"Mr. Potter, a word, please?"

Harry exchanged glances with his friend, Ron Weasley, before shouldering his bag and walking up to the front of the classroom.

"I'll let Professor Sprout know where you are, Harry," Ron called as he left.

"I won't keep him a moment, Weasley. In here, Mr. Potter." Professor Slughorn motioned Harry into his office, smiling mysteriously. "Nothing as serious as a detention, my boy, I assure you. Although somehow I can't see you getting many of those anymore." Slughorn reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a rather dilapidated envelope and held it out to Harry.

Nonplussed, Harry read the inscription:

Mr. Harry Potter

Hogwarts High School Academy

c/o the Weasel Family

General Delivery – Owl?

Ottery St. Catchpole

Devon, UK

There was no return address.

"Who's it from, Professor?"

"No idea. Headmaster received it by owl from Molly Weasley. Good thing a Squib works in the local Post Office in Ottery to handle such – I must say – irregular posts, since there are few magical families in the vicinity. My guess is it's from a Muggle, but there's only one way to find out, eh?" Slughorn looked hopeful, but Harry had experienced enough unpleasant posts to want to open this one in private.

"Right. Erm, thank you, Professor. I'll read it after Herbology – I'd better go, we're having a mid-term exam today."

Slightly disappointed, Slughorn nevertheless smiled at his pupil and shooed him on his way.

ooOOoo

Harry had some difficulty concentrating on the test while the letter seemed to burn a hole in his robes pocket. Who in the Muggle world would be sending him a letter? The only Muggles Harry had any connection with were the Grangers, but they sent mail the proper way, by owl. And they seldom wrote him directly, but relayed messages through their letters to Hermione.

With effort, he forced his attention to the test. He had studied hard for it, as Professor Sprout had warned them it would be a prelude to their N.E.W.T.s in the spring. Above all, Harry wanted to finish out his year with good marks, having already been accepted into Auror training along with Ron the following year.

In due time the double-class was over, and he and Ron hurried to their room to drop off their school bags before going to lunch. They met Hermione in the Great Hall and found a seat.

"How do you like your new class, Hermione?" Harry asked, smiling at his bushy-haired friend whose nose was in danger of becoming permanently affixed to her new textbook.

Hermione, not planning on becoming an Auror, was taking a new subject introduced just this year: "What Have We Got That They Haven't Got – A Revealing Study of Non-Human and Part-Human Magical Beings and Their Subjugation Over a Millenia of Magical History". She peaked out from behind her book long enough to reply, "You've no idea. . ."

With his usual prowess of talking with his mouth full, Ron asked the question he'd been wanting to ask all during Herbology: "What'd Slug want with you, Harry?" Interest piqued, Hermione shut her book and listened eagerly.

Harry held up the envelope he'd started to open. "This." He removed the letter and handed the envelope to Ron, who turned it so Hermione could see it, too.

"Blimey, Harry, it's a miracle you got it."

"Your mother owled it to me," Harry murmured, trying to decipher the almost illegible scrawl on the paper. "Hah!" he exclaimed, so loudly that several students around them stopped talking to look at him. "You're not going to believe this," he whispered, handing over the letter.

"Why, it's from – it's from Dudley? Your cousin?" Hermione raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

"Can't be. I mean, can he even write?" Ron quipped, still trying to make out the indifferently spelled, poorly punctuated note. After some concentration, he read:

Harry,

Hope you get this, not sure how to reach you.

need to meet about a problem I have

please meet me at Privet Dr weekend next
mum and dad living in flat still.

Their too scared to come home

Please Harry, very important

Dudley

"He says he wants to meet you but he doesn't say about what. Can you trust him?" Hermione looked worried, remembering tales Harry had told them of the Dursleys, and especially Dudley the Big D.

"She's right, mate. You'd better make it a really public place if you decide to do it. Who knows what he might try to do to you if you go back there?"

Harry stared past Ron, remembering his and Dudley's final goodbye, how Dudley told him he didn't think he, Harry, was a waste of space, and actually shook his hand.

"No, I don't think he'll try anything," he answered, and got up from the table without touching his food. "I think I'll ask Professor McGonegal if I can apparate to Mrs. Figg's house this weekend and walk over to Number 4 from there."

After Voldemort's demise, rules at Hogwarts had changed back to those of Dumbledore's administration, with one or two modifications. For instance, all students who had fought in the Great Battle were automatically accepted into the Ministry of Magic's Auror program if they so desired, with the proviso of finishing their education at Hogwarts and passing the requisite N.E.W.T.s. Another change was students who were of age and who had passed their apparation test were allowed weekend leaves, provided they had passing grades in all their classes.

Harry had only once taken advantage of the weekend leave since returning to Hogwarts in September, and that was to attend Teddy Lupin's christening. He was sure Professor (and currently Headmistress) McGonegal would give him permission to meet his cousin.

The only problem was, Harry pondered as he made his way to the Gargoyle gate, did he really want to go?

ooOOoo

It was strange walking from Mrs. Figg's to Number 4 Privet Drive. Mrs. Figg didn't keep him long, as she was going out, but she did give him a fresh piece of cake and glass of milk before he set off, and the house no longer smelled of cats.

He rounded the corner and saw the row of identical townhouses where he had spent over 15 years of his life, not counting his time at Hogwarts. He crossed the street and started down the pavement, noticing several vacant homes, their windows staring blankly. Number 4 had a sheet pulled across its picture window, and there was a newspaper lying on the mat by the front door.

Harry walked up to the door stoop, finding it ironic that he'd vowed never to return to the hated address again, never try to communicate with his aunt and uncle again, never to be a part of their world again. Yet here he was, lifting the door-knocker and letting it fall against the brass plate of the door.

Never say never, he thought.

There were footsteps in the hall and the door opened a crack, revealing part of Dudley's face. He opened it wide, however, when he saw that it was Harry.

"Come in, Harry, I've been hopin' you'd come."

The next few minutes were awkward, what with Dudley playing host, getting the tea ready, apoligizing for the few furnishings and bachelor-type living. Harry struggled with the 'new' Dudley, noticing the weight loss, the lack of old bravado and tough talk, forcing himself not to react if his cousin made any sudden moves, trying to keep up his end of superficial conversation.

It was only after they were seated facing each other in two folding chairs in the lounge, tea sweetened and milked, that an uncomfortable silence feel between them. Dudley opened his mouth several times before shutting it again, clearly wanting to speak but not knowing how to begin. Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for him, recalling how Dumbledore chastised Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia for the way they had raised their son.

"I'm glad you found a way to get a letter to me, Dudley. If I'd known you wanted to write, I'd have set up something a little easier for you – if you don't mind owls, I mean," he added hastily.

A slow half-smile slid across Dudley's face as he fiddled with his teacup. "I'm not my dad, Harry."

Harry couldn't help but smile back, a strange, subtle regret stealing through him that he and Dudley had never been given the chance to really know each other.

"So, Dudley – or do you still prefer Big D?"

"Nothing like. Lots of things have changed for me, Harry. I kind of like, well, just plain "Dee."

"Dee," Harry said, trying it out. "Yeah, I like it, too."

Another, though less difficult, silence ensued. Harry, sensing that he needed to let his cousin begin when he was ready, poured them both another cup of tea and handed the milk and sugar. He sat back in his chair, sipping his tea, looking around at the familiar wallpaper, the original fireplace (Vernon having removed the electric one after the Weasley incident), the dining area and kitchen beyond. Even though the residence was mostly devoid of furniture, it seemed warmer now, less intimidating.

Dudley shifted in his seat, bringing Harry's thoughts back to the present, and slid forward to the edge of his chair. Harry hoped the slender, folding thing would hold his cousin's still noteworthy frame.

"Harry, I haven't spoken a word of this to Mum or Dad. Their reactions – well, I think you know how they react to most things. . ." He cleared his throat and looked up at the ceiling. ". . . most things – erm – wizard-like." The last words were spoken at nearly a whisper and Harry looked around, half-expecting his aunt and uncle to come bursting into the room, she in hysterics and he bellowing in anger at the mention of "Harry's lot."

"Dudl – I mean, Dee, they haven't disowned you or anything for being nice to me when I left, have they?" Harry had a weird, half-awful, half-delightful image of Vernon and Petunia standing on the stoop, pointing to the road as Dudley, cowering, slinked away. He tried to squelch the half-delightful part – he was Dudley's guest, after all.

Dudley looked confused for a second, then smiled, sadly, shaking his head. "No, I just wanted to come back home and they didn't. Won't last long, though, because they can't keep up the rent on their flat and a mortgage, too. I think they'd like to move back, since Dad's lost some clients at Grunnings because of missing a lot of work and Mum can't get a job. I mean, she's kept house all her adult life, hasn't she? "

Harry nodded, recalling Petunia's strict standards of housekeeping. "What will you do?" he asked.

"Oh, I've got a job. Well, a part-time one; enough to get myself a flat near where I work. I hope to move into full-time work at some point."

"But that's great! I mean, you've never worked a day. . ." Harry caught himself, too used to ridiculing his cousin, a form of protection he'd devised over the years against the verbal (and often physical) abuse he'd received. "Sorry, Dee, I shouldn't have. . ."

"Shouldn't have said what?" Dudley replied, self-disdainfully. "I reckon you've had lots of reasons to say things like that, for a long time. Harry, I. . ."

Harry was becoming alarmed. This was a Dudley he'd never conceived of – he couldn't help but wonder when the shoe was going to drop.

Dudley dithered for a few seconds, then blurted, "I've been an ass, Harry, a downright sod."

Harry grinned, not being able to help himself. Seeing his oversized, dumbed-down git of a cousin humbling himself like that should have brought great delight to the young wizard, but instead there was the sense of a great weight lifting from his shoulders.

And the alarm went away – gone like the flash of a banishment charm.

"Blimey, Dee, that's all right!" To Harry's surprise, he realized he actually meant it. The bullying, the threats, sarcasm and name-calling – all gone in a moment. Not forgetten, exactly, but no longer valid. No longer part of who he, Harry, was.

Dudley blinked, clearly moved by Harry's response, rose suddenly and went into the kitchen to heat more water. Harry hadn't seen him move that fast in a long time. He followed his Muggle relative into the kitchen.

"Is that why you asked me to come today?"

Dudley started and fumbled the lid to the kettle. He glanced at Harry over his shoulder looking, if anything, more nervous than when Harry first arrived. "Erm. . ."

"Oh, c'mon, Dudl – Dee! Why don't you get it off your chest? I'm going to have to be getting back to Hog – school, soon." Harry hoisted himself onto the counter, swinging his legs – something he could never do before, when Petunia kept violent vigil over her kitchen.

Dudley seemed to brace himself, then turned from the range to face Harry. He focused on a spoon lying on the countertop, his face screwed up like he was about to cry or yell bloody murder. After several seconds, the spoon scooted along the surface, rose in the air about an inch, and fell to the floor. Dudley let out a big 'whoosh' of air and leaned weakly against the range, his face red.

There was a full minute when they both stared at each other, Dudley looking sheepish and Harry with his mouth open.

Eons later, Harry slowly slid off the counter, his eyes never leaving his cousin, and bent down to pick up the spoon. He straightened up and set it back on the counter. "Can you. . .can you do that again?"

"Dunno, but I'll try. Some times are better than others." Dudley concentrated again, looking alarmingly like his father in one of his tantrums. The spoon turned counter-clockwise a few times, shuddered, and stopped. Dudley raised his eyes to Harry's in mute appeal.

"It does that – different things, I mean. Never the same. I. . .Harry, what'm I going t'do?"

Harry felt like laughing – felt like running around the house a few times, felt like pulling out his wand and setting off showers of stars. Thoughts crowded his brain so fast he wished he had a Pensieve. But one thought stood out like a neon sign – he suddenly realized he could do magic – right here, right now – and not get into trouble for doing it in front of a Muggle, because. . .

Because his Muggle cousin, his old nemisis, wasn't a Muggle at all.

"Do?" Harry managed to say, trying to contain himself so as not to scare his cousin. "You don't have to do anything, but I have to say it – to tell you – something you already know. . ."

Dudley's expression changed – he looked like a prisoner lined up to be shot.

"Dud – Dee. It seems, cousin-mine, whether you like it or not, that you are one of "their lot."

"It's true, then? I'm not imagining things, I'm not going crazy? That I'm truly a – a . . ."

" Yep. Big D Dudley Dee Dursley – you're a Wizard."

ooOOoo

Dudley gulped. "Me?"

"Mm-hmm. I'm afraid so."

"Me, a – a Wizard?" Dee was beginning to repeat himself, Harry noticed. Hopefully he wouldn't have a panic attack.

"Dee, it's not the end of the world."

"But I'm – I mean, I can't. . ." Dudley's features drooped.

"Can't what?" Harry moved past his cousin to remove the singing kettle from the range.

"I'm caught, Harry. I'm too old to go to school, to Hogwarts, and I can't tell my parents because I think they'll disown me."

Harry fetched the teapot from the lounge and set about fixing another pot of tea.

"I'm not so sure, at least where your mother is concerned. She wanted to go to Hogwarts, too, but when she couldn't, she. . ."

"She disowned her sister and everything t'do with wizards."

"C'mon, let's go out into the garden while the tea steeps. It's stifling in here."

The cousins sat in two old wicker chairs, left behind when the Dursleys moved out. The breeze was chilly, a portender of encroaching winter, but it felt good to be out of the stagnant air of the closed-up house.

"I suppose you're asking me what your options are?"

"Yeah. I guess I want to know why I'm just now discovering this – thing. Why didn't anyone know earlier? Why didn't I get a letter from Hogwarts?"

"I dunno, except that I've never heard of a Witch or Wizard who'd discovered their gift this late in life. I do have a friend who found out later than most – they were afraid he was going to turn out a Squib, but he was years younger than you are now. . ."

"What's a Squib? Am I one?"

"No, people born into wizarding families but have no magic are called Squibs. You're like your Aunt Lily. She was the daughter of two Muggles, but she was a Witch. I guess it runs in the family; we'd probably find some ancestors on her side who were magical if we searched. But you know, Dee, there are lots of witches and wizards who opt to live like Muggles in a Muggle world. You can do that if you want – no one has to know, and I won't tell anyone."

"But what if something happens and I can't help what I do – remember that day at the zoo?"

Harry grinned. "All too well. Look, I can talk to Professor McGonegal if you like – she's our headmaster and one of my professors – and see what she recommends. I bet you there are adult classes for learning to control your magic at the very least, and probably other classes if you want to pursue your gift, getting your wand and so forth."

Dudley had a wry look on his face. "I can't help but wonder what Dad would do if I walked into the house with a wand in my hand."

"Oh, yeah," Harry sympathized, trying not to visualize it himself. "Look, I've got to go, but I'll send you an owl as soon as I get back to Hogwarts, okay? I'll find out what your options are – I know a few people at the Ministry of Magic – and you can think it over and decide what you want to do, okay?"

He stood up and Dudley followed suit. Something in Dudley's face made Harry ask, "Dee, you've been lonely, being here all by yourself?"

His cousin blinked a few times, cleared his throat, and nodded. "Some," he said.

"Well, you don't have to be, not any more. You can come to Hogsmead to visit – you can even come to Diagon Alley; it's extraordinary, now they've repaired and re-opened the shops. We can exchange owls and – and maybe you could visit the Weasleys, too – they're fantastic people, Dee – there's so much. . ." Harry stopped, coloring deeply. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Blimey, Harry, that's all right," Dudley answered, mimicking Harry's earlier comment. "I think – I think I'd like that."

"Wicked. Ok, I really have to go. Oh, there's going to be a bang when I disapparate, so don't let it startle you." Harry laughed. "It's grand I can do this in front of you now."

"See you soon, Harry." Dudley – Dee – stuck out his large hand.

Harry gripped it in both of his. "See you soon!"

Dee only flinched a little as Harry disappeared with a loud bang.

ooOOoo

Harry waited at the door after knocking; it swung open with McGonegal's 'come in.' He walked into the familiar surroundings, the whirlings and whistles of Dumbledore's gadgets creating a soothing background as he crossed over to the large desk and the Witch who sat there.

"Well, Harry, what is it? Did you have a good visit with your cousin?"

"Good isn't the half of it," Harry responded. "Professor, you're not going to believe what I have to tell you."

The End