I woke up early in the morning with dread and suffocation. Today was the last day. Today was my last day with my idol, my dream, my only friend, Harry Potter. Everyone is sure I hate my cousin. I used to beat him up, make fun of him and embarrass him as much as I could. I was jealous of him. He didn’t have to live with lousy parents. He had a mysterious life that he could turn into anything he wanted to be. My life has been and was always planned out for me. My parents want me to be the perfect, flawless, skinny son, which, even though it pains me to think about, will never happen. I used to hate Harry Potter, until one boring day in his 5th year.
I was lonely, starving, and scared. My parents had just left me home alone, yet again. This time Harry wasn’t with me. I usually felt safer with Harry at home. He could always use his wand and protect me, or maybe himself I should say. But Harry had left after my family and I were tricked by the wizarding folk. My parents had come home confused and angry to find Harry had left our humble home. Ashamed to admit, but since the demented things attacked Harry and I, I’ve been a little on the edge.
I was sitting on my bed with nothing to do, nothing good was on television, I had beaten all my video games, and all my so-called friends were busy. I started to walk through the house. Maybe this would count as exercise. Mother would be proud. I would walk down the hall, down the stairs, up the stairs, down the hall, down the hall again, and down the stairs. During my brief session of aerobics, I passed Harry’s room. It was empty except for a few old papers floating about. Nothing to exciting, but what else was I supposed to do? Exercise some more? No way. The papers were some old homework for that freak school. I was surprised to see Harry had received a good grade. I was quickly bored and threw away the stupid old papers, when something caught my eye. A floorboard, under the bed, was sticking up a bit more than the others. Bored and curious, I lifted the wood board up higher and to my surprise it revealed a secret compartment.
I gasped. There sitting in the hiding place were four diaries. Harry Potter kept diaries? Impossible. That was just… strange. I had to hold back a laugh, but then realized no one else was around, so I laughed aloud. I picked up the diary labeled first year and started to read. It was amazing. The diary started from the day he received his letter until the last day of school. I was in utter shock. I had never known Harry was famous. I also couldn’t believe how he’d survived Voldemort. I learned about Draco and about the troll. I read about the Sorcerer’s stone and about the evil potion’s master Snape. Even I, Dudley, who hates to read or do anything educational, read the book in an hour.
Soon, I heard my parents come into the house, angry and upset. I was surprised. They shouldn’t have been home for at least another hour or two. I went downstairs and received nothing. Not even a look from either parents. I cleared my throat to make my presence known.
“Dudley,” my father nodded at me. My mother smiled and started to open the cupboard to start dinner.
“Why are you home so early?” I asked, rudely.
“It sounds like you didn’t want us home, son,” my father chuckled.
“Well, I like having the house to myself,” I quickly recovered.
“As did I.” I was annoyed and wanted my parents to leave. I could never read Harry’s diaries with my parents home. My father would probably burn the books or thrown them out. I would be very disappointed, not knowing what else my only cousin has accomplished.
“Well, maybe because you had to leave the dinner party early, you could go out to a movie or something,” I suggested, trying desperately hard to get my parents out of the house.
“There was a good movie coming out, but,” my mother started.
“Then go see it! I’ll be fine, I promise!” I shouted, practically shoving my parents out the door.
“Be back in a couple of hours, Dudley,” my mother shouted from the car as they drove down the driveway. I smiled and slammed the door hard. In less than 20 seconds, I was up the stairs and already pulling out Harry’s second year. I read of Tom Riddle and the large snake. I read of Ginny and her crush on Harry. I was enchanted by the wizarding world and quickly picked up the third year of Harry’s wizard life. I was mystified and I wanted more.
In under an hour, I read about Harry’s journey with the dementors and about him learning of his Godfather. I was overjoyed in celebration for Harry. Something I would never think of doing before today.
After that, I soon learned about Harry going through the Triwizard Tournament. I learned about Cedric and about Voldemort’s return. I suddenly felt the guilt pile upon my chest like a burden. I felt sorry for poking fun at Harry’s midnight grumbling about Cedric. A tear of remorse ran down my check, but was quickly wiped away. After that last diary, there was nothing left.
I was soon back into my regular routine of summer and school, but I had Harry to look forward to. I would use Harry during everyday situations. What would Harry do? How would Harry handle this? Soon, I forgot about the whole Harry Potter thing. I went back to my normal routine, picking on kids younger than me, boxing, smoking, and of course food. Harry was no longer considered my idol, just my annoying cousin who had to stay at my house.
My parents soon dragged me to pick up Harry and with dread I went. Once, I saw Harry standing there, shocked and depressed, his image in my head changed. Harry Potter was once again my hero. The whole time Harry was with us, I wanted to ask him what was wrong. All he did was mope and moan. I knew something was wrong, but I stayed away, far, far, away. It’s not that I didn’t like Harry or anything, I was afraid what he would say if he knew how I really felt about him.
One day, a man I read about in Harry’s diaries came to our house. His name was Dumbledore. Let me tell you, I was scared out of my wits. The most powerful wizard was in my house. Who knows what Harry could have told this man about me? Why, oh, why was I so cruel to Harry? I wanted to kick myself in the shin. I spent most of the visit cowering and soon enough, Dumbledore and Harry were gone.
The second my parents were gone from the house that summer, I tore up the stairs and found Harry’s diary of his 5th year. My stomach went in knots when I learned about the Prophesy. Harry would have to kill this man? No, Voldemort wasn’t even a man he was a thing. I was stricken with grief when I read about Sirius and my heart went out for Harry. No wonder he was depressed.
I started to become pale and thin. I looked very sickly from what I used to look like. I would go days without eating because my worry for Harry was much to strong. My only cousin might have to die. I knew the day would come soon and I wasn’t ready for that day. I wish I could help in some way or another.
As soon as Harry came back from his 6th year at Hogwarts, he was surprised by my looks. Although he took no interest in me, because something great was bothering him. I would hear him cry aloud at night, sometimes for his mum and dad, sometimes for Sirius, sometimes Dumbledore, or even Ginny.
Now, we are back from the beginning, we are back to the dreadful morning, I was hoping would never come. It’s Harry’s 17th birthday. I heard him packing up his things and shuffling around his room. I slowly walked to his room and knocked on the door.
“Yes?” His voice sounded irritated.
“It-It’s D-Dudley,” I told him, my voice less than a mere croak. I opened the door to see Harry giving me the death stare. I closed my eyes and tried to harness in all my courage. “I’m s-sorry you’re leaving, H-Harry.” Harry looked surprised. “I’m s-sorry,” I said. I then quickly walked out the room and slammed the door. I locked myself into my own room, refusing to go out for meals. I heard Harry leave and my heart sunk. I would never see him again. This would be the last time I would ever see my cousin, the famous Harry Potter. I sighed and tiptoed into Harry’s old room. I found that he had left his diaries in his secret hiding place. I quickly took up the red journal labeled “6th year” and began to read.
I closed the book once I was done. That was the last I would ever hear of Harry Potter. Either he would die and my own world would be thrown into chaos or he would triumph and my life would never change.
As soon as I was 18, I moved out of my house and started my own family. I was married to a wonderful wife and had two children of my own, Harry and Lily. Not a day went by without me worrying about Harry. I noticed no changes in the good or evil in our world. Four years after Harry left my house forever, I heard a knock at the door. I wondered who it was, for we never received visitors at our country home. I open the red wood door, with my kids trailing close behind, and found myself staring face to face with my hero.
“Dudley?” he asked. I smiled and turned to my kids.
“Lily, Harry, meet your Uncle Harry,” I told them. My kids’ eyes brightened.
“Daddy, is this the man in your stories?” Lily asked.
“Is this your hero, Daddy?” My son, Harry asked me.
I turned to those emerald eyes I had come to admire, smiled and nodded.
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