purplefluffycat (purplefluffycat) wrote in dietdudleydiet,

Fic: 'Cream Cakes and Boys'

Hi there!

I have just come across this community and thought that this might be a good place to post my first ever Dursley-fic...

Title: Cream Cakes and Boys
Author: PurpleFluffyCat
Rating: R/NC-17
Pairing: Dudley Dursley/Horace Slughorn, with appearances by Petunia and Vernon Dursley, Hestia Jones and Daedalus Diggle.
Warnings: Gluttony - sort of as a fetish, Mild D/s dynamic, mentions of Muggle homophobia.
Summary: After the Dursley family have retreated into hiding, a frustrated and trapped Dudley finds relief to more than one of his worries in the least expected of circumstances.

Notes: Easily the strangest pairing I have ever written, but I've tried to make the scenario somewhat plausible... Comments are much appreciated :-)

The Dursley family were not taking their confinement well. It was over four months since they had been escorted to the unplottable building in which they were to be kept safe - and being the stubborn Muggles they were, every suggestion that might make the experience easier was devoutly ignored.

The family were housed in the second floor of a large wizarding building somewhere in London; private flats that were occupied by a rotation of Order members and Aurors who were charged with the duty of looking after them below, and an empty attic above. Dumbledore had specifically left instructions that they were to be cared for and accommodated as far as possible, and their guardians had tried - they really had.

Hestia Jones had spent almost a whole day transfiguring the decor of the flat to Petunia Dursley's specifications (Laura Ashley print almost everywhere, with shag-pile carpets and Chintz sofas), only to be told to change everything back when she apparently hadn't quite matched the shades of magnolia from one room to the next. Daedalus Diggle had volunteered to escort the family outside at least three times a week to allow them to shop, play sports and have some fresh air. Of course, disguise would have been necessary for these outings, and either Polyjuice or a disillusionment charm had been proffered. The Muggles however, had been unwilling to co-operate with either of these methods and opted to remain constantly inside, becoming increasingly unhinged as their cabin-fever reached epic proportions.

They couldn't even really attempt what they called normality within the building; there were various things essential to the life of a Muggle that were simply unavailable there. All electrically-powered devices were unusable owing to the magic-steeped atmosphere - and being the sedentary family that the Dursleys were, that counted out most of their usual pastimes. Furthermore, Petunia found that she couldn't even carry out her proud housewifely duties in a way she found acceptable. She was content to clean by hand, but washing clothes without a machine smacked of 1950s poverty. No gas or electricity in the kitchen made a mockery of her usual culinary self-confidence, and she simply refused to interact with the magic-powered stove that was present in the flat.

Therefore, after much whinging and complaint it was agreed that all meals and washing services would be provided for the Dursleys - hot plates appearing in the kitchen at appointed times - and any snacks and sundries they wished for would be obtained by leaving a note in a tray by the door. Hestia and Daedalus had by then agreed that encouraging the family to help themselves was a lost cause, so they borrowed a house elf for the purpose, gave him strict instructions to remain unseen by the Muggles at all times, and did their best to forget about their unpalatable charges from one day to the next.

And so it went on.

The Dursley's effective imprisonment was certainly taking a toll upon each member of the family.

Dudley had given up his boxing training after just a few days of arriving in the unplottable building - in fact he had given up doing anything whatsoever. There didn't seem any point when there wasn't going to be anyone to fight, no instructor around to see how he was doing.

Not that he missed his instructor - Steve - oh no, not at all, he thought. Not that he had memorized the man's 'phone number even though he had never memorized a number of any kind before; even though he had never actually had reason to call it. Without the prospect of going to boxing and hanging around with his mates Dudley really was pretty glum.

There was an upside to giving up on all that training business, though, Dudley found. He didn't have to care at all about eating lots of 'good' low-fat protein, and those energy bars that tasted of sawdust. He'd only done it so that so that he could hit harder and for longer; so that he'd be allowed to train in Steve's group, anyway.

So, the youngest Dursley took great pleasure in reverting to the eating habits of just over a year previous: chips, chocolate, burgers, chips, chocolate, pizza, chips, chocolate, chips... all ordered within seconds via the tray by the door without a comment from anyone. And this time, he thought with glee, they'd be no Smeltings school nurse to cause trouble; he could have seconds, thirds, fourths of dinner... followed by large take-away orders from McDonald's and bags and bags of sweets, all perfectly uncontrolled and appearing...? - Why yes! By magic.

Strangely enough, this behaviour went largely unnoticed by his parents - who were having problems of their own.

Vernon Dursley's delight at being relieved of his job lasted only for a few days. He soon became twitchy and restless, storming around the cramped flat with a temper worse even than usual. To compound matters, his favourite pastime - the television - was as good as useless in that magic-soaked environment. It was difficult to get a picture and even when something vaguely resembling a football match formed on the screen, it flickered and disappeared within seconds. Vernon had to content himself with newspapers, and took to writing enraged letters to the editors of 'The Sun' about the British weather.

Dudley's mother, similarly enough, had retreated more and more into magazines. 'Vogue,' 'Cosmo' and 'Yours' were her friends now, not Sue-who's-husband-is-a-banker, Tracey-the-one-with-a-pony and Anne-from-down-the-road. She gazed at those glossy pages as if she might be able to escape into them, memorizing the names of designers, 'it' girls, and film stars as if they were the chantings of some sort of religion.

Petunia and Vernon both had taken to staring at the walls for long periods at a time, saying nothing - blank and motionless - and then all of a sudden stirring themselves into a frenzy of activity in mimicry of whatever it was that they had just read. Vernon would try to work out how many years it would take until fifty percent of Britain's voting population were of foreign descent using his rusty O-level Maths skills (and subsequently be enraged when the answer he got seemed to indicate that would happen sometime the following week), and Petunia would dive for her make-up case and try out the new look from Calvin Klein (which was purpose-designed for Brazilian beach-wear). Dudley would stomp around loudly among them, complaining about how bored he was, how he just wanted to smash open the door, how there was nothing to do there, and how much he hated it - to which his parents would alternately grunt, simper, appease and ignore, until Dudley got bored of saying how bored he was, go to lay down on his bed and munch through a family-size packet of crisps and a few Mars bars.


There was the odd occasion, however, when Dudley became the sole focus of one of his parents' attention, and these times were not always welcome. This tale in the life of one Dudley Dursley begins on one such wet, November afternoon, when Petunia fixed her beady eye upon her recalcitrant son, over the top of 'Vogue: Autumn.'

"Dudders, come here, will you?" she simpered.

"Yer wha'?" he grunted in annoyance, through a mouthful of crisps.

"There's a good boy - come and stand right in the middle of the room in front of Mummy."

Dudley scowled in dissatisfaction at the effort of having to stand up from the sofa, but did so all the same, staring back dully at mother while continuing to automatically shovel crisps from bag to mouth.

"Mmmm... yes..." mumbled Petunia to herself. She squinted and turned her head at an angle, as if trying to peer through a pair of rose-tinted spectacles that were very firmly affixed. After a moment, she nodded to herself in decision and then formed her features into her most gushing, indulgent smile.

"Dudley, darling? Fashion is such a changeable thing, you know... but it says here that the beefy look for men is out for good now, love. And you do want a girlfriend, don't you, Dudders? We all want that. So, I think we're going to have to slim you down a bit."

"Ugh?" said Dudley. He hadn't been listening, but was vaguely aware that his mother had a scheme that involved him in some way. It didn't sound good.

Petunia however, didn't reply - her thoughts had moved on to the next step of her plan. "Now, where's my tape-measure? I daresay it won't take much - just an inch or two - and very soon my boy will be just as lithe as the models in these magazines!"

Her eyes glazed over in a particularly delusional, middle-distance fashion and she began to rumble around in her floral sewing-case. About half a minute and a bag of salted peanuts later, Petunia extracted a tape marked in inches (wouldn't want to use any of those Frenchy centi-whatsits, now would we?) with a flourish. She walked over to the daydreaming Dudley and slipped the tape around her son's belly.

Dudley awoke with a start at the sudden intrusion, and wanted to run away: but as always there was nowhere to run in that bloody flat. Instead, he just flailed around a bit and complained, "Urgh, Mum! Don't!"

Petunia swatted him on the arm and he immediate stilled. It was a curious fact that however many children Dudley had beaten-up, bullied, punched and kicked he was always deferential to his mother when she had that steely look about her - as she certainly had then.

Dudley slouched still in defeat and watched dully as Petunia's eyebrows then climbed toward her hairline. "Dud-ley!" she cried, staring at the reading of his girth in plain disbelief. She felt around to his back to see if the tape had been caught in a loop somehow, but this revealed no such aberration - if anything she had pulled it too tightly and the tape was digging into her son's fleshy sides. "My goodness! How did you get this size?! And I thought my boy was very nearly catwalk material..."

A sudden shock of frustration crossed Petunia's features as her vicarious paper-and-ink dreams were dashed. A stern tone replaced the usual soft manner toward her son. "I'm putting you on a diet - effective immediately. My lordy, with a stomach that big... the girls... it says here that Christian Dior only make clothes going up to a 36-inch waist... and we do want you to be dashing when we get out, don't we? Find a nice young lady, settle down, give Mummy some grandchildren..."

She was off in a world of her own again, but to Dudley, that didn't matter. The only thing he cared about was that dreadful word, 'diet.' It made him shudder from top to toe. He wouldn't do it, he decided! He'd fight back!

"No way!" Dudley bellowed, storming around in a small circle and spilling marshmallows onto the carpet.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to, dear," came the reply. "All men these days have got to be slim and lovely. According to Anna Wintour, no female would be seen dead with a man these days unless he's got... now what was it?" She dived for the magazine again, "Oh yes, unless he's got, 'chiseled features and abs like an ironing board.'"

Dudley was too outraged to listen. Days and days of lettuce leaves stretched before him into the distance and in this dreadful flat there was no means of escape.

Lurking behind the whole thing was a concept he found even more terrifying, however, even if he didn't acknowledge that in the forefront of his mind... this was all because he was supposed to end up with a girl.

Mother and son stubbornly stared at each other for a few moments, but then an idea came to Dudley. He blurted it out with great triumph. "But Dad's fat! And you're not making him go on a diet!" Dudley was rather proud of that point. He'd thought it up all by himself, and he reckoned that should have been the end of the whole thing.

Unfortunately though, it had little effect upon Petunia's resolve. "Your father has already got a woman, so he doesn't need to worry about his looks any more, does he?" she rejoined.

She turned to a glossy centre-spread and softened her tone as she continued. "It says here that heroine-chic is the key look for the late 90's - only they've mis-spelt the word for the leading lady; everyone who does the Mail on Sunday crossword knows that you spell 'heroine' with an 'e'. But anyway, it's quite clear that all the girls are going after the willowy look now, dear." She smiled sweetly at her gaping son, "I've always said you look like Mummy's little angel - all cute and chubby, Dudders - and I stand by that, I really do..." Petunia squeezed his pudgy cheek between finger and thumb, "But I know I've got to be strong and watch my little angel fly the nest and have lots and lots of baby birdies really soon. So that means you're going to have to loose all that tubby weight there, darling." She grabbed hold of a handful of Dudley's stomach and wobbled it up and down to make her point. "This big old belly that swelled up while Mummy wasn't looking will be gone in no time, you'll see!"

With that, Petunia turned on her heel and swanned out of the room to give instructions to the witches and wizards in charge, leaving Dudley palpitatingly cross, but unable to say or do anything at all.


Unfortunately for Dudley, it seemed his mother's word had become law with almost immediate effect. As the Dursleys absolutely refused to venture out and buy things for themselves, they were completely beholden to their magical protectors and the system which had been put in place. It seemed - to Petunia's satisfaction and Dudley's utter dismay - that any ruling put in place by a Dursley parent was to override that of the son, no questions asked, no chance of appeal. Therefore, following his mother's curt note to the Aurors via the tray in the hall, Dudley's supply of McDonald's, sweets, Colas and crisps dried up immediately. What's more, his dinner consisted of a small, leafy salad in lieu of the homely cooking to which he had become accustomed.

By evening of that day, Dudley was convinced he was starving to death, and by the following afternoon, having only had a normal dinner, breakfast and lunch to sustain him, he had taken to lying on his bed, weakly complaining of faintness, disorientation and a wasting condition in his limbs that meant he couldn't walk.

Normally, Dudley Dursley would have caused an absolutely unbearable fuss - he would have rampaged and thumped and screamed and cried until his mother stuffed Big Macs into his mouth just to stop the noise. But there was also something else the matter that took away a lot of his ability to be proactive in the complaining department - and strangely enough it all seemed linked together with being starved so.

His brain was neither agile nor inquisitive, but there was something that was playing on his mind, and it had been troubling him for a pretty long time. All of the hours spent sulking in his bedroom just then gave Dudley more than his usual opportunity to think about things; dwell on things.

It was all about men.

He knew exactly what his parents thought of those sorts of men - poofters, buggers, pansies. They hated them almost as much as they hated magic freaks. And Dudley knew he had to hate them, too. It wasn't normal for blokes to fancy blokes, and he never would fancy a bloke... especially not Steve, his boxing instructor, whose muscles rippled when he moved, who had a really large bulge in his boxing shorts and who slapped Dudley on the back and grinned when he had fought well. He'd never want to do anything in the showers with Steve, oh no. Or with any other man...

It was all such a bloody mess. Some of his gang had shagged a girl and then bragged about it, and Dudley knew how to jeer the female the next day and say obscene things about her. He knew how to crowd around a porn mag and pretend to enjoy himself. Only it wasn't always pretend, because sometimes there were blokes in the pictures, too - showing things, doing things - and he always found his eyes wandering to the big shoulders and aching cocks even when he knew they shouldn't.

And then there were the dreams. Not normal dreams, with girls on their backs with their knickers round their ankles, but dreams with big men, fat men, powerful men, wrestling Dudley to the ground and climbing on top of him and... he'd wake up puffing and sweating and hard and having to touch himself before he could think of anything else or go back to sleep.

He was so frustrated with it all. What was wrong with him?! His Dad would have a thing or two to say about having a poof in the family - not that he was a poof, nothing of the sort, Dudley quickly corrected himself. But if he had been, Vernon Dursley would go apeshit, that was for certain.

And as for his mother, she had already made herself perfectly clear. If Dudley had understood the concept of irony he would have found it pretty bloody ironic that there he was, lying faint from hunger on his bed because his mother had decreed that he had to have a flat stomach to get a girl! Given that Dudley loved fattening food and didn't care for girls at all, it seemed like a very poor deal indeed.

But he couldn't tell anyone that, could he?!


Another day and a night passed with Dudley silently brooding in his room, his belly gurgling and growling with hunger as he felt increasingly miserable. His mother kept popping in and out, alternately simpering things about how wonderfully slim he was going to be in a few days time and then looking crestfallen when re-measuring his belly showed no change whatsoever. Usually he would have fought her off, but Dudley felt utterly torpid. Just lying there while Petunia tutted and prodded at his stomach was by far the easiest thing to do.

Finally, however, Dudley came to the end of his tether. He felt so trapped and so, so hungry, the two feelings together propelled him to absolutely unprecedented feats of bravery: Dudley Dursley decided that he was going to go outside.

After a good hour or so of procrastination, Dudley left his bedroom and defiantly put a note in the tray by the front door; a note that had been written and crossed out again a dozen times, in his barely-literate, over-careful scrawl.

To the wizards - I want to go out. As soon as possible.

The note left his hand to nestle in the tray and he waited nervously, expectantly as... nothing happened. He stood in the hall staring at it for a good five minutes, waiting for the paper to burst into flames or start talking back to him at any moment, but Dudley witnessed nothing at all unusual - just a scrappy piece of paper sitting in a perfectly ordinary shallow wicker basket.

His hopes crushed, Dudley skulked back to his bedroom and laid down once more, convinced that trying to be brave was a stupid idea after all. He decided that he might feel less hungry if he tried to go to sleep...

It was a few hours later that afternoon that a most unaccustomed sound echoed around the hallway of the flat - the sound of the front door being opened, and a witch and a wizard stepping inside.

"Hello, Muggle family!" called Daedalus cheerily, "We're so pleased you've decided to see sense. We'll do our best to keep you out of harm's way outdoors, and it really is no life being cooped up in here all of the time. Now, if you'd like to step this way, we can sort out the right sort of spell..."

Dudley's parents both jumped at the intrusion and Petunia quickly scurried into the hall, still clutching her copy of 'Elle - Summer.' "What are you talking about?" she asked self-righteously, perturbed by their presence and annoyed at being disturbed from her magazine.

"Your note, of course!" replied Daedalus.

"About making a trip outside," added Hestia, evenly.

"Note? What note?" barked Vernon, rising from his armchair like a great lumpen mountain and joining them from the doorway of the living room. "We haven't been writing any bloody notes! We haven't put anything in that tray for ages."

The wizards exchanged a glance. "We do know it was a couple of hours ago, now, but we're only human. We came as soon as we could," said Hestia, clearly trying not to let her testiness show.

Petunia and Vernon looked to each other, equally timid and angry. "I assure you, madam" said Petunia, with a tone that implied she considered Hestia particularly unworthy of that honorific, "There is no-one here sufficiently wrong-headed to seek to consort outdoors with-"

"-Oh well, we'll be off then." said Daedalus hastily, deciding to cut the encounter short before the women had the chance to face-off, "Come along, Miss Jones."

Hestia glared at Petunia for a moment, but then nodded in agreement to Daedalus, turning toward the door. The wizard and witch had then very nearly exited altogether when the attention of all assembled was suddenly grabbed by a mighty thundering noise that came from within the flat, followed by Dudley ungracefully lolloping into the hall.

"It was me!" he cried, panting from the sudden exertion. "I wanna go out!"

Both wizards and Muggles stared at Dudley in disbelief. Hestia, however, was the first to recover. "Do you, now, young errr... Dudley?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Very well then, young man," cut in Daedalus, "Where would you like to go?"

"Err... I... I dunno." And it was true. Unfortunately for Dudley, his plan of great braveness had not extended further than leaving the front door of the flat. What should happen thereafter was something of a puzzle.

"You don't know," repeated Daedalus, "Ah well, I daresay we can organize something. How about a drink in the Thorny Thestral?" he shot toward Hestia.

"That should be safe enough. Then we could always go to the Merlin Memorial Park."

"- Or perhaps even the Levitation Museum. Splendid, splendid!" Daedalus seemed to be getting into the swing of this little outing, and he was therefore rather taken aback when Petunia found her tongue.

"STOP! Dudsey... darling... what's this all about?"

"Whatcha up to Dudders?" barked Vernon.

"You can tell Mummy..."

"I... um... I wanna go out," repeated Dudley, this time with rather less force.

"But you can't cherub, not with these freaks!" cried Petunia in desperation.

That comment however, was enough to make Hestia properly cross. She drew her wand and cast a silencing charm over both of Dudley's parents, simultaneously gluing their lips together and rooting them to the spot. Dudley looked on aghast. "Don't worry, it'll wear off in a minute or two," she told him, shortly, "So are you coming, or not?"

Both magic-folk looked at Dudley with expectant expressions and little in the way of patience. He therefore felt he had little option but to nod mutely and follow them out of the front door, his heart racing at the daring of it all.

As Dudley stood somewhat uncomfortably in the vestibule outside the flat, he caught snatches of whispered conversation between Hestia and Daedalus:

"...never apparated with a Muggle before, have you?"

"No, would it work?"

"... honestly not sure.... very messy if he splinched!"

They were laughing but Dudley failed to see what was so funny.

"...Maybe try the charm then."

"Yes, with the car."


Daedalus then turned to Dudley and said, "We're going to have to blindfold you for a moment, young man. Nothing to worry about - it's just that you'd probably rather not see what happens next."

A large and cowardly part of Dudley wanted to run back inside at that point, but miraculously he found himself nodding in assent. He wanted to go out. He could do this. His mouth was dry with panic but he wanted, for once, to get something, to do something for himself. He was hungry. He was hungry and he really fancied men and...

Such thoughts were stopped when everything went black. Hestia then guided him down a flight of stairs and into a car that must have been waiting just outside. It was comfortable enough and the ride was amazingly swift. Before Dudley had chance to think or worry about what was really going on he was standing up again and the blindfold was taken off, and he seemed to be inside what looked like a normal pub.

"Well done, young man," said Hestia somewhat kindly, "Thank you for not making a fuss."

Dudley swelled slightly at the compliment and managed to nod at the witch in acknowledgment.

"Now, what's it to be?" asked Daedalus, making his way toward the bar.

"Elf-made white, please," replied Hestia.

"Certainly, my dear. And for you, Dudley?"

"Err... I dunno," he said once again, "...But I'm really hungry..."

"Ha, ha! I'm afraid they don't do food here, but I daresay we can find something to eat in due course. I'll get you a nice drink for the time being, though."

"Uh, thanks."

As Daedalus went off toward the bar, Dudley had a chance to take in his surroundings properly. He soon saw that what he had taken as an ordinary pub, wasn't quite so...

The tables and chairs and bar were all familiar enough, but the drinks looked very odd. There were no taps for Stella or Murphy's at the counter-top, but old-fashioned looking barrels and large round-bottomed bottles containing liquids of unusual colour. Also, Dudley knew that country pubs (if they were in the country; it was impossible to tell) sometimes had stuffed animal-heads on the wall as trophies, but this place seemed abuzz with odd, live creatures - owls perching from lampshades in the corner, cats weaving in and out of table-legs with too-knowing expressions and toads peering out from the pockets of their owners.

- Which brought Dudley on to thinking about the very strangest thing about the place - the clientele. Everyone was wearing those odd long robe-things, and many had peculiar pointy hats. There were several knots of conversation about the place - some serious, some in good humour - but Dudley couldn't quite make out what anyone was saying through the general hubbub. There was one person, though, who especially caught Dudley's attention. A large man; really fat, and very finely dressed, who was leaning against the bar, in conversation with the pub-owner, his bushy, silvery mustache twitching as his narrative became more animated.

That man seemed to ooze a certain something that made Dudley stare. Maybe he was particularly magical, Dudley wondered, or perhaps there was something else, something about the flick of his wrist, the mellow, musical tone of his voice as he spoke to the barman that called to Dudley in a far more familiar, yet equally unspoken sort of way...

He had little time to muse, however, as Daedalus returned with some drinks and that very man whom Dudley had been watching called to his guardians from across the bar. "Hestia! Daedalus! How lovely to see you both."

"Oh, Hello Horace!" Hestia called back, then she whispered Daedalus, "Oh no, we might be in trouble now... not supposed to bring Muggles in here..."

"You - keep quiet," hissed Daedalus to Dudley, then the wizard rose and shook the newcomer warmly by the hand, "Horace, my friend! How lovely to see you. What brings you away from Hogwarts?"

"Oho! Daedalus, old chap!" exclaimed the newcomer. "You know how it is - being posted up in the Highlands does make one crave a little culture every so often. Stretch out in the old London pad and all that... stock up on decent mead, take in a show..." He then turned to the witch. "Hestia darling! You're looking radiant! Can I get you both a drink?"

"No, thanks, Horace, we've just ordered," replied Daedalus, "But do help yourself."

"Of course, of course," he murmured, lazily summoning a cut-glass decanter with a flick of his wand. The large man then settled upon one of the chairs at their table, lowering his bulk gingerly but with surprising grace. "So, tell me what you're up to at the moment?"

"Oh, nothing much," dissembled Hestia, "The life of an Auror goes on. Plenty to do though in these times, however, as you know."

"Quite, quite," replied the man, the grimness of the worldly situation settling upon them all without need for anyone to directly speak of it. "And who's this?" His gaze had suddenly settled upon Dudley, who felt himself flushing.

"Oh, no-one really..." said Daedalus, hastily.

"Just a young chap we're showing around. He'll be gone soon," added Hestia.

"Yes, no-one at all..."

Hestia and Daedalus exchanged shifty glances and a silence stretched on as the newcomer raked his eyes across Dudley, his gaze cryptic; almost hungry. "Ah, rather a pity," said the man finally, and then the tension was broken and their talk continued to other matters.

No-one, really. No-one at all. The dismissive words rolled around in Dudley's brain, making his brow furrow in consternation. He wasn't no-one! He was someone! He was determined to prove it. And there was something about this mysterious stranger that meant Dudley wanted to be noticed very badly indeed.

The conversation had since moved on to other things - things in which Dudley had no knowledge or interest - but he drew a deep breath and decided to speak. With overt deliberacy and too much volume he said, "I'm..."

The table went quiet once again. "Yes, my lad?" said the large wizard, somewhat in amusement.

Dudley's mind was suddenly blank. "I'm..." What on earth could he claim to be? "I'm..." He couldn't say he was a 'Muggle,' that was for sure, nor could he tell them that was supposed to be a boxer, because wizards probably didn't do boxing.

Finally, the one desperate, yet potentially acceptable notion that he had at his disposal flew to mind. "I'm 'arry Potter's cousin."

That revelation caused the silence around the table to stretch on further still. It was the first time that Dudley had ever claimed relation to Harry Potter by choice, and he was both astounded and mildly offended at the profound effect it seemed to have upon those around him. His guardians shot him a warning glance and quickly scanned the rest of the pub's occupants to see if that dangerous claim had been overheard. The impressive newcomer however, opened his eyes very wide indeed, turned in his seat with surprising agility and fixed Dudley with an intense, beady-eyed stare that made the boy both want to preen and disappear altogether.

"Are you now, m'boy?" the man said in a measured fashion, as if he were considering something.

"Yeah. That's right." Dudley continued, exhilarated, reckless. "He's lived with me and my family for ages - or at least he did until he started that frea... I mean, that special school of his." Dudley's pulse was racing at suddenly being the centre of attention - being scrutinized by this powerful, magical man whom he didn't know - and to top it all off having nearly said something that even he knew was pretty rude.

The man seemed more amused than offended by Dudley's slip of the tongue however, and waved it aside with an expansive gesture. He then looked to Hestia and Daedalus for confirmation of the tale, and they nodded, resignedly. "Well, perhaps young man, you'd like to come home with me for a spot of afternoon tea? My name's Slughorn - Horace Slughorn. It so happens that I have a lot of cakes left over from a social function and I definitely need some help finishing them up. It looks like you might be the man for the job."

Hestia opened her mouth to object at this diversion from the agreed plan, but something in Slughorn's confident tone seemed to pacify her, along with a few snippets of conversation that were whispered between them just then. Dudley didn't catch much of what was said, but the words, 'Order,' 'journey,' 'legili...something' and 'clue' were definitely in there. Hestia then seemed convinced and agreed some travel and meeting arrangements - and before he knew it, Dudley was being gestured to get up and follow the velvet-clad wizard to the other side of the room.

Although upon standing up he realized that he had a significant height advantage, Dudley was wary of the large, imposing man before him. The man was a freak after all. One of them. But he did seem friendly enough, and quite interesting... and, perhaps most importantly, Dudley thought to himself, he was still starving.

Dudley's fear of magic was significantly dulled by his ravening hunger and the promise of cake, and it was with uncharacteristic obedience that he followed the wizard - Slughorn he had said his name was - to stand in a fireplace the height of a man and the width of at least three.

Slughorn checked that Dudley had his arms tucked fully inside the space, and then all of a sudden the wizard shouted the name of a mansion of sort sort, threw something on the floor, and Dudley was aware only of terrifying green flames, the sensation of being hurled through space, the sight of many, many small windows flashing by, and feeling more frightened than he had been since he had been forced to grow a pig's tail.

He would have screamed if he had been able to engage his lungs in time, but almost as soon as the ordeal had begun, it was all over. Suddenly they emerged into the lounge of what must have been a palatial dwelling, complete with a crystal chandelier, beautifully polished furniture and sumptuous sofas that were piled high with with silken feather cushions.

"Welcome to my humble abode, young man," said Slughorn, hopping out from the fireplace with aplomb.

Dudley however, stood rooted to the spot, too shocked to panic or cause a fuss. "I... we... but..."

"Nothing to be alarmed about, lad! You did surprisingly well for a first-time Floo-er. Now you sit down over here and I'll see to that tea I promised."

With a great effort of will, Dudley forced his legs to move and plopped himself down upon the nearest sofa, sinking deeply into the rich cushions. Slughorn sat down opposite him, a calculating expression playing across his bushy eyebrows.

"Now, where were we?" he said, expansively, placing a cup of tea on the elegant table next to Dudley. "Ah yes - you being a cousin to the one and only Harry Potter! You don't look much alike, if you don't mind my saying, young Dudley."

"Nah. I guess we don't."

"Attractive young man, Harry is, to be sure, but he is rather on the scrawny side, wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"It must be difficult for him - trying to keep warm - as he's trekking through such cold climes at the moment, isn't he?" Slughorn waited expectantly, like a hunter springing a trap.

"Uh, I dunno," said Dudley.

"Ah, or maybe being light of foot is a good thing, as he's currently somewhere pretty near the equator? That's right, isn't it, young man?"

"Um. Maybe," muttered Dudley, swiftly getting the feeling that his responses were found lacking.

Slughorn pursed his lips slightly in thought, and then smiled broadly, trying a different tack. "No need to be coy with me, lad! Having lived together for all that time, you must have some idea where Harry and his friends have got to at the moment? Some little detail he let slip when you were chatting together recently? You can tell me; I know you love Harry as all good families do, but believe me I have nothing but his best interests at heart."

That sort of speech made Dudley start to panic. "Ugh, well. Ya see, we didn't really talk much, and all that..."

"Oh do think hard, lad - there's a good chap. Try to remember what you last talked about, something he might have packed in his suitcase to give us a clue, perhaps?"

"I really dunno. I didn't see him do any packing."

"Well, what was his parting shot then? Did he say when you'd next see each other?"

"We didn't really..." Dudley trailed off. He was beginning to think that being honest about the nature of his lifelong relationship with Harry was one of the last things that would make him popular around there, so he decided to keep as quiet about that as possible, and think of something else... like cake.

Slughorn paused and regarded Dudley shrewdly. "So basically, you can't tell me anything at all about his whereabouts, his aims, his purpose right now?"

"Err, no. Not really." Dudley was quite nervous, fairly frustrated, and what's more, he was finding all of that conversation bloody tiresome. He had been promised cakes, for heavens sake - the last thing he wanted to do was talk about his cousin!

Slughorn sighed deeply. "What a dashed pity. I really thought we might have been on to something there." He locked Dudley's gaze with an air of deep concentration, and Dudley then had the most peculiar feeling - it seemed almost as if his thoughts were being looked at. - But of course that wasn't possible, he swiftly told himself, and figured that he must have just come over funny because he was so hungry.

When the moment passed, he noticed that Slughorn was laughing. "Ah well, I suppose I did promise that they'd be cake, and I'm certainly not the type of gent to renege on these things. I have a spare hour or two - so, to prevent this from being a complete waste of time, let us indeed eat, young man! Even if you can't be of any help." With that, the waved his wand and Dudley's mouth fell open in awe. Plate after plate of rich cream cakes appeared before the gaping boy, totally covering the large coffee table and also several side tables.

Dudley could hardly believe his luck, and reached for the nearest platter of sweet delights without waiting for further invitation. He crammed a large cake into his mouth practically whole, and followed it with another before having chewed the first. Gosh it was so good! He really wanted another...

A time passed in silence aside from Dudley's concerted munching, but Slughorn then seemed to decide that it was appropriate to make some small talk over tea. "So, is there someone special waiting for you when all this nasty business is over, young man?" he asked.

Dudley was too absorbed with gobbling cakes to answer anything but honestly. "Nah. Mum says I've got to get thinner if I'm ever goin' to get laid," he replied, with a full mouth.

Slughorn smiled at him quite warmly. "Nonsense, my boy! A growing lad like you? I would offer you some more cake, but I don't think you're the sort prone to unnecessary shyness on the hospitality front, are you? Do go ahead."

Dudley grinned a bit and then took that suggestion very much to heart. He ploughed through the food before him with amazing speed, barely stopping for breath between bites; between soft, sticky handfuls. He was becoming slightly disappointed when it seemed as if he had finished everything there was to eat and felt as if he still had room for more. He had been starved for practically two whole days, he thought, and there would be no proper food to be had when he got home...

Slughorn however, came to the rescue of the greedy boy. "I'd never have it said that one of my gatherings was insufficiently catered, you know lad. It's a matter of pride, as I see it. So, there you go." He waved his wand once more and the empty plates surrounding Dudley were magically refilled.

Dudley could have whooped in delight at the sight and leaped upon them with renewed enthusiasm, barely noticing exactly what was on offer in his haste to cram every sweet, fattening treat into his open mouth. By this point he was barely chewing, becoming frenzied, obsessively filling himself. The hunger had abated by then - long ago in fact - but Dudley didn't notice; it didn't matter; he had become a machine with a single purpose: to eat everything in sight...

...He gorged himself on cake after cake, plate after plate. His hunger was not even a distant memory but he kept eating, stuffing himself, all while the strange mustached man watched and smiled. It felt wonderful, forbidden, naughty, exciting.

Dudley was no stranger to breaking rules, of course. But this wasn't just ordinary rule-breaking like beating people up or scratching the windows of trains. This was something else altogether - against his parents wishes, in their world. This was taboo, subversive, not normal. Rather like how he felt about Steve, and blokes in general. That thought made Dudley shudder all over, but strangely enough, it also made him more determined. His mother was trying to make him thin for girls, make him have a flat stomach for girls, but he didn't want girls, he wanted... His mind wasn't quite able to spell out the next word of that sentence, but he felt it all the same. He wanted the opposite to girls - which at that moment meant plates and plates of stodgy cake and thick cream.

Dudley reached for another hand-full of cream-buns and pushed them into his mouth greedily. The richness of it rolled down his throat and settled heavily in his gut but he hardly noticed the sensation before cramming in another, barely chewing before swallowing, then another, another... He vaguely knew that his mouth was covered in sweet cream that he hadn't licked away, and his palms of his hands were totally coated in sugar and crumbs in his haste to cram in more. But he didn't care. He just wanted to gorge himself on more. More. MORE.

Finally - finally - Dudley realized he had to stop eating. The number of empty plates around him was almost terrifying, even by his standards, and that didn't even account for the ones that had been magically refilled. He could hardly move he felt so bloated. His belly felt so huge and hard and full, Dudley groaned and laid back into the velvet sofa, holding his stomach as it swelled above him into his field of view.

After a long moment, Slughorn spoke again. "I didn't want to interrupt you there, boy, when you were clearly enjoying our little afternoon tea quite so much! I daresay you'd even beat me on appetite - and that's no mean thing. Tell me, Dudley dear, don't they feed you at home?"

The man's words crept slowly into Dudley's cream-soaked brain. "Yeah, but... Oh God..." He suddenly remembered his mother, with that bloody tape-measure. Everything seemed to crash down around him. "Mum's gonna kill me for this," he grunted, poking at his super-swollen middle, and a cringe spreading across his face at the thought of her reprimands. Predictably enough, his stomach started to ache, and he inexpertly tried to rub at the over-full soreness.

Slughorn regarded Dudley's spread form with some amusement. "A cute little pot-belly like that? That's nothing, my boy," he intoned genially, "It's nice to have some meat on your bones. Here, let me give you a hand."

Dudley watched as the wizard leaned across from his chair toward him - Slughorn was not in the least threatening, but good-natured and almost reassuring in his confidence. He couldn't really see what was going on from his slumped position on the couch and his mind wasn't really up to wondering, until...

...All of a sudden, two large, capable hands were rubbing his stretched, aching belly; massaging his gut with a skill that could only have been learned through years of over-indulgence. It immediately felt soothing, better...

And then something else entirely.

There was something about being touched like this; by a man; by a man who didn't seem to find him repulsive. Something that made the breath catch in Dudley's throat and his blood begin to heat. Something that seemed meant to happen, and as if he'd been waiting for years for it to come this far. He squirmed a little under the touch - that touch that was both gentle and personal and meant only for him.

It couldn't mean... He couldn't possibly...

And yet, there was something in Dudley's treacherous mind that made him wish for the impossible, to claw at something forbidden that he knew he shouldn't want.

An intense flush rose to his cheeks as those reckless thoughts cascaded in his mind, and with a whole lifetime of courage he opened his mouth and choked out one word. "More."

Slughorn's bushy eyebrows bunched together in an inquisitive frown. "More, m'boy?"

"Yeah, more," croaked Dudley, eyes closed and daring more than he knew he was able. "I wantcha to... to touch me." His mind was lodged somewhere between panic and revelation. This wouldn't do, he knew it. It wasn't right, him being a bloke, and all. He knew that. Yet perhaps here, in this odd place, with these odd people perhaps it didn't matter. Everything was queer here, so maybe it would be ok for him to be queer too.

"Touch you, eh?" said Slughorn, his pleasure at drawing out the moment obvious. Dudley kept his eyes shut and nodded vigorously, all while Slughorn's hands - large hands, male hands - were sending bolts of electricity through his shirt and into his groin. "Very well, my lad. It would be rather rude of me to refuse a request like that, wouldn't it?"

Dudley felt thick fingers work on the buttons of his shirt with surprising dexterity, and all of a sudden he was lying topless in this man's home, like just another soft, pink cushion amongst his rich upholstery. He couldn't quite see how his shirt could have ended up on the other side of the divan when he hadn't taken his arms out of it, but Dudley was then in no state to employ even the small amount of reasoning power that was usually at his disposal.

He opened his eyes into slits to see Slughorn beaming at him from beneath that Walrus mustache, and raking small sharp eyes across his body. "My, my, you are on the way to being a plump little thing, aren't you, lad? It's amazing how much those clothes can hide."

It was some years, maybe even a decade, since Dudley had been called, 'little,' and even then it had probably only been by his mother. Yet despite his considerable height and more-than-considerable bulk, he felt precisely like that - small, vulnerable, inexperienced, out of his depth. His mind lurched around Slughorn's comment and he began to panic. For the first time in his entire life he felt aware of his body; how it might look to someone else. God, he did feel fat! His arms were soft, his chest was flabby and his stomach was positively straining from the amount of fattening food that he's just pigged down. Maybe he should run away...

"...Altogether, rather toothsome..." Dudley's manic train of thought was stopped short by the admiring comment from the man above him, and the trace of a pink tongue across full lips. The size of the man and his confidence and Dudley's own prone position made the whole thing feel like one of his dreams...

"Now, where were we?"

A second later, Dudley found it impossible to breathe, let alone think, as large, warm hands brushed his naked skin. They settled reassuringly either side of his bulging stomach and rubbed in small circles.

Dudley's breath caught. He may be big and threatening but he had never been touched by someone before. It was new and strange and exotic.

"There, there, m'boy," said Slughorn kindly, "You just relax." The wizard's tone was warm, almost admiring, "It is nice to see one of our sorts of young men not afraid to indulge himself, you know, lad. These days all the baby queens are too fussed about being toned up and springing off to Quidditch practice. Nice to look at for a few moments, I suppose, but they're all highly strung and running off to do circuits - won't stay for tea and a chat. Besides, I do like having something to hold on to. And you're quite the round, soft, plumptous little thing, oh yes! A boy after my own heart. I think you might have over-done it a shade just now though..." He gave Dudley's belly a light, playful swat and the boy was wakened from his adrenaline-charged reverie with a jump and a twinge of stomach-ache. "Don't worry, piglet, we'll have you feeling better in a jiffy."

With that, Slughorn fished his wand from his pocket and waved it over Dudley's spread form, muttering something under his breath. Normally, Dudley was petrified of anyone holding a wand, but he only half-registered - too wrapped-up in the feel of a man's hands on his body to care. He did notice, however, that the pain in his belly largely went away - even though his stomach still seemed huge, maybe even huger.

As if in answer, Slughorn explained, "A little digestion-shortcut charm of my own devising, you see. Turns some of that extra cream cake straight into belly-fat, as opposed to having to gurgle and ache your way through it first. Jolly clever, even though I do say so myself." He patted his own enormous girth. "So, I reckon you're a few inches more luscious around the tummy there, lad, but I bet you feel a bit more comfortable, eh? Ready for something slightly more vigorous?" He wiggled his bushy eyebrows suggestively.

Dudley considered all of this through addled senses. It wasn't the first time that magic had been used on him, but it was the first time it had been used to do something nice. In fact, this wizard was the first person ever to be nice to him in quite that way, altogether. The effect of the charm was relatively mild. He still felt extremely full, but that awful edge of pain and sicky-feeling had gone away. He couldn't tell whether the wobbly, pink flesh around his sides and navel had become even more pronounced, but he was honestly beginning to feel that the man who was looking after him wouldn't mind if it had.

In fact, the whole thing was perfect, he decided. No more pain, but still so heavy and glutted he could only lie there and wait to be touched, for someone to bear down onto him.... like in those dreams...

Dudley's breathing quickened at the thought and he felt himself harden - without even any contact. "Yeah..." he breathed, "Yeah, please..."

"Very well, piglet. Now, let's be seeing you." Another swish of the wizard's wand, and Dudley found himself completely naked, "Oh yes, ve-ry nice..."

Dudley was at once extremely embarrassed and extremely aroused as the finely-dressed man scrutinized his prone body. His breathing quickened, but at least he could gasp more comfortably then, as the constricting waistband of his (albeit very generously elasticated) trousers had been removed. His belly wobbled up and down with his rasping breaths - a motion that Slughorn seemed to exploit to the full as he teasingly danced stubby fingers over the boy's torso, ghosting over erect nipples in a way that made Dudley cry out loud at the unexpected jolt of sensation.

Slughorn continued these ministrations for some time - with obvious skill and pleasure at the way he could elicit surprised mewling sounds and almost anguished cries from his young charge. Dudley's eyes were screwed shut in concentration; in amazement at the whole novel process and in growing desperation for orgasm. Slughorn's fingers moved to trace patterns on his chubby hips, his ample thighs, and Dudley instinctively spread his legs to allow better access to that maddening touch - forever being blown away by the feeling of those clever fingers and always wanting more than was given. He felt he was going quite mad, he just to be touched there or he would simply explode.

"P- please..." he choked.

"What was that, m'boy?" Slughorn asked with mock innocence, flicking one of Dudley's nipples as he said it.

"Oh god..." Another enormous rasping breath. "You've got to... oh god please... just let me..."

"Sorry lad, I'm not quite sure I caught that." A lingering touch along his plump inner thigh.

Dudley gathered all of his remaining energy to form a frenzied sentence. Anything to end that sweet torture and at the same time make it last forever. "Please let me come!"

"Oh, that's what you want, is it? You should have just said so, m'boy."

With that, Slughorn leaned forward such that Dudley was completely in his shadow. He looked purposeful, strong, in control - just as Dudley fervently wanted - and the image of the man looming above him was enough to make Dudley's swollen cock throb harder still. He wanted to be taken; possessed; in someone's thrall, and he couldn't help a small cry from escaping his throat as he realized how close he was to living his fantasy.

As if sensing what Dudley wanted, Slughorn grinned proprietorially and firmly took hold of a large roll of fat from Dudley's belly to hold him in place as he grasped the boy's straining erection in his other hand.

The raw sensation was mind-blowing, but Dudley was also rocked on some deeper level by that gesture - it somehow spelled out how he was there, being a queer, with a fat, lardy stomach that he was supposed to be getting thin and flat so he could go and shag girls - but he wasn't, he was gorging himself, and cavorting with magic freaks, and begging to be touched by a man, and laying back submissively as a great heaving mound of flesh while a white heat surged through his quivering body, and, and...

Needless to say, Dudley did not last long in that state. A few expert strokes of Slughorn's hand, and he was tensing and shaking and spurting his seed all across his own stomach. It was easily the most intense experience of his young life, and he lay panting and shaking for a good few minutes in the aftermath.

Above him, Slughorn stood smiling, clearly pleased with his own handiwork.

Slowly, very slowly, Dudley came to his senses. He was vaguely surprised to find that any mess that there might have been had been cleared up and that his clothes were waiting right by his side. Gingerly, he sat up - his gut still feeling as huge and full as ever as it rolled into his lap - and with some effort he pulled back on his underwear, trousers and footwear. He felt foggy, sated, unclear; the whole world seemed very delicate just then, as if he was poised on the brink of some terrible precipice...

And then everything came crashing down about him. What had he done? What would his mother say? What did this make him, now? Would people be able to tell he was a... he was a...

Dudley knew that he had been playing in some dream-world, somewhere wonderful and forbidden and unreal, but he panicked as he realised he had to go back - back to his parents and their expectations, back to being scalded and measured, back to his diet and his rock-hard straight-man persona. He knew that it didn't really fit any more, and worried that there was something wrong with him.

As if reading his concerns, Slughorn spoke then once more, his voice warm and kind. "Relax, m'lad, relax. There's nothing wrong with liking cream cakes and boys, you know."

Dudley nodded silently and went about putting his shirt back on. His belly still felt round and stuffed full as he stretched the cloth about it, but it didn't ache any longer. He was grateful that Slughorn had magicked it better. As if in answer, the wizard gave him an affectionate squeeze by way of goodbye and helped him to step back into the fireplace.

At that moment, however, Dudley froze, knowing that he had to say something before he left; something to forge a link to this queer, worrying, odd place that he then knew he needed more than he even needed burgers and chips and chocolate. Unfortunately though, saying things - particularly things that had to carry meaning - had never been Dudley's strong point. A long, awkward moment passed as Slughorn held his arm mid-step and his brain tried to produce some words to suffice. Finally he mumbled, "Can I... errr... come back?"

Dudley held his breath in anticipation, but was relieved when Slughorn smiled kindly. "Of course, my lad. I'll teach you everything you'd like to know."

And with that, Dudley was transported back to the pub where he met Hestia and Daedalus once more, and then the three of them travelled back to the flat; to his parents. All the way, the wizard's words - Horace Slughorn's words - rattled around in Dudley's mind.

There's nothing wrong with liking cream cakes and boys, you know.

For once in his life, Dudley hoped that the freaks were right.
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