me for?"

Harry was close to asking why it was such a shock that he, Harry, wanted to talk to him, and then adding that even though Dudley was butt-ugly did not mean that nobody in the whole world wanted to talk to him - though of course most people didn't. But thankfully, he restrained himself and instead told him that it was simple because he needed to.

“Whadda you mean?”

"Whadda you mean what do I mean?"

"Huh?"

Feeling that this was not a great start to their convesation, Harry started again.

"So, is it 'the D' now? I saw it scrawled on the wall behind the goal posts..."

“No..." Dudley seemed deep in thought, then suddenly: "Well, preferably the Mighty D," Dudley grinned nastily. "It's less childish...I've grown up."

“Grown up? I mean, come on...The Mighty D?” choked Harry, a sickening feeling in his stomach. "What’s wrong with your old name? Even Big D?”

"I dunno," muttered Dudley, a twisted smile on his face, "sounds more impressive. Dudley's a bit common: noone else is called 'the Mighty D'"

"Ok, " whispered Harry, determined to keep his calm...he failed a second later: "You know what Dudley, for someone who hates wizards so much, you're an awful lot like one I know, who's thankfully dead...but I do not need reminding of him."

Harry really wasn't sure what to say. He had come here to help Dudley, but how was he going to help him if he was acting like this? He gave Dudley a fierce gaze, and Dudley squirmed under it. His eyes changed aswell, from a nasty glare, to a softer, deeper look. A look that was deeper than Harry had ever seen Dudley wear before. Dudley bit his lips and looked Harry directly in the eye.

"I was joking, call me Dudley," he said quietly. "I got nervous. It's Dudley now. Always Dudley, to everyone Dudley. That is my name, it would be - er - rude to them if, if..."

Dudley, the new Dudley, had a pained expression on his face. This was obviously a tough experience for him, and behind his tensed flabby cheeks, a war was raging between what his habit of hate and his new kindness, but Dudley had, just as he had said, grown up.

Part 3

A couple of hours later Ron, Hermione, Harry and Dudley were sitting under a tree shivering. Hermione was buried underneath Ron’s jacket, Harry wore his own and Dudley wore an addidas one. Ron wore just a shirt, having given his jacket to Hermione.

“Ron, why don’t you just use magic to keep warm?” said Hermione. "I mean, it was your choice to give me your jacket."

Ron shot her an evil look. “So, er, Dudley, which Quidditch team do you support?” muttered Ron in between shivers. “And, I'm not cold Hermione."

While tutting Hermione muttered something, pointed her wand at Ron and suddenly Ron’s cheeks flushed.

“Not too hot Hermione!” yelped Ron, panting.

“Oh sorry!” Hermione muttered something else very quickly. The colour faded from Ron's cheeks.

Dudley’s podgy face arranged itself into a bemused frown. Harry was shocked he hadn’t struck out yet: a couple of years ago he hated even the word “magic”. He hadn't even backed away.

“Anyway, back to Quidditch…” said Ron, flustered.

Dudley’s frown deepened.

“Ron, honestly…” Hermione looked shocked, but gave him a quick smile all the same. “Ignore him, um, Dudley. He’s confused, so resorts to sport. Anyway…”

Dudley didn’t look any less confused and sat there, hunched.

"Dudley," whispered Hermione, apparently deciding to take action. "I'm sorry about what's happened."

A couple of moments passed, and suddenly, Dudley buried his face in his hands. Hermione and Ron exchanged looks; Harry, however, crept forward and put his arm round Dudley.

Ten minutes later, after lots of shaking, Dudley emerged from behind his hands. He had red rings around his eyes.

He looked at Harry, shaking. "H-how d-d-id...you cope?"

A number of lies popped into his head, as did a number of insults. Harry rejected all of them.

"I didn't," said Harry quietly. "Dudley, it will get better. I promise it will. You have a memory of them, think of that. They weren't good for you anyway"

"But-"

"Dudley?" said Harry smiling. "You think the dead we loved ever really leave us?"

A couple of moments passed. "But-"

"Dudley, you're their son. In your actions, they're here."

"But...how weren't they good for me?"

"Oh, right. Remember when my Headmaster came round, and he said they treated you worse than they treated me? I thought he was mad at first, but he was right. They're given you a warped view of the world. However much they told you it, you were never the centre of the world, and you never will be. Noone is."

"They made me mean to you."

Harry was silent. "I'm not sure they did Dudley."

"Dudley, that was you. It was your choice," said Hermione, making Harry jump, he had forgotten that either Ron or Hermione were there. For some, strange, reason they both looked guilty and were very red in the face. "I remember when I saw Harry again in summer, or in september after spending time at yours...he was..."

"Different," Ron finished, nodding.

Dudley looked up, exasperated. "I was jealous of you."

"Jealous?" Harry said disbelievingly.

"Jealous and terrified. It wasn't my fault."

Harry didn't answer. Hermione and Ron looked furious.

"I've, er, got to go," said Dudley briskly, sensing the rising anger. "Here you go Harry, this is for you." Dudley opened a huge pink fist and in it was a peice of paper. Harry took it.

"Take care, Big D."

"You too," said Dudley, standing up. He turned and walked accross the park, alone.

Harry turned to Ron and Hermione, who were staring into eachother's eyes. They didn't even realise Dudley was gone.

"Dudley's gone," said Harry loudly. Neither Ron or Hermione looked up.

"Levicorpus," muttered Harry.

There was a flash of lightening, and Ron was in midair, upside down, hanging by his ankles.

"Ok, ok!" He said desperately, blood rushing to his head.

Harry gently let Ron down, and he resumed his place next to Hermione.

"He's sorry really," whispered Hermione looking at Harry.

"So why doesn's he just say sorry then?" asked Ron.

"Ron, you really can't talk. When do you ever say sorry"

"Number one, I really can talk, I am right now if you haven't noticed, and number two I said sorry a couple of seconds ago!"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Anyway," said Harry. "He did." Harry uncurled the screwed up peice of paper. Scrawled on it, in very scruffy rushed handwriting was the word 'sorry'.

Ron looked incredulous. "Blimey, maybe you are related. He's mad."

"I'm not mad!" Cried Harry indignantly.

"Why is Dudley mad?" fumed Hermione.

"Because he said sorry."

"Hypocrite. You just said that saying sorry wasn't hard," muttered Hermione to Ron, but she smiled as well.

"Why am I mad?" said Harry. "I mean Dudley, fine, but me?"

"Honestly, Harry. Ron was joking."