Chapter Text
Dudley Dursley’s life was perfectly normal, which was exactly the way he liked it.
He lived with his family in a nice, normal house in a nice, normal suburban town in Surrey, not far from where he’d grown up. He went to work in a normal job as a manager of supply chain logistics for an appliance company, and when he arrived home in the evening it was to his equally normal and sensible wife, Anne, and their two daughters. They even took normal holidays, to places like Majorca or the Canary Islands. In short, you could hardly imagine a less remarkable family.
That was, until his younger daughter’s eleventh birthday.
Her name was Amelia, and as much as Dudley loved her, he’d never understood her. Dudley liked watching movies and rugby, weightlifting, and playing games on his PlayStation when he could find the time. She loved reading, making up stories of her own, and rescuing worms from the sidewalk before they were run over by cyclists.
But a child with different interests than her father was also normal, so he didn’t worry much about it. He did his best to pay attention when she was telling him about a book she’d read, because Anne said parental presence and engagement were vital to healthy child development, and worms were supposed to be good for the soil anyway.
They arrived home late in the evening of her eleventh birthday, so Dudley had put the mail down unexamined and not picked it up again until the car was unpacked and the children upstairs getting ready for bed. He flipped through it idly, thinking about the sand they’d brought back from the beach and how he’d need to take the car for a good cleaning, when he spotted a very unusual letter. He frowned. That was his automatic reaction to anything unusual, unless it was an unusually good report about supply chain logistics.
“What’s that?” asked Anne, peering over his shoulder.
“Don’t know. It’s for Amelia,” he said, as she took the letter in question and opened it.
“Probably some marketing scheme. Are they putting children on mailing lists now?”
She went silent. “Well?” prompted Dudley.
“Some kind of prank, I suspect,” she said, and handed him the letter.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall
(Order of Merlin, First Class; President, European Fed. of Witches; Gold Newt, British Fellowship of Magicians)
Dear Miss Dursley,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
As you come from a non-magical family, a First Year Liaison will arrive to answer your questions and assist you with purchasing everything you will need to begin your studies. Please choose from one of the following times and return this promptly by the owl waiting for your answer.
“What kind of ridiculous joke is this?” asked Anne.
“It’s not a joke.”
Anne looked at him as though he’d grown a second head. Or perhaps a pig tail. Dudley thought of the tail, and of letters just like this one which wouldn’t stop coming, of Aunt Marge floating, and of the horrible moments of being dragged by an invisible force which drained him of all happiness before he was saved by silvery light. He thought of an ugly creature which appeared and disappeared out of thin air, a four-foot-long tongue, hair which grew back overnight, disappearing glass, and being forced out of his home to hide because of some war he knew nothing about and the news didn’t so much as mention.
Dudley Dursley wanted his life normal because it hadn’t been when he was a child. He’d taken all those memories and buried them deep in his mind, where he steadfastly refused to visit them until he couldn’t immediately recall why he hated pigs and the cold, and, so long as he didn’t linger on the memories, he could think he’d taken a simple gap year when he was seventeen.
There was perhaps no one else in all of England who was as good at not thinking about unpleasant memories as Dudley. It had been working very well for nearly twenty-five years.
And now here was one of those letters. You couldn’t ignore them, Dudley knew that. They’d never stop. His daughter was a witch, and there was nothing he could do to hide from magic anymore.
He tried his best to explain this to Anne. It took three tries, and she still didn’t believe him, but at least the story had come out somewhat coherently.
“Of course I didn’t say anything,” he replied when she noted, unfairly accusatory in Dudley’s opinion, that he might have mentioned this years ago. “You’d have thought I was mad.”
Anne couldn’t disagree.
Before he could say anything else, there was a tapping on the window. An owl looked at him expectantly. “Right,” he said. “Friday at one-thirty, then?”
“Dudley, you can’t be serious,” she protested, although it was a bit more difficult to argue when the owl waited patiently for him to open the window, find a pen, make his selection, and fold up the piece of paper. When he was done, the bird reached over and plucked the appointment form in its beak before flying off into the night.
“You have to admit that’s unusual.” He didn’t like it, but he could admit it.
“It could be a very elaborate joke,” said Anne, although she didn’t sound entirely convinced anymore.
They didn’t tell Amelia. They left that to one Holly Rockworth, a cheerful woman with a braid of hair so long she could sit on it and an enormous handbag she carried as though it weighed nothing. She arrived on time to the second and said, “Miss Dursley, we’re looking forward to seeing you at Hogwarts for the new term.”
Amelia, to her credit, didn’t laugh at the peculiar name. Instead, she asked, “What’s Hogwarts?”
“Why, it’s the best school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world! You’re a witch, dear. Have you ever noticed anything unusual happen, things you couldn’t explain?”
Amelia nodded. “Sometimes, when I really want to read but Mum says I must fold my clothes first, they sort of fold themselves.”
“They do?” asked Anne.
And so Dudley found himself following a witch to someplace she called Diagon Alley (“you’ll need your money next year, to exchange for our money, and you mustn’t let the goblins scare you, they follow very strict rules when dealing with the Muggle parents of Hogwarts students”) and having no choice but to think about a lot of things he’d rather not.
Amelia adored the bookshop. “I only just learned that I’m a witch,” she told the proprietor, a short man with a tiny nose and a big smile who gifted her a book called Tales of Great Witches.
“‘Tis important to understand those who came before,” he explained, and Amelia nodded solemnly.
Holly Rockworth eventually coaxed Amelia out of the bookshop, and they were off to buy a cauldron, which she said was “a very important tool for magic, although I confess that it’s not a particular talent of mine.”
“Like how maths are harder for me?”
“More or less, yes.”
“Excuse me,” interrupted Anne, “do they teach maths at Hogwarts? And science, and history, and literature?”
“Well, history, of course, how else are the students to learn about the great conventions which define the modern wizarding world?”
Dudley looked at a broomstick which was flying around all by itself. He’d have thought it was some kind of image projection, except that teenagers were taking turns riding it. “Not sure the rules of physics apply to witches,” he told Anne, who pursed her lips and said nothing.
Amelia asked Holly Rockworth, “If potions aren’t your particular talent, what is?”
“Charms. Enchanting objects, you see. Here, take off your shoe.”
Amelia did. Holly Rockworth pointed her wand and the shoe started to dance all on its own, to Amelia’s delight. No one else walking by found this unusual in the slightest.
“How are we going to explain this to Juliette?” whispered Anne.
Dudley froze. “How are we going to explain this to my mother?”
“Oh, what if Juliette is envious? This can’t help but impact their relationship. It will separate them.”
Anne did everything possible to cultivate a close relationship between their daughters. Her sister was her best friend, and she wanted nothing more than the same for Juliette and Amelia. Dudley didn’t pretend to understand this. He was generally content as long as his children weren’t fighting, and he thought they appreciated his approach.
“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” he said.
But his mother – no, he would simply have to keep this from her. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about. He tried to console himself by reasoning that if his mother found out, the shock and horror weren’t likely to outright kill her, whereas the revelation would’ve surely given his father a fatal heart attack if he’d not already had one. It was not wholly reassuring.
He plodded along in a state of resignation, elbowed occasionally by Anne as a reminder to be present and engaged. “They actually work with eyes of newt,” she told him, pointing to a window display.
“Don’t think we have to worry about Juliette envying that.”
“Our final stop is the most important of all,” said Holly Rockworth. “Ollivander’s. It’s where we get your wand. Now, the wand chooses the witch or the wizard, not the other way around, so don’t go thinking it’s up to you.”
“How will we know when a wand chooses me?”
“Oh, we’ll know,” she said, opening the door. “You won’t find better wandmakers anyway. The Ollivander family has been making them for over two thousand years.”
Someone – Dudley presumed he was an Ollivander – came out to meet them. He looked perhaps sixty, with unsettlingly knowledgeable eyes, and he moved so lightly on his feet you could be forgiven for thinking he was floating just above the ground. Dudley instantly disliked being inside the shop.
“Hello, Ms. Rockworth. Another new student?”
“Yes. This is Miss Amelia Dursley.”
“Hello, Miss Dursley. I do love these occasions. It’s a very special day when a witch or wizard gets their first wand.” He gave her an assessing look and pulled out a measuring tape. “Dominant arm?”
“She’s left-handed,” said Anne.
Ollivander let go of the measuring tape, which proceeded to take measurements all on its own. The laws of physics decidedly went out the window for witches and wizards, then. Dudley found this disturbing. For all he had never truly understood physics, he quite liked the knowledge that some things were incontrovertible. He didn’t care for the idea that gravity was suddenly going to be optional for his daughter.
“Let’s start with this one. Ash with unicorn hair, a classic combination. Give it a little wave.”
“Unicorn?” murmured Anne.
Amelia took hold of the wand and waved it. Nothing happened.
“No, not that one.” Ollivander took back the wand. “Perhaps something with a phoenix feather… let me see…”
“Do witches have many wands?” Amelia asked.
“Some do, some don’t. Sometimes you want another wand that’s a bit better for delicate work, or a touch more power for the more ambitious transfigurations. I still use my first wand primarily, although I keep another for some of the trickier wand-making. Here, try this one. Sycamore with phoenix feather. No, not that one either. Not to worry, as my father always said, you can’t rush wand-buying.”
Twenty wands later, Ollivander wasn’t satisfied and Dudley hadn’t a clue what the man wanted.
“We use one of three powerful magical substances. No two wands are alike, and while you can use another witch or wizard’s wand, the results will never be as good. We just need to find the right wand. Tell me, what do you like best in the world?”
“Books.”
“Very good, very good. Perhaps…here, try this one.”
Amelia took hold of the wand, and as soon as she flicked it the wand produced a soft chiming sound, or at least, Dudley didn’t see anything else around which would make that kind of noise, and he was past the point of ruling anything out.
Ollivander smiled at her. “There’s your wand. Hazelwood and unicorn foal hair, a touch springy, nine and a half inches. Quite uncommon. A dreamer’s wand.”
This was the first thing Dudley had seen or heard in Diagon Alley which made any kind of sense to him. Amelia was a dreamer, without a doubt. She peppered Holly Rockworth with questions all the way back home. Soon enough, seeing a unicorn in person became Amelia’s chief goal in life.
“We know that parents will have many questions,” said Holly Rockworth when they returned home. “This will provide you with answers.”
‘This’ was a scroll. Dudley unrolled it and started to read.
Commonly Asked Questions for Non-Magical Parents of Hogwarts Students
Where is Hogwarts?
Answer: Scotland
“Bit vague,” said Dudley.
How will my child get to Hogwarts?
The Hogwarts Express departs from Platform 9 ¾, Kings Cross Station, at precisely 11:00 am on September 1st.
“Platform nine and three quarters?” asked Anne, who’d been reading right next to him.
“Yes. All Amelia will need to do is walk through the barrier between platforms nine and ten.”
“I’m sorry, did you say through the barrier?” Anne said. “Wouldn’t people notice that sort of thing?”
“Of course not. It’s enchanted.”
And so on it went. Dudley, who’d never been prone to tension headaches, began to feel one developing. Holly Rockworth spent some time assuring Anne that students were well cared-for and nurtured, with plenty of opportunities to pursue elective courses and hobbies.
Dudley waited until the witch – the adult witch, he supposed, seeing as his daughter was one as well – took her leave, then followed her out. Anne, sensing something was on his mind and plainly not convinced that any of this was a good idea, followed.
“What if we don’t want her to go?” asked Anne.
“She must. It’s imperative for young witches and wizards to be trained, and the Ministry of Magic will intervene if necessary. That’s so unpleasant. I do hope it won’t come to that.”
He said, “It won’t.”
Anne glared, but Dudley had seen what happened when you tried to ignore Hogwarts. You might as well try to stop the sun from setting.
“Will she be safe?” he asked.
“Oh, if that’s all you’re worried about, yes. Hogwarts is very safe indeed. There’s nowhere with more magical protection in all of Britain and Ireland.”
“No more wizard wars, or students being attacked during the summer holidays?”
Holly Rockworth looked at him very sharply. “Mr. Dursley, what do you know about wizarding wars?”
“Not much. My cousin was involved. He could make a… thing, out of light, to protect himself.” And to protect Dudley even when he’d never done anything to deserve help from Harry.
“Who is your cousin, Mr. Dursley? I wasn’t informed that you had a magical relation. Usually they would be the ones bringing the student to Diagon Alley.”
“His name’s Harry Potter.”
Holly Rockworth dropped her handbag, which didn’t so much fall as float towards the ground. “Harry Potter. Your cousin is Harry Potter?”
“You know him?”
“Your parents were his dreadful aunt and uncle?”
“Yes.”
There was no point in denying it. Becoming a father had made Dudley realize that his parents had been very dreadful indeed to Harry. They had also allowed Dudley to be equally awful to Harry, a fact which Holly Rockworth had generously omitted but of which he was well aware on the rare occasions he was forced to think about how he’d treated Harry.
Dudley had been a spoiled child who later learned the hard way that he couldn’t always get what he wanted. Harry had been a neglected and mistreated boy who deserved far better. If Dudley and Anne died, he couldn’t imagine her sister treating Juliette and Amelia as his parents had treated Harry. It would be the exact opposite, he reckoned – as it should be.
“Well,” said Holly Rockworth, regaining enough composure to pick up her handbag from two inches off the ground. “That explains why they sent me, yet she’d already received a letter. I’d wondered about that. I suggest Amelia doesn’t go advertising her connection at Hogwarts.”
“She doesn’t know.”
“Good. Harry Potter is the hero of the wizarding world, and children can be cruel in the name of loyalty to their heroes. It will do Amelia no favors to be known as the granddaughter of Harry Potter’s nasty aunt and uncle.”
Dudley hadn’t realized his family was infamous among wizards and witches. It was an unpleasant feeling, and he’d have liked to have offered some kind of defense, except there was no excuse, none at all. He stayed silent and accepted Holly Rockworth’s judgement.
“She’s a bright young witch. The faculty and staff at Hogwarts are looking forward to seeing her in September. Don’t be late for the train.”
Dudley had told the office that he’d miss the afternoon at work due to a dental appointment. He very much wished that he’d wake up, actually at the dentist, having had some kind of odd dream. Perhaps from anesthesia. It would be preferable to this.
Anne squeezed his hand very tightly. “We don’t have a choice, do we?”
“No.”
Dudley slept very poorly that night. He kept dreaming of frigid darkness, and feeling as though there was no joy left in the world, and when he looked to his right, he saw Amelia next to him experiencing the same thing, only there was no light to save them. He woke up, sweating and terrified, and didn’t fall back asleep until dawn.
Come Sunday afternoon, Amelia had read Tales of Great Witches cover to cover twice and was well into her history of magic textbook, which would no doubt occupy her until she was called downstairs to eat. Juliette was at a friend’s house, so Dudley and Anne were enjoying a few quiet hours together.
“Do you think Juliette is upset?” asked Anne.
“Very upset. Something about a boy and three group texts.”
“I mean about Amelia.”
“That? No.”
“She hardly seemed to react. It worries me.”
“I’m sure she’ll react eventually.” The current round of drama would die down sooner or later, and there’d be a brief lull before the next one flared up. Fourteen-year-old girls could create unbelievable amounts of drama over nothing.
Someone rang the doorbell. “I’ll get it,” said Dudley, happy enough to leave behind the subject of teenage theatrics.
“Hello, Dudley,” said Harry.
Suddenly the teenage theatrics didn’t sound so bad. Still, avoidance was no longer an option, so Dudley said, “You’d better come in.”
“Who is it, dear?” asked Anne.
“My cousin Harry. Harry, my wife, Anne.”
“Lovely to meet you. Tea?”
“Thank you.” Harry didn’t look comfortable, exactly, and Dudley couldn’t blame him. But Harry had always had a core of steel, as they said. He never backed down.
He was a lot braver than Dudley.
“Holly Rockworth told you about Amelia.”
“No. The Herbology professor at Hogwarts is a good friend of mine. He recognized the name Dursley when he saw his enrollment list for first years and asked if she’s a relation.”
Dudley was too stunned to ask what this Herbology was. After a moment of awkward silence while they waited for Anne to return with tea, he decided he should say something. Not have a clue what, he settled on, “You look well.”
It was true. Harry looked much the same as he had last time Dudley had seen him. Older, obviously, but time had been kinder to him than to Dudley. Maybe it worked that way for wizards. He still had wild black hair and round glasses, still held himself with quiet confidence the way he had since they were teenagers, and the scar on his forehead hadn’t faded a bit.
“And you,” said Harry politely. Getting to the matter at hand, he asked, “Had you any idea that Amelia was a witch?”
“No. I thought she was just lucky.”
“Lucky?”
“She fell out of tree when she was eight. Fifteen feet and not one broken bone. That kind of thing.”
Harry nodded. “It happens to young witches and wizards.”
“Like somehow ending up on a roof.”
“Yes.”
In retrospect, perhaps Dudley should’ve suspected sooner. Say, around the time the dentist said he must have been mistaken before and Amelia didn’t in fact have a cavity. Or when Amelia used her favorite marker constantly for two years and it never seemed to dry out.
“How did Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia take it?”
“Dad died three years ago.”
“My condolences,” said Harry in a tone you’d use with an acquaintance.
“I haven’t told Mum. Can’t see that conversation going well.”
“No, I suppose not,” said Harry.
It was a relief when Anne brought out the tea tray. “Here we are.” She busied herself serving out tea. When they all had a cup, she took stock of the difficulty the two of them were having – or at least Dudley was having - speaking, and promptly took it upon herself to guide a conversation.
“Did you come to speak with Amelia?”
“Not particularly,” replied Harry. “I came to speak with Dudley.”
“Harry understands why I don’t want to tell Mum,” he said. This had been a point of contention with Anne, who thought secret-keeping would put distance between granddaughter and grandmother. It would, of course, but the alternative was worse.
“You don’t think she can be reasoned with? She loves the girls.”
“I think,” Harry said carefully, “that Aunt Petunia has hated magic ever since it came out that my mother was a witch.”
“That long? Oh, you see, Dudley, this is what I was worried about, that Juliette will be envious of Amelia now and it will ruin their relationship.”
What that what it had been all those years? It’d never occurred to Dudley to suspect envy as the cause of his mother’s objections to magic. This would require some thought, and in the meantime, he was still firmly against telling Mum about Amelia. He could say that they’d decided to send her to a boarding school without mentioning the particular school.
“Do you have children?” Anne asked, turning her attention back to Harry.
He smiled with fatherly pride. “Three. It’s the last year they’ll all be at Hogwarts together.”
“All magical, then.”
“Yes. Their mother is a witch, so it would be very unusual if they weren’t.”
“So when you sent them off to Hogwarts, it was into a world you understand. Your world. It’s not like that for us.”
Anne was always good at expressing the things Dudley could never hope to put into words.
“I imagine that would be difficult,” said Harry.
“Amelia is so happy, and not as surprised as you’d think, while we’re still trying to make sense of it all.”
“She’ll love Hogwarts.”
Anne took this as her cue. “I have to ask. Holly Rockworth said that if people know Amelia’s related to you, other children might be cruel to her.”
Dudley winced. “Apparently everyone in the witch world knows how my parents were to you.”
Harry looked into his teacup. “Someone interviewed Hagrid years ago, and he said more than he meant to, so I’m afraid it’s common knowledge at this point.”
Hagrid. While he couldn’t remember where he’d heard the name, Dudley had the strangest feeling that it was a familiar one and he didn’t like the person at all.
“But you don’t need to worry about Amelia suffering for it,” continued Harry. “I’ll get at least six owls if that’s a problem.”
“Don’t wizards have mobile phones?” asked Dudley.
“No. Most wizards aren’t very keen on that kind of thing, and anyway no one’s figured out how to stop our using magic from draining the batteries yet.”
That explained a few little mysteries, chiefly Dudley’s drawer full of presumed faulty mobile phone chargers. Anne, who could never be deterred from looking out for her daughters’ wellbeing, went back to the matter at hand. “And then what happens? If you get owls?”
“I’ll make it clear that I don’t hold anything against her, of course.”
“Thank you,” said Dudley sincerely.
Harry just nodded.
“Will they teach her what you did?” he asked. “With the light?” On reflection, he’d only assumed Harry made the light. He’d been covering his face with his arms as much as possible, but he’d caught a very memorable glimpse of something which had to have been magical.
“Not until her sixth year, and that’s presuming she’s able to create a Patronus. Not everyone can.”
Anne set down her tea. “Will someone please explain to me what this light thing is which Dudley keeps talking about?”
Harry said, “It’s a defense against a particular kind of dark magic.”
She went several shades paler. “Dark magic?”
“I don’t expect Amelia will need it,” Harry hastened to explain. “It’s something like you learning how to use a fire extinguisher.”
“You needed it.”
“My experiences should not be taken as typical.” His tone did not invite further discussion of the topic.
In a blatant bid to keep the conversation going, Anne asked, “Do witches go to university?”
“Not generally, although there’s nothing stopping them if they really want to. I know of one who went to study astronomy from the Muggle – that is, non-magical - perspective.”
Holly Rockworth had insisted that ‘Muggle’ was not an insult, simply the term for the non-magical world and its people, but it still felt like an insult, maybe because it was a very silly-sounding word.
Anne cheered at the idea of a witch who studied science. She was a geologist, so the idea of her daughters not getting a thorough scientific education appalled her. “That’s excellent.”
“I don’t suppose Hogwarts has an open house for parents,” said Dudley.
“No.”
That was fine for people like Harry who’d been themselves. Dudley would’ve liked to have had some idea exactly where he was sending his daughter. She was only eleven years old.
“It’s a wonderful school, and there are always some Muggle-born students, so she won’t be the only one unfamiliar with the magical world.”
“She’s already reading up,” said Dudley. “Holly Rockworth said she could start reading the books as long as she didn’t try practicing anything.
Harry smiled. “That reminds me of someone. Here.” He placed five silver coins on the coffee table. “For Amelia. She’ll want to buy wizard sweets on the train to Hogwarts.”
“Thank you,” said Anne, picking up one of the coins.
“Wizard sweets?”
“You have to be careful opening Chocolate Frogs. Sometimes they escape.”
Dudley couldn’t think of why anybody would want such a thing.
While Anne asked a few questions about what exactly it was witches studied at Hogwarts, Dudley thought. He thought about the fact that Harry showed up and brought money for Amelia to buy sweets, that he was kindly answering Anne’s questions, that he’d never even hinted at expecting an apology for anything Dudley had ever done to him (which was a shamefully long list).
So, when Anne took the teacups back to the kitchen, Dudley tried to find words for all these thoughts. The best he could do was, “They’re not wrong. All the people who say we treated you badly.”
“No,” Harry said. “You got better, though. And you’re taking it well that your daughter is a witch.”
In a rare flash of interpersonal insight, Dudley realized Harry had come because wanted to make sure that Amelia wasn’t going to be mistreated over her magic, the way he had been. And she wouldn’t be, not at all. Dudley may not have understood – he may have been very concerned about his daughter going off into something he could never understand – but he wasn’t going to stop loving her because she was a witch. There would be no ban on discussions of magic, or punishments, or anything of the sort Harry experienced.
Feeling vastly better for knowing that someone in the magical world cared enough to look out for his daughter, Dudley could only say, “Thank you for coming.”
Harry nodded, and now, after decades, they finally had something in common.
Thinking he might not get another opportunity, Dudley ventured to ask, “What happed the night we were attacked?”
“You don’t remember? I explained to your parents after.”
Dudley shook his head. He’d been in no state to remember anything after the attack.
“Dementors,” said Harry.
“What’s a dementor?”
Harry did not look like he wanted to be talking about this. “A dark, foul creature, one of the worst in the world.”
“I didn’t see anything,” said Dudley. Everything had gone cold and pitch-black, he ran, and the next thing he knew he’d tripped and something was pulling at his wrists. He couldn’t see anything until the brief glimpse of what had run off the invisible attacker, hadn’t even gotten in a single punch, but the worst part was the soul-crushing despair.
“You wouldn’t. I did.”
“Do they usually go around attacking teenagers?”
“No. I was the only one. And you’ll be relieved to hear that the Ministry of Magic has been working at reducing the population.”
That was very good news. Skipping over the Ministry of Magic (just how many witches and wizards were there, anyway?), he asked, “With your light?”
“No. By cutting them off from their food supply.”
“What does a thing like that eat?”
“Happiness,” said Harry. “Didn’t it feel like you’d never be happy again?”
It had, actually, but that didn’t explain their motivation. “Why did they attack us?”
“To discredit me.”
“At fifteen?”
“Yes. I witnessed a very inconvenient truth for the Ministry of Magic. One particularly heinous employee decided to act of her own initiative on everyone’s desire to paint me as untrustworthy.”
Dudley considered this for a minute. “Does this have anything to do with why we had to go into hiding?”
“That was the inconvenient truth, yes.” There was clearly a lot more to this story. “Amelia won’t be in the kind of danger I was,” Harry continued. “It’s safer now, and I was always a target. You don’t need to worry about her being attacked.”
“Good.” He’d been more worried than he wanted to let on for Anne’s sake.
After the attack, Dudley had simultaneously gained new respect for Harry and lost a great deal for himself. In a strange way the dementors had done him a favor by forcing him to confront who he was. It was a sad statement that he’d needed to almost die in order to reckon with himself, and he hadn’t been brave enough to go into that aspect with Anne. He didn’t say it to Harry either, but maybe Harry had figured it out anyway.
Speaking of Anne, she came back just as Harry was standing up. She’d probably lingered in the kitchen to give the two of them a moment. “Are you leaving?” she asked.
“I can’t be late for the Quidditch final,” said Harry. “Wizard sport. I’ll never hear the end of it if we’re late because of me.”
“Thank you for coming,” said Anne.
“Thank you for the tea. Take care.” He actually sounded like he meant that.
“You too,” said Dudley, who also meant it.
There was a load crack! and then Harry was gone. He didn’t walk out the door. One second he was standing there and the next he wasn’t.
“Well,” said Anne, clearly ruffled. “That’s something you don’t see every day.”
Dudley walked over and picked up his mobile phone. The battery, which had been almost full before Harry’s visit, was completely dead. “No mobile phones. I don’t think we have to worry about Juliette being jealous.”
“Likely not. Did you and Harry have a good talk?”
He considered for a moment. “I think we did.”
“I’m glad.” She picked up one of the silver coins and examined it closely. “He seems very nice, your cousin.”
Dudley was acutely and uncomfortably aware that Harry was nicer to him than he deserved, even if Harry had come for Amelia’s sake. Still… “Don’t go expecting a dinner invitation.”
“Too much water under the bridge?”
“Something like that.” Dudley didn’t care for metaphors as a means of communication. Anne usually kept them to a minimum, but he got the point of this one.
“Well, it’s good to know someone in the magical world cares about her.”
“Yes,” he said.
Maybe it really would be alright.