Hi everyone :) not much to report this time. I'm feeling much better, all pain is pretty much gone, and i'm starting uni again next week this time for my masters should be fun.

Thanks Storyseeker for betaing

Consequence

Dumbledore lead Dudley through the halls of St Mungos with the swift confidence of someone far too familiar with his surroundings. Dudley wondered, only briefly (as he trailed a step behind), if the old man was doing it on purpose. People smiled and waved at Dumbledore, as they walked passed. One man even tipped his hat, followed with a questioning glance at Dudley.

Dudley thought it wise not to say anything, or discuss the enquiry while in the earshots of passing strangers, so he kept his mouth shut, happy that Dumbledore did the same.

As they passed the reception, and a line of rather odd and in some cases gut turning patients, Dudley realised they were not heading for the fireplace from where he and Petunia had entered the night before, and were instead heading, for what Dudley assumed, was the mannequin exit.

This, however, was a brick wall, and they stood in line with teary strangers in mismatched muggle clothing, until they were nose to nose with it.

"Don't we need to change our robes if-" Even as Dudley was asking the question, Dumbledore's sidelong look, and a twitch in the corner of his mouth, answered it for him. Albus Dumbledore did not need to change his robes, if he didn't want to be seen by muggles - he wasn't.

On queue, the headmaster with one hand pulled his wand from his sleeve, and with a fanciful silent wave, placed it in his belt, and held out his other arm to Dudley. Dudley looked around, and then reluctantly took it.

"I'm not holding your hand the whole way."

"You needn't have to." Dumbledore chucked, and smoothly stepped through the wall.

8

London was a labyrinth.

Dudley couldn't help but think of the time he and Harry stole Vernon's car and used Hedwig as a GPS. Like then, the unfamiliarity of this world's London made him feel uneasy, more so now with knowledge of his former life. Some of the landmarks he had used from his world didn't exist here, and those that did were not the same, minute changes like the colours and materials of the statues and buildings made them appear odd looking and strange to him. It was akin to someone breaking into your house, and while you slept, rearranged all your furniture - even the stuff that you thought was nailed down.

He pushed the unease to one side when Dumbledore started walking down the bustling street.

They marched at a quick pace, and were completely unseen by the busy muggles around them. In all his trips to London, never had Dudley moved so smoothly through the city, as not once did someone step in front of them, stand in their way or push them aside. It was by far the most useful application of magic that Dudley had yet witnessed, and in a flicker it was over.

Dumbledore stepped into a dodgy looking back ally, with only a grim pub and some overhanging boxed over window, from what looked to be an office. Dudley spotted the red telephone box, which had been tagged in navy blue spray paint, with what could be the name 'AxIX', but even that had faded and crusted off with the red paint of the phone box. It wasn't very welcoming to say the least.

The creep of worry made its way over the hairs on the back of his neck. Dumbledore seemed to notice, and reassuringly placed his hand on Dudley's arm. For a second it looked as if the professor was about to say something, but instead he just smiled.

Dudley let out a shaky sigh and nodded.

8

Dudley stood in front of the gold fountain, scanning it with his eyes. It was as remarkable as the chest pieces had been, life-like in detail and expression. He could see in his mind's eye each of the magical creatures stepping off the podium and fighting for Dumbledore against Voldermort, and shuddered at the thought of it becoming a reality.

Sighing heavily, Dudley widened the scope of his vision and admired the rest of the Ministry. He surveyed the smart black and frumpy robed people that chattered amongst and across from each other, blinkered to everyone else around them in their own self-absorbed importance, and wondered at the flurry of memo airplanes whizzing airlessly overhead. He had been here before… Well, not here 'here'. It was a strange echo-y feeling, not far from déjà vu, even though the conversations, the clothes and the walls were different, the air was the same…the same as the muggle world. It was almost like…

"Washington!"

Dudley looked to see were his chaperon was out of earshot. Dumbledore was speaking to a friendly looking wizard.

Dudley fiddled with the silver visitor pin shining brightly on his blue robe, and looked up once again to the statue, the great weight of the world rolling back on to his shoulders. There were so many secrets and hidden motivations to keep track of, as he silently clapped his hands together below his belt, interlocking and then squeezing his fingers against each other, while feeling the ring under his skin.

The feeling of missing a simple life washed over him, and then he remembered that his life could never have been simple…not really. He had to have been at the heart of something earth changing in his old life, and that he had someone he loved there to, Emily.

He closed his eyes, as her name drifted in his head. She loved him back, but she wasn't here…he hadn't even heard her voice in his head for months now. Harry was here though, he loved Harry (not in the same way, thank Merlin) and Harry loved him. That was enough, for now.

A rush of emotion took hold of him, as the shop flashed briefly behind his eyes. It was almost silly in a way, nearly funny, under the right kind of light that something so real could happen in a world of magic.

"All those people," he muttered, as the faces of the victims from the fuzzy green TV-cam enveloped the darkness behind his eyelids.

It made clear, in a mangled sort of way, why the experiments written in the briefcase, from the old Department of Magical Theory that Mr Crow had sent him for Christmas, were considered so shameful. He understood it a little bit better now…and why people wanted it to be shut down.

"All those people," he muttered again. Because they were people, even when some weren't humans, they were still people. He shuddered at the icy realisation.

"What people?" Dumbledore said, quiet and cheerful, making Dudley jump and open his eyes. He looked up to him with an unpleasant expression on face, but Dumbledore smiled through it, his kind eyes helping to draw it away.

"Is it… time?" Dudley locked his fingers and brushed the stray blonde hair from his face.

"Indeed it is. Wound you like a Knut?"

"You what? Oh." Dumbledore held in his hand a bronze Knut, and darted his eyes to the fountain. "Yeah, please. Can't hurt." Dudley took the Knut and dropped it into the fountain with a plop.

"Very good. This way then, if you would follow me."

"As always, Professor."

"Ah, Mr Evans, I and Hogwarts can only hope." The criss-crossed copper plated gates of the lift gave a shuddering thud, and closed with a solid ping.

The lift went back, two meters to the right, and then straight down, stopping several times to let witches and wizards on and off, each greeting Professor Dumbledore with an outstretched hand and jolly words.

"Must be tiring being so popular," Dudley quipped once an elderly wizard, in a soaking wet green robe, got off the lift and bowed until the doors clattered shut.

"Are you missing school, Dudley?"

The question surprised Dudley a little, but he quickly composed himself. "Ha! That death-trap?" he joked. "The only thing I miss is magic, and Harry and the others actually." He paused. "After all this is over…?"

"We will see," said Dumbledore, but said nothing more until they reach their destination on the 10th floor.

"Do they usually have inquires on this floor?"

"No, I requested it."

Dudley frowned. "Why?"

"I know that you blame yourself for what happened, Dudley, and that lives have been lost, in the long starch I believe. Although tragic in your actions, you have saved many more lives. Something I think you should be very proud of." Dumbledore said this while stepping forward into a narrow dark hallway, with Dudley striding after him.

He stopped suddenly by a door, a foot taller than he was, and opened it. "You can wait in here until I come to get you. I won't be a moment."

Dudley looked dubiously at the empty room, and gave Dumbledore a hardened look. He found his manor strange, and juxtaposed with the nervous feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

"Be quick," Dudley whispered, and stepped into the room, tightening his fists in the sleeves of his robe.

"I will do my best, I assure you." Dumbledore smiled and stroked his beard before lightly ushering him in with a wave of his hand. Dudley took a step back into the room. "Don't look so worried, Dudley. I won't be long."

Dumbledore then closed the door, leaving Dudley to stare at it in confusion. He ran a hand through his hair, not letting himself believe that he was worried, while reminding himself that it was only an inquiry, and that he was in the right (mostly). Even so, his hand trembled before reaching the back of his head. He scratched his ear to hide it, and quickly ran his story through his head: Vernon was kidnapped (no one knew he was kidnapped).

They'll ask about that, Dudley realised, they'd ask why no-one thought he was kidnapped, and I'll say – I'll say the truth, Vernon-'dad' doesn't like magic, and I did magic –Damn, they'll ask why I did magic when I'm not supposed to…I'll say it was an accident, that's pretty much the truth. Dudley had begun to pace, talking only with the frantic motions of his hand around his belly. Then I was doing research, no, I was doing 'school' work, homework, and wanted a cup of tea, but there was no milk, so I went out to get some before the shops closed and, and then and-

He stopped abruptly, as he had walked away from the door into a large, black domed atrium of some kind. He would have admired the strange way that square fractals had been used to create and decorate it, if not for a man smiling at him from within a black iron cage in the centre of the room.

"Err, hello?" Dudley asked, as he awkwardly took a step backwards.

"Hello," said the man in the cage, eyes gleaming from behind matted black hair.

Dudley stopped at the man's voice, as there was something in it, something non-threating – joyous about it. Like the twins when they - Dudley narrowed his eyes and took two steps forward. "Sirius Black?"

The man grinned on the verge of madness. "And you are Dudley Evans?"

"Y-yes, I am. My god, Merlin, what have they done to you?" Candles were lit around the cage, and as Dudley moved closer the more he could see, or rather the more he could not see, as there didn't seem to be much of a man left. He was emaciated, or close to, if not for the knotted beard hiding the bony gauntness of his face, and the loose stained prison robe concealing, what Dudley imagined to be, only a skeleton in a suit of skin. Dudley was marvelled that he had the strength to stand, let alone the energy needed to smile.

"Not in my best condition, I know." Sirius shrugged off the question, and barked laugher lanced with a cackle that spelled insatiability. He stretched his arms out wide and grasped the iron pillars of his cage; his thin form shaking as he did.

"Professor Albus Dumbledore came to see me for the first time in eleven years. He said that a student had a theory about a dead man being alive and hiding in the skin of a rat. That was you." The cutting and blatantly bitter tone in Sirius's words fluttered the hairs on the back of Dudley's neck, summoning a red warning flag in his head.

"Yes, that was me." Dudley nodded and relaxed a little into the back of his heels. "I figured it out.

"I heard your name in Azkaban. That's where I was." In the dimness of the room, Sirius's eyes looked black and shark-like, making the smile suddenly seem tragic.

"I know." Dudley frowned. Was this what he was like? He was unstable in the books, but was he like this…No, no he had time to recover, almost a year. This is what, maybe a day or a few hours? Sirius was still talking, but Dudley had stopped listening. Dumbledore wanted me to see this, why? It doesn't matter, I can't let Harry - And then it made sense. He wanted him to-

"Eleven years and he-!"

"Shut up, I'm thinking!" Dudley turned away from the caged man. "Dumbledore said I'd saved lives, yours. He knows Harry would want to…no, Harry would stay with me, even if it meant living with… Oh." Dudley turned back to Sirius, who was now looking at him rather oddly.

"Harry," Sirius mumbled, his eyes lost.

"You're still Harry's legal guardian, and Dumbledore's afraid you'll take custardy of Harry in the state you are now." Dudley touched his brow, smoothing the end of his eyebrow with his thumb. "He thinks Harry would seek my council, and I'd say-"

"Harry," he mumbled again.

Dudley stared at him hard, x-raying him with his eyes and battling his heart with his head. "I'd say no. You're not ready, Sirius."

"You can't keep him from me!" The light seemed to have found itself back into his dark eyes. "You don't have that right!"

"I don't need it." Dudley stepped forward until he was almost in reaching dissent of the bars. "You need to sort yourself out. When you get out of here – you're going to need help. Owl Remus, or someone. Get help, get better...for Harry."

"You know Moony?"

Dudley could feel Sirius searching his face, and frowned deeper. "I know he needs help, too."

"Dudley?"

Dudley turned around at the voice, and found Dumbledore standing before him, his usual brightness drained by the poor lighting of the room. "It is time."

Dudley sighed, and denied himself one last look at the man in the cage, and strode past Dumbledore without a glance.

8

This new room, or rather arena, was remarkably similar to the room Sirius was in, except from the ground up it was built from triangular fractals, lit by bright blue candles that reflected off the black granite. It would have been beautiful if its construction weren't so obviously created to intimidate, which Dudley duly felt.

Dumbledore had lead him into the room with his hand on his shoulder, and seven people sat in official and prim-looking robes from the darker side of the colour spectrum. Dotted about on either side of the room sat six people, split, three each, to the sides of the room, and sat at slight angle so they all pointed towards a chair a little off centre from the room. However, their features were hidden by the low light and shadows casted from the large brims of their hats.

Even so, Dudley identified Rufus Scrimgeour in crimson sitting opposite to a woman dressed the same on a high set desk, which on the ground formed a sharp obelisk bench that reminded him of the front of a boat. Sat above the others on this bench, although he had to strain his neck to see, was a woman in a black coat and hat with a puff of pink fuzz peaking over her collar.

Dumbledore lead him to a large elevated wooden chair with a bright green cushion, set in the centre of the floor. It had to be elevated and off centre, Dudley surmised, because the bench the woman in black sat on was to disproportionate high to the rest of the room. The chair didn't have any shackles, or at least it didn't have any that he could see, and the cushion was comfortable and soft, none of which distracted Dudley from the prickly tense feeling he felt in his gut at the sight of the pink fluff escaping from the woman's collar. If this was she, if this was Umbridge, he might as well snap his wand now.

"Dudley Dursley?" The woman in black's voice was firm, and to Dudley's delight lacked the sweetness he would expect from Her. He was also taken aback by his full name. The woman leaned forward, her strong face illuminated from the candles floating on either side of the pointed obelisk. "You seem surprised. This is a Ministry, and the Suparinjunctjinx has no power in this courtroom. I must request that you state your full and real name."

"Urm, Dudley, hem, Dursley." He couldn't remember if Dudley had had a middle name or not, so he coughed and made a sound just in case. The woman looked at him oddly, and then seemed to move even closer.

"Because the witness in question is so young, it has been decided by counsel that formal cloaks will be removed, and the council will identify themselves formally to the witness." The woman then stood up, and removed her hand and cloak, revealing a pink-hedged mane on a blue robe, and a bonnet of dull grey hair.

"My name is Amelia Bones, but you may refer to me as Madam Bones. I am Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and will be over seeing this enquiry, Dudley. It will be I who decides whether the evidence you give and treatment you receive in this court of enquiry is both rigorous and satisfactory, under the clause of you being named as an Unreliable."

Dudley cocked his head. This was not at all as he had pictured it, not just Madam Bones, but everything. The people in the stands undressing, even if it was just their cloaks, was bizarre and a little bit…insulting.

"Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office, seventh on the scene. I stand with Kingsley Shacklebolt." Dudley looked around on the left side of the court, where Shacklebolt was removing his byzantium cloak. He smiled and gave Dudley a little nod of acknowledgement, or perhaps some reassurance. "We investigated the area of the event in question."

As Scrimgeour sat down, the man next to him stood up and fumbled with a cloak, as he spoke, "Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office."

Dudley's eyes widened. Arthur Weasley, here? He eyed the shabby, stout red-haired man with intrigue, until the question rose again in his mind, with a slightly different angle, why is Arthur Weasley, 'Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office', here?

He smiled warmly at Dudley, almost knowingly. Perhaps Ron or the twins had spoken about him, or…Percy (Dudley shuddered to think what Percy might have put in a letter about him).

Mr. Weasley gestured to the other side of the stand, to the woman in crimson, now no longer in crimson but in a brown robe (which seem matched her mousey face). "I stand with Harriet Fimble."

"Dolores Umbridge."

Dudley's head snapped round so fast that the giant chair shook from its kinetic force, as a stoat thick-set woman dressed in a perking pink, out of place in the darkness of the room, spoke. Shit! Dudley thought. Shit, shit, shit!

"Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic. I stand with Deacon Crow."

Dudley's whipped back around to the other side of the courtroom. Sure enough, Mr. Crow pulled off his robe, revealing his bald head and bored arrogant expression.

"Oh, come on," Dudley whispered to himself, suppressing the desire to laugh.

"Dudley." Madam Bone sat in her chair, and gave Dudley what he assumed she thought was a friendly and reassuring smile.

"Yes?"

"I would like you, to the fullest of your abilities, to tell this enquiry your version of events of the incident that occurred yesterday evening." Madam Bones then sat up straighter. "I remind this enquiry that no questions or interruptions are to be made during Mr. Dursley's statement." Dudley caught Miss Bone's lightning glance at Umbridge, whose tiny smile never wavered. "I also remind the witness that cross examination shall be conducted by myself, Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office, and his standing partner, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Agreed?"

"Agreed," both sides of the room said at once, in a droll and serious tone.

Dumbledore piped in. "Agreed."

Madam Bones stared back down to Dudley. "Please begin when you are ready, Mr. Dursley."

Dudley looked long ways at Dumbledore, and then began telling them the whole story. His mouth became a broken sewage pipe from the second that words began sipping from his lips, as his story rolled and gargled its way out of his throat with the ease of air through a fan. He focused on his wording, making sure each section of his story, from when Vernon went missing, to stealing the car and getting to the house, fitted perfectly together as pieces in a puzzle.

He ignored the looks of his audience, unable to hold his head high, as he explained and described the bodies of the people he had seen on the green haze of the CCTV monitors. At the end he was almost panting, as sweat trickled down from his face to his neck under the collar of his robe, as he distantly felt himself collapse into the chair, completely unaware he had even stood up.

Silence ricocheted around the room with the landing of his bottom to the chair. As he recovered his breath, Dudley spared a subtle scan of the room, drinking quickly and slyly the reactions of the room. Scrimgeour, Umbridge and Mr. Crow stood completely stoic, each in a slightly different and repressed position, with each of their relative expressions personified in their pose, with their faces saying or giving nothing away.

Like the same doll in different clothes, Dudley mused. Arthur Weasley, Miss Harriet Fimble and Kingsley Shacklebolt on the other hand…

Mr. Weasley looked to be on the verge of tears, as his face was pinkish-red, the same colour Ron became when he was upset. He looked very out of place between the two statue-persons beside him. Harriet Fimble was not fairing much better, and was blowing her nose into a handkerchief, sobbing to herself, as the tall standing Kingsley rested his hand on her shoulder. When he laid his eyes on him, Dudley felt both a feeling of being impressed and respect marred with a glimmer of what he thought might be…suspicion.

Dumbledore just gave a small smile, and nodded.

Madam Bones coughed loudly, and all eyes turned to her. She held none of the expressions of the crowd below her, as she held the look of a woman getting a job done. "Dudley, I will now open the floor for questioning. Are you ready?"

Dudley nodded with a sigh on his lips, as a rush of panic thrust into his intestine. "Yeah, I think so."

"Mr. Scrimgeour and Mr. Shacklebolt, proceed. The floor is open."

Dudley took a strong look at each man. You can do this, he whispered in his head, taking hold of the arm of the large chair. He pictured himself and Harry doing magic together in front of the house, under the window, trying to make popcorn pop. The memory brought with it a simple calm to the rush. You can do this.

"Mr Dursley," Scrimgeour began, his rumbling voice shaking the pit of Dudley's stomach. "You say your father was kidnapped, yet no one knew this?"

Dudley's eyes lit up, and he held his expression so as not to smile. It was as if Harry and Emily were in the room with him, each holding his hand.

I can do this.