Dudley found him slouched on the curb, head resting against the post of the mailbox. Darkness swathed the yard, but the faint yellow light of the streetlamps down the road glinted off of familiar glasses. Dudley had been lying in bed long after his parents fell asleep, staring at the ceiling of his old room. How strange it was to be back there, he'd thought, after a year away. He and his parents had been back for a week, but Dudley still hadn't gotten used to sleeping in his own bed, the release from the previous year's terror, and the freedom he had to step outside and greet the world. Funny, he hadn't used to ever want to go outside. Now, after a year without proper sunlight, he yearned for the smell of warm grass and the breeze whipping his hair about. Dudley had been absorbed in thought when he suddenly heard noises outside, a scuff of trainer on pavement, a frustrated groan, a clang.

Standing in the cold, barefoot, clad in his old pajamas, Dudley looked down at his cousin.

"Harry," he said, because he wasn't sure his cousin even knew he was there. Harry's head rocked against the mailbox post and Harry gazed up at him with unfocused eyes. Dudley noticed a dent in the mailbox. It was hard to tell in the hazy yellow glow, but Dudley thought he saw the beginnings of a bruise on Harry's forehead.

"Harry, did you … did you hit your head on the mailbox?" He asked, confused. His cousin exhaled a small chuckle as his head lolled. Dudley bent down to get a closer look at his cousin, and the stench of alcohol bombarded his nose. Dudley straightened up again and glanced around the empty road at a loss. What was his cousin doing here, plastered and alone?

"Er," Dudley began. "Er, are you—do you want to, er, come inside?" Harry stared at Dudley, unblinking.

"Right, come inside then," Dudley said, and grabbed Harry by the arm and pulled him upright. Rather roughly perhaps, but Dudley was flustered. Harry swayed on his feet. Dudley had to swing Harry's arm around his neck and practically drag him into the house. He was surprised at how light his cousin felt, how sharp his bones seemed to be. Dudley managed to get Harry to the living room, flipping on the lights as he entered, and dropping his cousin on the sofa. In the bright light, Dudley could see the bags under Harry's eyes. He saw that he was right about a bruise forming on Harry's forehead, and he saw that Harry's finger was bleeding. He seemed to have lost a nail.

"What happened to you?" He asked.

"This?" Harry slurred as he lifted up his hand. "Splinched myshelf."

"You're wasted."

"Hurts."

"Er, I'll call you a cab, yeah?" Dudley all but sprinted out of the living room and into the kitchen to the phone. He used to be scared of Harry because of the magic thing, but this drunken shell of Harry was more frightening than any threat of magic. Dudley dialed for a cab, grabbed a cupcake from the counter which he promptly stuffed in his mouth, swallowed, and hesitantly stepped out into the hall.

Harry had left the living room. Instead, he had somehow wandered to his old cupboard. He sat in there against the wall, door open, legs sticking straight out into the hall. Dudley stood awkwardly at his feet.

"I could've gone," Harry whispered. His voice quavered in a way that Dudley had only heard once before, back when they were fifteen and Harry used to scream and shout in his sleep.

"I could've gone but no didn't … saved … killed them." Dudley slid down the opposite wall to face Harry as Harry continued to talk and tears began to slide down past his glasses. Harry's face was once again shrouded in shadow, but each fresh droplet caught the hall light's fluorescent glow. Dudley couldn't quite understand what Harry was talking about, but he assumed it had something to with him being the Chosen One and there being a battle recently. Hestia had informed him of what she knew about The Boy Who Lived.

"I hated you," Harry rattled on. He didn't sound bitter; he just stated a fact. "Never liked you."

"Mutual," Dudley grunted.

"Funeral today was nice enough. I cried though. So did everybody else."

"I called you a cab."

"Could've gone. Seen my mum." Harry's voice broke as he uttered the last word. Dudley could only just make out his half open mouth stretch in a silent sob.

"Where are you living now? I need to tell the cabbie where to go."

"Wanted to see my mum for real because I'm sorry."

"Do you need money?"

Harry's eyes, which had been focused at a point somewhere above Dudley's head, slid down the wall and landed on Dudley's face.

"Money?" Harry asked, confused.

"For the cab ride," Dudley explained, but Harry still did not comprehend. Dudley pulled his knees up to his chest, suddenly self-conscious under his cousin's stare.

"Big D … ever been hugged?"

"What—yeah."

"Hmmm," Harry said. He nodded without taking his eyes off Dudley, as if he understood some sort of deeper meaning in Dudley's answer. He frowned and furrowed his brow and blew through his nose. "I'm sorry," Harry said after a long pause.

"Er, that's okay," Dudley offered an uncertain smile, unsure what Harry was apologizing for. Was it for the year his family'd had to spend in hiding? Or for coming here tonight? Or for something else to someone else entirely?

Car tires slid to a halt outside. Dudley sighed with relief.

"Where do you live, Harry?" he asked again quickly.

"Used to live here."

"What about now?"

"That's a good question. Just came from Hogwarts. Don't want to go back. 12 Grimmauld Place. Not a very nice place, but it's mine. Don't want to go there either."

"Where's that?"

"London, of course."

"Right." Dudley heaved himself up, grabbed Harry again by the arms, and yanked him out the door. The cabbie sighed with annoyance when he saw his passenger.

"Mate, you better be willing to pay me extra for delivering that kid," the cabbie sneered.

"Yeah, all right," Dudley sighed. He lay Harry down in the backseat, then went inside to fetch some cash. He hurried back out and thrust a pile of large bills into the cabbie's hand.

"That should cover whatever. Just take him to 12 Grimmauld Place, London," Dudley told the cabbie.

From the backseat, Harry moaned. "I don't want to go there." He tried to get out of the cab.

"Too bad," Dudley said and struggled to shove him back in. Harry twisted and waved his arms over his head. "It's an emergency. They need you at home," he invented wildly. Harry stopped struggling and sat limp on the car seat. "Right," said Dudley, and he shut the door.

"Just make sure he gets there all right," he said to the cabbie, who was busy counting the bills.

"Whatever you say, mate."

Dudley stood, barefoot and clad only in his pajamas, on the asphalt driveway and watched the cab zoom off down the street.