I Don't Think You're a Waste of Space

BY : SparklySprinkles
Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Dudley/Harry
Dragon prints: 7520
Disclaimer: Fictional story based on fictional characters. I own nothing of Harry Potter, and make no money.

    "You don't see what's happening to you Vernon. How you've changed. He's rotting your brain." 
    Just the usual dinner table banter, really. Harry saw Dudley look up at him, though he kept his eyes down. He was trying his disappearing boy act, and failing. If he asked to leave he would remind them all he was there, and if he moved or breathed it would be the same. 
    She kept at her husband, reminding him how unnatural this all was, how distasteful, with a twisted mouth, the bit in her teeth, until Harry could feel the man's rage, building up like too much pressure, and his own hand shook around the fork he held upright and motionless like it might protect him. He flinched before the man even moved, and Uncle Vernon slapped his hand down on the table. Harry's eyes flew to the hand, and he couldn't move, as much as he wanted out of this horrid scene. 
    "And you've always been blinded by your hatred of him!" The room vibrated with the sound of his booming voice. "Keep your bloody mouth shut, woman! You know, I could just leave? I could take him with me, and he'd be enough of a ticket that we could go anywhere, and be alright? And what would happen to you? And don't think I wouldn't, either. You've been shutting me out for years. And he's never done that to me." Harry could have laughed, or screamed, either would be the same, but he didn't. Shut him out? Of course he didn't. He couldn't. Oh, sorry dear. Not tonight, I have a headache.
    He looked up at Dudley then, who was watching with horror. The adults noticed him in that moment as well. "Dudders, why don't you go upstairs for a bit, yeah? Or Malcolm's?"
    The boy left, but not because he'd been told to. Everyone could see that. He gave them a glare, a sneer that said they weren't worthy of his company. 
    "May I leave, too?"
    His uncle looked at him, pure blood curdling fondness that made Harry's skin crawl on both sides. He thought of stabbing the man with his fork, and his hand let it go with a clatter that made him jump. He'd have to do some heavy internal convincing to be able to pick it up again, he knew from experience. 
    "This is as much your home as it is anyone's." That anyone sniffed loudly. "You don't have to leave."
    "No, it's alright. I want to. Please."
    A smile crept over the fat face for Harry's please, and he nodded. Harry shot up and out of the room as though it was about to blow, because it very likely was, and raced up the stairs catching up to Dudley. He paused when he saw how slow the boy had been, and almost backed down, but he remembered what he'd been fleeing. Voices started up again down there, and Harry froze, waiting for Dudley to go to his room, hoping he would escape notice. 
    He could have gone to the cupboard - so many options these days - but he really didn't want to hear anything down there. His aunt was right, Uncle Vernon had changed. He was downright creepy. 
    "You want to come in?"
    "Yeah, sure." Dudley wasn't mad at him. Amazing, since Harry was the reason his parents were fighting. He sat on the floor and Dudley turned on his Nintendo 64 and started up a game. 
    "I'm sorry about your parents, Dudley."
    "Are you kidding me? Harry that's not because of you. They're just idiots."
    Harry laughed. Then he looked up quickly to be sure that was ok. One couldn't be too sure, and he was right - Dudley was staring at him, looking a little startled. "Your mom's right about it all. Your dad's changed. I don't know if he's alright."
    "Really? I thought he was getting better, Harry."
    "What? He's going nuts."
    "Nuts? He's being nice, isn't he?"
    "Er. Yeah, I guess."
    "Maybe you want more than nice, though?"
    "No!" Gods, what were they even talking about? What did Dudley think they were talking about?
    "It's alright, Harry. You can want people to be nice to you." He wanted to laugh again, but it would have sounded hysterical.  
    "I didn't mean your dad was bad or unwell. I just don't understand, is all. I'm sorry, Dudley."
    "You don't? Harry, you're a guy. You should get this." Harry stilled, unsure what was so obvious to someone like Dudley. But because he was the man's son, because they were both cut from the same cloth, he was probably onto something, whatever it was. Alarm bells went off in the distance, and Harry didn't want to know anymore. 
    Dudley lost a life and Harry knew he was staring at him, but he kept his eyes on the screen. He should have gone to his own room. "Harry." The silence hung and Harry knew he needed to look at him. He did, keeping his eyes at Dudley's chest. That was high enough. "He likes you." Harry looked back at the screen, wishing Dudley would respawn and start again. A weird numbness over took him, and he let it win. Dudley was saying crazy things. Then he chose New game and said, "more than likes." 
    Why didn't he just shut up? How could he say these things about his own father? Was he saying his own father had a crush? On his nephew? And Harry was the freak in this family? But that was true enough. Without Harry here, this would be a perfectly normal family, and the people downstairs wouldn't be fighting right then. And their son wouldn't be gossiping about them right now. 
    "You think your father has a crush on me? I'm a ... a tool. You don't have crushes on tools, Dudley."
    "That's not true. Guys get feelings for tools all the time. Dennis wanted to marry his bike. He would have, too." If he hadn't been killed by death eaters? "And you're more than a thing, Harry. And I think it's more than a crush." What a weird conversation. "He just said he would take you away, and leave us. What do you think that means?" He'd been trying not to think about that one. 
    He knew better, and his mind was screaming at him to shut up, but he asked anyways, unthinking, "What does it mean?"
    "He's in love with you." The words were matter of fact, one of those little truths children pronounce on the world. But Dudley was no child. And he was staring at Harry, ready to absorb his reaction to this little bombshell. Who was this? 
    Harry wanted to leave the room, but his own, the one Uncle Vernon had given him, seemed to have lost what little charm it had. His throat turned dry. His voice cracked as he fought it. "If that was true he wouldn't have almost starved me to death last month." The bitterness that sounded out told him it was time to shut up. He was showing something, and he wasn't sure what it was, but Dudley was watching, like he'd never watched before.
    "I didn't say he was smart. Just in love." Harry shivered. The cupboard was looking better and better. "Don't you see him looking at you all the time?"    
    "Dudley! God, please, can we talk about something else? Please?"
    "Yeah. Sorry." Bloody disgusting. And if it was true, it was even more disgusting. 
    But Dudley was quiet for a long time. He finally looked back at the screen and started another life. He walked through tight hallways and shot whatever moved, without thinking. He'd played this level before. He went on through a save to the next level. It started up and he was aiming where opponents would show before they did. He'd spent hours here. "You know," his voice was a rudely beckoning finger, poking through the numbness that Harry had let swallow his self, but it pulled him back out, and into the room. "I tried to get them to give me the ... well, you, instead of Dad." Oh god. "Because I would have been nicer, Harry." What was this? It might have even been worse than the other topic. The one that now had no name and hazard signs about it so Harry wouldn't stumble upon it by accident in his mind. "I would have been." And what was he supposed to say to that?
    Just a tiny "oh." Because saying nothing could have been worse. Could have done damage; he didn't know. 
    "And I was right, Harry! He almost killed you." But Riddle said he probably couldn't die, whatever that meant. "And that big nosed git said I was too young for the responsibility." The sullenness in his voice left Harry's head swimming. The dining table! That table with its venomous occupants would have been better than this. Harry would stay next time. And he would remember this as he tried to pretend yet again he didn't exist, and the adults in the room would forget him if he kept silent enough, without moving. 
    The petulance here. It was scary. It was Old Dudley scary. "Harry. I mean it. I would have been real responsible. I would have taken care of you. Better than he does."
    Harry stared so intently at the screen his eyeballs could have cracked. He realized Dudley's last life was over, and the screen had gone back to the trailer. 
    "Yeah. I, er, I believe you Dudley." God, what was he supposed to say? And what was he supposed to not say, but think? In the blessed privacy and ruined solitude of his own mind? "I need to, er, I need to wash my shirt." What else could he say? He was struck dumb, and not in a mute way, but a stupid way. His brain wouldn't work for him. "Thanks, for..." He looked about the room, as though it would help him. "Thanks for letting me hang out in here." Yep. That sounded good. Like something people said to each other. 


    He was back in his own room, and that wasn't much better. He had to be naked when in here, now. And Uncle Vernon would come up when he was done being wrung out by his wife. Harry felt torn between which hell was worse. But Dudley had never hurt him. Not recently, that was. Not since Harry had been defeated by the world. Dudley could mean the things he'd said, and Harry didn't need to act like it was the end of the world. Uncle Vernon had been purgatory, Riddle had been the hell he'd been waiting for there. Dudley couldn't have offered anything worse than either of those two. He was just a boy, at the end of the day. Like himself.
    It was easier to take these things when he was alone. The threat behind them was muted, no one here could hurt him. The room was empty. Harry sat and just breathed, and tried to think about something else. Why wasn't the TV on? Didn't these people want to hear about the world? France was on fire for god's sake. 
    Big nosed git? Snape? Dudley had discussed this with him? Had been in the room? For what, negotiations? 
    Harry almost turned back around and went to Dudley's room for information. But he would have to hear more of it, and he didn't want that. 

    In the end, Harry stayed right where he was, and waited for his uncle to come. Because that was his whole life. All he could do about anything was wait for Uncle Vernon to come to him. Then wait for him to finish and go to sleep.

    His uncle came at Harry like he was in a soft mood, and that was normal these days. It almost eased Harry, let him know the usual was on the menu. Harry stilled a flinch as the man sat beside him on the edge of the bed and wrapped an arm about him, rubbed his shoulder as though Harry might have been hurting. 
    "I meant it. I would take you away from here if I had to. And we could just go somewhere else." He delivered these words as though they were something Harry would want to hear. Like they were gifts. Harry wondered idly if his birthday had passed already. These people would never have known. All of these came with the usual strokes and pets. "I would take care of you, Harry. Come closer." Maybe they were all under a spell of Snape's doing, where they were supposed to drive him insane. That made more sense than the day he'd had with these people. 
    "Yes, Master." He couldn't have come any closer, Uncle Vernon had already closed all space between them. He pressed his body in, instead.
    "I didn't mean come closer. I meant I want you to come closer." Harry nodded quickly. Uncle Vernon was in some weird place where he didn't like thinking of Harry as a slave or something. It was all confusing to Harry, since the man loved being called Master, but Harry also tried to never think about it, so it wasn't clear to him. His uncle turned and lowered Harry to the bed with his body, and his mouth chased him there. Harry moved his mouth along, knowing better than to fight any of this. Playing along made it over sooner.  
    Uncle Vernon lubricated himself and pushed inside slow and gentle, and Harry kept to himself his noises of discomfort. It never felt right, but it had been a long time since this man had actually hurt him.
    "Loo- I want you to look at me." Harry did so before it was an order. Because it was an order. 
    His uncle smiled down at him through his thrusts, and wrapped him in his arms, giving his back an arch, and giving Harry some unfortunate sensations as he held him tightly, moving deep inside him with slow strokes. Harry could hardly fill his lungs. "So good. I want you to move, Harry." He did, nodding under him as he tried to pull in air. His uncle was everywhere. He was the air, and the bed. He was everything. He was a hot greedy mouth that never stilled in its search, either for Harry's mouth, or the perfect words to tear his soul open. 
    "Harry, you feel amazing. The greatest thing I ever screwed. I swear." Not words that landed well, but Harry had heard worse here. Another plunge that had his uncle moaning weakly. He really was undone, and Harry recalled Dudley's words. He shut his eyes against it. Pure horror. It made it all dirtier, if that was possible. 
    "Please, I want you to open your eyes, Harry."
    Harry shook his head. He couldn't. He was afraid to see the man suddenly. A mouth covered his, and he was allowed to not watch, so long as he moved his mouth. His uncle would make a trade, it seemed. It was all quickening, and Harry could see the end he'd been waiting for. "The tightest hole I ever had." He was stroking Harry's face by then, his other arm still underneath. Little frantic pets covered Harry's mouth and jaw. Punctuated by more kisses. Harry wanted to cover his ears. He wanted to shake his head and shove this mass off him. He wanted to cry. Uncle Vernon wouldn't have liked that. Time for his one weapon. 
    "Please, Master," in a shaky tiny voice that made Harry want to cringe even further, "I want you to cum inside me. Please, just cum." It worked, his uncle was pounding him, rearranging his insides, with an iron hold on Harry's shoulder that moved him in for each one, and a hand that gripped his jaw and held his face still. "Look at me, boy."
    "Yes, Master." And that was it. He filled him, and Harry felt the heat spread. But it was over. Once Uncle Vernon let him go, that was. Another little thrust and hopefully the man was empty. The hand on his face loosened for petting, and he breathed, "prettiest eyes" hotly at his face. Harry's mouth fell open. His uncle saw it as an invitation and shoved his fat tongue in, and Harry stared up at him in horror. His uncle was mental. Harry waited for him to get off with his eyes and mouth open, helpless.
     His uncle moved on him for a time, a long time, making out with Harry's mouth, until the stickiness became uncomfortable for him, and he rolled off with a pulling of flesh. 
    Harry rolled over immediately and shut his eyes. Mental. All of them. Except Aunt Petunia. She at least, understood how wrong this all was. So very wrong. Unnatural, she'd said, and that was the word. His uncle curled around him, crowding him further, but Harry felt at least he didn't have to look at him anymore. He could deal with the man holding him from behind, and cooking him slowly, so long as he didn't have to look at him. They slept there, and his uncle woke with him in the morning. Harry didn't enjoy that, and hoped it wouldn't be the new normal, but he had some doubts. Aunt Petunia had been pure rage last night.  

    They were at the table for breakfast, Harry doing his best invisible boy act and Aunt Petunia playing along while the other two seemed to be simply enjoying their breakfasts, when an owl sat at the kitchen window and screeched at them. Harry hunched in further, knowing that owls had never been welcomed here before. 
    His uncle went up and retrieved the letter and sat down to read it. The table sat quietly, waiting. "Hm."
    "Well? What is it, then?"
    "It's an invitation. To a ball, it says."
    "A ball?" She sounded fairly unimpressed. 
    "Yes, an equinox ball, and they want the boy there. All the former members of Dumbledore's Army, it says. A chance to retouch bases, and such." Harry didn't worry; his uncle wouldn't be having anything to do with these people willingly. His aunt sniffed disdainfully. "Sounds interesting." Harry's head whipped back up at the impossible words from his uncle.
    "Excuse me?" His aunt agreed with him, it seemed.
    "It does. Be good for the boy to get out."
    "It wouldn't," Harry said quietly, and heads turned to him. He had spoken. As much as he would really like to leave this hell, he wanted nothing to do with whatever this was. Gloating in formal wear?
    "You wouldn't enjoy something like this? It says you could see your friends."
    "No, Master. I wouldn't." Friends, indeed. They could all be paraded about on leashes, and made to sit and speak like dogs. None of them would be there for the fun of it. For a night out.
    His uncle had reacted so strangely to this, so unlike he would have, or should have, that Harry worked, without looking like it, to read the letter sitting before him. 
    "Dear Mr. Dursley. The wizarding world, and the world at large thank you for your work. We all must do our duty to maintain this new world, but the job with which you have been entrusted is undoubtedly one of the utmost importance. We all thank you for your selfless service.
    There was more, much more, but the man's arm was lying over the rest. They'd greased him well. Pure ass kissery. They knew every button to press with this man. Next month? When was the ... autumnal equinox? Harry didn't think he knew, and he didn't know what day or month it was, either. The leaves were changing, but that could have been for the complete lack of sunlight for all he knew. They didn't say months on the news, they said day One hundred and twenty, the last he'd heard. He did the math, but all he knew was it was around Easter when they'd been caught. August? That would place them all before the leaves should have been turning. 
    Either way, it seemed Uncle Vernon was interested in being about a bunch of magic folk for an evening. Harry wanted nothing of it, but that mattered less than the weather outside a house no one ever left. 

    Malcolm came over for dinner that night, and Harry did the same he had the last time - kept his eyes down, and silent. 
    After, Malcolm also did the same and asked Harry if he would come up. Harry didn't really want to sit with these people at the table, his aunt and uncle. He looked at Dudley, who was nodding at him. Dudley would be there. It would be alright. Harry looked at his uncle, and received a nod. It was the Dursley coalition of approval. Should have raised his hackles, but this table was poison. 
    Harry followed them up, and sat on the floor in Dudley's room. The N64 was turned on, and they started a game, turning it up real loud. Then, Malcolm started talking. And Harry stared at the screen in shock as he tried to pretend he wasn't hearing it. 
    The boy was talking about an ongoing rebellion effort in Surrey. His folks were in on it, and a lot of people here knew. People were actually fighting, or trying to, at least. Harry didn't think they would stand much of a chance. Malcolm started going on about France, and how it was a useful distraction for people here to move quicker, and Harry's pulse followed.
    And then Dudley tossed that away with a "Piss on France. Spain's what's gonna turn this all around. You see what happened there?" And he continued, giving very detailed accounts, more counters, or bits that really pertained in big ways, and Harry was left in amazement. Who were these people? His head hummed around it all, but it wouldn't matter when they were all killed. They didn't stand a chance. Not against death eaters, who could Avada them in moments. And if Riddle knew about this? 
    And then Harry jumped up, suddenly knowing exactly why he shouldn't be there.
    "What?"
    "I have to go."
    "You won't say anything?"
    "I won't. I wouldn't. But."
    "But what?"
    "Riddle can read my mind. Like he has a direct connection to it or whatever."
    "Riddle?"
    "The Dark Lord." Eyes widened, and they were suddenly afraid. They believed him. Dudley nodded as though it made some sort of horrid sense to him. Like he wasn't so surprised by it, but he'd seen a few things in this home. 
    "I'm sorry."
    "It's alright, Harry. Or we can hope that it will be, but know that people are trying."
    Harry nodded and left the room, then went to his own, and was grateful the sounds of the game were drowning out any details he really shouldn't be hearing. And it would probably be best if he forgot about all that. If he could. Poor muggles. He hoped Dudley wouldn't be one of them. That would hurt.
    His uncle came that night, and spoke for a bit about taking Harry out. For the Autumnal equinox Ball. He was interested in getting his knob polished by the wizarding community, it was obvious. His own family wasn't thankful enough for his efforts, it seemed, and he would take some affirmation from outside the home, since it was being offered. 
    "I really don't think it would be fun, Uncle Vernon."
    "Well, I think it will do you good to get out. And I'm the boss here. Understand?"
    "Yes."
    "Good." 
    "They're just going to point fingers and make fun of us. I really don't want to go."
    "Well, you will be."
    He turned with lead in his limbs to the man, and put a hand on his shoulder, ready to back up his terrible words. "Please, let me do something for you. Anything, to not have to go."
    "Harry. I'm sorry." Arms let him know it was good of him to try. "But it said that we were wanted there by the Dark Lord. I won't be crossing him."
    Harry nodded. He had to swallow away his dryness to say it. "Will he be there?"
    "It didn't say. Just that he would personally like us to be there. Who's the boss here?"
    "You are."
    "Alright, then. See that you remember that."
    "Yes, Master." Like he could have forgotten. It was something that he knew in his dreams lately. It was an always. 
    He didn't put Harry to work that night, he did worse. He laid there and held him, leaving Harry to wait for it to begin any moment, and it never did. He was just spending the night in Harry's bed. Like a couple.  
    
    Uncle Vernon returned the letter the next morning, informing whomever it was that he would be attending with his charge. 
    People came later in the week and measured Harry with magical tape measures that hung in the air and caught Dudley's unwavering attention. Harry kept his mouth shut. Would they be given livery? 
    Time wore on and he started to come around to the idea of seeing Ron. And Neville and Luna. But Ginny? It made him feel sick to see her again. He hoped Yaxley would see this all as beneath him, a little too odious, and would find some way to decline.
 



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