For years, Harry and Dudley never spoke. Occasionally Harry would wonder how Dudley was getting on, what was happening in his life, but they were fleeting thoughts, gone in a matter of seconds.
One day, the doorbell rang. Harry answered it, stopping in his tracks when he saw Dudley there on the doorstep, holding an old blanket.
Dudley held the blanket out straight in front of him. "This is yours."
Speechlessly, Harry took it, knowing what it was without having to ask it, cursing the tears in his eyes as he touched the soft, worn fabric. He just stood there, clutching it while Dudley watched silently.
"Harry, who is it?"
A pregnant Ginny had appeared behind him. She looked between her husband and the man she knew to be his cousin, if only from one old, battered photograph that Harry had never got round to throwing away. Taking pity on them, she pulled the door further open.
"Would you like to come in for tea, Dudley?"
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