Deirdre Dursley: Witch

Dudley Dursley never truly hated Harry Potter. He had only hated his cousin the way any pair of children living in the same household would.

Everything that Harry possessed, materialistic or otherwise, Dudley was fascinated by. Each year when Vernon Dursley would lock away his magical possessions, Dudley couldn't help but sneak a peek of the rustic trunk being pulled into the cupboard under the stairs. From upstairs, he watched as his father shoved in seemingly ordinary objects - a broomstick, textbooks, and robes - into the closet, not to be seen again until the end of the summer.

His parents never thought the same way, and often - not often, consistently - pretended that the whole ordeal had never happened. After his family and the Harry went their separate ways, neither of them were ever talked about again. While he was living with his parents, the subject of Harry Potter was taboo.

But after that last day on Privet Drive, Dudley had merely grown more and more curious about the world he had never gotten to experience. The world Harry Potter had come from was terrifying. Dudley could admit that. But was that not part of curiosity? You had to be mildly scared of something to be curious about it.

At the beginning, he was merely stunned. He remembered how mesmerised he had been when he saw the owl that Harry had bought when the giant had taken him out to shop for his school supplies that first year. He remembered passing by his room later, as he watched Harry take out an odd looking box. It was long, and held a strange looking wooden rod - a wand, he later realised. Harry had seen him peeking through the door, and told him to leave. Dudley did just that, but only after sneering at his muddy stick.

Afterwards Dudley had passed by his room several more times, hoping to catch a glimpse at the other mystical objects he had purchased that day.

Most often, Dudley recalled the days when Harry would make his grandiose escape from their shared place of residence, fantasizing about the flying cars and forms of teleportation he would never understand. He had marvelled at the technological, or perhaps not so technological, advancements of their world.

More than twenty years later, Dudley still found himself laying in bed wondering.

"Dudley!"

The chipper voice dragged him from his daydreams, and caused him to roll out of bed. Dudley groggily reached for the robe hanging at the foot of his bed, and tied it around his still rather large waist. As he stumbled downstairs the floorboards creaked beneath him, but the noise from the kitchen overpowered it.

"Deirdre!" A screech caused everyone in the room to wince. "I want to see!"

There were tousles of lemony colored tresses that flew across the room, which nearly caused Dudley harm. Another woman was stood by the stove top, as she hummed a tune. "Morning dear!" She said, stepping towards him so she could peck him on the cheek. "The children have been rotten all morning." She said, though she sounded more amused than mad.

Dudley grunted, meaning to make it sound more like a laugh than it had. "Dillon, leave your sister alone." He drawled, as he fell into his usual morning routine.

He was used to the mayhem his children caused each morning, and was even slightly amused with their banter. He had sworn to himself when he had found out that Lacey was with child that he would be a better father to his children than his own had been. Though he loved his father dearly, Dudley knew that there were many negative traits that he had dutifully attempted to pass down to his son - some of which had made it.

Dudley was stubborn. Impatient. Peevish. Sometimes his children pushed until the his breaking point, but they always knew when their father was being pushed too far.

Reluctantly, Dillon stepped away from his sister. "She won't let me see any of her presents!"

The woman by the stovetop walked over and handed her husband a steaming cup of coffee. "Thanks, Lace."

Lacey smiled, and gave her husband another peck on the temple. Dudley brought his hand where her mouth had been moments before, and rested his head on his hand. "Can you not let Dillon open just one?"

"Because," Deirdre said, elongating the word. "It is my birthday. Dill can open all the presents he wants on his own." She and her brother had been blessed with long, blonde tresses. Their eyes were the same warm brown as Lacey had. Deirdre had bangs that made it near impossible for her to be still, as she was constantly brushing them away.

Dudley smiled, and rolled his eyes over to his son. "She has a point."

"Please, Dee?" Dillon pouted.

Sighing, Deirdre handed her brother one of the smaller presents she knew to be a book her grandmother must have purchased her on proper dinner party etiquette. She was planning on using for confetti later on, so she didn't mind so much when her brother eagerly tore open the packaging.

Dudley let another smile grace his face, and heard the familiar sound of a letter being dropped through the mailbox. His eyebrows furrowed together on their own accord, and he turned to his equally confused wife.

"There is no post on Sundays." She mumbled under her breath.

For a moment Dudley was transported back to his own eleventh birthday. He recalled his father and the booming voice that resounded through the kitchen. "No post on Sundays!" He had said, while Dudley began to question his sanity.

"Deirdre!" Lacey called, shouting over the noise. Dillon had begun to ask whether he could tear open another present, but Deirdre had started to push him away from her pile. "Could you get the post?"

Her daughter sighed, but reluctantly departed from her small pile of presents. "Alright." She said, drearily. "Do not even think about it!" Deirdre pointed toward her brother, who was eyeing the packages in the corner.

Dudley returned to his cup of coffee, closing his eyes and breathing in the warm scent. For a second, sleep overpowered him. His thoughts from the early morning returned.

Dudley had not spoken to Harry Potter in nineteen long years. For all he knew, Harry could be dead. Perhaps that war that had started some years ago had beaten him. Perhaps Harry was not all that Dudley had assumed he was.

He had not contacted Dudley, not that he would have anyway. And Dudley did not know the first thing when it came to contacting magical folk. He knew that while Harry had been a resident of Privet Drive there had been constant hoards of owls at his window, but where would Dudley ever be able to get an owl? And how would the owl know where to go?

Slow steps came from the hallway, and Dudley turned to see his daughter skimming over a yellow piece of parchment with a scarlet seal that had been torn open.

His brows came together, and mind travelled back some years. How could he forget the millions of letters that flooded through every crevice in their home? The letters that changed their lives forever. The letters that changed his life forever.

"Dad?" Deirdre said, curiosity laced with the tone. "What's Hogwarts?"

Authors Notes: I have always believed that after Dudley and Harry went their separate ways Dudley spent copious amounts of his time thinking about the magical world, because it was indirectly a huge part of his life. I like to think that he was actually intrigued, rather than terrified as his parents were. Makes me all happy :)

I initially intended for this to be a one shot, but then I got to thinking about more intense plotline. I guess I could just see how this goes first, and maybe finish my other story before I even begin to think about this one.

Let me know what you think with a nice review! They warm the cockles of my heart :D