Chapter Text
The last time that Dudley Dursley thought about magic was in May of 1998, when two members of the wizarding order who worked with Harry informed him that the war they were hiding from was over; that his cousin had ended it all by killing the man responsible for it. He and his parents had moved back to their cookie-cutter home, thrown everything in the cupboard under the stairs in the bin, and actively forgot all about the Wizarding World—about Harry. They told the neighbours that Grunnings had relocated Vernon for the time being, but had eventually ceased their need for him across the pond. The older Dursley couple bragged about their adventures in America to anyone who would listen: complaining about the food they never tasted, celebrating the contract that never existed, bemoaning the school transfer paperwork they never had to fill out for their precious son, and so many more tales of grandeur. Someone once made the mistake of asking about Harry, and boy, had it been a mistake. The unrepentant tirade of slanderous insults lobbed at their nephew and his late parents went on for at least twenty minutes. It ended—finally—with the couple curtly stating how the ungrateful bastard had run away, abandoning his loving family to become some drug-addled street rat. And that was that. The story of Harry Potter and Privet Drive was dictated by the same two people who had always done so, never allowing the main character a chance to refute their tall tales.
Although for Dudley Dursley, not a lick of that mattered. He finished secondary school, got decent scores on his GCSEs, and was accepted to a good business university near Wales. He had a wake-up call in his freshman year about his weight and attitude, became a regular at the local gym, shed nearly 90 kilograms, and started a weight-loss blog. In his junior year, he met Annemarie Foley, an engineering major who shared his interests in children’s psychology and Marvel comic books. The two got engaged right after graduation, and Dudley landed a job as an accountant at Grunnings. Annemarie earned her master's degree and also worked as a lead engineer at Grunnings. His parents never approved of Annemarie working, complaining about her somehow “emasculating him” and how a significant income cut was worth upholding the “right” image. They came around eventually, becoming far more excited about grandchildren. Their wedding wasn't a grand affair; it was held in a modest, homely church in 2003 that the Foleys had attended for their entire lives. As a wedding gift, Vernon and Petunia gave the two of them their house, moving closer to Winchester into a smaller house for two.
In April of 2004, Violet Louise Dursley was born with tight, blonde ringlets and doe-like brown eyes. Dudley had been so happy he’d started bawling when he got to hold his newborn daughter in his arms. He was so overwhelmed with raw emotion that he didn’t even notice how the television in the room abruptly shut off or the lights briefly flickering as she entered this world. The bedroom closest to the stairwell was painted a light lilac colour for baby Violet, and as the years progressed, it became filled with whatever toy she dreamed of. Barbie houses with movable elevators and cars, Hot Wheels tracks with a nice red American Corvette toy car on it, a rainbow abacus, and whatever else she set her eyes on in the toy shop. She was always an incredibly outgoing child. She was arguably the most popular kid on the block, having the grandest birthday parties with a bouncy house, inflatable pools, and once even a petting zoo.
Following right in her father’s footsteps, Juliette Christine Polkiss was Violet’s ride-or-die best friend since the two girls could recognise faces. The cherry-headed daughter of Dudley’s best friend grabbed his daughter’s hand when they were a few months old and never let go until they were dead-asleep—and even then they had to be pried apart, damn that grip strength babies have. It worked out, honestly. Dudley had asked Piers to be Violet’s Godfather, and Piers had asked the same of Dudley for Juliette. The two were cousins in all but blood. Sometimes, when he saw green specks in Violet’s normally monotone eyes, a twinge of regret would bubble into his chest. Regret for a missed relationship. Regret for his childhood. Regret for not even acknowledging his existence for the past several years.
As a special birthday wish for her second birthday, the toddler asked for a younger brother. Specifically, a sweet younger brother. Not one like Sandra Oleson’s little brother, who just screams all the time from the baby room at nursery. Dudley and Annemarie laughed, admiring their adorable daughter and her very opinionated view of younger siblings. They jokingly promised they’d ask the stork, but there weren’t any promises. But one expired condom, and nine missed periods later, Violet got her way. In January of 2007, Richard Grey Dursley was born with a small tuft of chocolate-brown hair and his father’s blue eyes. Much to the amusement of his in-laws and wife, Dudley once again bawled when holding his son—conveniently ignoring the rapid lightning strikes near the hospital. This time, there was one person who noticed. Violet had piped up and asked why there was a sudden thunderstorm, but her mother simply chalked it up to a coincidence and redirected everyone’s attention to the newborn. A coincidence was all they could think of—as long as they disregarded how the lightning strikes ceased when little Richard stopped crying and started up again when he began wailing in the nurse’s arms.
And so, Privet Drive had three new thunderstorms taking the world by the reins. Violet and Juliette would lead the other children in their class while little Richard would toddle behind them and help the stragglers rejoin the group. No one in the town could say a single bad thing about the Dursley and Polkiss children. Beloved by their teachers and peers alike, nothing seemed as though it could knock the children down—until October 31st, 2011.
“Dudley,” Annemarie called out from the foyer, “Are you done with Violet’s hair?”
“Just a second, dear!” Dudley put the finishing touches on Violet’s pigtails. The pastel pink and blue hair ties matched perfectly with the seven-year-old's outfit for today. She was the dragon from her favourite cartoon. Her brother was the prince, wearing a cute little purple and gold costume, with both children having matching crowns to boot.
Violet smiled widely, swinging her hair side-to-side and giggling, “Daddy, it looks just like the picture!”
“I’m happy you love it so much,” Dudley smiled at his daughter, adoration ever-present in his eyes.
Today was a special day at school; after all, it was Halloween! Everyone at St. Gregory’s Primary School was wearing their costumes to school. Not only were they doing a costume contest, but the teachers would be giving out candy during the school’s trick-or-treating during the last hour of school. As the Dursley children rode to school, they babbled all about how they would “trick” their teachers and friends with silly things like plastic spider rings and gummy worms. It was incredibly adorable, so adorable that Annemarie was tempted to film it just to show the children when they were older and butting heads.
The Polkisses were waiting for them at the gate with their ball of energy. Juliette was jumping up and down in her hot pink princess dress. All three children decided to match, although it took some bribing convincing on Violet’s end to get Richard to dress as the prince instead of as broccoli (yes, as in the vegetable). The two families walked in together, dropping off their primary schoolers and going back to Number 4 to get ready for the nighttime trick-or-treaters. Honestly, everything was going swimmingly; the decorations went up easily, no child had a meltdown so far, and no houses were going to be egged (hopefully). All in all, 2011’s Halloween was going extremely well! Or at least, it seemed that way until the landline rang.
“This is Annemarie Dursley speaking. Who is this?”
“Hello, Mrs. Dursley, I’m calling from St. Gregory’s. There has been an incident here at the school that requires you to come down here. Violet’s teacher should be able to explain better, but it seems that she got hold of a fire-starter—”
“A fire-starter?! How in the world did she get that? We don’t even keep matches, much less a fire-starter! Is she alright? Was she taken to hospital?”
“Mrs. Dursley, I can assure you that while your daughter is unharmed, her teacher can explain things far better than I can over the phone. We will see you in a bit. I hope you have a nice day.” The phone hung up, leaving a panicking Annemarie and the other three adults horrified.
“Dudley! We have to go now! The school said that Violet got hold of a fire-starter! We have to go to the school now!” Annemarie grabbed her coat and rushed out the door. Dudley was only a step behind her.
“Dud! We’ll come with. They may have rung us too.” Piers ran out with him.
Sandra Polkiss yelled out, already at the door when she even heard the mention of a fire, “Let’s take our car; it has more room!”
They drove as fast as they could, panic taking control as they all feared the worst. When they arrived at the school, all four were ushered into the nurse's office, where Violet, Richard, Juliette, and another child were sitting on the beds. There was some charring and soot on Juliette’s dress, a bit of soot on Richard’s costume, and apparently nothing on Violet. She was spotless, despite apparently being the one who had the fire-starters. It was actually the fourth child on the bed on the other side of the room who had any burns. He had some redness on his face and a second-degree burn on his hands. His parents were frantically asking questions, glaring at the Dursleys for the apparent endangerment they had caused their son. As all of the parents had arrived, the nurse, the teacher, and the headmaster began explaining.
According to the children’s teacher, she had turned her back for a few seconds to help another child open their water bottle, only to turn around and find the other boy’s hands scorched and crying while the other three children looked around in shock. No one had even heard the striking of a match or the click of a firecracker, yet suddenly one child was on the ground crying with burns on his hands, while all the other children were going on about how “Violet breathed fire like a real dragon!” After the teacher had brought the four children to the nurse, she went to look for the fire-starter, but there wasn’t a trace of it. The headmaster then explained how the main problem they had currently was the fact that the fire-starter was missing.
Dudley turned to his daughter and got down to eye-level with her. “Flower, where did you put the fire-starter?” Worry and concern were evident on his face.
Tears started to fall from her face. “She’s lying! I didn’t have any fire thing! It just came out!”
The headmaster sighed, “Miss Dursley, you understand why this is a big deal, yes? Your classmate got hurt from the fire and could have been much more hurt. I need you to be honest with us and tell us where you hid the fire-starter.”
“BUT I AM BEING HONEST! IT JUST CAME OUT!” Violet began to bawl, tucking her face into Dudley’s chest.
Juliette stood up. “Ya! Violet didn’t have anything. John was making fun of her for not bein’ a real dragon, so it’s his fault!”
“John was bad, so he got burned!” Richard chimed in softly.
The boy’s parents had finally had enough. “Stop lying! You burned my son! Get your daughter under control, Dursley, or so help me God, I will send you to kingdom come!
The day ended right there. The other boy was taken to the doctor’s and eventually cleared, while Violet, Juliette, and Richard went home. Everyone went trick-or-treating later, but there was this once-dormant itch in the back of Dudley’s head that was rearing its ugly head once again.
Violet Dursley, ten-year-old superstar and world wonder (according to her father), had a problem. A fiery problem. A cannot-stop-igniting-the-curtains problem. It kept happening whenever she was upset. Crying? Bedroom curtains on fire. Angry? All curtains on fire. Disgusted? Richard’s curtains on fire. Sick? God forbid you go near her, or you’ll find her inside a room engulfed in fire. The firemen knew the Dursleys by name. They knew that the cause could usually be found in the bedroom of Violet Louise Dursley. Today, she got a bad grade on her science report, and then the silverware started to spark. She calmed herself down, and the cutlery stopped shaking, but the concern was obvious. While her mother looked at her with sympathy and loving concern, she could see a hint of fear in her father’s eyes. He acted the same as her mother, but she could tell. It was slight, but he was closer to her brother—and even that was waning. Her brother had begun to cause the electricity to cut out when he got upset. Of course, no one could prove that it was the children, but it was too frequent to be a coincidence anymore.
“…Dad? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! I really didn’t mean to today, and I—” she was crying, her eyes already red from rubbing her tears away.
Dudley cut her off with a hug. “Oh, flower… It’s not your fault at all. I think… I think I know who can help us. But you have to promise me something.”
Violet looked up at her father. “Promise you what?”
“Promise me you won’t tell Nana and Grandpa about this, okay?”
Violet swallowed. “I promise,” although she didn’t understand why she couldn’t tell her grandparents.
Later that night, Annemarie and Dudley had a much-needed conversation about all the odd “coincidences” that had surrounded their children for the past four years. Richard and Violet had already been put to bed, so the couple finally had time to have the one conversation Dudley had been avoiding for so long.
“Anne, do you remember when Dad told you about how he was relocated to the States for a year in ‘97?” Dudley’s palms were sweaty, his hands shaking, and his breath unsteady.
Confused, Annemarie replied, “Of course. He enjoys telling that story a lot, no?” She laughed, “At this point, my parents may as well have been there too, with how well they know the story.”
Dudley paused, an uneasy silence filling the room with tension so taut it could stop a moving train. He knew that he had to tell her. That it was inevitable. Better he tell this story than the professors at that school, you know? Part of him—a small, putrid part of him he wanted to abandon—wished he didn’t have to for a far more insidious reason. That part of him, which sounded so much like his father, whispered how the freak was gone. No need to dredge up the past when the dust had already settled. Another small, mother-like-sounding fragment spoke up about how this would change things. The Dursleys of Number 4 Privet Drive were a nice, normal family. Nothing like the others, with their problems and disharmonies. There was no need to whisper about the cupboard under the stairs; after all, there was nothing in there except for a small, ragged old mattress and some winter clothes. Those two insipid voices chimed, “There’s nothing to discuss.” “There’s nothing wrong.” “Simply return things to normal; it can be dealt with later.” “Simply send that child—”
No. Dudley Dursley could not become his parents. If he did, everything would be for nought. His “perfect life” would be no more fractured than his childhood. He had to shoo those contemptuous voices away. He couldn’t make the same mistake as his parents had. If he had known what he knew now, had he learned how dysfunctional his parents were, he would have slapped himself out of his spoiled, fat stupor and started protecting him. God, he would have to find him now. Seventeen years of ignoring the dirty secret of the Dursley family, and now he would have to brave the cousin whom he had so abused, working on the sheer hope that he would help Violet.
Dudley took a deep breath in. “Dad lied.”
Cocking an eyebrow, Annemarie was confused. “What do you mean?”
“Dad lied about going to all those places, eating the food, all of it—except for the fact that we were in the States for a year.” Dove-grey clouds shrouded Privet Drive, the sun just barely peeking through.
“Then… Then what were you doing there?” Trepidation had joined the air. “Dudley, I’m so confused. What in the world are you talking about?”
Dudley guided Annemarie to sit. “When I was one, my aunt and uncle were murdered during a home invasion. Their son, my cousin, survived and came to live with us. Mum… she hated her sister and my uncle. She turned that hatred towards my cousin. My parents… my family were horrible. You know the cupboard under the stairwell? How it has that old mattress in it?”
“Yes? Wait… Dudley, you don’t mean—” Horror flooded her veins, praying that what she was thinking wasn’t the truth.
Dudley sorrowfully shook his head. “I do. Until we were eleven… twelve, really, he slept under the stairs. My parents would lock him in there for the smallest things—hell, even if he didn’t do anything, they’d still lock him up for being freaky. Not as if anyone cared, though. I don’t think I ever saw even one social worker drive by our house.”
Annemarie turned green. “Dudley, how did… how did no one know? Your teachers must have reported it, right?”
A sad smile crept onto his face. “They knew. Everyone knew, but at the same time, everyone pretended that no one knew. It was the easier alternative. My parents would spread horrible lies about him being a criminal, the son of drunks, really anything they could say that would make him the monster in the house. We had this one teacher who, at first, believed him. She supposedly called the Children’s Services, but the next day, she sneered at him. I guess Mum got to her first—filled her head up with lies and cut any lifeline he had.”
Annemarie was crying now, “But why? Your parents—they never seemed like they would… I—”
“Jealousy. My mother was so jealous of her younger sister that she’d rather terrorise her nephew than mourn my aunt and uncle. I was no better, though. I chased him around the neighbourhood so many times. I prevented him from making any friends. I had a gang of bullies that would play ‘Harry Hunting’ with me. God, he got in so much trouble when he was found on the school roof after running from us. We were Violet’s age then. And this is honestly the reason why I’m talking about this,” Dudley took a deep breath, “I think Violet and Harry are the same.”
“What do you mean by that? We don’t—”
“Not like that,” Dudley reassured his wife. “I believe that Violet has the same abilities as Harry did—as my aunt did.”
“Dudley, what do you mean? Do you mean the fires?” Annemarie was still in shock from her husband’s horrific story.
“In 1991, the week before my cousin turned eleven, we got a letter that was delivered by an owl. It was inviting him to the same school his parents went to—the one Violet will be attending.”
“Violet will be attending?! You’ve—”
“It was called Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Anne, Violet’s a witch. She can use magic. There’s no gas leak. There’s nothing wrong with our electricity. Violet’s magic is causing this. Next July, she’ll be invited to attend that school. And if we don’t let her, other wizards will come and make us send her: we don’t have a choice in this.” Dudley clasped Annemarie’s hands.
A flare of fury welled up inside her. “Like hell we don’t have a choice! Who are they to force us to send our daughter away? Dudley, what happened to your cousin after he entered that school? Was he safe?”
Dudley braced himself. “The wizards, they have their own government called the Ministry of Magic. Since Violet’s a witch, she falls under their jurisdiction, and if things are the same, they don’t like non-magical folk too much. My cousin’s time at the school, I think—I hope- was irregular. From what I saw, he was being targeted by the same man who murdered his parents. Actually, the reason why we had to flee to the States in ‘97 was that that same man had taken over their government and was doing everything he could to kill my cousin. To keep us safe, we were taken to a magical safe house. In May, we were told we could return because my cousin had killed that man. I never saw him after we left, but it was reassuring to know that he’d survived.”
“Dudley,” Anne looked at her husband with a newfound depth she hadn’t known was there, “Do you want to find your cousin?”
The tears that had been threatening to spill from his eyes finally broke the dam. “Yes,” he cried out, “I want to at least say hello and tell him about our kids—about Violet. If possible, and God knows I don’t deserve it, I hope he’d help us with Violet.”
“Alright. What’s his name? Let’s see if we can find him.” Annemarie cupped Dudley’s face.
Dudley sighed, resolve taking root in his heart. “His name is Harry Potter.”
The Ministry had sent him out to investigate an irregular amount of adolescent magic usage around this muggle town. Less so sent him out; rather, they begged him to investigate it instead of the Unspeakables. “Too risky”, they said. Initially, he’d refused. After all, he had young children whom he couldn’t just up and abandon—possibly leaving them without their father—for some wackjob mission that shouldn’t have even met his eyes. The war had hardened him more than most saw. If the Ministry wanted him to go out of his way for their useless arses, they would have to bribe him. And bribe him they did. On the mission, he’d be allowed to bring his husband. They would be given a nice, upscale apartment free of charge, and he had no deadline. The ministry had essentially given him their bank vault and told him to drain it for as long as he needed. Their children were staying with Ron’s parents. Molly was always overjoyed to have her grandchildren in the house, and the kids always had a lot of fun looking at Arthur’s different projects.
So, here he was, lying in bed at nine in the morning with his husband still asleep. They’d been here for a good two months at this point, going over accident reports, police reports, really anything that seemed to have even a hint of magical play. He grabbed his glasses from the nightstand, wiping away any fog and putting them on. He looked down at his husband; the peaceful and dignified look gracing his aristocratic features was quite the contrast to their activities last night. Draco had commented on potentially having another child after a glass of firewhiskey. What ensued was exactly what both of them expected. It definitely got him hot and bothered when Draco was pregnant with their children. It added a fun amount of spice to their bedroom games. He pressed a light kiss to the blonde tresses in his hand and got up. Putting on a new pair of pants and tying an apron around his waist, he went to the kitchen to make the two of them breakfast.
He looked at the paper on the table. The Daily Prophet was no more a gossip column masquerading about as a legitimate newspaper than it had ever been. On the front page were him and the new Head Auror shaking hands in front of the gallows. “Harry Potter: Dark Wizards Beware!” One of Skeeter’s better titles with his name in it. The article went into great detail about his valiant capture of a wanted dark wizard responsible for the deaths of nearly one hundred muggles. The article sang his praises while making incredibly subtle digs at the incompetence of the Auror Department for not being able to capture a single wizard without the help of their nation’s hero. In reality, he’d caught the moron in the act. He honestly couldn’t care less about the crimes of others, but committing necrophilia right before his eyes was an offence he didn’t take lightly. I mean, really, he could have had Scorpius or Iris with him, and then what? They would have been subjected to the sight of that shrivelled pervert worming his way into his newest victim. So, once again, Harry Potter was the golden saviour of the wizarding community. They rewarded him with this idiotic mission and such luxurious amenities for his troubles. Never money. He thought that Voldemort and Grindelwald would resurrect and dance with muggle corpses in the streets of muggle London before the Ministry would give him a single knut, cheap pricks.
As he was flipping the pancakes, he heard the melodic voice of the man he adored. He greatly appreciated the sheer chemises his husband was fond of. Today’s choice was an angelic white that nigh-matched his hair. They looked no different than they had in their twenties, a perk of having the long lifespan of powerful wizards. There was a part of him who wanted to keep his precious Draco locked up in the manor, not allowing anyone but their children to see his Adonis. Alas, clipping the wings of a powerful bird requires breaking its spirit, and the last thing Harry wants to do is break his beloved’s spirit.
Hugging Harry from behind, Draco yawns, “That smells nice. What type are you making today?”
“Blueberry. How would you like your eggs cooked?” Harry turned to kiss him.
“Scrambled, please.” The chemise grew even shorter when the blonde sat down.
Harry set the food down on the table and placed their plates next to each other. He motioned for his husband to stand up. Rather than waiting for the response, he picked the blonde up and sat down in the chair, pulling him in his lap. He kissed all over his bare neck, hickeys and bruises blooming easily on that pale ivory skin.
Picking up a piece of a pancake and feeding it to Draco, Harry asked, “Have you found anything new in the muggle reports?”
He swallowed. “For the most part, I haven’t found anything that we weren’t aware of already,” Draco hummed. “Ah! Actually, there was a series of fire reports from Surrey. They should be in that pile over there.” He pointed across the table at the middle of the three piles of reports.
Harry waved his hand, and the report wordlessly flew into his hand. His husband began squirming in his hold, the feeling of a hard pillar poking the small of his back. He lightly tightened his grip on Draco’s waist, kissing along his spine. He was playfully nipping until the address on the report caught his eye. His grip tightened roughly, his eyes fixated on the ink on the report.
Draco winced. “Harry? What happened? Did I miss something?”
“Are you certain this wasn’t misprinted?” Harry’s eyes hadn’t left the page, a low rumble beginning to shake the building.
Panic was creeping into Draco’s mind. “I’m certain.” he turned around, straddling the raven-haired man. “Have you found the culprit?”
“Number 4 Privet Drive. That’s the address on this report. Draco, it—if they’re still there, then I have to—” Harry was cut off by his husband’s lips crashing into his own. He melted into the kiss, the feeling of Draco’s lips grounding him and preventing another spiral. The ground stopped shaking. They parted to breathe, and a soft smile was looking at him.
Draco slung his arms around Harry. “We’ll go investigate. If those wretched muggles are still there and are abusing another magical child, we will save the child. You don’t have to worry. They hold no power over you anymore, my love.”
Harry set the report down on the table and wrapped his arms around the blonde, tightly. It wasn’t normal for him to be set off in any way. He had appearances to keep up after all, and they required the touch of a kind, still-naïve war veteran—not the former horcrux container nor the Master of Death. He hadn’t thought of the Dursleys in a long time. If he had to guess, he stopped thinking of them entirely when Scorpius was born. He had his family, so there was no need to hang onto the people who turned their noses away from him and beat him if there was even the slightest spark of magic in the air.
He brought himself and Draco back to the bedroom and play-wrestled in the bed. The green-eyed saviour quickly fell back asleep; the emotional upheaval tiring him out far more than any magic depletion could. Draco, once Harry had fallen asleep, walked down to the living room and plopped down on the couch with his book. He dressed himself in a pair of joggers and one of Harry’s T-shirts. In his very informed opinion, muggle technology was useless, especially because the electricity short-circuited every time they did something as small as summoning a wand.
He’d got through a good hundred or so pages when the doorbell rang, causing him to jump out of his seat. There weren’t many others staying in the same building, and the staff would announce themselves right after knocking, so this had to be someone new. New meant unchecked, potentially harmful, or even as simple as being their new “dumbest criminal ever” (the title was currently held by Alexander Avery, who decided that he could fight an angry nundu bare-handed and drunk after attempting to set a magical orphanage on fire). Hopefully, this was just some lost mailman or some little child knocking on the wrong door.
Draco stood up from the couch and walked to the door. Looking through the peephole, he saw a blonde man and a brown-haired woman sheepishly standing before the door. So, Draco decided, they were either drug addicts or to-be criminals nervous about committing their first crime. Draco put his wand in his arm holster; he unlocked the deadbolt, then he undid the door lock and opened the door. He was shocked to see the look of surprise on the faces of these two, completely bewildered that he was the one who opened the door, and not someone else.
Annemarie had found the address in the phone book. He didn’t even know that Harry had a phone, much less that he lived so close. Dudley was nigh-catatonic the whole ride there, both nervous and shocked to see his cousin after nearly a decade and a half. Harry lived in a fancy apartment complex, one with a gate and chauffeurs to boot. He was living well; that was good. When he imagined where Harry would be in life, he didn’t imagine this—he couldn’t imagine it. They walked up to the apartment. Number 413. How funny, his apartment is Number 413; life sure is ironic, isn’t it? Anne knocked on the door—he couldn’t bring himself to knock, even after two minutes of just sitting there with his hand raised.
They heard the door locks unlatch, and then the door opened, but it wasn’t who they thought would open the door. A tall, white-blonde man opened the door. His eyes were sharp, almost inhuman in how he was looking at them. The man looked them up and down, and then sighed.
“Who are you and why are you knocking on my door?” the man asked.
Annemarie immediately said, “My name is Annemarie Dursley, and this is my husband Dudley. We’re looking for a man named Harry Potter, and he was listed as living here. Could you fetch him for us, or is he not here? We can leave a letter or—”
“Dursley? You,” the man pointed to Dudley, “are your parents, Vernon and Petunia?”
Shocked out of his stupor, Dudley fumbled with his hands. “Yes. Harry’s my cousin, and I need to talk to him.” That seemed to be the wrong answer, as the man sneered at him.
“Do you or your parents live at Number 4 Privet Drive?” the man asked angrily.
Annemarie looked confused at his sudden anger. “Dudley and I do. We live there with our children—a daughter and a son. Why do you ask?”
There was a long pause, as if the man was contemplating his next move. Then, he asked, “Could you wait here a moment? I’ll go get Harry.” The door quickly slammed shut in their faces, leaving the couple with some uncertainty but mostly happy that their goal of meeting with Harry would be achieved.
A few minutes later, a tall, black-haired man with green eyes, glasses, and a faded scar above his eye. He positioned himself in front of the blonde man who had opened the door. There was a minute of Harry and Dudley simply staring at each other, and then the tension snapped.
“What are you doing here, Dudley? Come to shove your kid off on us?” Harry spat out. Both Annemarie and Dudley were taken aback by the accusation, offended by the notion that they would abandon their child.
“Absolutely not!” Dudley puffed up. “I came to ask you about… you know…” he whispered, “Magic.”
“What about it?” Harry damn near snarled. The sheer audacity of his cousin to come knocking, and for what? He still wasn’t convinced that he and Draco weren’t about to acquire another child, even if the Dursleys swore up and down that they weren’t here to abandon their child.
“My daughter, Violet, she… uhm… where do you buy fire-retardant curtains? Every time she’s upset, she sets them on fire. Please, Harry, I’m begging you, please help my daughter!”
Dudley pleaded.
…what?
Harry was star-struck. Could this really be the same Dudley he grew up with? Sure, Dudley seemed marginally more tolerable when they parted—hell, he even shook his hand and apologised—but still. Pursing his lips and swallowing the retort he was thinking of, Harry invited them in.
“Water or tea?” Draco offered.
“We’ll both take a water, thank you.” Annemarie looked around. The apartment was cosy yet lavish. Less an apartment and more so a mini house. There were two levels, with the bottom level having the kitchen, dining room, and living room, while the top floor seemed to have the bedroom and the laundry room. Honestly, though, it looked like they had just moved in. There wasn’t much dust on the hard-to-clean spots—although that could have simply been because of a thorough cleaner.
Harry took a deep breath. “So, tell me about your daughter. You think she’s a witch? Mind telling me what sets off these fires more specifically, if you can?”
“Of course. Violet’s ten. She’s lovely and outgoing and nothing like me when I was a kid. She’s best friends with Piers’s daughter and has a bunch more friends at school. She goes to our old school and all the teachers love her!” Dudley was fiddling with the tablecloth, his expression turning into worry. “Depending on what upsets her, she sets the curtains on fire in different rooms. If she starts to cry, her bedroom curtains catch. If she’s disgusted, it’s Richie’s curtains that spark. If she’s sick, things start to randomly combust. If she’s angry, though, all the curtains in the house go up in flames. Essentially, if she feels anything strongly, her magic sets things on fire.”
Harry hummed. “I see. D’you think your son could also be a wizard?”
“It only looks like Violet’s the one setting the fires,” Annemarie cut in. She could see it easily; her husband was nervous, more nervous than he had been at their wedding, at their children’s births, even in hospital when Vernon had his first heart attack. She shared his unease. They were talking to people who, by all means, could take their children and they wouldn’t even know about it. “Richie gets scared by them, honestly. I don’t think he could be helping her set them.”
“For the record, Mrs. Dursley,” Draco cut in, his tone sharp with an underlying notion of condescension, “Violet is not setting the fires purposely. It’d be a far more accurate descriptor to say that her circumstances are causing these fires. Simply remove the stressors and teach her how to deal with them at an appropriate distance.”
“That isn’t so easy! It’s school! It’s her friends! It’s us! Do you want us to isolate her from everyone forever?!” Annemarie became heated. She wouldn’t—couldn’t do that to her daughter. She wanted her to have a normal upbringing, not one where the neighbours point and laugh at the strange girl who never leaves the home.
Draco huffed. “I never said that. Switch schools, put her in sports, put her in what you muggles call ‘therapy ’, and have her work it out there.” He mumbled a few insults under his breath in French, only stopping himself from getting louder by the hand his husband had placed on the small of his back.
“What would you like us to do, Dudley? You’ve come here, told me about your magical daughter, and now what? You’ve said that you don’t want to abandon her, that you don’t think that your son has magic, so what do you want from me?” Harry’s voice hardened. Regardless of the shock of the situation, he had little love left for his maternal family—save the magical child now wrapped up in this mess. “Do Vernon and Petunia know?”
Dudley drew a sharp breath. “Mum and Dad, they won’t know. They wouldn’t take it well… you know why.” He met his cousin’s eyes. For the first time, he saw how striking they truly were. A vibrant, almost unnatural emerald green that, if he squinted, had flecks of red spread throughout. Gone was the sparkle he saw when they were in primary school, now replaced by a darkness he’d only heard about in movies. “I—I want help. I don’t know anything about your world, and I don’t want to be blindsided when Violet goes to your school. I know I’m asking a lot of you, especially after what I’ve done, but without you, Violet will go into your world with no knowledge—alone.”
There was an uncomfortable silence that filled the room. Dudley looked at his cousin with such earnest desperation that one might mistake it for a parent begging a surgeon to save their dying child. Annemarie was no better, her eyes pleading with the wizarding couple. Honestly, it made Harry uncomfortable. He hadn’t wanted to get involved with the Dursleys again, yet here his cousin was, begging him for help with a child just like him. He knew what Draco’s answer would be: decline and give them books about transitioning to the wizarding world—the ones that professors gave muggle families when they went to deliver the acceptance letters to muggle-borns. He knew that he should agree with Draco, but there was this small, not-yet-dead part of him that wanted to be a part of the Dursleys as family. The part he thought he had left in the cupboard under the stairs. The part that he had sworn died with Hedwig, with any semblance of childhood innocence that had been duly stripped from him during the war. Involving himself with Dudley meant seeing Vernon and Petunia for the first time in nearly twenty years. The worst of all, though, was that it meant going back, back to the place where he had been made to be so powerless, so small. He had spent his entire life starting from the age of 11 ensuring that he would never be small again, yet here was this opportunity to confront the source of it all. In truth, the two options were: reject Dudley’s plea and continue to hide from the shadows of his childhood or accept Dudley’s plea and finally close the chapter on the horribleness that was Vernon and Petunia Dursley. A less impulsive man would have chosen the former, but Harry was never known for restraint.
“Dudley,” Harry made his decision, “I want you to promise me. Promise me that you won’t let your daughter hear the nasty things your parents spew. Promise me that you’ll shield her from their hatred.”
“Of course! I promise. I love my children more than anything in the world, and I promise that I’ll ensure that they don’t get the same lectures Dad used to give.” The look of joy and the simultaneous relaxing of his shoulders made for quite the sight. So many years ago, Harry could never have imagined Dudley of all people asking him for help. But now? Now, he was an adult. An adult who would ensure no child ever grew up the way he had, or faced the magical world with ignorance and fear.
Draco swallowed the jab boiling up. He had dealt with horrible family members before. Dealt with their murderous vitriol and stood against them when judgement came. He had watched as his parents were given lengthy sentences in Azkaban, his father just barely escaping the Kiss by a technicality. While he knew the Dursleys weren't the same kind of horrid, he couldn’t help feeling dissatisfied with the outcome. It put quite a bitter taste in his mouth that his dear husband’s childhood tormentors had bulldozed their way back into their lives. He stood up, placing a chaste kiss on his husband’s cheek. “I’ll go pack our bags.” He walked up the stairs, just barely containing his distaste for the goings-on at the table.
“So,” Annemarie began, “how will you two get to Surrey? You don’t seem to have a car; should we drive you back with us?”
“There’s no need for that. I know how to get to Surrey all too well.” Harry smiled at her. “Actually, I think it’d be best if you also invited Piers and his daughter over when we’re there.”
Puzzled, Dudley asked, “Why? Violet’s the only one… holy crap! Are you saying Juliette’s a witch too?”
“Aren’t you fast on the intake, Dudley? I remember it taking a few more explanations to get you to understand something.” Harry laughed.
“Well, I’ve grown up quite a bit since then.” Dudley scratched the back of his head, giving his cousin a relieved smile.
A bitter smile crossed Harry’s face. “Do you want me to walk you back to your car?”
“No need; we can find our way back fine. Plus, this way you’ll have more time to pack with your husband.” Annemarie and Dudley stood up, the woman thanking her cousin-in-law and heading for the door.
Dudley stopped for a moment. “Harry… I’m glad that you’re happy now. You deserve it. I’ll see you at 10:00 tomorrow, ya?” He turned and continued to walk out with his wife.
Harry was left in silence. Stunned? No. But somewhat taken aback. This was the exact opposite of how he’d thought his meeting with Dudley would go. He expected disgust, not relief. He expected to be taking home another child like him. He was simply standing there, dwelling on the whole scene. He hadn’t even noticed that Draco had come down until the blonde stood right in front of him.
“Harry? Are you alright?” Draco put his hand on her husband’s cheek. Harry leaned into the touch, shocked out of his stupor.
A content hum came out of the man. “Mm, I am now. I just… It’s all just now hitting me.”
“Alright,” Draco smiled sweetly. “Everything we’ll need is packed. When do you want to leave?”
“Tomorrow. Early tomorrow morning.” Harry buried his face in the crook of Draco’s neck. “For now, I want to roll around in bed until you look like you’re going to give me another child.”