It was a typical chilly day at the Dursley's house. Vernon was at work, Petunia was trolling Facebook, and Potter was at that freak school.

Dudley was in his bedroom.

Well, okay, it wasn't really his bedroom.

Dudley was in his second bedroom.

Potter's room.

In his defense, school had been canceled on account of snow, and since Dudley's computer had broken after he threw a glass of soda at it when it wouldn't load. And since Petunia was hogging the downstairs computer, and his Gameboy was forever lost, Dudley had nothing to do.

So, Harry Potter's room it was.

He stared at the second-hand bulletin board that was torn in half from when Dudley had stepped on it. Potter had pinned a picture of him, a gangly redhead who looked vaguely familiar, and a bushy-haired brunette who was actually kind of hot.

Dudley took the picture and stuffed it in his strained-from-fatness jeans pocket. He looked around the rest of the chunk of cardboard, but found no other pictures of the girl.

Dudley poked his flabby head under the bed but...it was all dark!

He swore. "How's it all dark?" he asked himself crossly. "Now I can't see anything under yo bed!" he sounded sort of gangster.

Dudley oozed back to his room like some sort of fungus-like protist and plopped down on his bed, which was so sunken in the middle it looked like a v-shape.

He pulled the picture out of his pocket, examined it for a minute, and then ripped out Harry and the ginger. Smiling slightly, Dudley tucked the mutilated picture behind a detention slip on his own bulletin.


It was with a forced smile that Dudley led his children up the steps of the Potter house. His wife, Heather, gripped his pudgy hand as they herded their two children towards the mahogany door.

"Who are deese people again?" asked their 5-year-old son, Henreth.

"My cousin," Dudley said once again.

"Can I ring the door ring?" asked Maisie, who was three.

Heather and Dudley nodded as Maisie reached up her tiny hand and pressed down on the doorbell.

Within seconds, Harry Potter opened the door and looked at his cousin for the first time in almost twenty years. Harry had changed. The light between his eyes was brighter than Dudley had ever seen, and Harry wasn't freakishly skinny anymore.

Harry smiled cautiously at the foursome and ushered them into his house.

When he entered the kitchen, Dudley identified the red-haired beauty as Harry's wife, and another redhead who seemed familiar.

"Are you two related?" Heather asked Ginny. Ginny nodded and offered Heather a seat, which she politely refused.

Harry walked quickly upstairs to the next level, where a loud gaggle of children could be heard.

Dudley met the red-haired boy's eyes and turned away. This was so awkward. He felt as though every sin he'd committed against Harry was being bounced back onto him. No doubt this boy knew about Harry and his history.

Then Dudley's eyes landed on who he assumed was the man's wife. She had brown hair that was slightly unruly, and a friendly smile.

She looked awfully familiar.

With a gasp of realization. Dudley realized that this was the girl who's picture he'd stolen from Harry's room all those years ago.

She looked at Dudley curiously. "Hi," she said uncertainly. "I'm Hermione. It's Dudley, right?"

He nodded mutely. He kept thinking, This is her. The one I thought was prettiest of all.

Prettier than Heather, even.

In that weird way that guys do, Hermione's husband started radiating tension. He fixated Dudley with a glare that clearly said, Back off, you fat-ass. She'd never like you.

Harry walked downstairs followed by a small crowd of kids. When he took in the scene in the kitchen, he burst out laughing.

"Yeah, Dud, that's the girl form the picture you stole," he guffawed.

For once, the gingers' hair was not the reddest thing in the room.