Cold. He felt inexplicably and mind-numbing cold. Harry was standing near him, his wand out. Harry, his skinny little cousin. Harry, who his parents had taught him to hate. Harry, who had never done anything but get on his nerves. All Dudley could think about was Harry and how much he hated him. He had a sinking feeling that all he would ever be able to think about again was things he hated, things that made him miserable.
Dudley had to get away. He had to get away from Harry, whom he hated so much. Harry, who was making him feel like this with his little brown stick and his “magic.” Dudley turn and ran, he heard Harry yelling, but Harry could only be cursing him because Harry hated him too.
He tripped. There was nothing to trip over, yet there he was lying on the ground, getting colder by the second. All he could think about was Harry, the only thing and the only person he’d ever hated. The only one who had ever stood up to him, had made him feel stupid, had made him feel like sh*t.
A weird sensation pervaded the cold, almost like he was being separated. Like part of him was leaving. Part of him that he needed –the part that knew who he was. Or was he leaving with it?
Harry was yelling again. Stupid, skinny, magical Harry.
Then it stopped. He was not separating; he was whole. He was not cold, but he was shivering. Harry made it stop.
Harry was next to him. Talking to him. Pulling on his arm. Dumbly, Dudley stood up and collapsed on Harry.
Harry, who saved him.