The Effects That Linger

Chapter 1 - Dudley's issues

All he could feel was cold. Bone numbing chills blasted him in waves, alternating between freezing cold, and even harsher despair. He couldn't move, couldn't think, could not do anything except shiver. As much as he tried squeezing his eyes shut, he couldn't. His vision was filled with the sight of long, torn, mildewed robes. It was impossible to say what color they had been once. Now, they were just rags, draped over a vague human-like form, with skeletal fingers protruding from the sleeves.

It reached toward him, the thing's hand big enough to encircle his head twice. He could only stare at the soulless face of what ever it was attacking him. A gaping hole where the mouth should be, two smaller holes that could only be its nose... blessedly, he could not see its eyes hidden under the droop of its hood.

Suddenly, a single thought forced its way to the front of his mind, he was very much aware of thinking, "I am going to die." The stark terror that filled him seemed to fall away. He still could not move, not even blink, but he seemed to have no sensation of his body.

The hand grew closer, seeming to grow larger. The fear returned, in a rush, overwhelming him.

"No!!" he screamed, although no sound came from him. "No!! NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"

Blackness. There was no light, no sound, nothing. Was he dead?

"Dudley!"

"Huh? Whazzat?"

"Dudley, wake up!" a woman's voice spoke in his ear.

He was being shaken, a small hand on his shoulder rattled him awake.

"The nightmare again?" Dudley's mother asked. His eyes still tightly shut, he couldn't see the concern on her face, but he could hear it in her voice. There was fear in her voice too. He'd told her about the nightmare, several times, but this was the first time she'd actually seen one.

Dudley sat up, his bed creaking under his weight. Petunia sat next to him, taking his large hand in her small one.

"Dudley," she began, "you said it was a bad nightmare. But this!" He felt her shudder. "You need to talk to someone about this!"

He closed his eyes, sighed, scrubbed his hands through his hair. He looked around his old room at Number 4, Privet Drive. How long had he been having these nightmares? Three years? He couldn't recall, and didn't want to, not right now.

"Is Dad awake?" Dudley asked, keeping his voice quiet.

His mother shook her head no, barely visible in the dim light coming from the window.

"It was those dementoid things Mum!" He said in as loud a whisper as he dared. "I don't need to talk to someone. I need to talk to HIM!"

"Oh!" Petunia cried. "Dudley, you know what your father would say. It's impossible!"

"He can do mag--, well, you know Mum. Maybe he can take these nightmares away." Dudley almost sobbed. "How can I get a hold of him? It's not like he has a phone."

"Owls," Petunia breathed. Dudley couldn't believe she answered. All the tightness seemed to flow out of him instantly. "Use the regular post, but they somehow know to send an owl. Only Dudley, don't say a word around your father." Petunia stood up, primly smoothing the front of her dressing gown. "Try to get some rest popkins," she said with a wan smile.

Dudley watched his mother quietly close the door. He heard the muffled thump as the door to his parent's bedroom shut. He stood up, went to the small desk in his bedroom, snapped on the light, and searched around for a sheet of paper and something to write with.