Bottom Draco One Shots !Drarry!

The Other Blond at Number Four

Photo credits: no clue (if someone knows please tell)

Dudley becomes aware of the intruder's presence at about one in the morning on a warm Friday night, via a soft thud that comes from the kitchen. His parents are out at that holiday beach resort that Mum simply couldn't stop talking about all week, and are not likely to return before Wednesday (that's when the big game is on). Even his scrawny cousin is likely to be asleep at this hour. He's been keeping to the confines of his bedroom all summer so far, anyway.

If, however, the source of the noise does end up being him... well, Dudley's awfully bored anyway. It'll be fun to chew the twerp out, despite the hour.

With a groan, he hoists himself out of the beanbag in front of the monitor, tossing his PS2 controller aside carelessly. The door creaks only slightly when he eases it open and tiptoes down the hallway. He's perfected his stealth technique, of course, from the times he and Piers have snuck out late and stolen Dad's car out of the garage and into the town.

The bangs grow louder as he approaches the kitchen. Typical of the freak, Harry, to be stealing food at midnight.

"What are you doing here, f-" he stops, once he's in the kitchen doorway. The figure standing before the cabinets is far too lean and too tall to be his cousin, "-reak?"

The intuder rounds on him, eyes flashing with alarm, silver and unnatural in the moonlight. He's got white hair- no- not like Grandma Winona's, but not anything he can exactly call blond either. It covers his head in endless tufts of downy white, straight and sleek, cut short enough about his head but falling in loose strands over his brows. He's wearing a starched shirt and pressed pants, like he's going to a wedding or a funeral, and not sneaking around in an ordinary kitchen at arse o clock in the morning. What tells him for sure that he's not normal, however, is the long stick he's got pointed right at Dudley's heart. His feet go cold.

"What do you want, Muggle?" the blond's lips curl in a savage sneer, unlike anything he's ever seen, far meaner than any of his friends'. The boy reminds him of Piers in the way his face is pointy and pinched with an air of distinct meanness, but he's not ratty like Piers. He looks less like he's putting on an air of haughtiness and more like he's been born that way: with a platinum spoon in his mouth.

What's a 'Muggle'? The way the blond practically spit the word out leads Dudley to believe it's not a very nice thing to be.

"Who are you?" Dudley attempts to asks firmly, but it comes out as a weak stammer and the boy's lip curls impossibly more over pearly teeth, utter disgust betrayed by his eyes.

"A freak," the boy snarls with a mean little not-quite-smile, and flicks his wrist bearing the stick. A sharp sting makes itself apparent in Dudley's backside, and he yelps, hands jumping to the affected area and fear bubbling in his gut.

"Y-you're not allowed to do magic outside of school," Dudley tries, desperately grasping onto the singular morsel of knowledge that protected him from Harry's hidden wrath, "you'll be expelled!" His slight triumph at the end of his little outburst is quelled quickly by the second sting in the same spot, stronger than the first. He yelps, and rubs his backside woefully as the blond sneers down his nose at him again.

"I'm an adult, you bumbling idiot. I can do whatever I want," he turns back to the cabinets, rummaging through one before clicking his tongue and banging it shut.