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Hermione calling in the middle of the day had been Harry’s first indication that something was up. It wasn’t that they didn’t use the mirrors to chat, but most of their mid-day chatting these days were work-related or sorting out who was watching their kids. He was grateful that Hermione, having been an only child, took an equal level of concern as to the whereabouts of their children. The family they’d married into had grown up with the luxury of the Floo Network and seemed to care less about where their children had wandered off too.
“They’re always with family,” Ginny would answer in a bored voice whenever he brought it up. “So long as they’re home by the end of the day it’s one less meal to sort out.”
Summers and weekends there’d be full thirty-six-hour stretches before Ginny would finally rise to Harry’s level of concern and go searching for them.
But the call from Hermione on that July afternoon wasn’t about work, or about their children, or who they were imposing themselves on for dinner. Instead, she looked harassed and asked what time he’d be home.
“No, I don’t want to get drinks,” Hermione answered when he’d asked about it in a confused voice. “I was just going to stop by later and wanted to make sure you’d be there.”
“Sure,” Harry replied, “I’ll be home tonight. Hermione, what’s this about?”
“Nothing,” Hermione said hastily, “I’ll see you later.”
Harry could have sworn that before Hermione’s face disappeared he could hear Ron saying, “I told you I should do it. You’re a terrible liar, Hermione.”
It was hard to think of anything else as the afternoon dragged on. It wasn’t like his friends to keep secrets from him. Or vice versa. Harry was positive if the Ministry really knew exactly how much information was shared between the three of them that his suitability as Department Head would be drawn into question.
“There’s no memo for me?” Harry bothered his assistant at least a dozen times over the next couple of hours.
“No, Mr. Potter,” she answered tensely each time. “If I get any urgent memos I’ll be sure to interrupt whatever you’re doing.”
By three he’d annoyed her so much that Harry had been forced to try and demand answers himself only to find Hermione’s office empty and her own assistant refusing to say who she was in a meeting with.
“Sorry, she said-“ the young woman stammered, face growing red “Well, she didn’t say…I’ll let her know you stopped by!”
He’d thought of little else as the afternoon dragged on. Within the next hour Harry had run out of restraint and bid goodbye to his co-workers uncharacteristically early, hoping that he might grill Ginny before his so-called friends arrived with their secret.
But he needn’t have worried for when he exited the grate it was to a sitting room packed with grim faces. Everyone fell silent as he walked in, watching as he hung his cloak without reciprocating the hesitant smile he offered. Ron was perched on the armrest of Hermione’s chair and Neville occupied the chair Albus usually claimed as it gave him the best light for reading. It was Ginny, alone on their couch, who gave him the warmest welcome, pulling him in beside her as though it was a normal evening though even her smile looked a bit grim.
“What’s this?” he asked, wondering who on Earth could have died now. “An intervention?”
Ron was the only one who managed a weak chuckle as Harry sat down.
“Harry,” Ginny said calmly after a tense few seconds where everyone seemed afraid to speak. “There’s something we need to talk about.’”
He wanted to ease the tension by pointing out that he wasn’t accustomed to a grimaced greeting committee, but he didn’t think it’d go over well. Ron and Hermione had turned to look at Neville and Harry followed their cue to look at him too.
“What’s this about?” he asked, feeling Ginny’s hand slip into his. “My kids aren’t at the castle yet, so I know it’s not them.”
“No, no, not James or Teddy,” Neville reassured him with a forced smile and then, in an undertone, “this time.”
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, staring at Hermione to take over but, finally, Neville reached into his bag and produced a thick, sealed envelope Harry recognized immediately as from Hogwarts.
“We’ve had our mid-summer meeting,” Neville mumbled. “To go over class lists and divide up the muggle-borns.”
He thumbed the letter, not looking at it. Harry strained to read the writing on the front but Neville tilted it away before Harry could make out the eloquent script.
“We’re not supposed to tell anyone,” Neville continued in a hard-to-hear voice, “but I know what they were like and I wanted to get Hermione’s opinion on the legal protections we can enact.”
“Legal protections?” Harry repeated stupidly, looking to Hermione to clarify but she was tightlipped and rather anxious-looking. “What? Is it a Death Eater’s child or something?”
“No,” Neville sighed, fighting with the envelope for a moment more. “We’re really not supposed to tell, but-“
Again he looked to Hermione for direction. After a pause, she gave him a curt nod and Neville held out the letter for Harry to take. No one would meet his eyes as he reached over and took the envelope from Neville’s trembling hand. Harry could feel Ginny’s fingers tightening around his palm still held in her lap and he turned it over, fearing the worst.
“Desmond Dursley?”
Whatever he’d been anticipating, it couldn’t compare to the shock of seeing the surname in McGonagall's neat print. The name looked completely foreign on the same parchment he’d spend his boyhood summers eagerly waiting for.
“That means he’s-“ Harry found himself unable to complete the thought.
“A wizard,” Ginny finished for him in a gentle voice.
They were all still staring at him anxiously as if waiting for a better reaction. The air in the room felt much too hot.
“Do they know?” Harry asked, finding it hard to stare at the letter in his hands.
“We’ve no way of knowing,” Neville answered, “I claimed it though, so I’ll be the one delivering the letter.”
His mind was still working far too slow. “And then, what if Dudley-?”
“Turned out like his parents?” Ron supplied. Harry nodded and found himself looking to Hermione once more.
“They say muggleborn parents have the right to refuse, but there are some rather powerful precedents that make it almost impossible for the parents to deny a child a magical education,” Hermione said, sounding less like his friend and more of the formable witch he witnessed many times in-front of the Wizengamont, arguing passionately on behalf of those who could not lend their voice. “Particularly if we are concerned about retribution against the child.”
“Right,” Harry said, stupidly.
“Do you think he’ll be difficult?” Neville asked but his voice sounded far away. “Because if we think they’ll be a bad reaction…”
“We’ve had tea with them,” Ginny said, a hopeful note in her voice. “He always seemed alright, the kids got along.”
“Yeah, but that was just the afternoon,” Ron argued. “Not waltzing in and announcing we’re taking his kid into the world he grew up hating.”
“We can’t blame him for what he believed as a child, he was indoctrinated into hating magic,” Hermione said.
“But he’s not a child anymore,” Ron answered but Harry found himself not listening as they began to bicker.
He sat there, staring down at the letter, Ginny gipping his hand and staring at him as Ron and Hermione droned on and on in the stifling heat. How had no one else noticed how hot it was getting? Usually, the sun setting meant that it cooled down but-
“I need a moment.”
Refusing to meet any of their eyes, Harry stood, but no one made any attempt to stop his deliberate march out to the front garden. The air was just as stifling outdoors but it was easier to breathe now that he was alone. He’d hoped it’d be easier to process without all of their eyes on him, but his mind couldn’t move past the shock.
Harry walked over to the fence and leaned against it, staring out at the empty lane. Behind him the door opened and closed, interrupting his solitude much too soon. He was grateful for his friends and their concern, he really was, but having them all here right now was far too much.
When he glanced over his shoulder he half expected to find them all lined up in the doorway and was relieved to find only Ron. He didn’t say anything as he joined Harry, gazing out at the lane with the same appraising look. They stood in companionable silence for several minutes as Harry felt the waring thoughts battle in his mind.
“Where are the kids?” Harry asked first.
“My house, Helen’s making dinner,” Ron answered, not looking at him still. He took a moment and said, “You know, if we could convince her round after everything Hermione went through, there’s hope for anyone.”
“Not the Dursleys.” Harry said bitterly and at once, “Not Vernon or Petunia.”
“No,” Ron answered calmly. “Perhaps not them.” Harry felt him turn and face him. “But Dudley is not his father’s child. You know that.”
Harry did know that. Ever since Harry had saved him from the dementors, since Dumbledore had come to their home and berated Vernon and Petunia for the horrid job they’d done raising children, Dudley hadn’t been the same. Not as hateful, not as angry. Most of the time it seemed Dudley simply didn’t know what to say about Harry’s life. It made their conversations revolve around the children and homeownership. Easy topics.
“They’re going to hate Desmond,” Harry said finally. “Vernon will disown him straight away.”
“And if they don’t,” Ron pointed out. “If they accept him, you won’t like that either.”
“No,” Harry agreed. “You’re right.” He let out a long sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying as when he’d been a teenager, not with the products he put in it now to keep it orderly. “It was so long ago, I don’t know why it’s bothering me so much now.”
“It’s like Hermione said last time we saw Petunia,” Ron said and it was a mark of their maturity that he didn’t use his favorite nickname for her. “You were a child and it was her job to take care of you. All you wanted was a family, it’s what any kid wants.”
His head ached and the humid evening air was doing nothing to quell the burning sensation in his chest.
“You’re not going to listen to me,” Ron said quietly. “But you don’t have to take this on, mate. Desmond isn’t your responsibility. How those assholes that raised you treat another child isn’t your concern.”
“No,” Harry said, thinking it over for a moment. “But he doesn’t deserve to suffer either.”
“No one does.” Ron agreed.
“And Dudley will take it best from me,” Harry went on. “I don’t think Neville alone will be able to convince him.”
“Hermione could go,” Ron offered. “Dudley will like her all right, and she could explain it best.”
It was tempting. For a moment Harry considered letting his friends take care of this for him, do the jobs they’d been educated and trained to do and for once let himself sit one out. But then, even after it was explained and the spell books were bought, Dudley would still have questions. Harry couldn’t run away from him forever and maintain the fragile relationship they had now.
While they were hardly best mates they were at least on speaking terms. It felt good to not deal with the guilt of having family he was not speaking to. And Desmond would hardly go away. He, and the rest of the Dursleys, would be on Platform Nine-And-Three-Quarters on September 1st, just the same as them and he would be in at least some of Albus and Roses’ classes no matter the house and for the rest of his life would exist in the world Harry was so prominent in.
“No,” Harry said, finally, “Dudley deserves to hear it from someone he trusts. It should be me.”
“All right,” Ron agreed without a hint of disappointment and Harry knew he’d been waiting for Harry to get to this conclusion himself.
“I thought someone had died,” Harry said, gesturing back to the house. “Coming out of the floo to all of you waiting to ambush me.”
Ron rolled his eyes. “When’s the last time you’ve come home to an empty house?”