Disclaimer: The characters or places that you recognise belong to the brilliant JK Rowling.
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Memories


As the sun set slowly over the pristine rooftops of Little Whinging, one Mr. Vernon Dursley sat in his living room, complaining to his wife in very audible tones. The subject of his complaints; the boy whom they had taken in when his parents died, sat just out of sight on the third stair from the landing, a solitary tear in his eye.

"Lazing about all day, pretending to be depressed. Believe me Petunia, the boy is playing for sympathy. He knows as well as I do that the world is better off without that mongrel of a Godfather of his. Filthy convict, running around like he owned the country".

Harry Potter took a calming breath, he couldn't afford to get angry at the pig he called Uncle. His emotions were already at the breaking point from losing his godfather last month in the Department of Mysteries. To top it off, the Dursleys had been taking him to a shrink, to 'get that bloody voo-doo out of his system'. The psychologist had immediately diagnosed Harry as being clinically depressed, and had spent a good three days trying to get him to open up. When he finally had, it felt as though the flood gates had been opened and he cried for an hour over Sirius' death. The good doctor had then relayed the information that Harry was just grieving for a lost loved one and that there was nothing 'freakish' about him, to the Dursleys, who had pulled him out of therapy faster than you could say Quidditch.

Harry hadn't been too upset about being pulled out, but his Uncle Vernon took every opportunity to berate Sirius in anyway possible. Just as he was doing now.

"Should have known he'd come to a sticky end, their kind always do, just like that abomination of a sister of yours."

Aunt Petunia made a sound of agreement while sipping her tea.

"What kind of prison do they run anyway, letting murderers escape right from under their noses, then letting those awful guards of theirs come after us, I tell you, if Dudley hadn't have knocked 'em back when he did, they would have had to answer to me. Stupid Dummy-tars."

Harry had heard enough and stood to go to his room. He had just touched the doorknob, when he heard someone call his name tentatively. He turned around and was surprised to see his cousin Dudley standing behind him nervously.

After a second year of boxing Dudley Dursley had, if possible, gained even more muscle mass, and now instead of resembling a young killer whale, he looked more like a slightly tubby pro-wrestler. Harry subconsciously winced at the memory of having his cousin's fist smashed mercilessly into his head last summer.

"What can I do for you, 'Big D'?" Harry replied, using the nickname Dudley's gang had given him.

The response came as a squeak so small that Harry couldn't understand it.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked.

"W... w..hat d...do you see?" Dudley stuttered.

"I see you, Dud, why?"

" I d...don't m..mean n..n .. now, I meant when, they, come." he said the last part quietly, as if afraid that whoever they were, they would find him if he said it too loudly.

"Who, when who comes?" Harry asked, a slight chill creeping up his spine.

"Dementors, " Dudley hissed.

Harry immediately understood. Dudley was morbidly curious about the creatures that had nearly ended his life last summer, it was like when you see a car wreck, you can't help but look, even though you want to turn away. Harry couldn't believe his ears, a Dursley, a person who was brought up to despise all things magical, was asking Harry a very personal question about the wizarding world. Harry grabbed his much larger cousin by the front of his shirt and dragged him into his room, locking the door behind him. If Uncle Vernon ever found out about this Harry would be beaten to a pulp.

Rifling through the contents of his trunk, dumping everything he pulled out onto the floor, he pulled out his Defense Against the Dark Arts books, every one he owned. He opened his third year text to the section on Dementors and turned back to Dudley, who was eyeing the silvery cloth laying on the floor in front of him as though it would bite.

"W..what's that?" he questioned, pointing at the cloth.

"My invisibility cloak, Harry muttered, clearly distracted by the book he was reading. Finally reaching the right paragraph, Harry handed the book over to Dudley, who tentatively took it, and started reading. As he progressed further down the page, his eyes grew wider and wider till they looked like they were about to pop.

"S... so, the worst memory, right?" he asked, obviously frightened even more than before.

"Right," Harry replied, and before he had time to even question himself said, "I hear my parents being murdered."

Dudley looked up from the book and saw a visible lump in his cousin's throat, along with a few tears welling up in his eyes. Deciding that he should share his worst memory too, he gulped
down his fear and said, " I... I, saw, I saw mum throwing out all my good food and making me eat that grape fruit."




Harry disgustedly pushed Dudley out his door.



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